Chapter Text
𝖦𝖮𝖳𝖧𝖠𝖬 𝖢𝖨𝖳𝖸 was never the kind of place people dreamed of moving to.
Its reputation as the 'Crime City' clung to every alleyway and rooftop like a permanent shadow, whispered about in hushed tones by outsiders who only knew it through headlines and horror stories. Yet for Jiwon, Gotham had become something more than a city of fear—it had become a turning point, a place that reshaped her life in ways Seoul never could.
She had arrived three years ago, cast aside by her wealthy but indifferent parents, who shipped her overseas to live with her grandmother.
At first, the transition was brutal.
The loneliness pressed down on her chest, and the city's chaos only amplified her depression. She would sit by the window at night, staring at the jagged skyline, whispering to herself, "내가 여기서 도대체 뭘 하고 있는 거지?..." (𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝗆 𝖨 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝖽𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾?..) Her voice trembled, swallowed by the hum of sirens in the distance.
Her grandmother, however, a resilient woman with silver hair and a sharp wit, refused to let Gotham swallow Jiwon whole. "너는 네가 생각하는 것보다 더 강해." (𝖸𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄.) she would say, her tone firm yet warm, as she set down steaming bowls of soup on the worn kitchen table.
Slowly, patiently, she chipped away at the walls Jiwon had built around herself, reminding her that even in a city of shadows, light could be found. Jiwon often found herself smiling despite the heaviness in her chest, her grandmother's laughter cutting through the gloom like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.
Life in Gotham was unforgiving.
Jiwon endured bullying at school, theft in the streets, and even moments where her life hung by a thread. Yet, paradoxically, she felt more alive here than she ever had in Korea.
Gotham demanded strength, and in answering that demand, she discovered parts of herself she never knew existed.
Her grandmother's two-story apartment, worn but sturdy, became her sanctuary. Attached to it was the heart of their livelihood: a rundown bookstore that smelled of dust, ink, and forgotten stories.
The bookstore was small, tucked away on a quiet street, but its shelves brimmed with rare and expensive literature-treasures hidden in plain sight.
Jiwon, though only seventeen, had taken over its management when her grandmother's health began to falter. She spent her days organizing shelves, cataloging titles, and losing herself in the worlds between pages. The store wasn't profitable, but neither she nor her grandmother cared. Safety mattered more than sales, and in Gotham, safety was priceless.
Their unlikely guardian was Haneul, a massive orange Maine Coon whose piercing eyes and lion-like mane intimidated even the boldest troublemakers.
Very few customers often joked that the cat was the true owner of the store, and Jiwon secretly agreed. Haneul's presence was a shield, a silent sentinel that kept danger at bay. When the bell above the door jingled, it was often Haneul's low growl that decided whether the visitor stayed or fled.
There was also a class system here in Gotham, one that revealed itself in stark, unforgiving contrasts. For all its reputation as a city drowning in crime, Gotham was paradoxically home to the wealthy—truly wealthy, the kind whose fortunes seemed untouchable even by the city's chaos.
Towering penthouses glittered like constellations above crumbling tenements, their glass facades catching the faint glow of streetlamps that flickered and buzzed below. Luxury cars glided past cracked curbs, their engines purring like predators, while broken neon signs sputtered weakly in the dark. To Jiwon, it was a culture shock unlike anything she had known in Seoul.
She remembered one particular afternoon when she and her grandmother had set out with simple intentions—to browse the market stalls, to wander among the noise and color of Gotham's working‑class streets. Yet their path carried them farther than expected, and they drifted into the richer side of the city.
The transformation was immediate, almost theatrical in its precision. The cracked sidewalks gave way to polished stone that gleamed under the sun, as though scrubbed clean of Gotham's grime. The air, once heavy with smoke and gasoline, now carried faint notes of expensive perfume, a fragrance that seemed to hover like an invisible veil. The people moved with detached elegance, their designer coats brushing past without acknowledgment, their eyes fixed ahead as if the world around them were beneath notice. Jiwon felt herself shrink in their presence, her steps faltering as the weight of the contrast pressed down on her.
The lesson lingered in her mind: wealth did not soften Gotham's edges, nor did it erase the city's cruelty. It only disguised it beneath polished surfaces and perfumed air.
What unsettled her even more was how often Gotham's heroes—the ones the internet and media collectively called the 𝐁𝐚𝐭𝐅𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲—were seen patrolling these streets. Their presence was not occasional but rhythmic, woven into the pulse of the city itself.
Their silhouettes carved themselves against the skyline, capes unfurling like banners in the wind, movements precise and deliberate. Each figure became part of Gotham's nocturnal heartbeat, a reminder that even in the wealthiest districts, danger prowled unseen. Jiwon would pause in her steps, her breath catching as she tilted her head upward, eyes tracing the shadow of a vigilante leaping across rooftops. Her chest tightened, not with fear but with a fragile sense of reassurance. In a city where survival often felt like a gamble, knowing that masked figures watched from above gave her a comfort she could not explain.
