Starting from scratch, Batman crushed my dream of getting rich

Chapter 607 Gotham with Two Bats
Even though their thinking was so similar, and their fighting styles and techniques were so alike, Bruce gradually fell into a disadvantageous position.

The imitator opposite him was stronger and more experienced than him, and even his bat suit seemed more advanced. When his fist struck the opponent's thin bat suit, he could clearly feel his strength being weakened by more than half by the tough and dense structure.

Smoke grenades, stun grenades, batarangs—his opponent's equipment and items were all more powerful than his. What had sustained him in this fight was his accurate prediction of his opponent's movements and the candy he was chewing on—a healing method he rarely used.

This is the only method that the other side does not possess.

Was the other person really an imposter? This thought lingered in Bruce's mind, and his expression behind the mask grew increasingly serious.

To be honest, imitating Batman's uniform isn't that difficult; imitating Batman's equipment isn't impossible if the person is an extremely wealthy fanatic; imitating Batman's style and fighting ability is something that can only be done by a handful of people in the world, but it's not impossible.

But who can do all of these things better than me, and without any flaws?

boom!
Bruce's fist was grabbed by the other person, who then threw him away with an over-the-shoulder throw.

Bruce thought to himself that his predictions were rapidly losing their effectiveness. His opponent was smart; he knew he could read his mind and use that knowledge to fight. Now Bruce was starting to use that same mindset to predict his own actions.

Such combat wisdom, such adaptability, and such a decisive and efficient style of action.
His eyes caught the other person's face as he moved with ghostly speed. Beneath the black bat mask, a pair of iron-blue eyes were revealed, and the broad chin looked strangely familiar.

Rain and moonlight streamed down the bat's cheeks. Bruce's gaze pierced through the mask, his mind subconsciously sketching the face beneath it like an X-ray.

It was a face that looked exactly like mine, only a little older.

"Who are you anyway?"

Bruce didn't get an answer, but his body was still moving unconsciously.

boom!
boom!
A standard uppercut landed on the opponent's chin, resulting in another blow to the head.

The best strategy now is to trade blows, and the opponent can't outlast him.

As the punches and kicks clashed, Bruce's body, which had been dormant for a long time, began to heat up, sweat, and stir with anticipation—his movements became faster and faster, and his mind began to anticipate his opponent's predictions about him.

It had only been a year since he had been working tirelessly to reform Gotham as Bruce Wayne. Even though his brain had deliberately buried those dark memories of the past, his long hours working in the company and office had greatly diminished his training and patrol time as Batman. But when he returned to this cold, rainy, and foggy city, his body automatically recalled the old days.

Knife wounds, gunshot wounds, burns, cat claw marks, claw marks from large wild animals, umbrella punctures, blunt force bruises, arrow holes from crossbows—of course, none of that anymore. Old Ma's miraculous healing skills are legendary in Gotham.

Bruce's once scarred body now bears no marks, and he has even been invited by a local Gotham magazine to be a male model. He can now openly go to the hospital or find highly skilled medical experts and professors to be his private doctors to examine his body, instead of having to treat his wounds himself in the wide, dark Batcave.

But under this rainy night, every battle my body had ever fought, every scar, began to ache faintly. They had disappeared, but they seemed never to have healed.

Those weren't physical wounds, but lingering pains in his soul, the mark left on him by the once chaotic Gotham. It was both a curse and a treasure, hidden away in the peaceful and beautiful atmosphere of Gotham, only to reappear in this chaotic rainy night, vividly displaying its presence.

Every scar serves as a reminder to Bruce that he wasn't always a playboy, nor was he, in essence, the prodigal son who turned over a new leaf and pinned his hopes on reform and innovation for Gotham's richest man.

He is Batman, he was, he is, and he will be. That bat lurks deep within his soul, constantly watching and coveting Bruce Wayne's body. Tonight, upon seeing Gotham engulfed in flames and the enormous Bat-shaped light symbol in the sky, it couldn't wait to be reborn from the ashes.

Once Batman, always Batman.

"enough."

Just then, the bat on the other side suddenly stopped attacking, turned around and used its hook gun to accelerate itself back to the edge of the rooftop.

"Who are you?" the clearly stronger Batman asked directly. "Why are you here?"

“I don’t know why I’m here.” Bruce actually stopped, because he was certain that the other party had gone easy on him from the start.

Judging from the Scarecrow's comments on the big screen, the two of them probably don't have time to waste here.

“You know who I am,” he replied in a low, hoarse voice. “I also know who you are, otherwise you wouldn’t have stopped, and neither would I.”

"."

Sheriff Gordon, standing nearby, finally breathed a sigh of relief: "Thank God, you guys are finally done. Batman, what's going on here? Do you know this imposter?"

He was speaking to the Arkham Batman. The two Batmen's suits were made of very different materials, and it was easy to tell at a glance which one was the Batman he was familiar with.

“I don’t know him,” Arkham Batman replied, “but he’s not an imposter either.”

He knew himself too well. He was convinced that the other person was not just a copycat, not even an imitator. He looked at the other person as if he were looking in a mirror.

Beneath that mask, there must be another version of myself.

"So I already said, stop hitting them."

The man's voice startled Gordon, and he immediately turned to look at his side, his hand instinctively reaching for the pistol at his waist.

However, neither of the Batmen moved. Arkham Batman had just heard the other party shout "Stop fighting!" but the younger version of himself on the other side did not react at all, and his body language did not show the usual vigilance. This indicated that he knew the person who shouted - perhaps the two knew each other.

Ma Zhaodi walked straight out from behind the lights and turned off the bat lights as he did so.

"There are still a lot of innocent civilians in Gotham City, how can you still be in the mood to fight here?"

This statement startled Gordon, who immediately retorted, "Impossible. The last transfer vehicle left Gotham an hour ago."

“Sheriff Gordon, Scarecrow just finished making those threats—why don’t you call back to the police station and ask him?”

(End of this chapter)