Chapter 406: I Won't Say Who's Unlucky (Part 1)_1

An English folk song emits from the counter of a dimly lit pub, accompanied by the gentle sound of a cassette tape unwinding. The music abruptly halts, a hand rests on the radio, and the long-haired bartender taps the somewhat malfunctioning relic, shaking his head in despair.

The tinkling of the bell over the pub door calls him over. As he turns around, a blond man falls drunkenly onto a nearby table. The bartender sighs in resignation, stepping forward to shake the man's shoulder and ask, "Mr. Constantine, are you alright?"

"The radio... why has it stopped?" Constantine mumbles drunkenly. The bartender picks up a glass from the shelf, wipes it as he explains, "That old radio belonged to the owner's father. It's ancient, so it breaks down a lot."

Constantine doesn't lift his head, just raises a hand. Under the pub lights, his fingers are long and graceful, contrasting starkly with his otherwise disheveled appearance.

He snaps his fingers lightly, the radio crackles, a burst of sparks, then the music starts up again.

The bartender jumps back in surprise, retreating a few steps. He's not spooked by the magical spectacle, for Constantine is a regular here. The locals all know this desolate man possesses uncanny abilities.

The bartender places the cleaned glass back on the bar, inquires, "The usual?"

"Yes, and an extra glass of ginger juice."

"Ginger juice?" The bartender's expression is dubious as he retorts, "You mean that remedy for the cold? We only serve liquor here..."

"Hand me a glass."

Constantine finally straightens up from the counter. Clutching his head, the high from his medication hasn't quite worn off, leaving his vision slightly blurred. He sees a shining glass placed on the counter, points at it lightly, and it fills with ginger juice.

Just as he finishes, a silhouette emerges from a shadowy corner. Constantine does not turn around, instead he sidesteps, as if to make room for someone else.

The dark figure approaches. He is clad entirely in black armor, a black cape billowing behind him, and pointed ears atop his head. Constantine leans his head against his hand, turns to look at the figure and says, "If I designed the outfit, I'd leave the chin uncovered too... you can't drink otherwise... cough..."

Batman picks up the glass, strong ginger aroma filling his nostrils. Seeing Batman's expression, Constantine chuckles, "Didn't you like replacing booze with ginger juice? Not planning to take a sip?"

Batman puts the glass back down. Constantine reaches for the actual drink offered by the bartender. He grimaces after a gulp as if the cold has hit him. He murmurs, "...Really something, huh? Never had a drink as cold as the ones in Gotham's bars anywhere else..."

"What's your secret?" Constantine directs his inquiry to the bartender.

"Gotham's cold chain logistics are quite renowned." The bartender continues wiping the glass, "Just this year alone, four large ice factories have sprung up. The ice cubes here are of great quality; not only are they particularly cold, but they also do not melt easily."

Constantine takes another sip, Batman watches him. Constantine shakes his head, then says, "I know what you want to ask. Magic... magic..."

He slurs slightly, tilting his head to the side as he rests it on his arm, "All these days, you've been following me, seeking an answer. But, I've already told you, lad, don't think of using magic to resurrect someone..."

Batman continues staring at him in silence, Constantine prophesizes as if he knew all along, "I know, people like you never totally rule out a possibility without understanding its principles."

"But, in your pursuit of understanding these principles, you'll have to bear a much heavier cost than you'd expect."

Constantine lifts his glass but doesn't take a sip, instead he presses it against his face, as though the cold glass could clear his mind a bit. He opines, "I was just like you once. Full of curiosity about these things. I thought, had I not pursued this, how would I know it wasn't my way out?"

"But that's magic for you. It lures you into exploring, pursuing. Once you're in, you lose everything. You realize that the process of losing everything is magic itself."

"It's not equivalent exchange." Constantine shakes his head, adding, "Resurrections aren't about specific sacrifices. It's the whole process of resurrection itself that causes you to lose everything."

The English folk song tinkles away in the background, Batman's hand around the glass looking distressingly juvenile. His physique was all grown up but the joints of his fingers gave away that he was still a teenager.

Seeing Batman's hands, Constantine is reminded of his younger selves. That youthful, naive, fit self, like a summer oak.

He thinks to himself, thank goodness he met Batman at this age. If their ages had been swapped, or if they had met each other at the same age, it would have been pure chaos.

This is the first time Batman stayed in a Gotham bar for such a long time. The melody keeps playing in his mind, bringing memories of English countryside to the fore. He doesn't remember when, but he must have heard the tune from Alfred's lips at some point.

The image of the old butler crosses Batman's mind. He gets up from the bar stool, puts down his glass and then exits the pub.

