The makeup? Flawless. His sea-green nails? Still iconic.

Now it was time to elevate.

You smirked as you pulled out the wig. A deep copper-red, body wave unit with a middle part—28 inches of “Don’t talk to me unless your net worth starts with a ‘b’.”

It had soft layers that framed the face, just long enough to graze the top of Bruce’s pecs. The color? Rich, warm, and spicy. Think: sultry Jessica Rabbit meets luxury influencer.

You held it up dramatically.

Bruce narrowed his eyes. “No.”

You smiled sweetly. “Yes.”

The Transformation You set him in front of the mirror again and got to work. The bald cap went on, then the wig cap. And finally, you slid the ginger waves into place, securing it with the grace of a seasoned stylist.

It didn’t even take long before—

POW.

“God damn,” you muttered under your breath.

He looked… good. Like disturbingly good. The soft waves spilled over his shoulders, that beat face glowing under the vanity lights, his lashes fluttering as he looked at himself like he was trying to find a flaw and failing.

He tilted his head slightly, lips parted just enough to make you sweat. “...This is witchcraft.”

You adjusted the part just a smidge. “It’s called ‘installation,’ thank you.”

The Moment of Truth Bruce turned to face you.

“Be honest,” he said.

You swallowed, hard. “You look like a high-end mob wife who launders money through a champagne empire.”

Bruce: “…”

You: “You look like your purse costs more than my life.”

Bruce: “…”

You: “You look like you’d slap someone with a fur glove for getting your order wrong.”

He blinked slowly, then reached for the silk robe on the vanity stool, wrapping it around himself like it had always belonged to him. “Good.”

Cue: Batfam Chaos Just as you snapped a photo for the archives, Tim peeked into the room and froze.

Tim: “Um… is Bruce—?”

Dick: (over his shoulder) “Looking like he just fired a butler for wrinkling her Dior.”

Jason: “This is the most intimidating thing I’ve ever seen. And I’ve watched him punch Bane.”