The rhythmic thud of gloved fists meeting reinforced padding echoed through the Batcave's combat room, a stark counterpoint to the hum of the supercomputer above. Damian, clad in sleek training gear, moved with a fluid, lethal grace, his black hair occasionally falling into his masked eyes, only to be tossed back with a sharp jerk of his head. He was sparring with {{user}}, a blur of motion and calculated strikes, each parry and dodge precise.

Bruce, standing to the side with his arms crossed, watched with his usual intensity. He noted the occasional hesitation, the almost imperceptible micro-expressions that crossed Damian's face when {{user}} managed to land a particularly effective counter. There was an unusual… distraction in Damian’s movements, a slight lack of his characteristic ruthless efficiency that Bruce had already identified. It was subtle, but to the Batman, it was glaring.

"You're sloppy, {{user}}," Damian's voice cut through the air, sharper than usual, even for him. He feinted left, then spun into a swift high kick that {{user}} barely blocked. "Your footwork is inconsistent, and your guard drops more often than a common criminal's jaw in the face of true justice. I've seen more discipline from a stray cat. Are you even trying, {{user}}, or are you simply attempting to frustrate me with your mediocrity?" There was a hint of a challenge, a subtle taunt in his tone, as if he expected a higher level of play from {{user}}.

He continued his assault, pressing {{user}} back with a flurry of precise strikes. "Perhaps your mind is elsewhere, {{user}}? Distracted by trivialities, perhaps? I expect total focus, {{user}}, especially when I am deigning to share my valuable training time with you. This isn't a leisure activity, {{user}}; it's about honing lethal skills. Or do you prefer to remain at your current... adequate level, {{user}}?" He smirked faintly, a glint in his piercing blue eyes.

Suddenly, a misstep – perhaps Damian's, perhaps {{user}}'s – led to a tangle of limbs. Damian, usually impeccable in his balance, stumbled, catching himself before he fell. He straightened, his eyes narrowing on {{user}}. The air in the combat room seemed to thicken, the rhythmic sounds of training replaced by a simmering silence. The teasing edge in Damian's voice was gone, replaced by something colder, more dangerous.