Family Begins
After a few rounds of intense fighting games with Dick, he eventually bid me goodnight and retired to his own room, leaving me alone in the silence of the night… or early morning rather. It was about 5 am. The sun was due to rise at any moment.
As I settled onto my new king-sized bed, the plush mattress enveloping me in sumptuous comfort, I couldn't help but marvel at the opulence of my surroundings. The bed alone must have cost a fortune, a testament to the wealth and extravagance of the Wayne family.
Lying back against the soft pillows, I looked up at the ceiling, my mind swirling with thoughts and reflections on the events of the day. The life I now found myself living was a far cry from anything I had ever known before, and I couldn't shake the feeling of uncertainty that lingered in the back of my mind.
But as I lay there in the quiet darkness, I couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration for Dick and the resilience he had shown in the face of adversity. Despite losing his parents just three months ago, he had already proven himself to be remarkably strong and resilient, forging ahead with determination and willpower. Hell, I was honestly surprised that a green lantern ring hadn't made its way on to his finger yet, but that was neither here nor there.
He had faced so much loss at such a young age, yet he refused to let it define him. Instead, he had channeled his grief into motivation, pushing himself to excel academically and refusing to be held back by the challenges life had thrown his way.
At just ten years old, he had already skipped 2 grades and maintained straight A's, a testament to his intelligence and dedication. On top of that, I also discovered that he had already started learning martial arts from Bruce.
With a wry chuckle, I realized that Dick's resilience mirrored my own in many ways. Like him, I had faced my fair share of challenges and setbacks, but I refused to let them defeat me. I had a fire burning inside me, a determination to carve out my own path in this new world, no matter what obstacles lay ahead… and so did he.
As I lay in bed, my heightened senses remained vigilant, attuned to every sound and scent in the manor. My super hearing was something I couldn't just turn off.
Amidst the quiet, I detected the faint rhythm of a heartbeat, strong and steady, echoing through the halls.
Intrigued, I rose from my bed and followed the sound, navigating the familiar corridors until I reached a door I had never entered before while on the tour. Curiosity driving me forward, I pushed it open and stepped into Bruce's study, illuminated by the soft glow of lamplight.
There, seated at his desk, was Bruce, his presence commanding even in the dim light.
Quietly, I approached him, my footsteps barely audible against the rich carpeting. Bruce glanced up from his work, his expression unreadable but welcoming. I took a seat opposite him, the leather chair creaking softly beneath me.
For a moment, we sat in companionable silence, the only sound the gentle rustle of pages as Bruce turned his attention back to his reading. I watched him, taking in the lines of his face, the furrow of his brow, the way his eyes flickered across the page.
In that moment, I felt a connection, a shared understanding that transcended words. Despite our differences, we were united by a common purpose, bound together by the weight of our respective burdens.
Breaking the silence, Bruce finally spoke, his voice low and measured. "Ken, it's late. Why aren't you asleep?"
I hesitated for a moment, surprised by his observation. "One of my abilities... it eliminates my need for sleep," I confessed quietly, unsure how he would react.
Bruce nodded thoughtfully, his expression unreadable. "I see," he murmured, returning his attention to the papers on his desk. "Well, if you're not tired, there's no harm in keeping me company."
His acceptance put me at ease, though I still felt a pang of guilt for intruding on his time. "Are you sure it's okay? You didn't get any rest," I pointed out, concern lacing my voice.
Bruce shrugged, a faint smile playing at his lips. "I've been Batman for three years now. I know myself better than anyone else," he replied, his tone tinged with resignation.
I nodded, understanding the weight of his words. "So, what do you want to do?" I asked, curious about how he planned to spend his morning.
Bruce leaned back in his chair, considering for a moment. "How about we do some training?" he suggested, his tone casual but determined.
Surprised by his proposal, I blinked in astonishment. "Training?" I echoed, caught off guard by the sudden shift in direction.
Bruce nodded, a glint of anticipation in his eyes. "Why not? It's as good a way as any to pass the time, and this is around the time where I do my usual morning routine anyway." he reasoned, rising from his chair and gesturing for me to follow.
As Bruce stood up from his desk, he walked over to a seemingly ordinary bookshelf that lined one wall of the study. With practiced ease, he pressed a concealed button hidden behind a row of leather-bound tomes. The bookshelf swung open silently, revealing a hidden passageway bathed in dim, blue light.
