VIP Shoutout: Massive thanks to Iolani Martin and Frank Gallagher for joining the Inner Circle!
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Kaitou Kid intends to rescue the hostage from the Riddler at midnight!
"It was already very late when Kaitou Kid sent his reply, so it won't be tonight's midnight,"
Robin continued his analysis, voice steady despite the exhaustion creeping into his limbs.
"The deadline ends at midnight on the third day, when the Riddler plans to kill the hostage. That means Kaitou Kid will make his move tomorrow at midnight."
"Tomorrow at midnight…" Gordon echoed, rubbing the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses. "For Kaitou Kid to give such a precise time, he must be very confident that he can find the hostage's location before then. It's even possible he already knows where she is. Otherwise, I can't imagine where that confidence comes from."
"Maybe," Robin said. "Kaitou Kid seems like someone who enjoys solving riddles. Otherwise, he wouldn't design those elaborate puzzles for his heist notices. It wouldn't be strange if he shared some of the same way of thinking as the Riddler in that regard."
Robin narrowed his eyes slightly, the green domino mask catching the faint blue glow of the bat-signal.
"Alright. I'll continue my investigation and try to decode the riddle as soon as possible so we can rescue the hostage."
With that, he turned to leave.
"Wait, Robin."
Gordon's voice stopped him mid-step.
Robin looked back over his shoulder.
"If you find the hostage's location, don't go alone. Notify the GCPD and let us handle the rescue," Gordon said, expression grave beneath the brim of his hat. "Robin, there are things I couldn't easily say in front of Batman, but I've wanted to say this for a long time. Working alongside him, you could lose your life at any moment. In fact… one Robin has already died."
He paused, the weight of the words hanging between them like smoke.
"I've watched all of you grow up, in a way. Even though I've never seen your real faces, I want you to stay safe more than anyone."
"Protecting Gotham is an incredibly heavy burden. That responsibility cannot and should not fall on your shoulders — and that includes Batman's."
"But Batman is already too far down that path to turn back, and Gotham as it is now cannot do without him. You're different. You're not in too deep yet. You can still walk away from this dangerous game."
Gordon spoke with quiet, almost painful sincerity.
Robin listened in silence. Only after the commissioner had finished did he respond.
"Commissioner Gordon, you really are a good man. That's why you've earned the trust of Batman and every Robin. I can tell your kindness comes from the heart."
He took one step closer to the edge.
"But unfortunately, I'm afraid I have to disappoint you."
Robin was already standing at the rooftop's lip, cape fluttering in the night wind.
"Because right now… I'm already in too deep."
With those final words, he leapt straight off the roof into the darkness.
Gordon did not step forward to stop him. He had seen this scene too many times before — too many silhouettes vanishing against Gotham's jagged skyline.
Watching the direction Robin disappeared in, Gordon let out a long, bone-deep sigh.
"Gotham…"
He reached up and switched off the bat-signal. The powerful beam died with a soft electrical whine.
He pulled out his pipe, struck a match with practiced ease, and drew a slow, meditative puff. The faint orange glow briefly illuminated the lines etched deep around his eyes.
After parting with Gordon, Robin wandered the city for a while longer.
The Riddler's return had acted like a match thrown onto dry tinder. Thugs crawled out of every shadowed corner; incidents of smashed storefronts, carjackings and muggings spiked overnight.
Robin wasn't sure if it was just his imagination, but during the weeks Kaitou Kid had been active, petty street crime had noticeably dropped. Almost as if the flamboyant phantom thief's presence had forced the small-time crooks to lay low — or maybe they were simply too entertained watching the chaos he created to bother with their usual routines.
Tonight, though, the streets had remembered their old habits.
Robin dropped into an alley behind a row of shuttered pawn shops and gave three armed muggers a very thorough, very painful lesson with his bo staff. After leaving them groaning in zip-ties, he pinged the GCPD tip line.
He repeated the process twice more before the sky began to lighten at the edges.
After the third group was bundled into a patrol car, Robin realized — with some surprise — that his earlier gloom had lifted slightly. Nothing dramatic. Just… a little less suffocating.
But the moment the Riddler's name surfaced in his mind again, that fleeting relief evaporated like mist.
"That damn Riddler never should have been born in Gotham."
Pulling himself together, he resumed patrol, mind still turning the half-solved riddle over and over like a puzzle box that refused to open.
"The salesman of death… the waves… thirty five… what's the connection between all of it?"
Time slipped by like dirty rainwater down a gutter.
The sun rose.
Robin had pulled another all-nighter.
It was daytime now.
There were things that had to be done whether he liked it or not, even if the sky were falling.
Like going to school.
"I'll go grab a cup of coffee first."
Tim quietly slipped into an empty alley near the school perimeter, shed the Robin suit in seconds, and emerged as just another sleep-deprived teenager in a wrinkled hoodie.
He crossed the street to the familiar café, ordered the strongest black coffee they were legally allowed to sell, and paired it with a large breakfast sandwich — the kind of meal that exists when you've skipped dinner, stayed up all night, and are now eating both at once.
So-called late breakfast.
But then why wasn't it called early dinner?
"Damn it. Why am I thinking about this kind of nonsense?"
Tim snapped out of it and shook his head hard, as if he could physically dislodge the absurdity.
"It must be because I've been forcing myself to think like the Riddler lately."
Everything was that bastard's fault.
After forcing down the food mostly for fuel rather than enjoyment, Tim shouldered his bag and headed toward the school gates.
Just like every other morning.
If everything went as usual, he would be the first student to arrive on campus.
That was how it should have been.
But after he passed through the main entrance, he noticed the lights were already on in one of the second-floor classrooms.
Faint voices drifted down through the still morning air.
Once the school filled with students and the campus grew noisy, those sounds would be swallowed completely.
But right now the entire grounds were empty and silent. Even the quietest murmur carried.
With hearing sharpened by years of training, Tim could make out the stumbling lines with perfect clarity.
Several people inside were rehearsing, tripping over words and laughing nervously when they forgot blocking.
"I remember now. That's the Drama Club's rehearsal room."
Tim had never joined any clubs himself, but he had gone to watch the Drama Club a few times with friends, so the space was familiar.
Besides, he was well-read and had studied many classic plays.
After listening for only a moment longer, he already knew what scene they were practicing.
"If I remember correctly, it's Death of a Salesman. That's a classic…"
At that thought, Tim's eyes suddenly widened.
A connection snapped into place like a lock finally turning.
"The salesman of death… Death of a Salesman…"
"The author of Death of a Salesman is Arthur Miller. Waves… the sea… I've got it. Miller Port."
"The Riddler hid the hostage in a container at Cargo Sector 35 of Miller Port."
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