Chapter 80 – Sentence Served, Freedom Earned!

2:00 PM — Leo had a light Cantonese-style tea set, savoring the nostalgic flavors of home.

4:00 PM — Pre-dinner dessert: all-natural, handcrafted cream slush. One bite in the summer heat—divine.

6:00 PM — Time for dinner with Gotham's richest man, plus a round of storytime.

"I don't know who killed your parents. After confirming your identity, I just looked up some filler dialogue online."

"I don't know the Joker's real identity either. I've collected over a dozen origin stories, and they all came from the Joker himself."

"As for that grand conspiracy hanging over Gotham—check out your local nursery rhymes. The kind used to scare kids. That's all I'll say. I don't want to get dragged into your mess."

Leo was indeed interested in the diluted Dionysium and amber-gold compound under the Court of Owls' control.

But he understood one thing clearly—only take on what your strength allows.

He was still too weak, barely able to protect himself. Getting involved with a cabal of murder-happy lunatics would be suicidal.

Bruce paused with his fork mid-air. He instantly picked out several key phrases.

Spooky nursery rhyme.
Local Gotham folklore.
"Your mess."

It had to be the Court of Owls.

A rumored elite society that only accepted old Gotham families. No immigrants allowed.

He had chased that lead himself as a child—found nothing. Thought it was fake.

Now someone else brought it up...

Bruce stared at Leo. This supposed time traveler was hiding a lot, but didn't seem like the type to talk nonsense.

He took a slow sip of tea and made a mental note: time to dig again. He was stronger now, smarter—and this time, he'd stay under the radar.

It only took seconds to piece things together and plan next steps.

He then casually said,

"You know, a good lie is 90% truth and 10% fiction. But your story? Even saying 50% truth would be generous."

Leo looked up from his plate, smiling as he gnawed on pork knuckle skin.

"Maybe. You figure it out."

If Bruce loved thinking, then let him think.

Leo had given just enough—half-truths, half-hints—to keep him up all night.

He wouldn't let Leo leave? Then fine. Let's play mind games.

And if it came down to it... he still had his "Rachel Technique"—an arsenal of verbal nukes starting with her name.

He'd watched the news earlier that day: Rachel and Harvey appeared at a press conference together, vowing to catch Gotham's most notorious criminal—the Joker.

He wondered if Bruce had seen it.

As the tense dinner came to an end, Leo pettily forwarded the news article to the burner contact on Bruce's private phone—and strolled away like a champ.

Bruce watched him disappear into the elevator. Then turned to the chaos left behind on Leo's dinner plate.

He prodded at it with his fork.
Cleaned to the bone.
Leftover veggies untouched.

Combining that with Leo's test results, Bruce made a few conclusions:

The world he came from likely suffered a severe food shortage, especially for real meat.

Some of the trace elements in Leo's waste samples pointed to highly engineered, synthetic food substitutes—aka "techno-guts."

High-tech world. Poor living conditions. Possibly post-apocalyptic.

If it really was a future Earth, then… was it a nuclear war? Climate collapse?

And what if they developed mass traversal tech? What if they tried to invade this resource-rich timeline?

He needed countermeasures. Fast.

"Master Bruce…"

"Master Bruce?"

Snapped out of thought, Bruce turned to see Alfred.

"Sir, Mr. Leo sent over a news article."

"Let me see."

They had an agreement: No direct contact with Leo. Bruce would only communicate via a special phone that Alfred managed—completely isolated from sensitive equipment.

He looked at the phone.

Rachel and Harvey in a photo, looking very cozy.

"...I've seen it. No need for a second look."

"Should I ignore anything like this in the future?"

"No. Don't change the protocol. Anything he sends—I need to see."

Draining his bitter tea, Bruce stood up and headed for the lab.

Alfred hesitated, then pointed downward:

"From my interactions with Mr. Leo… I don't believe he means any harm."

Bruce nodded.

"Neither do I. I just prefer to be prepared."

Leo's passive-aggressive games? Barely a blip.

He wasn't good with people. Wore his emotions on his sleeve.
Classic awkward tech guy.

His behavior matched his age and brain scan data.
Nothing alarming about the person.

But that interdimensional ability?

That was a threat.

Back in his suite, Leo felt like he'd returned to his good old shut-in lifestyle.

Phone in hand. Laptop on lap. If not for his chat group, he'd be bored to death.

He browsed the web, catching up on this world's computer tech and common programming languages.

Later that night, he ate a fruit parfait as dessert and chatted privately with V.

Another day, done.

Day Three: Eat. Drink. Game.

Day Four: Eat. Drink. Game.

Day Five: Eat. Drink—but not much game. Because…

His DNA sequencing results finally arrived!

Using PCR testing, Leo was declared a pure-blooded Earth human.

He had officially retained the right to say:

"Proud to be born human!"

He got the news mid-bite—chowing down on a self-made American burger:

Two slabs of seared foie gras for buns, stuffed with some fancy fish roe he couldn't even name.

Excessive? Absolutely. But glorious.

Bruce was paying anyway. Might as well eat to his heart's content.

"Keep eating like that and you'll be obese with high blood pressure,"

Said Leslie, joining them for lunch.

She frowned at the mountain of glistening calories on Leo's plate.

Then looked down at her sad, half-dressed salad, begrudgingly healthy.

She briefly considered throwing the plate across the room.

Leo, busy stuffing his face, didn't hear a word.

It wasn't until dessert that it finally hit him—

"Wait… I'm free now!?"

"You can't go out alone. I'll assign someone to accompany you," Bruce replied coolly.

"That's fine! I've been cooped up for three days—I thought I came to Gotham for vacation!"

Leo stood up, stretching and shaking out his limbs.

He was radiant with life.