The kitchen of Wayne Manor was silent in the middle of the night, with only the subtle hum of the top refrigerator compressor.

Damian Wayne stood in front of a stainless steel workbench that was so smooth that it could reflect his figure. The tablet he usually used to handle emergency communications or analyze tactical data was now displaying a complex recipe for French opera house cake.

He frowned slightly, his emerald eyes reflected the cold light of the screen, and his expression was focused as if he was studying some confidential documents.

The steps of this thing are more complicated than I thought.

He commented in his heart, but his hands did not hesitate at all. His slender and bony fingers picked up a silver egg-beating bowl with precise and smooth movements.

He needed absolute silence and undisturbed. Alfred had already gone to bed, and the other people in Wayne Mansion had their own nighttime affairs. No one would have thought that he would appear in the kitchen at this time, let alone... prepare for a stupid, sugar-filled celebration ceremony.

The flour was carefully poured into the sieve, and the fine white powder fell like the first snow. Damian controlled the strength and angle of his wrist to ensure that every grain of powder passed evenly without lumps. This requirement for precision is similar to his past training, but the purpose is completely different. It is no longer for efficiency or destruction, but for some kind of... expectation that he is not willing to define clearly - the expectation of seeing the expression that may appear on someone's face.

Ridiculous. Just to ensure that the plan is foolproof.

He refuted the idea in his mind again, picked up the electronic scale and began to weigh the sugar, the number is accurate to one decimal place. The butter was cut into uniform small pieces and slowly softened at room temperature. He even cleaned all the tools he was about to use in advance, and wiped every corner of the workbench with disinfectant wipes to ensure that the environment is absolutely "sterile". This almost paranoid cleanliness requirement gave the entire baking process a strange sense of ritual.

He recalled the key points about egg whites in the recipe, and he memorized every word. The sound of the electric egg beater sounded in the empty kitchen, not harsh, but like the background sound of some secret operation. He watched the egg whites gradually become fluffy and white from a transparent liquid, and finally formed a hard foam state that could pull out stable sharp corners.

A faint sweetness began to permeate the air. The whole process was quiet and orderly, with only the sound of kitchen utensils colliding slightly.

Damian even held his breath, as if any negligence could lead to the failure of the entire "mission". He had never been so cautious of any enemy. When the first layer of cake base was sent into the preheated oven, he relaxed a little, leaned on the workbench, and his eyes fell on the warm orange halo of the oven door.

There is also chocolate glaze, cream, and decoration... Damn, it takes more time than expected.

He raised his hand to wipe away the sweat that had oozed from his forehead at some point, and his fingertips touched a little white flour that was not easy to detect. He stared at the white mark, stunned for a moment, then turned around and began to prepare the materials for the next step. His movements were still neat, but his tightly pursed lips revealed a subtle emotional fluctuation.

It must be completed on {{user}}'s birthday. It must be perfect.