On his way back to Wayne Manor, Batman or rather his acute senses, can't help but notice that this winter is especially harsh. So much so, that the sight of Wayne Manor's familiar architecture emits an inner warmth.

However, Batman's actions when opening his front door were overly cautious. Even when crossing the courtyard, he no longer had the briskness usually associated with his movements. Instead, he stepped lightly, slowly walking inside.

Upon reaching the manor's staircase, Batman glanced at the grappling hook fitted to his hand. Typically, he would simply launch the hook to the balcony and within a single leap, he'd land on the balcony and return to his room.

But this time, he chose to use the stairs.

Expecting Batman to actually use the stairs was quite a stretch. More often than not, he'd use his various methods to appear in places he had no business being, regardless of whether there was a way up or not.

Therefore, while he was tiptoeing his way up the stairs, he did not notice that the handrail of the old stairway of Wayne Manor had become loose. As he reached the third floor and was about to ascend the final step, he instinctively leaned on the handrail. Then, an extremely faint creak sounded underneath his hand.

A sudden alarm went off in Batman's mind. He swiftly turned his head and indeed, a small shadow came rushing from the end of the second-floor corridor.

It was a little girl with blue eyes and black hair that strikingly resembled him, now dressed in her pajamas. She rubbed her eyes in a daze and then in the dark night, her eyes that emitted a faint light were on Batman.

One might expect Batman's first move in this scene to be reaching for the Batman dart at his waist, followed by activating his night vision for a visual advantage.

But this time, his first move was to raise his hand and close all but one finger, leaving only the index finger, then placed it in front of his mouth, gesturing a "shush" to the little girl.

The little girl furrowed her brows, sniffed hard, and gave a somewhat puzzled expression. She quickly climbed up the stairs to Batman's side, taking in big gulps of air.

Showing her a shaking head, just as Batman stretched out his hand intending to cover her mouth, the little girl opened her full of fangs and released a earth-shattering scream, "Wahhhhhhh!!!!!"

In an instant, Wayne Manor was ablaze with lights.

A few minutes later, Batman, cradling Aisha, appeared in the Manor's living room. Aisha bit onto Batman's wrist guard while he grimaced. To Alfred who was sitting across from him he said, "No, I didn't drink."

The old butler cast his gaze on Aisha. Aisha, who normally didn't understand human speech, seemed suddenly imbued with infinite wisdom. She let go of her bite, pounced onto the other side of the sofa, all the while pointing at Batman and continuously making "wah wah wah" noises.

Dick, with eyes closed, stumbled down the stairs from above, obviously extremely sleepy.

Once he had descended, he stretched and yawned. Alfred gave him a pat on his back and told him, "You can go back to bed, sir. There will be no more noise to disturb you."

Dick's eyes were still closed but he shook his head. He went over to Batman's side, grabbing his arm he said, "You didn't go to 'that place' again, did you?"

"I didn't," Batman immediately denied. But Aisha continued to raise her voice, incessantly screeching. Batman, with a sense of helplessness, went over and picked up Aisha. As Dick rubbed his eyes, he said, "Aisha said you smell like alcohol, did you go to a bar?"

Batman remained silent, not saying a word. He lowered his head to look at Aisha, who could only let out unintelligible screams.

Batman glanced at Aisha, then at Dick, and finally at Alfred, who had been fixedly staring at him. He wondered if the three had some kind of secret language that he was unaware of. He couldn't discern any meaningful information from Aisha's screams.

Aisha tried to jump out of Batman's arms again, then ran to Alfred and tugged at his trousers, pointing to Batman and continuously "wah wah wah-ing".

After Alfred picked her up, she immediately became quiet. Holding Aisha, Alfred said to Batman, "Sir, although you are now a father of two, you have not truly matured."

"Constantly visiting places unsuitable for minors cannot set a good example for the children."

Perhaps it was Batman's imagination, but he sensed a hint of murderous intent in Alfred's tone when he heard,

"I do not know how that London-based scoundrel named Constantine managed to entice you, but I hope he does not further tarnish the reputation of his hometown in what little time he has left."

"Otherwise, as his compatriot, I will feel obliged to teach him the manners of a gentleman."

At the moment, a heavily-drunk Constantine in a bar felt a chilling shiver down his spine without knowing why. He shivered violently, sensing the immediate surroundings, and yet found no danger.

This chilling sensation followed him like a shadow, yet its source remained unknown. Constantine, helpless, looked left and right. Suddenly, he saw the cup of ginger ale he had conjured. He picked up the glass, pinched his nose, and downed it all.

The spiciness finally brought warmth to him. He coughed heavily and sneezed, sweating profusely.