I followed Bruce into the narrow corridor, feeling a sense of suspense building within me. The air was cool and stale, carrying the faint scent of damp stone. As we descended a spiral staircase carved into the rock, the sound of rushing water grew louder, echoing off the stone walls.
After what felt like an eternity, we reached the bottom of the staircase and emerged into the cavernous expanse of the Batcave; but this was a section I hadn't seen yet.
As Bruce led me deeper into the Batcave, we entered a vast chamber that seemed like a world unto itself. The walls were lined with towering shelves filled with an array of weapons and gadgets, each meticulously organized and gleaming in the soft light. High-tech treadmills lined one side of the chamber, their sleek surfaces humming with power.
In the center of the chamber, an indoor waterfall cascaded down from the ceiling, its rushing waters creating a soothing backdrop to the training ground. But this was no ordinary waterfall; it was equipped with a series of controls that allowed Bruce to adjust the flow and pressure, turning it into a formidable training tool.
Around the perimeter of the chamber, I spotted weights and exercise equipment of all kinds, from dumbbells to resistance bands, each designed to push the limits of physical endurance. Martial arts equipment dotted the space, including punching bags, sparring dummies, and wooden training dummies, offering endless possibilities for combat training.
The air was filled with the sound of machinery and the echo of footsteps as Bruce led me through the training ground, his presence commanding and reassuring.
"I wanted to wait until you were more well-rested, but I realize now that isn't necessary," Bruce remarked, his voice carrying a note of determination as he gestured towards the meticulously arranged training equipment.
Intrigued by his cryptic remark, I couldn't help but inquire, "What?"
"Your limits," Bruce replied enigmatically, his gaze fixed on the futuristic treadmill. With a subtle nod, he motioned for me to mount the device.
Without hesitation, I complied, stepping onto the treadmill as instructed. Bruce adjusted the settings, setting the pace to a challenging 10 miles per hour. As I began to run, Bruce observed closely, a small notebook appearing in his hand.
With each stride, I felt a surge of determination, pushing myself to maintain the brisk pace set by Bruce. Despite the intensity of the workout, I found myself managing well, my body adapting effortlessly to the demands placed upon it.
After completing the mile, I stepped off the treadmill, a sense of accomplishment washing over me. Bruce's expression, however, betrayed a hint of surprise and disbelief as he glanced at his notes.
"Ken… did you hold your breath for an entire 6 minutes?" he inquired, raising an eyebrow inquisitively.
"It's a little more complicated than that, but yeah," I admitted, scratching the back of my neck awkwardly.
"Hmm," Bruce grunted, his thoughts clearly racing as he pondered the implications of my abilities.
"Again," he instructed, his voice firm as he adjusted the settings on the treadmill. "This time, on an incline of 20 percent."
I nodded, unfazed by the challenge ahead.
With a few clicks, the treadmill whirred to life once more. Despite the increased difficulty, I found myself maintaining a steady pace, my muscles responding effortlessly to the demands of the incline.
As I ran, I couldn't help but notice Bruce diligently jotting down notes, his pen moving across the pages in a flurry of activity. His expression remained unreadable, his focus solely on recording my performance.
"How long do we have to do this for?" I asked casually, curious about the duration of the workout.
"Until I tell you that it's time to move on," he replied, his tone matter-of-fact.
Eventually, Bruce ceased his note-taking and began to adjust the settings on the treadmill once more. I watched with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity as he increased the distance from a mile to a staggering 60 miles. Panic flickered briefly in my chest before I pushed it aside, focusing instead on the task at hand.
With a series of clicks, Bruce raised the incline to a daunting 40 percent and increased the speed to an astonishing 65 miles per hour. The sudden surge in intensity caught me off guard, but I refused to back down, determined to rise to the challenge.
For a moment, silence hung heavy in the air, punctuated only by the rhythmic hum of the treadmill beneath my feet. Bruce's eyes narrowed slightly, a hint of intrigue flickering behind the mask as he contemplated the implications of my extraordinary abilities.
Finally, he spoke, his voice measured and composed. "Impressive," he remarked, his tone betraying none of the surprise I had expected. "Your physical capabilities are truly remarkable."
As he spoke, Bruce continued to jot down notes in his small notebook, his pen moving swiftly across the page as he recorded his observations. The scratching of the pen against paper was the only sound in the room, a stark contrast to the intensity of the training session.
There was a subtle shift in his demeanor, a subtle acknowledgment of the potential he saw in me. Despite his outward calm, I sensed a glimmer of excitement beneath the surface, a spark of curiosity that hinted at his eagerness to delve deeper into my abilities.
