Children Belong in School

Bruce paid no further attention to the two men's shock, as though the miraculous resurrection just now had been nothing more than a trivial matter to him. Bare-chested, he strode straight toward the massive Batcomputer in the center of the cave. As he passed, a brand-new suit of armor, gleaming with an eerie blue light and bristling with sharp angles and metallic texture, rose from the ground as if alive. Plates of armor automatically locked onto his body, producing a series of crisp, pleasant mechanical clicks.

By the time he reached the computer, the V8.03 Knight Bat suit had been fully equipped. A savage mask covered his face, leaving only a pair of electronic lenses glowing with cold blue light.

Hiss—

The enormous screen lit up, displaying a real-time map of Gotham City. Nearly the entire map was covered in glaring blood-red. Icons representing Bane's underlings and Arkham escapees flashed wildly in every corner of the city like a virus. Fires, explosions, gunfire... all kinds of data streams representing chaos refreshed rapidly in one corner of the screen.

Had the original Bruce witnessed this scene, his heart would likely have already been filled with rage and self-reproach.

But this new Bruce merely watched in silence. Within his Tactical Mastermind Mind, the chaotic scene was instantly broken down into countless calculable data points: enemy distribution, firepower deployment, supply routes, psychological profiles of the leaders, public panic levels... everything became an incomparably clear chessboard.

Chaos, but not disorder. Bane was a brute with a brain. His method of control was a typical military occupation, with clear nodes and a defined chain of command... Sever several key nodes, and the entire system would be paralyzed instantly.

He sat down, his hands dancing over the light-powered keyboard like phantoms.

"Alfred, access the highest-level authorization for Wayne Enterprises' Sky Eye satellite system. Authorization code: Martha-0426. Filter out all civilian signals. Route every heat signature, communication signal, and traffic data stream in Gotham City to the main screen, sorted by district."

His voice emerged through the mask's modulator, low and raspy, carrying a metallic quality without the slightest emotional fluctuation. He sounded like a supercomputer issuing commands.

"Yes, Master Bruce." Alfred did not hesitate in the slightest and immediately began working at another terminal. He could sense that Master Bruce's orders were clearer, more efficient, and... more unquestionable than ever before.

Beside them, Tim finally recovered from his immense shock. Looking at the black figure seated before the computer, as though he had become one with the entire Batcave, the unease in his heart was replaced by a familiar fighting spirit. He clenched his fists, and his gaze became resolute once more.

"Bruce, I'm ready!" He strode forward, his voice loud and determined. "Bane's command center is at the top of Wayne Tower. His lieutenant, Hothead Sam, controls Gotham Bridge. Scarecrow is spreading fear toxin... I know their deployment! Robin will fight alongside you!"

Yet the only response he received was the uninterrupted clatter of keys.

Bruce did not even turn around, as though Tim were merely an irrelevant echo in the cave. Only after processing the final data stream at hand did he coldly issue an order.

"Alfred, tomorrow, handle Tim's enrollment at Gotham Elite Private Academy. A full scholarship, the best private dormitory. His major... finance and management."

"As you command, sir."

"Wait... what?!" Tim looked as though he had been struck by lightning. He rushed to Bruce's side, bracing both hands against the console as he stared down in disbelief at the masked face. His voice rose sharply with emotion. "Bruce! Did you hear me? I said I wanted to fight by your side! Gotham is a battlefield right now! And you're telling me... telling me to go to school?!"

He felt more humiliated than ever before. To him, this hurt even more than being directly told he was "too weak."

This time, Bruce finally stopped typing.

He slowly turned his chair. His towering frame carried a suffocating pressure as he faced Tim head-on. The dim blue electronic lenses, like two frigid stars from deep space, locked firmly onto Tim's eyes.

"Precisely because this is a war, you cannot take part."

Bruce's voice was not loud, yet it struck Tim's chest like a sledgehammer.

"I made a mistake once," he said slowly. The memories inherited from Batman reminded him of Red Hood—Jason Todd—who had died beneath the Joker's crowbar. "I let a child who should have been running beneath the sunlight step onto this dark battlefield with no end. I will not make the same mistake a second time."

He rose to his feet and looked down at Tim, who stood a head shorter than him. His tone remained calm, but every word carried an authority that allowed no defiance. It was the bearing Lu Xian had developed in his previous life as a project manager, making final decisions in meetings. Now, bolstered by Fear Aura, it became like a divine decree.

"Tim, you're a genius. Your talents should not be wasted beating up lunatics and criminals in the streets alongside me. You should study, master economics, understand politics, and become someone who can change this city's future in the sunlight through intellect and capital. Not another ghost hiding in the shadows."

"It is enough for me alone to bear Gotham's darkness."

Tim opened his mouth, feeling as though an invisible hand had seized his throat. He wanted to argue. He wanted to say, "I'm your partner." He wanted to say, "This is my responsibility." He wanted to say, "I don't care about the danger."

But as he looked into those cold electronic eyes that offered no room for discussion, all his words lodged in his throat, pale and powerless. What he saw was a familiar stranger—an arbitrary tyrant he could not understand at all. That intangible pressure made even breathing difficult.

In the end, all his courage and determination were crushed to pieces before that absolute will. He lowered his head in a daze, and his hands slipped weakly from the console.

Bruce did not look at him again and turned back to the computer screen. He felt no emotional ripples over the decision. In the eyes of this "project manager," assigning a "core asset" with top-tier intelligence and immense potential to "frontline execution" was an enormous waste of resources. Tim's future should be as CEO of Wayne Enterprises, as mayor of Gotham City—not as a disposable asset.

He zoomed in on Gotham's map, and red X marks appeared one after another over the portraits of key figures.

"Alfred," he said in a deep voice, "give me a list. The contact information for the world's most expensive—and most reliable—'cleaners.' I want to conduct some 'project outsourcing.'"

"Also, prepare the 'fighter jet.' I need to meet someone personally."