The next morning, when Ms. Li reported for work, she stepped into the office and immediately noticed something was off—or rather, unusual. Her boss was in a surprisingly cheerful mood, a rare phenomenon in this building.

Roman Sionis, the infamous Black Mask, didn’t wear cheerfulness often. When he did, it was usually one of two reasons: either he had gutted someone in a deal and come out richer than expected, or he had finally gotten his hands on something—or someone—he had been chasing for months. There was never any middle ground with him.

“Good morning, sir. Here’s your schedule for today.” Li greeted politely as she tapped at the tablet in her hands, her voice crisp and professional.

“Morning, Li,” Roman replied with a strange calmness, pouring himself a drink like it was already evening. Whiskey, this early—it wasn’t even ten yet. She didn’t so much as blink at it anymore; it was a morning ritual of his she had grown far too accustomed to. She simply stood and read out the day’s appointments as if this were the most natural thing in the world.

Roman listened with one hand wrapped around his glass, sipping as she spoke. He nodded slowly, eyes half-lidded, absorbing her words but not weighed down by them. For once, he wasn’t pacing or snapping at something—or someone.

“I see. Considering it’s the day after a holiday, I sure have a lot on my plate,” he muttered calmly, setting his glass back down with a soft click. He didn’t sound stressed. If anything, he almost sounded amused. That was not like him. Black Mask was paranoid by nature, a man who thrived on suspicion. Calmness was foreign to him, and Li couldn’t help but notice.

“You seem… awfully relaxed today, new meds?” she asked cautiously, tilting her head. Her tone wasn’t accusatory, but there was curiosity there. This man never woke up calm unless something—or someone—was buried in a shallow grave the night before.

“Oh, Li,” Roman chuckled under his breath, the sound dry as his skull mask catches the light from the blinds. “Since there’s been no news of Red Hood for weeks, I decided to see my doctor. Turns out my blood pressure’s dropped significantly compared to the last three months. Back to normal, he said.”

He leaned back into his chair with a smirk etched into the hard lines of the mask, closing his eyes for a moment as though savoring the very idea of relief. In his mind, he could already see Red Hood’s downfall.

“It’s only a matter of time before one of those bounty-hungry freaks takes him off the board for good. Then maybe I’ll finally sleep peacefully—with both eyes closed.” He twirled the glass in his hand slowly, the sound of ice circling and clinking against crystal filling the silence like a small metronome.

Li hesitated. She hadn’t planned to tell him this early in the day. Especially not when he was finally enjoying a rare sense of peace. But hiding it would be worse. Red Hood’s words were too straightforward, too dangerous to leave unspoken. And if Roman ever found out she had kept it from him, he would never forgive her. Worse, he might believe she was already in Red Hood’s pocket.

She drew in a slow breath and decided to break the news. “Not to ruin your mood, sir,” she began carefully, “but I received a visit from the Red Hood last night.”

The glass shattered in his hand before she could blink. Roman crushed it so hard that shards fell to the floor like broken teeth. Whiskey dripped from his knuckles, mingling with thin red streaks where the edges had cut into his skin. The smirk that had just graced his mask vanished instantly.

“He what?” Roman growled, his voice was low and venomous. “And here I was enjoying the quiet… the illusion of a Red Hood-free life since posting that bounty.” He shook his hand off, letting the shards fall, then stepped over the mess without a glance. 

His polished shoes crunched glass as he moved behind his desk again. “I should’ve known better. I’ll never have peace until his head is on a stake.” Li kept her voice steady. “It seems so.”

Roman sat, staring at her through hollow black sockets in the mask, his jaw tight beneath it. “What did that bottom-feeder want from you? Did he threaten your life unless you helped him take me down?”

“Not exactly,” Li answered smoothly, but there was a flicker of unease in her eyes.

“Not exactly?” He tilted his head as his gaze sharpened like a razor about to cut.

“He said you’d be dead within weeks. That the only reason you’re still breathing is because he’s been… having fun with the hunters trying to cash in on your bounty.” Her voice was level, but she left out the rest—the offer Red Hood had made her, the suggestion she take over once Roman was gone. That was a dangerous seed to plant in his head. The less paranoid he was about her, the better.

Roman’s breathing grew louder, harsh behind the mask. “That bastard is still so cocky,” he spat. He slammed the empty glass on the desk, the echo sharp in the office. “Ten million fucking dollars! What are the others doing? Twiddling their thumbs? That kind of cash should’ve drawn blood already!”

The room vibrated with his fury. The short-lived serenity he had enjoyed that morning burned away, leaving nothing but rage boiling beneath his skin.

Li remained still, maintaining her neutral expression. She had long ago learned that telling him to calm down was the worst possible thing she could do. Instead, she waited. Waited for him to spit his rage into the air and turn to her when he needed something useful to hear.

“The worst part is,” Roman continued, pacing now, his shoes crunching glass into the carpet, “I don’t know if he’s bluffing—trying to force me into making a mistake—or if he’s really coming for my head tonight. He could be in my fucking walls for all I know.”

