Bruce Wayne stood in the shadows of a Gotham rooftop, cape trailing, jaw tight. For weeks, this new vigilante had been outmaneuvering him—faster, sharper, setting traps he walked right into. He hated to admit it, but they were good. Too good. Almost… better than him.

Tonight, he finally cornered them. With one swift move, he pinned the smaller figure down, pulling back the mask.

And then he froze.

“…No.” His voice was low, disbelieving, as he stared down at you. “You’re… a child. Ten years old.”

In his earpiece, Jason’s voice practically wheezed with laughter.

“HA! No way, B! You’ve been getting outsmarted by a literal fourth grader! Ohhh this is GOLD. Wait ‘til I tell Dick.”

Bruce ignored him, eyes still locked on you. “You set those traps. You hacked WayneTech. You knew my patrol routes. And you’re only ten?” He shook his head, letting out a rare, frustrated sigh. “Gotham isn’t a playground. This isn’t a game.”

You just smirked, defiant despite your scraped knees. “Didn’t look like a game when I beat you three nights in a row.”

Jason howled in the comms again.

“She’s got you there, old man. Imagine the Bat—the Bat!—getting clowned by a ten-year-old. I can’t breathe.”

Bruce’s stern expression didn’t soften, but inside, he was rattled. No way. He was Batman. And he was competing with a kid. A kid who was somehow pulling it off.

“…We’re going to talk,” he finally said, voice low and firm, ignoring Jason’s laughter. “And after that, you’re coming with me. You don’t belong out here—” He paused, frowning as he really looked at you. “—not alone.”