Her grandmother, however, carried her own quiet preference. She particularly admired Nightwing, the hero who occasionally visits this city, drawn to the way he balanced discipline with warmth, his acrobat's grace tempered by a soldier's resolve.
On nights when his figure appeared against the moonlit sky, her grandmother's gaze would linger, her lips parting in a faint smile. She would lean forward slightly, eyes narrowing as though memorizing the way he moved, the way he seemed to embody both strength and compassion.
"He's not just fighting," she once told Jiwon, her eyes following the acrobat's figure as he disappeared into the night. "He's protecting. There's a difference." Jiwon never forgot that distinction.
For Jiwon, the BatFamily became more than distant legends whispered about in newsfeeds or online forums. They were woven into the fabric of her daily existence, their presence a strange comfort that softened the city's edges. Each glimpse of a cape or shadow was proof that Gotham, for all its darkness, still had guardians who refused to abandon it. And in that realization, Jiwon found a quiet kinship. She too had chosen to stay, to endure, to carve out a fragile life in a city that demanded resilience from everyone who dared to call it home.
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The morning light in Gotham was never gentle. It crept through the blinds in fractured stripes, painting Jiwon's small bedroom with uneven strokes of gold and grey. Outside, the city was already alive—the distant wail of sirens rising and falling like a mournful chorus, the heavy rumble of buses grinding along cracked streets, and the sharp chatter of neighbors arguing, their voices carrying upward with the raw edge of impatience.
Jiwon stirred beneath her blanket, her lashes fluttering as she blinked against the fractured light. She sat up slowly, shoulders slumping forward, and rubbed the sleep from her eyes with the heel of her palm. For a moment she simply listened, waiting for the familiar rhythm of her grandmother moving about in the kitchen—the soft shuffle of slippers, the clink of utensils, the faint hum of a tune that always seemed to anchor the morning.
Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she winced at the cool bite of the wooden floor against her bare feet. She reached for the worn cardigan draped over her chair, slipping into its warmth with a sigh, then slid her glasses onto the bridge of her nose.
On the windowsill, Haneul stretched with deliberate laziness, his massive body unfurling like a lion waking from slumber. His tail flicked once, twice, a silent reminder that he had been awake long before her, already surveying the city with golden eyes that gleamed in the fractured light.
Heading out from her room. Jiwon padded softly across the hallway, her steps careful, the boards creaking faintly beneath her weight. As she entered the kitchen, the aroma of rice and soup greeted her, curling through the air like a gentle veil.
Her grandmother stood by the stove, silver hair catching the glow of morning as she stirred a pot with steady hands. The steam rose in delicate spirals, and her humming carried a note of quiet resilience, a melody that seemed to push back against Gotham's harshness.
Jiwon leaned in, pressing a kiss to her grandmother's cheek. The gesture was ritual, a small act of devotion that always earned her a warm smile and a playful pat on the hand. Her grandmother's eyes softened, the corners crinkling with affection, before she turned back to the simmering pot.
Together, they began setting the table. Jiwon moved with practiced ease, laying out bowls and chopsticks, the porcelain clinking lightly against the worn wood. The sound filled the quiet space, a rhythm of domesticity that contrasted sharply with the chaos outside their walls.
Her grandmother moved slowly but steadily, arranging side dishes with care. Kimchi bright and fiery, seasoned spinach deep green, pickled radish pale and crisp. Each plate added a splash of color to the table.
Before sitting down, Jiwon crouched by Haneul's corner. The Maine Coon was already waiting, tail flicking with impatience, his golden eyes fixed on her with an intensity that bordered on imperious. He seemed to radiate expectation, as if silently declaring that breakfast was long overdue.
Jiwon chuckled softly, shaking her head, and poured food into his bowl. The cat bent his head immediately, crunching with satisfaction, the sound sharp and steady in the quiet room. She reached out, fingers sinking into his thick fur, giving him a quick scratch before rising again.
She wandered over to the small cabinet where the remote was kept, fingertips brushing against its surface before curling around the familiar shape. The plastic buttons were worn smooth from years of use, a testament to countless mornings.
With a click, the television flickered to life, the screen glowing faintly before bursting into motion. Anchors spoke in hurried tones, Gotham's jagged skyline flashing behind them, their voices carrying urgency that seemed to seep into the walls. The hum of the broadcast filled the kitchen, blending seamlessly with the soft clatter of dishes and the faint bubbling of soup simmering on the stove.
Returning to the dining table, Jiwon slid into her seat, the chair legs scraping lightly against the floor. Her grandmother moved with practiced grace, ladling steaming bowls of 𝗆𝗂𝗒𝖾𝗈𝗄𝗀𝗎𝗄, the savory scent of seaweed and broth rising like a comforting embrace. The aroma wrapped around Jiwon, grounding her in familiarity. She lifted her spoon, tasted the soup, and her lips curved into a smile.
