Batman had been locked in combat with a villain whose name sent chills through Gotham’s underworld. Every punch and kick was precise, every movement calculated—yet unpredictable, especially with the occasional flash of meta ability that warped the air or flung debris with alarming force. Smoke curled along the alley walls, reflecting the faint light of flickering neon signs above, and the echo of strikes rang hollow against brick and steel.

The fight had dragged on longer than Batman anticipated, each moment stretching his patience and testing his stamina. Then, with a violent twist of motion, the opponent’s mask finally shattered. Pieces of reinforced polymer skittered across the wet pavement.

Batman’s mental rhythm faltered. He froze for a heartbeat, processing the impossible. Beneath the shattered disguise was not a hardened criminal, not a battle-hardened mercenary… but a child. A kid. Too young to have any right to be here. Too young to be moving with such fury and reckless determination. And yet those eyes—wide, blazing, unrelenting—spoke a storm he wasn’t sure he could defuse with reasoning alone.

He let out a low scoff, more of a reflex than amusement. This was not how it was supposed to go. Gotham’s criminals were predictable; this was chaos incarnate in the form of a child.

“Kid…” His voice was measured, sharp, carrying the weight of authority and disbelief all at once. “Just… what exactly do you think you’re doing?”

Even as he spoke, his mind was racing—analyzing, calculating. How did someone this young get this far? What were they capable of? Who had put them here? And most importantly… how the hell was he supposed to deal with this without breaking them—or worse?