With a nod of approval, Bruce gestured for me to step off the treadmill, his mind already racing with plans for our next training session. As I complied, a sense of satisfaction washed over me, accompanied by a newfound determination to prove myself worthy of his mentorship.
Bruce reached out and stopped the machine, bringing the intense workout to a halt. He then closed his notebook, tucking it away in his pocket with a sense of finality, before turning his attention back to me.
"Next," Bruce announced, his voice carrying an air of authority, "I'm going to give you a strength assessment. I want to see how much and how long you can lift for."
His words hung in the air, punctuated by the subtle hum of the training equipment surrounding us. I nodded, acknowledging his instructions as I prepared myself for the next challenge.
Bruce led the way to a section of the training area dedicated to strength testing, where a variety of weights and machines awaited. He gestured for me to take a seat at one of the weight benches, his expression unreadable as he observed my every move, once again taking out his notes.
With a sense of anticipation, I positioned myself at the bench, ready to demonstrate my strength.
"Tell me when the weight gets too much for you," Bruce stated, as he began to rac the barbell one handed with a few small plates.
"Do you know the proper technique?"
"Yeah. I… saw a couple of videos online before."
In reality, I used to go to the gym religiously, but there was no need for him to know that.
Gripping the now 50 pound barbell, I began lifting up and down with ease. "Good," he commented, his tone encouraging. "Let's add some more weight."
With a quick adjustment, Bruce increased the weight to 100 pounds. I braced myself for the added challenge, feeling the strain as I lifted the heavier load. Despite the increased resistance, I maintained control, pushing through each repetition with determination.
"Not bad," Bruce remarked, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. "Let's see how you handle this."
He added another set of weights, bringing the total to 200 pounds. I took a deep breath, summoning all of my strength as I lifted the barbell, the weight pressing down on me as I strained against it. Bruce watched closely, his gaze unwavering as he made note of my performance.
"You're doing well," he acknowledged, his tone filled with approval. "But let's really put you to the test."
With a determined expression, Bruce added even more weight, increasing the load to a staggering 500 pounds. I eyed the barbell warily, feeling the weight of the challenge ahead. But with Bruce's encouragement ringing in my ears, I steeled myself for the task at hand.
I had no idea how I managed to make it as far as I had, but here I was with a barbell over me that was multiple times my body weight.
"Here goes nothing," I muttered, bracing myself as I prepared to lift the heavy barbell. With a heavy grunt of effort, I pushed upwards with all my might, the weight pressing down on me as I strained against it. But to my shock, I managed to lift it, the barbell rising steadily against the resistance.
Bruce watched in astonishment, his eyes widening slightly as he took note of my accomplishment. "Impressive," he admitted, a hint of admiration in his voice. "Looks like you're stronger than you gave yourself credit for."
I grinned, feeling a surge of pride at the praise from my mentor. "Thanks," I replied, somehow managing to get 10 reps in before my arms gave out on me.
Sitting up, I began feeling an unnatural vibration in my arms, chest, back, shoulders, and stomach. It reminded me of the same feeling I had after I ate Crocs arms and legs.
"I'm guessing that your lack of ability to sweat is also part of your powerset," Bruce questions.
"Strangely enough, yeah. It's kinda weird. I don't actually excrete waste. I don't pee or take dumps either."
"Is that a joke?" Bruce frowned, walking over to a squatting rack.
"No. I'm being quite literal. I can't even remember the last time I threw up either, even though I want to everytime I'm on the Gotham streets," I remarked, following Bruce over to a squatting rack.
"Remember? Are you implying that you weren't born with your powers?" Bruce questioned. I wasn't bothered by his questions. There was no need to feel nervous when he just genuinely was trying to understand me.
"Well, no. I wasn't. To be honest, I only got 'em recently. One day, I just opened my eyes and I was able to turn into different animals. On the same day, my hair changed textures, it ended up gaining blue streaks in it, and my eyes turned this glowing navy blue color."
Bruce listened intently, absorbing every detail of my explanation. His analytical mind was already piecing together various theories and possibilities, but he remained composed, allowing me to continue without interruption.
"Interesting," he mused, his voice betraying a hint of curiosity. "Have you noticed any patterns or triggers associated with these transformations? Any particular emotions or situations that seem to influence your abilities?"
"Well, like I said earlier, the tentacles come out when I'm mad. As for the transformations, I don't think so. If I was ever angry while I was a different species, it was because I was already angry in my human form. I got things handled in that respect."
