Chapter 288

At the end of the back alley of East District's Tail Street, a clatter sounded as a cellar door's bolt slid open; a black-haired boy in a red jacket leapt out first, followed by a brown-haired boy wearing glasses.

The glasses-wearing boy grabbed his friend's arm, trying to stop him from leaving. "Hey, Jason, don't do this—Batman's been patrolling here lately. If you go out stealing tonight, he'll catch you."

Jason turned to him. "You're the one who told me we couldn't sell that big tire we stole—that's why I have to go. Otherwise, the younger kids in Tail Gang will starve."

The brown-haired boy kept pleading, but Jason impatiently shook off his hand. "Little Sneak, I know you're skilled—some of the biggest gang bosses on Elizabeth Street even ask for you."

"But we're different. Tail Street's location sucks. We have to seize territory southward to make money, but if we're starving, how are we supposed to fight?"

Little Sneak adjusted his glasses. "That's exactly why I'm stopping you, Jason. You're the boss of Tail Gang. If Batman catches you, the rest of us won't have a chance left."

Jason ran his fingers through his hair in frustration, but Little Sneak pulled him back into the cellar. Jason, disoriented, let himself be dragged inside.

Inside the cellar was a small workshop with two battered workbenches covered in assorted tools. Only one toolbox looked new, placed on a cleaner table.

Most strikingly, one workbench held a massive, oddly shaped tire with a bat emblem stamped in its center.

Little Sneak pulled Jason onto a nearby chair. "Last time, if you hadn't helped me, those car thieves would've slit my throat. You saved my life—I'm happy to help you."

Jason looked young, but dressed like an adult, his demeanor and speech identical to those of gang members. He spat. "Business has been terrible. The younger kids in our gang haven't brought in a single cent."

"To keep them from getting beaten, me and a few older ones have been feeding them—but this can't go on."

He turned to look at the tire on the workbench, punched the wall in anger. "If only we could sell this thing. Is there really no way?"

Little Sneak remained calm. "Don't rush. Yesterday in vocational school, I asked a few classmates to come over. Maybe they know someone who'll buy it."

Just then, rhythmic stomping came from the ceiling. Jason blocked Little Sneak from rising. "I'll check—don't let it be trouble."

Jason cracked the cellar door open a sliver. Little Sneak leaned in. They saw a heavier, older boy stomping his feet. Little Sneak opened the door and shouted: "Hey! Tire! Over here…"

"Oh, here you are! So you live in the basement? That's why you told me to stomp yesterday…"

Tire stepped into the cellar and immediately spotted the bat tire. He walked over, eyes wide. "Cool—"

"Wait—that's the Bat symbol? My god! You actually pulled off a big job?!"

Tire stepped forward and pounded the rubber of the bat tire. Just then, urgent stomping came from above. Little Sneak opened the door again. His voice came from the threshold: "Hey, why are you two here together? Rocket and Red Truck…"

The two newcomers entered and saw Tire standing beside the bat tire. Tire waved at them, pointing. "Look! The coolest tire I've ever seen—only this one deserves my name!"

Jason stepped forward and greeted them. "Hi, I'm Jason, Jason Todd, boss of Tail Gang. Just call me Jason."

Tire, Rocket, and Red Truck were all noticeably older than Jason and Little Sneak, but still only early teens. The whole room was full of kids, yet their manner of speaking was mature.

Red Truck stepped forward first—he was Black, like a gang member, and bumped fists with Jason. He tilted his chin up. "I heard about you. Last time you smashed that annoying yellow-eyed guy with a spiked baseball bat. I heard he got beaten by someone three years younger—I didn't believe it. But now I see—you're serious."

Jason wiped his nose. "You don't survive here without some grit."

Little Sneak cut in. "I called you here to solve the tire problem. As you see, Jason and I planned to steal the Batmobile's tire…"

Little Sneak and Jason exchanged glances. The other three looked curious. Rocket, the girl, asked: "How did you do it? My dad says Batman's not to be messed with."

"Actually, it was easier than we thought. The hardest part was finding a moment when he left the Batmobile alone."

"Then how did you get the tire off?" Tire asked.

Jason looked at Little Sneak, who shrugged. "Not hard. If Jason and I weren't so small, we could've taken all four tires at once—left the rich bastard with just an empty shell."

The image made the kids laugh. Jason crossed his arms. "We got it back here fine—but we can't sell it. That damn bat mark is way too obvious."

Tire waved his hand. "So what? You're in this business—you know the drill. Just spray-paint it."

Red Truck walked over, touched the tire. "Probably not. It's a molded pattern—raised and recessed. Even paint won't hide it. Can't you grind it off?"

