Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Steel clashed with steel in the narrow backstreets of Tokyo. Damian Wayne fought with the precision of a lineage that demanded perfection. His movements were merciless, yet inside him raged a war older than the men who fell before him.

The League of Assassins had taught him that hesitation was weakness, that mercy was death. His grandfather’s voice lived in every muscle, Kill or be Killed. Yet another voice intruded, cold and resolute, his father’s.

"Justice not vengeance.”

Those words had steadied him in Gotham, but here under his mother’s care, they felt like chains. Talia had insisted on taking Damian with her, claiming that he isn't safe with Bruce after his injuries during patrol. Bruce, of course, disagreed he believed Damian needed guidance and cannot let Damian experience the ruthless training he was thought. Their argument escalated into a physical fight, which didn’t surprise Damian at all. He watched in silence, arms crossed, pretending not to care but deep down, he knew both of them were fighting for control, not for him.

It was decided that Damian would remain with Talia for half a year. The bats were out of reach, no Alfred to tend his wounds, no Grayson to soften his edges, no father’s shadow to hold him back. Only Talia and his grandfather, only the League, only the methods Bruce had sought to strip from him.

In the end, it was agreed that Damian would stay with Talia for six months. She said it wasn’t about control, but recovery a chance for him to breathe away from Gotham’s endless war. Bruce didn’t like it, but he couldn’t argue with the truth in her words.

Talia was no villain in Damian’s eyes. Her methods were sharp, her lessons often harsh, but her love had always been constant the kind that taught him to stand even when the world demanded he fall.

Damian accepted the arrangement with quiet resolve. He told himself it was logical, temporary just another mission. But when Talia cupped his face and said softly, “No matter where you go, you will always have a place with me.” something in him ached. Her words carried both strength and sorrow, the kind only a mother who’d fought too many battles could speak. She wasn’t flawless, neither of them was but Damian knew, in that moment, that her love was real, even if it wasn’t simple.

The mission had been simple. Too simple.

“A small clan in Japan,” his mother had said. “Gather information, ensure their silence if necessary. Quick and clean.”

He’d taken it as another test but not of skill, but of loyalty. Ever since returning to Gotham and fighting alongside his father, Damian had learned that mercy wasn’t weakness. But in Talia’s eyes, mercy was hesitation and hesitation got you killed.

He could almost hear her now.

“You cannot fight darkness with softness, my son.”

And then his father’s voice, calm but cutting “You don’t fight darkness by becoming part of it.”

Two lessons. Two worlds. And Damian, walking the line between them.

The infiltration had gone smoothly at first. He’d slipped through the compound’s defenses like smoke, his movements quiet and precise. But when he saw the clan’s insignia carved into the wall, something twisted in his chest. It wasn’t just another patrol but a mission to kill, he hoped he didn't have to because he regrets showing no remorse to hurting others.

He hesitated.

That moment of doubt cost him. A blade came from behind, slicing deep across his side. He dispatched his attacker quickly, but the damage was done. Blood poured through his fingers as he fled into the Tokyo night.

“Focus.” he told himself through clenched teeth, leaping across rooftops until his body gave out.

By the time he reached the back alley of a small convenience store, his vision had narrowed to streaks of color. He pressed against the wall, sliding down to the ground.

He could hear his father’s voice again that measured calm that had become a compass in his head. “Assess the wound. Keep pressure. Call Alfred.”

Then his mother’s. “Pain reminds you that you’re still alive. Use it.”

“Tch,” he muttered aloud, blood staining his gloves. “You’re both insufferable. All of you are in here but where's my voice?”

He dragged himself from the battlefield into the quiet streets beyond. Here there were no flashing lights, only narrow lanes lined with small houses, shuttered shops, and a convenience store glowing in the dark. Ordinary and peaceful. A cruel mockery of what had brought him here.

Damian forced himself behind the store, into the weeds by its wall. He shoved his weapons into the brush, ensuring no hand but his own would find them. His knees buckled, breath caught, and the boy who bore such a heavy burden collapsed into unconsciousness.

Inside, Taro Sakamoto moved through the aisles of his small store with the quiet rhythm of routine. Marriage and fatherhood had softened him, reshaping a man once built for killing into one built for living. Yet even peace couldn’t dull the instincts carved into his bones. When a faint sound drifted from outside too heavy for the wind, too precise to be random the old part of him stirred. His hand stilled mid-motion, eyes narrowing toward the back door.

He stepped into the cool suburban night and froze.
A boy lay crumpled behind the store bloodied, pale, fists still clenched even in unconsciousness. Too disciplined for an ordinary kid, too young to look that hardened. His breathing came in slow, stubborn pulls.

