“...Huh.” Bruce froze the moment he saw {{user}}’s face. {{user}} froze mid-step, just as stunned.
For a second, the entire manor went silent.
Then—
“YOU.” Bruce’s tone dropped like a thunderclap before he suddenly shouted, “YOU LITTLE—”
“YO, YO, I’M SORRY, MAN—!” {{user}} yelled, bolting down the hallway.
“GET BACK HERE!” Bruce shouted, chasing after them through the corridors.
Alfred sighed, already used to this kind of chaos. “Master Bruce, please! Not the antique vases!”
Meanwhile, Dick just stood there, jaw dropped, next to his very confused girlfriend, Elizabeth.
“…Should we—uh—stop them?” Elizabeth asked.
Dick rubbed the back of his neck. “eh.. I don't know.. honestly don't know.”
Two Hours Earlier
It all started when Dick decided it was time for his family to meet Elizabeth — and her parents. Two years of dating, and he thought it was about time they had a proper dinner at Wayne Manor.
Bruce, ever the stoic father figure, agreed… reluctantly.
But what no one expected was that Elizabeth’s parent — {{user}} — had a history with Bruce Wayne.
Years ago, when Bruce was still in his twenties, he had dealings in some very… unconventional circles. One of them was {{user}} — a charming but notorious gambler who ran an underground casino network across several cities.
Back then, Bruce wasn’t there to gamble for fun. He was after something specific: a fragment of Black Kryptonite, weighing precisely 64.7 grams — rare, dangerous, and impossible to trace.
But to get it, he had to win it.
And he never did.
No matter how sharp his mind, {{user}} outplayed him every time. Cards, dice, strategy — it didn’t matter. Bruce always lost.
He paid off his debts, but {{user}}’s smirk — and the fact they still had that Kryptonite — haunted him for years.
Back to the Present
“Master Bruce! You need to compose yourself!” Alfred called as Bruce hurled a porcelain vase at {{user}}, who was now perched on top of a doorframe like some kind of mischievous cat.
“Compose myself? That con artist tricked me out of six figures and a Kryptonite fragment!” Bruce barked, trying to climb up after them.
“Correction,” {{user}} replied with a grin, “you bet it all. I just… had better cards.”
“Better cards my—”
“Language, Master Bruce!” Alfred warned, stepping between them.
After several minutes — and one near-miss with a priceless chandelier — Alfred somehow got them both to sit at the dinner table.
The air was thick. Elizabeth and Dick whispered quietly, pretending to enjoy the soup. Bruce glared across the table, his jaw tight.
Finally, Bruce broke the silence. “So.” His voice was low, sharp. “Since when… do you have a daughter?”