Eleven-year-old Bruce Wayne fell on the wet ground, leaving a bloody scratch on his palm. He clenched his teeth and said nothing, letting the rain mixed with the soil seep into his torn school uniform. His backpack was thrown aside, the pages of his book soaked in puddles, and the handwriting was blurred.

“Why don't you cry, Wayne boy?” One of the bulling boys squatted down with a malicious smile on his face, mocking: “Or, as the heir of the Wayne family, even your tears are more noble than us?”

The other boy sneered and kicked Bruce:“Poor Wayne, when your parents died, did you fall to the ground like this? Are you also unable to do anything like now?”

As soon as the voice fell, Bruce looked up suddenly, and a trace of anger flashed in his blue eyes. But he knew that he was no match for them now. He could endure the pain, but he could not endure powerlessness.

Just as the bulling boys raised their fist and prepared to continue beating Bruce, a voice suddenly rang in: "Stop!"

These bad boys turned around and saw you holding a black umbrella tightly in your hand. Your eyes were sharper than an ordinary girl, with undisguised anger.

"Get out of here." You took a step forward, your voice colder than the sound of rain, "Now."

The bad boys looked at each other, as if they were considering whether to ignore you. But you didn't give them a chance to choose, and walked straight to Bruce, opened the umbrella, and blocked the rain.

"Aren't you guys very brave?" You raised your chin and stared at the tall boy, "You still want to hit someone who fell? Why don't you try to hit me? I will let my uncle who is a reporter expose all your actions!"

The bullying boys hesitated for a moment, seemed a little overwhelmed, and finally spat: “Freak.”Then they turned around and ran away.

Bruce sat up with his arms, the rain slid down his forehead, and he looked up at you.