Bruce nodded, his expression thoughtful as he processed my response. "Angered-induced tentacles," he murmured, jotting down a note in his notebook. "That's unlike anything I've ever heard of. And believe me, when I say this, That's coming from a person who's been to hell and back," He added.
I approached the hightech squat rack, eyeing the weights with a new confidence after excelling in the prior two workouts. Bruce adjusted the settings, loading the barbell with a modest 50 pounds to start.
"Alright, let's see how you handle squats," he said, his voice calm but expectant.
Taking a deep breath, I positioned myself under the barbell, feeling the weight press down on my shoulders. With a steady motion, I began to squat, focusing on maintaining proper form and technique.
As I descended into the squat, I could feel the strain on my muscles increasing with each repetition. Despite the initial ease of the weight, I knew that Bruce had more in store for me.
With each set, Bruce added more weight, challenging me to push beyond my limits. I gritted my teeth, determined to prove myself worthy of his training.
As the weight increased to 100 pounds, then 200, then 500, I felt the burn intensify, threatening to overwhelm me. But I refused to give in, drawing on every ounce of strength and determination within me.
Finally, as Bruce loaded the barbell with a staggering 1000 pounds, I hesitated for a moment, feeling the weight of the challenge before me. But then, with an intense flex of all of my muscles, I squared my shoulders and prepared to lift.
With a grunt of effort, I pushed upwards, the weight bearing down on me like a mountain. Every muscle in my body strained against the resistance, but somehow, miraculously, I managed to rise to the challenge, over and over again.
As I completed the final repetition, a wave of exhaustion washed over me and the vibrating sensation had made its way to my legs, leaving me physically fatigued and exhilarated. Bruce nodded in support, a look of genuine respect in his eyes.
"Well done, Ken," he said, his voice tinged with esteem. "You've exceeded my expectations multiple times in a matter of an hour."
I grinned, feeling a sense of pride swell within me. Despite the immense difficulty of the task, I had proven myself capable of facing even the most daunting challenges.
"What's next, Bruce?" I asked
After completing the strength assessment, Bruce's expression turned serious, his gaze piercing as he contemplated their next steps. "Before we even think about proceeding, we need to ensure your flexibility. Start by stretching," he commanded, his tone firm and unwavering as he led the way to another section of the Batcave.
As we walked, the dim lights of the cave cast eerie shadows on the rugged stone walls, emphasizing the gravity of our training.
Arriving at a large spacious training area with padded floors, Bruce wasted no time in giving orders. "Take your stance," he demands, sitting on the floor with is legs crossed.
"We need to warm you up properly. First, let me see how close you can get to a full split,"
"A what now?"
"You heard me. Slowly spread until you can't anymore."
I had never done a split in my entire life. I was intimidated to say the least, but I was ready to at least try; and so, I began inching my feet apart.
'Oh god.' I thought, biting my lip in pain as my loins began to feel like they were tearing apart. Fortunately, I knew that it was only in my head and didn't have to worry about any injury.
My legs spread wider and wider until I plopped down on the matted floor, somehow managing not to crush my manhood in the process.
"Done… I did it… What now?" I asked the unmoving Bruce.
"Next, you get up." He uttered.
"Ah… Great," I whispered in relief, but before I could put my hands on the ground, he stopped me.
"Without the use of your hands, Kenneth. You didn't think I was going to allow things to be that easy, did you?" He asked with a smirk.
"Shit," I mumbled.
After about 5 minutes of repetitive failure, I finally got to my feet, sore from exercise.
"Alright, what now?" I asked with a smile… A smile that dissipated after he voiced his next words.
"Now, do that 30 more times. If you falter, you have to start all over again from 1."
'THIS FUCKING ASS HOLE!' I shrieked internally. What made me more angry was the fact that I could see a corner of his lip curling.
*sigh*
'I signed up for this. I gotta see it through,' I thought, washing my hand over my face.
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…
After about an hour and 42 failed consecutive attempts, falling over and over again , I finally managed to successfully do my split exercises. Afterwards, Bruce had me condition my legs a little more by doing Pigeon Poses, Quad stretching, and Seated Splits. All of them had to be done perfectly. The more and more he made me do, the more I began feeling like an actual gymnast.
He didn't just sit by and lazily watch either. He actually joined in in order to guide me in how they should have been done, like a real instructor.
"Good. Now that your lower body is limber, let's do the same to the rest of your body," He said, laying down, readying himself for another pose.