Sakamoto crouched beside him, movements steady, eyes narrowing as he took in the boy’s condition. A trained fighter… but still just a child.

The door behind him slid open.
“Mr. Sakamoto?” Shin’s voice carried the familiar mix of irritation and concern. “You forget to take the trash out again, or—”

He stopped when he saw the boy.
“…Okay. That’s not trash.”

Sakamoto glanced up briefly. “He’s hurt. Deep wound on the side probably a blade.”

Shin stepped closer, frowning. “That’s not some random street kid. Look at his posture, even unconscious he’s tense.”

Sakamoto nodded once. “Yeah. Which means someone’s looking for him.”

A beat of silence. The quiet hum of a passing car filled the space between them. Shin shifted uneasily, his gaze flicking between the boy and Sakamoto.
“You planning to get involved again?”

Sakamoto didn’t answer right away. His hand pressed gently over the bandage he’d improvised with a towel. “I’m not planning anything,” he said softly. “He just needs help.”

Shin exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “You say that every time, you know, and every time it turns into something bigger.”

Their exchange hung in the cool air, easy and familiar the kind built over years, where arguments and loyalty blurred together.

Sakamoto adjusted the boy’s position carefully. “Help me get him inside.”

Shin hesitated one more second, then sighed. “Fine. But if your wife finds out we’re harboring another stray, you’re explaining it.”

“Deal.” Sakamoto murmured, lifting the boy gently.

And though neither said it out loud, Shin followed close behind the same way he always had.

Chapter Text

Morning crept slowly through the shutters, thin light spilling into the store’s back room.

Damian stirred, wincing as the bandages across his ribs tightened with every breath. The dull ache brought clarity, pain was proof he was still alive. His eyes snapped open, pupils narrowing as he took in the unfamiliar room.

Plain ceiling. Shelves lined with household goods. A faint smell of soy broth and detergent.
Not the League.
Not the Manor.
Civilian territory.

He sat up slowly, ignoring the pull in his side. His gaze swept the room one door, one window, both potential exits. Minimal noise beyond the walls, no armed guards, no hidden weapons.

He relaxed. Slightly.

“Finally awake,” came a dry voice.

Shin leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his expression hovering between amusement and concern. “You slept through the whole night. Tough kid, most people would’ve died from those wounds.”

Damian blinked once, tone cool. “I’ve survived worse.”

He shifted, scanning Shin with quiet precision. Civilian clothes, but posture too balanced. Movements light. Eyes sharp reading him. “You’re not just a store clerk,” Damian said flatly.

Shin’s brows rose. “You noticed?”

“I notice everything,” Damian replied.

Shin let out a low whistle. “Guess we’ve got a little detective on our hands. You’re lucky Mr. Sakamoto found you when he did.”

Damian’s voice was curt. “I didn’t ask for help.”

Before Shin could respond, Aoi entered with a small tray. The smell of miso soup filled the room, grounding the moment in something startlingly ordinary.

“You should eat." she said gently, setting it near him. “Your body won’t heal on pride alone.”

Damian’s shoulders stiffened, instinct to reject help rising automatically. “I don’t take charity.” he said, but his eyes lingered on the food a second too long.

Aoi met his gaze evenly. “Then take it as common sense.”

He hesitated, lips pressing into a thin line. There was no threat in her stance, no deception in her tone just quiet kindness. It disarmed him more effectively than any weapon could.

He reached for the bowl without looking at her. “You should know.” he said quietly, “the people who hurt me might come looking.”

Shin tilted his head. “You are saying we should be worried?”

Damian shook his head. “No. I’ll handle it.” His tone carried the absolute confidence of someone who believed he could even if he could barely stand.

Aoi smiled faintly. “You should focus on recovering first, not fighting.”

For a moment, Damian didn’t reply. Then, softer than before, he said, “You shouldn’t have to deal with this.”

The admission came with reluctance pride and principle tangled together.

Shin caught it, glancing at Sakamoto’s empty chair in the next room. “Your kind of like him, you know,” he said. “Always pretending you don’t care, but you still do.”

Damian gave him a sharp look but didn’t deny it.

He took another quiet sip of soup. The warmth settled in his chest, unfamiliar but not unwelcome. For now, he told himself it was just fuel. Not comfort.

But the way he didn’t immediately put the bowl down said otherwise.

“I don’t need looking after,” Damian said flatly, his tone polite enough to be defiant. His sharp green eyes swept across the room — the walls, the exits, the people. Every movement was cataloged with military precision.

