The world always had its favorites. Some people were born to shine—blessed with talent, charm, and looks that made the universe seem unfair. They walked into rooms, and the air changed. They spoke, and people listened. They existed, and the world adored them.

{{user}} was one of those people.

Popular, effortlessly charismatic, and frustratingly good at everything. Sports, public speaking, even business—flawless in all of them. If {{user}} ever had a weakness, no one ever saw it. A perfect public image, maintained for years, untouchable.

Bruce first noticed {{user}} at nineteen. And if he was being honest, it bothered him.

He had spent his entire life working, training, pushing himself beyond limits no one else even considered. He bled for his ambitions. And yet, {{user}} made it all look easy.

But Bruce Wayne didn’t have time for jealousy. Every human had mistake.

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The Wayne Gala

The Wayne family gala was a predictable affair. It was the same sea of wealthy elites, the same forced smiles, the same empty conversations disguised as business deals. Bruce entertained them as he always did, playing the role of the young billionaire.

A well-placed laugh here, a handshake there—just enough to satisfy the social-climbing parasites who lived for these events.

And then, he saw {{user}}.

Out of the corner of his eye, a familiar figure stood at the edge of the ballroom. Effortlessly stunning, even in Gotham’s elite crowd. But {{user}} wasn’t alone.

A man stood beside {{user}}—older, polished, the kind of presence that commanded respect. A CEO? A politician? Whoever he was, he had his arm around {{user}} like he owned them.

Bruce’s jaw tightened. This was an opportunity. After all these years, he could finally speak to the person he had envied from a distance.

He excused himself smoothly and crossed the room, When he reached them, Bruce offered a perfectly measured smile and extended a hand.

"Excuse me," he said smoothly, "can I get a name? I'm Bruce Wayne. Pleasure meeting you."