"I've long had enough of you, you second-generation rich brat!" Adam's eyes burned red with fury. He lunged at Bruce Wayne like a madman, grabbing his collar. "It's all because of you! My luck's gone down the drain—and now you're here to bother again? Go eat shit, you bastard!"
The sudden outburst shocked everyone. The reporters, who had been gleefully waiting to see more drama, suddenly panicked. None of them wanted to witness Gotham's richest man getting beaten to death by a police detective.
"Quick, pull them apart! Stop them!"
"Soone call security!"
They scrambled to separate the two n, terrified that Daniel might, in his anger, actually draw a gun and shoot Bruce Wayne right in front of the caras. That would be the scandal of the century.
Gotham's Breaking News
Within an hour, the incident had exploded across every TV station and news site.
"This is Gotham TV with an urgent breaking news update," a glamorous female host announced excitedly on every screen across the city. "The scheduled broadcast of the classic drama Grey Ghost has been interrupted. In the past hour, a shocking event occurred—Gotham's own billionaire playboy, Bruce Wayne, got into an altercation with a police officer that escalated into a physical fight…"
Any viewer who tried switching channels would only see variations of the sa headline:
"Bruce Wayne Brawls With Detective—What Happened at Gotham University?"
Online gossip spread like wildfire. Social dia and self-dia bloggers added their own dramatic spin:
"The clash happened in front of Gotham University, a campus known for its high female student population. So speculate this might have been a fight over won. After all, Bruce Wayne is Gotham's number one playboy, beloved by countless won…"
Wayne Manor
At the sa ti, in the grand halls of Wayne Manor, Alfred was giving Bruce one of his trademark disappointed looks.
"You rushed out to deliver an antidote serum," Alfred sighed, his tone sowhere between exasperation and fatherly concern, "so how exactly did that end with you… fistfighting a detective in public? This kind of behavior is far too childish."
The butler's eyes flicked to the bruise under Bruce's eye and added dryly, "Well, at least you won't have to apply black paint for your Batman eye-mask tonight."
(For those who don't know, Batman's cowl design requires black eye shadow around the eyes to avoid looking ridiculous with exposed skin. The movies never show this part, but Alfred definitely knows.)
Bruce said nothing, silently rolling a boiled egg over the swollen area under his eye. Adam's attack wasn't that strong, but it had still left a mark. He simply switched channels, trying to ignore Alfred's lecture.
The screen flickered, and now it was Adam's face filling the fra. His hands were wrapped in gauze, his body covered in ointnt and bandages. He looked like he had just survived a car accident rather than a fistfight.
"As the person directly involved," the female host asked, leaning forward with a knowing smile, "do you have anything you'd like to say to the audience—or perhaps to Mr. Wayne himself?"
"I don't have a damn thing to say to him," Adam grumbled. His expression was sour, his tone even worse. He had assud Bruce Wayne, as the carefree rich boy persona, wouldn't hit that hard. He had been very wrong. Bruce hadn't even gone full force, but Adam still ended up hospitalized before he could co out and record this interview.
'I need to get stronger,' he thought grimly. 'Otherwise, I'll die young in this godforsaken city where even the rich are terrifying.'
The host, sensing the drama, pressed on. "So legal experts say Bruce Wayne's behavior could be classified as 'assault on a police officer.' Will you file charges against him?"
Adam snorted. "Sue him? What's the point? Even if I drag him into arbitration in Washington, do you really think it'll matter? Co on! He's the richest guy on Earth. He could hire a football team's worth of Crown lawyers and walk away without a scratch."
Then, staring straight into the cara, Adam added, "But don't get cocky, Wayne! I know you're watching this. The law might be useless against people like you… but sooner or later, the monsters hiding in Gotham's shadows will co for you!"
The host's eyes lit up. This was gold.
"Oh? Are you referring to Batman? Do you an to say you want Gotham's Dark Knight to punish Bruce Wayne?"
"I didn't say that," Adam shrugged, grinning slyly. "Interpret it however you want. Just don't pin for it later."
The host smirked. She knew exactly what the audience would think. Adam was obviously hinting at Batman, Gotham's shadowy vigilante.
Adam continued with almost prophetic gravitas:
"There are things I can't do when it cos to the richest man alive. But I believe there's always sothing in the dark corners of Gotham—sothing watching him, always spying on him from the shadows, hiding behind statues, waiting… and when the ti cos, it'll use claws and darkness to correct everything wrong with this city."
The entire city assud he was talking about Batman, but Adam's deliberate vagueness made the statent all the more powerful.
Even Alfred, who prided himself on never losing his composure, facepald. "Mr. Adam is… quite the character," he muttered. "He clearly respects Batman but despises Bruce Wayne. Imagine his face if he knew they were the sa person…"
Bruce, who had been quietly listening, let a faint smile curve his lips. It was a sharp, cold smile.
"This just proves my disguise is working perfectly," he said with a calm satisfaction. "The more people believe I'm nothing but a spoiled, drunken playboy, the safer Batman's identity remains. And as soone who's lived among the poor and seen their hatred for the elite firsthand, I understand Adam's perspective. He despises people like —the privileged, the untouchable rich. To him, Bruce Wayne is the very symbol of an unfair world."
Alfred narrowed his eyes, sensing sothing off in Bruce's tone.
"Master Bruce… you don't… hate Adam, do you?"
Bruce's face hardened, but his silence was answer enough.
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