Shin leaned against the counter, brow raised. “Man, even half-dead you’ve got an attitude.”

“Shin.” the man added with a sigh. “I work here.”

“Lu.” said the woman beside him, a teasing edge in her voice. “And if you’re staying, I’ll make sure you do some chores. Consider it rent.”

Damian didn’t reply right away. He studied them both the way they stood, how they reacted. Too steady, too aware. Civilians didn’t move like that.
They’re used to danger, he realized. They notice I am, too. "Damian." He replied.

“You’re all a little too interested in me,” he said finally, eyes narrowing.

Aoi stepped forward before Shin could answer, setting a gentle hand on Damian’s shoulder. “Maybe,” she said softly, “but you’re safe here. That’s enough for now.”

She knelt and checked his bandages with practiced care. “You’ve lost a lot of blood,” she said. “That wasn’t just a fall or a scrape.”

Damian’s face didn’t change. He just looked at her silent, unreadable. It wasn’t defiance this time. It was instinct. Never give more information than you must.

Shin scratched the back of his head, muttering, “You’re not even going to explain, huh? Thought kids your age loved talking.”

Damian’s tone stayed calm. “I didn’t ask to be saved.”

Shin blinked, then sighed. “Right. You’re welcome, kid.”

Lu crossed her arms. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. But you should take it easy. You look like you fought a truck.”

That earned the faintest huff from Damian small, quick, gone before anyone could comment.

Aoi smiled faintly. “Eat first. You can keep your secrets after you’ve had some strength back.”

“I don’t need charity,” Damian said automatically, though his stomach betrayed him with a quiet growl.

Shin grinned. “Then don’t think of it as charity. Think of it as… payment for not bleeding all over the floor again.”

“Shin,” Aoi warned gently.

“What? It’s true,” he said, throwing his hands up.

Lu glanced toward the shop entrance. “Where’s Heisuke? He was supposed to open up with us.”

Shin groaned. “He texted. Said a raccoon stole one of the bread bags from the delivery truck. He’s ‘handling it.’ Whatever that means.”

Lu rolled her eyes. “Typical."

Damian exhaled slowly, his posture relaxing just a little. “You’re… a strange group.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Shin said, smirking. “Mr. Sakamoto’s the strangest one of all.”

That name made Damian pause. Sakamoto. He’d heard it last night, before losing consciousness a calm voice, steady hands. Something about it carried quiet authority.

The silence that followed wasn’t tense anymore. Just… still.

Finally, Damian muttered, “Fine. I’ll stay. Until I’m fully recovered.”

Shin nodded. “That’s all we ask.”

Damian leaned back against the pillow, gaze softening just a fraction. For all his training, all his pride, he couldn’t deny the warmth of the room the smell of soup, the quiet chatter, doesn't remind him of the league, has that warmness that the Bruce mansion has but a different kind of warm.

For now, he wasn’t an assassin or a prodigy or a soldier.
Just a boy bruised, exhausted, and, maybe for the first time, allowed to rest.

Chapter Text

Sakamoto stepped in, glasses fogging slightly from the warmth outside. To most, he looked harmless, soft around the edges, voice gentle, smile easy. But Damian could tell at a glance. The man’s movements were too efficient, his breathing too steady. This isn’t someone ordinary.

“Morning,” Sakamoto said, his tone casual but his eyes sharp as they flicked briefly over the boy’s bandaged side.

Damian met his gaze without hesitation. “You’re the one who found me.”

Sakamoto nodded. “That’s right. You were bleeding behind the store. Shin almost stepped on you.”

“Almost?” Shin called from the front, sounding indignant. “I was the one who asked why there was a body!”

Sakamoto ignored him, kneeling slightly to level with Damian’s line of sight. “You held up better than most adults would’ve. That wasn’t an accident.”

Damian didn’t answer. His silence wasn’t uncertainty it was habit. The kind that came from years of hiding truths sharper than blades.

Sakamoto didn’t push. He’d seen that kind of quiet before in people who’d learned to survive.

“You’ve been trained,” Sakamoto said softly, not a question but an observation. “Whoever taught you… they didn’t go easy on you.”

Damian’s jaw tightened, his tone calm but clipped. “I know how to defend myself.”
“Yeah,” Sakamoto said. “That much is obvious.” He stood again, arms folding loosely. “No one’s come looking for you. You’re far from home, aren’t you?”

Damian’s eyes flicked toward the window the light spilling over Tokyo’s rooftops. “Home isn’t simple.” he said.

That, Sakamoto understood. “It rarely is.”

For a while, silence settled the kind that wasn’t uncomfortable, just heavy with understanding.