"할머니, 미역국은 항상 정말 맛있어요. "(𝖦𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗆𝖺, 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗐𝖾𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝗈𝗎𝗉 𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖽𝖾𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌) she said warmly, her voice carrying both affection and gratitude. Her grandmother chuckled, the sound rich and unhurried, brushing off the compliment with a modest wave of her hand. Though her eyes softened with pride.
Jiwon ate slowly, savoring each bite, her spoon rising and falling in a rhythm that matched the quiet cadence of the kitchen. One ear remained tuned to the television, catching fragments of Gotham's unrest—another robbery downtown, Spoiler and The Signal sighted near the Narrows, murmurs of rising tensions that hinted at storms yet to come. Yet here, at the table, there was a fragile peace: the steady rhythm of her grandmother's spoon against porcelain, the crunch of Haneul's breakfast in the corner, and the warmth of soup that tasted like home.
Her grandmother broke the silence with a gentle reminder, her voice carrying warmth as she spooned another bite of 𝗀𝗒𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗇 𝖻𝖺𝗉 into Jiwon's bowl. "그래서 너는 드디어 다음 주에 대학교를 시작하겠구나." (𝖲𝗈, 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗅𝗅 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗎𝗇𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗄.) she said, the steam rising from the rice and egg in delicate curls, carrying the nutty scent of sesame oil through the kitchen.
Jiwon paused mid‑bite, her chopsticks hovering in the air. She swallowed slowly, then nodded, trying to sound confident though her voice carried a faint tremor.
"네, 그래요." (𝖸𝖾𝗌, 𝖨 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅) she replied, her lips curving into a small smile that didn't quite mask her nerves.
Her grandmother hummed approvingly, the sound low and steady, a blend of pride and worry that lingered in the air. She returned to her meal with deliberate calm, her movements unhurried, as though savoring both the food and the moment.
Then came the question that nearly made Jiwon choke. Her grandmother's tone shifted, light and teasing, as she asked. "드디어 남자친구도 생기겠니?" (𝖶𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝖻𝗈𝗒𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽?)
Jiwon coughed, eyes widening as she thumped her chest lightly with her fist. "할머니!" (𝖦𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗆𝖺!) she whined, cheeks flushing pink as she set her chopsticks down with a clatter. Her voice rose in protest, carrying both embarrassment and disbelief.
Her grandmother only shrugged, feigning innocence as she reached down to scratch Haneul's ears. The Maine Coon, having finished his breakfast, padded over with regal confidence, nuzzling against her leg with a satisfied purr.
She huffed softly, though the twinkle in her eyes betrayed her amusement. "뭐? 네가 친구도 없는 것 같으니까 남자친구라도 있나 물어보는 거지."(𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍? 𝖨 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌, 𝗌𝗈 𝖨 𝗆𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝗐𝖾𝗅𝗅 𝖺𝗌𝗄 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖺 𝖻𝗈𝗒𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽.) she said, her tone playful, her lips twitching with suppressed laughter.
Jiwon groaned, burying her face in her hands, her voice muffled as she muttered. "저를 창피하게 하시잖아요." (𝖸𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝖾𝗆𝖻𝖺𝗋𝗋𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗆𝖾.)
Her grandmother chuckled, setting her spoon down with deliberate calm, the sound rich and unhurried. "널 창피하게 하는 게 내 일이야," (𝖤𝗆𝖻𝖺𝗋𝗋𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝗒 𝗃𝗈𝖻,) she replied, her words carrying a mischievous lilt. "게다가 이제 열일곱 살이잖니. 나랑 그 고양이 말고도 다른 누군가가 네 곁에 있어야 하지 않겠니? (𝖡𝖾𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗌, 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗇𝗈𝗐. 𝖣𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖾𝗅𝗌𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗌 𝗆𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖼𝖺𝗍 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝖺𝗇𝗒?)
Jiwon peeked through her fingers, glaring at her grandmother with narrowed eyes, though the flush on her cheeks betrayed her flustered state. Her grandmother only smiled sweetly in return, her expression serene.
Haneul, sensing the tension in the air, leapt gracefully onto the chair beside Jiwon. His paws landed with a soft thud, and he pressed his head insistently against her arm, mane brushing against her sleeve as though declaring his allegiance. Jiwon scratched his chin gratefully, her lips curving into a small smile, "적어도 네 편이잖아"(𝖠𝗍 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝗆𝗒 𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾.) she whispered, her voice low and conspiratorial.
Her grandmother rolled her eyes playfully at the display, the corners of her mouth twitching with amusement, before taking another deliberate bite of 𝗀𝗒𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗇 𝖻𝖺𝗉.
She chewed slowly, swallowed, and then spoke with that mix of affection and stubbornness only grandmothers could master. "나는 너를 위해서만 걱정하는 거야," (𝖨 𝖺𝗆 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎,) she huffed, her spoon tapping lightly against the rim of her bowl. "나 이제 일흔한 살인데, 죽기 전에 네가 다른 사람이랑 어울리는 걸 한 번이라도 보고 싶구나!"(𝖨'𝗆 𝖺𝗅𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗒 𝗌𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗒-𝗈𝗇𝖾, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖨 𝖺𝗍 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖨 𝖽𝗂𝖾!)
