"And that's how it is. Ever since that night, she's been running off to that neighborhood every time. It's way too dangerous. I don't know how to stop her. She doesn't even like Bruce—she turned down a date with me! But I clearly—"
Schiller poured himself a bit of champagne and said, "Several nights in a row, she's gone into Gotham's slums and hasn't run into any danger? You're sure she's just an ordinary person?"
Bruce rubbed his face. "That's exactly what worries me. If she were just a normal girl, that would be fine. But if she's not… and she's tailing me like this every night… what else can I do?"
This whole mess originated from the last case.
After Jonathan's case was wrapped up, Bruce hadn't fully disentangled himself. Or rather, Batman found himself in new trouble.
Last time, Batman saved Christine from the thugs who kidnapped her. He had thought she fainted during it, but no—she'd been conscious. From that moment on, the pretty girl fell in love with Batman.
Not Bruce. Batman.
She even ditched a date with Bruce a few days later, choosing instead to run to the same block where she'd been kidnapped, hoping Batman would show up again.
"In a way, you should be glad," Schiller said. "Batman's charm is so great that it made her dump the richest man in the world."
Bruce opened his mouth, his expression complicated.
Being adored by a beautiful woman ought to be a good thing, but the situation was bizarre. A girl had fallen in love with him—yet because of that, she dumped… him. If someone tried to write this into a romance novel, it'd take at least 100,000 words to explain.
"As for your love life, I have no advice—except to protect your kidneys," Schiller concluded.
Bruce didn't realize how quickly Schiller's "prophecy" would come true.
That night, Batman continued his patrols. His reputation in Gotham was growing—he'd already swept Morisson's slums nearly clean.
This time, though, he wasn't in the slums. He was watching the luxury shopping district, a place plagued by armed robberies.
In truth, the danger there rivaled that of the slums. The slums were full of drunk brawls, gang shakedowns, and mass fights. But in the luxury district, once the guns came out, two or three people could end up dead in seconds, and clerks were often murdered in the process. The crimes were every bit as brutal.
Worse, the culprits here weren't petty thugs—they were seasoned professionals. Teams with careful planning, sharp coordination, and fast getaways.
Batman had already stopped two such gangs. The first had killed two female clerks during a heist, but Batman had happened upon them just as he'd upgraded his patrols from the slums to this district. Bad luck for them—especially since one of the stolen items was a pearl necklace scattered across the floor. That gang was now behind bars.
The second was just a group of rookie crooks—easily caught.
This night, Batman crouched atop a building across from a jewelry shop. He watched as a small, agile shadow slipped in through a back window. The thief—a woman—quickly subdued a clerk without killing her, then fished the keys from her body to open the display case.
As she admired a gemstone's gleam, a shadow loomed behind her.
"Miss, no matter how long you stare at it, that gem doesn't belong to you."
Before she could react, everything went black—Batman had knocked her out.
But as he prepared to drag her off to the police, the antique shop next door erupted with real robbers. Masked men with submachine guns stormed in, corralling clerks at gunpoint.
Batman had to leave the female thief to deal with them. By the time he returned, she was gone.
Over the next few nights, he felt someone tailing him. The presence was quick, evasive—he couldn't catch it.
So he set a trap. Pretending to discard a sack of stolen jewels in a trash can, he waited. Sure enough, the small figure snuck in to fish it out. Batman grabbed her cape—only to nearly have his face clawed open.
When the thief saw who he was, she relaxed with relief.
Batman folded his arms. "Jewels, huh?"
"Don't you think our ears match?" she teased, flicking the catlike ears of her mask.
Batman found himself blurting, "You're… another bat wannabe?"
"Bat?" she scoffed. "Who's a bat? I'm Catwoman. Only cats have ears like this. You think you're a bat? What kind of freak would choose that animal?"
"Catwoman…" Batman tested the name. Then he pulled the jewel sack from the trash and tossed it to her. "No cat I've ever heard of likes jewels. Don't bother the clerks again. I'll let you off—for now—since you didn't harm anyone."
He turned to leave, but she tugged his cape, grinning as she shook the jewel bag. "Come on, rich boy. You must have more of these."
Batman frowned. Why did everyone know he was rich? He'd toned down his gear, stopped using exotic compounds, and even trimmed his beard unevenly to throw people off.
He didn't turn around. "I don't. You can't expect a bat to have those things."
He stepped away—only for a whip to coil around his waist. Catwoman pressed against his back, whispering into his ear:
"If you're a bat, you're the most interesting one I've ever seen. We'll meet again."
With that, she leapt up a wall and was gone.
Batman touched his own ears. A cat who loved jewels? What a strange person. Just like himself.
On his way back, he ran into Christine again—the cheer squad captain. Bundled in a thick coat and hat, she rushed up to him, then frowned. "Do you have a girlfriend? Were you just on a date?"
Batman blinked. "This place is dangerous. Go home."
"I just want to be your girlfriend." She shrugged, clearly unused to saying such things herself.
"I don't need a girlfriend. Go back."
"Then why do you smell like Louis Vuitton perfume? Don't tell me you like women's scents."
Batman winced. Of course, he knew perfume. He'd been close enough to Catwoman earlier to catch her heavy fragrance—and now Christine smelled it too.
He said nothing, just swept his cape and vanished.
Batman didn't want to deal with Christine. But someone else did: the new principal, Smith.
It had been Christine who testified against the old principal, securing his conviction. Without her, the case wouldn't have stuck.
Smith knew Jonathan's trial, the principal's downfall, and Victor's exposure couldn't all be a coincidence. Someone had been pulling strings. Too many unanswered questions: Who really subdued Jonathan? Who really saved Christine? It couldn't just have been Gordon.
Christine might not know everything—but she must know something. Smith needed those answers to secure his position. Gotham's networks were too tangled. To survive here, he needed the perfect entry point. Jonathan's case was that point.
Meanwhile, Batman's bond with Catwoman deepened quickly. Fate, maybe. Her playfulness and romance clashed with his dour suspicion, but he was enchanted anyway.
They prowled Gotham together. She couldn't fight like him, but her infiltration and lookout skills were unmatched. She adored jewels, and he had the wealth to indulge her.
But on the theft, they clashed endlessly. To Batman, she was a kleptomaniac. To Catwoman, she just "borrowed" items that no one was buying anyway.
One night, after Batman once again stopped her mid-heist, Catwoman snapped. They argued. He refused to hit her hard—but she was volatile.
She slapped him. Then drove a knife into his side.
And so, what began as a romantic crisis became… a literal kidney crisis."