Godfather Owl: Guardian of Batman [126]

Bruce was currently in a state of having no clear target.

Soldier Boy was out of the question, and the Dagger was temporarily untraceable.

His only option was to look for another way to make Homelander bleed.

—

“Bruce, hold on tight to me.”

Queen Maeve smiled as she spoke to Bruce.

The young Batman, with an innocent look on his face, wrapped his arms around Maeve’s waist.

With a powerful leap, Maeve propelled them high into the air.

Each time she landed, the ground beneath them cracked, leaving massive craters in her wake.

“Won’t this upset the public?”

Bruce shouted over the rush of wind around them.

Maeve chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’m keeping an eye on the road!”

Before long, they landed at a crime scene cordoned off by police tape. A group of hostages was being held inside a skyscraper, with the perpetrators refusing to surrender.

As soon as they landed, Bruce instinctively let go of Maeve’s waist.

“You could’ve held on a bit longer if you wanted,” Maeve teased.

“Don’t joke like that.”

Bruce lowered his head, feeling flustered.

By now, he had grown somewhat familiar with Maeve. Compared to the other Supes at Vought, she at least had some semblance of a moral line.

When Homelander killed, Maeve wouldn’t intervene but would try to avoid participating.

By comparison, she was practically a saint.

Still, Bruce didn’t appreciate her penchant for teasing him. Sometimes, her “jokes” felt more like genuine flirtation.

He was just a kid, unprepared for this kind of banter.

“Alright, alright.”

Maeve grinned. Seeing Bruce’s helpless expression made her day feel a little lighter.

This was so much better than working with Homelander.

“Follow me, kiddo. Big Sis will show you how it’s done.”

Bruce trailed behind Maeve to the barricaded scene.

“Queen Maeve! Wizard! You’ve arrived!”

The moment the two Supes appeared, a relieved police officer rushed to greet them.

“I feel so much better now that you’re here. At least seven hostages are still in danger!”

“Don’t worry, Officer!”

Maeve radiated confidence. In front of Bruce, she had to embody the ideal of an invincible hero.

“What time is it?” she asked.

The officer glanced at his watch. “Nine ten.”

“Five minutes!”

Maeve held up five fingers. “By nine fifteen, all the hostages will be safe!”

Without hesitation, she led Bruce into the skyscraper, which was under the control of the criminals.

Inside, Maeve glanced back at Bruce, her smile sly. “What do you think? That officer looked like he was in awe.”

“I was in awe, too,” Bruce admitted, a little concerned. “But… five minutes? Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. Honestly, I only need three.”

Maeve smirked. “The thing about hero work is this: you have to give people something to talk about.”

“For instance, we could’ve skipped the whole public scene and gone straight in to deal with the criminals. It would’ve saved us time.”

“But then no one would see us. Without media coverage, our efforts might as well be invisible.”

Maeve was the only member of the Seven who bothered to give Bruce such advice.

To her, a crime scene was a stage. The heroes were the stars, and the public? They were the audience.

“You have to keep the audience entertained. As long as they’re hooked, they’ll keep supporting you.”

“You need to stay in the public eye.”

Some aging heroes, desperate to stay relevant, would even resort to outrageous comments or inexplicable stunts just to avoid being forgotten.

“Remember this, Bruce,” Maeve said earnestly. “Attention is everything for us. Lose it, and you go back to being a regular person.”

Kathoom chimed in with a pithy conclusion: “Basically, better to live controversially than not live at all.”

Maeve had come here without the owl; he had flown in on his own.

Bruce, always respectful of his role, nodded his thanks to Maeve, signaling that he understood.

After all, failing as a hero would mean returning to the dull life of an ordinary billionaire.

Who would want that boring existence?

—

When Maeve said five minutes, she meant it.

The officer kept a close eye on his watch, counting down the seconds.

At the last possible moment, several criminals, bound and incapacitated, were dropped in front of him.

There was no bloodshed. Maeve had calculated her strikes perfectly.

After all, they’d need to take photos soon, and certain visuals just weren’t ideal for the cameras.

“They’ve got accomplices and a follow-up plan.”

Maeve and Bruce appeared before the officer.

“They were tough nuts to crack,” Maeve added, punching one criminal in the back, making him howl in pain.

“I had to interrogate them three times before they spilled anything. You’ll probably need to press them further—they’re a stubborn bunch.”

“Not true! Not true!”

One of the criminals immediately protested, his voice trembling.

“We’re not stubborn at all! I wanted to confess the first time, but it hurt too much to talk!”

Maeve gave him another punch. “So you’re saying I hit too hard?”

“No, no! Not hard at all!” The criminal begged for mercy.

Standing nearby, Bruce observed Maeve’s commanding presence. A thought crossed his mind.

“Kathoom,” he asked, “could Maeve take on Homelander in a fight?”

“Yes, and she could make him bleed.”

Kathoom answered without hesitation. “But if you tried now, she’d never go for it. She’s afraid of him.”

