Neither the secret undercurrents stirred up by Penguin nor the renewed rumors surrounding Kaito Kid in Gotham City had any real impact on Dean's daily life.
At least, not on the surface.
After carefully returning the priceless necklace to Mrs. Chandler, Dean didn't linger for even a second. He hurried toward a secluded alleyway nearby, his pace unusually fast, his expression tight with discomfort. The moment he was out of sight, he immediately began changing clothes.
High heels were torture.
No matter how many times he wore them, no matter how skilled he became at disguises, Dean simply could not adapt to that kind of footwear. Walking in them felt like balancing on needles. Every step sent pressure through his ankles, forcing him to constantly adjust his posture just to avoid falling flat on his face.
Disguising himself as a woman was effective—but the price was physical misery.
Most of the time, Dean endured it through sheer willpower.
By the time he finally returned home, the first thing he noticed was the silence.
Not the comforting kind—but the kind that felt different.
Dean paused at the doorway, his eyes narrowing slightly as he scanned the living room. Then he frowned.
The surveillance cameras were gone.
Every single one.
The corners where they had once been discreetly installed were now empty, leaving only faint screw marks behind.
"…Huh."
Dean stood there for a moment, processing it.
Batgirl really didn't waste time.
Her efficiency was almost frightening. Dean had assumed she would leave the cameras in place for at least a few more days, if only to continue observing his behavior. After all, she had been extremely busy just the night before—raiding the Natural History Museum, taking down hired assassins, and clashing head-on with Firefly.
Anyone else would've taken a break.
But Batgirl?
She had retrieved the cameras in broad daylight.
No hesitation. No delay.
Dean shook his head with a faint smile.
From his perspective, this was excellent news.
Even though he knew how to avoid the cameras, even though he had ways to blur or mislead surveillance, the feeling of being watched still gnawed at him. It was subtle, but persistent—like an itch you couldn't scratch.
Now, that pressure was gone.
He could finally breathe.
---
Inside the training room, Dean leaned against the wall, stroking his chin thoughtfully as his mind drifted.
"I probably should rest for a bit," he muttered to himself.
His gaze flicked toward the calendar on the wall.
Tomorrow.
The school dance.
The final event before spring break.
"Performing a few small magic tricks for them might actually be fun," Dean said quietly, his tone casual but reflective.
In this country, students enjoyed more than just summer and winter vacations. Spring break was treated almost like a mini holiday, and Gotham High School took it seriously.
From March 13th to March 22nd—ten full days.
And on March 12th, the last day before break officially began, Gotham High School followed tradition.
No classes.
No exams.
Just one massive campus dance.
Students were free to do whatever they wanted.
Some performed on stage—singing, dancing, comedy acts, even magic shows. Others preferred smaller gatherings, scattered across the school grounds. You could dance, picnic, play board games, or just lie on the grass and talk.
Nothing was forced.
No mandatory applause.
No polite pretending.
If the performance was good, people cheered.
If it was bad, they booed—mercilessly.
It was honest. Chaotic. Alive.
Dean had attended these dances for several years now. Objectively speaking, they were fun. The energy was infectious, the laughter real, the atmosphere vibrant.
And yet…
Every time, without fail, Dean felt something hollow deep inside.
An emptiness he couldn't quite name.
Sometimes, watching students laugh uncontrollably at stupid jokes—cold jokes, dirty jokes, jokes that meant nothing—he couldn't help but feel detached. Almost… older than he should be.
Childish, he thought.
And still—
That carefree happiness was something he envied more than he liked to admit.
---
His friendship with Dick had actually begun at a school dance just like this one.
Back when they were freshmen.
At the time, Dick carried the same quiet loneliness that Dean did.
Which wasn't surprising.
Dick had only recently become Robin back then. His life was divided neatly into two exhausting halves: training under Batman and patrolling Gotham's streets at night.
There was no room for rest.
No room for hobbies.
No room for friends.
Alfred had been deeply unhappy about it, but Dick—still in his most obedient phase—followed Batman without question. At school, he was withdrawn, polite but distant, rarely engaging with anyone beyond surface-level interactions.
His emotions were constantly restrained.
Suppressed.
If anyone imagined this as a story about two lonely boys recognizing each other's pain and bonding over shared isolation—
They were wrong.
