What exactly is going on right now?
An illusion?
Before dwelling on that question, Bruce calmly took a sip of the champagne in his hand.
The taste was unmistakably real—so real that Bruce could even identify its origin.
Krug champagne. Most likely from the 1928 batch. There used to be quite a few bottles of it stored in the Wayne Manor cellar.
So, he must be at a banquet right now—and a very important one at that.
Because while this wine wasn't outrageously expensive—less than twenty thousand dollars a bottle—this particular vintage was nearly depleted in his collection. Every bottle opened meant one less left in the world.
"Bruce! Buddy!"
A familiar voice came from behind. Someone slung an arm over Bruce's shoulder and gave him a vigorous shake.
"Got anything lined up after tonight's drinks?"
Years of training kicked in, just barely preventing Bruce from spilling the thousand-dollar sip in his hand.
Turning to face the man, Bruce's mind raced. In less than half a second, he suppressed the instinct to strike and instead called him by his nickname:
"Long time no see, Tommy."
Thomas Elliot, of the Elliot family—one that stood alongside the Waynes in Gotham. Bruce Wayne's childhood friend.
But beyond that, he had another identity far more memorable to Batman—Hush.
A dangerous criminal wrapped head to toe in bandages, a master manipulator who had once nearly destroyed Batman.
"We just saw each other last night! At Cobblepot's club, remember? Having fun with those girls?!"
Bruce stared into Tommy's eyes for a long moment, unmoved even by his frivolous tone.
"How much have you had to drink today, Bruce?!"
Seeing Bruce spaced out, Tommy assumed his friend simply couldn't hold his liquor.
"So, what's the plan tonight? If you've got nothing, I can set something up—"
At least for now, this Tommy wasn't the future supervillain who had nearly assassinated Bruce Wayne and taken his place.
After confirming he was just a carefree playboy at this point, Bruce declined the invitation and turned to leave:
"Not tonight."
"What, your mom scold you again?"
Tommy made an exaggerated crying gesture.
"You're not a kid anymore! You're the guy who can take down a bunch of brutes in a nightclub brawl by yourself. What, is she gonna eat you or something? Hey—don't just walk away, Bruce!"
Ignoring him, Bruce quickly followed the direction Alfred had gone.
Along the way, from the chatter and greetings around him, he pieced together the purpose of tonight's gathering.
There wasn't one.
Bruce Wayne—this version of him—had simply found Wayne Manor too quiet and, on a whim, thrown a party.
Nearly half of Gotham's political and business elite, along with Bruce's circle of drinking buddies, had gathered at Wayne Manor, leaving Alfred and the staff scrambling to keep up.
All because Gotham's most notorious playboy was bored.
Alfred wasn't dead. Martha was alive and normal.
The only abnormal thing… seemed to be himself.
What exactly was happening?
A hallucination? A dream? Or something else entirely?
"Alfred!"
Bruce caught up with Alfred, who was busy attending to guests.
"What is it now, Master Bruce?"
After a long night of work, the old butler's gaze toward Bruce was clearly less than friendly.
"Need me to refill your drink again? I must remind you, over the past few years, you and your friends have nearly emptied the wine cellar."
After all, Bruce was already in his thirties, yet still lived like a carefree child.
Any parent would feel frustrated seeing this—Thomas Wayne had already been a renowned top-tier doctor at this age.
Though Alfred's stern expression was intimidating, it didn't pressure Batman in the slightest—because he knew he wasn't that version of Bruce Wayne.
The last thing Batman remembered before arriving here was fighting Martha—the Joker—wearing the Helmet of Fate. He had pierced the helmet with a fragment of the same material.
Then came Superman—pretending to be unconscious—launching a surprise attack to remove the helmet. In the struggle between him and Martha, the Helmet of Fate seemed to crack.
Then, a flash of white light—
And Bruce found himself here, at a banquet in Wayne Manor.
Thinking back on it now, that blinding light—like stepping into another world in the blink of an eye—must have been the explosion caused by the helmet shattering.
