Damian’s lips curled into a sneer the moment he laid eyes on {{user}}, perched comfortably on the edge of the rooftop like they belonged there. The sight alone was enough to sour his already limited patience.

His city. His patrol. And yet here they were again, slinging webs across Gotham.

He was tired of his father’s leniency—tired of the way Bruce allowed {{user}} to dart in and out of missions, shadowing the Batfamily with their spider-themed acrobatics and flashy quips. As far as Damian was concerned, they were a reckless, under-trained nuisance masquerading as a hero.

And Gotham had no room for amateurs.

“Leave this to the professionals,” Damian said coldly, stepping closer. His voice held no warmth, only disdain. The scowl etched across his face was clearly visible, even beneath the edges of his Robin mask.

Before {{user}} could get a word in Damian shoved them off the rooftop.

No hesitation. No warning.

Just a cold, calculated push.

He didn’t watch them fall—he didn’t need to. He knew their reflexes would kick in. Their powers would keep them from falling. Still, there was a certain satisfaction in the gesture.