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  -0-

  (Gotham Academy – Sed Week)

  The sterile order of Gotham Academy felt like a cage to Damian, just another system desigo trol people.

  He wasn't there to learhing in the curriculum was beh him.

  Advanced mathematics? He could solve the problems in minutes. History? Memorized already. Physics? Child's py.

  No, Damian wasn't ied in what the school had to teach him. What fasated him were the people—the predictable, dull rhythms of their lives, the cliques, the alliahe stant social maneuvering.

  It was like watg a pack of wolves fight over scraps.

  "Did you hear? Marcus hasn't shown up sihat new kid smmed him into the lockers."

  "He's probably scared. That white-haired kid is freaky."

  The whispers followed Damian wherever he went, but he paid them no mind. He strode through the halls with the fidence of someone who didn't care what ahought.

  --

  The first real challenge came during gym css.

  The students were divided into teams for basketball, and Damian found himself surrounded by boys who saw the game as an opportunity to assert their dominance.

  Oh boy. They had no idea.

  "You're on my team, Ghost Boy," a tall, broad-shouldered senior revor said, smirking.

  Damian frow the niame but didn't respond.

  The game began, and it quickly became clear that Damian wasn't ied in pying fair.

  He didn't care about the rules or the objective of the game. To him, it was just anht—a ce to study his oppos and assert trol.

  Trevor went up for a yup, but Damian was faster. He intercepted the ball mid-air, his reflexes sharper than anyone expected. He nded gracefully, his movements fluid as he darted down the court.

  The other team moved to block him, but Damian didn't flinch. He weaved through them with ease, his footwork so precise it felt more like a dahan a game.

  When one boy tried to shove him, Damian sidestepped and used the boy's momentum against him, sending him sprawling to the floor.

  The gym erupted into shouts as Damian scored effortlessly.

  "Dude, what the hell was that?" one of the boys shouted, gring at him.

  "Winning," Damian said coolly, walking past him without a sed gnce.

  By the end of the game, Damian's team had won by a ndslide, but the tension in the gym alpable. Trevor, now nursing a sore shoulder from one of Damian's "actal" collisions, gred at him from across the room.

  "Think you're tough, don't you?" Trevor said as the students filed out of the gym.

  Damian stopped and turned, his expression unreadable. "I don't think. I know."

  Trevor stepped closer, his fists ched. "You've got a smart mouth for a sy rich kid. Keep this up, and yon what's ing to you."

  "Maybe," Damian said, a faint smirk tugging at the er of his lips. "But it won't be from you."

  Trevor lunged, but before he could nd a blow, the gym teacher intervened.

  "Break it up!" the teacher barked, steppiween them.

  "Lucky you."

  Damian shrugged and walked away, leaving Trevor fuming.

  ---

  Later that day, during lunch, Damian found a quiet er of the cafeteria where he could eat in peace.

  He wasn't ied in the noise and chaos of the other students, nor did he want to deal with arying to talk to him.

  But then she appeared.

  Heleinelli.

  She was smaller than most of the irls, with dark hair and striking violet eyes.

  She moved quietly, her head down, as if trying to disappear. A fellow loner.

  Damian wouldn't have given her a sed gnce if he hadn't noticed the bruise on her wrist.

  It wasn't fresh, but it was obvious. And Damian knew a bruise like that didn't e from an act.

  He watched as Helena sat alo a nearby table, pig at her food without eating.

  A group of boys at aable snickered and whispered, their eyes darting toward her.

  One of them—Trevor's ckey—made a loud, mog ent about her clothes, and the hed.

  Helena's shoulders tensed, but she didn't look up.

  Damian's jaw tightened. He didn't care about these people. They were beh him, insignifit.

  But something about Helena's quiet resilience reminded him of the children he had seen in the orphahe ones who didn't fight back because they thought it wouldn't make a difference.

  He stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor.

  The boys at the other table froze as Damian approached, his presence sileng their ughter.

  "What's so funny?" he asked, his voice low and cold.

  The leader of the group, a wiry boy with a smug grin, tried to py it off. "Nothing, man. Just joking around."

  Damian stepped closer, his pierg green eyes log onto the boy's. "Do I look like I'm ughing?"

  The boy's grin faltered. "Hey, we didn't mean anything by it—"

  Damian leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. "If I hear you say another word about her, you won't be joking anymore. Uand?"

  The boy nodded quickly, his face pale.

  Damian straightened, his gaze sweeping over the group. "Good."

  Without another word, he returo his table. Helena g him briefly, her expression wary, but she didn't say anything. Damian didn't expect or even wao.

  -0-

  The gymnasium was dark ay, save for the faint glow of moonlight spilling through the high windows.

