As the vehicle carrying Oracle, Robin, Nightwing, and Vivi drove into the mist, the fog parted, revealing a grand manor before them.

Oracle was a striking beauty with red hair, though she was confined to a wheelchair.

She introduced herself as “Barbara Gordon,” though if she hadn’t, Vivi would have just called her Oracle—it didn’t make much difference to her.

What surprised Vivi was that they didn’t see Bruce—

Nightwing looked even more surprised than she did, in fact, he seemed tense, his muscles visibly stiffening.

“Maybe he’s still asleep?” Vivi speculated.

“The guest room is empty,” Robin pointed out. “Is there surveillance inside?”

Surveillance? In her own manor?

However, Vivi pulled up the map and couldn’t find any sign of Bruce. Had he left?

“This isn’t good,” Vivi said. “Bruce and I haven’t fulfilled our agreement yet, and if he breaks it unilaterally, it could lead to bad consequences.”

Nightwing suddenly looked shocked, as if realizing something. “Agreement?”

Vivi replied, “Did you think I convinced Catwoman to be my teacher out of love?”

Nightwing understood. “You used a contract.”

He recalled the daily crate of gold coins and felt they suddenly seemed even heavier in his hands.

Vivi left her guests and ran toward the study. On the map, the yellow rose stood out prominently. She pushed open the study door, with Nightwing and Robin quickly following her.

Meanwhile, Oracle, pushing her wheelchair down the corridor, glanced around at the décor, her brow furrowing slightly. “Is it just me, or are there… too many wardrobes in here?”

Vivi lifted a vase.

The bright yellow rosebud tightened, but as soon as it felt her touch, it opened slightly—

In the heart of the flower lay a tiny unconscious figure, no bigger than a finger. His features were hard to discern unless you were close. His limbs were bound by the flower’s petals, almost as if they had shackled him, and the fragrance from the rose seemed to have a soporific effect, keeping whatever it captured in a deep, drowsy state.

As the rosebud opened, a cool breeze swept in, and the tiny figure in the flower’s heart groggily opened his eyes.

“Vivi,” Nightwing entered the room, “what did you find? Did you locate Bruce?”

Vivi remained silent and simply held up the rose for him to see.

Ten minutes later, the four of them gathered around the couch with the rose.

“So,” Vivi said quietly, “Batman disguised himself as Bruce to infiltrate Blackgate Prison, and I ended up bailing him out?”

She asked, “Why didn’t you tell me from the start?”

Barbara gave her teammates a sidelong glance. “Maybe it’s because boys tend to overthink things? People would rather trust what they uncover themselves than accept what someone else says, even if the evidence shows she’s right.”

Vivi sheepishly rested her chin on her hand. If Batman had come right out and asked her what Warden Bettywen was secretly planning, Vivi figured she wouldn’t have told him either, because, in her understanding, they didn’t mind prisoners being sent off to do hard labour—what they objected to was the use of “chemical control.”

Vigilantes always had their strange principles—

Because the difference between chemical control and mind control was just a matter of terminology. Once that line was crossed, things could go downhill quickly. Bettywen had crossed that line, treating people no longer as human beings.

But Vivi never considered criminals to be human! She sat up straighter, feeling justified.

“So, I’m sorry,” Barbara said. “We planned to tell you everything today. Actually, Batman has been here all along, and I doubt he could refuse you while in his amnesiac state…”

“Well, it looks like he’s not amnesiac anymore,” Vivi said, poking the half-open rosebud. “The manor’s defenses automatically identified him.”

Inside the rosebud, Batman seemed to still be in a semi-conscious state. He weakly lifted a hand before letting it fall back down. The petals wrapped around his waist were likely the toughest restraints in the world, as they had successfully trapped Batman—even in his miniature form.

Barbara and Vivi leaned in close to examine the petals. Barbara whispered, “Vivi, can you release him?”

“I don’t think I can,” Vivi replied, having found no release option in the interface. “But the flower will wither in five days, and by then, Bruce should be able to get out on his own.”

“But Bruce will probably starve before that happens…” Tim sighed, relieved to see that Batman wasn’t in any real danger. No harm done, but it was still a bit surreal. One of the world’s greatest escape artists, captured by a rose. Yet, considering Bruce’s history, it seemed oddly fitting that Gotham’s darling would be ensnared by a rose.

Dick suggested, “Maybe we should try to wake Batman up a bit. He might be able to figure out how to escape on his own.”

Would he break through the petals to escape? Vivi frowned and passed the rose over to him.

They briefly dipped the Sun Knight rose in water—truthfully, if they brought both the flower and Batman back to the Batcave, they might find more solutions. However, both sides were trying to maintain some kind of balance.

