Inside a penthouse apartment owned by Wayne Enterprises, the massive display screen was frozen on the image of a teenager wearing a cheap red-and-blue costume.
“With great power comes great responsibility.”
The voice in the recording carried the slight rasp unique to adolescence, yet within the enormous Batcave, it sounded deafening.
Bruce Wayne sat in his swivel chair, dragging the progress bar back and forth repeatedly.
He zoomed the footage in to the absolute limit, observing every twitch of Leon’s facial muscles as he spoke.
No pupil dilation.
No unnatural muscle spasms.
Even his breathing remained steady, as if he were calmly reciting scripture.
“Master, this is the two hundred and fourteenth time you have watched this video.”
Alfred walked over carrying a tray and gently placed a steaming cup of coffee beside him.
“If this continues, I may have to print a photograph of Mr. Spider-Man and hang it beside your bed as a protective charm.”
Bruce did not turn around.
His fingertips tapped rapidly across the console.
“He is not normal, Alfred.”
“In Gotham, this kind of person only exists in two categories. A newborn infant… or a completely insane lunatic.”
Alfred raised an eyebrow, his tone carrying a rare trace of teasing.
“Or perhaps he is simply a genuinely good child. Master, you should admit that you are merely unaccustomed to seeing someone who understands better than you how to bring light to this city.”
Bruce fell silent.
First of all, he admitted that as Gotham’s wealthiest second-generation billionaire, he did possess a tiny amount of spiritual ambition—things like saving a city.
But that did not mean he would envy someone else for possessing noble ideals and convictions.
Bruce Wayne’s eyes were filled with distrust.
A distrust carved into his bones like permanent armor.
“Gotham is a giant millstone. Anything pure thrown into it is crushed into dust.”
“If he is not acting… then he may be the most dangerous anomaly in this world.”
Bruce slowly stood up, his cape tracing a cold arc behind him.
“I need more data. Everything about him.”
Meanwhile—
In Gotham’s South District, atop a dilapidated apartment building, Leon struggled to shove open the rusted window before climbing back into his leaking attic.
The old newspapers pasted against the walls had yellowed and peeled away long ago, while the air carried a mixture of mildew and sewer stench.
But for someone living alone…
It was actually pretty cozy, wasn’t it?
Suddenly, the crisp sound of gold coins colliding exploded inside his head.
“Ding! Phase One roleplay mission completed. Current character compatibility: 10%. Distributing phase rewards…”
Leon froze.
Then his entire body lit up with excitement.
“System, you finally remembered you still have a host stranded out here?”
“If you waited any longer, I would’ve seriously considered stealing Batman’s tires and selling them just to buy protein powder.”
The translucent system interface slowly unfolded before his eyes as a flash of golden light swept across it.
“Core Ability Unlocked: Basic Spider-Sense.”
In an instant, Leon felt the back of his head go numb.
It felt as though ten thousand volts of electricity had gently kissed the base of his skull.
Or as though invisible threads had suddenly connected him to the surrounding world.
The noisy world around him instantly changed.
The breathing of the neighbor next door secretly listening to his movements.
The sound of the homeless man downstairs rummaging through trash cans.
Even the vibration of a spider crawling through a crack in the ceiling.
Everything flowed directly into his brain with terrifying clarity.
The world itself seemed to slow down.
So this was the famous “Peter Tingle”?
Leon’s face flushed red with excitement.
He immediately jumped onto the bed, intending to perform an elegant superhero backflip.
Crack!
The bed—assembled from several rotten wooden boards—finally reached the end of its historical mission after enduring Spider-Man’s weight. Get faster updates on g.com.
The boards snapped apart instantly.
Leon crashed directly onto the floor on his backside, sending thick dust exploding into the air.
“Hiss…”
Leon rubbed his butt and looked at the few miserable coins left in his pocket before falling into deep thought.
“System, let’s discuss something.”
“I just emotionally influenced Batman. Why don’t you consider giving me a meal allowance?”
“Don’t pretend to be dead. I know you can hear me.”
The system interface remained deathly silent, like a shameless debtor refusing to repay a loan.
“You really are cold. A truly cold-hearted program.”
Leon rolled his eyes at the empty air.
“Aren’t modern systems supposed to integrate AI now? You know AI can hold conversations, right?”
“Hello? Anybody there? Moshi moshi?”
The attic remained silent except for the sound of rainwater dripping steadily from the ceiling.
Leon sighed.
He lay across the broken boards and stared at the gray sky visible through the hole overhead.
At that moment, Gotham was slowly being devoured by the night.
In the shadows of alleyways, drug addicts with lifeless eyes curled inside cardboard boxes while clutching their final needles like tickets to heaven.
A scantily dressed prostitute stood beneath a flickering streetlight, coldly sizing up every unlucky passerby while a cheap cigarette burned between her fingers.
Beside an overturned trash can, a homeless man was beaten bloody over half a moldy loaf of bread.
This was Gotham’s true color.
Like a filthy rag that could never truly be wrung dry, producing nothing except bitter black water.
Meanwhile, several kilometers away, atop Wayne Tower—
Enormous floor-to-ceiling windows reflected the neon lights of the entire city.
Bruce Wayne, now dressed in casual clothes, stood holding an outrageously expensive glass of red wine.
A priceless Persian rug stretched beneath his feet.
The air carried the faint scent of sandalwood, so clean and quiet that not a single scream from the city below could be heard.
One side was hell.
The other floated above the clouds.