There is no one in Gotham who doesn't recognize Bruce's Baby. After a round of pleasantries, the invigilator's tension regarding driving into a derelict neighborhood vanished, the fully equipped Colt went from being terrifying to looking quite pitiful. The records showed that the examinee was allergic to 175 things, including ultraviolet light, Gotham's air, Gotham's water.. It was said that after years of treatment, the examinee's condition had improved somewhat, but he still needed to stay away from crowds.
After entering the room, Colt took off his hat and mask to perform facial recognition.
The process was very rough. The proctor held the photo submitted during registration, compared it with their own eyes, then signed to confirm the identity of the examinee. Next, they began checking the examination room, the computer being used for the exam, whether the examination software was properly installed, the angle and clarity of the surveillance cameras..
The proctor turned a blind eye to several things, not even turning on the testing equipment. He simply walked around the room once, checking off each item one by one.
No problem.
His father is the lead researcher at Wayne, his friend is Wayne. With Bruce Wayne watching the entire process, the results of the ACT Exam no longer mattered. Not wanting to be cast aside like a pebble, the proctor took the initiative to remind him, "I see the candidate hasn't prepared a calculator; did you forget? There is still time to go get one."
Bruce tapped his own head: "Dr. Reed's child can calculate with this faster than a calculator."
The proctor chuckled.
Gothamites have a phobia of geniuses, but a reclusive, non-verbal, autistic-type genius like this should be quite safe, right?
After half an hour of pre-exam inspection and preparation, the exam began punctually at 8:30.
In theory, two proctors were required to take turns entering the room to supervise, but the proctors used Colt's allergy to human sweat as an excuse to let Colt take the exam alone in the room, supervising him through the surveillance cameras instead.
Front, back, top, side—four surveillance cameras captured everything in the room with perfect clarity, yet the two proctors were not guarding the monitoring equipment.
Bruce brought a bottle of fine wine, they were busy savoring a sip that was worth tens of thousands.
English, Mathematics, Reading, Science—a total of 215 questions. The exam lasted 2 hours and 55 minutes, plus 40 minutes for writing, with two 10-minute breaks in between. The exam did not finish until 12:25. Colt answered the questions mechanically at a rate of one every 30 seconds, while simultaneously building a data model in his mind, calculating the pros and cons of the fourth wall cracking and the coordinates of High-Dimensional Earth being discovered by the Super-Hero Universe.
Reasonably, the answer was 50:50, but reality is not cold, lifeless data; life is not that simple.
Colt finished the exam early, but he didn't submit his answers until the system notified him that there were only five minutes left in the exam, then he walked out of the small testing room.
Delicacies were laid out on the dining table, Alfred, dressed in a tailcoat, was pouring wine, while the two proctors were already halfway drunk.
"Tired from the exam? Come over here and refuel quickly." Bruce waved, taking charge of the situation.
Colt didn't say anything; he first went to the restroom and then went upstairs to see Joseph.
That's just how people with autism are; if Colt had simply waved him over, the invigilator would have suspected the documentation was forged.
Joseph was not yet awake.
Colt skillfully tested his breathing, listened to his heartbeat, scanned his physical condition.
Not dead. There is brainwave activity; he is sleeping.
When Colt went downstairs again, the two proctors had already left. The food on the table remained untouched; only the wine bottles were empty.
Drunk driving!
Bruce seemed to know what Colt was thinking and explained, "Alfred went to see them off, while he was at it, he's handling the content on their phones."
Alfred was already over sixty; seeing this elderly man, who should be retired, constantly running errands like this made Colt feel a pang of guilt.
Colt wrote down in his planning memo that he wanted Alfred to have a healthy body, especially his hair.
Bruce, thank you for coming; the exam went so smoothly today because of you." Colt brewed a cup of coffee for Bruce using a pitch-black Batman mug that read, "You are the best Red Robin.
Bruce clearly loved the mug. He twirled it by the handle, admiring the pattern on it closely, then added a double dose of sugar and three ice cubes before lifting it to blow on the foam and taking a gentle sip.
"How did you do? Can you get a perfect score?" Bruce asked.