Jiwon frowned, her chopsticks pausing mid‑air, the bite of rice suspended between hesitation and protest. "할머니! 그런 말씀 하지 마세요, 아직 건강하시잖아요!" (𝖦𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗆𝖺! 𝖣𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖺𝗄 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍, 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗀𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗀!) she scolded, her tone sharp but her eyes soft with worry. The words tumbled out quickly, her voice carrying both reprimand and tenderness. Her grandmother only huffed again, waving her spoon dismissively, the gesture brisk and unbothered.
"너는 지금 누군가를 만날 나이의 절정이야! 내가 네 할아버지를 만났을 때—"(𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖾𝖺𝗄 𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗈𝗇𝖾! 𝖶𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝖨 𝗆𝖾𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖽𝖿𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋—) she began, her voice slipping into the familiar rhythm of a ramble, the kind of story that had been told and retold until it became part of her daily morning.
Jiwon sighed, shoulders slumping, tuning out the tale she had heard countless times before. She sped up her eating, shoveling rice and egg into her mouth with quiet determination, her movements quick and purposeful, hoping to escape before the lecture grew longer.
Standing with her bowl, she took one last bite before heading to the kitchen sink. The clatter of porcelain against metal echoed sharply as she rinsed it quickly, her grandmother's voice still carrying on in the background, weaving memories into the air.
"이제 가게에 다녀올게요, 할머니." (𝖨'𝗅𝗅 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗉 𝗇𝗈𝗐, 𝖦𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗆𝖺.) Jiwon announced, wiping her hands on a towel. She leaned down, pressing another kiss against her grandmother's cheek, the gesture softening the older woman's huff into a reluctant smile.
"가자, 하늘아."(𝖢𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗈𝗇, 𝖧𝖺𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗅.) Jiwon cooed, her voice gentler now. The Maine Coon perked up immediately, tail flicking with eager anticipation as he padded after her, his steps light but purposeful, as though he too was ready to face the day.
She reached for the latch that led down to their bookstore, the familiar creak of the door filling the air like an old song, worn yet comforting.
"Jiwon!" Her grandmother's voice rang out from the kitchen, sharp with scolding, echoing through the hallway like a bell.
Jiwon only laughed under her breath, the sound soft and mischievous, ignoring the protest as she descended the stairs. Haneul followed close at her heels, his tail flicking with regal impatience, golden eyes gleaming as though he too was eager to claim the day.
As Jiwon stepped off the last stair, the familiar scent of aged paper and ink enveloped her, rich and comforting, a fragrance that seemed to seep into her very bones. She inhaled deeply, letting it settle into her chest, and a smile tugged at her lips. Adjusting her glasses with a practiced motion.
𝐎𝐡, 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬. 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦.
The shop was dim at first, shadows stretching long across the shelves, but it felt alive in its silence. Dust motes drifted lazily in the air, catching faint strands of light that filtered through the high windows. Jiwon's footsteps creaked softly against the floorboards as she moved toward the front door, each step echoing.
She reached for the lock, the metal cool beneath her fingers, and twisted it with a click that reverberated through the quiet. Flipping the sign to 𝓞𝓹𝓮𝓷, she watched the letters catch the morning light, glowing faintly against the glass. The gesture was simple, yet it carried the weight of ritual, signaling the start of another day in Gotham's shadows.
Her routine unfolded with gentle rhythm.
She straightened a stack of novels left askew from yesterday, her fingers brushing against their spines. A thin layer of dust clung to the counter, and she swept it away with deliberate care, the cloth whispering softly across the wood. The register clicked open beneath her touch, its drawer sliding forward with a faint metallic sigh. She checked the bills and coins inside, though she knew sales were never their priority—it was ritual, not necessity.
Then, as always, she drifted toward the windowsill.
The sill was lined with pots of plants and flowers, their leaves stretching eagerly toward the sunlight that filtered through the glass. A few pots remained empty, waiting patiently for new life, but the ones that thrived brought splashes of green and color to the otherwise muted shop. Their presence softened the shadows, weaving a fragile thread of warmth into the room.
Jiwon picked up the watering can, its metal cool against her palm, and moved carefully from pot to pot. Her touch was tender, her motions slow, as though each plant deserved its own moment of attention. Tilting the spout, she let the water trickle down in gentle streams, her voice rising softly in greeting.
"여러분, 좋은 아침이에요."(𝖦𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗈𝗇𝖾.) she said warmly, her tone carrying affection as though the plants were old friends. "다들 오늘 햇빛은 잘 받고 있나요?" (𝖨𝗌 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝖽𝖺𝗂𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍?) Her head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing with genuine care as she studied their leaves, even though she knew they would never answer.
Her gaze lingered on one plant whose leaves had begun to curl, its green fading into brittle brown. A frown creased her face, her lips pressing together as she crouched closer.
