The one who started it all

Gotham City hid many secrets. From the moment construction first began, there had been nothing innocent about it.

Lynn was an outsider. His knowledge of Gotham was limited to a few comics and movies, and the original body's jumbled memories were no help.

But that didn't stop Lynn from following the clues he knew to find the Old Bat.

Gotham was Wayne's Gotham. Every citizen of the city understood that much.

Lynn couldn't say whether ordinary people had any complaints about that, but the wealthy members of high society certainly weren't fond of the saying.

They tried to resist, and they had never stopped resisting. That was how the Court of Owls had come into being.

The former heads of the Wayne Family, Bruce Wayne's ancestors, had discovered hints of its existence too. The Old Bat's great-grandfather was one example.

Lynn remembered that the Wayne Family's true rise to prominence had begun with that old man. Construction of Batman's ancestral home, Wayne Manor, had probably begun in his day as well.

The old man had always firmly believed that the owls were plotting against the Wayne Family, though he had no evidence, and no one believed him.

He believed it himself, and that belief gradually became an obsession. He was convinced that "the owls had nested within the Wayne Family."

Later in life, the old man had descended into a fixation that people of the time found utterly incomprehensible. In every painting he made, whenever a building appeared, an owl would be nesting on it.

His foundation had built many buildings in Gotham that were partly independent of the Wayne Family. Influenced by certain legends and cultural beliefs, none of those buildings had a thirteenth floor.

The numbering jumped straight from twelve to fourteen. The thirteenth floor was a sealed space with no windows or doors.

Bruce Wayne had investigated those floors as a child and paid dearly for it. He had been trapped in an empty room for seven days and nearly starved to death.

After that, he had stopped believing in the Court of Owls.

"So there must have been something, some clue that drew the Old Bat's attention back to the Court of Owls and the questions surrounding it.

"That was why he overturned his previous judgment without hesitation and made such a drastic decision."

Originally, Lynn's plan had been simple and direct.

Fly downtown, find the Wayne Family's buildings, and search their thirteenth floors. Whatever Batman had done to find his clues, Lynn would just follow the same steps.

Now, though, he felt he should find someone who knew the story.

So Lynn headed straight for Wayne Manor.

Other people might not know the Wayne Family's affairs, but how could Batman's old butler, Alfred, not know? He knew even more than the Old Bat did!

Alfred seemed to have been expecting Lynn's arrival.

He wasn't shocked the way other people were when they saw Lynn riding a balloon, nor did he make any attempt to attack.

Perhaps this elegant old gentleman, this veteran butler, simply had nerves of steel. Of course, the more likely explanation was that he really did know everything.

"You knew I'd come? You knew I knew his identity?"

Alfred's temples were lightly frosted with gray, but it was difficult to judge his age overall. His back and shoulders were straight, and his posture, grooming, and bearing were impeccable. He looked like a man in his thirties who had dyed a little of his hair white.

Most importantly, he had that unflappable composure, that ability to remain calm when something momentous happened.

No wonder he had managed, in a place like Gotham, to raise a boy saddled with every debuff imaginable—dead parents, a fortune worth hundreds of millions, feuds among the elite, a family blood feud, bad friends, teenage rebellion, and on and on—into Batman rather than some demonic bat haunting the night.

You could say Batman was the person in the entire DC Universe who had the most reason to turn evil. His negative status effects were already maxed out.

Whatever else might be said about him, this old butler had definitely maxed out his parenting skills.

"Hmm... I'll introduce you to Clark Kent's dad sometime. You two will definitely have plenty to talk about!"

In truth, the old butler Alfred's expression had frozen somewhat.

He had been worrying about Master Bruce, who had gone missing for days because Alfred had said too much, when the window suddenly shattered and a strange man flew in, sitting on a balloon and holding a cat.

If he hadn't heard Master Bruce mention this man's name and describe him several times, and if the key detail of "sitting on a balloon" hadn't left such a strong impression, the old butler would have swung a hammer at him on reflex.

He might have been getting on in years, but he had never let his skills slip. He had been a soldier, after all.

Only after realizing this was his young master's new friend did Alfred relax.

Master Bruce's friends had never been the sort who could show themselves openly, but at least he had another friend. That was wonderful news.

Alfred had intended to get straight to the point and quickly bring Thorn Vine Man, whom he had already guessed was here to help, up to speed. Instead, the man had opened with two questions.

Before Alfred could compose an answer, the man inexplicably offered to introduce him to a friend.

Was this man's mind... Oh, right. Nothing unusual there.

"Mr. Thorn Vine, I..."

"Good heavens, didn't the Old Bat tell you my name?"

"Er... Mr. Adrian, I would like..."

"Relax, good sir Alfred. Just call me Lynn. Did the Old Bat say anything before he left? Did he... Oh, is that coffee? Does it have sugar? Let me have a sip."

Alfred had thought communicating with his own young master was difficult enough. He hadn't expected to meet a true master of the art today.

"Mr. Lynn, please follow me."

Alfred decided to disregard whatever Lynn said or asked and get straight to the point. He would simply tell him everything he knew.

Dressed in formal attire, every movement imbued with aristocratic elegance, Alfred walked ahead and talked. Lynn followed in modern combat gear, a cat perched on his shoulder, slurping coffee through a straw.

As the two walked down the castle's long corridor, they looked like they belonged to different times and places.

"...So some clue made him suspect the Court of Owls existed again, and you knew all the details of what happened back then and told him everything. After that, he disappeared. Right?"

"Correct," Alfred replied. "He said he had found Gotham's cancer and was going to end it with his own hands.

"This is the clue he discovered."

As he spoke, Alfred handed Lynn a stack of documents.

"This stuff... Why does it look so familiar...?"

After leafing through a few pages, Lynn finally remembered.

Weren't these the documents from the safe that he had gotten from that guy named Nathan?

Lynn looked up, embarrassed, and exchanged a stare with the puzzled Alfred.

"Er... Sir, don't get upset just yet. I think I was the one who gave him this...

"But don't worry! I know how to find him now! See you!"

Having a lonely old man stare at you with the wounded resentment of someone who had just found his son's murderer wasn't something a thick skin alone could withstand.

Lynn was starting to regret this whole business...

"Ugh... I should've just handled it myself from the start."

The balloon rose into the air, and Lynn left Wayne Manor.