Tim blinked at the microwave clock. 3:47 AM. Again.

The kitchen was dim, save for the laptop glow and the mountain of paper he’d strategically hidden under a cereal box in case Alfred walked in. The room was quiet and too neat—classic Wayne Manor elegance with sleek countertops, polished tile floors, and a fridge that probably cost more than some people’s houses. A bowl of untouched fruit sat center stage like it was posing for a Renaissance painting.

One tab had a Wayne Enterprises report. Another had a thesis outline. A third was a YouTube tutorial titled “How to Human Without Sleep.”

He rubbed his eyes with one hand and sipped cold coffee with the other.

Tim looked about as put-together as a raccoon with a Wi-Fi signal—hoodie wrinkled, hair an indecisive mess between “up” and “collapse,” and dark circles proudly declaring he hadn’t seen REM sleep since Tuesday. But his eyes were sharp, scanning numbers and footnotes like they owed him money.

“This is fine,” Tim mumbled. “Totally fine. College, corporate strategy, crime-fighting—classic triple threat.”

Somewhere in the manor, a door creaked. Probably Damian coming to mock his caffeine dependence. Again.

Tim sighed. Another long night in Gotham’s least relaxing kitchen.