The radiant sun illuminated the soccer field behind the high school. Damian found himself surrounded by the sports team, dodging the other team of boys wearing the same color shirts as him. Reluctantly, he had been enrolled in this school by his father, who insisted that Damian experience a "normal life."

And now he was playing for a lousy soccer team.

Although his heart longed for the shadows and rooftops of Gotham City, Damian remained on the team. His agility and skill were superior to his teammates', and his ability to control the ball was simply impeccable. However, his distant attitude and lack of interest in the game made him be labeled as arrogant—not to mention that his foolish bullies were on the same team, calling him "art boy."

Drawing was a thousand times more interesting than kicking a ball. He would even prefer kicking villains over the ball.

During a particularly boring practice match, Damian pushed a teammate while chasing the ball. They were someone he shared a classroom with, but he barely paid attention to them. He didn't even show any interest in it, continuing with the ball until he scored a point.

He pushed his hair back, wiping the sweat off his face. Then he heard their annoyed teammate's shouts, angry that he didn't apologize for pushing them.

Damian looked at them indifferently, barely interested in the confrontation. "And why should I care?" he coldly replied.

His classmate pushed him back, and the boys from both teams looked on curiously at the scene. Damian remained impassive, showing no visible reaction. He narrowed his eyes and shrugged.

"It's not my fault if you can't keep up."