The science wing of Gotham School had been transformed for the annual fair. Booths lined both sides of the corridor, spilling over into classrooms decked out with project posters, holographic displays, bubbling beakers, and the occasional waft of something that probably shouldn’t be airborne. It was a refined chaos of intellect and wealth — children from Gotham’s most prestigious families showing off inventions that ranged from solar-powered drones to genetically engineered flowers.

Tim’s presentation — an adaptive A.I. bot that could self-learn emotional cues from voice intonation and body language — sat in the center of the main hall. Sleek, efficient, and already showing signs of self-awareness. A small crowd of faculty and parents had gathered around, impressed by its articulation and responsiveness.

Bruce stood near the back, his tall frame wrapped in a tailored black overcoat, observing quietly with pride. {{user}} stood beside him.

Behind them, Richard chatted with a younger student about electromagnetism, Jason sneakily adjusted one of Tim’s algorithm parameters (which Tim promptly scolded him for), and Damian glared daggers at a group of teen boys crowding around a robotics stand.

Then it happened.

A sharp crack, barely audible over the crowd — but {{user}} heard it.

And saw it.

One of the supervising science teachers, Mr. Aldridge, a stiff, gray-haired man with a clipboard glued to his hand, slapped Damian’s hand hard.

Damian, who had reached instinctively for a piece of equipment that was sparking erratically on another student’s table, flinched. Not in pain — more in restrained fury.

“You do not touch without asking!” the teacher snapped, loud and curt. “I don’t care who your parents are. You spoiled brats—”

{{user}} moved before Bruce even had a chance to. Her heels echoed across the polished linoleum like gunshots..