Chapter 15: The Troublemaker

Due to Kaito Haruno's report, the police quickly cleaned up the remaining mess. With witnesses and evidence all in place, and a gang of repeat offenders involved, it was straightforward: they were detained first, then sentenced, and finally sent off to serve time in prison. It was simple and clear-cut.

However, Dick, who had another identity, was curious about the masked knight in blue armor that only existed in the mouths of the gangsters. His style was very similar to that of his master, leaving no trace of his existence except for the accounts of those who had been attacked. However, his methods seemed somewhat inexperienced, as the criminals involved had not sustained significant injuries—at most, a few broken ribs. That hardly counted for much; Dick knew well the dark history of his master.

He would often claim not to use guns and not to kill. But the question remained: how many of those who had encountered his master were still able to live normal lives? Most bore some physical or psychological scars, and Arkham Asylum was practically compiling a fan club of his victims. Still, there remained a long list of others waiting for his master to deal with.

"Hey, partner, what are you thinking about?" Claire snapped Dick back to reality with a playful tap, pulling him from his thoughts.

"Nothing much, just wondering if this person they keep mentioning is real or not," Dick admitted candidly.

"You think they made him up?" Claire raised an eyebrow, not believing her partner could think that way.

"No, I'm just curious about what this guy aims to achieve by taking down these criminals. His actions seem illogical."

"What do you mean?" Claire blinked in surprise. To her, all masked heroes seemed the same—acting recklessly without considering the consequences. As long as they knew someone was a bad guy, they would just charge in. Thieves and murderers were one thing, but those involved in organized crime had such complex webs of interests behind them. It wasn't just about taking them down; even if you did, another would take their place. How could they possibly keep up? There would always be more bad guys.

Now Dick was suggesting that superheroes had a logic to their actions, which she found puzzling.

"I understand what you're thinking: how could these masked heroes have plans to deal with these bad guys? But the questions we come up with, why wouldn't they think of them too? No one is that stupid, right? Before they take action against someone, they're likely to study that person's social connections. In today's information age, that's not hard to do."

"But look at the guy they mentioned; he disrupted the Hellfire Gang's operations twice and then didn't act again. Next, he went after Crazy Dog Obick, almost like he's just wandering around, attacking whoever he encounters."

"That sounds intriguing, Dick, as if you were the one in blue armor," Claire teased.

"Ha! I'm just thinking from a different perspective. You should check my resume; I have a psychological profiling certification."

"I know, but I'm curious who taught you all this, Dick."

"Someone I considered a father taught me everything about this," Dick said, a hint of nostalgia in his eyes.

"Your adoptive father? Did he pass away?"

"No, he's alive and doing well. But because of him, I chose to come to this city."

"Why's that?"

"Because I've become too much like him."

At that, Dick's expression turned complicated, a mix of gratitude and frustration. Claire sensed she had touched a nerve and tactfully decided not to pry further. She stepped away, while Dick composed himself and began sketching on a blank A4 sheet with a ballpoint pen. He collected the testimonies of those from the Hellfire Gang that Kaito had attacked, along with this latest incident.

Reorganizing their statements, it didn't take long for a figure clad in blue armor to appear on the A4 sheet. The body parts were similar to Kaito's G3 armor, but he couldn't draw the face. Staring at the incomplete image, missing only the facial armor, Dick murmured, "Who are you, newcomer?"

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**Night, Gotham Port**

As one of the key economic trade ports in the U.S., Gotham Port operates year-round. In this port, there are billions in legitimate transactions, but hidden beneath the surface are untold illicit dealings reaching trillions. Batman, the city's protector, is a regular visitor here.

In a city that rarely sees sunlight, Gotham's skies are always shrouded in clouds. Nearby, on a building overlooking the port, a flash of lightning illuminated two figures—one large, one small—standing on a gargoyle-adorned ledge. Their capes fluttered in the wind as they silently aimed at a truck leaving Gotham Port, preparing to pursue it.