  Trevor paced across the floor, his fists ched and his jaw tight.

  Behind him, his ckeys whispered nervously, their fidence clearly shaken after what had happened earlier that day.

  "This kid thinks he's untouchable," Trevor muttered, stopping to face the others. "He o learn his pce."

  One of the boys, a wiry sophomore named Dean, frowned. "Are you sure about this? That guy… he's not normal. Did you see how fast he moved? It was like—"

  "Shut up!" Trevor snapped. "He's just some rich punk who thinks he's better than us. And I'm going to show him he's not."

  Dean and the others exged uneasy gnces but didn't argue. Trevor had always been the leader of their group, ae their doubts, they followed him as he outlined his pn.

  ---

  The afternoon, Damian stayed after school to use the gym.

  He hadn't told Bruce about the frontation with Trevor—there was no need. Damian didn't need anyone's help to handle his problems.

  He trained alone, methodically practig his strikes on a worn pung bag in the er of the gym.

  His movements were precise, his breathing steady. The rhythmic sound of his fists hitting the bag echoed through the empty room.

  But he wasn't alone for long.

  The creak of a door opening drew Damian's attentioopped mid-strike, his sharp eyes darting to the entrarevor stepped inside, followed by Dean and two other boys. They spread out, blog the exits.

  Damian's lips curled into a faint smirk. "Let me guess. You're here to teach me a lesson."

  Trevor cracked his knuckles. "Something like that. You've got a big mouth, Wayime to shut it."

  Damian shrugged, stepping away from the pung bag. "If you're smart, you'll leave now. You don't want this fight."

  Deaated, but Trevor sneered. "You're all talk, Ghost Boy."

  Damian didn't respond. He simply shifted his stance, his weight banced perfectly, his hands rexed at his sides.

  Trevor lunged first, throwing a wild punch aimed at Damian's head. Damian ducked easily, stepping into Trevuard and delivering a quick, precise jab to his ribs. Trevor staggered back, gasping for air.

  "Still think I'm all talk?" Damian asked coldly.

  The other boys rushed him at once, but Damian moved like a shadow, his strikes swift aating. A kick to the knee sent one boy sprawling to the floor. An elbow to the jaw left another clutg his fa pain.

  Dean, the st of the group, froze as Damian turo him.

  "You don't have to do this," Damian said, his voice calm but firm. "Walk away."

  Deaated, then dropped his fists and ran.

  Trevroaned from the floor, struggling to sit up. Damian crouched beside him, his expression cold aached.

  "ime you want to fight me," Damian said quietly, "make sure you know what you're up against."

  Trevred at him, his face twisted with anger and humiliation. "This isn't over," he spat.

  Damian smirked. "Yes, it is."

  ---

  The fight didn't stay a secret for long. By the day, the entire school was buzzing with rumors.

  Some students whispered about how Trevroup had been taken down single-handedly, while others specuted about who Damian really was.

  Damian didn't care about the gossip. He walked through the halls with the same fidence as before, ign the stares and whispers.

  Helena approached him during lunch, her expressioant.

  "Hey," she said softly.

  Damian looked up from his book, raising an eyebrow. "What?"

  "I heard what you did," she said, her violet eyes flickering with somethiween gratitude and curiosity.

  "I didn't do it for you," Damian said ftly.

  Helena nodded. "I know. But… thanks anyway."

  Before he could respond, she walked away, leaving Damian to wonder why her words had stuck with him.

  ---

  That evening, Bruce fronted Damian iudy at Wayne Manor.

  "The school called," Bruce said, his tone measured but firm. "Do you want to expin why there's another i involving you and a group of students?"

  "They started it," Damian replied, leaning ba the chair.

  "And you fi," Bruce said. "With broken noses and bruised ribs."

  "They had it ing," Damian said coolly. "You said it yourself—no one survives alone. I was just making sure they remembered that."

  Bruce sighed, rubbing his temples. "Damian, this isn't about survival. This is about trol. You 't just fight your way through every problem. People don't respect power—they respect discipline."

  Damian's eyes narrowed. "You don't get it. People only respect strength. The sed you show weakness, they take advantage of you."

  Bruce studied Damian carefully, his expression softening slightly. "I do get it. More than you know."

  For a moment, her of them spoke. Then Bruce stepped forward, his tone calm but firm.

  "You 't ge the world by fighting everyone in it, Damian. If you want to survive—not just survive, but thrive—you o learn to use more than your fists."

  Damian scoffed but didn't argue.

  "sider this your st warning," Bruce said. "One more i like this, and there will be sequences."

  Damian didn't respond. He simply walked out of the room, leaving Bruce to wonder if he had gotten through to him.

  'Broken noses? Mmph, they're lucky it wasn't bones.'