Digesting the Gains, Power Surging!

Inside the underground base, in the medical room.

Harley Quinn wrung out a hot towel and carefully wiped the blood from the corner of Link's mouth.

Her touch was gentle, but she could not hide the worry and lingering fear in her eyes.

Link sat against the hospital bed with his upper body bare.

A gruesome purple bruise covered the spot on his chest where Batman's fist had struck. The outline of a broken rib was plainly visible.

"Sweetheart, that big bat nearly killed you!" Harley's voice trembled. "Was getting close to that wreck of a car worth it?"

"It was."

Link opened his eyes. His face was pale, but his gaze was startlingly bright.

He did not look at Harley. His gaze seemed to pierce the ceiling and reach the Dark Knight, deep in thought in the Batcave.

Was it worth it?

Absolutely!

This broken rib had bought him the essence of Batman's ten years of hard-won combat training!

The blood he had coughed up had watered a shortcut to the Throne of Gotham!

"Go outside. I need some time alone." Link's voice was calm, but it carried an unmistakable command.

Harley wanted to say more, but seeing that he would not be disturbed, she could only pout, leave a bottle of painkillers by the bed, and reluctantly step out.

The moment the door closed, the calm on Link's face shattered.

He could no longer hold it back. He doubled over, veins bulging on his forehead, and let out a strangled roar.

Pain!

Agony unlike anything he had ever known, rising from the deepest reaches of his body and soul!

If Batman's punch had dealt him a physical blow, then the system's infusion of [Gotham Knight Fighting Style] was a war waged in every cell!

Countless fighting principles, combat techniques, and muscle memories flooded into his body like the most virulent plague.

His muscles spasmed, tore, and re-formed beyond his control.

His nervous system became a mass of red-hot wires carrying signals far beyond their limits.

It was as though he could "see" Batman spending ten relentless years practicing punches beneath a waterfall and meditating atop snowy mountains.

He could "feel" the angle of every punch Batman threw, the technique behind every burst of force, and his precise grasp of timing in every fight.

Memories that were not his own were forcibly overwriting his body's instincts.

Link rolled off the bed and hit the floor hard.

One moment his body curled into a ball; the next, it stretched into a textbook fighting stance.

Sweat soaked his hair and pants in an instant, pooling beneath him on the floor.

The pain was worse than any torture.

But there was not a trace of surrender in Link's eyes. Instead, the fire in them burned hotter.

He gritted his teeth and let that power rampage through him.

He knew this was the final trial before the Phoenix rose from the ashes.

To wear the crown, he first had to bear its weight!

He had no idea how much time passed.

Perhaps an hour. Perhaps an entire night.

Outside the door, Harley, Iron Spike, and the others paced anxiously. They could faintly hear beastlike growls and the sounds of impacts from inside, but none of them dared enter.

At last, every sound in the room fell silent.

Bang!

The medical room door was kicked open from within.

Link walked out.

He had changed into clean black training clothes. The injury to his chest seemed to have healed, and color had returned to his pale face.

He was still himself, yet he seemed like an entirely different person.

His steps were steadier, the set of his shoulders firmer. Most striking of all were his eyes.

Before, Link's eyes had held chaos and mockery.

Now that chaos lay beneath a depthless calm and order, making him more restrained—and more dangerous.

"Boss!" Iron Spike and the others hurried over.

"All of you." Link swept his gaze across Harley, Iron Spike, and the dozen or so best fighters under his command. "Come at me together. Give it everything you've got."

They exchanged bewildered looks.

"What? Scared?" Link's mouth curled into a familiar smile.

Harley reacted first. She licked her lips in excitement and, without a word, swung her beloved Baseball Bat straight at Link's head!

She put all her strength into the swing, sending the bat whistling through the air!

The others stopped hesitating. With a roar, they charged from every direction.

Fists, daggers, and iron pipes cut off every avenue of escape.

Yet Link simply stood where he was.

Just as Harley's Baseball Bat was about to strike the top of his head, he moved.

He tilted his head a fraction and tapped the whistling bat with two fingers.

Clink!

Harley felt a force of astonishing precision. The swing she had thrown with all her might was effortlessly knocked off course, striking empty air and nearly throwing her off balance.

At the same time, Link's figure flickered like a ghost.

He made no sweeping moves. He merely strolled through the assault of a dozen people.

A turn of his body let a dagger aimed at his waist slip past.

A duck sent an iron pipe meant for his shoulder swinging through empty air.

Within that tight space, his palms, elbows, and knees struck his attackers at impossible angles and speeds.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

A rapid series of dull impacts rang out.

The dozen or so people who had rushed him cried out and flew backward as if struck by an invisible force. They hit the ground and could not get up for a long while.

They had not even seen how Link had struck!

Harley was the only one left standing in the training room. She stared at the scene, dumbfounded, her hand trembling around her Baseball Bat.

Link walked toward her, one step at a time.

Harley swallowed, summoned her courage again, and charged at him with a wild cry, unleashing a storm of attacks.

Her movements were wild, quick, and utterly unpredictable.

But to Link, they were full of openings.

Link did not even raise a hand to block.

He simply kept stepping back, each step landing precisely at the outer limit of Harley's reach.

No matter how furiously Harley attacked, her Baseball Bat always stopped a centimeter short of Link's body.

Finally, Link stopped and gently pressed one finger against Harley's forehead.

Every one of Harley's movements came to an abrupt halt.

She froze mid-swing, feeling the cold, irresistible force of that finger against her forehead.

She had lost.

Completely.

She looked up into Link's deep eyes.

In them was the Joker's madness, Batman's order, and something else... an absolute confidence she had never seen before, belonging to Link alone.

In that moment, the last trace of Harley's infatuation with the Joker vanished.

In its place came fervent worship and obsession.

Her Puddin' no longer needed the Joker.

Because he had surpassed the Joker. He had even... surpassed the Bat.