On XX, XX, XXXX, I earned my Doctor of Medicine degree from the University of London in the United Kingdom. After that, I received several offers but declined them all. While many people were puzzled by my decisions, I ultimately chose to become a writer, traveling the world with a camera and pen.
My father, Alfred, often remarked on this with his typical British dry humor when we spoke on the phone. The reason is that the two children he raised both chose to travel the world, and, to his dismay, he hasn't seen either of us in years, leaving him alone in Gotham.
My response to him was that the one who's been away for years without seeing him is Bruce Wayne, not me, your son, Avery Pennyworth. You shouldn't overlook the facts just to tease your son in conversation.
After all, the truth is that I at least return to Gotham occasionally to visit my father. That guy, on the other hand, left Gotham without a word, and aside from a few sporadic phone calls, didn't even leave my father with a way to contact him.
Alfred has mentioned that before each phone call, he constantly worries that his employer might disappear for good, leaving him, as the butler, unable to settle his wages.
Of course, that last bit was just my father joking. In reality, as Bruce Wayne's legal guardian after his parents' death, there was endless speculation from the media about when he might try to embezzle his ward's inheritance.
I think they were overthinking it. Considering Bruce's frequent disappearances, I suspect my father could, before long, claim the inheritance legally and without any reproach—even the Kane family wouldn't be able to say a thing about it.
Now, I have to introduce my father properly.
His name is Alfred Pennyworth, a true Englishman, and the butler of the Wayne family, one of the four great families of Gotham City, which is located on the east coast of New Jersey, USA.
This "four great families" label is no exaggeration. It's said that the city of Gotham was originally founded by them. At that time, it was still called Gotham Town, but as time passed, it developed into the prosperous metropolis we know today, which also happens to have one of the highest crime rates in America.
It is said that the Wayne family's butlers throughout history have all come from our family, making it a sort of unspoken inheritance.
However, my father once had a heartfelt conversation with me, expressing that he wouldn't interfere with whatever career path I chose for the future. When he was young, he had resisted such arrangements and instead joined MI6, the British Secret Intelligence Service, becoming a spy. The reason he now serves as a butler is purely his own choice, not something he was forced into.
I understand what he meant, but looking at his gradually rounder physique over the years, I couldn't help but fall into deep thought: "..."
Was he exaggerating or telling the truth about being a spy? Will I end up round and bald like him in the future? How can I save myself from such genes? I...
Just kidding. For me, no matter how stubborn the genetic inheritance may be, going bald is definitely impossible.
Want to know why? Then keep reading.
As for Bruce, he was my childhood playmate.
Of course, calling him a "playmate" is a bit of a stretch for me, as I didn't really need playmates. The games other kids my age played were too childish for me. When we were together, more often than not, Bruce—young and innocent—was the one being teased by me. However, as time passed, such moments became less frequent.
Perhaps this is the magic of time.
Getting back to the point, ever since Bruce's parents were murdered in Crime Alley when he was eight, the shadow of that event has never lifted from his heart.
So, I wasn't surprised by his disappearing act. Perhaps, once he finds direction in his life, he'll simply pack up and come back on his own.
And given his intelligence—holding multiple degrees—and the grueling physical training he began at age eleven, there's really no reason to worry about him.
Even if he were to be caught in an unexpected situation with terrorists, I believe he could simply reveal and prove that he is Bruce Wayne of Gotham, heir to billions, and no one would dare harm such a golden goose. That's the unique power of wealth.
As time passed, perhaps due to some unspoken connection between old friends, shortly after I mentioned this to Alfred, the news broke that the Wayne family heir had returned to Gotham.
At the same time, I was in nearby Metropolis, carefully wiping my hands with a silk handkerchief, and then casually slipping a small, pure-black earring into the pocket of my coat.
After that, I glanced coldly at the scene: the corpse on the ground, dried to the point of being reduced to ashes, scattered by the breeze blowing through the window. Turning away, I left the hotel room, ready to return to Gotham.
Fate, after all, has drawn me back to the center of the storm.
The site of Wayne Manor was in utter ruin.
After a devastating fire swept through, everything was left charred black. The remaining structures crumbled into piles of ash with the slightest touch, and the acrid smell of burning lingered in the air for a long time.
It was at this moment that Avery returned to Gotham.
He stood there, staring at the ruins of Wayne Manor, momentarily at a loss for words.
Though with the Wayne Foundation's immense wealth, buying countless Wayne Manors wouldn't be a problem, the value of the manor wasn't merely about that. The history of this ancient estate was synonymous with the Wayne family, and the Wayne family's presence stretched back as long as Gotham itself—a city cloaked in sin and opulence. Wayne Manor was even considered one of Gotham's most famous landmarks.