Colt found it difficult to decide.
Timothy took time off from Bruce and decided to start attending school seriously starting today.
Today's breakfast at the Wayne household consisted of cucumber sandwiches and milk; if Bruce could sit at the dining table, there might have also been vegetable juice.
Several kids who needed to attend class yawned, exchanging glances: exactly who was the one who had offended Alfred?
Damian was seriously cutting his sandwich with a knife and fork, refusing to make eye contact with Stephanie.
It wasn't him.
Although he broke the vase in the hallway last night, he had already cleaned it up and summoned Jonathan overnight, returning the fake to its original place before dawn. Pennyworth shouldn't have noticed.
Duke shrank his neck away from Stephanie's interrogating gaze.
He took his gear upstairs again.
Last night he had left his helmet in the study, but this morning he found the helmet by his bedside, with the [Gear Mess Can] sitting right next to it. He had already tossed a tenth of this week's allowance into the can; Alfred wouldn't punish him twice for the same mistake, it wasn't him.
Timothy downed his milk in one gulp, swung his backpack onto his shoulders, walked out in a trance.
He had accidentally pulled another all-nighter. When he went downstairs at five-thirty to make coffee, he was caught by Alfred, but he wouldn't admit that Alfred's bad mood was because of him.
Wait," Duke said, hurriedly stuffing a sandwich into his mouth, "Tim, I'll drive you.
I'm driving myself today." Timothy paused, then pulled a card from his pocket and slapped it against Duke's chest. "Take this. You don't need to report anything to me if it's under a hundred thousand.
"Tim.." Duke was so moved he was almost in tears.
Damian clicked his tongue in disdain, "Tsk."
Timmy," Stephanie said, hooking her arm around Timothy's neck, "you've been staying up late again, still investigating that invisible friend? Cassandra and I will help you look for him today!
"You guys have graduated," Timothy said, changing the subject.
We're not using the front door," Stephanie said, raising her hand. "Come on, Holmes Detective Agency, assemble once again!
Timothy looked at Cassandra.
The girl stepped forward and took Timothy by the arm.
Colt skipped class.
It wasn't that he wasn't mentally prepared to face Timothy, but rather that Beacon had sent money to the Ghost account, his upgrade plan for the flying boots wasn't finished yet.
Beacon, who only sends five dollars every week, actually sent him money!
Beacon said his third brother gave him a card!
The older brother gave his younger brother a secondary card; all small transfers under one hundred thousand are exempt from password authentication!
One hundred thousand is considered a small amount? Is that even humanly possible?
The third child of the Wayne family is Timothy Drake.
Colt moved the Beacon from the [Beggar] list to the [Benefactor] list, prepared three upgrade schemes for the Flying Skateboard, sent them to the Benefactor immediately, then got up to eat lunch.
[Rustle, rustle..]
Colt took off his hearing aid, the world instantly became silent, yet the remaining rustling sound could not be ignored.
The Dream Messenger flapped its wings with all its might to push the progress bar forward: 【91↓, just a nap, I'll just take a quick nap ZZZ..】
Timothy is sleeping.
It is now 12:53. It is a midday nap; he will wake up in at most half an hour.
Colt had been deceived too many times, so he reminded himself not to get his hopes up, lest he be disappointed later.
He spent some time idling on the Vigilante Forum.
There was no news from the Armory; an insider revealed that Red Hood had a crash while riding his flying motorcycle last night.
Colt suspected that while modifying the flying motorcycle, he had added some eccentric ideas and was subsequently beaten up by the victim, which was why he had no time to make contact.
Only five minutes had passed after he finished scrolling through the posts on the Vigilante Forum.
Timothy is not yet awake.
Colt took out the homework Tony had handed in, only to find that he had misplaced the decimal point twice within three minutes, had even written a 6 instead of a 9 once.
He pulled up the translation account he used for his previous foreign language homework. Having done too many science-related translation orders online, he wanted to do some liberal arts topics to clear his head and make a little extra money at the same time.
13:30. Half an hour had passed, Timothy still hadn't woken up.
The client requested a Russian paper be translated into English, but Colt accidentally translated it into Chinese; it was only when the system reported an error that he realized something was wrong.
Colt stopped the work that required mental effort and instead assembled a slingshot that could double as a pen, using chalk as ammunition to drive away the fox approaching the bird feeder.
14:40, Timothy was still asleep.
