Chapter 289: The Young Boy

I've heard you're one of Lucky Mom's protégés—how do I know you didn't kidnap this little girl?

1200ksw.

"I kidnapped her??" The Catwoman raised her voice. "Do you have any idea how much I've sacrificed for her? Do you know how exhausted I've been these past few days? Stop wasting my time—give her back!"

Jason had no desire to clash with the legendary female thief, but for some reason, he refused to step back. The red pickup truck pulled out a handgun and aimed it at the Catwoman. Jason turned and watched his motion, saying: "Hey, buddy! Don't bring out the gun—you won't hit the Black Cat!"

"Impossible. My aim is perfect."

As he spoke, the red pickup truck fired. A sharp *pop* echoed—the Catwoman's figure vanished instantly. Then a black whip lashed around the man's wrist, yanked hard, and sent him crashing to the ground, the gun flying from his hand.

Jason reacted swiftly, lunging to catch the flying pistol, then kept it pointed at the Catwoman, who had leapt onto the second floor.

"I'm no saint myself, but the Tail Gang feeds over a dozen kids. I know how badly they suffer—but you'd sell a rich kid off to the slums? You're just…."

The Catwoman sighed. She realized she couldn't reason with these kids at all.

Still, she felt a strange pang inside—though she and Jason were now adversaries, seeing someone so fiercely protect Aisha gave her an awkward, unexpected warmth.

In good spirits, she held back her strength, swung her whip a few times, and knocked the group down, then bound them. Aisha, seeing the Catwoman, didn't fear her—she reached out both arms to be picked up. Jason stared wide-eyed. The Little Brain pushed his glasses up and said: "From my observations, she really does seem to be her child."

Jason, however, glanced around excitedly, leaned close to the Little Brain, and whispered: "Big gossip! The Black Cat's probably got a sugar daddy from the Southside rich district—and even had his kid!"

The Catwoman ignored the kids' murmurs and left with Aisha. After she was gone, the group freed themselves from the ropes. The Red Pickup rubbed his wrist and shoulder. "That woman's insane. How the hell does she swing that whip? I couldn't even see her shadow!"

"Of course—she's legendary in the East District. It all started with the Elizabeth Street Jewelery Heist—that was the Black Cat's debut."

The sun sank below the horizon. As the group chatted and walked through the alley, the sunset cast long shadows beside them. The uneven silhouettes crossed the boundary between wall-shade and sunlight, making it look as if they were walking along the rooftops.

They exited the alley, crossed the street, turned a corner, and entered the next street over. There, a thin, solitary boy trudged forward, burdened with bags. Rocket fired a shout: "Hey! Cobble! You finally showed up!"

Cobble froze, clutching his supplies, watching the group sprint toward him. The tallest among them, the Red Pickup, clapped him on the shoulder. "Long time no see. Finished your homework? Can you do mine too?"

Cobble pressed his lips shut, acting as if he wanted nothing to do with them—but he'd clearly missed the best chance to pretend he didn't know them. He lowered his head and kept walking.

But then Tire and Rocket rushed over, snatching items from his hands. "I'll carry it! I'll carry it! It's too heavy—you can't handle this! Just help us with our homework and we'll take it all!"

"What the hell do you want?"

The Little Brain, who got along best with Cobble, said: "Me and Jason—this guy, he's the king of Tail Street—we got our hands on a really cool tire, but we can't sell it."

"We wanted to take it apart, but we don't have tools. So we figured we'd steal some—but that needs a solid plan. That's why we need your help."

"I'm busy right now. I don't have time—wait." Cobble turned to Jason, his eyes narrowed beneath his brows, studying the boy. His cold gaze sent a chill down Jason's spine. Cobble asked: "You say you're the king of Tail Street? The head of the Tail Gang?"

Jason nodded, straightened his trench coat collar, cleared his throat, and feigned gravitas: "That's right. It's just a small gang now—but one day, it'll rival the Four Major Gangs of Elizabeth Street!"

Cobble said nothing more. He let the group take his bags and followed them back to the base.

