Godfather Owl: Guardian of Batman [112]

In the alley, Hughie slumped to the ground, tears of frustration spilling over as he recounted his story.

The woman who called herself Joker—Martha—leaned casually against the wall, tossing an apple in her hand with idle amusement.

“So, the heroes in this world… they’re just a bunch of bastards?”

She bit into the apple, chewing as she spoke. “That’s kind of boring.”

“Boring?”

Hughie’s eyes widened in disbelief. “They’re frauds—criminals pretending to be heroes! They’ve caused so much pain, and you think that’s… boring?”

“Of course it’s boring,” Martha said, sneering. “A world full of lunatics with no illusions about their insanity? There’s no fun in that.”

At least one lunatic needs to deny their madness to make things interesting.

“Oh, sorry, I interrupted you,” Martha said with a mocking smile. “Go on. I love hearing people vent their pain.”

“I…”

Hughie trailed off. He had already spilled his anguish over Robin’s death and A-Train’s shameless lies.

Now, all that remained was hatred.

“I’m going to kill A-Train,” he said through gritted teeth. “Since it happened, no one’s even looked me in the eye and said, ‘I’m sorry.’”

“I’m sorry,” Martha said suddenly.

Hughie looked up, startled.

She was looking straight at him, her green eyes locked onto his.

“I’ve done what you wanted,” she said coolly. “Does that erase your hatred?”

Hughie froze. Of course it didn’t.

He didn’t want her apology—he wanted A-Train’s.

Before he could respond, Martha stepped closer and cupped his face in her hands.

“Don’t be so serious, child.”

Her tone was soft, almost tender. “A life was taken. Even if A-Train apologized to you, would that bring her back? Hm?”

Martha’s twisted grin widened into an unsettling laugh. “It wouldn’t, would it?”

The question hit Hughie like a slap. He’d never considered it that way.

“And tell me—what gives you the right to forgive your girlfriend’s killer?”

“I…” Hughie had no answer.

“Child, I can see how much you hate this world,” Martha said, her voice strangely soothing. “And you’re right—it’s a broken, unfair place.”

With that, she pressed a knife into Hughie’s trembling hands.

“Take this, child,” she said, her voice dripping with a dark promise. “This blade is made of a special alloy. With it, you can kill anyone you want.

“It’s time you armed yourself.

“Force the world to change.

“Go on—kill whoever you like!”

As soon as Hughie gripped the knife, an unfamiliar power surged through his body.

It was otherworldly and overwhelming, filling him with a newfound determination. For the first time, he felt invincible—capable of anything.

“Go now, child. I’ll be waiting for the good news.”

Martha’s grin widened as she stroked Hughie’s head, her movements almost maternal.

“Mom…”

The word nearly slipped from Hughie’s lips unbidden.

In Martha, he felt an inexplicable, overwhelming sense of motherly affection. Even though his own parents were alive, he wanted nothing more than to collapse into her arms.

In that moment, Hughie wanted to impress her. To prove himself.

“Martha…” Hughie stammered, “Why… why are you here? Is there something I can do to help you?”

“To kill an owl.”

Martha’s smile didn’t falter. “He stole my son’s body and took his name. If you’re willing, keep an eye out for him.”

Hughie could see the sorrow in her eyes.

She didn’t want to smile.

But the scars carved into the corners of her mouth, paired with her red makeup, made it impossible for her to appear any other way.

Why does she smile?

Hughie didn’t know. But her sadness resonated with him deeply.

“Miss Martha!” Hughie said, suddenly filled with courage. “Don’t worry—I’ll help you. I’ll make you truly smile!”

Tracking down the owl was one thing, but Hughie also wanted to do more for her.

He clutched the knife tightly, remembering the hope she’d placed in him.

Go kill.

Do what will make Mom proud.

“Killing, right?” Hughie asked eagerly. “If I kill enough people, will that make you happy?”

He raised his head, determination burning in his eyes. “Just wait and see!”

Hughie lifted the knife high and swore an oath to Martha.

“I’ll kill A-Train now!”

With that, he ran out of the alley. Martha watched him leave, then stood up with a sigh.

“Boring,” she muttered under her breath. “Everyone wants to be my child, but you’re not Bruce.

“Well, if you’re determined, I won’t stop you.

“But if you want to be my child, at least prove you’re the best of them all. Right?”

Martha looked up at a massive billboard for the Seven.

At the center stood the strongest of them all: Homelander.

—

A-Train strolled out of Vought Tower, whistling a cheerful tune, visions of luxury dancing in his head.

In his hands was a dossier containing all of Bruce Wayne’s personal information.

