"Aunt May, Bruce is coming back soon. Is the red date bread ready?"
After hanging up the phone, Jessica immediately turned to check on the status of the red date bread.
She had already eaten it twice herself—this time, Bruce should finally get a proper taste.
"Got it. Just a few more minutes."
Aunt May kept her eyes on the oven, carefully monitoring the bread inside.
Ding—
As soon as the bread finished baking, Aunt May also heard the engine in the Batcave slowly coming to a stop.
Bruce was back.
He dragged the completely deranged Mysterio and tossed him directly into the meditation room.
Inside, there was already a Prowler—one who had been thoroughly subdued by Bruce.
Now, the Prowler could only shrink into a corner of the meditation room, trembling as he watched the scene unfold.
Bruce, unfazed, threw Mysterio inside and turned to leave.
The moment he stepped out of the meditation room, Jessica blocked his way.
"What's up?"
Seeing Jessica's mischievous grin, Bruce didn't even need to think—he already knew she was up to something.
"I assume you don't have anything urgent to do next?" Jessica crossed her arms and stood in front of him.
"There's still a lot to do. We can't stop yet."
Bruce removed his mask and walked toward his research lab.
At that moment, Aunt May approached, carrying a tray of freshly baked red date bread.
"Just out of the oven. Want to try some?"
The steaming bread had already been neatly sliced, making it clear that it had just come out of the oven moments ago.
Looking up at Aunt May's expectant gaze, Bruce found himself unable to refuse. He picked up a slice and took a bite.
"It's very good," he commented honestly.
Aunt May beamed with excitement.
To be fair, she was well aware of the quality of her red date bread.
It wasn't exactly her specialty, but at the very least, it provided some nourishment for their team of superheroes.
However, Jessica was utterly shocked that Bruce could eat Aunt May's red date bread without a single change in expression.
She wasn't sure whether the bread had miraculously improved or if Bruce was simply capable of eating it without flinching.
"Not going to try some?"
Bruce suddenly held up a slice of red date bread toward Jessica.
Jessica stared at him in disbelief, her mind flashing back to the taste of the last two pieces she had eaten.
Aunt May smiled and motioned for Jessica to have a couple of slices.
In the end, curiosity got the better of her, overriding her previous doubts about Aunt May's red date bread. She walked over and hesitantly picked up a slice.
She deliberately avoided taking the one from Bruce's hand.
She didn't trust him.
A man who could lie without batting an eye? There was no way the piece he chose for her wasn't suspicious.
Bruce, however, had no objections to Jessica's cautious nature. It was precisely this kind of wariness that had allowed her to escape the clutches of the Triad.
Otherwise, how would she have ever left S.H.I.E.L.D.?
Taking two slices of red date bread, Bruce turned to Aunt May and said, "I'm heading to the research lab. No need to save me dinner."
"But tonight's dinner is baked lobster," Aunt May tried to change his mind. After all, getting hold of lobster at this stage wasn't easy.
Hearing the dish, Bruce finally responded.
"Save mine in the fridge."
Leaving those words behind, he disappeared into the lab.
Jessica, meanwhile, cautiously took a bite of her red date bread.
It tasted exactly as she remembered.
Aunt May, however, had already turned her attention toward Jessica.
She could only swallow the red date bread in her mouth.
"It looks like it's just the two of us who can have a proper meal today," Aunt May said with a hint of helplessness.
She knew very well that once Bruce entered the lab, he probably wouldn't come out anytime soon.
"So, do you like baked lobster?" Aunt May asked with a smile.
Jessica nodded. At the very least, baked lobster was far better than Aunt May's red date bread.
For some unknown reason, Aunt May was quite skilled at cooking most dishes—even reaching an above-average level—but when it came to red date bread, she always failed.
Something about it just didn't seem right.
Meanwhile, back in his lab, Bruce finished the red date bread he had taken in the shortest time possible.
He needed time. He needed more methods.
Everything that was happening made Bruce feel like he was losing control.
None of it existed in his memories.
This world, this universe he had arrived in—
It was clearly unlike any world he had ever known.
Bruce manipulated the equipment in front of him, trying to figure everything out.
But it was obvious that achieving that would be difficult.
Bruce frowned at the machines before him.
He seemed to be experiencing visual distortion while looking at them.
This was the first time Bruce had ever felt this way.
Ever since he had donned the suit, this had never happened before.
Maybe it was because he hadn't properly rested in a long time, but even then, he had never felt this way before.
Bruce tried to adjust the equipment in front of him, but his vision grew even blurrier, to the point where he was seeing double.
He struggled to steady himself, but it was clear that he couldn't.
"Crash!"
Everything on the table was swept to the floor by Bruce's hands.
But right now, Bruce had no energy to deal with any of it. He was already slipping into unconsciousness.
As his eyes closed, the last thought in his mind was that the fear toxin he had created might have reacted with Mysterio's hallucinogen—
Producing an entirely new kind of delayed-onset toxin.
But strictly speaking, that hypothesis didn't hold up.
Because after his first encounter with Mysterio, Bruce had already conducted a thorough physical examination on himself.
At that time, the results showed there was absolutely nothing wrong.
And this time, Mysterio hadn't even had the chance to launch an attack.
It was even more impossible for such a situation to occur.
When he opened his eyes once again, he saw the same scene that had appeared when he had previously inhaled the fear toxin.
The two worlds were slowly peeling apart.
There was no longer the sensation of overlapping—only the gradual formation of two distinct gateways.
One was luxurious yet filled with darkness, marked with a symbol that unmistakably belonged to a bat.
A bat with outstretched wings—Bruce knew very well that this was the memory of a bat.
But the other one?
If Batman's gateway of memories resembled a grand and classical door, then the other was just an ordinary wooden door.
So ordinary that it could be found in any corner of the world.
Bruce didn't hesitate much—he walked straight toward the plain wooden door.
His intuition told him that the world beyond that door would reveal everything he wanted to know.
As he pushed it open, he could even hear the creaking sound of the aged wood.
But none of that mattered to Bruce—what he saw was just a small room.
A child sat there, holding a book in his hands, engrossed in its illustrations.
He was still young and couldn't understand many of the words written on the pages.
Bruce slowly approached the child but did not interfere with any of his actions.
The boy remained seated, quietly flipping through his book.
But everything recorded in that book—Bruce recognized all of it.
That alleyway, that place, that unforgettable person, and the familiar sound of gunfire.
Everything was vividly depicted in the pages of that book.
Yet, when the child finished reading, he had no other books in the series. He simply flipped back to the first page and started reading again—for a second time, then a third.
Bruce just stood there silently, watching the child go about his routine.
He saw no signs of impatience on the boy's face; instead, there was a genuine joy, a happiness that radiated from deep within.
Bruce remained by the child's side, quietly watching him read the same book over and over again.
Until, eventually, Bruce had memorized every word, imprinting them clearly in his mind.
But the child never tired of reading the comic.
It was as if he had found his greatest passion.
The boy then began attempting to draw the characters from the book.
And he had talent—extraordinary talent.
Even though he was only copying, he could replicate every detail of the illustrations with remarkable accuracy.
He proudly showed his drawings to his parents.
That day might have been the happiest day of his life.
His parents praised his artwork, calling him the best little artist in the world.
But life never moves according to anyone's expectations.
He started school and was introduced to more comics.
That red-and-blue-clad friendly neighbor from New York entered his world—a figure who shone like sunlight upon his life.
The desire to depict the stories those characters should experience grew stronger within him.
Until, one day, he told his parents—he wanted to study art.
(End of chapter)
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