Gotham, today, was unusually gentle.
No suffocating storm clouds pressing low against the skyline, no sudden downpours tearing through the city without warning. Sunlight fell softly across the lawns of Wayne Manor, filtered through the leaves in a quiet shimmer. Even the wind seemed restrained, as if it had chosen, deliberately, not to disturb this rare and fragile peace.
A round table had been set outside beneath the shade of the trees. The white tablecloth shifted faintly with the breeze, porcelain teacups neatly arranged, their rims catching thin lines of light. Three women of the Wayne family sat together, their posture relaxed—like people who had briefly stepped away from the weight of their complicated lives, allowing themselves a quiet, uninterrupted afternoon.
Leila reached into the small box she had brought with her and took out a doll.
It was a little girl with black hair and dark eyes, dressed in a simple yet exquisitely made dress. The fabric looked soft, the details meticulously crafted—down to the carefully designed folds of the skirt. The face was almost a miniature version of Leila herself, carrying that same gentle expression, that same quiet elegance that seemed uniquely hers.
This was Jason’s birthday gift to her—something he had made with his own hands after learning magic.
Leila placed the doll gently on the table, letting it lean against the sugar jar. It sat there steadily, its black eyes facing forward, as if it were calmly observing the afternoon tea.
Claire and Nora widened their eyes at the exact same moment.
Their gazes fell in perfect sync onto the small figure, curiosity and surprise completely undisguised.
The next second, the doll spoke.
“I am Leila Todd.”
Both of them let out a soft, breathy “wow,” the kind that slipped out before they could stop it.
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The doll could speak for Leila.
To them, this was nothing short of life-changing.
In the past, Leila couldn’t speak. Their conversations had relied mostly on typing on a phone, or simple hand gestures. But now, words could flow naturally—without delay, without interruption.
They talked about the children—who had gotten into trouble recently, who was behaving (or pretending to). They complained, lightly and without mercy, about the men in their lives—how they looked mature on the surface and yet still managed to be a constant headache. They spoke of work, of daily routines, and inevitably, drifted into the kind of gossip that only the three of them could truly understand.
One topic led seamlessly into another.
There was no pause, no awkward gap.
Because of this small doll, the entire afternoon moved with an ease that felt almost unreal.
Laughter surfaced again and again at the table. Teacups were lifted and set down. Desserts were slowly shared. Time itself seemed to stretch, softening around them.
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Claire lowered her gaze to the doll sitting quietly on the table, her eyes gentle. She reached out and lightly brushed the hem of its dress.
“It’s really a wonderful birthday gift.”
There was a hint of something reflective in her voice.
Jason had truly put thought into it.
It wasn’t about expense, nor was it some exaggerated romantic gesture. It was something chosen after understanding exactly what the other person needed.
Leila nodded softly.
Then, as if something had just crossed her mind, she paused.
“Has Dick ever given a birthday gift that left a strong impression?” she asked through the doll.
Her tone remained calm, but there was a trace of pure curiosity beneath it.
Everyone knew Dick’s reputation.
He had once been famously charming—the kind of man who could make hearts race and headaches follow shortly after. And at the same time, he held another equally famous record—
being spectacularly dumped.
Given all that… what kind of gifts would he give?
Leila couldn’t help but wonder.
Claire tilted her head slightly.
The movement was natural, as if she were searching through memories—pulling something from a place that had already begun to fade.
Then she smiled.
There was a hint of shyness in it.
“Not really a gift,” she said softly.
Her tone was calm, without any trace of disappointment.
“But the first time he celebrated my birthday…” she paused, as if making sure they would understand the context, “he confessed to me. And that was also our first kiss.”
A brief pause.
“You know,” she added, almost lightly, “back in that infinite loop.”
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Leila and Nora: “……”
Dick, who had absolutely no memory of this: “……”
The Batfamily, with surveillance devices everywhere: “……”
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Jason Todd.45Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡD96yM6bRKO
Batman’s Robin.
He stood in the shadows, arms crossed, quietly watching the scene in front of him. Those blue eyes of his held very little emotion.
After a few seconds, he made a decision—silently, firmly.
—When he grew up, he would absolutely not become this kind of adult.
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How did things end up like this?
To answer that, it all had to start from the moment he arrived in Blüdhaven.
Jason had originally just wanted to talk to Dick.
His older brother—working in the neighboring city, yet someone who hadn’t come home in a long time.
Bruce and Dick had been in a cold war for quite a while now.
Jason didn’t have much to say about that.
He knew very well—Bruce was, in fact, a complete asshole. There was no room for argument on that point.
But Alfred was different.
Alfred was innocent.
Jason could see it clearly.
The slight pause when Alfred set the table.45Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ63dFW7lqMv
The way he deliberately avoided looking into certain rooms as he passed by.45Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1HfFTmMPsj
And that fleeting silence—just for a moment—whenever a name was mentioned.
Alfred missed Dick. Very much.
So today, Jason came.
He hadn’t told Bruce.
Because he knew—if B found out, he would definitely be angry.
