Damn it, I’m surrounded by those who worry about their fathers!

"Mr. Podrick?"

Wiping the rain off his face, Bruce looked in shock at Peter, who had just raised an umbrella for him.

"You said you were heading home, Thomas, but it seems your path has been blocked."

"I..."

Bruce lowered his head. "I don't know if that place even belongs to me anymore."

He wasn't sure if he could still return to Wayne Manor.

"Looking like a defeated man already? That's not how a real man behaves."

Peter patted him on the shoulder. "Come on, let's head back to my hotel first."

With his super-hearing, Peter had overheard Bruce's conversation with Alfred. A butler named Alfred. With a name Thomas. Combined with the mention of wealth—it wasn't hard for Peter to deduce the boy's identity: Bruce Wayne.

Looking at the dazed and lost teenager before him, Peter found it difficult to associate him with the Dark Knight of Gotham.

"Hotel?"

Bruce looked up at Peter, stunned for a moment.

After some hesitation, he eventually followed Peter to the car.

"Sir, do you really trust me?"

Walking beside Peter, Bruce asked, his feelings conflicted.

Peter nodded. "Of course, Thomas. I trusted you from the start, but now it seems like you don't trust yourself."

Bruce's expression twisted with guilt. "Yes... my confidence has taken a hit. And, sir, I've deceived you. My name isn't Thomas. My real name is Bruce Wayne."

"Is that so? Any other deceptions I should know about?"

"No, nothing else. Everything I said is true, including the $20,000 and the bar. Sir, I only used a fake name because I didn't want to drag you into my troubles."

Bruce hurried to explain.

Peter nodded thoughtfully. "So, why tell me your real name now, Bruce?"

Bruce exhaled. "Because now... I think I've decided to trust you, sir."

"I'm honored."

Peter continued walking with the umbrella, though inwardly he thought: This kid isn't afraid of dragging me down—he just didn't trust me.

Settling into the driver's seat, Peter started the car, driving through the heavy rain.

With one hand on the wheel, he casually handed Bruce a $100 bill.

Bruce took the bill, puzzled.

"This is the money you gave those orphans earlier. They can't exactly use bills this large."

Peter explained that he had swapped the $100 bill for smaller denominations and given those to the kids instead.

Holding the $100 note, Bruce fell silent for a moment before thanking Peter. "Thank you, sir."

He muttered to himself—or perhaps to Peter—"I don't understand why cities are filled with crime, whether it's Gotham or Metropolis."

Peter glanced at him, surprised. This kid was already pondering questions about "crime" at such a young age.

"Where there's light, there's shadow. It's inevitable."

Peter replied casually.

Bruce nodded and gazed out the window at a church.

The cross atop the church stood in the downpour, gleaming as it was washed clean.

He murmured, "Why doesn't God save us and dispel the darkness?"

Following Bruce's gaze, Peter noticed his focus on the cross atop the church.

Peter slowed the car a little. "Maybe God's busy, Bruce. Do you know what some people believe the cross symbolizes?"

Bruce shook his head. "No, I don't."

"The horizontal line represents humanity—it points to the present world, filled with materialism, flesh, and impurities like mud, blood, stones, and bones. The vertical line represents God's divinity, reigning supreme and perpendicular to the human world, pointing to the afterlife and the unknown."

Just then, they reached a red light at an intersection, and Peter hit the brakes.

"Jesus stood at a crossroads and chose not the horizontal line of the human world, but the vertical line of God."

Raising his eyebrows, Peter asked Bruce, "What about you, Bruce? What would you choose—the horizontal line or the vertical line?"

He genuinely wanted to know. One choice symbolized enduring pain to redeem oneself and others in the human world. The other symbolized the sacrificial, Jesus-like path to liberation.

Which path would the future Batman choose?

"Me?"

Caught off guard by the question, Bruce fell into confusion.

Fiddling with his fingers, he was torn between the two choices.

Though the concepts of the horizontal and vertical lines seemed straightforward, he frowned deeply, unable to decide.

Watching Bruce's conflicted expression, Peter's lips curled into a small smile.

"It's okay, Bruce. This isn't a test you have to pass. The cross is just a crossroads—it's a symbol of choice. And in life, making choices is the hardest part."

When the light turned green, Peter stepped on the gas, driving through the intersection.

Bruce cast a puzzled, uncertain look at Peter, sensing that his words might hold a deeper meaning.

The next morning.

When Peter woke up, he found Bruce fully dressed, crouching in the hallway, staring at a vase.

Hearing footsteps, Bruce turned to see Peter standing behind him.

"Good morning, Mr. Podrick."

"Morning, Bruce. What are you doing?"

Bruce pointed at the vase. "Nothing, just thought this vase looked familiar. It's probably Chinese porcelain, about 500 years old."

Peter glanced at the vase. "Close enough. A bunch of thieves looted it and proudly displayed it here. Does your family have similar ones, Bruce?"

Bruce hesitated. "Something similar, sir, though ours were likely purchased by my ancestors, not stolen."

"Glad to hear your ancestors were merchants, not robbers."

As Peter spoke to Bruce, Azu came into the hallway upon hearing their conversation.

Seeing Bruce, Azu was surprised.

"Hi, I'm Bruce Wayne."

Facing the shorter Azu, Bruce extended his hand in goodwill.

"You're the poor kid who borrowed money?"

Azu didn't shake his hand but scrutinized him.

"I'll pay it back."

"Pay it back? Then do it now."

Azu gave him a contemptuous look. "You probably don't understand what money means, so let me explain. I earn seven dollars a week for yard work, and here you are, casually asking for a hundred dollars. You're greedier than I am! Let me tell you, you might fool Dad, but you can't fool me!"

Hearing Azu's sharp words, Peter frowned.

"John?"

"Sorry, Dad."

Azu, who had been pointing at Bruce dramatically, immediately changed his tone at Peter's stern voice.

Switching to an innocent expression, Azu said, "Dad, I was just afraid this poor kid was scamming you."

Watching Azu effortlessly shift his demeanor and repeatedly call him "poor kid," Bruce turned away in irritation.

He really disliked this brat.