Gotham City.
"Ah... this really is the smell of Gotham," Morin sighed.
That sense of rough, grounded local flavor was hard to find anywhere else.
Morin's car drew plenty of attention as it passed, but there were almost no hostile gazes. Gotham had no shortage of criminals, but petty crooks didn't usually bother someone driving a car that expensive.
In Gotham, money equaled power.
If you didn't have power, your money would have been taken long ago.
However...
Some people still noted down the license plate number and quietly sent others to look into it.
The plate had never been seen before.
Morin wasn't in a hurry to look for Bruce in this world.
Instead, he did what he always did whenever he arrived in a new one.
He bought a cell phone.
After getting the phone, Morin drove straight to Wayne Manor.
By browsing through the memories of a few thugs tailing him, Morin learned that in this world and at this point in time, Bruce's parents were already dead.
However, unlike the Bruce from The Dark Knight world, he hadn't vanished to travel the globe.
He had stayed at the manor.
He had already begun taking over company affairs, managing them with surprising order.
More importantly, the fifteen-year-old Bruce had recently been searching for martial arts coaches to train him at the manor.
The pay was extremely generous.
Morin paused.
"Hm?"
Key points detected.
Fifteen years old. Coaching. Generous pay.
Wasn't this a perfect opportunity?
So Morin went straight to the front door.
"Sir, I'm sorry, may I ask who you are?"
Alfred, Bruce's butler, looked at Morin stepping out of the car with a hint of confusion.
Alfred's abilities were self-evident.
He was an almost omnipotent butler, fiercely loyal to Bruce.
After Bruce's father passed away, Alfred had raised him as his own.
With Alfred's sharp eyes, it was easy to tell that the car Morin was driving was extraordinary.
The craftsmanship, the engine sound, the performance-everything was top-tier.
There were only three or four cars of that level in the entire manor.
Because of that, Alfred had personally come out to ask about Morin's identity.
At that moment, seeing Morin's looks and bearing, Alfred searched his memory, trying to place which young master he might be, and whether he was here on business or for some other reason.
"I heard that Mr. Bruce Wayne is currently looking for a martial arts coach?" Morin asked with a warm smile.
"Yes."
Even though the answer was completely different from what he had expected, Alfred recovered quickly.
"May I ask... were you thinking of-"
"How about me?" Morin gestured to himself.
As a gym coach, he had never said he could only teach one student.
Teaching Batman first sounded fine.
"...Ah?"
This time, Alfred truly froze.
He took another careful look at Morin.
Morin had a lean build, suggesting muscle beneath his clothes, but he didn't look like a martial artist.
His hands were soft and refined, nothing like the hands of someone who trained regularly.
And there was no need to look further.
Based on those two points alone, Alfred could tell that Morin was absolutely not a martial arts master.
Could he be a fraud?
Alfred considered the possibility, then dismissed it.
Someone who could afford a car like that wouldn't risk being exposed just for coaching money.
That made no sense either.
For a moment, Alfred couldn't understand Morin's intentions at all.
"Here are my coaching certificate and ID," Morin said calmly. "Of course, those are just basic proofs. What really matters is the actual performance, right?"
His smile never changed.
Morin glanced at a nearby streetlamp.
Then, with a standard elbow strike, he drove his force into it.
He held back heavily-so much that it was like a drop in the ocean.
Even so, the streetlamp snapped cleanly in half.
Alfred: "!!!"
Alfred hurried over, examined the broken metal, then looked back at Morin.
With his eyesight, he couldn't find a single flaw in the movement.
The technique, speed, power, and resulting damage were all beyond world-class.
At the very least, Alfred had never seen anyone snap such a thick iron lamppost with a single elbow strike.
Morin rolled up his sleeve and showed Alfred the elbow he had used.
There wasn't even a red mark.
"Please follow me," Alfred said after a brief pause.
He nodded decisively, instructed a servant to park the car in the manor garage, and led Morin inside.
Just as they reached the training room entrance, the door opened.
Two servants carried out a man on a stretcher, his face bruised and swollen.
