Chapter 1474: The Bird and Returns (19)_1

The drizzle continued outside the window, and a biting morning mist started rising off the Gotham River. The dark green leaves on the bushes next to the walkway, like gentlemen's handkerchiefs, clutched onto the droplets that had lingered with them throughout the night.

As Alfred opened the front door, everyone in the living room instinctively took a deep breath. Yet the air that poured in from outside wasn't chilly, but refreshingly cool and slightly damp. As the moist air brushed past their temples, all seemed reinvigorated.

This manor that had stood here for decades has never been this lively before. Sitting at the lengthy dining table draped with azure striped tablecloths and silk banners was Thomas Wayne in the principal seat, with Bruce Wayne to his right, and Damian sitting across from him.

The remaining people were seated opposite their counterparts, and their movements were eerily similar. Both Dicks sat up straight, their hands resting on their legs, staring at the plates in front of them. But their heads hung low, suggesting they were somewhat exhausted.

Each of the Jasons supported his head with one hand and played with the cutlery in front of him with the other. Occasionally, he would glance about, scrutinizing everyone around him and what was on his plate.

Both Tims held newspapers with furrowed brows, hoping to find some potentially useful information in the morning news.

Barbara sat farthest back, a blank white book in her hand. She was drawing diagrams with a pen, an apparent attempt to design a concert poster.

Alfred served a high-stem cup to Thomas, who was standing behind him. Thomas picked up his spoon, tapped the edge of the glass lightly, put down his spoon, lifted his cup, and said, "Ladies and Gentlemen, please start your meal."

In the ensuing silence, everyone picked up their tableware and began to eat. Alfred had always prepared breakfast at Wayne Manor. The dishes were simple but delicious. The main course was oatmeal with honey served with white bread. The meat section had black pepper duck breast and fried cod fillet. Caesar salad was for vegetables, and small waffles drizzled with maple syrup were served for dessert.

No matter what world they were from, all the Robins were familiar with these dishes. The taste of familiar food always brought a sense of calm and, remarkably, no one shared any opinions during this meal. Everyone enjoyed their food quietly.

Alfred was extremely pleased with this. He was so delighted that the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes even smoothed out. Wayne Manor hadn't been so lively in decades, or rather, it was even livelier than it had been decades ago, since there were so many children here. They were young, naive, and full of vitality.

During the meal, Thomas noticed that Bruce was eating slowly and not much at all. He had barely finished his oatmeal and had a bit of the salad. He didn't touch the bread and meat at all.

Even though Thomas was still angry with Bruce, any father in the world would worry about their child not eating. Thomas wiped his mouth with a napkin and asked calmly, "What's wrong? Aren't you hungry?"

Bruce shook his head without looking up and said, "I'm adjusting something in my brain. I can't get distracted."

"Have you taken too many medications?" Thomas asked, looking at Bruce's slightly dilated pupils. "Even if you need substantial amounts of medication for your mental illness, you shouldn't take too many tranquilizers. Otherwise, you'll start hallucinating like drug addicts."

"I'm fine," Bruce shook his head.

The dinner table went quiet, everyone was honing their ears to listen to the conversation. Red Robin furrowed his brows when he heard the words "mental illness." He deliberately observed the expression of his young self across the table, but didn't see any surprise.

Does the Batman of this universe have a mental illness?

The thought was absurd to Red Robin. Not because of the fact itself, but because of his thought process. He wondered in self-mockery, which universe's Batman didn't have a mental illness?

What surprised him was that the Batman of this universe was willing to seek treatment and was following the doctor's orders strictly... perhaps a little too strictly?

Red Hood had also picked up on it. He was more familiar with Bruce's expression, as it was often seen on the faces of street junkies. Drugs significantly reduce a person's appetite and hallucinations distract them from their attention. This could even prevent them from eating and sleeping normally. It seemed that Batman was caught in this state.

Dick, who was seated next to Bruce, turned and looked up at him, his gaze full of concern. Bruce slightly tilted his head, then shook his head at Dick, signaling that he was okay.

But the reality was, he wasn't okay. Not even close.

He had planned to rewrite his basic programming, which was as difficult as an intelligent robot trying to rewrite its own basic protocols or a human trying to step on the sky with their left foot upon their right foot.

Over the previous days, Bruce had been taking a direct approach to clear the mountain of feces worth of codes, but due to the sheer size of that mountain, he got an idea before going to sleep the previous night. He thought he could write a new program to automatically delete unnecessary codes.

If he were in his normal state, this kind of programming wouldn't be a big task. He would just need to use simple filtering and deletion commands.

But the problem was that his brain was only about one-third functional, and there were still countless self-replicating pollutions that he couldn't locate or root out. Under these circumstances, Bruce's new program developed three operating bugs.

After spending the whole night troubleshooting, he now only had three bug-free lines of codes left.

