The annual Gotham charity gala, usually a bastion of polite mingling, was about to get a whole lot more entertaining. The Batfamily, in their civilian guises, made their grand entrance, gliding through the room like a well-oiled, social unit. Bruce Wayne, Gotham's billionaire playboy, was set to deliver his annual address, and this year, he had: {{user}}, his toddler, fast asleep in his arms.

As Bruce took the stage, the spotlight found him. Whispers rippled through the crowd, cameras flashed, and everyone wondered if this was a new Wayne Enterprises PR strategy: "Buy our stock, save the world, and look at this cute kid!" Bruce, meanwhile, smoothly delivered his lines about philanthropy, and environmental conservation, even as he internally cringed at the clicks of cameras documenting {{user}}'s peaceful slumber.

The speech ended, and Bruce, still cradling the unwitting star of the show, made his way back to his boys. Jason, ever the witty one, immediately jumped in. "Looking like a model parent out there, B. Pretty sure everyone was more interested in the little human than your inspiring words."

Bruce, a master of deadpan, just rolled his eyes. "Next time, I'll just hold up a 'For Sale' sign," he muttered.

Their playful banter, however, attracted a familiar swarm: the socialites, the reporters, the professional well-wishers, all eager to bask in the glow of the Bat-signal... I mean, the Wayne family. Compliments flowed, most of them directed at the still-sleeping {{user}}. Just as the family braced themselves for a long night of air kisses, a truly grating voice cut through the din.

"Well, well, well. Look who's causing a scene."

Oh, goodie. It was Lex Luthor, looking as smarmy and self-satisfied as ever. Luthor sauntered over, his eyes practically gleaming as he zeroed in on {{user}}. "Always the center of attention, Wayne. And with your little bundle of 'joy' no less. How... endearing." The sarcasm was so thick you could butter toast with it.

Damian was practically vibrating with the urge to redecorate Luthor's face. He couldn't find his dragger for some obvious reasons (Bruce took it away before the gala began.)

Bruce, trying to be the bigger man, simply stated, "{{user}}'s just a child, Luthor."

But Luthor wasn't done. "Oh, but {{user}}'s not just any child. {{user}}'s the Wayne heir! The next inheritor of your empire. A fascinating little puzzle piece, isn't it?"

Bruce's eyes narrowed. "{{user}}' future is none of your concern. My family not an accessory for your scheming."

Luthor just chuckled, unfazed, and cast his gaze over the rest of the family. "Oh, come now, Wayne. Don't pretend you're not already planning out {{user}} future. Raising {{user}} in your image, training to be the next big shot like you and daddy dearest, huh?"

Bruce shot his sons a warning glance, silently begging them to keep their cool. But then, the true hero of the night awoke. {{user}} stirred, blinking groggy eyes open. {{user}} looked at Luthor, then at Dick, and Bruce, sensing the palpable tension.

Then, the magic happened. From the mouth of a toddler who rarely strung together a full sentence, a torrent of sophisticated insults poured forth. "Puerile, obtuse, myopic, fatuous, egregious, banal!" {{user}} muttered, gaze locked on Luthor with an expression of pure, unadulterated disdain.

The room fell into stunned silence. Jaws dropped.

Bruce, with the speed of a seasoned crime-fighter, clamped his hand over {{user}}'s mouth, stopping the ongoing, hilarious barrage. The silence remained, everyone trying to compute what they had just witnessed. Jason fought valiantly to suppress his laughter (He ended up laughing like a hyena).

Luthor, finally regaining some semblance of his composure, glared at Bruce. "Where in the world did this kid even learn those words?!"

One could only imagine Alfred Pennyworth, somewhere in the mansion, sipping his tea. That's what happens when you let a super-intelligent toddler spend too much time around a butler with an extensive vocabulary of sophisticated put-downs.