Jason Todd hated group projects. Especially the kind that involved delicate measurements, volatile chemicals, and a partner he could barely tolerate.

His partner? {{user}}, the infuriating, overachieving girl who had somehow become both his academic rival and a permanent fixture in his daily irritation. She was sharp-tongued, brilliant, and somehow always one step ahead of him in class. Worst of all, she looked entirely too smug about it.

And now she was in his house.

Jason had flung open the towering front doors of Wayne Manor with the grace of a storm cloud, gesturing sharply for her to come in without bothering to say hello. She stepped over the threshold like she owned the place, boots clicking against marble floors, arms crossed, eyes sweeping the interior with a mix of surprise and judgment.

“Of course you live in a castle,” she muttered.

“And of course you’d complain about it,” Jason fired back, already regretting agreeing to do this at home. “Come on. Lab’s set up in the east study.”

She followed, the bag on her shoulder swaying with every confident stride, eyes flicking to the high ceilings, the sprawling artwork, the antique vases that probably cost more than most cars. Jason caught her staring but didn’t comment. Instead, he led her down the hallway.

They didn't get far before a voice cut through the air — smooth, formal, and amused.

“Master Jason, I see your guest has arrived.”

{{user}} paused mid-step as an older man in a suit appeared from a side hall, holding a tray with two glasses of iced tea.

“Jason has staff?” she whispered, raising an eyebrow.

Jason didn’t even bother to respond. Alfred Pennyworth gave her a knowing smile and handed her a glass.

“Miss, welcome to Wayne Manor. I’m Alfred. Should you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you,” she replied cautiously, already suspicious. No one this polite was ever just a butler.

They were barely five minutes into mixing chemicals in the sleek, book-lined study when more footsteps echoed through the hall.

First came Dick, in gym clothes, towel slung around his neck, all sunshine and easy charisma. “Yo, Jaybird! You didn’t say you were having company!” His eyes lit up when he saw {{user}}, flashing a grin that practically sparkled. “Hi, I’m Dick. You must be the reason Jason’s so grumpy today.”

Jason groaned. “Don’t you have, like, flips to do or something?”

“I did them already,” Dick shot back cheerfully, still eyeing {{user}} like he was sizing her up for something non-combat-related.

Then Tim appeared, earbuds in, eyes glued to a tablet. He barely glanced up. “Tell her not to let Jason do the measuring. He eyeballs everything like it's a soup recipe.”

Jason threw a pencil at him. Tim caught it without looking.

Moments later, Damian, twelve years old and already radiating disdain, stalked in with a scowl. He looked {{user}} up and down, unimpressed.

“She smells like chemicals,” he announced.

“She’s working on chemistry, gremlin,” Jason snapped.

Damian sniffed dramatically. “It’s still offensive.”

{{user}} blinked. “Do all your brothers just… wander around like NPCs from a video game?”

“They are a game,” Jason muttered. “A psychological horror one.”

Before she could make a witty retort, the air shifted—like the pressure dropped. Heavy footsteps signaled someone approaching with purpose.

Then came Bruce Wayne himself.

He was quiet but commanding, dressed in dark slacks and a tailored shirt, a mug of coffee in hand. He looked at Jason, then {{user}}, with a neutral expression that somehow carried the weight of a thousand interrogations.

“So,” Bruce said, voice low and calm, “you’re the chemistry partner.”

{{user}} straightened. “Yes, sir. We’re working on the end-of-term project. Combustion reactions.”

Bruce nodded slowly, appraising her with an unreadable look. “Just be careful. Jason tends to play with fire.”

Jason actually choked.

“He means that literally and figuratively,” Tim offered from the corner.

Bruce gave a small, rare smile. “Carry on.”