"As long as the mood was right," Roland said, sounding a little guilty. "Nero, it's all over!"
The Imperial Seal descended. Nero gave Roland the middle finger and vanished into thin air.
"What did he mean by that?" Astra asked Roland curiously. "How did you screw him over this time?"
"Uh—just failed the plagiarism check," Roland said awkwardly. "I got a little too used to copying—"
"That sounds about right." Astra pursed her lips. That was very Roland.
"When are we going back? I can't wait to beat Batman up," Nightwing said eagerly.
"Don't. You're no match for him," Cassandra said. "With those insights you've gained, Batman will beat you senseless."
"You think I'm scared of him?" Nightwing was brimming with confidence. "Just watch me outsmart Batman and take him down."
"All right, I'm going to have a word with two people, then I'll take you all home." Roland shrank down and entered the ruined theater on the ground.
Two middle-aged men sat inside the theater. One had dark skin, curly black hair, and dark brown eyes. He looked Middle Eastern and wore an exceptionally white, knee-length woolen tunic. The other was clearly Chinese, with a burly build, a ruddy face, high cheekbones, and a beard. He looked imposing in a theatrical imperial robe embroidered with nine five-clawed golden dragons.
"I'm about to leave, so I came to bid my two elder brothers farewell," Roland said with a smile.
"Oh, we're all brothers here. Why bother with such formalities? Eldest Brother, Third Brother, come have a drink."
"All right. Second Brother, Third Brother, please."
"All right! Second Brother, Eldest Little Brother, please!"
Several days passed before Roland emerged from the ruined theater. By then, all traces of the war had disappeared.
"How did you get everything done so quickly?" Roland