Enough of these sad thoughts. The chimes are about to strike—it's time to start handing out presents!
"Guys, forgive me, but I haven't prepared anything for you. You won't believe it, but all the boutiques were suddenly closed. A universal conspiracy, no doubt!"
"Of course. That's what we figured..." came the chorus of amused agreement.
"But I did manage to get something for one person," I said, materializing a box beautifully wrapped in gladiolus flowers.
"Dear Alfred," I began seriously, "this gift is not so much from me as it is from all of us. Perhaps we don't often say it aloud, but you are the most beloved and important person among us. You replaced Bruce's parents and do the same for us, giving us affection, respect, and joy. We are saddened by how the years have treated you so unfairly."
"Of course, we couldn't tolerate such tyranny," I added, handing him the present with a smile, "and so we developed this medicine. It is made from the Lazarus Pit and is capable of granting a person an additional hundred years of life."
"What nonsense!" Ra's al Ghul's grandson shouted, drawing everyone's attention. I had to interrupt my congratulatory speech and shift into teaching mode.
"Damien, what's wrong? Are you feeling unwell? You know, just say 'hakuna matata' and that's it—no problem," I advised, referring to Timon and Pumbaa's effective method.
"Shut up! What hundred years?"
"Well, the usual ones. One hundred times three hundred and sixty-five days. But that's not all. The elixir also cures any illness—hidden injuries from distant childhood included—and increases a person's regenerative factor by three times. It even slightly enhances physical characteristics. And all this without side effects!"
"That's nonsense!" Damien protested. "My grandfather spent his whole life trying to master the sacred waters of the Lazarus Pit, but he never succeeded. And you're saying you managed what the Demon's Head couldn't—the wisest man alive?" Wayne's son sneered mockingly.
"Yes, that's right! Your grandfather was a fine fellow, of course, but nowadays it's time to make way for the young."
"I don't believe you."
"You're right... so you don't want an extra hundred years to live. We'll take note of that…"
"That's not what I meant!" Damien retreated quickly.
Having dealt with the little troublemaker, I returned to presenting the gift, once again vividly describing its magical properties.
"It's not dangerous, is it?" inquired Commissioner Gordon's daughter, worried about Alfred.
Bruce Wayne spoke then "I personally conducted the final testing of the medicine. To guarantee its safety further, I checked its compatibility with Alfred's DNA. The results revealed no abnormalities."
After listening, the old butler grew emotional, took a white handkerchief from his tailcoat pocket, and wiped tears from his eyes.
"Thank goodness you didn't have to work so hard," said the elderly gentleman gently. "I've lived long enough to understand that life is valued not by its length but by its content. And though I've made many mistakes, I've always sought to pass on my bitter experiences and protect others. Master Bruce, even though I don't like the path you've chosen, I'm still very proud of you. You've bravely weathered tragedy and carried on the glorious Wayne family tradition—their main mission… protecting Gotham's people. Your father spent his life trying to help his hometown, making it better, cleaner, and safer. You inherited that will and fulfilled his deepest desires. I sincerely hope I live to see my dream come true as well."
"Master Bruce, it's time you started thinking about marriage. This estate needs a woman's hand…" the butler added jokingly.
"Very well, I'll think about it in the New Year," the Dark Knight hastened to respond.
"Alfred, thanks to this medicine, you'll gain an extra hundred years. It's entirely possible that after such time, this stubborn fool will finally decide to settle down and start a family," I interrupted their exchange."So, please accept this immodest gift quickly."
"I was about to retire…" Alfred replied, in no hurry to take the miraculous elixir.
"Okay, let's play our trump cards…" I said. "I thought I already mentioned this drug cures nearly any ailment. Alfred, aren't you bothered by arthritis? Osteoporosis? Hypertension? I may be mistaken, but I noticed you touching your back several times anxiously recently… Radiculitis? I understand age spares no one. We all face it eventually… or do we?" I shook the gift wrapping for emphasis.
"It would be impolite to refuse such a gift," the elderly gentleman finally relented, snatching the box with the green elixir.
"He really can persuade anyone," Grayson remarked admiringly. "We should bring him along to our next meeting with Jason."
"I'd love to hear that dialogue, ha-ha," Barbara laughed, imagining the future scenario where I'm talking to the Red Hood.
"What are you thinking?" Batman asked gloomily. "Jason has had it tough enough, and now you want to introduce him to Alex? That's too cruel… I'm afraid we'll lose him forever."
"There's a good chance that if a conversation with Mr. Alex happens, Sir Jason will never return to Gotham," Alfred added dryly.
"Guys, I think you underestimate me. I'm a master of my craft. By the end of the conversation, Jason and I will be best friends."
"Alex, you should still try to be more modest," Barbara said, adjusting my hair.
"What are you talking about? I can talk about modesty for hours," I replied with a grin.
"He's incorrigible," Batman shook his head.We all burst out laughing. Even the eternally gloomy Bruce couldn't hold back a smile.
Feeling the moment was worth preserving, I pulled out my retro Polaroid camera and snapped a few pictures.
Though I said earlier I hadn't prepared presents, that wasn't quite true. I quickly donned my Santa Claus costume and unleashed a veritable rain of holiday boxes in the room.
Beautifully and brightly decorated packages rained down from the ceiling right at the feet of the stunned guests. This kind of festive atmosphere works wonders on everyone.
"Oh-ho-ho! Happy New Year, my friends," I said, stroking my lush white beard. "I never got to meet the real Santa or convince him to attend tonight, so I have to fill the role of the cheerful, pot-bellied grandfather. Yo-ho-ho…"
"Ha-ha-ha, what real Santa? Does anyone still believe in such nonsense?" The Toymaker's hysterical laughter cut through the room.
Hmm, did the boy really have too much to drink? I knew that his nonsense would lead to trouble.
"Toyman, don't you really believe in Santa Claus? It's a shame... You know, it's because of people like you that poor old man has to keep visiting therapists, begging, 'Doctor, help me! I don't believe in myself!'"
"Who even believes in that? He's just a mythical character, made up by people. A fictitious symbol of Christmas. His kind, generous, and wintry antics are fairy tales for naive children who endlessly believe in all things magical. Red suit, white beard, big belly, flying sleigh, ha-ha, and a reindeer with a glowing nose… ha-ha-ha! Am I the only one who thinks it's funny?"
"No, I agree with you," Riri Williams supported her implacable rival. "I stopped believing when I was five."
"Five years, seriously? I realized it was nonsense at three," Toyman teased back, never missing a chance.
"Okay, let me explain everything. Ahem… For simplicity, let's assume there are two billion children on Earth. The average home has three and a half children. That means Santa needs to visit 571 million houses in one day, or 31 hours, taking time zones and Earth's rotation into account. To do this, he'd need to visit 5,116 houses per second, traveling at six and a half kilometers per second. Then… the volume of the gift bag…"
"That's enough, Hiro," Lana Lang interrupted. "We all get it."
"Excellent! Now everyone agrees this is impossible. I've known that since I was a child."
"Nothing is impossible if you believe," I disagreed with Toyman."Let me put a little faith in your heart by telling you the story of Yolner…".
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Please vote with power stones.
You all can read extra chapters on [email protected]/annihilator009