Capítulo 3: Magic
"And what if it were magic?" Avery asked.
As the words left his mouth, he opened his right hand to reveal a small, dormant seed resting quietly in his palm.
But in the next moment, it was as if the seed had been summoned by the goddess of the harvest, Demeter herself. The seed awoke, sprouting green, vibrant shoots. Within seconds, it had grown sturdy roots and a thick stem. Soon came delicate green leaves, followed by a budding flower…
Finally, a fully bloomed rose slowly unfurled in Avery's hand.
"…"
Even Batman couldn't hide his shock. It had only been a few years, and yet, the childhood friend he grew up with—someone who was supposed to be just an ordinary person—had become a wizard?!
Bruce looked at him, astonished. "This is what you learned during your travels?"
Avery blinked innocently. "Without a doubt."
Why was it that I encountered an utterly irrational man, someone who attempted to destroy Gotham with extreme measures, forcing me to burn down my own manor… and yet Avery becomes a wizard?
Bruce couldn't help but think this was deeply unfair. But he still had another question. "Why have you been talking to me with such formal language all day?"
It was bizarre, unnatural even.
"As a butler, isn't it proper to address one's master with respectful titles?" Avery responded with a grin, lightly cradling the rose in his hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"Butler?" Bruce was stunned. He looked into Avery's eyes, searching for any hint of deception. "You always hated Gotham, this crime-ridden city, didn't you?"
That was something Avery had expressed even when they were children. Bruce had never taken offense to it, considering that Avery wasn't even American. To be honest, even Gotham natives, having lived there for generations, often held deep resentment toward the city.
Bruce had always assumed Avery would settle down in England, for one reason or another.
But Avery looked back at him, perfectly innocent, and said, "I've had my fun out in the world. What's wrong with coming home to inherit the family business?"
But you never cared about the family business!
That thought was written all over Bruce's face.
Avery held his gaze for a few seconds, then, without hesitation, turned away from Bruce and directed his attention to Alfred, who had been standing nearby, watching the entire exchange with a warm smile.
"Isn't that right, Father?"
Alfred blinked, his face lighting up with a gentle, amused smile.
"As long as you're willing, I can start my peaceful retirement right now."
...
The night sky over Gotham was always shrouded in thick clouds, like the invisible yet palpable gloom that hovered perpetually over the city. It was something that seemed impossible to dispel.
One thing that must be believed here is that, unless absolutely necessary, almost no one would choose to go out at night. After all, no one wanted to encounter misfortune.
Because in this city of sin, nighttime was paradise for thieves, vagrants, junkies, and criminals of all kinds. They were ruthless and wicked, and any average citizen who crossed paths with one of them was bound to be unlucky.
Of course, in this capitalist nation, the wealthy hardly had to worry about such things, as even the lowest of scum, including vagrants, couldn't make it into the affluent neighborhoods. The patrolling police made sure of that.
Perhaps only in the future, when Gotham's increasingly deranged villains—who always seemed to be up to something—multiplied, would this iron rule be abolished. After all, these maniacs didn't discriminate when causing havoc. Both the rich and the poor had to face death alike.
Driving across the Robert Kane Bridge and past Crime Alley, they eventually reached a bustling area. After passing through a stretch of bright lights, Avery and his group finally arrived at their destination: Wayne Tower, located in the heart of the Diamond District.
Naturally, they entered using facial recognition. In today's Gotham, almost no one could fail to recognize that face, even though "Brucie Wayne" had only recently returned to the city.
This was perhaps thanks to the media, who had been falling over themselves to cover his return. Their eagerness to chase headlines seemed more enthusiastic than their care for their own fathers.
Avery thought to himself, tomorrow's newspapers would surely be flooded with headlines like "Drunken Billionaire Burns Down His Own Manor."
There was no suspense about it.
However, the person in question didn't show the slightest concern over what kind of reckless, spoiled rich brat he might be portrayed as. His attitude was utterly indifferent, even though he had just burned down his mansion and was now already thinking about his next patrol.
"But your equipment is still in the underground cave of Wayne Manor. It's probably very difficult to retrieve now…"
Getting into the Batcave now would likely be a monumental task, as the entire wreckage of the manor lay atop it. Moreover, there was no way to guarantee that the equipment inside hadn't been damaged by the intense heat from the flames that had consumed the structure above it.
Alfred was reminding Bruce, while Avery, on the other hand, was wondering—had Bruce really turned that natural cave into a secret base so soon after returning to Gotham?
It was impressive, to say the least.
Avery chose not to interrupt, as he still didn't fully understand everything about Batman's journey since his debut. In this regard, Alfred knew much more. For Avery, there were many things he still needed time to grasp and get acquainted with.
Bruce was cutting into his steak, using a knife and fork in perfect synchronization. It was the dinner he had arranged to be delivered—medium-rare steak, cooked to perfection. Each bite had a firm yet tender texture, juicy and flavorful, accompanied by mushrooms, crispy roasted potatoes, and a rich bowl of borscht.
By tradition, wine would typically accompany such a meal, but Bruce refrained from drinking alcohol. Alcohol could make Batman's fists tremble when facing criminals, and so, even at banquets, he always opted for ginger ale instead.
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