It was only milking a cow. Simple. He had already consulted piles of relevant material and even watched videos on how to do it.
No problem! I am the son of Wayne and al Ghul! The heir to the League of Assassins! The future Batman!
I am a prodigy who began training in the cradle, defeated every assassin and ninja in the League of Assassins at ten, and has knowledge on par with a dozen PhDs in different fields...
It is merely milking a cow...
A dozen minutes later, Bat-Cow was mooing in distress and pain. Damian was furious, and the milk in the bucket barely covered the bottom. Some of the rest had ended up on Damian's face and clothes.
Ever since he had learned to walk, Damian had always presented himself as a cool, stone-faced, sharp-tongued little assassin of a devil. Now he really was a milk-scented little brat who was still wet behind the ears.
Miaomiao and Little Jo had been watching from the sidelines the whole time. Miaomiao knew nothing about this, but she could tell Bat-Cow was uncomfortable. Little Jo had already frowned several times.
Damian wanted to try again, but the moment he reached out, Bat-Cow backed away two steps in lingering fear, looking at him with pitiful, aggrieved eyes.
"Let me help."
Good kid that he was, Little Jo could not bear to watch any longer. Honestly, he was amazed Bat-Cow had not kicked Damian yet. He did not care about Damian, but it was sad to see such a sweet, gentle cow put through this over and over.
Damian instinctively wanted to fire back, but his gaze caught Bat-Cow's big, watery eyes, then the virtually nonexistent milk in the bucket. He finally gave up his spot, though his mouth remained as stubborn