"What I'm about to show you is a bridge pose. Follow, just as you have," The man announced.
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"Wall Walks."
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"Puppy Pose."
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"Seated Forward Fold with Clasped Hands."
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I had followed his lead, mimicking his movements as best I could, feeling the tension in my muscles gradually loosen with each stretch. Bruce's critiques were harsh but necessary, pushing me to push past my limits with each repetition.
As I reached for the sky, Bruce's voice echoed in the cavern, urging me to stretch further, to push my body beyond its limits. His coaching was relentless, demanding nothing short of perfection as he guided me through a series of dynamic stretches and deep stretches, each designed to improve my flexibility and agility.
Despite the physical strain, I persevered, pushing myself to match Bruce's intensity with every stretch. The imaginary sweat dripped from my brow, mingling with the dust of the Batcave floor as I stretched and twisted, determined to prove myself worthy of the training.
"Looks like you managed to keep up with me on this as well," Bruce voiced with satisfaction while I laid on the ground, feeling like a rubber band that had exhausted all of its elasticity.
"Looks like… do we have more stretches, or are you still trying to turn my body into a piece of taffy," I replied, slowly sitting up to see the man smiling.
Once satisfied with our warm-up, Bruce nodded in approval, jumping to his feet without the aid of his hands, signaling the start of the training session.
"Now, Ken," Bruce began, his voice firm yet encouraging, "we're going to start with some Taekwondo drills. This martial art focuses on powerful kicks and precise movements. It requires discipline, focus, and control."
As Bruce spoke, I observed, taking in the intricate footwork and the explosive power behind each strike. The air crackled with energy as Bruce executed a series of kicks, his movements swift and precise.
"Your turn," Bruce instructed, gesturing for me to step forward. "We'll start with some basic kicks."
I nodded, feeling a surge of determination as I mimicked Bruce's stance. With each movement, I focused on my balance, my breathing steady and controlled. As I performed the drills, I could feel the muscles in my legs and core engaging, the movements becoming more fluid with each repetition.
Bruce watched closely, offering guidance and corrections where needed. His keen eye caught every misstep…every hesitation…. Literally every single one, no matter how near perfect they were. He continued pushing me to strive for perfection.
"Good," Bruce praised, his voice echoing in the cavernous training area. "But we're not done yet. Let's move on to some more advanced techniques."
With that, Bruce led me through a series of increasingly challenging drills, each one pushing me to my limits. The intensity of the training session was palpable, the air buzzing with the sound of fists striking pads and feet pounding against the floor.
Bruce gestured for me to take my stance, my feet shoulder-width apart, my body poised and ready. With a deep breath, I prepared myself for the next drill, focusing on the task at hand.
"Next, we're going to work on the roundhouse kick," Bruce declared, his voice calm but authoritative. "It's a fundamental technique in Taekwondo, known for its power and versatility. Pay close attention to your form and follow through with each kick."
I nodded, trying to ignore the knot of tension that had formed in my stomach. The roundhouse kick seemed deceptively simple, but I knew from watching Bruce that it required precision and control.
Bruce exemplified the technique, his movements fluid and effortless. With a sharp pivot of his supporting foot, he whipped his leg around in a powerful arc, his heel connecting with an imaginary target with a satisfying thud.
"Your turn," Bruce said, stepping back to give me room. "Remember to pivot on your supporting foot and chamber your kicking leg before extending it."
I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves as I prepared to execute the kick. With a shaky start, I shifted my weight onto my supporting foot, but my balance felt off-kilter. As I attempted to chamber my leg, I struggled to maintain control, my movements awkward and uncoordinated.
Bruce watched closely, his expression unreadable as he observed my attempts. With each failed attempt, I could feel frustration building inside me, the pressure to perform weighing heavily on my shoulders.
"Focus, Ken," Bruce urged, his voice a steady anchor in the midst of my turmoil. "Visualize your target and commit to the movement. You have the strength and the skill, but you need to trust yourself."
Taking his words to heart, I closed my eyes for a moment, centering myself before trying again. This time, I focused on the mental image of a punching bag, imagining the satisfying impact of my kick connecting with its surface.
With renewed determination, I launched into the roundhouse kick once more, my movements more fluid and controlled. Though my form still lacked finesse, I could feel a slight improvement with each repetition, a glimmer of progress in the face of adversity.
As the training session neared its end, Bruce glanced at the clock on the wall, his eyes widening in surprise as he realized how much time had passed. "Well, would you look at that," he muttered to himself, a faint smile quirking the corners of his lips. "We started at 5 am, and now it's nearly 4 pm. Time really does fly when you're focused."