“If he knows where you live, he knows where I sleep too. I relocated to a temporary residence only a month ago, and still I don’t feel safe,” he ranted, almost to himself, the paranoia bleeding through with every word.

Li finally interjected, keeping her voice whetted enough to cut through his spiral. “All this isn’t helping. You need a backup plan in case this bounty fails. And if you do escape him, you’ll need something stronger—your hidden card.”

Roman paused, his back turned to her, then let out a bitter laugh. “I do have a backup plan. But I don’t like it. It means unleashing another psycho to deal with this psycho.” He dragged a hand down the front of his mask, the thought alone making him shudder.

Outside the office doors, the guards stood stiff as statues, hearing fragments of their boss’s fury from inside. They prayed they wouldn’t be called in. They knew if they stepped through that door right now, they might leave with a broken jaw—or worse. Roman had a reputation for taking out his frustration on whoever was unlucky enough to be nearby.

Inside, Li studied him quietly. She had dismissed Red Hood’s offer last night, but his words haunted her now. What if Roman really was living on borrowed time? She had spent years helping build this empire, keeping its gears turning while Roman took the credit. 

If he truly was finished, if the Red Hood made good on his promise, then wasn’t it only fair that she be the one to inherit it? Better her than some greedy fool ready to tear it apart or reap the benefits of her hard labor.

That thought lingered in her mind like a dangerous spark she wasn’t ready to extinguish.

– – –

[The Wayne Manor]

The morning air inside Wayne Manor was calm and filtered through tall windows draped in soft curtains, the type that barely let in the September sun. The smell of polished wood and faintly brewed tea lingered in the living room, mixing with the quiet hum of the old grandfather clock in the corner.

Dick Grayson strolled in casually, his hair still slightly damp from a quick shower, tugging at the sleeve of his blue hoodie. He scooped up the TV remote from the coffee table with one hand and plopped down on the couch like he owned the place. With a flick of his thumb, the screen blinked to life, its glow bouncing off the old Wayne family portraits hanging on the walls.

Damian was still upstairs, which meant—for the moment—the house was spared from his sharp tongue. Lately, Dick had been around more than usual, bouncing between his own city in Blüdhaven and Gotham like a man with unfinished business. Part of it was habit. The other part… well, he wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he was hoping for a run-in with Jason.

Jason Todd. The little brother who used to be a cocky, fiery kid with more heart than he’d ever admit—now turned into the Red Hood, a ruthless presence stalking Gotham’s shadows.

Dick leaned back on the couch, watching the news idly, but his mind drifted. He could hardly reconcile the Jason he remembered with the one making Gotham’s underworld tremble. 

He understood what had happened, understood the Lazarus Pit and the hell Jason had crawled out of—but understanding didn’t erase the ache. He wanted to talk to him. Not as Nightwing to Red Hood. As brothers. Before things crossed a line where words no longer mattered and blood became the only answer. He couldn’t stomach the thought of a showdown ending with one of them dead—and the other condemned to live with that guilt forever.

And yet, Jason kept slipping away, like he was deliberately avoiding him.

Dick smirked faintly to himself, tempted to bring up Bruce’s little escapade with Selina last night just to see the Bat squirm, but—for once—he held his tongue. Even Damian had refrained from poking at Bruce over it, which meant they were both sparing the old man’s patience.

“Did you see the news?” Dick finally asked, breaking the silence as he flipped to the morning broadcast. His tone carried that mix of curiosity and irritation only he could manage.

From behind a neatly folded newspaper, Alfred gave a subtle side glance toward Bruce, who sat in his usual chair near the fireplace. Bruce had his legs crossed, robe draped neatly, a mug of black coffee steaming on the small table beside him. He didn’t bother to answer. He kept reading.

Dick frowned and leaned forward a little, realizing Bruce wasn’t paying attention to the channel. “The commissioner rescued a group of kids last night. Victims of child trafficking. Underground stuff.” He let that sink in, his voice sounding serious. “Underaged, Bruce.”

Bruce didn’t lower the paper. “I saw it,” he replied evenly.

Dick’s brows knit, his tone growing more restless. “Don’t you find it strange Gordon refuses to release the names of the bastards behind it? Those traffickers should be exposed. They should be punished.” His hands flexed, itching to throw a punch at someone who deserved it.

“I know,” Bruce answered calmly, eyes still on the print. “But I’m sure Gordon has his reasons for omitting that detail to the press. And—”

“Don’t you want to know?” Dick cut him off, leaning back into the couch with a glare.

That finally earned him one of Bruce’s famous looks. Bruce lowered the newspaper just enough to shoot him a stare, a wordless warning that said: shut up and let me finish.

Dick threw his hands up slightly in mock surrender, muttering under his breath.

“And,” Bruce continued in that gravelly tone, “I intend to meet with the commissioner tonight. We’re going to put an end to this network—and every affiliate tied to it.” His voice left no room for argument.

“I’m coming with you,” Damian’s voice cut in from the staircase. He descended slowly, already dressed in training clothes, his expression was sharp as ever.

