For some reason, Bruce shivered.
A chill ran down his spine.
He glanced around. When his eyes met Morin's "kind and benevolent" gaze, Bruce immediately concluded the chill had definitely come from Morin.
It seemed the relevant preemptive countermeasures needed to be placed on the agenda as soon as possible.
While the current Bruce hadn't yet formed the habit of preparing countermeasures for everyone he met, his vigilance was no weaker than it would be in the future.
This might simply be his natural talent.
Creating a training plan for Bruce didn't take Morin long.
After asking Alfred for Bruce's daily schedule, Morin filled all of Bruce's remaining free time in less than ten minutes and handed the plan over.
"This... this much?" Even though he was mentally prepared, Bruce was still a little stunned when he saw it.
"Ah, I've already calculated it. Paired with my unique healing method, this should be the most suitable training plan for your body's growth," Morin said.
"If I'm not here, you can use this plan."
As he spoke, Morin handed over another sheet.
This one detailed the number of repetitions for each exercise, the standards, and the diet.
It was extremely meticulous.
"Not here?" Bruce took the plan and frowned slightly.
"Of course. A person isn't a machine. The best training alternates between intense periods and rest. I can't restore your mental energy, so you still need proper rest," Morin said, waving his hand.
"When I'm away, just train according to the normal amounts on this plan."
"I have my own things to do too."
"What things?" Bruce asked.
"That doesn't seem to be part of the job description," Morin said with a laugh.
"Our work agreement doesn't say I have to stay in the manor."
"That's true," Alfred said after seeing Bruce's gaze.
"But we can add it."
"No need. I have other matters," Morin refused.
"A coach should have a fixed schedule, right?"
His reason was simple.
First, based on the experience-point settlement method, no matter how much money Bruce paid him, the settlement period was still far away.
Even if he squeezed everything out of Bruce now-which was impossible-it wouldn't help Morin's current strength.
Second...
Even if guiding a teenage Bruce brought some strange sense of accomplishment, it couldn't compare to the appeal of beautiful women.
Wasn't Wonder Woman, currently restoring relics in the Louvre in Paris, far more tempting?
Not to mention...
Morin remembered that there was still a memory card in his system storage containing a large amount of rare footage and photos.
"Alright. But your personal matters cannot interfere with my training," Bruce finally agreed.
"Otherwise, I have the right to penalize you and even reclaim all payment."
"Of course. A deal should be fair," Morin nodded, pulling out several sheets of paper.
"Then let's take a look at this contract."
"Contract?" Alfred took the A4 pages for Bruce, noticing the wording wasn't "agreement."
"Ah, I used to use agreements. But after a fight with Mephisto, I realized the contracts devils use are quite effective," Morin said with a laugh.
"So I switched. These are more binding. They protect both sides."
"...Mephisto?" Alfred was confused. Bruce remained expressionless.
"That's right. The hellish lord Mephisto," Morin continued casually.
"Good thing it was on Earth. Otherwise, I couldn't have beaten him or tricked him."
"In the end, he still managed to summon a Gate of Hell. If I didn't know how to summon a Gate of Heaven and send them all upstairs, Earth would've been in trouble. Almost messed that up."
Bruce and Alfred: "..."
Something felt very wrong.
They were supposed to be hiring a martial arts coach.
So who exactly had they found?
Finding a coach and accidentally hiring someone who saved the world?
If that was true, did he even need money? Or to be a fitness coach?
"With great power, you can't use it recklessly," Morin said, clearly guessing their thoughts.
"Without a bottom line, depravity is easy. The dragon-slaying hero becoming a dragon and all that."
"As a man of justice, I can't allow that."
"Then... how do we sign?" Alfred asked.
They couldn't tell how much was true, so they cautiously accepted the parts that seemed plausible.
Naturally, the only part they fully believed was Morin's strength.
The stronger the potential threat, the more cautious one had to be.
As for the part about justice...
That was debatable.
"Just a drop of blood~"
This method didn't sound very righteous.
In the end, since neither Bruce nor Alfred could accept this new form of contract, they reverted to a normal agreement.
After signing.
"I won't teach you magic until your body meets the requirements," Morin said.
"Don't worry, I won't keep making excuses to avoid teaching. I won't ruin my reputation for this amount of money."
"This is pocket change. My car costs far more than this contract."
He was just stating facts.
The value of the Universal Police Vehicle was immeasurable.
Any transformable spacecraft was worth at least billions, with no upper limit.
Bruce fell silent.
This feeling again.
The familiar pressure of money.
This time, he was the one being shown up.
"Alright. Let's officially begin," Morin smiled.
"One hour of martial arts training every day, starting now."