She brushed a fingertip against its fragile stem, her heart tugging with quiet worry."아... 힘들어하고 있구나?" (𝖠𝗁... 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗀𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎?) she murmured, her voice low, almost coaxing. "아직 포기하지 마요. 우리 같이 해결할 거예요."(𝖣𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗀𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗎𝗉 𝗒𝖾𝗍. 𝖶𝖾'𝗅𝗅 𝖿𝗂𝗑 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗈𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋.) The words carried the weight of promise, whispered into the silence as though the plant could draw strength from her conviction.
Behind her, Haneul leapt gracefully onto the counter, tail flicking as if to remind her that he, too, was part of this morning ritual. Jiwon chuckled softly, the sound mingling with the rustle of leaves and the faint hum of Gotham beyond the door.
Behind her, Haneul leapt gracefully onto the counter, his paws landing with feline precision. His tail flicked once, twice, a silent reminder that he, too, was part of this morning ritual. He stretched luxuriously, mane catching the light, before fixing his golden eyes on her with regal insistence.
Jiwon chuckled softly, the sound mingling with the rustle of leaves and the faint hum of Gotham beyond the door. She reached out, scratching beneath his chin, her smile widening as his purr rumbled through the quiet shop.
The morning rolled by in silence, the kind of stillness Gotham rarely allowed. No customers had come through the door, which was nothing unusual for their little shop, but Jiwon welcomed it.
She cherished these quiet hours. With the hum of the city muffled beyond the walls, she settled into her usual spot at the counter, notebook open, pen poised like always.
Today she had chosen 𝓟𝓻𝓲𝓭𝓮 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓟𝓻𝓮𝓳𝓾𝓭𝓲𝓬𝓮, one of her favorites.
The crisp English words danced across the page, but she carefully translated each line into Korean, her handwriting neat and deliberate. Though her grasp of English was strong, she always translated her books—an act of loyalty to her home language, a way of keeping Seoul alive in her heart even while Gotham pressed in around her.
Her shelves stood as quiet witnesses, lined with the stories she loved most: 𝓛𝓲𝓽𝓽𝓵𝓮 𝓦𝓸𝓶𝓮𝓷, 𝓢𝓮𝓷𝓼𝓮 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓢𝓮𝓷𝓼𝓲𝓫𝓲𝓵𝓲𝓽𝔂, 𝓐𝓵𝓶𝓸𝓷𝓭, and countless others. Each book was a companion, each translation a bridge between two worlds.
She paused occasionally, tapping her pen against the paper, savoring the rhythm of words as they shifted from one tongue to another, her lips curving faintly as if she were whispering secrets to herself.
Behind her, Haneul stretched in his bed, his massive body unfurling with feline grace. A soft rumble of purring filled the air, steady and grounding, as if he too understood the importance of these rituals. The bookstore smelled of paper and ink, sunlight filtering through the dusty windows to cast golden patches across the counter, turning her workspace into a stage of quiet reverence.
Jiwon was so deep in her zone—eyes scanning, pen moving, mind weaving English into Korean—that she didn't notice the faint jingle of the bell above the door.
A customer had stepped inside. The sound of the bell was faint, swallowed by Jiwon's concentration, but the silence of the shop shifted, no longer empty but charged with quiet expectancy.
Haneul's ears flicked first, his golden gaze snapping toward the entrance. His tail twitched, muscles coiling with alertness, but Jiwon remained bent over her notebook, pen scratching steadily, unaware that her solitude was about to be interrupted.
And that customer was none other than 𝘿𝙖𝙢𝙞𝙖𝙣 𝙒𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚, a boy her age, though his reputation carried far beyond his years.
He had been out walking with Titus, his loyal Great Dane, choosing a new path through Gotham's quieter streets. Surprisingly, that path had led him here, to the 𝐈𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐩. The sign above the door bore its name in elegant lettering, with a small Korean translation beneath, which caught his eye immediately.
Damian slowed, his sharp gaze lingering on the flowers arranged along the windowsill. Their soft colors stood out against Gotham's usual palette of greys and blacks, a fragile defiance against the city's gloom. Titus, curious as ever, pressed his nose toward the glass, sniffing with interest despite the barrier. The dog's breath fogged the pane, leaving a fleeting mark before fading.
Something about the scene tugged at Damian, though he could not name it. Before he could question the impulse, his hand pushed against the door, the bell above ringing softly as it swung open, its chime delicate yet distinct in the hushed air.
The moment he stepped inside, the scent struck him—an enveloping blend of old paper, ink, and faint traces of ivory lilies tucked somewhere among the shelves. It was a fragrance that drifted like paper dust and ivory petals, a stark contrast to Gotham's usual metallic tang of smoke and steel.
The shop was small, but the sheer number of books gave it a labyrinthine feel. Shelves rose like walls, narrow aisles winding between them, each corner promising discovery. Titus padded in beside him, his massive frame filling the space, nails clicking lightly against the wooden floor. His ears flicked forward, nose twitching as he sniffed curiously at the air. Yet the atmosphere remained calm, as though the shop itself welcomed them into its silence.