Damian could feel them watching him. Shin, Lu, even Aoi trying to figure him out. They didn’t see a normal kid. They saw someone who moved too deliberately, whose reflexes were too fast. They were right, he wasn’t normal. But Robin wasn’t a name he intended to share.

He’d been told to hide before. To blend. To adapt. He knew how.

Sakamoto turned toward the counter. “You can stay here while you recover. No one’s asking questions.”

“That easy?” Damian asked, his voice quiet but probing. “You don’t even know who I am.”

“I don’t need to,” Sakamoto replied. “You’re hurt, and you’re still a kid. That’s all I need to know.”

Damian’s gaze lingered on him something tightening in his chest.

“You move like someone who’s fought.” Damian said after a pause. “But you’re pretending to be something else.”

Shin looked up from the counter. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sakamoto just chuckled lightly. “It means he pays attention.”

Their eyes met quiet, mutual understanding. Sakamoto saw a kid trained to survive. Damian saw a man who once lived by the blade and somehow found a way to put it down.

“Sharp kid.” Sakamoto said finally, adjusting his glasses. “You’ve got good instincts. That’s not something you can teach easily.”

Damian looked down, tone low but firm. “Instincts only matter if you use them right.”

Sakamoto smiled faintly. “Spoken like someone who’s already seen too much.”

“Maybe,” Damian replied. “But I’m still here.”

“Yeah,” Sakamoto said quietly. “You are. That’s what matters.”

Aoi entered the back room carrying a folded jacket and a grocery list. “Sakamoto, Shin we’re running low on rice and soy sauce. You two should head out before the store gets busy.”

Shin groaned. “Again? That’s like half a kilometer walk.”

“Maybe you’d have more energy if you didn’t eat half of what you’re supposed to restock,” Aoi replied, her tone flat but fond.

Sakamoto spoke, setting aside his cup. “Alright, alright. We’ll be quick.”

From his seat by the window, Damian looked up, curiosity flashing in his eyes. “You’re going out?”

“Just a short errand.” Sakamoto said. “You should rest. Walking around won’t do your ribs any favors.”

Damian stood, ignoring the pull of pain at his side. “I’ll come.”

Shin blinked. “You’ll what? You can barely stand without wincing.”

“I’m not an invalid.” Damian said sharply. “I need to see the area to understand where I am.”

Aoi crossed her arms. “You’re still healing. You step outside and reopen that wound, I’ll be the one cleaning up after you.”

Damian’s tone didn’t waver. “I’ll manage.”

Sakamoto studied him quietly, eyes narrowing just slightly. He could tell this wasn’t stubbornness for its own sake. The boy was assessing, calculating. Trying to read us.

“You’re not just curious about Tokyo,” Sakamoto said finally. “You’re trying to figure out who we are.”

Damian didn’t deny it. “I prefer to know who I’m staying with.”

Shin whistled low. “Kid’s got trust issues.”

Shin communicates with Sakamoto through telepathy. "Mr. Sakamoto, I just noticed I can't seem to read this kid's mind."

In which Sakamoto Acknowledges.
“Understandable,” Sakamoto said, straightening. “Fine. But if you start to feel lightheaded, you sit down. No arguments.”

Damian nodded once, expression unreadable but there was a flicker of something like respect. “Alright”

Aoi sighed, defeated. “If you come back bleeding, don’t expect dessert.”

As they stepped outside, the sunlight hit Damian’s face, and for a moment, he just watched the busy street, the hum of Tokyo life. It was so different from Gotham’s darkness and noise. Here, people laughed easily. There were no masks, no capes.

Sakamoto walked ahead with that same lazy posture, pushing his cart of supplies. Shin trailed behind, muttering about how unfair it was that he always carried the heavy stuff.

But Damian saw past the surface how Sakamoto’s eyes subtly scanned reflections in windows, how Shin’s hands never strayed far from his pockets, fingers twitching like he was ready for a fight. Ordinary, maybe but not harmless.

They’re hiding something too, Damian thought. Just like me.

Sakamoto glanced over his shoulder, catching the boy’s expression. “You analyze people a lot, don’t you?”

Damian’s eyes met his. “It’s better than being surprised.”

Sakamoto smiled faintly. “That’s true. But sometimes, surprises are good.”

Damian didn’t reply, but a quiet thought lingered as they walked through the streets together for the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel like he was being hunted.

He continued walking with Sakamoto and Shin.

The boy’s chest rose and fell, sharp with defiance. For a moment, he almost spat another retort, almost proved him wrong just to spite him. But the truth weighed heavy, his side burned, his body betrayed him, and somewhere inside, he missed what he could never admit.

