Batman was infatuated.
He took back everything he had said before.
During this time, the relationship between Batman and Catwoman progressed rapidly.
Perhaps fate did exist in this world. Catwoman was lively and romantic by nature, completely at odds with Batman's serious, suspicious, and rigid personality.
Yet emotions rarely followed logic.
In short, the fledgling Batman was utterly captivated by Catwoman.
Time rewound to the night after his conversation with Lance.
When Batman returned to Wayne Manor, Alfred was wiping down the tea set in the display cabinet.
"Did you have a pleasant evening, Master?"
"It was acceptable," Bruce replied.
He sat at the console and pulled up the patrol records from that night.
Then he brought up the surveillance footage of Catwoman's activities.
On screen, the black-clad figure moved in and out of the jewelry store with effortless ease, her movements practiced and precise.
"Have you identified her?" Bruce asked.
"Selina Kyle. Raised in a Gotham orphanage. Disappeared at sixteen and resurfaced at twenty-three, making a living by stealing jewelry and high-value artwork. No record of murder, but…"
Alfred pulled up another file. "The items she steals eventually appear on the black market. However, only a small portion of the profits go to her. Most of it is funneled into several orphanages and homeless shelters in the East End."
Bruce stared at the photograph on the screen.
The young woman in the image smiled at the camera, her eyes bright and striking.
Privately, Bruce thought the jewel Catwoman had stolen was nothing special. It did not even come close to her eyes.
"A Robin Hood-style thief," he said.
He shut off the surveillance feed.
Rising to his feet, he headed toward the dressing room, but stopped midway.
"Alfred."
"Yes, Master?"
"…Do I look ridiculous?"
Alfred blinked, taking a moment to process the question. For the usually composed young master, it was unexpectedly… endearing.
Then he smiled.
"Forgive my frankness, Master, but the expression you had just now was indeed somewhat… ridiculous."
Bruce shot him a look before walking into the dressing room.
Once the door closed, Alfred shook his head and picked up the tray.
It was good to be young, he thought.
No one escapes youth.
From that day onward, the feelings between Bruce and Catwoman warmed quickly.
They began to roam Gotham's nights together more and more often.
While Catwoman could not assist much in direct combat, her skills in infiltration and reconnaissance were exceptional.
Best of all, Catwoman loved jewels and all kinds of expensive accessories, and Batman had money to spare.
However, there was one issue they could never agree on.
The matter of theft.
Batman was always trying to make Catwoman stop, but Catwoman had her own reasoning.
She believed she simply liked those jewels. Since they were left sitting in display cases with no one buying them, there was nothing wrong with her taking them to enjoy for a few days before returning them.
Batman reduced her behavior to a single word.
Kleptomania.
For a woman, it was a rather harsh accusation.
As a result, during their most recent argument, when Batman once again stopped her from stealing, Catwoman lost her temper completely.
Batman was struck hard across the face, and then, in a fit of anger, Catwoman drew a dagger and drove it straight into his side.
In short, Batman ended up bedridden.
That blade had been just 0.01 centimeters away from his kidney.
A fraction closer, and Gotham's infamous playboy would have been finished.
"I assume," Alfred said as he used tweezers to pick up a cotton swab soaked in alcohol and pressed it against Bruce's wound, "this was not the romantic evening you had in mind?"
Bruce lay face down on the operating table in Wayne Manor, his side wrapped in thick bandages.
The anesthesia was beginning to wear off, and waves of dull pain spread through him.
"She didn't mean it," he said.
"Of course not," Alfred replied calmly.
"If she had, the blade would have been three inches higher to pierce your lung, or two inches lower to ensure the Wayne family had no heir."
"..."
Bruce said nothing, his gaze fixed on the reflection above him.
"She's angry."
After a moment of silence, he spoke again.
"That much is obvious. Referring to a lady as having 'kleptomania' is rather impolite, even if the description is not entirely inaccurate."
"I didn't intend to insult her."
"Intent is irrelevant, Master. What matters is how the lady perceived your words."
The old butler deftly finished dressing the wound.
"By the way, this is your third injury this month. Shall I remind you that Batman has existed for less than half a year?"
Bruce closed his eyes.
Outside, the sound of rain fell steadily, blending with the quiet ticking of the medical equipment and filling the silent room.
He remembered the look in Catwoman's eyes as she turned away.
She had not truly meant to hurt him.
Just as he had not truly meant to hurt her.
"Alfred," Bruce said suddenly.
"I'm listening, Master."
"…I handled it badly, didn't I?"
Alfred paused for a moment, glanced at him, then continued bandaging.
"When it comes to matters of emotion, you have never been particularly adept," he said tactfully. "That said, the responsibility this time is not entirely yours. After all, stabbing someone with a knife, regardless of the reason, goes beyond the bounds of a simple argument."
Bruce remained silent.
"Shall I contact Lawyer Prescott?" Alfred added suddenly. "This could be treated as a public relations incident for the CEO of Wayne Enterprises. We could appoint Mr. Prescott to handle the compensation for your personal injury…"
Bruce opened his eyes and gave Alfred a mild glare.
Alfred only smiled.
"A joke, of course. But in all seriousness, Master, you should consider carefully whether it is wise to pursue a relationship with such a lady."
"She's not…"
"You understand better than I do what she is."
Alfred cut the bandage cleanly. "Now lie still for eight hours. If you can stand by tomorrow morning, I will be impressed."
During the day, Lance spotted a piece of gossip about Bruce Wayne in the newspaper.
"Master Wayne Suffers Waist Injury! Absent from Board Meeting! Excessive Nightlife Suspected?!"
The accompanying photo showed Bruce Wayne stepping out of his residence with a cane.
His complexion was pale, with dark circles under his eyes, looking utterly exhausted.
"Wow."
Lance slid the newspaper across the table to the little crocodile.
"Take a look at this. A waist injury?" Lance chuckled. "I'd say he got scratched by a cat."
He paused, then glanced at Waylana Jones, who was reading the newspaper with complete seriousness.
"Promise me you won't pick up bad habits like that," he said.
___
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