Black Canary's grin widened as she raised her hands, settling into a stance that was loose but coiled with precision. "Alright then, Batman Jr. Show me what you've got."
I cracked my neck, bare feet sliding across the mat as I loosened my stance. Taekkyeon wasn't about rigidity, it was about flow—fluid, circular motions, deceptive rhythm. Mix that with Judo's brutal throws, and you got something that looked almost like dancing… until bones broke.
"Heh. You'd like to know," I smirked, shifting into that strange swaying gait.
Canary caught it immediately. "Traditional… Korean?" she muttered, impressed but cautious.
"Taekkyeon," I confirmed, my voice low. "Flow like water. Strike like a whip."
We circled each other, her guard tight and professional, mine loose and almost mocking. The first clash came when she stepped in with a jab. I slipped sideways, the heel of my foot whipping up in a crescent arc, clipping her guard and forcing her to adjust. Taekkyeon wasn't about brute power—it was rhythm, deception, a constant dance of hidden strikes.
She lunged, her fist driving toward my sternum. I caught her momentum, twisting into Judo's Seoi Nage—a shoulder throw. My hand locked her wrist, my hip turned under her center of gravity, and in one smooth motion I flipped her over my back. Her body hit the mat with a thud, controlled but firm.
A few gasps came from the peanut gallery.
Canary, however, rolled out instantly, back on her feet, smirking. "Good mechanics. Great leverage. But let's see how long you can keep it up."
The next exchange was faster. She pressed the attack with sharp combinations, jabs and low kicks meant to test my defense. I slid and weaved, Taekkyeon footwork keeping me a half-step ahead, redirecting her energy with open-hand parries. My counter came in bursts—an elbow feint, a snap kick to her thigh, then a sudden pivot into a Judo sweep. She caught herself, barely, boots screeching against the mat.
The Mark burned faintly on the back of my hand, unseen but alive. The Outsider's gift thrummed in my blood, making my muscles coil tighter, spring faster. Every breath filled me with more strength than a human should hold. My stamina stretched on like a drawn bowstring.
She surged forward, feinting high, snapping low. I countered by catching her ankle mid-kick, twisting my hips, and yanking her balance forward. She rolled with it, flipping in midair, and landed behind me—only for my heel to lash backward in a Taekkyeon mule kick, stopping inches from her face.
The crowd held their breath.
We clashed again. This time it was a blur—her precise boxing strikes hammering in, my Taekkyeon weaving between, redirecting momentum, snapping counters into the gaps. I hooked her arm, spun, and sent her stumbling with a Judo shoulder check. She spun back immediately, catching me with a sharp knee to the ribs. Pain flared, but the Mark's unnatural resilience dulled it instantly.
I grinned, wiping a smear of sweat. "That all you got?"
"Cocky," she warned, charging again.
I slid under her punch, momentum carrying me just past her hip. My hand shot to her forearm, gripping tight as I shifted my weight. A Judo tomoe nage came next—my foot planted in her stomach as I dropped to my back and hurled her clean over me.
The mat thundered as she hit, air rushing from her lungs. Before she could recover, I kept hold of her arm, twisting it into a tight lock. My knee pressed against her shoulder, pinning her frame. One slip more, and I'd have shattered the joint.
The Cave went silent. No one breathed. It was dominance—clear and absolute. If this were a fight to the death, she'd already be gone.
But Canary's smirk never faltered. Her voice rasped with amusement even under pressure."Impressive. But you made one mistake."
Her legs snapped up like a serpent. In one fluid coil, she clamped them around my neck, body twisting with violent precision. The world inverted for half a second before she wrenched me off balance, flipping me onto my back. My grip broke, my control lost.
She rolled free, landing light as a cat, standing tall once again.
I sat up, rubbing the back of my neck, laughter slipping out under my breath. "Okay… maybe two mistakes."
Black Canary dusted her hands off and stepped back, her breathing steady despite the brief struggle. Her eyes scanned the circle of young heroes watching from the sidelines.
"Alright, class," she said, her tone calm but cutting, "tell me what you just saw."
Robin raised a hand immediately. "Dante—sorry, Attano—kept his stance loose. That footwork wasn't random, it was Taekkyeon. Hard to read, harder to counter. He flowed around your strikes and punished your momentum."
