Chapter 286: Gotham Family Play (Part 2)

When Selina took Aisha from Bruce's hands, she already struggled—Aisha wasn't an infant; a three- or four-year-old was already heavy to hold, and Selina's frame was no match for Bruce's, making it even harder to control Aisha in her excited state.

Just then, the aerialist performance, after a brief pause, surged into its climax—breathtaking aerial maneuvers sent Aisha into a frenzy; she lunged forward violently, and Selina couldn't hold her.

Aisha shot straight onto the front-row seats, scrambled down from the chair, then slipped beneath the row ahead, and Selina followed the same path.

But Aisha seemed to have awakened some superpower—her speed was unbelievable; in an instant, she vanished into the sea of audience seats.

Selina lost her completely and could only search row by row.

At the same moment, backstage, a small shadow darted past; the circus owner sensed movement, spun around sharply—but saw nothing.

At that moment, the circus owner held a saw, approaching the wooden post securing the aerialist's rope.

In the aerialist act, the swinging ropes hung from a higher rope; the circus owner now approached that highest rope's securing post with a saw, grinning wickedly.

The circus owner began sawing the thick rope, muttering curses with each stroke—until, just as the rope neared severance, a small figure appeared instantly and bit down on his arm.

Aisha wasn't here to deliver justice; she was simply drawn to moving things. The circus owner's arm rose and fell in the dark backstage, the only motion in the space—so without hesitation, Aisha bit it.

Unfortunately, Aisha was too light and bit too weakly—just like when she bit Bruce and Selina's arms—leaving only a row of tooth marks, causing no real injury, only a momentary pause in his arm's motion.

The thick rope, sawed to its limit, held by only a single thread—then snapped.

But that brief delay allowed Bruce, who had just exited the restroom, to draw closer to the stage.

The instant the rope snapped, the two performers began to fall—but such a long rope required several seconds to fully detach from the other end; those seconds, layered together, allowed Bruce to surge onto the stage and, hidden in the curtain's shadow, grab the rising rope.

But he was only one man, and the rope carried two people—his weight alone couldn't stop their fall. Bruce had anticipated this; he wrapped the rope twice around his arm, then snatched the nearby curtain with his other hand.

With a fixed point, the rope stopped sliding—and the Graysens hung suspended in midair.

Suddenly, Bruce heard a sharp intake of breath; he turned and saw, behind the curtain, the little boy who claimed to be the Graysens' heir.

His eyes wide, mouth open, face stunned, he stared at Bruce.

From the audience seats to the stage was a distance; several rows of seats lay between Bruce and the stage, and the stage stood higher, flanked by three tiers of steps—yet Bruce had completed the entire sequence: leaping over seats, sprinting up steps, grabbing the rope, seizing the curtain—all within seconds.

His reaction, fluid motion, and precise execution made it look less like a hero saving lives and more like an art performance—in young Graysen's eyes, Bruce glowed.

Bruce sighed and said, "Don't stand there frozen—come help pull the rope."

Recovering from shock, young Graysen realized his parents had nearly fallen—he switched from stunned to furious, helping Bruce pull the rope down as he shouted, "It was that circus owner! He's hated my father for ages!!"

After a while, the rope was pulled back into place, and the two performers returned to the platform. They descended and thanked Bruce.

Mrs. Graysen was in tears; young Graysen, still furious, said, "It's definitely him! Let's go confront him!"

"Don't go! Dick! Come back!" Mrs. Graysen called out—the boy named Dick had already dashed off, but his mother finally pulled him back.

"Can you explain what just happened?"

Mrs. Graysen was on the verge of collapse, clutching her husband and weeping uncontrollably; Mr. Graysen looked hollowed out. These two were ordinary people; the terror of hanging helplessly, unsure when they'd plummet, had shattered their spirits.

Like seeking an outlet, Mr. Graysen told Bruce, "... know it was him—the circus owner. We don't want to work here, but we have no choice."

"The East Coast has many circuses—why not go there?"

Mr. Graysen sighed. "You probably don't follow this world, do you? My father, old Graysen—the previous aerialist—made a catastrophic mistake during a performance. He didn't just fall—he crashed into the edge of a stage prop. He..."

"Enough. I know. Don't go on. I'm sorry for your loss."

"It was at a high-profile charity gala. Many attendees were dignitaries—they'd never seen blood. That bloody death terrified them. The Graysen name was ruined. Major circuses refused to hire us, fearing another disaster..."

"Only this circus would take us—because this is Gotham. People here don't fear us falling to our deaths..."

