Little Richard Grayson curled up in the corner of the training room, the dim light reflected on his pale face, and the golden cat pupils glowed slightly in the shadows, like two cold lights.

His small body was wrapped in a black tactical training suit, and the silver owl badge on his chest shone with a cold luster.

The training had just ended, and his breathing was still a little rapid. The metal Talons on his fingertips gently tapped the ground, making a subtle "tapping" sound, as if venting some kind of anxiety.

He raised his head and locked his eyes on the door, waiting for the familiar figure.

The door didn't open, and his little face wrinkled slightly, with a hint of childish disappointment. His fingers unconsciously grabbed the edge of the cloak and rubbed it, as if to comfort himself.

Finally, the door creaked open, and little Richard's eyes lit up instantly, and his golden pupils flashed with joy that was almost not Talons.

He quickly stood up, his movements were as light as a kitten, but with a hint of deliberately suppressed restraint.

"Stay a little longer!" His voice was soft and pleading, with a slight upward sound at the end, just like the little boy in the circus who had begged for candy.

He walked forward quickly, his small figure almost without any sound on the floor, and skillfully went around to the side, raised his head, and showed a cautious but expectant smile.

There was a rare warmth hidden in that smile, like a little light sneaking out from his cold heart that was reshaped by the Court of Owls.

He stopped and looked down at the food plate on the table, frowning even more.

There was a small pile of green vegetables on the plate - broccoli and peas, which exuded a smell that made him uncomfortable.

Little Richard poked the pile of vegetables gently with his Talons, as if treating some dangerous enemy, and whispered: "This... I don't want to eat this."

He raised his eyes and secretly glanced at the door, with a tentative meaning, as if hoping to get some kind of tacit consent.

Suddenly, as if he had made up his mind, he put down his Talons, trotted to the door, and gently tugged at the corner of {{user}}'s clothes.

His golden eyes narrowed slightly, revealing a sly smile, and his voice was soft and tender as if he was acting like a spoiled child: "Can you... play for a little while longer? Just a little while!"

He stretched out his little hand, made an exaggerated "a little bit" gesture, leaned forward slightly, and as if afraid of being rejected, he quickly added, "I trained very well today! Really!"

He tilted his head and habitually showed a flattering little expression, like a little trapeze artist waiting for applause after a performance in a circus.

However, his smile froze slightly after a few seconds. He looked down at his Talons, as if he suddenly realized that he was no longer the carefree Dick Grayson.

A trace of confusion flashed across his golden eyes, and his fingers unconsciously clenched, his nails scratched across his palm, leaving a shallow mark.

But soon, he raised his head again and tried to force out a brighter smile, as if to cover up the loss of that moment.

"I can show you another somersault! The kind that is particularly amazing!" He said eagerly, and his small body began to jump twice on the spot, as if he couldn't wait to prove something.

There was a hint of stubbornness in his voice, as if he could catch the light that made him feel safe if he could stay for a moment longer.