The next day, the group was jolted awake by a dull thud. Jason sat up groggily, staring at the ceiling. The others stumbled out, half-asleep. The Little Brain asked: "Where's Cobble? Did he leave already?"

"His mom needs care—he left early. Didn't you hear the door latch?"

"Fine. Then who made that noise?" The Little Brain frowned upward. Jason yawned, stretched, and said: "Probably the big trash pile behind the wall. Someone dumps carelessly and collapses the heap—it always makes a racket."

"Let's go check. We're not poor enough to scavenge, but those kids who come to pick through the trash will show up soon—they'll make a hell of a racket. We won't get another minute of sleep."

He climbed the ladder, pushed open the cellar door, and ascended. The others followed—but what awaited them wasn't just scattered trash. There was a boy about their age, and a little girl they all recognized.

"Oh…" The boy groaned, clutching his waist as he stood up. The little girl, however, squealed with delight, clapping her hands.

The others tensed into defensive stances. The boy who'd fallen from the trash pile also braced himself. They stared at each other—then all eyes locked onto the little girl.

"Isn't that the girl the Black Cat took yesterday? How'd she end up here?"

"Who are you? How'd you fall out of that trash pile?"

"... 'm Dick." The boy took a deep breath, sizing them up. "Dick Grayson. Who are you?"

"We're locals. You know this girl? What's your connection? What's going on?"

"Of course I know her. I'm her… brother."

Dick rubbed his waist. He'd landed on something hard when he fell from the trash pile.

Seeing no hostility in the others, he turned, picked up Aisha, and walked over. "I'm here looking for something. Yesterday, my sister lost a necklace here. Have you seen it?"

Jason's expression twisted uncomfortably. He opened his mouth to answer, but Dick continued: "The necklace looks like it's made of gems—but it actually has a tracking chip inside… something like that. High-tech stuff. Apparently, it's better to get it back…"

Hearing the necklace might contain a tracker, Jason frantically pulled it from his pocket and hurled it over. He didn't even aim properly—it flew off-course—but Dick rolled smoothly, caught it with perfect grace, slipped it into his pocket, and said: "Thanks."

"Whoa! So cool! Are you a circus performer?"

"Yes. You noticed? Haven't you heard of the Grayson family? We're the greatest aerial acrobats in the world."

Rocket scratched his head. "I think I've heard of you. You're from that circus out in the West Suburbs, right?"

"Used to be. Not anymore."

Jason studied Dick. "If the girl could be the Black Cat's child, you definitely aren't. The Black Cat's under twenty. How could you be her son? But you say you're her brother—what's the real story?"

The Little Brain pushed his glasses up. "Have you eaten? We haven't. Let's get something to eat and talk."

Dick held Aisha. He wanted to refuse—but then he realized returning to Wayne Manor meant nothing: just performing acrobatics for Aisha, or eating Alfred's refined English afternoon tea.

For Dick, raised in the circus, English tea was worse than grilled meat and fried buttered bread.

So he carried Aisha and walked with them, telling them stories about the two of them. Jason asked curiously: "So you're adopted? That explains it. So the Black Cat's your stepmom?"

"She doesn't seem like the nicest person. Does she abuse you?"

"Of course not. We get along fine. She trained in acrobatics too—but our paths diverged. She leans more toward dance and gymnastics…"

Dick didn't mention Aisha's father. The others didn't ask. Perhaps it was the East District child's pride: in the East, you spoke only of East matters. None of that mattered to the rich folks in the South.

The group found a breakfast stall and sat down. They ordered grilled clams, vegetable soup, and buttered cheese. Around the small table, Jason stared at Aisha's slightly grotesque grin and hesitated: "Uh… I've always wanted to ask—what's wrong with her teeth?"

"Oh, some kind of congenital malformation. She's too young for correction yet."

"And her eyes?"

"They call it… heterochromia? Inherited from her mother."

"Uh… she's over three, right? Why can't she speak?"

"Something like childhood autism. She's seeing a psychiatrist in a couple days…"

——————Side Note——————

This is the 16th! The leave request has been swapped…