The Next Morning - 05:00 AM
The sun hadn't even risen yet, but the Manor was already noisy.
Clang. Clang. Thud.
I stood by the window of the Master Bedroom, holding a freshly pressed suit. Bruce was still asleep, exhausted from the previous night's "reunion."
I checked my pocket watch. Five in the morning.
"The brat is diligent," I muttered.
Down in the training hall, Damian Wayne was already awake. He was currently dismantling the wooden training dummies with a bokken. His form was perfect. His breathing was rhythmically controlled.
He was a ten-year-old weapon.
But weapons, unfortunately, do not attend parent-teacher conferences.
I walked downstairs.
"Young Master Damian," I called out.
Damian froze mid-swing. He didn't turn around. He just panted, sweat dripping from his chin.
"I told you not to disturb me, Servant. I am refining my core."
"Your core is adequately refined," I said, holding up a hanger. On it hung a navy blue blazer with a gold crest. "However, your social schedule is empty. Master Bruce has enrolled you in Gotham Academy."
Damian turned slowly. His eyes narrowed.
"Academy? You mean a school? For children?"
"Indeed."
"I hold three PhDs in engineering and biology. I speak seven languages. I can kill a man with a credit card," Damian scoffed, throwing the wooden sword aside. "What could a 'school' possibly teach me?"
I smiled. The kind of smile a predator gives before biting.
"Patience, Young Master. It will teach you patience."
Gotham Academy - 08:00 AM
The Rolls Royce pulled up to the iron gates of Gotham's most prestigious private school.
Students in expensive uniforms loitered in the courtyard. They were the children of politicians, CEOs, and old money.
Damian sat in the back seat, looking like he was being driven to his execution. He tugged at the collar of his uniform.
"This fabric is inferior," Damian complained. "It restricts my deltoid movement."
"It is standard wool blend," I said from the driver's seat. "Try not to engage in combat, and your deltoids will be fine."
"I make no promises."
I opened the door. Damian stepped out.
Immediately, the whispers started.
"Is that Bruce Wayne's kid?""I heard he was adopted from a war zone.""He looks kinda short."
Damian's eye twitched.
"Ignore them," I whispered, handing him his bag. "Your objective today is simple: Infiltration. Blend in. Do not draw attention."
Damian looked at me. "I am an assassin, Sebastian. I know how to blend in."
He walked toward the entrance. His posture was so rigid, so confident, that the crowd naturally parted around him like water.
I leaned against the car.
"Three hours," I bet with myself. "He lasts three hours before breaking someone's bone."
11:30 AM - The Cafeteria
I was wrong. He lasted three and a half hours.
I was in the faculty lounge, charming the secretary to get access to the school's wifi password, when my phone buzzed.
Unknown Number (Gotham Academy Admin).
"Mr. Michaelis?" the principal's voice was trembling. "Please come to the cafeteria. Immediately."
"Is there a fire?" I asked, putting down my tea.
"No. There is... a hostage situation."
The Scene
When I arrived, the cafeteria was silent.
The students were pressed against the walls, terrified.
In the center of the room, a table had been overturned.
Three boys—sixth graders, much larger than Damian—were on the floor. One was clutching a dislocated shoulder. Another was unconscious, drooling. The third, the ringleader, was currently in a headlock.
Damian Wayne sat on top of the ringleader. He held a plastic spork against the boy's jugular vein.
"Retract your statement!" Damian hissed. "Admit that the al Ghul bloodline is superior to your 'Van Der Woodsen' old money!"
"I... I take it back!" the boy squealed. "Please don't kill me!"
"Damian," I said, my voice cutting through the tension.
Damian looked up. His eyes were wild.
"Sebastian! This cretin insulted Father! He claimed Wayne Enterprises stock was 'volatile'!"
"And your solution was to sever his carotid artery with a piece of disposable cutlery?"
"It is a valid tactical response!"
I walked over. The other students flinched, expecting me to yell.
Instead, I calmly picked up a napkin.
"Young Master," I said. "Release him."
"But—"
"Release him. Or I tell Master Bruce you failed the infiltration mission."
Damian gritted his teeth. He shoved the boy's face into the mashed potatoes and stood up.
He dusted off his blazer.
"They are weak," Damian muttered. "They have no discipline."
"They are twelve," I corrected. "And now, we have a meeting with the Principal."
The Principal's Office
Principal Hammer was a large man who was used to intimidating rich parents. He sat behind his mahogany desk, sweating.
Damian sat in the chair, arms crossed, looking bored.
I stood behind him.
"Mr. Michaelis," the Principal began, trying to regain his authority. "This is unacceptable. Damian has been here for four hours. He has hospitalized the varsity quarterback and threatened to—and I quote—'skin the cafeteria staff alive' because the milk was 2%."
"The milk was watery," Damian interjected.
"Quiet," I said.
"We have a zero-tolerance policy," the Principal slammed his hand on the desk. "We are expelling him. And we will be suing Mr. Wayne for damages."
I checked my watch. 12:15 PM. Lunchtime was over.
"Principal Hammer," I began, my voice silky smooth. "Before you draft that paperwork, might I remind you of the donation the Wayne Foundation made last year for your new gymnasium?"
"That... that is irrelevant!"
"Is it?" I stepped forward. My shadow elongated against the wall, stretching into something with horns. "And might I also remind you that your 'zero tolerance' policy seems to have overlooked the fact that those three boys cornered Damian first?"
The Principal paled. "How did you..."
"Security cameras," I pointed to the lens in the corner. "I hacked them five minutes ago. The Van Der Woodsen boy threw the first tray."
I leaned over the desk. My eyes glowed a faint, menacing violet.
"If you expel him, the footage goes to the press. 'Gotham Academy Bullies Orphan.' It would be a PR nightmare, don't you think?"
The room temperature dropped ten degrees. The Principal shivered.
"W-what do you want?"
"Detention," I smiled pleasantly. "One week. For fighting. That is fair, is it not?"
The Principal gulped. "Yes. Yes. Detention."
The Car Ride Home
Damian stared out the window. He was quiet.
"You manipulated him," Damian said finally.
"I negotiated," I corrected.
"You used fear," Damian turned to me. "I saw your eyes. You aren't human."
"We established this last night."
Damian frowned. "Why didn't you let me finish them? They were insects."
"Because, Young Master," I said, turning the car onto the coastal road. "A lion does not concern himself with the opinions of sheep. And he certainly doesn't get expelled for sporking them."
Damian looked at his hands.
"Father will be disappointed."
"Master Bruce?" I chuckled. "Hardly. He broke a boy's arm in this exact school when he was your age. It is practically a family tradition."
Damian's eyes widened. "Really?"
"Indeed. Though he used a compass, not a spork. You have much to learn about improvised weaponry."
For the first time, a small, genuine smirk touched Damian's lips.
"A compass," Damian mused. "Efficient."
"Quite."
I looked at him in the rearview mirror.
"However, detention starts tomorrow. And I expect you to use that time to study, not plot murder."
Damian leaned back, crossing his arms.
"We shall see, Butler. We shall see."
_________________________________________________________________________
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