From his bed behind the counter, Haneul lifted his head. The Maine Coon's golden eyes fixed on the newcomer and his towering dog, pupils narrowing with feline precision. For a moment, Damian expected a growl or hiss, the usual hostility animals showed toward Titus.
But none came. Instead, Haneul simply blinked, tail flicking once before settling back down, his gaze steady but unthreatening. Damian raised a brow, faintly intrigued. Animals rarely tolerated Titus, but here, there was no hostility, only quiet acknowledgment.
He moved deeper into the shop, his shoes whispering against the wooden floorboards, fingers brushing lightly against the spines of books as he passed. Each one was in good condition, carefully labeled and organized, a clear sign of someone who valued order and care. The shelves were crowded but not chaotic. There was rhythm in their arrangement, a quiet diligence behind every placement.
Then he paused.
His sharp eyes caught sight of a section tucked neatly to the side—manga.
The colorful covers stood out boldly against the muted tones of classic literature, their vibrant illustrations a sudden burst of energy in the subdued palette of the shop. Without hesitation, Damian stepped closer, his posture shifting as he leaned in, scanning the titles with genuine interest. His hand hovered over one spine, tracing the edge with deliberate care, as though testing its weight, his expression unreadable but intent.
After a moment of deliberation, Damian slid the manga from the shelf, the glossy cover catching the faint light that filtered through the dusty windows. Adjusting his grip on Titus's leash, he gave the Great Dane a subtle tug. The dog obeyed with a low huff, massive paws clicking against the wooden floor as Damian guided him toward the counter.
His green eyes flicked across the shop, sharp and observant, cataloging every detail with the precision of someone trained to notice what others overlooked. His gaze swept over the counter, the shelves, the faint dust motes drifting lazily in the sunlight—until it landed on Jiwon.
Her hair caught his attention first. Light pink, unusual and striking, it stood out against the muted palette of the bookstore like a blossom blooming in winter. Damian studied it for a heartbeat longer than necessary, curiosity stirring beneath his composed exterior. His lips pressed into a faint line, but his eyes lingered, sharp yet contemplative, before shifting back to the cat.
The Maine Coon was watching him with calm, unblinking eyes, its golden gaze steady and unwavering. Damian's mouth tightened, his expression unreadable, though inwardly he felt a flicker of warmth. He would never admit it aloud, but he was secretly an animal lover, and the quiet acceptance from the cat intrigued him. The absence of hostility, the slow blink of tolerance. It was a gesture that felt almost like trust.
Jiwon, meanwhile, was still buried in her notebook, pen scratching steadily across the page, her focus so complete that the world beyond her words barely existed. It wasn't until Haneul let out a soft, deliberate meow, a sound that carried weight, that she blinked, startled out of her zone.
She lifted her head, adjusting her glasses with a quick, practiced motion, and 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗓𝖾.
Her breath caught—not because she recognized him as one of the Waynes. She didn't know that.
It was simply the way he looked.
In her three years in Gotham, she had seen countless faces, but Damian's was different. His sharp features, the intensity in his eyes, the quiet confidence in his posture—it all struck her at once, like a sudden shift in the air.
He was... 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞.
Heat rushed to her cheeks, blooming fast and unbidden, and she quickly shifted her gaze away, embarrassed by the realization. Her fingers tightened around her pen, her posture stiffening as though she could will herself back into composure, but the flush on her face betrayed her.
Her eyes landed on Titus instead, and her expression softened immediately. The dog's sheer size was intimidating, his frame filling the space with quiet authority, yet his gentle eyes melted her hesitation. Almost without thinking, she raised a tentative hand toward him, her breath catching as she waited to see if he would accept her touch.
Damian's mouth parted, a sharp retort already forming—Titus wasn't the kind of dog strangers could simply reach for. His tone was poised to scold, clipped and protective.
But the words faltered, dying in his throat, when Titus leaned forward of his own accord. The Great Dane placed his massive paws on the counter, bridging the distance with effortless grace. His head lowered, nudging closer so Jiwon's fingers could brush through his sleek coat with ease.
Her smile bloomed, genuine and warm, lighting her features with sudden radiance. She let her hand glide across Titus's fur, her touch tender, her laughter soft and breathy as the dog leaned into her affection. The moment gave her courage, a fragile spark that steadied her nerves, and she finally lifted her gaze back to Damian.
Their eyes met—hers shy but steady, his unreadable yet softened by the sight of his dog's trust. For a heartbeat, the silence between them felt charged.
"Good morning. Is that all you would like to buy?" Jiwon asked softly, her voice careful but steady. She spoke in English, and though her words flowed well, the distinct lilt of her Korean accent lingered. The sound made her nearly bite her cheek in self‑consciousness, but she held her ground, forcing herself to meet his gaze.