From inside came a young man's angry voice.
"I'm willing to pay any price to learn real skills. But anyone who tries to deceive me will pay a heavy price. Same procedure as before-send him to the hospital. Once he's healed, let him go."
"Please come in, Mr. Morin," Alfred said with a polite smile.
"Master Wayne isn't usually like this. It's just that too many people try to fool us, and we naturally won't let that slide. The Wayne family has money, but we don't spend it blindly. For those with genuine ability, we always offer the most generous rewards."
"As long as the compensation is sufficient," Morin replied, "my coaching will meet your expectations."
He smiled faintly and walked into the training room.
Calling it a training room was an understatement.
It was closer to a small square arena.
Morin nodded to himself.
The familiar feeling was back.
Inside a ring four times the size of a normal one, a young man sat in a chair. His face was gloomy, slightly swollen, but still undeniably handsome. He wore training clothes and drank from a water bottle.
When he saw Morin enter with Alfred, he frowned, set the bottle aside, and spoke.
"Alfred, I want a real martial arts coach. Any style is fine. Don't bring me another useless person like the last one."
Morin looked at Bruce with a smile.
From an older perspective, Morin found this teenage Bruce oddly adorable.
"Master Wayne," Alfred said, "the man we just carried out did have some skill. But you're improving too quickly. In just ten months, you've already mastered judo, karate, and more. I've been raising my standards, but..."
He glanced at Morin, remembering the elbow strike.
"If I'm not mistaken, this Mr. Morin from China should be able to meet your needs for a long time."
Alfred knew very well that no matter how talented his young master was, snapping an iron lamppost in half wasn't something he could do anytime soon.
That wasn't a matter of talent.
It simply wasn't human.
But Alfred had seen it with his own eyes.
As for Bruce's safety, he wasn't worried.
In that short time, Alfred had already checked Morin's information and had people investigate further. Everything was legal and clean.
And there were always loyal, sharp-shooting guards positioned around the ring, ready to respond instantly.
Besides, for some reason, even though this was their first meeting, Alfred felt he could trust Morin.
Or at least, there was no need to be overly cautious.
That, naturally, was the influence of Morin's Heart of Justice.
"Are you sure?" Bruce asked, curiosity flickering in his eyes.
He trusted Alfred's judgment.
But based on Bruce's own experience these past few days, Morin didn't look like a fighter at all.
"Let the facts speak," Morin said calmly.
"How about a match right now?"
"Alright," Bruce agreed without hesitation.
The last opponent hadn't lasted long, and his interest had already been stirred.
Morin performed a backflip and landed lightly in the ring.
Bruce's expression sharpened instantly.
That kind of movement required explosive power and absolute control.
"You're not changing clothes?" Bruce asked, his fighting spirit rising.
"No," Morin replied, chuckling softly. He shook his head and extended his left hand.
"One hand."
"You're giving me one hand?" Bruce frowned. "Are you looking down on me?"
"No, you misunderstood." Morin shook his head again. "I'll stand right here and only use one hand. If you can make my feet move, you win."
The tone was calm.
The content was arrogant.
Bruce didn't get angry.
If he did, he wouldn't be Bruce.
If this man was that confident, he had to have the skill to match.
That only made Bruce more cautious.
And more interested.
"Are you sure?" Bruce asked one last time.
"I'll warn you now. If you're just trying to get my attention, you've succeeded. But if you don't have real skill, I'll make you pay a price you won't forget."
"Come on," Morin said, yawning as he glanced toward Alfred.
"Is dinner arranged?"
"If you win, of course," Alfred replied politely.
"Good."
Morin nodded.
Bruce wasn't the type to wait for his opponent to focus.
While Morin was still talking, Bruce stepped in and launched a flying kick toward Morin's right side.
By Morin's rules, he couldn't move his feet and could only use one hand.
That made him a stationary target.
That was exactly why Bruce chose a flying kick.
"I've got him," Bruce thought as his foot connected with Morin's waist.
Then pain exploded.
The world spun.