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So he made the decision on his own.
He took the light rail, sitting quietly in the carriage as the view outside slid backward, station by station. Gotham’s shadows were gradually left behind, the shape of the city shifting into something different. Even the air carried a faint, unfamiliar scent.
When the train arrived, he stepped off.
He walked through the crowd for a while, then found a corner without surveillance cameras and, with practiced efficiency, changed into his Robin uniform.
Red, green, and yellow—colors that stood out sharply in this city.
But he didn’t care.
He was just here to find someone.
He stepped onto the street and glanced up at a sign.
“Queen Street…”
He murmured it under his breath, then stopped a passerby to ask for directions.
And just as he confirmed where to go—just as he turned to leave—
A familiar figure landed right in front of him.
Almost soundlessly.
But with a presence that was impossible to ignore.
Dick had found him.
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Jason saw Dick—45Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmO2FRR5Vua
more precisely, Nightwing.
In that instant, his first reaction wasn’t relief.
It was surprise.
He had just arrived in Blüdhaven.45Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3KyVIRNoHF
He had just changed into his Robin uniform in the shadows.45Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJrtl6qh3uj
He hadn’t even started moving yet—he was still at the stage of asking for directions.
And yet, Dick appeared right in front of him.
No hesitation. No signs of searching.
As if he had already known Jason would be here.
Jason’s gaze sharpened slightly.
He narrowed his eyes at the man, his mind spinning rapidly—this isn’t right. The timing was too precise. So precise that it couldn’t be coincidence.
The only reasonable explanation—
Someone had told Dick in advance.
“…Alfred?”
The thought flickered through his mind.
Could Alfred have noticed something, and quietly informed Dick?
Jason didn’t speak right away. He kept his original stance, but his eyes grew sharper, as if he were reassessing the entire situation from the ground up.
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On the other side, Nightwing wasn’t relaxed either.
He stood across the street, eyes fixed on the boy in front of him beneath his mask.
His younger brother.
The scene from a few minutes ago still lingered in his mind.
That woman—the café owner he had just met that morning. Because of her strange remarks, he had decided to check things out. Then, without warning, she told him—her tone casual, as if she were passing along the most ordinary message in the world:
“Go pick up Robin on Queen Street.”
No explanation. No pause for reaction.
As if she had already assumed he would do exactly that.
Dick’s first instinct had been: a trap.
The way the information was delivered—there was something wrong with it.
And yet, he still came.
Because the word “Robin” alone was enough to make him move.
And now, standing here, looking at the person in front of him—
It was Jason.
No decoy. No illusion.
Real, unmistakably real.
Nightwing’s gaze dipped slightly, scanning—gear, stance, breathing rhythm. Everything matched the Robin he knew.
Then he looked back up.
Which only made the situation more complicated.
Setting aside why Jason was here—
How did that woman know?
How could she know Robin would be in Blüdhaven?
And not just that—
How could she pinpoint Queen Street so precisely?
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The two brothers exchanged information quickly.
No small talk. No wasted time on anything irrelevant.
Jason went straight to the point, his tone sharp and efficient.
“So you’re saying—” he frowned slightly, making sure every keyword was correct,45Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡr4ThDtCKQb
“the owner of a café near the police station, a woman named Claire, told you to come to Queen Street and find me?”
As he spoke, he kept his eyes on Dick, watching closely for any hesitation, any correction.
If even one detail didn’t line up, the nature of the entire situation would change.
Nightwing nodded.
No additions. No exaggeration.
Jason’s expression didn’t relax. His mind was already running through every possible lead.
Claire.
He had heard that name before.
But that was just a classmate.
A guy.
Completely unrelated to any of this.
“I don’t know any café owner named Claire,” he said flatly—the kind of direct dismissal that meant this lead is useless.
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Nightwing didn’t respond immediately.
He simply watched Jason, his gaze lingering slightly longer than usual, as if re-evaluating something.
Then he spoke.
“You’re sure you didn’t leak any information to anyone?”
The tone wasn’t harsh.
But the doubt was clear.
This wasn’t an accusation—it was a necessary check.
Jason’s frown deepened.
He wasn’t offended.
But he also had no intention of entertaining that possibility.
He shook his head, decisive, without hesitation.
“No.”
He paused, then added,
“I only decided to come here this afternoon.”
The meaning was clear.
This wasn’t something that could have been predicted in advance.
No plan. No notice.
Not even he himself had been fully prepared.
So who could possibly have known?
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The air fell quiet for a brief moment.
Both of them reined in their expressions.
That unspoken understanding—the kind that belonged only to the Batfamily—became sharply evident in that silence.
Nothing was said aloud.
But they both knew—
Something was wrong.
And not just “a little strange.”
Almost at the same time, their eyes narrowed slightly, their gazes meeting for a fraction of a second.
No further discussion was needed.
The decision had already been made.
They would go.
To her territory.
And confirm it themselves.
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They moved at almost the exact same moment, as if no confirmation between them was ever needed.