Dean and Dick hadn't connected emotionally at all.
The real reason they became friends… was a girl.
Her name was Raya.
At that freshman-year dance, Raya had approached Dean first.
At the time, Dean was already known as a talented magician—someone who could draw attention without even trying. Raya had invited him to dance, her tone hopeful.
Dean declined.
He claimed he needed to move around to perform magic tricks.
He swore to himself that this excuse had nothing to do with the fact that he hadn't practiced dancing at all.
Absolutely nothing.
Raya had been disappointed—clearly so.
And that was when Dick stepped in.
Seizing the opportunity, he invited her instead.
To Dean's mild astonishment, the two hit it off almost immediately.
By the end of the night, they were inseparable.
Dean never understood how two freshmen could progress so fast.
He also didn't care enough to ask.
Later that night, Dick found him.
First, he thanked Dean sincerely—for "giving him the chance."
Then he asked why Dean had rejected Raya.
Then why he kept rejecting other girls.
And finally—
With genuine suspicion—
He asked whether Dean had issues with his sexual orientation.
That last question had set Dean off.
The argument that followed was heated, loud, and just short of turning physical.
But strangely enough, after that clash, they began talking.
Casually at first.
Then more often.
And the more they spoke, the more they realized something odd.
The other's thoughts were… sharp.
Insightful.
Far beyond what you'd expect from someone their age.
Eventually, familiarity grew.
Then trust.
Their seats were even arranged together later on.
Dean exhaled slowly, pulling himself out of those old memories.
---
He turned toward the study and powered on his computer, his expression becoming thoughtful once more.
News headlines flickered across the screen.
"Gotham's had very few high-value gemstone exhibitions lately…"
Dean leaned back, eyes narrowing.
"There was supposed to be a Hope Diamond exhibition in April," he muttered, "but it got canceled."
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
"…Could that be because of me?"
The idea amused him.
His fingers tapped lightly on the desk.
"What should my next target be?"
Which museum?
Which treasure?
Repeating the same style of theft over and over was starting to feel boring.
"Penguin tried to trap me with the dragon egg ruby necklace this time," Dean recalled. "And failed."
"Will he try again with something else?"
Dean's gaze sharpened.
"I should start thinking about the next Notice Box."
The announcement.
The challenge.
The game.
---
March 12th.
Night.
Gotham High School Campus Dance.
The playground was alive.
Thousands of students filled the space, laughter echoing across the grounds. Colorful lights illuminated the night as music thundered from the central stage.
Boys and girls danced together, carefree and radiant.
When they grew tired, they collapsed onto the grass, sharing snacks, playing games, chatting in loose circles. Some students had even pitched tents at the edge of the field—though what they planned to do inside was anyone's guess.
On one patch of grass, a small crowd gathered.
"Watch closely, ladies," Dick announced confidently.
"My hands are empty."
Four girls watched him intently, eyes fixed on his palms.
Dick turned his hands over, front and back. Nothing there.
Then—
With a sharp flick of his right hand, a playing card appeared out of thin air.
Gasps followed.
Another flick.
A second card.
Then a third.
Then a fourth.
All drawn from empty space.
"How was that?" Dick asked, clearly proud.
Thanks to Dean's earlier guidance, his sleight of hand had become remarkably refined.
But—
"Richard," one girl said bluntly, crossing her arms, "that trick's been on TV forever. It's not exciting anymore."
The others nodded in agreement.
Dick blinked, momentarily stunned.
"…Don't rush," he said with a smile.
"I'm not done."
He gathered the four cards between both hands, pressing them together tightly, completely concealed.
One second passed.
Then two.
Suddenly, he spread his hands apart.
The cards were gone.
In their place—a vivid red rose.
"This one's for you," Dick said smoothly, handing it to the girl on his left.
Her eyes widened in surprise.
"Hey! That's not fair!" another protested.
"What about us?"
Dick chuckled.
"Don't forget," he said lightly, "there were four cards."
He repeated the motion.
Hands together.
Hands apart.
Another rose appeared.
Then another.
Then another.
Four flowers.
One for each girl.
Their laughter rang out, bright and genuine.
And somewhere in the crowd, Dean watched quietly—an unreadable expression on his face.
The campus dance continued under the Gotham night sky.
And for just a moment—
Everything felt… normal.
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