Still, she managed a gentle smile, her confidence bolstered by Titus's acceptance. With playful boldness, she reached out once more, giving the Great Dane a light boop on his nose before withdrawing her hand. Her fingers curled back against her notebook, waiting for Damian to hand her the manga, her heart beating faster than she cared to admit.
Damian's green eyes flicked toward her, studying her expression for a moment before he gave a curt nod.
"This is all." he replied evenly, his tone clipped but smooth. His voice carried its own accent, sharper and more practiced, the kind that revealed fluency honed through discipline.
He passed the book across the counter, his fingers brushing the edge of the manga as he released it. Jiwon accepted it with both hands, her smile widening just slightly, the corners of her lips curving with quiet warmth. She checked the spine and pages first, her fingertips gliding over the paper with care, ensuring its condition was perfect before setting it down gently on the counter.
Opening a drawer beneath the counter, she revealed a neat collection of homemade pressed flower bookmarks, each carefully preserved between thin sheets of paper. Her fingers hovered over them, sorting through with quiet deliberation, her brows furrowing slightly as she tried to choose one that might suit him best.
Damian watched her with curious eyes, his usual guarded expression softening as he noted the care she put into such a small gesture. His gaze lingered on the delicate movements of her hands, the way she treated the bookmarks as if they were treasures rather than trinkets. Finally, she selected a white camellia bookmark, its petals delicate yet striking. She slipped it into the first page of the manga, closing the book gently before sliding the drawer shut with a soft thud.
Next came the paper bag. Jiwon reached for one, her movements quick but graceful, the rustle of paper filling the quiet air as she placed the manga inside. Then, almost as if she couldn't help herself, she added another book from a small pile on the counter.
"Well... since you are the store's first customer today, I'll give you a free book." she rambled softly, her words tumbling out with shy sincerity. Her cheeks warmed as she spoke, but her smile remained. The book she chose was 𝓛𝓮𝓪𝓿𝓮𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓖𝓻𝓪𝓼𝓼, its worn cover hinting at the timeless poetry within. She tucked it neatly beside the manga, her fingers lingering for a moment before withdrawing.
"It's $7.50." she finished, glancing up just as Haneul leapt from his bed onto the counter. The massive Maine Coon sprawled across the surface, nearly taking up all the space, his tail flicking dangerously close to the paper bag. Jiwon gave the cat a look. Half exasperated, half affectionate, her lips pressing together in a mix of amusement and resignation.
Damian's gaze shifted between the girl, the cat, and his dog, the corners of his mouth twitching as though he might smirk. Titus stood patiently at his side, posture disciplined, but his eyes followed Jiwon's every movement, tail wagging faintly in quiet approval.
Damian reached into his coat, movements deliberate, the fabric whispering as he drew out his wallet. From it, he slid a sleek black card across the counter. The gesture was casual, almost dismissive, but the card itself carried weight. Its polished surface gleaming faintly under the shop's light, a symbol of wealth and status that seemed out of place in the humble bookstore.
Jiwon's eyes widened, her breath catching as her face paled at the sight. She had only ever seen cards like this in passing mentions online, distant emblems of privilege far removed from her world. Her fingers hesitated, trembling faintly as she reached for it.
She did her best to steady her hands, though the faint tremor betrayed her nerves. Carefully, she picked up the card, inspecting it as if to confirm it was real. The embossed lettering shimmered faintly, and her surprise deepened. Swallowing hard, she quickly swiped it, the machine's beep sounding louder than usual in the quiet bookstore, echoing like a small disruption in the fragile silence.
As she worked, Haneul stirred, rising from his stretch and padding forward. His paws moved soundlessly over the counter as he lowered into a watchful crouch.
The Maine Coon sat directly in front of Damian, golden eyes locking onto the boy with an intensity that felt almost human. His tail curled neatly around him, the flick of its tip betraying a restrained vigilance.
Damian met the stare, his own green eyes narrowing slightly, as though acknowledging the silent challenge. His posture straightened, shoulders squaring. For a moment, it was just the two of them—boy and cat—measuring each other in silence, neither yielding, both steady.
Jiwon, noticing the tension, reached out quickly, her hand brushing against Haneul's broad face. She gently moved him aside with a soft pat, her touch affectionate but firm."손님을 귀찮게 하지 마."(𝖣𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗎𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗋.) she murmured in Korean, her tone carrying warmth even as she guided him away.
She handed Damian back his card with both hands, her fingers brushing the edge carefully, her movements precise and respectful. "Thank you for shopping at 𝐈𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐩," she said, her voice steadier now, though her accent lingered faintly in the syllables. She gave Haneul another pat, coaxing him back toward his spot, her smile softening as she added. "Please come again if you wish."
Damian accepted the card, his expression unreadable, though the faintest curve of amusement tugged at his lips. His eyes flicked briefly to Jiwon, then back to Haneul, as if silently conceding that the cat's challenge had been met.
