The sky gradually darkened.

The bustle inside the Batcave was winding down.

The assassin remained unconscious, but all the necessary samples had been collected.

Vivi connected to the comms and said, “Isn’t it time you handed the person over to me, as we agreed?”

Vivi had lent the potential assassin targeting Tal to Batman for research, as payment for his help. If no assassin appeared, she wouldn’t have to pay anything—truly the stingiest of businesspeople.

She didn’t want to hand over any of the Talons, which is why she drew such clear boundaries. This wasn’t mutual aid between her and Batman; it was a transaction.

“The deal isn’t complete yet. There’s still one last part—we exchange information,” Batman replied. If Vivi insisted on treating it as a transaction, he would too.

“You go first,” the girl said on the other end.

“When I was a child,” Bruce began, “I believed this city harbored a secret organization, the Court of Owls. I thought it wasn’t just a fictional entity from nursery rhymes but a real group monitoring Gotham City.”

“I investigated them. I found the Harbor Manor,” he paused, but the other end of the line was silent except for steady breathing. “In the end, I found nothing.”

“After being attacked by the Talons last time, I resumed my investigation: Douglas, Saliot, Rossetti, Scott, Petrov…”

He listed more than a dozen surnames. “These are all my suspects, but I couldn’t obtain evidence.”

“And then you found me,” Bruce continued. “The blood of these assassins contains amber gold and another special material, both critical to their resurrection. The two assassins we have now were raised in a circus, trained from a young age under special conditions—”

Bruce glanced at Nightwing beside him, his expression unchanged. “Now it’s your turn.”

“Hmm,” Vivi was vexed by his frankness. She organized her thoughts. “The troublemakers have been scared off. Now they’re cowering like little birds in their nests. I ran into some issues underground; there’s a labyrinth down there. It seems to be their hiding place.”

Bruce: “And also their escape route. Tell me the labyrinth’s location.”

“The labyrinth is destroyed,” Vivi said sincerely.

Bruce: “…”

“And, I found dozens of Talon assassins underground. But they’re all in a dormant state.”

Bruce: “Did you bring them out? Are they in cryostasis?”

“They’re in an ‘idiot state,’” Vivi replied firmly.

Bruce: “?”

“Anyway,” the girl concluded, “I’ll take care of these Talons. They won’t be enemies, and I won’t hand them over to you. They’re my… reward.”

Vivi instinctively wanted to say “dungeon loot,” but the term was too out of place.

“Who’s been frightened?” Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Don’t be quick to refuse. I’ll trade you: I can provide equipment to store these assassins. I’ve been preparing it since the day of the attack.”

“I don’t know. I’ll mark it on the map for you,” Vivi said lazily. “But I don’t need equipment. How about funding public infrastructure in South Hinckley instead?”

That made no difference to Bruce. Any problem that could be solved with money wasn’t a problem. He sent Dick to transport the female Talon, while he and Tim went to investigate the frightened individuals. The map was immediately sent to Barbara—

Vigilantes don’t get days off.

…

It was a good day.

The Batwing glided over Gotham City, and Bruce once again confirmed this with his own eyes.

It was a good city.

Its beauty was tinged with decay, but it was still beautiful. It stood on the coastline, a radiant pearl.

People loved her, hated her, cursed her, claimed her… but they couldn’t leave her.

Perhaps there truly was a “can’t leave Gotham” curse. In his youth, Bruce had visited other cities and traveled the world to learn combat skills. As Batman, he gathered Justice League allies, setting up headquarters in other cities, fighting battles in space alongside them. The League’s Watchtower was in orbit, and Batman’s battlefield extended to the universe.

But in the end, he always returned to this city.

To prove something, to change something… Yet Gotham remained as it always had been.

—Did Jason come back to Gotham? Did Jason ever really die and return?

His children—he had watched them leave the city: Nightwing, Spoiler, Orphan… Robin might be next. Bruce knew Tim was planning to go to San Francisco to become the world’s greatest detective. The world’s greatest detective wouldn’t limit himself to Gotham cases.

Bruce knew Tim had been planning this for a long time—a justice team for the young heroes.

But Tim hadn’t acted yet, because the Batman still needed a Robin.

All birds leave the nest when their wings are strong enough. Batman’s nest was Gotham. They loved this city, but only by leaving it could they prove their independence and strength.

“And you?” Bruce wondered. “Did you come back, Jason?”

The Bat-drones transmitted a variety of images: a prosecutor locking himself in his room, a judge avoiding cameras, a former mayor with vacant eyes, a painter attempting self-harm. Vivi’s map even marked two children who had suddenly developed autism—those were the most obvious cases. Others simply became more reticent. Their families hadn’t even noticed anything unusual.

Clearly, symptoms such as “fear of light,” “dementia,” “self-harm tendencies,” and “autism” all stemmed from that initial “fright.”

Most of the affected individuals had already been investigated by Bruce previously. The only ones overlooked were unexpected figures like the former mayor’s elderly mother and some children. Based on Bruce’s understanding of Vivi, she would never target children—this meant she merely knew they were affected by fear but wasn’t aware of their specific identities.

