This Batman wasn't the battle-hardened badass; this was the Batman who was just starting. Lance's words only made Batman angrier.
Nothing provokes anger faster than realizing the other person is right.
What Lance said struck directly at the deepest contradiction within the still-young Batman.
The law in Gotham could not save his parents. It could not even bring their killer to justice.
Yet Batman, who spoke of revenge, was still bound by order. He was restrained by so-called ethics, morality, and the law. Even now, he continued to follow that judicial system.
Lance was a lawyer. No one understood it better than he did.
The law was nothing but a pile of rot.
It could not save anyone, nor could it deliver justice.
It was like a dancer with a perfect figure. It would take whatever shape you forced it into.
Everything came down to power and desire, and had nothing to do with justice.
"You want me to act the way you described?" Batman raised his gun and pointed it at Lance's forehead.
Of course he carried a gun. In Gotham, not having one was no different from a child walking into a crowded market.
"Of course." Lance spread his hands and leaned forward, pressing the muzzle closer against his skin. "See? Even now, you're still asking for my opinion. Bruce Wayne, you have a lot to learn."
He continued, "By your logic, I've been wandering the East End at night without reason. My appearance is suspicious. More importantly, you already formed a conclusion about me. Then you applied every detail to that conclusion and found that everything seemed to fit, so you decided I was the killer."
Lance's tone turned theatrical. "What flawless reasoning. What a brilliant conclusion."
It was blatant mockery.
Batman's finger rested on the trigger, his knuckles pale with tension.
Fury surged through him, threatening to overwhelm what little restraint he had left.
At that moment, a faint creak echoed from deeper inside the laboratory.
A rusted iron door slowly opened.
In the next second, Lance moved.
He kicked the side of Batman's knee, snatched the gun as his opponent lost balance, turned, aimed, and pulled the trigger.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.
Six shots rang out in the enclosed space, sending dust drifting from the ceiling.
A sharp scream came from behind the door. A gaunt man staggered out, clutching his right hand before collapsing to the ground.
A bullet had pierced his palm, and blood poured through his fingers.
Lance tossed the empty gun back to Batman. He frowned, looked down at the man on the ground, and clicked his tongue in dissatisfaction.
"I was aiming for the heart. That's what happens when you're not used to guns. Missed and hit your hand instead. Still works. Once you can't move, it's easier to talk."
Batman stared at the man in the tattered white lab coat and gold-rimmed glasses, lying on the ground. His throat felt dry.
"Who is this?" he asked.
In truth, he already knew the answer. But he still hoped Lance would deny it, even if it was a lie.
But luck had never favored him.
Lance sneered, picked up his cane again, and pointed it at the wailing man.
"You're asking me?" he said. "Isn't this the murderer you've been looking for?"
"Ah, right." Lance seemed to remember something. "I forgot. The honorable Batman already decided I'm the killer."
"That's right. That's right…"
He walked over, grabbed the man by the hair, and dragged him in front of Batman.
He gripped the man's chin and forced his head up, then leaned in, placing their faces side by side.
"Look at me, then look at him." After a moment, Lance released him in disgust and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his fingers.
"How could someone this timid, scrawny, and withdrawn be the murderer? So it has to be me, right? He's just an innocent passerby who happened to be here tonight. Isn't that correct, great Batman?"
"Stop…" Batman's voice trembled.
"I told you to understand Gotham properly, but you never took it seriously."
Lance shook his head. "The first time you came to the East End, you judged by appearances. This time, it's no different."
"What should I say? Maybe you're the one who should be the Joker."
The conclusion was delivered with sharp cruelty.
Batman fell silent.
He recalled that night, his first time entering the East End, being stabbed by that boy.
Just like then, a deep sense of helplessness and confusion washed over him again.
"Now, we need our great Batman to do us a favor." Lance lifted his cane and pointed it at the unconscious man on the ground.
"His name is Jonathan Crane. The serial killer you've been looking for. I may be a lawyer, but I don't enjoy dealing with the police, unless I'm turning myself in. So I'll leave it to you to take him to the station."
"After all, you're a vigilante. That's what you do, isn't it?" Lance said with a faint smile.
After a long silence, Batman bent down and lifted Jonathan Crane.
He realized that his grand debut had been a complete failure. The man he had suspected, Lance Prescott, had instead helped him, while he himself had been trapped by his own assumptions, committing the sin of arrogance.
Lance said nothing. Batman remained standing there.
Outside the open laboratory door, rain began to fall over Gotham once more.
Just as Lance grew bored and was about to leave, he heard Batman speak from behind him.
"…Sorry."
"…And thank you."
Lance froze where he stood.
For a moment, he thought he had misheard.
What did Batman just say?
He apologized?
And even said thank you?
Lance turned back in disbelief. Batman stood deep in the shadows of the laboratory, his face swallowed by darkness. Only the pale line of his tightly pressed lips was visible under the emergency light.
Batman… apologized?
But Batman didn't apologize.
In Lance's memory, Batman was always silent, always swallowing everything and burying it inside himself.
Even in the Red Hood incident, from Lance's perspective, a single explanation from Batman could have prevented everything that followed.
But Batman never spoke.
That was the impression Lance had always held. Batman never bowed.
And yet, just now, this young Batman had bowed his head to him.
What was wrong with this world?
Lance waved a hand without turning around, his expression dazed.
Then he walked away, unsteady on his feet.