Titus leaned closer to the counter, tail thumping once against the floor, the sound deep and steady, as if approving of the exchange. The air between them held a quiet charge—an unspoken recognition that something unusual had just passed, even if neither of them could name it yet.
────ʚ❀ɞ────
Jiwon remained in a daze long after her first customer of the day had stepped out of the shop.
The bell above the door had long stopped ringing, but her heart hadn't. It still raced, echoing the memory of green eyes and the quiet weight of their brief exchange.
She found herself missing the Great Dane already, the warmth of his fur beneath her hand, the gentle thump of his tai. But more than that, she couldn't shake the image of Damian himself.
With a sudden rush of embarrassment, she pressed her palms against her face, glasses riding up awkwardly as she tried to hide the blush spreading across her cheeks. "What is wrong with me?" she groaned softly, her voice muffled against her hands.
Her pulse refused to settle. She was developing a crush far too quickly, and the realization only made her cheeks burn hotter.
Her mind replayed the details she had noticed—the sharp cut of his jaw, the bat‑like arch of his brows, the way his gaze seemed to pierce through her without effort. Each memory struck her like a spark, igniting a warmth she couldn't contain.
She let out an unexpected squeal, muffled behind her hands, before pulling them back to smack her cheeks lightly in an attempt to ground herself. The sound echoed faintly in the quiet shop, her own laughter bubbling up in disbelief at her reaction, half‑nervous, half‑giddy.
Haneul, unimpressed, watched from his spot with narrowed golden eyes. With deliberate slowness, the Maine Coon rose, stretching his massive body until his spine arched like a bow, before padding over to her with regal certainty.
He climbed onto her lap and chest with the heavy confidence of a creature who knew he owned the space. Jiwon groaned under the weight, her blush deepening as she tried to push him back down.
"하늘아, 너 너무 무겁다." (𝖧𝖺𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗅, 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗒.) she muttered, half‑laughing, half‑exasperated, her hands pressing against his fur in a futile attempt to move him.
The cat only purred louder, pressing his head against her chin as if mocking her flustered state, his rumble vibrating through her chest.
Jiwon sighed, finally giving in to his presence, her fingers absently stroking his fur. "너는 이해하지 못할 거야," (𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽,) she whispered, cheeks still warm, her voice carrying a fragile honesty. "하지만...나 곤란에 빠진 것 같아." (𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝖨 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄... 𝖨 𝗆𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖻𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗎𝖻𝗅𝖾)
The bookstore was quiet again, filled only with the rustle of pages and the steady purr of her cat. Yet beneath that calm, Jiwon's heart continued to race, carrying the spark of something new—something she hadn't expected to find in Gotham's shadows.
────ʚ❀ɞ────
Damian returned to the Manor with Titus padding loyally at his side, the dog's nails clicking softly against the carpeted floors.
Alfred greeted them in the hallway with his usual calm warmth, offering a nod and a faint smile before disappearing toward the kitchen, his footsteps fading into the distance. Damian, however, kept his silence, his mind already elsewhere as he made his way to his room, his expression unreadable.
Once inside, he closed the door behind him with deliberate care, the latch clicking softly. He knelt to unclip Titus's leash, fingers moving with practiced precision.
The Great Dane shook his head once, ears flopping, then padded off to his own bed in the corner. He circled twice before settling down with a heavy sigh, his body sprawling comfortably across the cushions.
Damian straightened, his eyes sweeping across the familiar order of his room. The space was meticulously arranged: a large, simple bed, always neatly made; weapon racks lined with precision, each blade and staff in its proper place; a desk cluttered with books, maps, tactical notes, and medical texts—evidence of his relentless training and study. Across from it sat another desk, softer in purpose, covered in art supplies. Charcoal sticks, sketchpads, and studies of animals lay scattered, revealing a quieter side of him that few ever saw.
Changing into more comfortable clothes, Damian finally reached for the paper bag resting on his desk.
He pulled out the manga, its cover bright against the muted tones of his room. His gaze lingered on the second book tucked inside—𝓛𝓮𝓪𝓿𝓮𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓖𝓻𝓪𝓼𝓼. He turned it over in his hands, curious at the unexpected gift, but chose not to open it yet.
Instead, he set it aside carefully, as though saving it for later.
The manga drew his attention back.
He opened it, but paused when he noticed the bookmark tucked neatly inside. A pressed white camellia, delicate and preserved, slipped between the pages. Damian traced its edges with his thumb, the faint texture grounding him in a way he hadn't expected.
For a moment, the memory of the bookstore returned—the girl with pink hair, the cat's unblinking stare, the warmth of Titus leaning into her touch. His lips pressed into a thin line, but his eyes softened faintly, betraying the quiet pull of recollection.
He leaned back in his chair, the manga open before him, the bookmark resting lightly in his hand. His expression remained composed, but his thoughts lingered longer than he intended. The quiet of his room pressed in, broken only by Titus's steady breathing. Damian began to read, though part of him was still caught in the memory of the bookstore and the unexpected spark it had left behind.
༻・✿・༺