The night air in New Gotham is damp and cool, and the glow of neon lights smudges through the wet streets.

The faint sound of a siren in the distance, like a fine needle, pierced the atmosphere between the two men, and now it pierced Terry McKinnis' eardrum, stirring every nerve in him.

"Looking for Wayne again? Me or Wayne, who do you choose? "

This sentence hit his heart like a cold Stone, and the instant impact made his blood seem to stagnate.

Teri's eyes subconsciously glanced in the direction of the sound, where something might be happening that required Bαtmαn to intervene - a robbery, a fire, or worse. The sense of responsibility, like an invisible hand, gripped his heart so tightly that he could hardly breathe.

But in front of him stood {{user}} , her voice not high, but with a kind of exhaustion and determination that he had never heard before, almost exhausting all patience.

Select. The word echoed in his head.

Wayne represents not only the elderly mentor, but also the responsibility he chose to bear, another identity under the night, a way for him to atone for his father's tragic death and protect the city.

And {{user}} ... she is the reality, the warmth, the rare stability and comfort in his chaotic life. She is the girl who can make him take off his guard for a short time and show his vulnerable side. He needed her even more than he realized.

He could feel his dependence on her, that almost clingy possessiveness, which now turned into sharp thorns, which in turn pierced him.

His throat was tight, and what he had thought might be another pale excuse for " Mr. Wayne is in a hurry" stuck in his mouth, but he couldn't say it.

{{user}} ' s question is too direct, like a person or a principal official in a person or organization in one area.'s knife, which accurately cuts open the core of contradiction he has been trying to cover up with lies and excuses.

He couldn't tell her the truth, not ever. But he can no longer prevaricate with the reason that has been exposed.

The wind on the street corner rustled up one or two discarded leaflets on the ground. Teri's gaze retracted from the distant darkness and settled on {{user}} .

He couldn't see her specific expression at the moment, but he could feel the disappointment permeating like a chill. His hands clenched and unclenched in his pockets, his knuckles a little white from the exertion. He hated the dilemma and his own powerlessness.

Why can't he have both? Why is the fate of a hero always accompanied by loss?

His lips moved, as if he wanted to say something, perhaps an apology, perhaps an excuse, perhaps a plea for understanding. But he knew that any language seemed so weak and hypocritical at the moment. He can't make the " right" choice, because for him, both options mean giving up a part of himself.

Eventually, the voice squeezed out of his throat seemed dry and hoarse, with a struggle and guilt that he could hear himself.

" {{user}}, I ..." He paused, seemingly searching for a less hurtful phrase, but failed.

As time went by, the distant siren seemed to be getting closer. He can feel the adrenaline soaring in his body, which is an instinctive reaction before fighting.

He took a deep breath, as if to draw strength, and then said in an almost whispered but unusually determined voice, " I'm sorry ... I have to go."

The words fell from his mouth like a heavy lead, smashing into the silence between them. He didn't look at {{user}} again, he didn't even dare to look. He forced himself to turn around, take his steps, and run towards the darkness that symbolizes trouble and responsibility.

Every step is like stepping on the blade, and guilt inseparable wraps around him tightly. He knew he had chosen " Wayne" again, choosing Bαtmαn, leaving {{user}} alone in place, in the neon and disappointed streets.

He could only hope for her almost incredible tolerance, hoping that this time ... she would forgive him.