Grayson… As much as he hates it he really misses him and the rest of the bat family.

Sakamoto had met all kinds in of people in his life but this boy…reminded him of a kid that needs guidance.

From the moment he dragged him out of the dirt, he could tell something was off. Children did not bleed out in alleys. Children did not stare with eyes that old. He was sharp, defensive, every word laced with thorns. A brat? Absolutely. but not the kind born from spoiled ease.

Sakamoto had noticed it on their errand. The boy never walked casually, his head turned at every sound, his posture never fully loose.

He wasn’t Japanese though he's great at communicating. Sakamoto saw it clearly now. His face bore a mix of sharper lines, foreign blood, something Arabian, something Chinese but belonging to neither. That explained part of it. Outsiders always carried themselves differently. But this boy’s difference ran deeper than that.

Sakamoto thought of his daughter at home. She would never have to bleed in alleys. She would never have to flinch from kindness as if it were a knife. Looking at this boy bratty, defensive, exhausted something in him stirred with a quiet, protective anger.

Sakamoto made his decision. To keep him here, at least until the wounds healed, until he could breathe without staggering.

It wasn’t pity. It wasn’t sentiment. It was instinct. Assassin’s instinct, father’s instinct, they blurred together until he couldn’t separate them anymore.

Whatever this boy carried, it was heavier than any blade.

And for now, Sakamoto would carry it with him.

Chapter Text

The sun hung low when the three left the shop, grocery bags in hand. The air was cool, the late afternoon hum of Tokyo folding around them chatter, footsteps, the faint hiss of traffic.

Damian walked a few steps behind, eyes flicking from storefront to reflection, memorizing streets, corners, exits. Always learn the terrain. His mother’s voice still echoed in him, sharp as steel.

Then a sound. Soft, but wrong. The faint scuff of leather against tile, a shift of weight on the rooftops. Someone was following.

His hand twitched toward his belt, instincts flaring but before he could act, Sakamoto was already moving.

It was almost imperceptible one breath, one step and the man who had been tailing them was gone, dragged into a narrow alley. The only sounds were a muffled grunt, a dull crack, and the solid thud of a body hitting concrete.

By the time Damian caught up, the scene was over.

Sakamoto stood over the unconscious attacker, brushing dust from his sleeves as if he’d just taken out the trash. No wasted movement, no hesitation just clean, lethal precision.

Damian froze. He’d seen killers before he was one, but this was different. There was no arrogance in Sakamoto’s motion, no pleasure in it. Just an old instinct that never really left.

Shin rushed over, eyes wide. “You didn’t even give the guy a chance! I swear, you blinked, and he was already down.”

Sakamoto exhaled softly, checking the fallen man’s coat. “He had a gun and a knife. He wasn’t here to talk.”

Shin frowned. “Still, you could’ve—”

“—Waited?” Sakamoto interrupted. “That’s how people die.”

Shin bit his tongue, realizing he couldn’t argue.

Damian’s gaze didn’t leave Sakamoto. His voice came low and even. “You’re not surprised someone attacked you.”

The words hung between them. Shin blinked, uneasy. Sakamoto didn’t answer immediately; he just looked back at Damian with that unreadable calm of his.

“You notice a lot,” he said finally.

Damian’s chin lifted slightly. “I notice what matters.”

He was studying Sakamoto now the quiet way his shoulders squared, how he placed himself between the boy and the threat without thinking. His body language wasn’t that of a shopkeeper. It was a soldier’s stance, tempered by something else restraint.

“You’re hiding something,” Damian said. “Men don’t move like that unless they’ve done it before. You’re not… normal.”

Sakamoto met his stare, unfazed. “Neither are you.”

Damian hesitated. Just for a heartbeat. The truth in that simple reply cut deeper than expected.

Inside his mind, two voices warred.
His mother’s lessons You are an Al Ghul. Discipline is power. Compassion is weakness.
And then Bruce’s quieter words We fight so others don’t have to. Control isn’t coldness, Damian. It’s choice.

Both had shaped him. Both were right, in their own ways.

“I’ve seen men pretend to be peaceful,” Damian said quietly. “It never lasts.”

Sakamoto didn’t argue. He just replied, calm as still water, “Then don’t take my word for it. Watch me.”

Shin, breaking the tension, threw his hands up. “Okay, enough with the murder vibes. We’re supposed to be buying rice, not questioning each other’s tragic pasts.”

Damian almost smiled almost. The corner of his mouth twitched before he masked it again.

“You didn’t kill him,” Damian observed, glancing at the unconscious man. “You had the chance. You chose not to.”

