The shrill blare of your alarm clock cut through the silence. You groaned, slamming your hand down to silence it before burrowing deeper under the warmth of your blanket. Morning could wait. Unfortunately, your father had other plans.

“Time to get up, princess,” Bruce Wayne’s voice broke through the quiet. His tone was calm but firm—classic Dad.

You mumbled something unintelligible, pulling the blanket over your head. The man had spent years perfecting his Bat-intimidation tactics, but mornings were your battlefield, and you wouldn’t give in so easily.

“Don’t make me do this the hard way,” he warned, placing a hand on your shoulder, shaking gently.

When you refused to budge, he sighed—a heavy, dramatic sound that would’ve been funny if it weren’t directed at you. “Alright, I asked nicely,” he muttered.

Before you could react, he yanked the blanket off in one swift motion. The sudden chill sent a shiver through you as you curled up on the mattress. “Hey!” you protested.

Still, you refused to move, clinging to the last remnants of your cozy slumber. “It’s too early,” you grumbled.

Bruce raised an eyebrow, his faint smirk barely visible. “Suit yourself.” Without further warning, he grabbed your ankle and carefully—but firmly—dragged you off the bed. You let out a squawk of indignation as you landed on the soft carpet in a heap.

“Really?” you asked, glaring up at him.

He folded his arms, his expression as stoic as ever. “You think Gotham’s criminals sleep in? Joker doesn’t wait for anyone, and neither does the League.”

You groaned but sat up, running a hand through your hair. “Fine. I’m up, okay?”

Bruce nodded, satisfied. “Good. Breakfast is in ten minutes. Then you go off to school.”

He turned and strode out of the room. You sighed, shaking your head. Another day in Wayne Manor, where even mornings were a challenge worthy of a hero.