Up until now, their relationship had been good, close enough to invite each other into their homes. But things were a bit tricky. Even though Vivi seemed unbothered, none of them could confidently assume she wouldn’t be upset about Batman’s covert identity.

After half a day of fiddling with simple materials, Bruce finally regained full consciousness.

The flower bloomed completely, and the tiny figure at its heart silently studied the four “giants” surrounding him, falling into an awkward silence.

He quickly shook his head and attempted to break free from the flower’s restraints, but the petals clinging to his body were incredibly tough. The more he struggled, the tighter their grip became.

Vivi, still frowning, stood at the back, watching as they worked. It wasn’t until someone pulled out a batarang that she spoke lightly, “Are you planning to harm my flower?”

The atmosphere immediately grew tense.

In that instant, everyone felt the intense gaze of the entire building, watching from all directions—except for Vivi herself.

Tim broke off a small piece of bread from the breakfast they had brought and handed it to Bruce. “Here, eat something first. We can think of a solution that works for everyone.”

However, Batman refused. His tiny voice was barely audible, but the others, with their sharp hearing, managed to catch it. He said, “I don’t need food. You mustn’t harm the flower either, because one of its petals has fused with my body. I’m receiving nutrients from it, so I don’t need to eat.”

Nightwing’s expression tensed for a moment. With his back to Vivi, still focused on Bruce, he asked quietly, “Vivi, will the flower really wither in five days?”

“Of course,” Vivi responded. Could the system’s countdown be inaccurate?

“But,” Vivi continued, “the five days of training cannot stop. If the training halts completely, it would mean Bruce has broken our contract.”

“And the consequences of breaking the contract are… I will take something unique to him at random.”

…

Wayne Manor.

Having just returned from vacation, the elderly butler Alfred stared at the empty house and sighed.

“I hope you aren’t doing anything foolish, Master Bruce,” he muttered, flipping through a simple yet whimsical invitation in his hand. “A small thank-you dinner from Eastside Cathedral… I wonder who in this house will be available to attend?”

As Alfred pondered this, Millie was also on her third check, confirming the guests for the event. When hosting a dinner, proper scheduling and seating arrangements were crucial.

Millie had once been just the mayor’s secretary, but after all she’d been through, she had developed the poise and decisiveness of a true leader. Being a leader had accelerated her growth at an astonishing rate.

Looking back, even Millie found it hard to believe it had been just over a month since Madam Mayor took office.

“The two most important guests are Mr. Wayne and Madam Mayor,” Millie thought as she stared at her screen. “Mr. Wayne donated a lot of resources to us, and the day after the dinner, the demolition of the Wayne Memorial Hall is scheduled to begin.”

She sighed, reflecting on Bruce Wayne’s extraordinary life. “They confirmed they’d attend, but it’s unclear whether it will be Mr. Wayne himself or young CEO Drake.”

“As for Madam Mayor,” Millie added with a wry smile, “she’s incredibly elusive, but at least she responded with a ‘I’ll try my best to attend.’”

Millie dearly hoped to invite the woman who had changed her life. When faced with Madam Mayor, Millie instinctively saw herself as a child, much like how the children in the shelter looked up to her. Even though Alek wasn’t much older than Millie, she had a calming presence that made Millie feel like everything would be okay—like she could solve any problem. And it wasn’t because she was a vigilante flying through the sky or had some genius nickname. She just had that effect on people.

There was also Director Hogg from City Hall’s security department, though their team was starting to withdraw from the Eastside now that their primary duties elsewhere were calling.

“And then there’s…” Millie’s eyes lingered on a line, “Warden Bettywen. She’s helped us quite a bit, though she’s too busy to attend. Vivi has confirmed she’ll come, as long as it’s not during her lessons. As for Selina, she offered to help set up the venue… and then there are the students from Gotham Academy who will be present that day…”

Along with other donors who had supported the cause.

Millie’s gaze swept over the name “Joey Crane” among the donors. She remembered this man.

For the past few days, Mr. Crane had been sending truckloads of supplies to the cathedral, though he had never appeared in person—only his hired drivers delivered the goods. He seemed to be quite busy, and Millie wasn’t sure what exactly he did for a living.

The supplies he sent included kitchenware and drinks, all of which looked expensive, so Millie had refrained from opening them just yet—

She had decided to use only a small portion, and then sell the rest.

Although selling donated goods didn’t feel right, she figured that trading the fancy items for more durable wooden bowls and forks was better than letting the kids in the cathedral eat with silver utensils while wearing simple clothes.

“Not many people are willing to attend in person,” Millie shook her head. “But it seems Mr. Crane will be joining us this time…”

Whether he was genuinely charitable or simply doing it for reputation and tax breaks, at least the supplies had reached the children’s hands.

Millie could only hope that tonight’s dinner would go off without a hitch.