Turning his attention back to me, Bruce offered a sheepish shrug. "Sorry about that, Ken. I lost track of time. Honestly, I got a little swept up by your performance and was enthralled by your potential." he admitted, his tone apologetic. "But it seems like we made good use of the day."
I nodded, feeling a sense of accomplishment despite my exhaustion. Getting praised by him literally meant the world to me. "Definitely. Thanks for pushing me, Bruce," I said, my voice genuine as I expressed my gratitude for his guidance.
Bruce nodded in acknowledgment, his expression thoughtful. "We should start using the 24-hour clock for efficiency," he suggested, a hint of practicality in his tone. "It'll help us better manage our time and schedule our training sessions more effectively."
"I don't see a problem with that," I replied.
While Bruce began to wipe the sweat off his face with a rag, I heard a noise from upstairs.As I stood in the training arena with Bruce, my super hearing picked up the faint sound of footsteps echoing through the corridors of Wayne Manor above us. Despite being a hundred feet away, the sound was clear and distinct, signaling the approach of someone familiar.
"Hey, Bruce," I interrupted, turning my attention to my mentor. "Dick's on his way down. He just opened the doors to your study."
Bruce's brow furrowed slightly in surprise before he nodded, acknowledging my observation. "It is about time for him to get back from school. Thanks for letting me know, Ken," he replied, his voice calm and collected as always. "That hearing of yours is definitely gonna prove useful in the future."
"I think so too," I commented.
Moments later, the heavy door to the training arena swung open, revealing Dick standing in the doorway, dressed in his school uniform with a backpack slung over his shoulder. His expression was a mix of curiosity and excitement as he took in the sight of the training equipment and the two of us standing in the center of the room.
"Hey, Bruce, Ken," Dick greeted, his voice tinged with anticipation. "Mind if I join in on the training?"
Bruce glanced at me, a silent question passing between us before he turned back to Dick with a small smile. "Actually, Dick, I have a different idea," Bruce replied, his tone thoughtful. "How about you and Ken spar for a bit? But there's a catch: you can only use taekwondo techniques."
Dick's eyes widened in surprise at the suggestion, but he quickly nodded, his competitive spirit rising to the challenge. "Sure, Bruce. That sounds like fun," he agreed, stepping further into the arena.
As Bruce suggested that Dick and I spar, a wave of nerves swept over me. This was my first day of martial arts training, and the idea of facing off against someone who had been training for months filled me with apprehension.
"Uh, spar with Dick?" I echoed, trying to mask my unease with casualness.
Bruce nodded, his expression serious but encouraging. "Yes, it'll be a good opportunity for you to put what you've learned today into practice."
I glanced over at Dick, who was already stretching and warming up with practiced ease. Despite his age, he moved with a confidence and agility that made me feel even more intimidated.
Taking a deep breath, I tried to steady my nerves as Bruce outlined the rules of the spar. "Remember, Ken," he said, his voice firm but supportive. "Stick to taekwondo techniques only. No transformations. Focus on your footwork and keep your guard up."
"Even then, don't I still have too much an advantage?" I asked, referring to my strength and stamina.
"Trust me… you don't. Dick knows how to turn an enemy's Strength against themselves. He's a master at over 13 different martial arts already at the age of 10, he's a level 3 Gymnast, and to top that off, he's very clever. If anyone's at a disadvantage, it's you," Bruce stated matter of factly.
I nodded, my palms sweating as I stepped onto the mat opposite Dick. As the spar began, I couldn't shake the feeling of being out of my depth, but I pushed through the nerves, determined to give it my best shot.
Dick then changed out of his clothes into basketball shorts and a tank top, getting more comfortable.
As I faced off against Dick on the mat, the tension in the air was palpable. Dick, clad in basketball shorts, stood before me with a confident grin, while I shifted nervously, my muscles tense with anticipation. Bruce watched from the sidelines, his gaze unwavering as the spar began.
With a deep breath, I launched into action, throwing a swift roundhouse kick towards Dick's midsection. But he easily sidestepped, countering with a series of quick jabs aimed at my chest. I managed to block most of them, but a few slipped through, earning me a light tap.
"Nice try, Ken!" Dick encouraged, his voice ringing out over the sound of our movements. "Now watch this!"
With lightning speed, Dick executed a perfect front kick, aiming for my torso. I barely managed to dodge, but his foot grazed my side, earning him a point in our friendly match.
