"I brought you a punching bag. He doubles as an apprentice."
Yang Ming adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, his tone as casual as if he were handing over a bag of potatoes at a farmers' market.
Bruce Wayne picked up the towel draped over his chair and leisurely wiped the sweat and the red marks left by the titanium alloy punching bag from the backs of his hands. He didn't even look Dave in the eye, merely letting out a cold chuckle.
"Doctor Yang, have you misunderstood something about Gotham?" Bruce's voice was low and raspy, carrying the oppressive weight of someone who had just finished an intense workout.
"This isn't Metropolis. We don't take Boy Scouts here, and we don't play dress-up as superheroes."
He slammed the towel onto the chair, his deep blue eyes locking onto Dave.
"This kid can't even stand with his weight balanced. His eyes are full of fantasies about the world. You want him to be a vigilante in Gotham? Send him out tonight, and by tomorrow morning, his organs will be in a refrigerated display case at the Black Market in the East End."
Bruce's almost tangible killing intent sent a shudder through Dave.
He felt as though he wasn't facing a person at all, but some ancient predator that had just torn its prey apart and was now licking its claws and fangs. His legs trembled uncontrollably, and cold sweat instantly soaked the back of his T-shirt.
But he gritted his teeth. Images flashed through his mind: the lawless gangs of Hell's Kitchen, the humiliation of being pinned down and ground into muddy water, and his shredded Spider-Man comic.
"I-I'm not afraid to die!"
Dave jerked his head up. His voice was still trembling, but the veins in his neck bulged. "I want