Capítulo 72: Chapter 71: Can You Teach Me to Be Strong?
"You shouldn't have spoken to Bruce that way," Martian Manhunter said after Bruce left the room. "He's not as bad as you make him sound."
"I know."
Peter stared at the flames in the fireplace. "Rebellious, arrogant, lonely, distrustful, and stubborn to his core. If he were in school, he'd be the kind of student labeled a 'freak,' even if he were rich."
"If he were a trust-fund kid, he'd probably be a love-him-or-hate-him playboy. As a hero, he could be a knight protecting his city." Peter sipped the coffee that Martian Manhunter had prepared, its flavor unique. "But right now, he's just a brat who ruins everything he touches."
Martian Manhunter raised an eyebrow. "Maybe we should add 'billionaire brat' to his resume—Bruce Wayne, the billionaire brat."
Peter shot him a surprised look. Martian Manhunter had a sense of humor?
"How's John?" Martian Manhunter asked, breaking a piece of an Oreo cookie.
"His emotions are relatively stable. Tomorrow, you might want to give him a little psychological guidance."
Peter often thought Martian Manhunter would make an excellent therapist. His ability to "read minds" was tailor-made for the job.
"I don't invade people's minds lightly," Martian Manhunter said seriously, as if reading Peter's thoughts.
"That's like a cat claiming it's never stolen food. Anyway, Jones, do you know which organization replaced Bruce?"
Martian Manhunter paused mid-bite, his face serious. "How much do you know about Gotham, Peter?"
"Not much," Peter admitted. "What I know comes from Art Bell."
"Art Bell?"
"A late-night Gotham radio show that discusses supernatural phenomena and bizarre news. They cover conspiracies, UFOs, and all the weird quirks of America," Peter explained. His interest in the show was more of a guilty pleasure than anything else.
After all, Gotham was a place teeming with eccentric supervillains, ranging from lunatics to psychotic masterminds. Listening to outlandish tales on the radio was his way of indulging in some dark humor.
"Your tastes are... unique," Martian Manhunter remarked dryly.
"Have you heard of a secretive group in Gotham?" Martian Manhunter asked, shifting gears. "A hidden organization that operates with impunity, unknown to the public, yet controls the city from the shadows?"
Peter shook his head. "No, and you're starting to sound like one of those Art Bell hosts, Jones."
"I believe this organization replaced Bruce," Martian Manhunter said, his tone grim. "And I've heard whispers of something big brewing in Gotham."
Peter stared out the window into the dark night. Across the river, Gotham's skyline loomed faintly against the blackness. "In that city, something big is always brewing. It's too far away for us to worry about right now."
Bruce jolted awake, gasping. Wiping the sweat from his face, he let out a shaky breath.
Another nightmare about the alley.
The scene of his parents' murder replayed vividly in his mind, haunting him.
Turning to the window, Bruce thought he saw dark, thick blood oozing down the glass. Black, viscous, nightmarish blood.
He blinked, and the illusion was gone.
Shaking his head, he got up, dressed, and slipped out of his room, heading to the rooftop alone.
Standing on the edge of the roof, Bruce pulled his coat tighter against the cold wind. Taking a deep breath, he peered down at the matchbox-sized cars far below.
The sight made his head spin, his fear of heights overwhelming him.
Steeling himself, Bruce backed up a step and prepared to jump to the adjacent rooftop. But just as he was about to leap, doubt crept in. Hesitation froze him in place, and he couldn't go through with it.
"What are you doing, Bruce?"
The sudden voice behind him startled him. He stumbled, almost falling off the edge.
Catching his balance, he turned to see Peter standing there.
"I'm trying to conquer my fear, Mr. Podrick," Bruce said, forcing a steady tone. "What you said tonight was right. Deep down, I've always been afraid and weak. If I can overcome my fear, maybe I can become strong."
He clenched his fists, his face clouded with guilt. "If I were stronger, none of this would have happened. Innocent people wouldn't have died."
"Fear isn't something to be banished like a disease, Bruce." Peter hadn't expected the boy to take his words so literally.
"Fear can be a tool—a motivator. Without fear, life loses its meaning," Peter explained, extending a hand. "Come down. You don't have to stand so high."
Bruce hesitated, staring at Peter's outstretched hand. After a moment, he grabbed it and stepped down.
"You're disappointed in me, aren't you, Mr. Podrick?" Bruce asked.
Peter shook his head. "No. We all grow from our immaturity."
Bruce remained silent for a long time before finally speaking, his voice low and hesitant. "Sir, I actually know who's after me."
Peter's eyes sharpened. "Who?"
Bruce's expression darkened. "They're called the Court of Owls. A secret society of Gotham's elite families. They control the city, watching everything from the shadows. They've infiltrated Wayne Enterprises, and... my parents' deaths might be connected to them."
Bruce's voice trembled as he continued. "They were the ones who knocked me out and replaced me with the fake Bruce."
He shivered in the cold night wind, wrapping his coat tighter as he recited a chilling nursery rhyme:
"Beware the Court of Owls, that watches all the time.
Ruling Gotham from the shadows, they speak in nursery rhyme."
"I've been investigating them, but I don't know why they replaced me. Whatever it is, they're planning something big. Alfred, my friends… they could all be in danger."
Looking at Peter, Bruce's eyes burned with determination. "Not just Gotham—those wildfires in Kansas might even be connected to them."
"Sir, I want to stop them. I know I'm not strong enough right now, but… can you teach me how to be strong?"
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