Chương 1796: Chapter 1214: The Cries of the Lamb (26) _1

In the face of Bruce's hopeful gaze, Jason shook his head and said, "I don't know, I fell asleep when I heard this."

Bruce was taken aback, he felt a rush of breath lodged in his throat, a constant sweet and salty taste coming up. He took a deep breath, looked at Jason and said, "So you sleep in class too, eh?"

"Don't you do the same?" Jason was quite surprised. In a surprised and puzzled expression, he looked at Bruce, saying, "Last time when I went to hand the teaching materials to Professor Shearer, you were leaning on the back desk, deep in sleep."

Bruce was speechless.

He suddenly discovered a serious problem that he seemingly had no qualification to demand Dick to achieve good grades.

Dick's score is only in the middle in his class, while Bruce is literally at the bottom in his class.

With the expansion of Wayne Enterprises Business, business is booming. If he explained his academic failure in freshman and sophomore years on his disguise as a Playboy, it would not work for his junior year. Everyone knew he was a successful business genius.

So then, Bruce should have been studying well, but at that time he felt busy, and he felt that academic achievement was not necessary for him, so he sometimes chose to rest in class.

"I'm an adult, I can adjust…" Bruce wanted to explain instinctively, but looking at Jason's staring gaze, he really couldn't finish the sentence.

One day, if Jason falls asleep in class and gets caught by the teacher and the teacher asks for the reason, and Jason tells the teacher that he can balance work and study, and the teacher asks who he learnt this from, it would be disastrous.

"Why would Dick feel scared?" Jason asked and answered himself: "One of the reasons for children's rebellion is that they want to push the boundaries to see how far their parents can tolerate."

"They believe this extent represents the degree of their parents' love. They know it's too much in reason, but they can't resist. They want to know whether their parents will still love them when they are independent."

"They want to know the position that family affection should occupy in the personality they will build in the future, the position that their parents should be placed, and their basis of judgment, is the response of their parents after challenging authority."

"I shouldn't rebuke him, should I?" Bruce asked.

"I don't know." Jason shook his head again. He thought for a while and then said, "But I think maybe Dick acts like this because his psychological trauma hasn't healed."

"If a madman kidnaps me in my dream and cuts off my ears, I can't resist watching him hurt me with no one to rescue me, I'd have nightmares for at least half a year." A rare trace of fear crossed Jason's face.

Bruce's mouth tightened a bit, revealing a guilty look. In a deep voice, he said, "Last night, I shouldn't have blamed Dick. But I was too angry."

"You said you're an adult, and you can adjust everything," Jason shrugged lightly, glanced toward the door, and then said, "But it's not too late. You can go to Dick, let him know that the horrible things happening in his dream are not real."

Bruce stood up and slowly walked into the room. But Dick began to tremble all over, or tears flowed dazedly. Bruce stood in the middle of the room, not knowing whether to approach or not.

After a while, he walked out and called Alfred in to coax Dick to sleep.

Bruce lay on the bed of his bedroom tossing and turning, unable to sleep. Chaotic thoughts filled his mind.

The so-called anger during the day would be brewed into a cup of wine called grievance in the dark night. Without anyone to talk, a lot of sadness would be poured into the wine glass, then mixed into loneliness.

Loneliness is a bitter wine. All the tastes that can be tasted are only pitiful self-comfort. Even if you have drunk many times, you still want to pick out a few sentences from the crazy words when you swallow it, and ask the heaven why it is so unfair.

Bruce was full of troubles, unable to sleep no matter how much he adjusted his emotions. But it was not because of disappointment. Perhaps it was because he felt hopeful, because he saw Thomas today.

At the thought of that tall figure, Bruce magnified it in his mind to be more strong. The days and nights he spent with Thomas were constantly replaying in his mind, prompting him to sit up from the bed.

Standing in front of the bedroom window, Bruce could not suppress the impulse in his heart. He quickly put on his clothes, even without the time to put on his Batman gear, he dashed into the rainy night of Gotham.

He kept jumping in the dark city, his speed faster and faster, his blood hotter and hotter, until his body was fogging due to temperature. Standing on top of the building, Bruce had never breathed so heavily.

Bruce knew that it was unwise to exhaust his strength to this extent. The sweet and bitter taste brought by breathing and the pain in the lungs were reminding him that if a dangerous criminal approached him at this time, he would be done for.

But what scared him even more was that after a lap in the city, he did not see that figure.

Panicked, disappointed and a bit lucky, Bruce turned around and planned to leave, and mocked himself silently. His emotional madness, except for the increased possibility of fever, was useless.

