"You're not allowed to mention my father's name in front of me!" Bruce Wayne roared, his fingers outstretched like blades in front of Adam's face.
In that instant, Bruce shed the persona of the smooth-talking playboy. He was no longer the charming, idle heir, but a volcano on the verge of eruption, every inch of him radiating hostility.
But Adam stood his ground. As a person familiar with the plot, he knew exactly where Batman's bottom lines were. And more importantly, he knew that Bruce Wayne, in his public persona, couldn't afford to go too far. After all, his carefully curated image as a wealthy party boy was meant to distract from the truth—that he was Gotham's greatest detective and most dangerous vigilante.
In other words, even if Bruce wanted to retaliate, he'd have to wait. He couldn't risk drawing suspicion by confronting Adam as Batman right after being provoked as Bruce Wayne. The dual identity had to be airtight. And Adam was banking on that.
"What, gonna claw at me now?" Adam sneered. "Didn't your mother teach you basic manners? Or did you rich brats skip etiquette altogether?"
He raised his hand and, with a flourish straight out of a TV drama, tried to twist Bruce's pointing finger away.
It didn't budge. Not an inch.
"What the... this one finger is like solid iron?"
Adam was stunned. Maybe it was the influence of all those flashy movie versions that made people think Batman was just a guy with gadgets. But the truth was much scarier.
Bruce Wayne had trained since childhood, traveling the world in disguise, learning martial arts from the greatest masters. He'd studied 127 disciplines—from Brazilian capoeira to ancient Chinese kung fu. He'd climbed the Himalayas without gear, meditated with monks, trained in the slums of India, and sought enlightenment through suffering.
He wasn't just a rich guy in a suit. Bruce Wayne was the pinnacle of human capability—the strongest mortal alive. A man who could make Superman bleed and force the most fearsome beings in the universe to retreat.
"You shouldn't have brought up my mother," Bruce said, his voice low. It wasn't loud, but it shook everyone around him. The air itself seemed to tighten. People instinctively stepped back, their fight-or-flight instincts screaming.
Adam felt it the most. The pressure was unbearable, like standing at the edge of a cliff in a storm. Even face-to-face with Scarecrow's toxin, he hadn't felt this much dread.
Randomly, an ancient verse floated through his panicking mind: "If your anger has not reached the heavens, do not let it descend to the earth." It seemed fitting. He just hoped Bruce didn't go full "Bleeding Five Steps" right now.
Feeling trapped, Adam did the only thing he could: lash out.
"What's with all the posturing? You think this is some action movie? Trying to charge up your rage meter before going berserk?" Adam snapped—and then threw a punch directly at Bruce Wayne's face.
It was out of pure instinct. The pressure was too much. Better to throw a punch than be crushed under it. He knew Bruce probably wouldn't fight back seriously in front of all these reporters, so he gambled everything on it.
The punch barely grazed Bruce's cheek.
It was uncanny. The moment Adam's fist approached, Bruce had already turned his head just enough to dodge—subtle, smooth, almost effortless. From the outside, it looked like Adam had landed a hit. But he knew the truth: Bruce had dodged everything.
It felt like punching air.
Adam 's heart dropped.
That kind of reaction speed... this guy is terrifying.
And then Bruce spoke coldly, "Since you acted first, I'm now acting in self-defense."
Before Adam could react, a sledgehammer-like force slammed into his chest. His world spun. His organs felt scrambled. His hearing fuzzed out into a high-pitched whine, and the ground tilted beneath him.
If he'd eaten anything earlier, he'd have thrown it all up by now.
He hit the ground hard.
Everything went still.
Bruce Wayne froze. Regret instantly flickered across his face. Damn it. He wasn't supposed to reveal his fighting skills. If he wanted to keep his identity as Batman secret, he couldn't afford to show that level of combat ability.
Even though he was furious at Adam's words, he'd held back—using only 70% of his strength. But judging by Adam lying motionless, even that seemed like too much.
"Ahh! The rich guy beat someone to death!"
A child's voice rang out from the crowd. No one knew who said it, but the spell was broken. Reporters leapt into action. Cameras clicked. Headlines were already being drafted in their minds:
"Gotham's Heir Assaults Detective in Public Meltdown!"
"Wayne Scion Loses Control, Violence Erupts!"
Bruce Wayne blinked. "No—I didn't... he's not dead. Just unconscious. Probably...?"
He leaned down, panic creeping in. He'd never killed anyone—not even the worst villains. He couldn't start now, not .
He saw Adam 's eyes flutter open.
"It's now! Screw you, rich boy!"
Adam shouted and, like a spring-loaded trap, snapped his body up from the ground. Using the floor as leverage, he launched a surprise kick straight at Bruce Wayne's face. Google seaʀᴄh NovᴇlFɪre.ɴet
A classic "rabbit kicks the eagle".
If you want to read 40+ chapters, visit my Ptttn.
pttttn.com/MiniMine352