"Then who was the other director?" Schiller asked.
"That youth named Dick." Bale-Batman continued walking forward, stepping over the uneven shrubs. "He was probably the horror killer for that day."
"Do you remember the rules the host mentioned earlier? Every killer had a special ability. We previously understood those abilities as being exceptionally strong or skilled in combat, but perhaps we should think about it in a more fantastical way."
"Since the host could bring so many superheroes here to play this game, he clearly wasn't an existence that viewed things through human eyes. His imagination must also surpass the limits of ordinary humans. The killers' abilities might be more like magic."
Bale-Batman took a deep breath and continued his speculation. "I was the third person to board the bus, only before you two. Judging by the seats, Dick was the first one aboard, yet no one saw how he got on."
"What felt even more wrong was that Batman didn't choose to sit in the same row as Dick—the last row. That was very strange, because if it were me, I would definitely choose the last row. It was the best strategic position, allowing a view of the entire bus."
"From then on, I vaguely felt that something was strange, but I couldn't say what it was until you personally told us about your relationship with Dick."
Bale-Batman turned to look at his other self. Looking at Batman, he said, "You said Dick was your adopted son. Even if he was from another universe, you seemed a little too indifferent."
"But from what I know, Batman has always been that indifferent," Schiller countered.
"Completely different." Bale-Batman shook his head. "We have to pay attention to where we direct our attention. Sometimes, even if I don't respond outwardly, I still