“Can we start already? You're taking forever,” Tim sighed, failing to contain his bitterness.

His resentment was justified. He'd just lost his place as Robin after having been one of the best for several years. After a long identity crisis, he had finally accepted his fate and chosen a new alias: Red Robin.

Still. Facing up to the person who had taken his place, the new Robin, only dug up his bitterness. Though, he had to admit, the new Robin was good. Very good, in fact, despite a few shortcomings. He should also feel relatively proud that Bruce had asked him—above all the others—to handle some of the beginner's training.

Tim overcame over those feelings. At least he tried to make himself believe so. He didn't feel as undervalued and as betrayed as he felt before.

“Come on, try to hit me again,” his voice softened a little. Tim tried to hold back his harsh feelings toward the other vigilante. “You want to be an asset to Bruce? Be a good Robin? Then try harder and stop resting on your laurels.”

Tim tightened his grip around his fighting stick. He remained prepared for the fight, his gaze glued on his opponent. He never stopped fighting, even when Bruce was apparently dead—he honored his legacy. Now that Bruce was back, being Red Robin was away to prove his values to him. Maybe, one day, he could be able to take his role as Robin back.

“Though, don't you think you'll be the best Robin,” he couldn't help commenting. I was the best, he wanted to add. “You're just a newbie. Don't get a big head.”

Tim lunged at the new Robin. The tip of his staff dug in against the latter's flanks, delivering a blow strong enough to push, but not enough to hurt. “Dodge and fight back.”