“Medicine, arts, shipping… These industries won’t be disrupted for now,” Bruce exhaled lightly, “It’s not direct assassination. Dozens of people developing psychological problems over time won’t make the news. However, these families might fall into chaos soon—legitimate heirs and illegitimate children will come back to fight for control within their dynasties.”

“That’s fantastic,” Tim replied with obvious disinterest despite his words. “The assassins are dealt with, the Court controlling Gotham will peacefully transition power, and the ones who know the secrets are all reduced to fools… In a movie, this would be the happy ending, with the credits rolling.”

“I agree with your first point. Now the Court is in the light, and we are in the dark,” Batman said coldly. “But I have a feeling it won’t disappear so easily… not like this.”

“It’s merely hidden in an even darker place.”

“Keep investigating,” Bruce concluded.

---

What would be Rothschild’s reaction when she reached London? Were there other loose ends in Gotham? Bruce understood that Vivi’s goal wasn’t to kill or eradicate the Court entirely—these families held Gotham’s wealth and power. If they all died at once, Gotham would spiral into chaos, leaving many unemployed, and power struggles would plunge the city’s elite into disarray, dragging Gotham back to its former decrepit state.

—Destruction is far easier than construction.

—Unleashing hatred to kill an enemy is far easier than addressing the root of the problem.

—Using magic is far easier than taking things step by step.

Batman stood atop Wayne Tower, gazing at his city. Someone landed behind him. He felt a gentle breeze and spoke as he turned, “Zatanna…”

His voice faltered, but his tone quickly returned to normal. “I need your help.”

It was as if he didn’t notice Zatanna’s attire.

Zatanna Zatara, a Justice League superhero and its foremost magic-user, hailed from a prestigious family of magicians. If there were magical or mystical problems that couldn’t be resolved, she was the one to turn to.

Despite her illustrious background, this esteemed magician had once roamed the world as a stage magician. Tonight, she was dressed in the classic magician’s outfit—a dark evening gown with a magician’s hat—but far more elaborate than usual. Gothic patterns and lace adorned her attire, blending her into Gotham’s atmosphere. Her black cape fluttered in the night breeze as she accepted the blood sample Batman handed over.

“I can use trace magic to determine her movements. Do you want me to track the original body and turn her into your personal surveillance puppet?” she offered.

Batman declined. Zatanna didn’t press further and began casting her magic. She heard Batman ask, “Your outfit seems different?”

“I’m participating in tonight’s charity magic performance, with several magicians gathered in Gotham,” she replied, giving him a glance. “I decided to make myself look more like a magician.”

“The performance theme is: How to achieve magical effects with magic tricks.”

Batman: “…”

But… aren’t you a magician?

Over the comms, Dick’s voice chimed in. He had switched to civilian attire, avoiding the noticeable vigilante uniform, and said, “I’ve crossed the highway and arrived in South Hinckley.”

Following the coordinates Vivi provided, he drove through the town, glancing at the building layout on Google Maps. A flicker of confusion crossed his face before he apologized to his passenger. “Sorry, I need to finish my job first.”

“No problem, thank you,” said the man—a handsome but warm and kind individual. “Just drop me off at the intersection near Professor Diamond’s. I’ll head straight there.”

The man was one of the mayor’s new secretaries. The mayor required several secretaries under the management of a chief secretary, but currently, an interim coordinator named “Jar” assigned their tasks. Senior secretaries like Millie and Shelk were technically at the same level as the new hires, so none dared contend for the chief secretary position. For now, they all handled miscellaneous administrative work.

The man was delivering a document that required Professor Diamond’s signature urgently. However, his car had broken down halfway, and South Hinckley’s desolate roads left him walking for ages before Dick happened by.

Naturally, Dick was happy to help. After dropping him off, he waved. “Watch your step and stay safe, March.”

As the sky darkened, South Hinckley’s remote streets were barely lit, with streetlights only along main roads. Secretary Lincoln March’s lower face disappeared into the shadows, his expression seeming to hold a faint smile as he waved back, signalling there was no need to follow. ^[1]T/N: This Lincoln March might be a reference to this but I’m not too sure.

Dick restarted the car and drove to the retirement home entrance. Just as he parked, a man wearing a baseball cap shot forward on a black motorcycle, using a flowerbed ramp as a springboard. He vaulted over the flowerbed and landed in the yard, bike and all.

He had his back to Dick, but at first glance, he looked like someone who had just come back from a construction site. Among his hair were two faintly glowing blue leaves, and his pants were stained with dirt and lime. It was evident he had made an effort to clean himself up—his sleeves were rolled up, revealing strong, muscular forearms.

He looked like someone who could hold his own in a fight.

This burly man exuded an intimidating aura, and his reckless driving style only added to the impression. Glancing at the map and noting the building ahead was labelled as a “retirement home,” Dick’s mind immediately conjured a vivid image of elderly residents trembling before this imposing figure. Quietly, he drew his gun—not loading it but keeping it pointed in the man’s direction as he barked, “Police! Freeze! What are you up to?”

Jason Todd froze mid-motion.