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  -0-

  -Gotham's Narrows – Midnight-

  The rain came down is, soaking through Damian's hoodie as he stalked through the narrow alleys.

  His ribs ached from st night's fight, but he ighe pain. Pain was fleeting, just another obstacle to push through.

  Tonight, he wasn't heading to the underground rings—he'd already made enough money for the week.

  Instead, he had something else on his mind. The man he had seen oV—the man who had watched him fight. Bruce Wayne.

  'What does he want with me?'

  Damian hated unanswered questions. Information ower, and Bruce Wayne uzzle he inteo solve.

  But before Damian could a his curiosity, the shadows shifted around him.

  He stopped walking, his sharp instincts fring. His hand twitched toward the knife hidden in his jacket pocket.

  "You're being followed," a voice said from the darkness.

  Damian spun around, his eyes narrowing. A man stepped into the dim light of a flickering streetmp, his movements calm and deliberate.

  It was Bruce Wayne.

  Damian's first instinct was to attack, but something about Bruce's posture—pletely rexed, uened—made him pause.

  "I don't like people sneaking up on me, Mr.Wayne." Damian growled, his tone sharp and challenging.

  Bruce raised his hands in a pg gesture. "Fair enough. But I think we both agree you're not the average twelve-year-old. I'm not here to fight you."

  "Then what do you want?" Damian's fiwitched, ready to grab his knife if Bruce made a wrong move.

  "To talk," Bruce said simply. He stepped closer, his pierg blue eyes studying Damian carefully. "You're taleoo taleo be wasting your time in pces like this. I've seen what you do."

  Damian's jaw tightened. "And you think I need your help? That I'm some charity case?"

  Bruce shook his head. "I'm not charity. I'm opportunity. You're smart enough to know the difference."

  Damian scoffed. "I don't need your money, and I don't need you."

  Bruce tilted his head, his expression unreadable. "Maybe not. But if you ever ge your mind, you know where to find me."

  He handed Damian a card with his name and a phone number. Without waiting for a response, Bruce turned and walked away, disappearing into the rain.

  ---

  Ba his apartment, Damian sat on the edge of his cot, turning the card over in his hands. The name Bruce Wayared back at him in bold, embossed letters.

  "What's yame, Wayne?" Damian muttered to himself.

  Part of him wao throw the card away, but he hesitated. Bruce Wayne wasn't like the others who had tried to manipute him. There was something different about him—something that made Damian uneasy.

  He tossed the card onto the desk and y ba the cot, staring at the cracked ceiling. Sleep didn't e easily.

  -0-

  Wayerprises – Two Days Later.

  Bruce sat in his office, reviewis o activity in Gotham's underground.

  The footage of Damian's fights pyed on his tablet, the boy's movements sharp and precise. It was clear that Damian was no ordinary street kid. But for all his iigative prowess, his ins remained a mystery.

  "League of Shadows?" Alfred asked, setting a cup of tea on Bruce's desk.

  Bruce shook his head. "Maybe. But there's no record of him in their ranks, and I haven't found any e to Ra's al Ghul. He's a plete ghost. No birth certificate, no school records—nothing."

  Alfred raised an eyebrow. "Yet you think he's worth your attention?"

  Bruce leaned ba his chair, his expression thoughtful. "There's something about him, Alfred. Something I 't quite put my finger on. He's dangerous, but… he's also disciplined. Calcuted. It's almost like he was trained."

  Alfred's lips thinned, but he said nothing.

  Bruce's phone buzzed on the desk, interrupting his thoughts. When he g the s, his eyebrows lifted slightly.

  "Speak of the devil," he murmured.

  The caller ID read, 'Unknown Number.'

  ---

  The evening, Damian arrived at Wayne Manor, his sharp eyes sing the grae.

  The t gates, the pristine gardens, the sprawling mansion—it was all so… excessive.

  He hated it already.

  A butler opehe door, his posture perfed his expression warm.

  "Master Wayne has been expeg you," Alfred said. "Please, e in."

  Damiaated for a moment before stepping inside. His worn sneakers squeaked faintly on the polished marble floor, a stark trast to the luxury surrounding him.

  Bruce was waiting for him iudy, seated in a leather armchair by the firepce.

  "You came," Bruce said, his toral.

  "Don't get used to it," Damian replied. He stayed he doorway, his arms crossed defensively.

  Bruce gestured to a sed chair. "Have a seat."

  Damian didn't move. "Let's skip the pleasantries. Why did you call me here?"

  Bruce leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "You're smart, Damian. Smarter than most adults I've met. And you're a fighter—one of the best I've seen at ye. But you're throwing your life away in ths."

  "I do what I have to," Damian shot back. "I don't need a lecture."

  "I'm not lecturing," Bruce said calmly. "I'm you a way out. One Orphan to another."

  Damian's eyes narrowed. "What's the catch?"

  "No catch," Bruce replied. "But if you stay oh you're on, you won't make it to twenty. You're too good for that."

  There was a long silence as Damian studied Bruce, trying to find any cracks in his armor. Finally, he spoke.

  "Why do you care?"

