That was the first time he had ever seen his parents so anxious and angry.
It was as if studying art was not a good thing.
From that moment on, the boy realized that only by achieving the best grades could he see the same smiles on his parents' faces as when they used to praise him.
He had to study hard, complete his education, and devote all his energy to academics—only then would his parents smile at him.
Since that time, he no longer had the luxury of understanding all the stories in the comics he once loved.
The images he had seen as a child gradually faded from his mind.
Later, he could only recall everything he had once seen through movies.
Bruce wanted to comfort him, but when he placed his hand on the boy's shoulder, it merely passed through.
Bruce could do nothing.
He had almost forgotten that this place was an unknown world.
The boy focused on his studies, but occasionally, he would still pick up a brush to redraw the things he loved.
Until one day, his father discovered his drawings.
That was the first time he had ever seen his father so enraged. Without even giving him a chance to explain, his father lashed out at him with fists and kicks.
Because, in his parents' eyes, it was nothing more than a dull, unprofitable pursuit.
His only duty was to be obedient, study hard, and become the person his parents wanted him to be.
From university to his career, nearly every aspect of his life had been arranged by his parents.
The only thing he could do was use his spare time to put his inner thoughts onto paper.
Because only in those moments did he feel free.
Even though, at all times, he felt as if he were trapped in a cage.
This emotion was vividly reflected in his drawings.
The heroes who once longed for sunlight, freedom, and kindness had long since disappeared.
He no longer wanted that friendly neighborhood figure from New York to appear in his sketches.
Instead, all that remained were one after another—bats clad in pitch-black armor.
For every bat, he placed them inside a cage.
Just like himself—he had placed himself inside a cage, too.
In that world, he was also a bat.
But that drawing was never meant to be seen by anyone.
That Bruce, watching as the boy slowly grew up, once saved a child carrying an artboard on his way to work.
It was as if he had saved his younger self.
But the boy closed his eyes.
Everything he saw was the world he once longed for—the people he once admired.
Yet, the moment he opened his eyes and laid sight on that world, his consciousness began to blur, his mind drifting away.
Another consciousness was merging with his own, consuming his thoughts and memories.
But the boy did not feel any regret.
Just being able to see this world with his own eyes made him happy enough.
At that moment, Bruce stepped out from the wooden door.
A boy's entire life was stored behind that door.
But the wooden door did not last long—it began to decay, slowly vanishing.
Just like that child, who had only appeared in this world for a fleeting moment.
As for the other door, Bruce already understood what kind of world lay beyond it.
He also understood how he had come to exist in this world.
That boy had created all the stories of Batman, yet he could never draw his own.
Bruce still stepped toward that bat-emblazoned door.
With a forceful push, he opened it—only to find a scene entirely different from what he had expected.
It was empty.
There was only darkness at the end.
Bruce lifted his foot and walked forward.
When he finally reached the end, it wasn't just any place.
It was the prison that confined this bat.
The last thing that child had drawn.
Yet Bruce didn't understand why these things were only now appearing before him.
"Encountered some trouble?" Thomas looked at Bruce with concern. Clearly, Bruce was not in the right state.
Everything he had seen before had indeed been quite a shock to him.
Anyone who discovered they were created would likely be shaken.
But Bruce adjusted himself in the shortest time possible.
He had been created by someone.
But at the same time, he was now a real living being. Moreover, the burden he carried was no longer just his own.
Bruce also realized why he had seen two worlds when trapped in the fear toxin.
One of them was the boy's own fear.
After being assimilated by Bruce, the boy had long lost all recollection. His memories and life had completely vanished.
But that didn't mean his consciousness had disappeared entirely.
His fear stemmed from everything he had seen through Bruce's eyes.
The half-finished Batcave, the gentle Aunt May, and that troublemaking Jessica.
Perhaps this was also why Bruce had only fully understood everything today.
Because only now had he truly gathered everything into himself.
"I'm fine." Bruce shook his head.
He forced himself to stay calm.
But the ones inside this prison now were no longer just the same few from before.
A man, who resembled a more natural-looking bat compared to the others, had appeared here.
"So, what exactly did you do to trap me here?" This newly arrived bat seemed far more interested in understanding why he was here rather than Bruce's ability to move freely outside.
From his memory, he shouldn't be in this place.
After his conversation with the Flash, he had returned to his Batcave.
But the moment he opened his eyes, he found himself imprisoned.
Bruce turned to look at this bat.
This one was different from any he had seen before.
There was no fierce power in his appearance, nor the incredible speed to stop anything in an instant.
What he did have was composure and calmness.
Of course, there was also a trace of stubbornness mixed in.
"How long have you been here?" Bruce didn't answer the bat's question but instead posed his own.
Although, based on what he had seen in the boy's memories, Bruce could confirm that this bat was on the side of justice, he still didn't dare to trust him completely.
There aren't many people a bat can trust.
And he himself certainly isn't one of them.
"When you sent the other guy away." This bat didn't trust the one standing before him either.
But at times like these, someone had to speak first.
"So, how did you do it?" This bat was clearly struggling to believe that someone had managed to get him into a cell without him noticing.
"Is this Arkham or Blackgate?"
It had to be said, the place where this bat found himself was quite awkward. In his line of sight, there wasn't a single bat he could see.
All that met his eyes was a completely dark cage and an empty corridor.
Which meant he had absolutely no idea what was going on.
"This is a prison for our kind—bats like us. It was built for us."
Before Bruce could answer, another rough voice had already spoken for him.
The Ravager knew very well that the prisoners held here weren't just any super-criminals.
Every single one of them was a bat.
Hearing this, the newly arrived Batman actually felt a bit relieved.
He never considered himself a so-called hero.
He was just a criminal.
Bruce glanced at this Batman, whom the kid had referred to as "Ben Bat."
Without saying anything more, he left the prison.
Back in the Batcave, despite knowing that it was best not to disturb Bruce when he was working on research, both Aunt May and Jessica couldn't ignore the heavy thud that came from his fall.
Disregarding Bruce's previous warnings, they rushed straight into the research lab.
The sight that greeted them was Bruce lying on the floor.
"Bruce!" Aunt May ran over immediately, trying to assess his condition.
Jessica wasted no time in checking his vitals.
"His vital signs are stable. He's probably just overworked." Jessica quickly determined Bruce's current state.
Hearing Jessica's words, Aunt May barely managed to set aside her worries.
But she was still concerned about Bruce's condition.
She couldn't shake the thought that one day, Bruce might collapse and never get back up again.
"Let's move him to the bed so he can rest properly. He can't just lie on the floor like this." Aunt May turned to Jessica.
Jessica nodded in agreement. For her, Bruce's weight wasn't an issue at all.
But before she could lift him, Bruce had already regained consciousness.
"How are you feeling? Anything uncomfortable?" Aunt May asked.
"I'm fine. Probably just exhaustion." Bruce shook his head and stood up.
Jessica and Aunt May both looked at him with concern.
But Bruce really did seem fine now.
"I'll just go rest for a bit." He waved them off. He truly needed some rest.
Everything he had just been through had left him mentally drained.
Watching Bruce leave, Aunt May instinctively wanted to say something, but in the end, she held back.
Some things just couldn't be said.
It was the choice these kids had made for themselves.
All she could do was ensure they had a somewhat comfortable support system.
"Come on, let's go. The baked lobster will get cold." Aunt May patted Jessica on the shoulder, speaking in a lighthearted tone.
(End of Chapter)
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