Bruce Wayne glanced at Alfred's questioning face, then turned his gaze back to the TV where Adam, still swathed in bandages, was energetically "performing" for reporters. A rare smile tugged at his lips.
"Hate him? Why would I hate him?" Bruce said calmly, gesturing at the screen. "The guy yelled about beating me up, but in the end, he's the one who looks like he got hit by a truck. If anything, I should feel sorry for him. He's the real victim here."
Alfred raised an eyebrow, his sharp eyes sliding toward Bruce's face. The bruise around Bruce's left eye was faint—barely noticeable. To anyone else, it looked like a minor accident, the kind you might get by bumping into a door. But on TV, Adam's face told a different story: his hands wrapped in thick gauze, one arm immobilized with a splint, his nose swollen, his cheeks black and blue. He looked like he'd just lost a bar fight with ten men.
"Good heavens, Master Bruce," Alfred said, his voice laced with disapproval. "Why did you hit him so hard? Aren't you worried about blowing your Batman cover? You're supposed to avoid using your combat skills when playing the rich fool. But instead, you beat up a police officer—one who just solved a major case, no less. If that's not drawing attention, I don't know what is."
Bruce smirked, leaning back on the couch. "Heavy-handed? Alfred, I barely used twenty percent of my strength. The man's just… fragile. To be honest, Adam's brain might be sharp when it comes to solving cases, but his fighting skills? He's hopeless. I could probably take him down with a feather." Nᴇw novel chapters are publɪshed on NovᴇlFir(e).nᴇt
Alfred gave him a flat look, unimpressed by the boast.
On the TV, Adam was still giving his interview. The scene cut to a female reporter leaning toward him, her tone full of admiration.
"Detective Adam, this neurotoxin case was solved in under ten minutes, setting an unprecedented record in Gotham's history! What's your secret?" she asked with a dazzling smile.
"Hah! Finally, someone asks the right question," Adam replied, beaming despite his battered face. "That's how you do journalism! Not like some people—" he sneered slightly, "—who ask nonsense and don't even know how to say 'please.' You can tell at a glance they're spoiled rich kids who don't understand how the real world works."
Bruce stared at the screen, his jaw tightening just a fraction.
'This guy… he just can't let it go, can he?' he thought.
"Actually, it's nothing too amazing," Adam continued, suddenly looking very serious. "A while ago, there was that poison gas incident at the Zeus Hotel—the one where victims started laughing uncontrollably. I happened to be there and saw the aftermath with my own eyes. It was horrific. So I've been digging into Gotham's chemical trade ever since, gathering intel. All that groundwork paid off today."
Bruce's sharp eyes narrowed slightly.
'A neat little story…'
He wasn't fooled. If he'd been there, Adam's lie wouldn't have survived three questions.
Adam, unaware (or pretending to be), continued modestly, "But I'm just a small part of this success. The real credit goes to the hardworking officers of Gotham PD—and, of course, Chief Gordon's leadership. Without them, this case wouldn't have been solved so smoothly."
The camera cut to the female host, who nodded approvingly. "Thank you, Detective Adam. And now, Gotham citizens, don't forget to join our telephone poll to vote for your favorite public figure of the week!"
The results were staggering. Even with the phone bill tripled, thousands called in. Adam received 17,623 votes of support, while Bruce Wayne managed a pitiful 381 votes—a number so small, it couldn't even match the staff count at one Wayne Enterprises department store.
Bruce turned off the TV, expression unreadable. "So… Adam's quick success is mostly due to his prior investigations. Makes sense," he said quietly.
Alfred, arms crossed, tilted his head. "Then why, pray tell, did you start a brawl with him barely five minutes after meeting him?"
Bruce placed a warm egg against his bruised eye again and said coolly, "Because I suspect some of his 'investigative methods' were illegal. Remember those street kids he uses to track suspects? Wouldn't surprise me if he'd been running unauthorized surveillance or wiretaps. If I'd asked him about it directly, he'd never admit it. So, he picked a fight to dodge my questions."
Alfred thought about it, then nodded. "That… actually makes sense."
Bruce's expression hardened, his voice dropping into the tone he only used when talking about Batman's mission. "Remember what I told you before, Alfred? Batman can't clean up Gotham alone. I need allies inside the system—people who can move where I can't. We need to find those who share our values."
Alfred's brows rose. "And you're thinking of Adam? Really? You just exchanged punches with the man two hours ago. Isn't that a bit… counterintuitive?"
Bruce's gaze was steady. "Exactly. No one would ever suspect Batman of working with someone who hates Bruce Wayne. That's the perfect cover. Gordon is honest and reliable. Harvey Dent is bold and clever. But Adam—he's cunning, unafraid to get his hands dirty, and not the kind of man you can bribe. He's got a sense of justice… and he's openly spoken in favor of Batman. That kind of ally is rare."
Alfred chuckled softly. "Well, I can't argue with your logic. But I'd pay good money to see Adam's face when he finds out Batman is actually the Bruce Wayne he despises."
A slow smile spread across Bruce's face. "Oh, I'm looking forward to that, Alfred."
But what neither of them knew was that Adam already knew everything. From the very start, he had been playing his own game, acting the part of the clueless detective while watching both Bruce Wayne and Batman with calculating eyes.
Perhaps deep down, Adam was just waiting for the day when Batman would realize the truth. And when that moment came, the look on Batman's face might be even better than what Bruce imagined.