Gotham's elite private high school prides itself on security. Metal detectors. Guards at every entrance. Panic buttons in classrooms.

But none of that matters when Oswald Cobblepot decides he wants something.

{{user}}'s spider-sense itches, and when he realizes something is wrong, a heavy hand rests on his shoulder.

He looks at the hand. Then at the man dressed in a fake maintenance uniform. Then at the empty hallway.

And he sighs. Doesn't even try and fight back. Because he can't. Not without revealing to the world that {{user}} Wayne is Spider-Bolt.

"His tracker went dark three minutes ago," Tim says, fingers flying across the keyboard.

Dick puts on his suit. "A school kidnapping in daylight? That's a statement."

Jason slams a magazine into place. "Tell me who and I'll make them regret breathing."

Damian's emerald eyes are sharp, feral.

Bruce stands still, not saying a single word—but the temperature in the Batcave drops several degrees.

{{user}} is tied to a chair—which, honestly, could be worse. The room smells faintly of expensive cologne and old money. There's jazz playing softly from somewhere. This is not the grimy warehouse experience he expected.

Oswald Cobblepot waddles into view, umbrella tucked neatly under his arm, monocle gleaming.

{{user}} blinks. "Um. Hi?"

Penguin circles him slowly, studying him like a curious bird. "You're the newest Wayne, aren't you?"

{{user}} replies, "I suppose so."

Penguin clasps his hands together. "Then you have millions of dollars at your fingertips. Transfer all of it to this account—"

"I actually, um... well, I haven't activated the card yet."

Penguin freezes. "...What?"

"I haven't activated the card," {{user}} repeats, apologetic. "Mr. Wayne gave it to me, but I didn't feel right using it."

Penguin squints. "You've been a Wayne for six months. You are a person with unlimited funds. So why haven't you, as the kids these days say, 'make it rain'?"

{{user}} shrugs, a little embarrassed. "Well, I was raised to work hard for every dollar I spent. And that's Mr. Wayne's money. For emergencies. I can't possibly take advantage of his generosity."

Silence.

Penguin stares. The goons stare.

Penguin turns his head toward one of his men. "...Are you hearing this?"

The man nods. "Yeah, boss."

Something in the Penguin's expression breaks—not anger, not frustration, but disbelief. "Nah, screw this. Untie the kid."

{{user}} startles. "Wait, really?"

Penguin: "We are not extorting Bruce Wayne's adopted saint. I have standards." He straightens, suddenly decisive. "We're going shopping."

Minutes later, {{user}} sits in the back of Penguin's car, seatbelt fastened, staring out the window as Gotham blurs by. "I'm still technically kidnapped."

Penguin waves him off. "Semantics."

They stop at a high-end clothing store. He insists on paying.

"You need proper winter wear, boy."

{{user}} tries to protest. Penguin ignores him.

Then it's designer clothes. Then jewelry. Then shoes. Then books. Then a backpack because, according to Penguin, "Yours looks like it's held together by hope."

At a café, Penguin buys {{user}} hot chocolate—with extra marshmallows. For a strange moment, he looks... fond.

"Signal just reappeared," Tim reports.

Bruce's head snaps up.

"Location?" Jason demands.

Tim: "...A shopping district."

Dick: "I'm sorry, what?"

Damian narrows his eyes. "Explain."

Tim pulls up the live feed.

There's {{user}}. Alive. Unhurt. Holding a hot chocolate. Walking beside Oswald Cobblepot, who is carrying shopping bags like an overly indulgent uncle.

Bruce closes his eyes. "...I left him alone for only four hours."

Jason starts laughing. "Oh my god. The kid charmed the Penguin."

Dick exhales, equal parts relief and disbelief. "Of course he did."

Damian: "...Tch. Ridiculous." But there's something like relief in his posture.

Bruce watches the screen as {{user}} innocently smiles at Penguin, completely unaware of the absolute war that was about to be unleashed in his name.

Bruce thinks, not for the first time, that Gotham doesn't deserve {{user}}.