Chapter 339: Allen Discovers the Flash's Counterpart
"What's your second wish?" Bruce asked.
The first wish had been so simple, he figured the second one couldn't be much harder.
"I'll tell you once you graduate."
Like hell—it was that easy to graduate?
Whether Bruce would graduate or not, that was entirely up to Allen.
"Master, what counts as graduating?" Bruce asked, skeptical.
"At the very least, becoming someone like Batman," Allen said with a straight face.
"Batman?"
Bruce frowned slightly. He had never heard of any "Batman," and couldn't help suspecting he was being messed with.
Allen put on a solemn look, reminiscing: "He was your senior apprentice, once my most beloved disciple. He guarded Gotham City alone, prowling the night to fight crime—until he encountered the crazed back-breaker, Bane. In a brutal life-and-death battle, his spine was snapped, and from then on, he was confined to a wheelchair, no longer able to uphold justice."
"..."
This world's Bruce couldn't quite imagine what a city-guarding hero would even look like, but it definitely sounded impressive. A little flicker of hope ignited in his heart.
He'd actually grown up in a crime family, but he had always longed for justice. Unfortunately, his parents had never allowed it, so it remained hidden deep within him.
"Fortunately…"
A sly, suggestive smile crept across Allen's face. "He still had nimble hands. Not only could they move up, down, left, right, front and back—they could do a lot of unspeakably wonderful things. Unlike little beast claws, which can't even pleasure themselves properly and are stuck using their tongues."
"..."
Bruce couldn't help suspecting he was making a dirty joke, but lacked the hard evidence to confirm it.
"Goodnight, Makka Pakka."
Allen sprawled out on the bed without a care in the world, making no effort to leave even half of it free.
Bruce instinctively glanced at the pig-slaughtering knife in his hand. The thought of taking Allen out while he slept flashed across his mind.
Luckily, reason prevailed, and he gave up on that impractical idea. He dragged two chairs together and made do for the night.
…
Los Angeles.
The second-largest city in America.
It was the birthplace of Bruce's longed-for new life.
A brand-new environment meant bidding farewell to the past.
But one look at Allen in a hospital gown beside him, and Bruce immediately felt like his new life was off to a nightmarish start.
"Bruce, don't lose heart. With your master here, I guarantee three meals a day—no starvation."
Allen looked utterly confident, already plotting out his scavenging routes.
A big international city like this was bound to have plenty of loot respawn points, not to mention fixed treasure chests across the map.
"What exactly are you planning?"
Bruce wasn't holding out much hope.
After spending time with Allen, his fear had faded, replaced by a growing certainty that this guy was just a complete lunatic—with zero signs of faking it.
"That's not important. Time for your first lesson."
Allen's eyes sharpened as he stared at three provocatively dressed girls walking by, his gaze never wavering.
He and Bruce looked every bit like bumpkins just off the bus, and the three girls shot them unfiltered looks of contempt before continuing on their way without a care.
The reaction wounded Bruce's pride a bit.
But it made sense—big-city folks never had much respect for migrant workers just trying to make it.
"Master, what are you going to teach me?"
Bruce's eyes narrowed. He looked unusually serious and focused.
Considering how mysterious his "cheap" master was, anything he taught had to be something incredible. Even a fraction of it could change Bruce's life for the better.
"Did you see those three chicks?"
Allen's eyes were half-squinted, focused on the girls' swaying hips as they walked away.
"What about them?" Bruce asked, puzzled.
"I want you to go after them."
"What!?"
Bruce pointed at himself in disbelief. "Me? You want me to chase them?"
"What's the problem—don't dare, or don't know how?"
"I don't dare."
Faced with such an impossible task, Bruce admitted his cowardice without hesitation.
He was just a country boy from a small town. He didn't think for a second he could catch their attention. More likely, he'd get mocked or humiliated if he tried.
So, wisely, he chose not to make a fool of himself.
"Believe it or not, not only can I get them to chase me—I can get them to lay hands all over me." Allen gave a devilish grin, as if it were nothing at all.
"Master, please teach me!"
If he could master this level of chick-magnet technique, Bruce couldn't help imagining a future of living off charm alone—soft life with hard results.
"Watch carefully. Pay attention."
Allen flicked his hair dramatically and strode off in long, confident steps.
Bruce stayed rooted in place, laser-focused, not wanting to miss a single detail.
Allen struck a pose he clearly thought was cool, then shouted: "Look, a hottie!"
Hmm?
Sure enough, the three girls turned their heads curiously.
But all they saw was Allen, legs crossed, one hand on his hip and the other behind his head, oozing smugness. "What a stroke of luck, to meet three beautiful maidens on such a moonlit night—it must be fate."
"..."
The three girls looked up in confusion. The blazing sun hung high in the sky. How the hell could he call this a moonlit night?
"Hick. Look at your pathetic getup, trying to hit on girls? You should look at yourself in a puddle before trying that crap."
"Can't believe guys like this are trying to flirt now. He's gotta be crazy."
"Wearing a hospital gown? He probably escaped from a psych ward."
Their mockery was unfiltered and merciless. But not even a flicker of shame crossed Allen's face.
"Shameless. Asking me to look at myself in a puddle? Clearly just a ploy to sneak a peek at the monstrous python I'm packing."
Allen wore a look of smug understanding. "I'm not like those sleazy guys you're used to dealing with."
Then, before they could react, he snatched a phone from one of the girls.
He looked back, grinning provocatively. "Come catch me, losers!"
"You stole my phone—get him!"
Though they were wearing high heels, their ferocity was no less than that of country brawlers.
Before long, Allen rounded a corner into an alley.
He hid next to a dumpster, crouching with his head covered as the three furious girls punched and kicked him relentlessly.
Bruce, still at the alley entrance, saw the whole thing. He hesitated—should he go help?
It looked for all the world like three delinquent girls were bullying a helpless, innocent man.
The beating lasted quite a while.
Only when the three girls were tired did they stop, retrieve the phone, and storm back onto the street while cursing loudly.
After a while, Bruce cautiously approached and asked, "Are you okay?"
The only reason he hadn't stepped in was because Allen had been the one to snatch the phone first. He didn't want to risk ending up in jail over it.
"What could possibly be wrong with me?"
Allen wiped the shoe print off his face, still composed as ever. "Told you, didn't I? Not only did they chase me, they laid their hands all over me."
"..."
Bruce's expression dimmed. He really should've guessed he meant it literally.
But seriously—who the hell wants to learn this? More like a one-way ticket to becoming the poster boy for jailbait.
Whoosh—
A gust of wind blew by.
Smack!
A newspaper slapped him right in the face.
Allen grabbed it, and his eyes instantly widened.
"Barry!"
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