"Correct," Canary nodded, folding her arms. "He turned misdirection into opportunity. What else?"
Aqualad tilted his head, thoughtful. "The integration of Judo was efficient. He did not rely on strikes alone, but throws to destabilize and control the flow. It is a hybrid approach, deceptively graceful but brutally effective."
Dinah gave him an approving smile. "Exactly. He chained techniques together. Strikes to set up throws, throws to set up locks. A dangerous combination, especially when backed with his… let's call it enhanced stamina."
M'gann raised her hand timidly. "But… he got caught. You reversed it."
"Right," Canary said, tapping the bandage on her arm. "Nobody's untouchable. Even the strongest hold has a counter if you keep calm and know your body. Attano pinned me, but his focus narrowed. He forgot my legs were still free. Never assume the fight is over until your opponent stops moving."
Her gaze flicked back to me, sharp but not unkind. "Clean mechanics, good instincts. But you got cocky, kid."
I smirked, brushing sweat off my brow. "Better cocky than sloppy."
That earned a soft laugh from her, but before she could respond, a voice cut through the room.
"Put him against me."
Every head turned. Superboy stood with arms crossed, expression carved in stone, his glare fixed squarely on me.
I arched an eyebrow. "Still sore about earlier, Supes Lite?"
He stepped forward, boots thudding heavy on the mat. "You run your mouth like you're better than everyone here. Let's see if you can back it up against someone who doesn't need martial arts to win."
The tension spiked instantly. Wally muttered a quick, "Oh boy," and Robin just shook his head, clearly eager to see how this would play out.
Black Canary's eyes narrowed. "Superboy. This isn't about ego—"
"No," he interrupted, fists clenching. "This is about proving he's not as good as he thinks."
Dinah looked at me next. "Dante. Your call."
I rolled my shoulders, the Mark of the Outsider burning faintly against my skin like a phantom brand. The truth was, I'd been itching for this. To test him. To carve the arrogance out of his voice and show him what "battle on my terms" really looked like.
"Fine," I said, stepping forward. "But don't cry when I break that smug jaw of yours."
Superboy snarled and moved into the ring. His stance was basic—tight fists, square shoulders, brute-force posture. Predictable.
Black Canary backed up, arms folded. "This is still training. Keep it controlled."
I slid my shoes and socks off, bare feet pressing against the mat. The floor felt cold.
Every nerve in my body hummed with anticipation.
Neither of us answered Dinah. There was no need.
Her hand dropped.
Superboy surged forward in a blur, fist like a piston aimed at my chest. Most people would've tried to block. That was suicide. Instead, I let the punch flow past me, twisting my body in a serpentine coil. My torso slid tight against his arm, wrapping around it like a constrictor snake.
And then I struck.
My hallux—the big toe—drove straight into his left eye socket. Not a kick, not a stomp, but a precise, stabbing motion delivered with every ounce of strength the Outsider's Mark gave me. The toe strike was an old Taekkyeon trick, designed to blind or stun. Against a normal man, it would have ruptured the eye outright.
Superboy snarled, jerking back violently, but I stayed latched on, using his own momentum against him.
The thing about the Mark of the Outsider? It didn't just hand me supernatural tricks. It rewired me—sharper reflexes, a body tuned to predation, instincts honed to exploit weaknesses others didn't even notice. My senses felt like they were operating three seconds ahead of reality. Against Canary, I'd held back. Against Superboy, I wouldn't. His durability and healing factor made him the perfect test dummy.
Superboy's reliance on brute strength was a flaw I could smell. Every move screamed power without subtlety.
I tightened my grip on his arm, muscles coiling like steel cables, and twisted into a Judo roll. His weight, normally immovable, tilted just enough under my leverage to pull him off balance. The mat boomed as his body slammed down.
But he wasn't done. He never was. Superboy growled, shoving me off with raw force, his eye red and furious but not destroyed. His healing factor was already working overtime.
"Lucky shot," he spat, climbing to his feet.
"No," I corrected, my stance loose and swaying, "calculated shot."
