Morning sunlight poured through the windows of Wayne Manor, turning the eastern wing gold. Thomas and Martha Wayne stood side by side, watching the boys in the garden below. They looked relaxed, but their eyes followed every move with that quiet, serious attention only parents have.
Bruce and Ojaga, both about four years old now, were barefoot on the grass, dressed in soft training clothes—Wayne Medical Research's latest, stretchy and tough but comfy. Bruce's sleeves were rolled up, his little fists copying Ojaga's every move.
Ojaga led the way, not saying a word, just using small gestures. His tail, hidden under a cloth belt, twitched for balance as he shifted his weight. His breathing was deep and steady, almost animal-like. Bruce wasn't as smooth, but he was determined, trying to match his big brother's moves.
They circled each other, trading gentle punches—not fighting, just practicing. Their faces showed focus, but also a hint of a challenge. Sweat beaded on Bruce's forehead. Ojaga's golden eyes seemed to glow in the sun.
Nearby, a big black screen sat on a metal stand, humming quietly. It was hooked up to a powerful computer—WayneTech's best, plus some tech Thomas and Lucius had figured out from Ojaga's old pod.
Suddenly, the screen flickered to life.
"Good morning, young masters," said a crisp, friendly voice.
It was Jarvis, the Wayne family's custom AI. He sounded like a butler, but he was way smarter—he could run battle simulations, track every movement, and even pull up old martial arts records from all over the world.
Bruce grinned. "Jarvis, can we do Ancient Warriors mode?"
"Of course," Jarvis replied.
The screen switched to a cool animation: a bronze-skinned warrior standing under a waterfall, showing off a strong, low stance. Text popped up: "Earth Root Position. Stability. Spine Aligned."
Ojaga stepped up and copied the stance perfectly, arms out, tail low, breathing slow. Bruce followed, a little wobbly at first, but he got the hang of it. For the next twenty minutes, they practiced as the screen cycled through different moves—breathing tricks, balance drills, even pressure points.
Jarvis tracked everything, planning to send Thomas a report later. The AI adjusted its feedback for each boy—Saiyan for Ojaga, human for Bruce.
When the training ended, the screen dimmed and switched to meditation mode.
Both boys sat cross-legged, eyes closed, hands on their knees. A soft, humming sound played—something Jarvis said helped them focus. Ojaga's tail wrapped around his ankle as he sat perfectly still. Bruce fidgeted at first, but slowly settled down. They looked peaceful, like tiny warriors, but still just kids.
Inside, Martha smiled and tapped her smart pendant. "Jarvis, switch to Education Mode."
Outside, the screen changed again. The warrior vanished, replaced by floating shapes, pictures of bones and muscles, and simple puzzles. A gentle chime sounded.
Both boys groaned in unison. They knew what was coming.
Alfred appeared with two study kits—writing tablets, styluses, and old-school notebooks. Thomas insisted on handwriting for memory, even with all the tech.
Ojaga opened his book and got to work, quiet as always. He didn't love reading, but he liked the routine. Bruce sighed dramatically but sat down beside him.
Ojaga didn't really think in words yet. He saw patterns, shapes, and energy. He learned the alphabet like it was a series of moves, not letters. Bruce, on the other hand, loved to ask questions—Why is gravity different in water? What makes your heart beat faster when you run? Who named the moon?
Ojaga never answered, just kept writing and flipping through pages. He didn't remember being taught these things, but they felt familiar.
Watching from the window, Thomas made a note to himself. The boys were both disciplined, but their paths were starting to split. One was pure Gotham, the other born from the stars.
But right now, they were just brothers, learning together in the morning sun.
And for a little while, the garden was perfectly peaceful.