Colt manipulated the unmanned lawnmower to flatten the lawn, controlled the robot to trim the shrubs, even brought out a laser emitter to prune the branches.. Finally, he took out the steak to defrost and marinate it, preparing to pan-fry it for dinner tonight.
Another hour passed.
The diligent Dream Messenger had already flown three-quarters of the way, Colt felt as though he could finally see hope.
At 15:50, Colt was combing Birdie's fur while searching for second-hand cameras online.
The assignment for the art photography class was to take photos, the teacher suggested that students who could afford it use professional cameras that required film developing.
Colt had just received payment for the Beacon and design fees, leaving him with a bit of extra cash, so he picked the Metropolis CK reporter who was selling a surplus camera.
The well-maintained, 70% new professional camera had a configuration that was somewhat outdated for a journalist, but it would certainly be fine for a student. The important thing was that the CK reporter was a resident of Metropolis and was willing to deliver it to the door, making him much more trustworthy than the people of Gotham.
Before placing the order, Colt conducted a background check on Mr. CK, following Gotham customs.
Background checks are very important.
Colt was simply too trusting of Timothy Drake's ability to sleep anywhere, failing to conduct a proper background check. Only after they were linked did he realize that Timothy slept anywhere because he didn't sleep at night, leaving him with no choice but to sleep haphazardly during the day!
The information the reporter CK left online was extremely detailed, perfectly fitting the stereotypical impressions Gothamites have of people from Metropolis.
Clark Kent, a Metropolis Daily Planet reporter, last year's Pulitzer Prize winner, one of Superman's personal reporters, someone who has conducted one, two, three, four, or five exclusive interviews with Wayne..
Real name, address, he even uploaded his work ID!
Tsk, the people of Metropolis are as naive as Superman.
Except for Lex Luthor.
Colt casually scrolled through Clark's social media accounts and then browsed Clark's column in Metropolis.
He sent a private message to Clark in the tone of a student, expressing his love for photography, his anticipation and longing for a professional camera, sincerely requesting a week to raise the funds.
Colt was just bargaining out of habit, but the naive Metropolis citizen fell for it far too easily.
Clark Kent stated that he wouldn't charge Colt a deposit and was even willing to hold the camera for him for a week.
He is truly a Superman-like angel; a person like this would be swindled out of everything in Gotham.
Colt couldn't help but feel pity for Clark, understanding why Wayne was willing to give him an exclusive interview, why Timothy was also willing to give him an exclusive interview.
Rare good people deserve to be protected.
Clark is not only a good person, but also a lucky angel.
16:20, the Dream Messenger was only a short distance from the finish line, Timothy was still sleeping.
The chance to clear the shopping cart seemed to be right before his eyes, Colt could no longer sit still.
Where is Timothy?
He is going to protect Timothy's sleep!
Author's Note:
----------------------
Chapter 15
On the Gotham High celebrity section of the school forum, Timothy Drake's post, "[Young Master Wayne is attending class today]," was trending with a small flame icon.
Colt looked at his shopping cart with over 99 items, put Birdie aside, stepped onto his well-maintained Flying Skateboard, accelerating to a speed of 280 mph to reach the school in two minutes.
Timothy this afternoon
The first session was meditation class, but he wasn't in the meditation classroom.
Colt searched through every location where a Slumber Sprite might easily spawn, finally finding Timothy napping on a sofa in a private study room on the fifth floor of the library, with two girls also in the room.
Golden heads pressed against black heads, squeezed by the window, each holding a telescope, observing the small grove downstairs, looking at something with such intense interest.
Timothy lay on the sofa with a pillow in his arms, his head resting on a laptop bag, sleeping as if he were dead.
Colt stared at Timothy's chest.
He's breathing.
Not dead!
Colt breathed a sigh of relief and sat on his Flying Skateboard, waiting.
Colt had left in such a rush that he forgot his backpack and didn't bring his tablet or phone; he looked boredly at the exam paper spread out beside him.
The math exam paper had Timothy Drake's name written on it. Not a single question had been answered; instead, a Halloween Ghost was drawn in the blank space, its eyes colored violet with colored pencils.
Colt touched his eyes.
He remembered that his eye color was violet.
So, Timothy can really see him?
Colt looked at the sleeping Timothy, then at the girls who were absorbed in observing the small grove.
Clearly, for the girls, visible gossip was far more interesting than an invisible Ghost.
The first week of school is recruitment season, with no after-school club activities, the small grove behind the library serves as a popular dating spot, even more bustling than usual.
The image in the telescope changed from a premium cable channel to a prime-time soap opera.