"I tried. My tools aren't strong enough. This metal's too hard. Unless we get a machine tool, it's impossible." Little Sneak shook his head.

"What if we take it apart and just sell the rims?" Rocket suggested.

"I can't take it apart," Little Sneak rubbed his temple. Tire looked shocked. "You got it off, but you can't take it apart?"

"Yes. It's a technical issue—complicated. Bottom line: we can't take it apart to sell separately."

Red Truck rubbed his chin. "That's a problem. I know a few car modifiers who might like this tire—but you've only got one. You need at least two before anyone'll buy. Otherwise, you're stuck hanging it on a car as decoration—won't fetch a good price."

"If you could melt it into bullets, maybe my dad'd be interested," Rocket added. "This metal looks tough—could make a decent shield too."

Little Sneak sighed. "If I could melt it, would I have called you?"

"My mom knows a lot of people—but I can't let her touch this."

Tire tapped the tire's rim again. "I really like it. I'd love to take it home—but my mom's a widow. I don't want to give her extra trouble."

Seeing all three say this, Jason's face fell slightly. But Red Truck asked: "Why can't you take it apart or grind off the emblem? Is it just your skill? Or the tools?"

"You seem to know your way around this," Little Sneak said, walking to the workbench. "Tools are the main issue. Look at what we have—rusty wrenches, screwdrivers, pliers. The only decent tool's this old jack—but it's almost broken."

"If we had a furnace and a hydraulic press, this'd be easy."

"Then let's think this way—you stole Batman's tire. How hard could it be to get a hydraulic press?"

"Very hard," Little Sneak said firmly. "Don't forget—Jason and I are younger than you. Getting one tire back was already a miracle. Those professional workbenches and big machines? We couldn't even move them."

"Easy. You do our vocational school homework, we'll move it for you."

Little Sneak pushed his glasses up. "I'll say it again—our teacher can tell different handwriting."

"Then let us copy the answers!"

"Yes! Copy the answers!" Rocket chimed in. The wild-haired girl wrinkled her nose. "I don't want to do homework! But my dad insists—I can't afford to piss off the teachers. What nonsense!"

"Fine. But we need another plan. I think someone can help us…"

Little Sneak looked at the others. They exchanged glances. All thought of the same name.

"Cobble!"

"Where is he now?" Rocket asked.

"Oh, I know—he's been shuttling between East District and the asylum lately. He'll pass by the next street. We'll wait for him there."

The group pushed open the cellar door and poured out, shoving each other as they sprinted down the adjacent street.

Just then, a scream rang out. They saw a small girl with black hair and blue eyes standing at the alley's entrance. They stopped. Jason exclaimed: "How's there a little girl here?"

Little Sneak squinted. "Her clothes and style—she's not from East District. Looks like one of those rich kids from South District."

*Beginner's Journey from Sacrificing the Ancestral Master*

Rocket ran forward first. The others followed. Rocket gripped the girl's shoulders. "Who are you? What are you doing here? Where are your parents?"

"Waaaah!!!"

The girl screamed. All saw the sharp teeth in her mouth and stepped back. Jason said: "... ould her parents have abandoned her here?"

"Unlikely. Look at her necklace—it's gemstone. If they wanted to abandon her, why give her something so valuable?"

Jason hesitated, then stepped forward. Though the girl had sharp teeth and odd eyes, she showed no intent to bite. He patted her head, glanced around, and said: "We need to take her away. If gang patrols come, she's in danger."

"Really? What if her parents show up? You'll get dragged into trouble—those rich folks love to turn on you."

Jason didn't argue. He yanked the necklace from her neck and shoved it into his pocket. "If they come looking, I'll leave the girl right here. Let them take her. The necklace is my payment. I won't lose out."

He struggled to lift her. Rocket took her from his arms. "I'll carry her. Let's head back to your base. While we're waiting for Cobble, we'll check if anyone around looks like her parents."

As they turned back toward the underground base, a sharp whip crack echoed. Everyone ducked. A slender black figure appeared at the street's end.

Jason, hiding behind a building, widened his eyes. "Black Cat! It's Black Cat! Why's she here? She only comes out at night!"

"Who's Black Cat?" Little Sneak asked.

"The top thief of East District. A legendary thief—she's robbed every jewelry store in Gotham."

"Dear child, thank you for the compliment—but please put down the girl you're carrying."

Black Cat cracked her whip again, making them all recoil.

"Is she your daughter? No—that can't be. I heard you're from East District. How could you have a daughter dressed like this? You wouldn't…"

Jason waved his hand behind him to Rocket. "Don't let her go. Black Cat might be a trafficker."