Bruce's New Mission

It was a sunny and breezy afternoon, the kind that even made Gotham feel somewhat "bright."

The city, during the day, appeared as glamorous as its surface suggested—though, of course, not entirely. After all, no one could predict when terrorists might decide that this lovely weather was the perfect opportunity to pull off a grand heist and line their pockets.

But even though this city had one of the highest crime rates in the United States, it didn't seem to affect its thriving trade. At every moment, opportunists from all over the world tried to find a chance to make their fortunes here.

To them, a high crime rate was just one factor, not the worst. Besides, the other cities in this country weren't much better off.

Maybe this was one of the reasons why, in the future, the number of superheroes around the world would skyrocket.

As the saying goes, where there's demand, there's a market.

Perhaps it was just an inevitable trend.

The Williams Children's Home, located in the Upper East Side, wasn't just the largest orphanage in Gotham—it had quite a reputation across the entire state of New Jersey.

Because this orphanage was the state's largest adoption agency, it had several branches in other cities besides its main institution in Gotham, all under government protection. With its well-established facilities and systems, families looking to adopt were more inclined to choose such an institution.

That afternoon, the children in the orphanage sat in neat rows in a classroom, singing nursery rhymes together with the teacher standing at the front. It was a classic American nursery rhyme, about animals on a farm—simple lyrics, full of childish fun.

"The cows on the farm go moo, moo, moo.

Moo, moo, moo, moo, moo, moo.

The cows on the farm go moo, moo, moo.

All day long.

The pigs on the farm go oink, oink, oink…"

...

"Look at them, how adorable the children are."

"Indeed. Seeing these innocent smiles makes me feel as if my soul has been blessed by the priest at the church."

"Haha, I think you'll soon have a little angel of your own, if you're willing."

"..."

At the open door of the classroom, a plain-looking middle-aged man was exchanging pleasantries with the staff.

While nodding in response to the conversation, the man's gaze swept across the innocent faces of the children, lingering briefly on each one. On the surface, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. These orphans showed no visible signs of mistreatment. Of course, if it were that obvious, Marigold Williams wouldn't have been able to build this orphanage to such a scale during her tenure.

Darkness and decay often hid beneath shiny exteriors.

He thought this to himself, his eyes finally resting on a boy seated in the last row, who had amber eyes and looked about ten years old.

Timid, fearful, lacking a sense of security, and showing faint signs of social withdrawal.

The middle-aged man, who was also knowledgeable in psychology—no, It should be Batman—silently analyzed the situation.

Something was clearly on his mind, but outwardly, he maintained a calm smile as he asked the staff, "Could you introduce me to that boy?"

As he spoke, he extended his hand, pointing toward the boy with amber eyes.

The staff member followed his gaze and paused, then awkwardly replied, "We can't hide anything from you, as all of this will be recorded in the files. That boy's name is Reggae, and he was adopted once. But after getting into a fight with his classmates at school, the adoptive family returned him here."

"However, we believe the reason for his behavior is that we failed in our guidance. Reggae still has the potential to become a good child. Are you sure you want to choose him?"

Though the staff member said this, it was probably just a nice-sounding remark. After all, the job of an orphanage was to promote the children like products, not to admit that a child was beyond hope.

From the boy's facial expression and body language, it seemed that after being returned once, he wasn't treated well in this already suspicious orphanage.

Of course, this was just a guess, something that needed to be verified later.

Bruce Wayne deliberately acted as if he was hesitating before saying, "I'd still like to speak with the child in person."

"Alright, please wait a moment. You're truly a kind-hearted person," the staff member said with a smile before stepping into the classroom. They first asked the teacher for permission, then brought the boy named Reggae out.

"Make sure to behave well, little one," the staff member said, gently patting Reggae on the head. The boy lowered his head and muttered a soft "mm-hmm."

"…"

If Bruce wasn't mistaken, at the moment the staff member's hand touched the boy's head, the child gave a slight, fearful shiver.

Of course, this wasn't immediately obvious. If it were, anyone could spot the issue. It took someone as perceptive as him—a master of psychology—to notice.

Good. Another clue to support his suspicions. He narrowed his eyes slightly and made a mental note.

Avery's investigation had been relatively accurate.

Looking at the boy in front of him, Bruce knelt down and said, "Don't be afraid, kid. Tell me about what you usually do..."

Bruce subtly began his line of questioning.

...

Meanwhile...

After Bruce Wayne had safely left, Avery didn't follow him. Instead, he began helping his father prepare dinner.

First, the appetizers. Normally, that would include an aperitif and some snacks.

But since Bruce Wayne didn't drink, Avery watched as Alfred stubbornly prepared a glass of that damned healthy milk for his employer.

"..."

Oh well, even though the old butler was technically retired, no one in this household could really argue with him. Besides, considering Batman's disregard for the human need for rest and his habit of staying up all night, he did need to take care of his health. Better that than breaking a bone from osteoporosis in a fight due to a calcium deficiency.