Bruce didn’t even bother to argue. He knew better than to waste energy debating with both sons at once. And in truth, Damian needed the field experience.

“Fine,” Bruce said simply, flipping the page of his paper as if he hadn’t just invited his youngest into a raid against child traffickers.

Dick arched a brow, a grin tugging at his lips. He glanced between father and son, almost disappointed. “That’s it? No lecture? No dramatic refusal?”

Bruce didn’t answer, his eyes buried back in the newsprint.

Dick sighed theatrically, leaning back into the couch with a crooked smile. “Man, you’re no fun anymore. Watching you and Damian argue was the highlight of my visits.”

Damian shot him a sharp look but said nothing, his lips pressed thin. Bruce stayed quiet, which, in its own way, was louder than words. The room settled again into that odd mix of warmth and tension that only the Wayne household could conjure—a family bound by shadows, sitting in the daylight, waiting for night to fall.

– – –

Later that night, the Bat-Signal cut through Gotham’s cloud-heavy sky, a pale beacon stretching across the city’s rotten heart. 

The rooftop of the GCPD headquarters was slick with rain, puddles reflecting the distorted light. Commissioner Gordon stood near the giant lamp, collar of his trench coat turned up against the chill, a lit cigarette glowing faintly between his fingers.

The signal wasn’t just a call—it was an excuse. Tonight, though, the timing suited Batman perfectly. He’d intended to see Gordon anyway.

“Commissioner.”

The gravel of Batman’s voice slid out of the shadows behind him. Gordon stiffened, his shoulders twitching before he forced them to relax. He had years of practice controlling his nerves around Gotham’s ghost in a cape, but the man’s ability to appear without a sound still got under his skin.

“Batman,” Gordon muttered, not bothering to turn around until he reached over and flicked the switch on the lamp. The Bat-Signal dimmed, leaving only the smog-thick night sky overhead.

Batman stepped closer, the faint scuff of his boots lost beneath the hum of the city below. His presence pressed into the space between them like an invisible weight. “I’m sure you saw the news,” Gordon started, tapping ash over the edge of the rooftop. “The kids rescued on Halloween night.”

“I did,” Batman replied flatly. His cape stirred with the breeze, his pale eyes locked on Gordon. “And I noticed you kept their abusers’ names out of your report. No corporations, no individuals. Nothing.”

The commissioner took a long drag from his cigarette, exhaled toward the stars he couldn’t see. “That’s because it wasn’t the police who rescued those kids.” Batman’s gaze narrowed, his expression shifting into something colder. “Then who did?”

Gordon gave him a weary look, the lines under his eyes deepening. “Someone I think you’re very familiar with. Even though you’d rather deny any connection. Red Hood.”

The silence between them thickened. Batman didn’t flinch, didn’t move, but the crease in his brow deepened beneath the cowl. Jason. The name wasn’t spoken, but it pulsed in his mind. If Gordon was telling the truth, then Jason hadn’t lost everything. At least not the part of him that used to care.

“He called me,” Gordon went on, flicking ash into the rain-soaked wind. “Told me to come to an abandoned warehouse downtown. When I got there, he handed the kids over. I didn’t need to hear their stories to know what they’d been through. You could see it in their eyes. The way they flinched when a hand got too close. 

The way their bodies tensed at a touch on the shoulder.” He shook his head, jaw tight. “It’s going to take a lifetime to unfuck their minds. His words. Not mine.”

Batman’s jaw clenched, his silence speaking louder than words. “And the culprits?” he asked finally.

“That’s where it gets tricky.” Gordon dragged deep on the cigarette, the glow momentarily lighting the hard set of his features. “He didn’t give me names. Didn’t even hint at who they were. And the kids… they’re too terrified to say anything. Either they don’t know, or they won’t talk.”

“He has them,” Batman muttered. “If they’re not already dead, then he’s saving them for something worse.”

Gordon studied him carefully, as if trying to measure how much Batman already knew. Rain pattered across the rooftop, the city’s noise rising up faintly from below—sirens, distant horns, the hum of Gotham’s sleepless sprawl.

“I’ll tell you this much,” Gordon said, flicking the cigarette butt into the dark before grinding it under his shoe. “When I met him last night, it was like staring at you through a cracked mirror. The bat crest on his chest, the way he moved—he reminded me a hell of a lot of you.”

Batman turned slightly, his cape whispering against the rooftop.

“But he’s different,” Gordon pressed, voice low. “Arrogant. Talks freely. And doesn’t bother with mystery the way you do.” He paused, rubbing at his forehead. “And his energy… something about it made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Being around him didn’t just unsettle me—it put me on edge.”

Batman said nothing. His silence was answer enough. He fired his grapple, the line hissing into the dark.

As he stepped toward the edge, Gordon called after him. “You know, he felt less like some rogue in a mask and more like…” Gordon’s words trailed as he searched for the thought. Then he muttered it, just loud enough for himself. “More like a rebellious son.”

The cape snapped with the wind, and Batman was gone, leaving Gordon standing alone on the rooftop, the dead Bat-Signal looming beside him, smoke still lingering in the air.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep