The newspaper hasn't been ironed? Bruce could hardly believe such an excuse. In the many decades that Alfred had worked for the Wayne family, there had never been a situation where breakfast started without the newspaper having been ironed.
In this regard, Alfred himself was even more insistent than the members of the Wayne family, and no one could shake the old man's steadfast dedication to keeping the Wayne family members informed about the latest news.
Bruce made it around to the rear of the hall, where through a window he saw Alfred playing with Aisha. Bruce left through the dining room corridor, circled the hall, and entered the ironing room at the side.
It was here where Alfred would iron things, including clothes, gloves, and newspapers. The newspapers delivered by the newspaper boy, once brought in from the mailbox, were put in here right away.
However, Bruce didn't find any trace of the newspaper here despite a long search. So, he returned to the hall, and after going out through the main door, he pushed open the gate of the manor, opened the mailbox, and looked inside.
There was nothing in the mailbox, and Bruce knit his brows, closed the mailbox door, and began looking by the left and right sides of the street.
Just then, the neighbor of Wayne Manor happened to come out.
Not far from Wayne Manor lived a mother and daughter. The mother was a wealthy widow from the East Coast, but because she was a better businesswoman, her family was doing even better than when her husband was alive. Thus, she was respectfully referred to as Lady Goth, and her daughter was Miss Goth.
Both were dressed in the same outfit, wearing the woolen coats currently in vogue among wealthy women, coupled with a pair of brightly colored boots, complemented by a scarf and hat of the same hue, and each held a handbag.
Bruce retreated back into the manor grounds, standing behind a bush, listening to their conversation.
Lady Goth started: "If it weren't for your insistence, I wouldn't be dining with those foul-smelling dock workers. Wasn't last night's experience bad enough?"
"Don't speak like that, mother. It's fun to see the stupid faces of those people. Some girls my age could just stare at my boots. And didn't you see the looks those so-called society women from East District were giving you?"
"Humph, don't play these tricks with me. You're just eager to see Little Vitt. I've known all along. That kid isn't any good, but his family is somewhat decent. When you meet Mr. Vitt today, you'd better be more reserved..."
"I got it, mother. What kind of topic would be suitable as an opener? Should I start by talking about the recent play?" Miss Goth's voice had a bit of nervousness.
"Silly girl," Lady Goth chided: "The play hasn't even started yet, what do you plan to talk about? Haven't you seen the morning paper? You should absolutely discuss our local speciality, the famous Batman, with Mr. White who's from out of town."
"Ugh, what's the big deal? He's just a hypocritical playboy. Hasn't it been said in the papers? He's taking the good name of helping begging children, bringing them all to his base for his own pleasure. It's disgusting. They even said a boy died... He really is…"
Lady Goth quickly covered her own mouth: "Don't talk about that. It's not a topic you, as a lady, should bring up. Let those filthy men talk about it, isn't that enough?"
As the mother-daughter pair conversed in hushed whispers, they quickly passed Wayne Manor's ground. From the gaps in the hedge, Bruce watched as Lady Goth looked at Wayne Manor back and forth, holding her handkerchief to her mouth, saying to her daughter:
"I tell you, Little Wayne is the best candidate. A playboy? That's the least of the concerns in choosing a husband. If you can marry Little Wayne, I would truly give my thanks to God in church every week!"
The sound of their high heels gradually faded away. Bruce's expression turned cold. He walked along the perimeter wall of the yard to the back of Wayne Manor, avoiding Alfred's line of sight, and skillfully scaled the wall.
There were also two estates at the rear of Wayne Manor, but since the South District was a newly built affluent area, the buildings were not as dense as in the West District. Bruce crossed a street and turned a corner before he found another household's mailbox.
Bruce knew that the man of this house was allergic to ink. They subscribed to the newspaper but never read it. Bruce had previously heard the newspaper boy from this place complaining that when a new paper was delivered, the previous day's newspaper was still inside the mailbox.
Bruce looked around, and seeing no one in the vicinity, he pried open the mailbox of the house and took out a copy of the newspaper inside.
He closed the mailbox and walked around two more corners to find a secluded corner, where he opened the newspaper and began to read in detail.
In fact, he didn't need to read very carefully because the front-page headline read:
"Batman? To hell with your Gotham heroes!"
Bruce furrowed his brows, looking at the subheadline, which read: "Batman kidnaps children, a brutal child killer disguised as a Hero!"
The article was quite long, detailing in chronological order how Batman, in the name of rescue, saved begging children, then abducted them and subsequently persecuted them to death.
Four pictures were arranged in chronological order; the first was of his fleeting figure in a dim alleyway. Bruce remembered that there was a piece of tin plate on the crack between this alley and another alley, where three children, including a little girl, used to live.
The second picture showed Batman's figure standing on a skyscraper, but due to the angle and background, he didn't look much like a hero, but more like a killer looking for an opportunity to strike.
The third and fourth pictures were taken up close, clearly showing the shape of Batman's mask.
While Batman had been in Gotham for some time now, and while newspapers had shown interest, and while reporters had risked their lives to take pictures of him at night, he usually caught them in the act and confiscated their tools.
There were also few papers that published news about him, after all, very few people were willing to deal with a tight-suit weirdo who roamed Gotham at night. At least the mob talked some sense, but if it was a madman, then it would really be hard to reason.
But this time, this news took up the entire page of the Gotham Morning News.
This article was sharply written, narratively practiced, and very provocative. More importantly, it accurately captured the psychology of the Gothamites—
Compared to creating gods, these lunatics prefer to see a god fall.