In other words, if he was previously hallucinating like someone who'd consumed poisonous mushrooms, now his olfactory and gustatory systems had entirely malfunctioned. He was experiencing not just visual hallucinations, but hallucinations of smell and hearing as well.

Thomas took a look at him but didn't say anything. He just tapped the edge of the glass lightly with his fork, then said, "I believe we haven't formally welcomed our new guests yet. But given that they are alternate versions of us, I suppose there's no need for formalities."

"Since your guardian has brought you to this cosmos, a thorough discussion about every aspect of your lives here is needed. After breakfast, I will hold a family meeting for half an hour. I assume no one has any objections?"

The kids all nodded. They were already used to this situation. Thomas had a family meeting almost every week. The content of the meeting was simple, mostly about their health, their studies, and confirming plans for the upcoming week.

Seeing the younger versions of themselves didn't have any objections, the older Robins felt awkward to speak out. After all, they were guests here and they understood the saying 'When in Rome, do as the Romans do.'

As Alfred was clearing the table by the window, the group gathered around the coffee table in the living area. Thomas first cleared his throat and turned to Dick, who was nodding off with a pillow in his arms, "If you're not getting enough sleep, maybe you should skip ballet tonight and finish up your French homework instead."

"No, I want to do ballet." Dick yawned, "I need physical activity. If I don't hit my exercise quota, I can't sleep. Otherwise, I can just fly circles over Gotham."

"Then you should go to ballet." said Thomas grumpily, "We will adjust the French class to once per week, moved to the weekend. Then you can have the whole Sunday to do your French homework."

"Okay, then." Dick yawned again, stood up with his pillow, and said, "I'm going back to sleep."

"Hold on a second." Thomas called him back, then turned to Nightwing. Nightwing suddenly had a bad feeling. Then he heard Thomas say, "Tomorrow, take your counterpart from the other universe to try out Sylvia's class."

"Wait, I don't..." Before Nightwing could finish his sentence, he saw Thomas' ominous look. His refusal was immediately shot down. With a sense of resignation, he threw up his hands, "I'm in my twenties, how can I learn ballet? And what use is there in learning ballet?"

"What's the use of learning fighting and rope techniques?"

"What I meant was..."

"No negotiation. If you don't go to class, I'll report you to the Gotham City Police Department for night-time disturbances."

Nightwing let out a deep sigh, "How am I supposed to learn dance at my age? Especially difficult classical ballet?"

"Didn't you study acrobatics? You should be more flexible than most people, right?" Dick was now alert. He chimed in, "I also started ballet late, but from my first class, all the teachers praised me due to my excellent flexibility. I didn't need any further instruction."

"But I have already..."

"Sylvia said that many people can't have both flexibility and strength. Children may be flexible, but they often lack strength due to insufficient muscle mass. If adults have a foundation in flexibility, they will perform better in terms of strength compared to children."

Thomas immediately nodded with satisfaction. Nightwing rubbed his eyes in frustration and said, "Alright, but I want a private tutor. I don't want to dance with a bunch of kids."

"The classes on Tuesday and Thursday are private." said Thomas, "You can skip the group class on Friday. But precisely because of your age, you should prioritize learning Latin..."

Nightwing was now overwhelmed. Red Hood and Red Robin leaning together in identical positions, clutching their pillows laughing. But when Thomas' gaze fell on them, their laughter immediately died.

"Although Bruce arranged your curriculum, I believe some basic classes cannot be neglected. Especially language learning, which can be useful at any time. Each of you choose three languages you don't know, and Alfred will help you find appropriate tutors. No fewer than five classes per week, I will check your homework every Friday night."

Both Red Robin and Red Hood howled in unison. But then Damian raised his hand saying, "What about me? What about me?"

Thomas looked up and down at the youngest Damian, glanced again at Bruce, and said with some hesitation, "Even though I believe education should start early, Bruce thinks young children should focus more on developing their intelligence. So, how about... you and Aisha go to a sensory integration class together?"

"Oh, my God!" exclaimed Damian in shock, "I'm fluent in sixteen languages, I can read and write Latin, bone script, seal script, self-studied university courses in medicine, engineering, business and other nine disciplines, can play twenty-eight instruments, can dance over thirty folk dances, can ski, can dive, can drive stunt motorcycles, climbed the Himalayas, challenged diving records, can farm, can fish, can survive in the wild, read all modern philosophic theories, and you are telling me to go to preschool??!!"

Thomas' eyes nearly popped out.

"Truly a worthy seed of the Wayne Family." Red Hood sneered.

Thomas sprang up abruptly, staring at Damian with glowing eyes, "Are you the biological son of Bruce Wayne??!!"

"Yes, my mother is..."

"It doesn't matter who your mother is! A youthful folly, a heartbroken mother… I get it!"

"Alfred! Alfred! You have work to do, find out about his pedigree! I'm taking him to meet the shareholders immediately!"