But just then, Bruce turned around and saw through the blurred halo of his eyelashes that there was a figure standing on the top of the Wayne building, so tall and strong, like a mountain.

As if guided by something, Bruce walked towards that direction until he reached behind the figure.

Before he could ask, the man across took off his mask. It was his father, Thomas Wayne, whose presence had haunted Bruce's dreams for countless days and nights.

But their reunion was devoid of warmth. Thomas looked wearied and old, while Bruce was both enraged and fragile.

The emotional roller coaster of the past few days had overstretched Bruce's already taut heartstrings.

All the questions and grievances swirling inside him were now a raging flame. He wanted answers for his hysterical grief back then and the loneliness he'd suffered ever since.

"Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!"

After the initial gleam, the Batman dart started whirling, first cutting through the fine rain strands and then regaining its utmost speed. It grazed the white hairs on Thomas's temple, carrying the force of a thunderbolt with it—the brilliant blade reflecting the wrinkles at the side of the aged father's eyes.

"So this is you, Batman," Thomas began, "Even while encountering your own father, you chose to attack him. Such a ruthless monster should not exist."

The moment the Batman dart was thrown, Bruce instantly regretted it. But his remorse was fuelled more by Thomas's attitude. He glared at his father, retorting, "You lied to me, and you abandoned me."

"You lack the patience to uncover the truth, resorting only to your narrow conjectures, laying blame on everyone else," Thomas retorted. "But part of the blame lies with me for not keeping a closer watch. While I was away, you were neglected of proper guidance and discipline."

"Now, I am back to correct all our past mistakes. Bruce, I will kill Batman and lead you back onto the right path."

As Thomas finished his sentence, his dark figure lunged forward. Bruce took it head on, raising his arms to shield himself from Thomas's fist. He countered with an elbow strike, but Thomas ducked, dodging his elbow and returned another fist.

Bruce dodged his fist in the simplest way by stepping aside. But the next second, a glint flashed in Thomas's eyes. He took a step forward, trod lightly between Bruce's legs, and gave a gentle flick to the right, causing Bruce to stagger.

Seizing the chance, Thomas moved forward, getting hold of Bruce's neck from behind and viciously throwing him on the ground, punching hard into his cheekbone.

The punch was heavy and it left Bruce's head spinning. He tasted his tongue scraping against his tooth, and blood poured out from the resulting wound.

Thomas kneeled over Bruce, gripping his neck and punching him again. Bruce made a groaning sound like that of someone dying, his mouth overflowing with blood.

When Thomas slowly rose, waves of vertigo consumed Bruce. His father's silhouette barely visible in the hazy darkness still stood tall and solid, perfectly blending in with Gotham's night.

"You are not... Thomas..."

"Yes, I am."

Thomas crouched down again, tightening his grip on Bruce's jaw, forcing him to look at himself. "Lack of upbringing has led you into ignorance, causing you to waste your life in places you shouldn't. Now that I have this chance to reverse this situation... you better do as I say, or learn your lesson the hard way."

Letting go of Bruce's face, Thomas stood up, stepping on Bruce's chest, and threw his mask onto Bruce, saying:

"Think I've gone crazy? That's the price to pay for being the Batman. Every trace of my patience and emotions have dissipated into becoming an emotionless, law-enforcing machine."

"If you want your patient explanations and nostalgic conversations, then discard that ridiculous suit. I won't let my son become Batman."

"To prevent such gruesome tragedies from happening again, I'll do what it takes. Today is just the beginning."

Thomas lifted his foot only to stomp heavily on Bruce's chest again. The sound of breaking ribs could be heard distinctly amid the rain.

Clutching his chest, Bruce gasped for air, letting out agonizing moans.

He tried to convince himself that his inability to fight back was because he didn't want to hurt Thomas. But his sensibilities told him he truly couldn't beat him, even if he donned his full gear.

Upon knowing this truth, Bruce felt not fear, but infinite anger.

As Thomas started to leave, Bruce, still holding his injured chest, mustered up the strength to speak.

"Only losers... see their lives... as a tragedy. You, on top of being a failure, are despicable... I am... ashamed..."

A Batman dart pierced through Bruce's shoulder blade. Blood trickled down with the rainwater, staining the cold ground red. Although he tried to get himself up, Thomas merely looked back at him and said,

"I am a failed father and so are you; all you will bring your child is suffering."

In that instant, Bruce's arm went limp, causing him to fall back on the ground. He watched blurry-eyed as the blood flowing from his nose and mouth dyed the rain puddle scarlet.

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