Maeve could hurt Homelander. In the show, she even stabbed his ear with a pen.

But that was a version of Maeve ready to sacrifice everything—not the Maeve standing here today. If she fought Homelander, he’d bleed, but she’d lose her life.

She wouldn’t agree to it.

“Fear again, huh?”

Bruce sighed. “So even if Homelander grows weaker in the future, he’ll still dominate for a while.”

After all, his reputation was already cemented. He didn’t need to do anything; others would just assume his invincibility.

“But I won’t be like that!”

Bruce clenched his fists. If Homelander could be stopped, Vought would lose its trump card.

And with that, the era of Supes would come to an end.

—

“Bruce, let’s go.”

Maeve had finished coordinating with the police and giving interviews to the reporters.

She approached Bruce to take him away.

“Bruce, hold on tight.” She smiled again.

—

The sound of a bell ringing—

The wind chime tinkled softly as the door of a secluded little bar swung open.

Homelander, clad in his steel-blue suit and draped in the American flag, stepped inside.

“You again?”

Martha, still polishing a glass at the bar, glanced up as she spoke.

For a brief moment, the sight gave Homelander an uncharacteristic sense of peace.

“Y-Yeah, I’m here again!”

This time, Homelander’s demeanor was vastly different from his first visit.

Martha had to admit she preferred his more rebellious attitude from before.

Homelander took a seat at the bar. “One drink, same as last time.”

“This time, you’re paying,” Martha replied.

“No problem!” Homelander immediately assured her. “Name your price—I can afford anything!”

Martha gave him a look, and Homelander responded with a sheepish grin, looking almost ridiculous.

“Forget it,” Martha said suddenly, shaking her head. “From now on, you don’t need to pay when you come here. Just keep me company and talk to me.”

“Of course!”

Homelander chuckled as he watched her prepare the drink.

When the cocktail was ready, its familiar sweet aroma wafted through the air. Homelander downed it in one gulp, the intoxicating warmth washing over him again.

“Ahhh—”

He exhaled deeply, savoring the sensation.

“You seem to be in a pretty good mood today,” Martha observed, noticing his relaxed demeanor.

Homelander’s current state felt like someone coming home.

“Not exactly. I’ve got my share of troubles too.”

Homelander tilted his head up. “It’s just that being here helps me unwind a little.”

“You can talk to me,” Martha offered. “Whatever’s bothering you, I’m willing to listen.”

“It’s mostly work stuff.”

Homelander began talking without hesitation.

Martha had a unique effect on him—she could understand him without judgment or criticism.

When he was lost, she had a knack for offering precise and striking advice.

“I’ve been wondering lately… does Madelyn even love me?”

Homelander toyed with his empty glass, his eyes unfocused as he mused aloud. “Maybe she just sees me as a useful tool—or worse, maybe she thinks I’m a monster…”

“How could you be a monster?”

Martha leaned on the bar, her other hand tracing a line from her left lip to the right corner of her mouth.

“Someone like me—now that’s a monster.”

“No, no! Don’t say that!” Homelander interrupted, his voice earnest. “You’re beautiful, really. Seeing you makes me feel so much better!”

“I’m hardly worthy of the word ‘beautiful,'” Martha said with a soft laugh. “I’m old now.”

“Old is good…” Homelander murmured under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Oh, nothing!” Homelander quickly changed the subject. “Anyway, the more I think about it, the more I feel Madelyn isn’t right for me.”

“Her so-called concern for me… it’s not even as genuine as yours.”

“Maybe you’re misunderstanding her.”

Martha thought for a moment. “Could it be that Madelyn loves you but just doesn’t know how to express it?”

Homelander shook his head. “No way. I can hear her heartbeat. Every time she sees me, it speeds up—not with love, but fear.”

“Maybe I really am the monster they think I am!”

“You are not a monster.”

Martha’s voice suddenly took on a firm tone.

Homelander looked up and saw her gazing at him.

Her eyes were warm and filled with a kind of maternal tenderness, stirring something deep within him—a longing he didn’t fully understand.

Homelander had never known his parents. He was an orphan.

But in this moment, he imagined that if he’d had a mother, she would have been like Martha.

“Ma—”

The single syllable slipped out before he caught himself.

He quickly lowered his head, pretending nothing had happened.

Martha didn’t call him out. Instead, she gave him a suggestion.

“If this is really bothering you, why not test her?”

“Hmm?”

Homelander looked up, waiting for her to elaborate.

“Madelyn must have something she cares about, right?”

Martha smiled knowingly. “Take it away from her. Force her to make a choice.”

“If she doesn’t choose you, then she truly doesn’t love you. It means she’s been using you all along.”

“And if that happens—”

Martha suddenly clenched her fist in front of him.

“Unleash the fist of justice on her!”

—

This is a fan translation of 蝙蝠侠的猫头鹰教父 by 巴巴罗萨光年. All rights to the original work belong to the creator. Please support them by exploring their original work or sharing it with others if you can. Thank you for reading and supporting my efforts to bring this story to a wider audience!