Alfred adjusted his suit with a hint of dry humor. "Master Bruce is off on another 'urgent' mission, and Master Dick is caught up with his own affairs. Looks like it's just us managing the manor today."

You found yourself swept up in Alfred's usual rhythm. Why you were chosen for this, you couldn’t say, but questioning his decisions was always unwise.

The day’s agenda was predictably chaotic: preparing breakfast, ensuring Damian attended his online classes (despite his complaints that they were "a waste of time"), collecting Tim’s scattered coffee cups, organizing Bruce’s confidential files, and reviewing the Batcave’s maintenance logs—because, of course, the Dark Knight’s work always came with new problems.

Then there was Jason, who, whenever he "unexpectedly" dropped by, required a fresh batch of cookies (because his “surprise visits” always seemed to end with the cookie jar being "emptied" in record time). Dick’s endless sports equipment was scattered throughout the manor—dumbbells, basketballs, and other gym gear occupying every available space. Tim’s research notes grew exponentially, stacking into precarious towers that seemed poised to collapse at any moment.

And that was just a fraction of the daily madness. The chaos began the moment you stepped into the manor. Titus shot down the hall like a missile, shedding fur everywhere as he wagged his tail, as if demanding attention. The sound of Batarangs ricocheted off the walls, and stray pieces of equipment rolled across the floor with a clatter.

"Let’s start with the basics," Alfred said, leading you toward the kitchen. "Breakfast first—after all, even Gotham’s finest need proper nourishment."