"It's fine," Dean said calmly. "Not many people come to this library in Gotham, and even fewer are willing to read books this… unfriendly. Honestly, it's already good that you didn't mistake me for a suspicious thief the moment you saw me."
He closed the book, slid it back into its original place on the shelf, and straightened up.
"Besides," he added casually, "I was just about to head out and get something to eat."
It was already close to 1:30 p.m., far past normal lunchtime. But Dean had eaten breakfast late, so hunger hadn't really caught up with him yet. He had been so absorbed in reading that time slipped by unnoticed. If the librarian hadn't spoken to him, he might have stayed buried in mythology for another hour.
"Is that so?" the red-haired librarian said, immediately brightening. "Then I have to recommend the library's dining area to you. I swear on my father's name, the cheese rolls there are the best in all of Gotham."
She leaned forward slightly, clearly serious.
"And most importantly," she added, "they're cheap and good quality. I sincerely suggest you try them."
Whether the cheese rolls were truly that amazing or she was just desperately trying to promote the library's nearly deserted dining area was unclear.
Then again, this was a public library. Government funding? Outsourced dining? Extra revenue streams?
Dean shook those pointless thoughts away. He wasn't interested.
"A delicacy personally recommended by the Police Commissioner's daughter?" Dean said lightly. "Then it must be good. In that case, I'll give it a try."
He turned and took a step forward.
"—Wait."
A hand suddenly grabbed his sleeve.
"What did you just say?" the young woman asked, staring at him in shock.
Dean stopped. "Hm?"
"You know me?"
"No," Dean replied honestly. "This is our first meeting."
"Then how do you know who I am?"
Her gaze sharpened as she examined him from head to toe, alert and cautious now.
Dean smiled faintly, not bothered in the slightest.
"It's simple. The hiring requirements for Gotham City Library are much stricter than ordinary libraries. Full-time librarians here receive public-service benefits. Unless someone majored in library science, or has parents working as public servants, very few people qualify—especially at your age."
He gestured subtly toward her chest.
"And the color of your employee badge is dark blue. That means you're senior staff. It's practically impossible for an ordinary eighteen-year-old to reach that position."
She frowned. "That still doesn't explain why you jumped straight to 'Police Commissioner's daughter.' I could be the child of any city official."
Dean nodded. "True. But Gotham officials are… rarely clean."
He spoke without sarcasm, just stating a fact.
"Their children wouldn't willingly take a library administrator position with low pay, even if the benefits are decent. Nor would they endure years of combat training."
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"You've practiced real combat—judo or karate, most likely. I can tell from the calluses on your hands and the muscle structure in your legs. That kind of conditioning doesn't come from casual fitness. It comes from repeatedly striking hard surfaces over many years."
He paused, then added, "Rich second-generation kids sometimes learn combat for fun, but they never train to that level."
In Gotham—especially Gotham—someone with wealth or influence who seriously trained in martial arts usually ended up becoming a superhero. And superheroes were rare.
Very rare.
"Families who push their daughters into systematic combat training usually come from law enforcement or the judicial system," Dean continued. "Police, prosecutors, judges. They understand Gotham's darkness better than most—and they have the resources to make sure their children can protect themselves."
By now, the librarian's curiosity was fully awakened.
"And why my father?" she asked. "Why narrow it down to the GCPD Commissioner specifically?"
Dean shrugged.
"A friend of mine once mentioned that Commissioner Gordon has a genius daughter. Eighteen years old. Doctorate in library science from Gotham University. The age lines up perfectly."
He smiled. "That makes it you."
This part wasn't a lie. That "friend" was Dick Grayson. They had known each other for years and shared all kinds of information—Dick complained about Gotham's corruption, while Dean occasionally hinted at stranger things.
Commissioner Gordon's daughter had come up once.
Dean just hadn't known she was Batgirl.
"…I see."
The young woman fell silent for a moment, then sighed.
"So you already knew my father was Jim Gordon, and everything before that was just analysis?"
Dean tilted his head. "Why call it nonsense? Did I say anything incorrect?"
She stared at him for a second—then laughed.
"Alright, alright. Your observation skills are terrifying. You should've been a private detective."
She straightened and extended her hand.
"I'm Barbara Gordon. And you are?"
Dean took her hand politely.
"Dean Thurston. A pleasure to meet you, Miss Gordon."
Then—
Snap.
He flicked his fingers.
A pink rose bloomed out of thin air in his palm.
Dean bowed slightly and offered it to her.
"A small gift for our meeting."
Barbara froze for half a second, then accepted the rose with a smile.
"Oh—thank you. You can do magic too?"
Conjuring a rose was a basic trick. Almost every magician knew it.
But doing it well was another matter.
Barbara's eyesight was exceptional. As Batgirl, she could see through most close-up magic instantly. Yet just now—
She hadn't seen anything.
No movement. No misdirection. No method.
She knew the principle. She could even perform the trick herself.
But achieving a result where the technique was completely invisible?
That was nearly impossible.
She looked at Dean again, more carefully this time.
"Now that I think about it… I've heard the name Thurston before."
Her eyes widened slightly.
"Oh. I remember. You're that famous young genius magician."
Then something clicked.
"Wait—Grayson used to talk about you. And you said a friend told you about Commissioner Gordon's daughter…"
She stared straight at him.
"Don't tell me—"
"Yes," Dean said openly. "You guessed right."
He smiled.
"My friend is Dick Grayson."
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