Being an ordinary person is really hard…
As everyone knows, American high school students definitely don't go to bed on time on weekends. So when Tim sent a message at five in the morning, Silo replied instantly.
The next day, Tim visited in the afternoon, giving Silo plenty of time to sleep.
Actually, he didn't need the sleep—Silo, who had been gaming all night, happily pushed open the door: "You're here early, I thought I'd have to go down to meet you—you know which floor I live on?"
Tim, who had done his research beforehand, smiled and explained: "I walked you home yesterday… you live alone?"
"Didn't I mention that?" Silo thought for a moment. "I just moved here, my parents are still over in Metropolis. Don't you think living alone is awesome?"
"I hate it when my dad nags me about what I can't do and what I can't touch. I already have so little entertainment, and he still tries to hold me back."
Silo was someone who couldn't stop talking. In just the distance from the door to the living room, he'd already gone from complaining about his dad's tyranny to criticizing his dad's taste in aesthetics.
No need to take off shoes in the living room. Tim carried the cookies and took a casual look around the room.
Although he lived alone, the space was quite large. The living room had few items, fitting the profile of a teenager who had just moved recently.
Game controllers were casually tossed in front of the sofa, in the classic Superman red-and-blue color scheme. Judging by their placement, it looked like Silo had dropped his game in a hurry and rushed to open the door the moment he heard the doorbell.
Other than that…
"You're a Superman fan?" Tim looked at the room's extremely high concentration of Superman merchandise, looking like he wanted to say something.
"I'm a Metropolian." Silo shrugged, casually taking the cookies from Tim's hand, stepping on the Superman logo rug, sitting on the sofa covered with a Superman sofa cover, and placing the cookies on the dining table draped with a Superman tablecloth.
"Don't you think—" Tim thought for a moment but couldn't immediately find the right words to express his thoughts.
Silo opened the box and, just like yesterday, had no concept of sharing. He looked up at Tim, quickly realized what he was thinking, and said with a laugh: "I'm a practical person."
"Isn't this stuff meant to be used? What, am I supposed to carefully store it all away in a treasure chest, and before bed, count through each piece one by one like a dragon counting its gold?"
Tim Drake—a non-practical person who secretly was a huge fan, buying all the merchandise but only for collecting and admiring—felt like he'd been called out.
Silo didn't pay attention to what Tim was thinking. He patted the spot next to him: "Sit down too. Want to play games? I just happen to need a partner!"
Tim glanced at the game Silo had chosen. It was a newly released two-player co-op game that was pretty popular among young people.
But apparently the controls were fairly complex, requiring quick reactions to unexpected situations—so a lot of people who played this game together ended up red-faced and finishing with an argument.
He'd heard classmates mention it at school, but he'd never played it himself. Mainly because Robin's night work took up too much of his time and energy, making it hard to find time for this kind of entertainment.
But Tim was very confident in his reflexes and gaming ability, so after Silo invited him, he happily agreed.
They were both good at games. Tim sat cross-legged on the sofa, while Silo had gradually slid down onto the rug, sitting on the floor leaning against the sofa, eyes fixed on the game screen, hands moving nonstop.
Aside from some initial awkwardness with the controls and their coordination being a bit rough—almost bumping into each other a few times—once they got used to each other's habits, they turned out to be surprisingly in sync.
"Slice the tomatoes, the left one's about to time out," Tim habitually commanded. The little character on screen belonging to Silo had already completed the corresponding action the moment he spoke, just barely finishing in the last second of the countdown.
"Fire extinguisher on the right, it's on fire, it's on fire!" Silo's tone carried a hint of surface-level panic, but his hands moved quickly to put out the fire, then he turned back to find Tim still methodically cutting meat.
When Silo complained indignantly, Tim calmly said: "I knew you'd make it in time."
Silo was satisfied and happily went back to playing.
They cleared over a dozen levels in a row. Silo discovered that Tim was really good at planning and suited to being a partner—he would always calculate the optimal sequence of actions in his head first.
Tim also noticed that Silo seemed to have no plan at all, but in reality, he always managed to pull things back at the last second. Plus, he had a bit of OCD—he'd habitually try to beat records, and if he didn't succeed, he'd drag Tim into doing it again.
Also, Silo was really easy to soothe. He got flustered easily, but with just a word or two of reassurance, his emotions would quickly calm down.
By the time Tim's wrists and fingers were starting to feel tired and the controller in his hands was getting hot, Silo was still nibbling on a cookie, looking at him with hopeful eyes, wanting him to start another round.
Wait? Nibbling on a cookie?
Tim glanced into the cookie box he'd brought—the extra batch Alfred had specially made was now reduced to nothing but crumbs scattered across the bottom, the last one having just been crunched down by Silo.
Wait, seriously? Who could manage to eat snacks while both hands were busy gaming?
Tim couldn't help but laugh. "You like them that much?"
"To the point of wanting to kidnap the baker." Silo answered honestly.