The reason was absurd yet logical; Bruce had no rebuttal. He asked the Graysens, "You're not from Gotham, are you?"

"We've been here a long time. We bought a house—we're practically locals. But our hometown is Blüdhaven."

"Let's go back. Back to Blüdhaven!" Mrs. Graysen sobbed. "Give up. We can't let little Dick grow up in this constant fear..."

Mr. Graysen clenched his lips, his face worn thin. Mrs. Graysen continued crying, "I know, I know you've always wanted to restore the family legacy—but this can't go on. Think: if we die, what happens to poor Dick? In Gotham, orphans without parents end up in that awful foster home, and then..."

Mrs. Graysen burst into tears again. Bruce caught fragments of meaning in her words but didn't press. Young Graysen stepped forward to comfort his mother; the three embraced.

When Bruce entered backstage, Selina had just tied the final knot—around the circus owner. Aisha still clamped her teeth into his arm.

Bruce expected a struggle when he went to pick up Aisha—but she released her grip easily.

Seeing the saw, Bruce understood. He called Gordon, then picked up Aisha and left the circus with Selina.

As they got into the sports car to drive home, a figure appeared before them. Bruce released the steering wheel, turned his head, and asked, "... ick? What's wrong? What do you want?"

Dick circled around the car and stood beside Bruce's driver-side door. "My parents plan to return to Blüdhaven."

"They should be congratulated. Blüdhaven's far better than Gotham. You'll live peacefully there."

"But I don't want to go back..."

"Why?"

Dick clenched his jaw, his young face set with grim determination. "My grandfather's death wasn't an accident."

"How do you know?"

"I investigated." Dick spoke with absolute certainty. "The crossbar for his final bow had been tampered with. I examined the rope—the grooves showed an incorrect knot. The knot used to secure the crossbar shouldn't have been like that..."

Bruce narrowed his eyes. "So?"

"You're not ordinary, are you?" Dick gripped the car door with one hand. "I've trained in acrobatics under my father for years. I know how impossible your movements were—those muscle techniques couldn't be improvised. You've trained for years..."

Dick kept his jaw tight. "My parents gave up. I won't. I'll stay here to restore the Graysen name—and avenge my grandfather."

"More importantly, if I don't uncover the truth behind my grandfather's death and find his killer, my parents won't be safe."

"But..." Dick's expression turned weary. "I know what Gotham is. The skills I learned from my father won't keep me alive here. I can't convince my parents to let me stay. So..."

Dick took a deep breath, his face bearing sorrow far beyond his years. He looked at Bruce. "If you'd let me train with you, I believe I'll one day fulfill my wish. And you saved my parents—if I'm with you, I think they won't object..."

Before Bruce could answer, Dick added, "... ine, I know this sounds insane. How could I expect a wealthy..."

He released the door, sighed, and waved his arm, signaling Bruce to drive off.

He knew—he'd acted on impulse. Staying in Gotham alone, refusing to leave with his parents, wanting to train under the world's richest man? It was fantasy.

Bruce watched Dick—and felt something strange. People sometimes see themselves in others at certain moments. Dick looked nothing like Bruce, was just a seven- or eight-year-old boy, with no defined personality—but his tone made Bruce feel he was special.

Perhaps two souls are simply naturally in sync. In any case, Dick found Bruce instantly likable; Bruce found Dick equally so.

But likable didn't mean Bruce planned to adopt a son. One daughter was already nearly driving him and Selina mad.

Wait—daughter...

Bruce turned to look at Aisha, securely strapped into her child seat but still squirming, then at Dick, who seemed far more mature than his age. As Dick turned to leave, Bruce called out to him.

Half an hour later, at Wayne Manor, Bruce lifted Aisha by her armpits like displaying a pet dog and said to Dick, "This is your sister."

"Wait—are you planning to adopt me? I..."

Before he finished, Aisha grinned, revealing her full set of sharp teeth—Dick recoiled in shock. "What's going on?? How are her teeth..."

"Congenital dental malformation. Too young for correction yet." Bruce answered without hesitation.

Thinker

"Uh, okay... wait, her eyes too...?" Dick pointed at Aisha's eyes.

"Heterochromia. Inherited from her mother." Bruce replied naturally.

"Is... s that so? But why doesn't she speak?"

"Childhood autism. A psychiatrist appointment is scheduled." Bruce answered smoothly.

"But..."

At that moment, Alfred descended the stairs, his face hopeful. "Master, is this the young master? Have the legal matters been settled? I think we can..."

——————digression——————

Another ten thousand words should come later tonight, then nothing on the 16th.