Sakamoto shrugged. “There’s no point in killing when you don’t have to.”

That answer seemed to settle something unspoken in Damian’s mind. A rule, he thought. He has one too.

“You’re right,” Damian admitted after a moment. “About both of us not being normal. But you—” his gaze flicked to Sakamoto’s wedding band, to the grocery bags still hanging from his arm “you found something worth not killing for.”

Sakamoto’s eyes softened just a fraction. “Maybe you did too.”

Before Damian could respond, a familiar, teasing voice cut through the alley.

“Well, well. If it isn’t Sakamoto himself. And here I thought retirement made you slow.”

The three turned. From the mouth of the alley, Nagumo strolled into view, same cocky grin, same coiled grace that promised chaos. His weapon rested lazily across his shoulders, the gleam of his tattoos catching the light.

Sakamoto’s expression shifted, all humor gone. “…Nagumo.”

“Relax,” Nagumo said, flashing that sharklike grin. “Not here to mess with your domestic life. I just wanted to see for myself the legend playing house. And this—” his gaze slid toward Damian “—this little guest of yours.”

Damian met his eyes head-on, assessing him like prey and predator all at once. “You know each other,” he said flatly.

Nagumo chuckled. “Oh, we go way back. Though I’ve got to say, Taro, picking up strays now? That’s new.”

Shin muttered under his breath, “Here we go again…”

Sakamoto didn’t move, but his tone carried quiet warning. “Whatever you’re here for, leave the kid out of it.”

Damian frowned, bristling. “I can take care of myself.”

“I’m sure you can,” Nagumo said lightly, his smirk never fading. “That’s what makes this all so interesting.”

The air between them thickened an unspoken recognition passing between three killers who had all tried, in their own way, to walk away from blood.

For Damian, standing between them, it was like seeing two futures, one drenched in the past, the other trying to stay clean despite it.

And for the first time in a long time, Damian wasn’t sure which one he belonged to.

Chapter Text

Ah, Sakamoto.” Nagumo drawled as he stepped from the shadows, tattoos snaking down his arms, a mixture of blades and barrels slung casually over his shoulder like toys. His grin was easy, but his eyes glinted with intent. “Always picking up strays.”

Sakamoto’s jaw tightened. “…Nagumo.”

Shin shifted uneasily. Damian stayed silent, his sharp green eyes fixed on the newcomer, assessing.

Shin’s irritation flared. “Hey, Nagumo! Since when did you get here?”

“Oh, about two minutes ago." Nagumo said lazily, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips.

Nagumo’s focus shifted to the boy. His grin sharpened. “Hey, kid. Did you know there’s a bounty on your head? Five billion yen. Enough money to make people kill their own blood.”

Sakamoto frowned. “A bounty that high on a child? Why?”

“Good question." Nagumo said, pacing with casual precision. “I checked where I could brokers, connections, pulling strings. What did I find? Nothing. Just your name, age… about your father, which, frankly, was boring. Some rich playboy guy. Nothing else.” He tilted his head, voice dropping to a teasing lilt. "Everything else your past, birth records…are spotless forgeries that would fool many professionals. Like someone shoved your life into a lockbox and threw the key into the ocean. Makes a guy wonder why a rich kid from America is wandering Japan.”

He leaned closer, tone playful yet provocative. “And the tighter you lock something… the more people want to break it open.”

Damian’s shoulders stiffened, his voice cutting like glass. “My father is none of your concern. I don’t appreciate you prying.”

Nagumo’s grin widened, eyes twinkling. “Makes you wonder.. what kind of father raises a boy like you?”

Sakamoto stepped forward. “Enough. You don’t pick on children, do you Nagumo?”

Damian’s fists clenched, venom in his words. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”

Nagumo spun a blade between his fingers, grin unwavering. “Lucky for you, you're not my target today. I just have a few questions before returning you in one piece. Not to worry Sakamoto.”

Sakamoto’s eyes narrowed. He knew Nagumo was dangerous, but they’d worked together for years. Nagumo keeps his word. “I’ll leave the choice to the boy,” he said quietly.

“Is this really wise, Mr. Sakamoto?” Shin asked nervously.

Sakamoto remained silent, letting Damian answer.

“Who ordered this interrogation?” Damian asked, his tone sharp, controlled.

Nagumo’s grin widened. “The Japanese Assassin Association. The biggest assassin network in Japan. Usually having a mission specifically to take a target alive for interrogation is usually not common. So, you sure are one lucky child."

Damian’s green eyes flickered with interest. This was the organization that his mother told him about. The JAA, he'll take advantage of this situation.