Noticing Tim looked a bit tired, Silo finally realized—belatedly—that the other was his guest. He stood up and headed toward the kitchen. "Want something to drink? I've got cola."
"After three hours since I walked in, I finally get offered a drink?" Tim leaned against the armrest of the sofa, propping himself up, and teased. He had every reason to suspect that Silo only remembered because Silo himself wanted a drink.
Silo's voice drifted over from the kitchen. "Because I want one."
Well, he actually admitted it.
Tim felt even more like laughing.
Tim knew Silo wouldn't mind, so he asked if there was any sports drink. Silo said he couldn't stand the taste of that stuff—all he had at home was cola and bottled water.
So Tim asked for a bottle of water and watched Silo pop open a can of cola for himself.
"Hiss—" Silo suddenly sucked in a sharp breath, drawing Tim's attention.
He saw bright red beads of blood well up from Silo's fingertip—the sharp edge of the can had sliced through his skin.
"Cut yourself?" Tim frowned instinctively. "Do you have any band-aids?"
"Nope." Silo blinked, saying with little concern, "A cut this small, just lick it and it'll stop bleeding."
Silo wasn't wrong—a wound this minor would stop bleeding with a little pressure and heal on its own in no time. But despite saying licking it would do, Silo, being somewhat of a clean freak, went over to the sink to rinse his hand instead.
After he finished, Silo showed off his hand with a little wave. The thin cut had already turned into a faint white line—it would probably be completely healed before long.
Silo's hands had no calluses at all—soft and smooth, like the hands of some young master who'd never touched a sport or done a day of labor in his life. And precisely because of that, the tiny wound stood out all the more.
Tim stared at the finger that had beaded with a few drops of blood but was already stopped, and the faint suspicion in his heart sank a little for lack of evidence.
—Yes, Tim's original plan had never been to visit Silo. What he'd told Dick and Alfred was just a way to hide things from the adults.
His original target had actually been the Sunlights in Metropolis. He'd planned to use Silo's name as an excuse to make a trip to Metropolis over the weekend.
But plans changed. Just last night, Black Mask had suddenly been found hanging upside down from the railing of his own territory by some unknown person.
And then there was the collapse of the Mikono Hotel the day before that—out of nowhere. That had been Black Mask's newly claimed territory, and before it collapsed, Batman had planned to investigate the place.
After all, Black Mask's movements weren't entirely hidden; it was just that Batman needed to use process of elimination and not let a single suspicious point slip by.
Where there's action, there are traces and clues. And sometimes, the absence of clues is itself the answer.
The collapse of the Mikono Hotel, based on Batman and Robin's judgment and investigation, had been caused by the failure of a load-bearing wall.
That was how Batman had uncovered Black Mask's scheme with the synthetic Kryptonite.
Lately, Black Mask seemed very interested in Kryptonians and had struck up some kind of partnership with Luthor—which, honestly, was rare. Gothamites seemed to have some unspoken, obscure possessiveness over Gotham itself. They rarely cared about anything beyond it.
But Black Mask wasn't like that. According to analysis, he wanted to artificially create a special Kryptonite capable of brainwashing and controlling Kryptonians.
But after getting beaten up by Batman, Black Mask hadn't even gotten out of his hospital bed before someone hung him upside down from a railing in midair.
—No one and no camera had seen what happened the night before.
But the scene had left no traces at all. That in itself was the answer.
There was no logic, no reason—yet somehow, Tim's mind connected it to Silo Sunlight, who had moved to Gotham and currently lived alone.
Tim knew his suspicion was too flimsy. He needed evidence to support this sudden intuition.
Otherwise, he couldn't accept this baseless guess himself, let alone bring it up with Batman or Nightwing.
But… Silo was just an ordinary person. He could get cut by a soda can, he'd cry from fear over ordinary Gotham thugs—and most importantly, he had no connection to Black Mask whatsoever.
Silo had no motive to go after Black Mask.
Besides, when Silo talked about his parents, his tone carried an affection he didn't even notice himself—complaints and closeness existing side by side. Too many details were impossible to fake, like any ordinary family relationship you'd find anywhere in America.
Silo's behavior didn't match up with Tim's earlier suspicions at all.
Coincidences are not impossible—perhaps Silo really is just someone who isn't in great health and has been well-protected, which is why he has the personality he does now.
Was he overthinking it…? It was just that Silo's presence had been too prominent these past two days, which made him subconsciously make that connection? Tim thought to himself.
Silo glanced at the wound on his fingertip, used his nail to reopen the already-healed scratch, and only when he saw the bead of blood well up again did he withdraw his hand with satisfaction.
It's really hard being an ordinary person.
The curly-haired youth glanced at his deskmate, who was sitting on the sofa with lowered eyes, lost in thought about who knows what. A cunning look flashed across his face. Soon, a cheerful smile that left no room for suspicion reappeared on his features.
"What are you smiling about?" Tim turned around.
"I feel like working with you is really enjoyable—you think so too, right, Tim?" Silo replied.