Determined not to let him take the lead, I launched into a flurry of kicks and punches, each movement precise and calculated. I unleashed a powerful sidekick, aiming for Dick's thigh, but he expertly blocked it, his agility allowing him to evade my attacks with ease, but I could tell, even though he blocked my attack, he was still hurting.
"Geez you got some legs on you!" He said, rubbing his forearm. "You weren't exaggerating about that strength of yours, that's for sure." He stated, rubbing himself until the stinging stopped.
"You tryna distract me?" I uttered.
"Nope. Just giving you your roses. You almost broke my arm." He chuckled, but then, he suddenly gained a serious expression.
"That just means from this moment forward, I can't let you touch me." As those words escaped his lips, his posture and entire demeanor changed. He was serious. And so was I.
Charging forward, I fainted a punch, then went for a leg sweep, something that I had seen on T.V, but Dick saw the kick coming from a mile away, deciding to jump over my entire body, using my shoulders as leverage for a flip.
He then kicked my back, causing me to fall to my knees.
Getting up and readying myself once more, I began to see why Bruce valued the boy so much.
As the spar continued, Dick's skill became increasingly apparent. He seamlessly transitioned between parrying and countering maneuvers, instead of taking my attacks head on. For a while, he tried to tire me out, but once he realized I wasn't running out of stamina, he switched to offensive strikes, keeping me on my toes at every turn.
Despite my best efforts, I struggled to keep up, my movements hesitant and clumsy compared to his fluid grace.
But Dick wasn't just focused on winning; he was also committed to helping me improve. Between exchanges, he offered guidance and encouragement, pointing out areas where I could refine my technique and offering tips to enhance my performance.
With each round, I grew more confident and more attuned to the rhythm of the spar. I began to anticipate Dick's movements, adapting my strategy accordingly and landing a few well-timed strikes of my own.
Dick's speed and skill were overwhelming, and I found myself struggling to keep up. Each time I attempted to land a strike, he effortlessly dodged or countered, leaving me feeling frustrated and outmatched.
But with Bruce's encouragement and guidance from the sidelines, I persevered, learning from each exchange and slowly gaining confidence with each passing moment. And as the spar came to an end, I couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in how far I had come, even in just a single day of training.
As we caught our breath after the intense spar, Bruce stepped forward, his expression thoughtful as he assessed our performance. "You both showed promise," he began, his voice carrying a note of authority that commanded our attention. "But there's still much room for improvement."
His words were direct, yet not without a touch of empathy. "Ken," he continued, turning his gaze to me, "Your strength is undeniable, to an absurd extent. Your enemies won't expect it coming from such a small body. It will be a magnificent tool fighting against foes, but you need to work on your agility and reaction time. They need serious work. Don't rely solely on your power," He stated, placing his hand on my shoulder.
"Taekwondo and most other martial arts require finesse and precision. Multiple times in the spar, I saw you losing your composure… you have an ego. Although I can tell you don't outwardly like to show it, it's very noticeable. Humble yourself or the enemy will do it for you."
He was right. I did have an ego. One the size of the moon. I was borderline enraged that I only got a few hits on Dick. He was 10. I was a grown man. But I knew that that was only my inferiority complex talking, shrouding my judgment. If it hadn't, I would have been more effective today.
I could only nod at Bruce, taking his critique in stride. "Got it," I replied, determined to heed his advice and work on myself.
Bruce then turned his attention to Dick, his tone firm but not unkind. "Dick, your agility and speed are impressive, but don't underestimate the importance of strategy and technique. Sometimes, brute force alone won't cut it, as you've seem to have realized somewhat in this fight today. As for your psych."
Dick nodded, his expression serious as he absorbed Bruce's words. "I understand," he replied, his voice tinged with determination. "I'll focus on refining my technique and being more strategic in my approach."
Bruce nodded in approval, his gaze shifting between the two of us. "Good," he said, his tone softer now, filled with a sense of pride in our potential. "Remember, martial arts is not just about physical strength, but also mental discipline and control."
And as we stood there, soaking in Bruce's wisdom and guidance, I felt a renewed sense of determination to continue training and honing my skills.
Dick then approached me with a curious gleam in his eyes. "Ken, since I won, I wanted to know, is it okay if I watch you turn into an animal?"
I chuckled, amused by his request. "Sure thing. Just so you know, I would have transformed if you just asked normally. What do you want me to turn into?"