“Glad to see you’re interested, kid,” Nagumo said, stepping closer. “And I have to admit… I’m very interested in you and your skills as well.”

Shin’s hands went up instinctively. “This kid is insane. He doesn’t even flinch walking into a death trap!”

“I’ll return unscathed,” Damian said confidently, smug, voice steady and unbroken.

Sakamoto stepped forward, lowering his voice. “I’ll trust you once again, Nagumo.”

Nagumo’s grin curved mischievously. “Whatever you say ba— mh. I meant Sakamoto.” He gave a little playful pout.

“You almost called me a bastard, didn’t you?” Sakamoto said, annoyed but keeping his composure.

Damian didn’t react. “Then let’s go. Whoever you are.”

“My name’s Nagumo, by the way." he said, feigning hurt. “I thought you’d at least care to remember.”

“I don’t." Damian said flatly. “Just take me to the location.”

Chapter Text

The glass doors slid open with a soft hiss. The air inside smelled faintly of metal and bleach, the scent of a place too clean to be innocent.

Nagumo walked in first, hands in his coat pockets, his grin as lazy as ever. Beside him, a ten year old boy followed, quiet and poised, his eyes flicking over every corner like a trained predator in miniature form.

“Hey Kid."Nagumo said, his voice dripping with casual amusement. “You do know that walking into a building full of assassins with a five billion bounty on your head makes you a target, right?”

Damian’s gaze swept the room once sharp, efficient, unafraid. “I’m aware,” he said. “If they’re foolish enough to try, that’s on them.”

Nagumo laughed softly. “Confident. Gotta say, you don’t sound like most kids I’ve seen.”

“You can't compare me to those peasants." Damian said flatly.

“Man.." Nagumo said, watching him. “You're one annoying brat.”

They reached the elevator. Nagumo pressed the button and leaned against the wall, eyes flicking to Damian with mild curiosity. The only thing anyone here knows about you is that you’re some rich kid, son of a billionaire, apparently. No record, no training file, nothing that explains how a bunch of bounty boards suddenly lost their minds over you.”

Damian didn’t look at him. “Then maybe you’re all looking in the wrong places.”

Nagumo tilted his head. “You talk like someone who’s got more secrets than years lived.”

Damian simply crossed his arms. “You talk like someone who doesn’t know when to stop.”

Nagumo smirked, pushing off the wall as the elevator chimed. “Touché.”

The doors opened with a soft chime. The hallway beyond was dimly lit long, silent, and heavy with unseen presence.

Damian stepped forward first. He didn’t have to look to know they weren’t alone. The air shifted, faint and deliberate assassins in hiding, breathing slow and controlled.

“They’re watching." Damian said.

Nagumo grinned. “Of course they are. You’ve got a price tag on your head, remember? Some of them are probably wondering if I’d notice if they took a shot.”

Damian’s tone didn’t change. “There are seven. Two in the vents. Three behind the door. One shadowing our path. One by the exit.”

Nagumo’s grin faltered, then curved back into something sharper. “Huh. You’re not guessing, are you?”

Damian didn’t reply.

Nagumo let out a low whistle. “Okay. Definitely not your average spoiled nepo baby.”

They walked through the corridor the assassins above and around them staying motionless but tense. Every light flicker made the air heavier.

Nagumo broke the silence. “You’ve got skills, I’ll give you that. Still doesn’t explain the bounty. You tick off someone important or do you just collect enemies as a hobby?”

Damian’s voice was quiet but steady. “People fear what they can’t control.”

Nagumo grinned. “Ah, so you're a 40 year old philosopher now."

Damian didn’t respond.

When they reached the final door Nagumo stopped. He studied the boy again, eyes narrowing slightly. “You really don’t make sense, you know that?"

Damian’s gaze didn’t waver. “I came here because you asked. So ask.”

Nagumo chuckled under his breath. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that.” He swiped a keycard, the door clicking open. “Alright then, mystery boy. Let’s see what makes you worth five billion.”

Damian walked in first, the shadows swallowing his small frame. “You’ll figure it out.” he said calmly.

Nagumo smiled to himself as the door shut behind them. “Yeah" he muttered. “Can’t wait to.”

The room smelled faintly of metal and dust.
A single light swayed above the table, its flicker tracing shadows across Nagumo’s grin.

Across from him sat Damian Wayne posture straight, eyes cold, the air of someone far older than ten.

Nagumo twirled a pen between his fingers. “We usually don't take targets with a bounty on their head for interrogation but you sure are one lucky child.” he said, tone almost playful.

He gestured lazily. “So imagine my surprise when I’m told to bring you in alive.”

