Darkness, the underlying tone of this city, lay over everything like a thick, grey-black cloth.
The streets, desolate and silent just after nine o'clock, were lit by streetlamps whose faint glow resembled fireflies struggling in the cold night.
This was Gotham.
A steel jungle dressed in the trappings of civilization—where even blood ran cold.
A burly man walked through those unsettlingly dim streets, as if traversing a hall where ancient gods were buried, the lamps on either side burning like sacrificial torches.
Only when he reached the end of the streetlights did a hint of warmth appear.
It came from a small coffee shop—perhaps the only place in the area that felt remotely safe.
It was new, having opened just a few months ago.
The owner, Liam, was said to be surprisingly young for someone with such a solid reputation among the locals. He had arrived in Gotham earlier that year, and unlike most outsiders—who usually fled within a week—he'd integrated into the community with ease.
On the surface, Liam was a friendly businessman, able to strike up amiable conversation with anyone. He also seemed to have a knack for persuasion.
When the shop first opened, there had been minor tensions with the local gangs. But soon after, the gang members themselves insisted it had all been a misunderstanding. Relations with Liam, they said, were good.
Curiously, gang activity in the area had noticeably declined since the coffee shop's arrival, and protection rackets had all but disappeared. No one could say why for sure, but rumors hinted that it might have something to do with the man behind the counter.
Tonight, that was exactly who the burly man had come to see.
He stopped at the entrance, looking up at the neon sign: HISHE.
"Sorry, the shop's closed for the day."
The young owner stepped outside, wearing his usual warm, infectious smile.
"I'm sorry to bother you so late, Mr. Liam," the man said nervously. "You might not remember me—"
"Of course I remember, Mr. Grimm. Yesterday it was a cappuccino, light sugar, wasn't it?"
"You remember me!" Grimm's face lit up. "It's just… I need your help."
"Oh? What kind of help?"
"Have you heard of…" Grimm glanced left and right, lowering his voice as though the shadows might overhear him. "…Batman?"
"The urban legend that's been making the rounds lately? I've heard a little," Liam replied.
"It's not a legend. He's real—I saw him with my own eyes." Grimm's voice dropped, his expression twisting. "My son… might have been kidnapped by that monster."
"By Batman?" Liam asked.
"Yes." Grimm nodded firmly.
"Well, a kidnapping should fall under the Gotham Police Department's jurisdiction. Have you reported it?"
"Of course." Grimm's tone sharpened with resentment. "They didn't care at all—mocked me, even!"
"Mocked you?" Liam's brow lifted slightly.
It wasn't hard to believe the GCPD might ignore their duties—especially at this point in time, when the police and the gangs often seemed like one big family. The chief himself spent five nights a week at underworld nightclubs, one night at home fulfilling marital duties, and the last recovering from both.
But outright mocking someone? Even for Gotham, that was excessive.
"Yes," Grimm pressed on. "I told them Batman did it, and the two officers just started laughing. They couldn't stop!"
"They wouldn't admit that, of course," Liam said mildly.
"That's right!" Grimm's eyes widened. "How did you know?"
"Just a guess. Please—go on."
"I asked one of them why he was laughing, and he said his wife had just given birth—"
"Ahem. You can skip that part," Liam interjected. "Tell me about Batman taking your child."
"My boy's in eighth grade. He was walking home from school when—out of nowhere—that guy dropped from the sky! He spread these huge wings, swooped down like a bat from hell, and snatched Jack right off the street with his claws. Then he just… flew away.
"His classmates saw it happen. My poor Jack…"
"So you didn't see it yourself?" Liam asked.
"No, but that doesn't matter—his classmates did. And it's not just him. Several kids have gone missing from the neighborhood these past few days, and more than one witness swears it was Batman! This isn't some baseless rumor—he's a pervert, a demon!"
"Alright, calm down. Have some water."
Grimm took the glass Liam offered, his face flushed from emotion. It took a while before he could speak again.
"So… why come to me? I'm just a businessman."
"Everyone says the same thing: in this neighborhood, when you've got nowhere else to turn, you can always go to Liam at the coffee shop."
Liam's smile turned wry. "Who comes up with these lines? Makes me sound like some godfather. I run a legal business."
"They say the kid from the Green Dragon Gang who came to shake you down left with a broken leg—"
"Nonsense. He fell. Had nothing to do with me."
"The Green Dragon's leader swore he'd flatten this place, but the next morning his car was crushed into a ball of scrap metal—"
"Pure exaggeration. He ran a red light and totaled it himself."
"And the Iron Mask Gang? The whole crew stormed in, but minutes later they ran out like their lives depended on it, and never came back—"
"Oh, that gentleman. A very polite man. I served him a cold brew, we had a chat, and he decided to leave. Simple as that."
Grimm just stared.
Talking sense into the Iron Mask Gang? That group had terrorized these streets for years. Yet somehow, here, they'd become model citizens?
Of course, Gotham had no shortage of strange tales. Locals grew up hearing about pale clowns in purple suits and owls lurking in the dark. Exaggeration was almost a civic pastime. But most agreed that Liam had his own… unique way of reasoning with people. Some even suspected he knew was a master Martial Artist—which, in Gotham, wasn't the strangest idea.
"As I said, I'm a legitimate businessman. Always within the law," Liam said, then paused. "That said… my shop does hear a lot of things. I'll keep my ears open. If I hear anything about your son, I'll let you know."
Grimm heard only hope in that answer and seized it. "Then I'll leave it to you, Mr. Liam! If you can help me get Jack back, I'll pay whatever it takes—I can go borrow money right now—"
"No need," Liam said lightly. "I'm just offering to keep an eye out. I can't promise anything.
"If I'm lucky enough to hear something, I won't ask for money—or any other heavy price. All I'll need is something small. Insignificant."
Grimm held his breath. "What is it?"
Liam's smile widened.
"…Your gratitude."