As he recovered, swinging again with enough force to crack a wall, I slipped under the blow, the mat sliding under my bare feet. My hand brushed his wrist, redirecting his momentum, my body already pivoting into the follow-up.
"Lesson number one," I said, my voice cutting like a blade.
My knee came up sharp, faster than his eyes could track.
It slammed into his groin with the full force of my Outsider-enhanced body.
The sound wasn't a smack. It was a dull, brutal thud, like hitting a sandbag filled with rocks.
Superboy's eyes went wide. His breath hitched into a strangled sound that was half-gasp, half-growl. His body crumpled forward, arms instinctively closing around his midsection. His knees hit the mat first, then his hands.
The Cave went silent.
"—you can have the toughest skin in the world," I finished, straightening calmly, "but biology doesn't give a damn. Nerve clusters are nerve clusters. Even a Kryptonian clone folds if you hit the right spot."
Superboy groaned, teeth bared, every breath ragged.
I tilted my head, watching him writhe. A faint smirk tugged my lips. "Huh. I guess even superhuman beings can get dropped if you target the balls."
Robin's jaw dropped. Wally clapped both hands over his mouth to keep from laughing. Even Kaldur winced in sympathy.
Black Canary just pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering, "This… is not what I meant by controlled sparring."
◈⟡◈ ◈⟡◈ ◈⟡◈ ◈⟡◈ ◈⟡◈ ◈⟡◈
"By the way, I never got to ask you, Attano — does Batman actually pay you?" Wally piped up between crumbs, suspicious and chipmunk-cheeked as he munched cookies.
The question had been swirling around the cave ever since I'd made that little speech in Santa Prisca. Ever since then Wally had taken "Batman pays Attano" and turned it into a conspiracy theory. Cute.
I chewed the pastry M'gann had made for me, looked him dead in the eye, and played it straight. "Well, at first I asked him politely for a per-mission stipend," I said slowly, enjoying the buildup. "He refused. Said it wasn't… heroic."
Wally choked on a shard of cookie.
"So I threatened him," I added, nonchalant, as if I'd suggested he stop taking shortcuts on mission reports. "Told him I'd release swarms of insects and rats all over the Cave and the Hall of Justice if he didn't cut me a check. And if that failed, I'd tell Diana he was abusing his position and threatening to 'euthanize' me." I shrugged, like confessing to shoplifting a pack of gum.
The room froze—the kind of silence that only follows absurd honesty. M'gann blinked. Robin's pen hung suspended over his notebook. Even Aqualad's practical expression twitched at the corner.
Dinah reached over the table and pinched the bridge of my nose, half-scold, half-amused. "Really? You threatened rats? Dante… you're ridiculous."
"Ow! D—" I squealed theatrically. "But can you blame me? I'm a parasite. Desperate for money. Not greedy like some corrupt bastards. I prefer to cling to the rich. The League is filthy rich. It's basic survival economics."
Wally's face went four different shades of offended. "You—what? That's messed up. So Batman actually paid you?"
"I do get paid," I said, mouth curving into a smug grin. "Not in coins tossed at my feet like a circus dog. Discreet transfers, trust funds—Batman is a man of many… creative accounting methods. He hates it, but he hates paperwork more. Plus, Diana insists he reimburse discretionary expenses. So yeah. Sucks to be you, Wallace—because I get paid and you don't. Hehe."
"Wow," Wally said flatly, the betrayal of a thousand playgrounds in his voice. "You blackmail the Bat and then laugh about it over M'gann muffins?"
"I negotiate," I corrected. "And M'gann muffins are not to be joked about."
Dinah let out an exasperated laugh and rapped my knuckles with a napkin. "Listen up, little parasite: you don't 'threaten' the team, you don't extort the Watchtower, and you definitely don't make a habit of stirring the pot. If anyone ever finds out what you said, Batman will have you cleaning the sewers with a toothbrush."
"Worth it," I said with a grin so convincing it could have been a weapon. "Also—practical tip: if you ever want a stipend, learn to look like you need one less." I winked at Wally. "Less charm, more files. Or, you know, learn to be terrifyingly competent at a single thing. Works wonders."
Robin, who had been silent through the whole exchange, finally broke down laughing.
A/N
[Power Stone]