"Fuuu..."
Barbara stood frozen in front of her house's door, eyes locked on the doorbell as if it were a bomb about to explode. The street behind her was silent, the lamplight casting a long shadow from her feet to the steps. The night breeze gently brushed her red hair, but nothing seemed to calm the rising anxiety inside her.
Her hand was raised, trembling, hovering just inches from the button. Instead of pressing it, she kept taking deep breaths, trying to steady the avalanche of thoughts racing through her mind.
(This is the first time I've ever brought a boy home... Oh God... What am I doing? Okay, breathe. It's going to be fine. Courage, Barbara. You're Batgirl, for crying out loud! You've faced armed villains, fought psychopaths, jumped off rooftops. This should be easy.)
But it wasn't. Each heartbeat echoed louder than the last. The pressure in her chest grew heavier. The feeling of vulnerability didn't come from some masked enemy, but from the gaze of a father—one she respected as much as she feared disappointing.
She swallowed hard. On the outside, she was still the same confident, bold, witty Barbara. But inside, right now, she was just a girl trying not to fall apart.
(It's just Arthur… Just the guy you fell for… And who's about to meet your dad. No big deal. Except your dad is the Gotham City Police Commissioner. Who knows everyone. Who keeps a gun in his drawer. Who's interrogated criminals for thirty years...)
She held her breath for a few more seconds, closed her eyes, gathered what little courage she had left—
"Beep!"
The sharp sound of the doorbell sliced through the silence like a blade. Barbara jumped, her heart racing like a triggered alarm. She turned on reflex, wide-eyed, and saw Arthur—his finger still on the button—looking at her with a confused expression.
"Ah…" she let out a vague sound, as if trying to explain her paralysis. Her shoulders drooped, her gaze dropped. For a moment, she looked... tiny. Like a kitten abandoned in the rain.
Arthur stared at her, surprised. For a second, he could almost see imaginary cat ears drooping on her head.
"Sorry…" Barbara whispered. "I'm just not ready yet. Actually... this is the first time I've ever brought a boyfriend home."
Arthur blinked. The word "boyfriend" echoed in his head like a drumbeat.
"Boyfriend…?" He raised an eyebrow, puzzled. "Barbara, are we… dating? I thought we were just having dinner with your dad. This isn't… a date, is it?"
She crossed her arms and looked away, clearly trying to hide an embarrassed smile.
"And spending the whole afternoon shopping with me? Carrying all those bags like a loyal knight serving his lady? That doesn't count as proof of love?"
Arthur made a comical face. "Wait... so shopping now equals a signed contract with witnesses?"
Barbara opened her mouth, ready with a sarcastic comeback, but just then the door creaked open.
The man who appeared was imposing, even without trying. Neatly combed gray hair, a body still strong, and eyes that seemed to analyze everything at once. He wore discreet glasses, but his sharp gaze spoke of decades dealing with criminals—and now, apparently, with his daughter's boyfriend.
James Gordon.
"So this is the famous boyfriend," he said with a half-smile. His voice was calm, almost playful, but it carried an unspoken weight. His eyes moved from Arthur to Barbara, back and forth, as if piecing together a puzzle in real time.
"Dad!" Barbara blushed furiously. She darted inside, dodging her father like she was fleeing an interrogation.
"Relax, come on in," said Gordon, giving Arthur a firm pat on the shoulder. "Sarah's just finishing dinner. You'll like her lasagna—it's famous at the precinct. Even Harvey asked for the recipe once."
Arthur smiled awkwardly.
(Mission one: survive the 'father-in-law.' Mission two: figure out how I became the official boyfriend without signing anything.)
He stepped inside, taking in the house. It was cozy, filled with family pictures, shelves brimming with books, and framed medals honoring Gordon's long career.
They sat down at the table shortly after. Sarah, kind and warm, served dinner with a glowing smile. The lasagna was excellent—but the real main course of the evening was the uncomfortable silence between Arthur and Gordon, occasionally cut by small talk.
Barbara fidgeted, poking at her food with her fork. Sarah tried to steer the conversation with gentle grace.
Then, after a sip of wine and a thoughtful sigh, Gordon asked:
"So… how long have you two been together?"
Arthur nearly knocked over his glass. He looked at Barbara, then at Gordon, feeling like he was under a spotlight.
"Uh… it's a long story. Not sure where to begin," he replied, forcing a smile.
"Relax, son," said Gordon, taking a sip of coffee. "Just summarize."
Arthur took a deep breath. He had to sound convincing.
"Well… I met Barbara at school. We bumped into each other in the hallway—both distracted. Her laptop fell and broke. I felt bad and got it fixed. We ended up exchanging numbers and… started talking."
Barbara choked on her juice and coughed, covering her mouth.
"That's such a stupid story…" she muttered, trying not to laugh.
Gordon nodded slowly, as if saying, "Hmm, interesting."
"Beep!"
The doorbell rang again. Everyone looked toward the door. Barbara got up, but Arthur gently stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.
"What is it?" she asked, puzzled.
Arthur looked at her seriously. The air around him seemed to shift.
"I'll get it." He smiled at her, stood up, and walked toward the door.
He opened it slowly.
Outside stood an unmistakable figure. Wild green hair. A blood-red painted grin. Eyes like pits of madness.
The Joker.
In his hand, a gun glinted in the porch light.
The villain frowned at the sight of Arthur. He had expected Barbara, maybe Gordon. But hesitation wasn't his style. He pulled the trigger.
Bang!
The bullet flew—only to be stopped mid-air. Arthur caught it between two fingers, as if snatching a fly.
The Joker's eyes widened. His smile broke for just a moment in shock. Arthur dashed forward with inhuman speed, grabbed the clown by the neck, and lifted him like a ragdoll.
"Hello, Mr. Joker," he said coldly.
Two goons behind the villain reacted and lunged—but Arthur took them down before they even finished a single step. One kick and one punch. Game over.
Barbara and Gordon rushed to the doorway. When they saw the scene, they froze. Arthur stood holding the Joker by the neck. The villain laughed, even through the pain.
"Joker!? When did you escape from prison!?" shouted Gordon, shoving Arthur aside. He grabbed the clown by the collar and slammed him against the entrance wall with years of pent-up rage.
"Gahahahaha!" the Joker cackled. "Dear Commissioner Gordon… I brought a little gift."
From his pants pocket, he pulled out a remote control with a red button. He raised it dramatically for everyone to see, like a magician about to reveal his final trick.
Gordon's face went pale.
"Son of a bitch…"
BOOM!
---
(End of Chapter)
"Hmph. If you really want to be useful, then entertain me, try to throw those pathetic power stones at me. Let's see if even your insolence can amuse a king."