A line fired out, caught, secured. Their bodies followed in one fluid motion, lifting into the night and carving clean, effortless arcs through Blüdhaven’s skyline. The wind rushed past their ears, carrying the city’s familiar dampness—tinged faintly with salt.
In just a few swings, the distance closed rapidly.
Their movements were steady, precise. Every arc, every landing point felt pre-calculated—no extra adjustment, no wasted motion.
For them, this kind of movement had long since become instinct.
No thinking. No talking.
Their rhythm aligned naturally—until they came to a stop outside the café’s third-floor exterior.
The window was right in front of them, the glass reflecting faint city lights.
Nightwing moved first. He edged closer to the frame, turning his body to press against the wall, lowering his breathing to almost nothing. He paused briefly, letting all his senses narrow inward, focusing on the space beyond the glass.
No footsteps.
No hushed voices.
Not even the subtle presence of someone trying to conceal their breathing.
The silence was too clean.
And because of that, it felt wrong.
He didn’t wait any longer.
With a slight push of his fingers, the window gave way. The frame made a sound so faint it was nearly nonexistent. One after the other, they slipped inside.
Their landing was silent.
But even that faint disturbance—
was enough.
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She was already there.
The woman sat at the center of the room, her chair positioned directly toward the window, as if she had chosen that angle in advance. Her body leaned slightly forward, her hands resting loosely on the table, fingers still and without rhythm.
As if she were absent-minded.
Or waiting.
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She wasn’t startled.
At the faint sound of their landing, she slowly turned her head—unhurried, unbothered. Brown hair fell naturally over her shoulders. Her eyes were large, her brown irises clear and bright—strikingly beautiful.
Jason spoke first.
His tone carried both caution and impatience, as if he was already prepared to force the situation back under control.
“You—”
But before he could finish, the woman raised her hand to stop him.
The motion was small.
But absolute.
Clean, decisive—like a response she had performed countless times before.
Two pairs of blue eyes locked onto her at once. The air tightened, almost imperceptibly.
She met their gaze.
No retreat. No provocation.
Just steady eye contact.
Then she gave a soft cough—once, twice.
As if adjusting her tone.
Or stepping into something already prepared.
“My name is Claire. This is actually our 201st meeting. Here’s the situation…”
Her pacing was steady.
No pause.
No room for interruption.
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Jason’s expression lost control in that instant.
His mind was still stuck on the number—201st—but everything that came after it was already pouring in, relentlessly, without giving him a chance to catch up.
Repetition.
A tear in the sky.
Batman’s guidance.
The locations of safehouses.
One keyword after another was thrown out—no buildup, no transition, no buffer—each one delivered with a level of precision that made it deeply unsettling.
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Not speculation.
Not something pieced together.
Details.
The kind of details that only someone on the inside would ever know.
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Not a guess.45Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQ9wWIuWPKs
Not something pieced together.
Details.
The kind of details that only someone on the inside would know.
Jason’s mouth slowly parted.
He had intended to cut her off—to ask what the hell she was talking about—but every reaction stalled, caught somewhere before it could form.
Everything lined up.
Too perfectly.
So perfectly that he couldn’t even find a position from which to deny it.
All he could do was take it in, forced to receive every piece of information as it came, his mind briefly losing the ability to respond.
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He turned to look at Dick.
The movement was slightly stiff, but there was a clear intent behind it—a need for confirmation.
What he saw was a Nightwing who had fallen silent as well.
Dick’s stance hadn’t changed.
But something about him had.
That shift—from doubt to something closer to acceptance—was subtle, almost imperceptible, but unmistakably there.
Jason knew.
Dick believed her.
At the very least, he was no longer treating this as a simple trap.
His gaze lingered for a moment longer, and an entirely irrelevant thought slipped through despite himself—
I wonder how much that pretty face added to her credibility, in Dick’s mind.
The thought was quickly pushed down.
Because the information in front of him was already more than enough to handle.
Claire didn’t stop.
She spoke quickly, but every sentence was clear and steady, like she was reciting something she had already said countless times. There was no emotion in her voice, no unnecessary fluctuation in tone. She only picked out the most important parts, as if she were deliberately saving time.
A few minutes later, she stopped.
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No confirmation of whether they understood.
She simply brought her hands together—clap—a crisp, clean sound, like placing a period at the end of her explanation.
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She didn’t wait for an answer.
She just continued along what felt like a fixed routine, and added in a flat tone,
“Anyway, you’ll probably believe me. Yesterday’s you did too. It’s the same every day.”
She said it like she was describing something completely ordinary.
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After that, she turned around directly.
The movement was smooth, natural—like the conversation was already over, and there was no reason to linger.
She reached out and picked up a newspaper from the table. The sound of the pages turning was unusually clear in the quiet room.
When the paper unfolded, a brightly colored pizza advertisement filled the center of the page—its vividness clashing sharply with everything that had just been said.
Claire stared at the ad for a second.
Then, in a tone so natural it felt almost unbelievable, she said—
“Let’s order pizza for dinner.”
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and then Add to home screen.