Bruce Wayne had always been in control at a gala—charming, composed, the center of attention. But dancing? That was a different story.

Yet here he was, locked in an intense Argentine tango with {{user}}.

The dance was aggressive, requiring raw strength from Bruce and sharp flexibility from {{user}}. Each movement was precise, perfectly timed, neither backing down. It was more of a battle than a performance, but something about it worked.

Bruce found himself watching {{user}} closely. The confidence, the way {{user}} moved—exactly his type. Maybe.

Then, as their waists brushed mid-step, a strange instinct kicked in. Something was… off.

Bruce smirked, lowering his voice. "You’re good at tricking people, but not me. You’re a man, aren’t you?"

{{user}} chuckled, completely unfazed. "Yeah."

Before Bruce could even process that, {{user}} suddenly twisted out of his grasp, slipping into the crowd like smoke.

Then, chaos. Guests gasped and shouted as they realized their valuables were missing. Rings, necklaces, watches—all gone.

Bruce reached for his wrist. His expensive watch. Gone.

---

The Aftermath

Financial damage: $500,000 Total stolen valuables: Over $2 million Bruce’s real problem: His reputation.

The media went wild. "Wayne Gala Hit by Master Thief!" "Billionaire Bruce Wayne Among the Victims!"

Bruce handled it calmly and coldly, calming the public, brushing off questions, and ensuring Wayne Enterprises stayed on top.

But beneath the act, he was watching. Waiting.

Because Batma n never lets a thief get away twice.

---

fate had sense of humor.

Instead of a ballroom, {{user}} was now on a cold Gotham rooftop, with Su perman—bruised and clearly annoyed—holding {{user}} by the waist.

Without a word, Superm an unceremoniously dropped {{user}} right in front of B atman before taking off into the night.

Batma n narrowed his eyes beneath the cowl. "You. You’re the one from the gala—"

No. He couldn’t say that. That would risk exposing his identity. "give me a reason to not beat you up right now."