That question sounded way too much like something a parent would ask; fortunately, Colt wasn't afraid of being asked about his grades.
"100% completion rate, 99% accuracy, including the essay score, it could theoretically be a perfect score." The reason the accuracy wasn't 100% was because there were subjective questions included. Colt hadn't searched for the correct answers online, so errors might occur.
The sound of a motorcycle echoed from outside.
Timothy rushed in, tossed his backpack onto the sofa, gave Colt a kiss, said good afternoon, then greeted Bruce: "Bruce, thank you for coming to help Colt deal with the proctor."
Bruce rolled his eyes elegantly. "Oh, Tim, I didn't come here because of you. Dr. Reed is very important to the company, I need to resolve all the concerns for the company's precious asset."
"Whatever the reason, you can go back and rest now. You can even sleep at my place," Timothy said, tossing him a set of keys.
Bruce handed the keys back to him, raised his coffee cup, said, "I've got an eight-hour wakefulness buff right now."
Timothy looked at the coffee machine in horror, "You touched him?"
He looked like someone whose boyfriend had been cheated on!
Colt poked Timothy's waist, reminding him to watch his words. Timothy only gave Colt a perfunctory pat on the head before flying over to the coffee machine to check it.
Bruce sipped his coffee contentedly and answered slowly, "No, Colt treated me."
Timothy switched from checking the coffee machine to brewing coffee in an instant, his movements fluid like flowing water, still using the specialized Coffee Elf cup. He sat down elegantly beside Colt with a cup of black coffee, no sugar or milk, straightened his napkin, skillfully sliced steak and peeled lobster meat to serve to Colt, as if the previous interruption had never happened.
"Colt, how did the exam go? Can you get a perfect score?" Timothy asked.
He really is just like Bruce, even the questions he asks haven't changed a single word.
"100% completion rate, 99% accuracy, with the essay score, you could theoretically get a perfect score." Colt's answer was also unchanged, word for word.
"I didn't do too bad myself." Timothy raised his hand to high-five Colt.
The next second, Timothy sat up straight, looking as elegant as if he were attending a formal banquet.
Joseph stumbled out of the bedroom with disheveled hair and unlaced shoes; as he passed through the living room toward the cloakroom, his pace faltered. Joseph took a few steps back, poked his head toward the group in the dining room, asked in confusion, "What are you all talking about?"
"Asking how I did on my exam?" Colt replied.
I actually slept for 24 hours and missed your important exam; remember to wake me up next time." Joseph glanced at the time, muttering to himself. He went to the cloakroom to get some clothes, as he passed through the living room, he raised his voice again: "Mature parents know not to ask about a child's grades. Bruce, this is one of the reasons why your relationship with your child is so strained.
Bruce cleared his throat. "Tim asked too."
"They were checking the answers to improve together. How old are you this year?" Joseph stormed back to the bedroom like an angry rooster.
Colt closed the door and used the monitor brought by Birdie to speak: "Sorry, Bruce. My dad has morning grumpiness; he isn't targeting you on purpose."
A bird's hearing is extremely acute, so the volume on the monitor's built-in speaker was set very low; if Bruce's hearing hadn't been good enough, he almost wouldn't have heard the sentence.
He is targeting me because Batman is making contingency plans for his son.
Bruce stood up and patted Timothy's shoulder: "Go home more often, Alfred will miss you."
Aren't you staying?" Colt looked at Bruce in surprise. "What about Sublevel 3, the plan to supervise me?
"I believe Tim." Bruce also patted Colt's shoulder—well, the shoulder of the holographic avatar, of course. Perhaps to test the avatar's durability, he pressed down a bit harder with his palm.
"I believe you, too," Bruce said.
Colt looked lost when faced with Batman's trust. He lost synchronization with the virtual person, causing the fork originally held in the virtual person's hand to float in the air.
"Colt Reed." Bruce's expression became as serious as Batman's.
"Yes, I am here." Colt hurriedly controlled the virtual avatar to sync with himself, standing straight to face Bruce.
Bruce looked at Colt seriously: "The choice you made ten years ago, which turned you into a Ghost, do you ever regret it?"
