William walked over to the warehouse again, looked up, and found that it was completely empty.
It was finally over! He leaned against the truck without a word, while Alfred honked to hurry him along.
"It's well past midnight, young man. Don't you want some quality protein followed by a refreshing stretch?"
"I'd rather know why."
William climbed into the truck on trembling legs.
"You mean these supplies? They're for the refugees at the East End port. To thank them for pulling Master Wayne out of the harbor, I have the cooks prepare a protein-rich feast to send over every week."
"Your kindness is touching, but is there any chance I was asking about today's training?"
"I thought you'd already realized."
Alfred turned sideways and looked William earnestly in the eyes.
"What do you think training means? Endurance, muscle strength, a wide range of fighting techniques, extensive experience?"
"Isn't that... what it means?"
"It is, but it's too early for you, just like those heavy iron plates. Now let me ask you something else. Do you know how to walk or run?"
"Apparently, you don't think I do."
"They're instincts and habits, but that doesn't make them correct. Everyone can shout, for instance, but singing requires proper use of the vocal cords. Take the way you walk: your thigh muscles contribute very little force, and you land on your heels, leaving your knees under constant strain. As for the way you ran earlier, your center of gravity bounced up and down too much..."
Alfred's explanation opened William's eyes. Until then, he had thought the physical gap between himself and Batman came down to strength and technique.
It turned out that even in something as basic as walking and running, Batman was already far ahead of ordinary people.
"What about Miss