His Alice (Part 1)

As Batman, Bruce Wayne knew Gotham City as intimately as he knew his own body.

The Gotham that was never written about in the papers, the Gotham that was never reported on television… beneath all the rumors about Gotham, amid the endless crime and eternal madness, there existed another side of Gotham.

This Gotham was steeped in the night.

He knew exactly where to fire his grappling gun to latch onto the head of a gargoyle; he knew the precise number of steps it would take to reach the world-famous Bat-Signal after leaping onto the rooftop of the Gotham City Police Department; he knew that the third-to-last manhole cover deep within Ninth Avenue concealed a hidden door leading to Gotham's underground transit system.

He knew everything about Gotham—

He knew how long it would take to crawl out of the shattered remains of his uniform at the base of the St. John's clock tower if he didn't throw the right-sized rope from its peak—twenty-seven minutes; he knew exactly how many incisions were needed to extract a bullet lodged deep in his side if he wasn't ready with a syringe when facing Two-Face; he knew how many bones he had to break in his body to take down twenty hired mercenaries on his own…

He knew that he was Gotham.

He bore the same sins as Gotham.

He was lost in the same endless night as Gotham.

…Many years ago, a child walked out of an alley behind the theater.

From that moment, Gotham gave birth to its own monster.

His black cape unfurled in the deep Gotham night, and he leaped from the top of the gargoyle perched on the skyscraper, as though spreading his arms to embrace the darkness that belonged to Gotham.

As flesh and blood, Bruce Wayne can be destroyed.

But as a symbol that represents terror and nightmares, Batman will live forever in this city.

The Dark Knight is the undying legend of Gotham.

The criminals of Gotham will forever be shrouded in the fear of the executioner.

He is their Damocles' sword.

This sword hangs above the heads of all the criminals in Gotham, making them think twice before taking the next step toward committing a crime, with their hearts pounding in dread.

—Dread of the Dark Knight's wrath, whether it might be like the rage of Achilles, hurling them into the depths of hell.

Yet, yet...

When Achilles' heel was struck by the poisoned arrow...

The one who was once so powerful that he became one with the darkness, a solitary figure standing as a warning in the long night—

Now, under his fallen cape, he lay pierced by a thousand arrows.

...

He was going to attend three funerals.

The first funeral was to bury his adopted son, Jason Todd.

On that devastating day, when he arrived at the warehouse, the Joker had already shattered every bone in Jason's body with a crowbar.

Even as Batman caught him, the green-haired madman was still laughing.

He laughed so hard to the point that he rolled on the ground, he even wiped his filthy, white makeup-streaked tears on Batman's black cape.

And there he was, cradling the lifeless body of his child, his black cape pooling on the ground like ink spreading over the surface.

His trembling fingers reached out to touch the boy's hair.

He had never touched his hair like this before, and so he never realized—this child, with his constantly angry, defiant face, had such surprisingly had soft black hair.

This boy, who spent his life carrying a rebellious, cynical attitude, always seems at odds with the world, now in death, had found a long-overdue peace.

In that alleyway on a night long past, Bruce had approached the Batmobile, and there, huddled like a young leopard caught by a hunter, was this frail, thin body.

A street urchin covered in grime, trying to remove the tires from the Batmobile to sell for cash.

Gripping the wrench tightly in his hand, the two wide eyes hidden behind the car's wheel lifted to meet his, and those blue-gray eyes were startlingly clear and sharp.

Batman stepped closer, his black cape trailing behind him, embodying all the terrifying legends of the Dark Knight—stories whispered in fear, warnings of the dark avenger who stalked Gotham's streets and alleys to hunt down the guilty.

But this street kid only looked up at him defiantly, as if terrified, yet determined not to back down.

His body language seemed to say: I stole your tires, but I won't run. I'll stand right here. I'm not going anywhere.

Batman stopped in front of him, his steely blue eyes behind the bat mask fixed on the boy, exuding a silent pressure that seemed to make the air itself solidify.

—In the boy's young face, Bruce saw something deep within the soul.

A refusal to submit, an anger and resistance toward fate.

This kid had a defiant spirit that was refusing to surrender to the world.

And in that defiance, something stirred within the Dark Knight's own blackened soul, reflecting a glimpse of his former self.

So he took him away.

The boy still thought he was going to be punished.

He struggled desperately on the Batmobile, tearing at the cape and kicking wildly at the control panel.

Batman slammed his palm onto the dashboard, grabbing the little troublemaker by the neck.

In a voice as deep and gravelly as a hellish demon that was designed to intimidate criminals, he threatened him not to challenge his authority.

...He adopted him as his second son.

Yet he kept the boy's original name: Jason Todd.

Jason and Dick initially fought constantly.

The two boys' eyes blazed with anger, each unable to tolerate the other, and they often ended up with bruised faces, covered in bandages.

But at some point, their relationship thawed.

They stopped fighting and even began to cooperate occasionally, though their combined antagonism was now directed at him.

Both boys frequently clashed with him.