Dick pondered for a moment before replying, "A Doberman."
"Sure, that's not hard. I mean, I never transformed into a dog before, but it should be simple." I replied casually, beginning to undress without a second thought.
But as I started to strip down, Dick's eyes widened in shock, and he hastily covered his eyes. "What the heck? Why are you getting naked?!"
I shrugged, unfazed by his reaction. "If I don't want my clothes to rip, I have to do this."
With a bemused expression, Dick reluctantly peeked through his fingers.
As I focused on the image of a Doberman in my mind, a surge of energy coursed through my body, accompanied by a faint blue glow that illuminated the room. With a sudden burst of power, I transformed into a massive, 12-foot-tall Doberman, my entire form shrouded in sleek, jet-black fur that seemed to absorb the light around me.
My eyes, now glowing with an intense blue light, pierced through the darkness, exuding an otherworldly aura. Blue electric currents crackled across my body, adding to the sense of power and mystique that surrounded me.
Dick couldn't help but take a step back, his eyes wide with a mixture of awe and apprehension as he beheld my imposing new form. The sheer size and presence of the transformed Doberman were enough to give anyone pause, especially someone who had never witnessed such a display of power before.
Sensing Dick's unease, Bruce stepped forward, his voice calm and reassuring. "Don't be afraid, Dick," he said, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Ken can control his transformations. Although he's still getting used to them, he's making progress."
Despite Bruce's comforting words, I could sense his underlying vigilance, the readiness to intervene if I were to lose control. After all, my shape-shifting abilities were still a relatively new development, and even I couldn't predict the full extent of their power.
With a focused effort, I began to revert to my human form, the blue glow fading away as the electric currents subsided. In moments, I stood once again before them, my human form restored but with a lingering sense of the power I had just wielded.
Dick couldn't contain his excitement, his eyes still wide with wonder as he exclaimed, "That was so cool!" His initial apprehension seemed to have given way to genuine awe, and I couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm.
Bruce nodded in agreement, a faint smile playing on his lips as he observed the scene before him. "Indeed," he said, his tone reflecting a mix of pride and admiration. "Ken's abilities are truly remarkable."
As I basked in the aftermath of my transformation, I couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at having impressed both Bruce and Dick. It was a small victory, but it served as a reminder of the progress I had made and the potential that lay ahead on my journey of self-discovery and mastery of my abilities.
As Bruce concluded his observations, he turned to Dick with a nod. "Dick, proceed with your daily workout regimen. I'll be upstairs," he instructed, his tone firm yet not unkind.
Dick acknowledged the directive with a quick nod and headed off to the training area, his mind already shifting gears to the physical exertion ahead.
I seized the opportunity to tag along with Bruce, hoping to have a moment to discuss some pressing matters. "Mind if I join you?" I asked, falling into step beside him as we ascended the stairs.
Bruce glanced at me, his expression neutral. "Make it brief," he replied tersely, his attention already diverted to whatever awaited him upstairs.
"I will," I assured him, determined to keep our conversation concise.
Once we reached Bruce's study, I took a moment to gather my thoughts before broaching the subject. "Do you happen to have any books on sewing?" I inquired.
"Why?" He asked with a raised brow.
"Well, eventually, I'll be a hero. I'll need to come up with my own identity. There can't be another Batman after all."
Bruce nodded thoughtfully at my explanation.
"One day, I'll have to move on my own… forge my own path. With that in mind, I'd like to do that with my own bare hands. I wanna make a suit just for me, and only me… I want to protect people with the impression that I went out of my way to do it. And to do that, I'll need art books too. I'm not really good at drawing. But with time, I can grow to be."
"I understand," he replied, his tone acknowledging my determination.
"I'll have Alfred gather the necessary resources for you," Bruce continued, already mentally drafting a list of items to aid in my endeavor. "He'll ensure you have everything you need in your room."
Gratitude welled up inside me as I thanked Bruce for his support, feeling a surge of emotion at the realization of the opportunities he was providing.
Bruce's gaze softened, a rare display of warmth crossing his features. "My ultimate goal is to make Gotham City a safer place for everyone," he explained, his voice tinged with determination. "And that includes those under my roof. You're part of that vision now."
With a nod of understanding, I reciprocated Bruce's sentiment. "Thank you," I murmured, the weight of his words resonating deeply within me as I contemplated the responsibility that came with his trust.
"Alright then…"
I then began to make my way upstairs, prepared to take on the role of hero. And with that, 3 months passed in the blink of an eye.