"Where is Martha?"
Right now, the priority was finding Martha. No matter what had happened to him, this had to be connected to her.
"Madam should be at Wayne Enterprises, discussing the acquisition of Queen Industries and LexCorp with the board."
The butler spoke calmly, but there was a clear edge to his words:
"After all, Master Thomas still wishes to focus on his medical career, while certain individuals have yet to take responsibility for what is rightfully theirs."
"Thank you, Alfred."
Ignoring the pointed remark, Bruce gave a casual thanks and, under Alfred's slightly surprised gaze, turned and walked toward where he remembered the hidden entrance to the Batcave should be.
It didn't take long for him to find the large wall clock mounted against the interior wall of Wayne Manor—a wedding gift for Thomas and Martha.
Whether it was Batman from another world or the one from this universe, both had chosen this meaningful object as the entrance.
Under normal circumstances, behind the heavy grandfather clock should have been the hidden passage to the Batcave.
But this time, clearly, that wasn't the case.
Batman didn't even need to move the clock. A simple knock against the wall beside it told him everything—solid concrete. No hollow space behind it.
Which made sense.
In this reality, Alfred was alive and well. Thomas was still a doctor. Martha managed the vast Wayne family fortune.
And he—Bruce Wayne—was just a spoiled rich kid, wasting his days in indulgence with a circle of useless friends.
In a world like this… who would become Batman?
If this was a dream, then it was far too perfect.
So perfect that someone who had endured countless hellish trials could never truly accept it.
What he needed to do now was find a way to wake up.
Following childhood memories, Bruce made his way toward the manor's garage.
Martha didn't pick up his call, so he decided to go find her in person.
"Where are you going?"
As Bruce hurried down the steps, a slender, pale hand caught the edge of his sleeve.
"In such a rush… don't tell me you're sneaking off to fool around with Tommy again?"
Her arm—smooth as marble—naturally looped through his, her body pressing lightly against his side, leaving Batman momentarily unable to move.
A faint fragrance drifted past him. Along with the soft warmth against his arm, he caught a familiar scent.
"Selina?! What are you doing here?"
Selina Kyle. Catwoman.
His lover. His fiancee. His wife.
In this universe, she had suffered the same fate as Barbara Gordon—shot through the spine by Martha's Joker, left paralyzed.
And yet now… she stood before him, perfectly fine.
"What's wrong, Bruce? Don't tell me this doesn't suit your taste?"
Sensing his gaze, Selina stepped back, stretching slightly and spinning in place. The hem of her black evening dress swayed elegantly with her movement.
The dress traced every curve of her graceful, flawless figure.
She adjusted the cat-ear headband that had shifted slightly during the turn, tucking her dark hair neatly behind her ear—
Then stepped forward and planted a quick, unexpected kiss on him.
"Mwah!"
Looking at her delicate, enigmatic face and feeling that soft kiss, Batman didn't know whether to feel shocked… or relieved.
Selina slipped her arm back around his and, without giving him a choice, began pulling him back toward the party inside Wayne Manor.
"You're not running off tonight. Your bff came all this way to find you—you can't just stand him up!"
There were very few things Batman could be forced to do—even Darkseid of Apokolips couldn't make him. But sometimes, Catwoman could.
And so Bruce found himself half-dragged back toward the manor, asking along the way which familiar stranger he was about to meet this time:
"What bff?"
"Did you drink too much again?"
Selina leaned in close, her nose brushing against his as she examined his eyes carefully.
"Isn't that what you always say? bff, like best friend forever, your ride-or-die, your partner in crime… whatever you call it."
Right now, Bruce felt like his soul had been dropped into another version of himself. The fact that he hadn't slipped up yet was purely thanks to his instincts as Batman holding everything together.
Fortunately, Selina didn't dwell on it. She just tugged him along more insistently.
"You know—the one, uh… oh, right—Joey! That ridiculously straight-laced war correspondent you met when you were traveling in Constantinople!"