“So, the kid’s already gone into hiding? Smart,” A-Train muttered, smirking. “But not smart enough to escape me!”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a powerful force slammed into him, sending him flying. He tumbled across the pavement, finally crashing into a dumpster.

“Who’s there?!”

A-Train scrambled to his feet, roaring in anger.

But there was no one in sight.

Then he realized.

“Invisible Man,” he growled. “It’s you, isn’t it? Show yourself!”

No response.

Suddenly, an unseen fist smashed into A-Train’s jaw, knocking him flat.

Before he could recover, two throwing knives came from nowhere, pinning his hands to the ground.

“AAAHHH!”

A-Train howled in agony, a heavy weight pressing down on his back as if someone had just perched on him.

“A-Train, you’re too greedy,” a voice said from behind.

It was Invisible Man.

“One hundred billion is too big a pie for one person to eat.”

The knives and the precision told A-Train all he needed to know.

This wasn’t just Invisible Man.

A shadowy figure in full tactical gear stepped into view.

It was Black Noir.

A-Train’s heart sank.

If Black Noir was here, it could mean only one thing.

Homelander knew.

Black Noir was Homelander’s enforcer.

“I can explain!” A-Train stammered, his defiance crumbling into desperation. “I wasn’t betraying Homelander! I was going to secure the money for him!”

“Bullshit,” Invisible Man sneered, landing another punch on A-Train’s head.

“The second you didn’t report that money to Homelander, you were already a traitor.”

“Did you really think you were the only one tempted by that kind of cash?”

“I swear, I didn’t mean to!” A-Train wailed, tears streaming down his face.

“All my plans were through the company. There’s no way Homelander didn’t know!”

“Because I wasn’t hiding anything! I’m loyal to Homelander!”

His sobbing pleas weren’t for Invisible Man or Black Noir.

They were for Homelander, who might be watching from anywhere.

After a long moment, Invisible Man and Black Noir relented.

Their mission wasn’t to kill A-Train—at least, not yet.

Invisible Man sneered, stepping off A-Train’s back.

“Listen carefully, A-Train. Any profit you see goes to Homelander first.”

“What’s left? That’s yours—if Homelander lets you have it.”

A-Train nodded furiously. “Got it!”

Inside, though, he seethed.

Damn Invisible Man, acting all high and mighty like Homelander’s lapdog. Just wait—one day, I’ll kill you!

“All right. Let’s go.”

—

Bruce walked along the neon-lit street late at night, his baseball cap pulled low to hide his face.

Beside him, Kathoom flew silently, and true to his word, no one paid any attention to the owl’s presence.

“This outlaw look of yours is surprisingly effective,” Bruce commented, glancing at the masked owl, whose face was obscured save for his eyes and beak.

“If possible, can you make it so even I can’t see you?”

“Instead of worrying about that, maybe think about what we’re going to do next,” Kathoom replied, shaking his head. “You didn’t come to this world just to spend your time running, did you?”

“My goal is clear, isn’t it?” Bruce said. “First, I’ll use A-Train to test the nature of this world.”

This so-called escape was merely bait.

Bruce had already withdrawn a significant amount of cash—enough to execute the plan he had in mind.

“I’m just an outsider; I won’t interfere with the judgment of this world,” Bruce said. “But A-Train? He’s different.”

He pointed to himself. “I’m thirteen years old—too young to watch an R-rated movie. Yet A-Train made me witness something so bloody!”

Unforgivable.

If Bruce were entirely confident in handling a speedster, he might have already confronted A-Train by now.

He had seen the news earlier that day. A-Train’s excuses were nothing short of laughable.

But after the laughter came a deep, resonating sadness.

Because Bruce’s world had its own superhumans—beings potentially even more terrifying.

Everything that had unfolded in this world, the Black Noir world, could just as easily happen in his own.

And now, burdened by his wealth, he might have already become a target for A-Train.

That’s fine.

Hunters without true skill deserve to be devoured by their prey.

Bruce tugged his baseball cap lower and kept walking.

“Kathoom, I have a question,” he said suddenly.

“Go ahead,” the owl replied with a nod.

“Do superhumans with powers still count as human?”

Kathoom paused, momentarily caught off guard. He understood Bruce’s reluctance to kill.

“Probably… not,” he answered hesitantly.

—

T/N: I KNOW OKAY? I AM THE ALMIGHTY TRANSLATOR THE KING OF TRANSLATIONS OF COURSE I’D NOTICE IF SOMETHING IS INCONSISTENT (MOST OF THE TIME) but isn’t it funny that it went from 1 billion to 10 billion to 100 billion 🙂