A few minutes later, Batman lay sprawled across a dining table in the coffee shop's back kitchen, barely clinging to life.
Kara watched quietly from the doorway, keeping herself hidden.
Liam gently removed Batman's helmet, revealing Bruce Wayne's handsome but bruised face—the Son of Gotham.
"Is he dead?" Kara whispered.
"Not yet," Liam replied, "but he will be soon if left unattended."
He pulled out a first-aid kit, carefully removing two bullets from Bruce's body and bandaging the wounds.
The Old Wizard leaned over for a look, his gaze appraising this young cross-dressing rich kid. Even with magic largely depleted, he murmured a simple healing spell. The effect was immediate: Bruce's deathly pale face regained color, and soon he stirred awake.
The young Batman's eyes opened groggily.
His first sight: glaring lights and an unfamiliar ceiling.
His second: a bearded old man and a somewhat handsome young man standing nearby in a "You're awake, surgery was a success" pose.
He shot up suddenly, almost tearing open his freshly bandaged wounds.
"Calm down," Liam said, reaching out. "We picked you up from a dumpster in the back alley; you almost died."
Bruce remained silent, memories of the night flickering at the edges of his mind. Seeing the bandages and the first-aid kit, he quickly pieced together what had happened.
He snorted, ignoring his body's protests, and stubbornly tried to push himself off the table.
Clearly, his body hadn't fully recovered yet, and he swayed, almost falling.
Liam reached out again. "That's not a good idea."
"I don't need help," Bruce said coldly.
Liam shrugged. "Alright."
Without warning, he withdrew his hand as requested.
Thud.
Bruce hit the floor.
The young Dark Knight didn't utter a sound, grimacing as he struggled to push himself up by holding onto the table.
Liam gestured to the television, already on. "Unpleasant date with the GCPD tonight?"
Bruce turned his head. The news reported that Gotham City Police had organized a raid targeting Batman. A pot-bellied officer confidently claimed they'd injured Batman and urged citizens with any information to report him.
Bruce frowned. "…They couldn't injure me on their own. Someone leaked my location, predicted my movements… and even planted a bomb in the Batmobile. A new face, calling himself 'Riddler.'"
Liam nodded. He understood immediately: the Riddler was using Gotham's police as a tool against Batman. This was the first time the young hero had dealt with someone like him, and he lacked the experience he would later have in handling Gotham's lunatics. A setback was inevitable.
Still, Bruce's unyielding nature remained. Watching the chubby officer on TV, he snorted.
"I was careless, but there won't be a next time."
"Planning to upgrade your armor with a hundred thousand tons of horsepower and a superluminal propulsion system?" Liam teased. "Sure, you could do it—but is that really what you want? Is that the Batman you want to become?"
Bruce was silent, their eyes meeting for the first time as if trying to pierce through each other's thoughts.
"What are you saying?" Bruce asked stiffly.
"Nothing," Liam said softly. "I haven't been here long, but I've seen this city. Seen the people struggle to cling to hope in the darkness. Your appearance has brought change. Rumors spread, people talk about Batman… they begin to believe there is still light in Gotham. But is that what you want? Or more precisely, what is Batman to you? Justice, or revenge?"
Bruce stared at him, expressionless. Then he propped himself up, picking up his helmet and cape.
"That's none of your business."
He donned his battle suit and mask again, agitated—not just by tonight's failure, or Liam's words, but by the conversation he had had earlier with Alfred in the Batcave.
"You cannot continue like this," Alfred had warned. "You are bearing a responsibility no flesh and blood can bear. Anyone would be crushed. You can't do it alone."
"I have your help, Alfred," Bruce had said, fastening his newly updated utility belt. "And I only need your advice."
"That's the problem, Master. You don't trust anyone—not even me. You want to punish us by making us watch, just like no one came for you when you were a boy in that alley. Batman will only become a shadow of your past, an infinite echo of your darkness. Sooner or later, he will fall. And so will you."
Bruce said nothing. He put on his helmet and activated the Batmobile.
"I have to go, Alfred," he said coldly. "Don't wait up for me."
Alfred's words still echoed in his ears: What exactly is Batman?
He avoided attention, moving into a deserted alley and leaning against a wall to catch his breath. He readied the grappling hook, planning to improve his equipment when he returned.
But then he noticed a commotion across the street: two older kids forcing a teenager to hand over his pocket money.
Batman's first instinct was to intervene.
But the teenager ducked, sweeping one of them off his feet, followed by a perfect right hook that knocked the second down. The two ran off in panic.
The teen gave them the middle finger. "Liam taught me, you idiots," he said triumphantly.
Batman said nothing, melting back into the shadows.
The young man's words echoed in his mind. Justice or revenge? What kind of Batman does this city really need?
He threw the grappling hook, climbing to the rooftop, disappearing into the vast night of Gotham.