The instant Kaito Kid flicked open his antique pocket watch, the museum's power surged back to life.
Lights blazed on across every floor, every corridor, every exhibition hall. The darkness that had swallowed the building only seconds earlier vanished in a flood of white brilliance.
The spotlights that had isolated Kaito Kid moments ago snapped off at the same time.
For anyone whose eyes had just adjusted to the dark, the sudden brightness was blinding.
For a brief but critical moment—
No one could see him.
Even Robin, trained for combat in every possible condition, felt his vision wash out in white.
"Goodbye, Boy Wonder."
Kaito Kid's voice drifted calmly into Robin's ears.
By the time Robin's vision snapped back into focus, he turned toward the sound—
Pop.
A smoke cloud exploded directly in front of him, instantly engulfing the spot where Kaito Kid had been standing.
But something was wrong.
The smoke didn't linger.
It thinned almost immediately, dispersing far too quickly to be a standard smoke bomb.
One second.
Maybe less.
Almost the moment the smoke appeared, it began to fade.
Robin frowned.
They were in the center of the exhibition hall—far from the walls, far from windows, far from exits.
The main door was behind Kaito Kid's last position, and more than a dozen guards were stationed there. Even though their guns had been knocked away, they had already started scrambling to retrieve them.
Security from other floors was rushing in.
And outside the windows?
Commissioner Gordon and the GCPD were still in position.
There was nowhere to run.
More importantly—
Robin hadn't heard a single footstep.
He hadn't seen any movement leave the smoke.
Which meant logically, Kaito Kid should still be there.
But logic had already failed once tonight.
Robin narrowed his eyes.
A smoke bomb that vanishes instantly… and then staying in place?
That made no sense.
It couldn't block vision long enough to escape.
It couldn't cover movement.
It couldn't distract anyone for more than a blink.
Unless—
It was never meant to hide an escape.
Just like the fake Kid that exploded above the museum earlier…
This had to be another misdirection.
Sure enough, when the smoke fully cleared—
Kaito Kid was gone.
No white suit.
No cape.
No trace.
Robin exhaled slowly.
"Alright," he muttered. "So you vanished."
He scanned the area within ten meters. The hall was wide and open, filled only with glass display cases, transparent on all sides.
No hiding spots.
No shadows deep enough to conceal a man in white.
"So where did you—"
Clang. Clang. Clang.
A sharp metallic sound echoed from above.
Robin's head snapped upward.
The noise came from the ceiling ventilation shafts.
Ventilation…?
That was impossible.
The museum's air ducts were narrow—far too small for an adult to crawl through. The metal louvers were intact, with no sign of damage or removal.
And yet—
The sound didn't come from just one vent.
It came from all of them.
Six ventilation shafts in the exhibition hall echoed with the same metallic rhythm.
"Did you hear that?" a tourist whispered.
"What is that noise…?"
"It's coming from the vents!"
More and more people noticed the anomaly.
"It's getting louder!"
"Something's about to come out!"
Fear spread instantly.
No one dared to stand directly beneath the vents. Gotham had taught its citizens one important lesson:
If something strange is happening above you—move.
Robin stepped back as well, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
Then—
Somewhere out of sight—
Snap.
A crisp finger snap echoed softly.
And suddenly—
Swish—swish—swish—!
White cards poured out of the ventilation shafts like a waterfall.
Hundreds.
Thousands.
They spilled through the louvers, fluttering down in every direction, filling the entire exhibition hall like a blizzard of paper.
Each card bore the same image—
Kaito Kid's portrait.
And printed text.
Before anyone could process that—
A fragrance filled the air.
Sweet.
Fresh.
Floral.
Mixed among the white cards, small crimson shapes floated down more slowly, spinning gently as they fell.
"They're petals!"
"Rose petals!"
Several young women reached out instinctively, catching them in their palms.
Bright red.
Fresh.
Real.
The exhibition hall transformed in seconds.
Cards and petals drifted together, blanketing the floor, settling on display cases, clinging to shoulders and hair.
The cards stopped first.
But the petals kept falling.
Endless red rose petals rained down softly, filling the air with a rich, romantic scent that felt completely out of place in Gotham.
The city of blood and fear.
On the other side of the hall, Robin ignored the petals entirely.
He picked up one of the fallen cards.
It looked exactly like Kaito Kid's Notice box—same design, same elegance.
Only the message was different.
He read it silently:
> "I dedicate this rain of flowers to the audience of my first performance, thanking fate for the encounter that intertwined us.
In the future, I will present even more spectacular performances.
Please look forward to them.
Sincerely,
Kaito Kid."
Robin stared at the card.
Then picked up another.
Same message.
Another.
All identical.
"All of them," he murmured. "Every single one."
A declaration.
A promise.
A challenge.
"Future performances…" Robin said quietly.
His fingers tightened, crushing the card into a ball.
"So this wasn't just a theft."
"This was an announcement."
He exhaled sharply, eyes hard.
"I underestimated you," he admitted under his breath. "That one's on me."
He glanced at the chaos-filled hall—the petals, the cards, the stunned crowd, the furious police.
"But next time," Robin said, his voice low and resolute, "I won't."
He raised his grappling gun.
Fired.
The hook latched onto the ceiling frame near the shattered window.
Robin leaped, cape snapping behind him as he swung cleanly out of the exhibition hall.
In seconds, his silhouette vanished into the Gotham night.
Behind him—
Red petals continued to fall.
And somewhere beyond sight—
Kaito Kid had already left the stage.