After speaking, Lance turned and left without hesitation. He had no interest in spending a perfectly good evening staring at another man.
He had not come to Gotham's East End in the middle of the night for entertainment, nor just to test his newly acquired toy.
If all he wanted was to test his combat skills, he could have gone to a boxing club on the Upper West Side, instead of stepping into a place where even police patrol cars only entered in pairs.
That would go against his survival principles.
The real reason he was here was to find something useful.
Given that he could be thrown back into the Marvel universe at any moment, and that both New York, the center of everything, and Gotham were equally dangerous, there was little difference between them.
So Lance intended to learn from Gotham's criminals, preferably by acquiring some local specialties, such as gas bombs, fear gas, or something similar.
Unfortunately, after wandering for an hour, he had not encountered a single worthwhile target.
With weather like this, even criminals preferred to stay indoors. Very Gotham.
Just as he was about to leave, he ran into Batman again.
The man clearly had a talent for getting himself into trouble.
The figure lying in front of Lance now had been active half an hour ago, but was now curled up in a corner, struggling to breathe.
In other words, Batman, who had just wiped out a gang hideout, had been stabbed.
The one who stabbed him was a boy who looked no older than ten.
As for how Lance knew this so clearly, it was because he had been watching from nearby when it happened.
As for why he had not stepped in to help?
He was a lawyer, not a superhero, and he had no intention of risking his life for anyone else.
Expecting an extreme egoist to step in? You might as well believe the American Dream would fall into your lap.
Only after the boy ran off with the blood-stained switchblade did Lance stroll into the alley, thick with the smell of blood and rain.
He held a black umbrella in his left hand and used his cane in his right for support as he slowly crouched in front of Batman.
The tilted canopy shielded the man from the rain.
"We meet again," Lance said. "By social etiquette, the next time we meet, I should be inviting you to dinner."
Batman sat slumped against the corner, his right hand pressed tightly against his side. Blood seeped through his fingers, mixing with the rain and staining the ground.
He showed no reaction to Lance's tone. Even his breathing remained steady.
"What happened? Reality hit too hard?" Lance looked him over. "This doesn't seem like your style, Mr. Wayne."
Based on Bruce's earlier behavior, hearing his identity exposed should have provoked a reaction. At the very least, he would have been thinking of ways to silence him.
But now, perhaps after taking enough blows for one night, he simply looked up at Lance and remained where he was.
"You saw everything?" he asked.
"What exactly do you mean?" Lance replied. "The destruction of a small gang tonight, or the part where you kindly told someone to leave and got stabbed by a boy who barely reaches your waist?"
The rain filled the silence.
"Heh~ If that's what you're asking about," Lance shrugged, "then I saw nothing."
"Do you need me to call an ambulance?" Lance asked.
"Urg.." Batman did not answer. He tried to stand, but the moment he moved, a suppressed groan escaped him, and fresh blood seeped from the wound.
"Seems unnecessary," Lance said as he stood. The umbrella shifted back to cover his own head.
"Then do you need a lawyer? Criminal assault, juvenile delinquency, excessive force… oh, sorry. This isn't self-defense. It's trespassing and intentional assault."
"..."
He looked down at Batman's tightly pressed lips and suddenly laughed.
"Just kidding. Why do you lose your sense of humor the moment you put on that suit? Split personality?"
"Why?" Batman asked suddenly.
"What?"
Batman looked toward the direction the boy had run.
"You mean…" Lance caught on and raised his voice in exaggerated disbelief.
"My God, are you serious? Making people guess every sentence is a bad habit. It will cause you trouble sooner or later."
"As for why he did it?" Lance shook his head. "Even an outsider like me can see it. They're not gang members, but they survive by relying on the gang."
"Relying on?" Batman's voice sharpened, disbelief clear. "Those scum extort even a child. How could he…"
"That's not extortion," Lance cut in. "That's protection money. Just like when I work for you, you pay me. The gang takes the money and offers protection, even if that protection is paper thin. And what you did tonight was tear that paper apart."
"He could go to the police…" Batman trailed off, as if realizing how hollow that sounded.
"The police, huh?" Lance let out a cold laugh, tapping the wet ground with his cane. "Look at you, then look at me. This is a place the police only enter in groups. Justice doesn't reach here. Don't you understand yet, Wayne? The only ones he can rely on are the gangs. Without that protection, a child like him in a place like this will be devoured until nothing is left."
Silence spread beneath the sound of rain.
"So…" Batman's voice carried a trace of confusion. "You think I was wrong?"
Unexpectedly, Lance immediately denied it.
"No, of course not," he said. "Your idea was right. Your method was wrong. You're from Gotham, but you clearly don't understand this city well enough. At least not what lies beneath the shadows."
"So I'm being stupid?"
"No." Lance took a clean handkerchief from his inner pocket and handed it over. "Acts of justice should never be called stupid. Even flawed justice is far better than polished indifference, right?"
"Heck, even someone as ordinary and self-serving as me wouldn't bear ill will toward a hero who practices justice. I may never become that kind of person…"
He paused as rain drummed steadily against the umbrella.
"But this world needs superheroes."
He looked down at Batman. Though he could not clearly see his eyes, he could feel the turmoil beneath the surface.
Confusion. Pain. A fire that refused to die.
Batman was born from a desire for revenge, but in becoming Batman, hatred could not be everything.
That was where his true appeal lay. Extreme contradictions, the coexistence of good and evil, held in a fragile balance.
The struggle, the tension, the refusal to fall even while standing at the edge of the abyss. That was what made him compelling.
"Then what should I do?" Batman asked.
"That's something you have to figure out yourself. My job ends at collecting the final payment."
Lance took a few steps, then stopped.
His umbrella tilted slightly, revealing Gotham's perpetually overcast sky.
Rain fell from the heavy clouds, like endless tears.
"My advice is this…" he said without turning back. "Start by understanding Gotham. Not through newspapers, not through stories told in the wealthy districts, but through these alleys."
He turned, extended a hand toward Batman, and made a small inviting gesture.
"Welcome to the real Gotham, Mr. Wayne."