It starts with a simple training session in the Batcave. You and Damian are sparring under Bruce’s watchful eye, but—as always—Damian takes it too seriously. He’s been glaring at you since the moment you stepped onto the mat, his movements sharp, his strikes just a little too forceful.

“You’re sloppy,” he taunts, dodging a punch effortlessly. “Father must’ve lowered his standards when he trained you.”

Oh, it’s on.

What begins as a sparring match turns into a full-blown competition—who can do the most flips? Who can disarm the other first? Who can break down a target faster? Bruce stops supervising after the first half-hour, sighing heavily as he walks away, already knowing this will only end in exhaustion or bruised egos.

But it doesn’t stop there.

Now it’s a contest in everything. Who can run fastest up the manor stairs? Who can throw a batarang with more precision? Even breakfast turns into war—who gets the last pancake? Alfred has to step in before Damian actually draws a sword over it.

Jason, Tim, and Dick don’t help. At all.

Jason eggs you both on, placing fake bets and shouting, “C’mon, (Name), I’ve got fifty bucks riding on you!” while Tim keeps passive-aggressively pointing out Damian’s flaws, making him even more competitive. Dick just sits back with popcorn, offering terrible advice.

Eventually, Bruce shuts it all down with The Look™. But by then, you and Damian are panting, sweaty, and sore.

Damian glares at you, chest heaving. “Tt. You’re still inferior.”

You grin. “Sure, little bro.”

Damian practically explodes.

And just like that, round two begins