"Look at what our Kova has brought us! Wow, very nice cargo," the truck stopped at an abandoned building. Two beefy men expertly opened the truck's back doors, peered inside, and quickly closed them. They turned to Kova, the driver, with their comments.

"Be careful; this might be the last shipment. I heard that our supplier, Middle, is in trouble. Until we know the supply channels and clients from Middle, you better use this stuff sparingly."

Kova, understanding the guards' temperament, offered a few words of caution.

"I know, I know; we'll be careful. One or two should be fine, right?" One of the guards replied with a grin.

"Best keep it to one or two. I can turn a blind eye if it's only a couple, but if it's more, you'll have to explain it to Mr. Cobblepot yourself."

Kova knew he couldn't intimidate them and mentioned their boss, Cobblepot. The guards understood their boss's temperament and didn't push their luck, responding with a muted acknowledgment. They let their men out to help drive the truck inside, while Kova got into another prepared car and drove off.

"Alright, guys, let's hold off a bit. Don't mess with this shipment. If you really can't resist, come to me for money, and go find someone else."

Knowing the importance of the cargo, the guard warned his busy men. As they prepared to unload and inspect the goods, the workers all nodded in acknowledgment and continued with their tasks. Once the truck doors were opened, they were met with the horrific sight of various girls from different backgrounds, tied up and trapped inside. Their clothes were torn, and the cargo hold carried the stench of excrement.

These young girls, who should be blooming like flowers in their youth, stared with terror at the approaching villains. These bastards were treating human lives like mere goods, trafficking them and using them to satisfy their base desires! With just five men advancing towards them, the bound girls were practically powerless to resist.

Days of starvation left them with little strength to fight back, and merely staying conscious was a struggle. As they saw the men approach, the girls screamed in panic, knowing what awaited them.

"Get it together! Anyone sick, take them to Jack for treatment; the rest, lock them in the basement. Just make sure they don't starve."

The two guards in charge warned their men, but suddenly, the lights went out. The door slammed shut with an unseen force, and the five men in the cargo hold were seized by invisible hands, flung out, while the cargo hold door closed behind them.

Next came the sounds of screams and bones snapping. When the lights flickered back on, the guards and their men lay twisted and broken on the floor. The one who had attacked them revealed himself: clad in black armor, with a bat-shaped mask indicating his identity as Gotham's dark knight, the brain of the Justice League—Batman.

Beside him stood a smaller figure, dressed in a black and red tactical suit, a cloak attached to the hood, and carrying a katana on his back. The arm guards were identical to Batman's, and the large "R" on his left chest signified his identity as Robin.

"Even if we send these guys to prison, this will still happen," Robin remarked to Batman, his tone lacking respect.

"Let Gordon handle it," Batman replied tersely, not elaborating further.

"Maybe we should catch Middle and make him divulge the next client and supply route. But I heard he's been dealt with. It's uncertain whether he can hold on."

"Just do your job. I'll take care of the rest."

"Why! I could handle this, just like you said—no guns, no killing!" Robin shouted in frustration.

"Because I said no. Your mission is to assist me, not to decide for yourself."

With that, Batman pressed a button on his utility belt, and the Batmobile emerged from the shadows, stopping in front of him. He jumped into the driver's seat and then turned to look at Robin, who was still standing there, clearly displeased. Robin's irritation only grew at Batman's indifference, but he dutifully took his seat in the passenger side. With a burst of speed, the Batmobile raced down the street, creating a gust of wind. Inside, Robin observed Batman silently gripping the steering wheel.

"Let me drive."

"No."

"I can drive."

"No."

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*Apologies for the delay in delivering Chapter 15. The music festival got a bit too exciting. On Sunday, I'll have three chapters ready. Thanks to reader Armstrong Nicholas for the 100 reward. By the way, did you reward me because of my *not-so-fake* Lake Toya?*

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*(End of Chapter)*