Damian didn’t flinch. “Then perhaps you should stop wasting your time and get to whatever your employer wants.”

Nagumo raised a brow. “You sound awfully calm for a kid who people want dead.”

“I’ve been in worse situations.”

Nagumo chuckled. “Right, you're from Gotham so I suppose it's not surprising.”

“I don’t expect you to understand,” Damian said, voice clipped and aristocratic. “You kill without regard for human life. Do you even feel guilt for killing them?"

Nagumo’s grin widened. “Oh? And you know because what you saw the light?”

“Because I learned what justice actually means.” Damian’s tone hardened, like steel.

“Justice isn’t about blood. It’s about choosing not to become the thing you fight."

Nagumo leaned forward, smirk still in place but eyes suddenly keener. “Balance, huh? That’s cute. But you know what I’ve learned, kid? Having excessive sense of justice is just as dangerous than being evil. People who think they’re righteous end up doing worse things than people like me.”

“Then you’ve never known true justice,” Damian shot back. “It isn’t about what makes you feel righteous it’s about protecting those who can’t fight back. People like you call it hypocrisy because you’ve never cared enough to try.”

For the first time, Nagumo’s grin faltered just a little. Then he laughed, half-amused, half-surprised. “You’ve got guts, brat. Talking morals to me."

“In a way you may be right, but is hurting people really any better?" Damian said, his voice quiet but cutting. “I know what it costs.”

Nagumo’s smirk returned, but his tone softened with curiosity. “You talk like someone who’s already paid for it.”

“I have hurt others without remorse and the only thing I could do is move forward and do better." Damian’s eyes flickered regret, buried deep. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure no one else has to.”

For a moment, neither spoke. The hum of the light filled the silence. Nagumo finally leaned back, arms crossed, watching him with new interest.

“You really believe that, don’t you?” he asked, almost incredulous. “That you can swim in blood and still come out clean?”

“I believe justice means trying even when the world calls it useless." Damian replied. Especially then.”

Nagumo stared at him a long, unreadable look then let out a low laugh, shaking his head. “You’re dangerous, kid. Not because you kill. Because you don't."

Damian met his gaze, unflinching. “Then we’re enemies for the right reasons.”

Nagumo grinned again, mischief returning like a mask slipping back into place. “Yeah,” he said, leaning forward, tone teasing. “But between you and me the world doesn’t care about reasons. It only cares who’s left standing.”

Damian’s lips curled faintly. “Then I’ll just have to make sure it’s me.”

Chapter Text

Nagumo leaned lazily against the table, spinning his knife between his fingers, eyes glinting with amusement. “Alright." he said, voice teasing, “I like where this is going. You’re clearly hunting for someone important. You tell me enough, and I’ll help you. I can dig through any data, any scrap the JAA has, trace any lead.”

Damian’s green eyes narrowed, lips pressing into a thin line. “And why should I trust that you will not deceive me?”

Nagumo grinned wider, playful and mischievous. “Because I’m not interested in lying, at least not to you."
I enjoy watching a challenge. I can get you closer to your target faster than you could alone. But the choice is yours. Besides, I don't feel like annoying Sakamoto right now.”

Damian’s jaw tightened. Logic warred with suspicion.

“I will agree,” Damian said finally, voice firm, “on one condition. I reveal only a little and nothing about my father and in exchange, you give me access to any information your organization has on the person I am looking for. Direct access. I make the decisions. Nothing else.”

Nagumo’s grin softened slightly, clearly amused and impressed. “Fair. You’re principled enough to limit your truths, but smart enough to make a deal. I like that. Now, tell me what can you share?”

Damian’s posture remained rigid, voice cold but measured. “I'm from the League of Assassins. Which I'm sure you've at least heard. My mother Talia Al Ghul is missing. Since I was stabbed, I’ve been tracking her. That is all you need to know.”

Nagumo’s eyes gleamed with interest, spinning the knife lazily. “That explains your attitude. I've never met her but she has quite the formidable reputation, even in Japan. I wonder how fun would it be to fight her?"

Damian’s gaze remained steady, cold, and unflinching. “Do not mistake my words for trust. I only give what is necessary.”

Nagumo leaned back, grinning, playful as ever. “Noted. And that’s why this is fun. Now… I’ll show you what we have, but you’re the one in control. You tell me which leads to follow. Deal?”

Damian’s eyes flickered with a hint of relief, quickly masked by composure. “Deal. But any deception, and the arrangement ends immediately.”

Nagumo laughed softly, low and teasing. “Fair enough. Let’s see what the JAA really knows and maybe get you a step closer to finding your mother."