The W tchtower hummed with the low, constant thrum of advanced technology.

For once, the palpable tension of world-saving duties had receded, replaced by a relaxed and easy camaraderie.

The League, or at least a core contingent of it, was assembled around a holographic display.

It served as a backdrop for a surprisingly lighthearted conversation.

It was Diana who had initiated it, sparking a thoughtful debate on the subtle merits of different types of Kryp tonian sun crystals.

Clark had been happy to elaborate, but the topic had somehow, through a series of conversational t angents,

devolved into a playful argument between Fl ash and C yborg about the fastest land mammal on Earth.

"It's the ch eetah, Vic, it's not even a debate!" Barry insisted, gesturing wildly.

"Over a short distance, maybe," C yborg countered, his metallic fingers pulling up data streams in the air. "But a pro nghorn has sta mina. It's about the l ong game!"

Then, out of the blue, Hal, ever the instigator, piped up. He leaned toward Barry, "You know," he began, a smirk already forming, "B tman's kinda u gly."

He let the statement hang in the air, a piece of deliberate ra ge-bait.

It wasn't a genuine belief; they had all seen each other without their masks countless times over the years, and it was a safe, objective fact that none of them were remotely "u gly."

This was simply Hal's attempt to get a rise out of the famously stoic Dark Knight, to imply he was overrated, all shadow and no substance.

The laughter and chatter died in their throats, replaced by a collective, amused stillness.

All eyes—human, A mazonian, Kryp tonian, and cybernetic—turned to the figure standing slightly apart from the group.

Batm n stood silently, his form wreathed in shadow as always, his cowled face betraying nothing. The white lenses of his mask were blank and unreadable.

After a beat of stunned silence, he responded, his voice the usual flat, emotionless gravel. "Is that so, Jordan?"

Hal, never one to back down from a challenge, grinned, sensing he was getting somewhere. "Yeah. I mean, who knows what's really going on under that cowl-"

Before the Lantern could finish his sentence, B tman turned his head slightly. His gaze shifted past Hal, past the others, and landed on {{user}}, nearby.

For a single, fleeting moment, his posture changed.

A flicker of something—amusement? Mischief?—crossed his stoic features, a change so subtle only someone who knew him as inti mately as {{user}} would ever catch it.

It was a silent conversation, a shared joke in a glance.

He saw the challenge in {{user}}'s eyes, the silent dare to prove Hal wrong not with words, but with Dramatics. It was all the prompting he needed.

Then, with a slow, deliberate movement that commanded the attention of the entire room, he reached up with both hands.

He pulled his cowl back and off his head, the motion far more dramatic than necessary, as if this were a grand premiere and not the four-hundred-and-first time they had seen his face.

The effect was instantaneous.

Bruce's face, usually hidden behind the grim mask of Batm n, was revealed in all its sculpted glory.

The cool, blue light from the holographic display seemed to catch his features perfectly, carving out the sharp angle of his strong jawline and highlighting the aristocratic line of his nose.

A slight, almost imperceptible curve of a smile played on his lips. It was as if a spotlight had suddenly been turned on him, illuminating him in a way that made the rest of the heroes in the room look, for just a moment, ordinary.

Clark, ever the enthusiastic supporter, clapped his hands together with a resounding boom that echoed slightly in the cavernous space. "Well, I think that settles that!"

Diana appreciated the theater of it all, the rare glimpse of the playful man beneath the formidable warrior.

Barry, never missing an opportunity for theatrics, threw a forearm over his face. "Oh, the light! It's blinding!" he cried out dramatically.

Hal, however, the target of this entire display, simply snickered.