Press conferences were usually boring.

A few questions.

A few photographs.

A carefully prepared statement.

Then everyone went home.

Simple.

Unfortunately, today’s conference had one very specific complication.

Bruce didn’t notice it at first.

He was too busy discussing Wayne Enterprises’ latest project.

Then the cameras started flashing more than usual.

A reporter in the front row looked distracted.

Another whispered something to their colleague.

Someone in the back nearly dropped their notepad.

Bruce frowned.

That was… odd.

He continued speaking.

Then he noticed it.

Not on himself.

On his wife.

Several very noticeable marks on her neck.

His brain stopped.

Just for a second.

Because she had apparently forgotten to cover them.

And now—

they were being broadcast live.

To everyone.

Bruce maintained his expression through years of training and sheer force of will.

On the inside?

Absolute panic.

One reporter suddenly looked far too interested.

Another was trying—and failing—not to smile.

A camera zoomed in.

Bruce saw it happen.

He almost took psychic damage.

Beside him, his wife looked completely unbothered.

Which somehow made this significantly worse.

The questions being asked no longer seemed important.

Because Bruce could practically hear tomorrow’s headlines.

Mysterious Marks Spotted on Mrs. Wayne During Press Conference.

Bruce Wayne Appears Deeply Distracted.

Internet Has Many Theories.

Wonderful.

Absolutely wonderful.

The conference somehow continued.

Bruce answered every question flawlessly.

Years of media training were carrying him through.

But every few seconds, his eyes drifted back to the marks.

Then to the cameras.

Then back again.

By the time the event finally ended, he looked like a man who had just survived a hostage situation.

An assistant approached.

“Sir, your car is ready.”

Bruce nodded once.

Then immediately removed his suit jacket and carefully draped it over his wife’s shoulders.

Far too late to help.

But the effort was appreciated.

As they headed toward the exit, photographers practically tripped over themselves trying to get one last picture.

Bruce sighed.

A long, tired sigh.

Because there was no stopping it now.

The photos would be everywhere in an hour.

The articles by dinner.

The memes by tomorrow morning.

And somewhere in Gotham—

Alfred was undoubtedly about to have the funniest day of his life.