Colt answered seriously, "No, if I had to do it all over again, I would make the same choice."
He thought Bruce would reproach him, after all, superheroes always sacrifice themselves and refuse to let others sacrifice themselves, even if that person is their companion.
Colt didn't consider himself to be their companion by any means.
You did one thing wrong.
As expected, Bruce began to criticize.
"If you think you don't belong in this world, that perception needs to be corrected." Bruce took a Batarang out of his pocket and pinned it to Colt's chest.
Welcome to Gotham. You can use this symbol, Ghost.
Colt stared blankly as Bruce walked away.
“Are you so happy you've gone stupid?" Timothy asked, patting Colt's forehead.
Colt looked down at the bat insignia on his chest, but he couldn't see it clearly from this downward angle. He simply disconnected from the holographic projection and floated over to stand shoulder to shoulder with Timothy, carefully admiring the interactive virtual figure wearing a school uniform—a standard white shirt and blue wool vest, with a bat insignia now pinned to the school emblem.
The silver bat did not belong to any member of the Bat Family.
"Tim, is it what I think it is?" Colt stared at the silver Bat, his eyes sparkling, yet he didn't dare to reach out.
Of course, Batman has compassion shame. Him saying 'Welcome to Gotham' is already his limit; we can't expect him to say 'Welcome to the Bat Family'." Timothy gently nudged Colt's shoulder. "Allowing you to use the Bat symbol is his way of acknowledging you. Go on, go pick it up. I believe you can do it.
Colt reached out his hand.
He didn't silently chant, "What belongs to Batman belongs to Red Robin, what belongs to Red Robin belongs to me," yet he still touched the badge.
Colt happily took off the badge and pinned it on himself.
I thought Batman would say 'Get out of my Gotham,' but I didn't expect him to actually welcome me.
Hey," Timothy protested, "Batman hasn't said that to anyone. Batman is very gentle with everyone except criminals. He used to drive us home and give us Bat-butterscotch candies.
I know it's a stereotype; only Superman would say 'Get out of my Metropolis'.
Colt was so happy he felt like he could float. He gave Timothy a kiss, then gave Birdie, who was secretly sipping the dregs of some wine, another kiss, finally lunged toward Joseph, who was walking out of the room having transformed into a respectable member of high society, to give him a kiss as well.
Joseph froze in place.
Since Alisa passed away, he hadn't seen Colt act this lively. The two of them rarely even kissed each other on the cheek, they didn't even hug much.
Colt circled around Joseph, stopped in front of him, showed him the badge on his chest.
“Daddy, look, the silver bat Batman gave me.”
Joseph's expression soured instantly: "You have half a wall of Batarangs upstairs."
"It's different. Batman gave this to me personally, he welcomed me to Gotham," Colt said, blissfully stroking the badge.
"You were born in Gotham, so why do you need him to welcome you? Is he the Mayor of Gotham? Or the King of Gotham? I'm going to resign and move next door; Luthor will welcome me to Metropolis." Joseph's tone was sour.
Colt wanted to say more, but Timothy shouted from the side, "Colt, the food is getting cold, it won't taste good."
Stop talking! If you keep this up, the chief researcher of Wayne Enterprises is really going to quit!
Timothy was well-informed; Bruce would get jealous of Jason's foster father every now and then, he would even get jealous of villains who were close to Jason, such as Black Mask, Two-Face, even Deathstroke. Given Joseph's current state, he was clearly jealous of Bruce!
Colt's excitement showed no signs of waning as he went to the kitchen, brought out the porridge that had been kept warm since this morning, placed it in front of Joseph. "Dad, you've slept for too long without eating anything. You shouldn't eat anything raw, cold, or greasy. Eat this."
Tim also busily took some minced lobster meat and put it in the porridge, "Adding a bit of this will make it taste much better."
Birdie looked at Colt, then at Timothy, then dropped a grape into Joseph's porridge bowl.
Joseph's darkened face turned pale again, he sat down to eat his porridge with satisfaction.
..
"Where are you guys going to play this afternoon?" Joseph put down his spoon.