  Bruce hesitated for the briefest moment before answering. "Let's just say I see something in you. Something I uand."

  Damian didn't trust him—he didn't trust anyone really. But the curiosity that had been nagging at him siheir first enter wouldn't let him walk away.

  "Fine," Damian said at st. "I'll see what you've got. But don't think for a sed that I'm buying into this whole 'ed billionaire' act."

  Bruce smiled faintly. "Fair enough."

  Wayne Manor – The M

  The sunlight streaming through the massive windows of Wayne Manor felt intrusive to Damian as he sat stiffly at the dining table.

  The sheer size of the room, with its high ceilings and ornate furnishings, felt ridiculous—pointless extravagance for one man and his butler.

  Alfred approached with a pte of food, setting it down in front of Damian. Eggs, toast, ba—perfectly arrahe kind of meal Damian had only seen in advertisements.

  "You've been quiet," Alfred said, his voice calm.

  Damian gnced up, his sharp greeudying the older man.

  "This pce is a joke," he said ftly. "No one his much space or this much food."

  Alfred raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. "Master Wayne has been known to indulge, but this estate has been in the family feions. It's not just a home—it's history."

  Damian didn't reply, stabbing a fork into the eggs as if they'd personally offended him.

  Brutered the room moments ter, his suit perfectly tailored and his demeanor as poised as ever. He g Damian before addressing Alfred.

  "Has he said anything about st night?" Bruce asked.

  "I hear you," Damian said, not looking up from his pte.

  Bruce smirked faintly and took a seat across from Damian. "Good. The's talk about what's ."

  "What's ?" Damiaed, his tone mog. "You make it sound like I signed a tract."

  "You did when you walked through the gates," Bruce said calmly.

  Damia him but said nothing.

  Bruce leaned forward, his expression serious. "You're here because you need a ce to start over. Whether you want to admit it or not, you're better off here than in those underground rings. But I 't help you if you don't help yourself."

  Damian's jaw ched. "What do you want from me?"

  "For now? Go to school. Learn something. And try not to get kicked out."

  Damian ughed bitterly. "School? You're joking, right? Those idiots don't have anything to teach me."

  'Self educated as well? Impressive.' Bruce thought. Even still, it would do Damiao socialize with peers.

  "I'm not joking," Bruce said. "Gotham Academy is one of the best schools in the try. It's not just about academics—it's about learning to i with people."

  "I don't need people," Damian snapped.

  "You do," Bruce said firmly. "Whether you want to admit it or not, no one survives alone. Not in this world."

  There was a long silence as Damian processed Bruce's words. Finally, he gave a small shrug. "Fine. I'll py along. But don't expect me to be a model student."

  "I wouldn't dream of it," Bruce said, smirking faintly.

  -0-

  The polished marble floors and pristine hallways of Gotham Academy were a stark trast to the streets Damian was used to.

  The students, dressed in their pressed uniforms, walked in groups, ughing and chatting about things Damian couldn't care less about.

  He moved through the halls like a predator among prey, his sharp eyes taking ihing. The cliques, the social hierarchies—it was all so predictable.

  Whispers followed him as he passed. His white hair and pierg green eyes made him stand out immediately, and the rumors started almost as soon as he arrived.

  "Who is that?"

  "Some rich kid Bruce Wayne adopted."

  "Why does he look so… intense?"

  Damian ighem, his expression cold and indifferent. He found his locker and began unloading his books, his mind already calg the quickest way to get through this charade without wasting too much time.

  A boy approached him—a tall, athletiior with a fident smirk. His ente followed close behind, their ughter obnoxiously loud.

  "Hey, new kid," the boy said, leaning casually against the lockers. "You lost?"

  Damian didn't look up. "No."

  The boy chuckled. "You don't talk much, do you? What's your name?"

  "None of your business," Damian said, smming his locker shut.

  The smirk faded from the boy's face. "Listen, kid. I don't know how things worked wherever you came from, but here, you show respect to the uppercssmen."

  Damian turo face him, his eyes cold and unfling. "Respect is earned, not given. And you've dohing to earn mine."

  The boy's face twisted in anger. "You've got a big mouth for someone so small."

  Without warning, he grabbed Damian's colr, shoving him against the lockers. The hallway fell silent as the other students watched, their eyes wide with anticipation.

  Damian didn't react immediately. Instead, he studied the boy—his stance, his grip, the way his friends stood slightly behind him, ready to step in if needed.

  "Let me go," Damian said quietly.

  "Or what?" the boy taunted.

  Before the words had fully left his mouth, Damian moved.

  His hand shot up, breaking the boy's grip on his colr, and in one fluid motiowisted the boy's arm behind his bad smmed him face-first into the lockers.

  The croed.

  "Don't touch me again," Damian said, his voice calm but ced with menace.

  He released the boy, who stumbled back, clutg his arm and gring at Damian with a mixture of pain and humiliation.

  "You'll regret this," the boy hissed before st off with his ente.

  Damian adjusted his jacket and walked away, ign the stares of the other students. He didn't care about making friends—or enemies.

  He just wao get through the day without being bored to death.