Gotham was a city of perpetual rain and shadows, but even it couldn't fully obscure the neon blight of Blüdhaven.
Finn-Bruce, now eight years old and wearing an expensive, impeccably tailored suit that made him look like a miniature corporate raider, stepped out of the black, armored limousine. Alfred, looking deeply uncomfortable in the grimy port district, stood beside him, clutching a large briefcase.
"Master Bruce, I must protest. This city is not Gotham, but it is hardly safer. And this establishment... it smells of desperation and stale sweat," Alfred muttered, his nose wrinkling with aristocratic distaste.
Finn-Bruce barely registered the surroundings. His focus was entirely on the dilapidated, concrete-block gymnasium before them: Ted Grant's Boxing and Self-Defense.
Ted Grant. Wildcat. Former heavyweight champion, current vigilante, and the greatest hand-to-hand combat trainer in the DC Universe, Finn-Bruce thought, his System flashing the hero's profile in the corner of his vision. He's notoriously stubborn, a solitary figure, but susceptible to appeals regarding injustice and legacy.
He activated the System Quest Log:
> [Quest 2: Securing the Mentor.]
> Objective: Recruit Wildcat (Ted Grant) as an unofficial trainer.
> Difficulty: A-Class (Requires high Charisma and Manipulation).
> Reward: +50 XP, [Level Up: Level 2], [Trait Unlock: Tactical Thinker].
Finn-Bruce adjusted his bow tie. "It smells of honest labor, Alfred. Now, stay here. I need to speak to Mr. Grant alone. This is sensitive."
He walked through the peeling double doors. The air inside was a thick, humid cocktail of liniment, leather, and sweat. The rhythmic thud-thud-thud of heavy bags being pounded echoed in the cavernous room, accompanied by the grunts of boxers sparring in the ring.
A massive, grizzled man with a broken nose, wearing sweatpants and tape on his fists, was leaning against the ropes, barking instructions. This was Ted Grant. He was a mountain of muscle, looking every bit the retired champion.
Finn-Bruce walked directly up to him, his small figure cutting a sharp contrast to the brute physicality surrounding him. He waited patiently for Ted to notice him.
Ted finally looked down, his stormy eyes narrowing in confusion. "Hey, kid. This ain't a daycare. Get back to your guardian before you catch a stray hook."
Finn-Bruce maintained eye contact, neither flinching from the intensity nor offering a childish plea. He spoke in a clear, measured tone, drawing on the emotional core of the Bruce Wayne persona.
"Mr. Grant, my name is Bruce Wayne. And I need you to train me to be a weapon."
Ted Grant's mouth twitched, amusement battling skepticism. He pushed himself off the ropes. "A weapon, huh? You look like a rich kid who wandered off a yacht. Go on, get lost."
"No," Finn-Bruce insisted, his voice dropping slightly, the grief in his memory making the next words sound utterly genuine. "I saw my parents murdered, Mr. Grant. In an alley. By a man with a gun."
The noise of the gym seemed to recede. Ted Grant, who had seen his share of tragedy, froze. His gruff demeanor cracked, replaced by a deep, weary empathy. He recognized that look in the boy's eyes—the premature death of innocence.
"Look, kid. I'm sorry about your folks. Real sorry," Ted said, his voice now soft. "But that's what the law is for. You need a therapist, not a boxing coach."
Finn-Bruce knew this was the critical moment. He had to show Ted that he was different, that he understood the game they were really playing. He pulled a deep breath and took the final plunge into his meta-knowledge.
"The law failed my parents. And the law is too slow for the men who run the streets," Finn-Bruce stated, his eyes boring into Ted's. He paused, then delivered the targeted blow. "But I know you don't trust the law either, Wildcat."
Ted Grant's face went from soft concern to thunderous shock in a heartbeat. His massive hand clamped down on Finn-Bruce's shoulder, pulling him close. His eyes darted nervously around the gym.
"What did you just call me, kid? Where did you hear that name?" Ted hissed, his voice dangerously low.
"I didn't hear it, Mr. Grant," Finn-Bruce whispered back, leaning in conspiratorially. "I know it. I know you were Wildcat. I know you were friends with Jay Garrick and Alan Scott."
He knew Ted would assume he was some kind of metahuman psychic—which, in the DC Universe, was a possibility. He didn't have to explain the System; he just had to leverage the knowledge.
"I know you retired because you think you let the world down after the Injustice Society," Finn-Bruce continued, pressing the guilt button. "And I know that Gotham, and Blüdhaven, and the whole world, are going to need men like you to train the next generation. The forces that killed my parents… they are only getting stronger."
He stepped back and pointed to Alfred, who was holding the briefcase. "I don't need a loan, Mr. Grant. I need a partner and a mentor. That case holds five million dollars. Tax-free. A personal retainer. For ten years. All you have to do is train me. To teach me every single thing you know about fighting, survival, and being a human deterrent."
Ted stared from the immense briefcase to the eight-year-old boy, whose gaze was now radiating pure, desperate determination. Five million dollars was nothing to Bruce Wayne, but it was life-changing for the struggling gym owner.
But it wasn't the money that convinced Ted. It was the knowledge, the trauma, and the sheer audacity. This boy wasn't asking for help; he was offering a legacy.
Ted finally let out a long, slow breath, running a hand over his tired face. The sounds of the gym came rushing back in.
"Kid," Ted growled, "you're either the smartest, most terrifying kid I've ever met, or you're already halfway to the Asylum." He leaned down. "I train men, not children. I don't go easy."
"Good," Finn-Bruce replied, a cold, satisfied light in his eyes. "I don't need easy. I need to be ready for the Joker."
The use of a specific, high-level threat—a threat that hadn't fully emerged yet—was the final hook. Ted Grant saw not a child, but a chance to fight the good fight again.
"Alright, Bruce Wayne," Ted sighed, straightening up and pulling off his gloves. "Five million and ten years. You show up here every summer and winter break, and I'll teach you to hit hard enough to dent steel. You'll start with push-ups until you puke."
A notification instantly flared in Finn-Bruce's mind.
> [QUEST COMPLETE: Securing the Mentor.]
> Reward Gained: +50 XP.
> Level Progress: 85/100 XP.
> [LEVEL UP! Level 2 Acquired!]
> Level 2 Rewards:
> HP: Increased by 10%.
> Trait Unlock: Tactical Thinker (Passive bonus to battlefield analysis and prediction, +5 to INT checks during planning).
> New Function Unlocked: Resource Management ($) (Track and allocate funds from Wayne Enterprises for upgrades and projects.)
A massive wave of exhaustion hit Finn-Bruce as the Level Up finalized, but it was quickly replaced by exhilaration. He had secured his first, crucial asset.
He offered Ted Grant his hand. "Thank you, Mr. Grant. I'll see you for summer training."
Ted shook the small hand, feeling the unusual grip strength, and watched the boy walk out, a shadow of the man he would become already clinging to him.
Joker, huh? Ted thought, looking down at the briefcase of money Alfred had left. Guess I'm back in the game.