"I'll match your physical condition."
Naturally, Morin would hold back.
The earlier display was only to secure the job.
Now that real training was starting, overpowering Bruce would only cause injury and render the training meaningless.
Since he'd taken the money, he would do the job properly.
Morin firmly believed in value for money.
As long as the price was right, he could even beat a god.
"The same physical condition?" Bruce asked again.
"Is that something you can control?"
"When your body reaches a certain level-true, complete human development-then yes," Morin said, beckoning.
"Come on."
"Sanda, Muay Thai, boxing, karate, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, or judo?" Bruce asked eagerly.
"With the same physical condition, I'm inferior to no one."
"Use whatever you want," Morin replied with a laugh.
"I'll teach you with whatever you use."
Morin's physical strength had long reached the level where a serious punch could solve most problems.
But he had still learned every martial art in the world.
He might not use them.
But he had to know them.
A large brain capacity was a privilege.
Bruce attacked.
Sanda. Muay Thai. Boxing. Karate. Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. Judo. Sambo. Taekwondo. Kickboxing.
Weapons followed.
Swords. Long and short staffs. Nunchucks. Spears. Firearms.
He had to admit it.
Bruce's talent was world-class.
At fifteen, he had already mastered so many disciplines, all at proficiency level or higher.
A genius.
An absolute genius.
"Hah!" Bruce shouted, launching a flying kick.
Clang.
"Keep your feet on the ground," Morin said, casually turning and sweeping Bruce's leg.
"Your foundation must be stable."
"Unless you have a speed advantage, jumping like that is handing your life to the enemy," he continued.
"That move just now-taekwondo?"
"Yes," Bruce answered.
"Why are you letting your young master learn something so flashy and impractical?" Morin looked at Alfred.
"Lifting weights and throwing random punches would be more useful."
"I tried to advise him," Alfred said stiffly.
"But the master wanted to learn many schools."
"That's something a martial arts master does," Morin said, turning back to Bruce.
"Do you think you've reached that level?"
"No," Bruce replied without hesitation.
"Good. At least you have self-awareness," Morin waved his hand.
"Continue. Let me see what else you've got."
Half an hour later.
Bruce lay on the ground, trying to get up.
He failed.
Almost every part of his body hurt.
After thirty minutes of high-intensity combat-high-intensity for Bruce-the fact he endured at all spoke to his willpower.
He was still only fifteen.
Sweat soaked his training clothes.
His vision blurred.
Morin, not even breathing heavily, put on a pair of gloves and walked over.
He squatted and began ruffling Bruce's hair.
"No... don't... stop." Bruce tried to refuse.
He couldn't even turn his head.
"The master is refusing," Alfred said grimly, hand already on the gun at his waist.
"No, no. He's clearly saying 'don't stop,'" Morin said calmly.
Alfred: "..."
Seeing the faint look of comfort appear on his young master's face, Alfred hesitated.
Was it "don't stop"...
Or "don't, stop"?
Give me a clear answer, master.
Don't fall for this.
Morin finished his "discipline," removed the gloves, and stood.
"Take him to clean up. Training ends here for today."
Heartbroken, Alfred could only call servants to carry away the soothed, unconscious Bruce.
"This kind of training is suitable once every three days," Morin said.
"For the next two days, follow the second plan."
He then drove away from Wayne Manor, stored his vehicle, and teleported near the Louvre.
Standing at the entrance, he smiled faintly.
A certain superhero was living in seclusion here.
Wonder Woman.
Princess Diana of Themyscira.
It was already 1989.
1984 was long past.
The gates were closed.
That wasn't a problem.
Morin passed through in a flash, appearing inside the quiet museum.
He didn't hide his footsteps.
They were light, but clear.
In the restoration room, a woman restoring a statue heard them, frowned, and walked out.
Warm afternoon sunlight filtered through the carvings.
Artifacts rested in silence.
Hundreds.
Thousands of years old.
Human lives rarely exceeded a century.
But what they created could carry belief, culture, and memory far beyond that.
"Sir, the museum isn't open today," Diana said in a suit.
She looked at Morin, paused briefly, then spoke.
The events of 1984 had centered on a wish stone.
A price paid for every wish.
In short, her old flame returned, died again, and the crisis ended.
After that, Diana left Washington and returned to Paris.
Five years had passed.
She had finally begun to move on.
She rarely interacted with others now.
So seeing a man like Morin, she couldn't help but be momentarily dazed.
"Escaping isn't how problems are solved," Morin said, eyes still on the mural.
"Artifacts carry countless stories."
"But stepping out and letting go," he added calmly,
"is what an immortal should do."
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