Chapter 3 Photograph (Retouched)

After Jason left, a long silence fell in the living room. No one spoke, and in this atmosphere, the flames in the fireplace seemed to slow their pace.

Bruce turned and walked into the study. Alfred whispered a few soothing words to Jack, then quickly followed, closing the door.

In the study, neither of them spoke immediately.

Alfred looked at Bruce quietly, as if waiting for an explanation.

Bruce leaned back in his chair, elbows on his knees. After a moment of thought, he whispered,

"Listen... Alfred, this matter is complicated, but I'm sure it's not what you think."

Alfred's tone was resigned.

"You and Jack had a conflict this morning," he said. "While I don't know exactly what went on between you, I believe that conflicts between partners should not escalate into violence."

Bruce gritted his teeth, trying to suppress the turmoil in his heart.

"You can't expect me to just sit there and watch the Joker lie next to me calmly," he whispered. "Well... maybe you don't know what happened, but I'm going to find out."

Alfred looked at him disapprovingly.

"...The Joker?" he repeated, his tone filled with instinctive suspicion and alarm. "You mentioned him this morning, too? You mean the clown from the circus?"

Bruce's heart tightened, his pupils shrinking.

"He's a criminal," he said, slowly straightening up, his voice lowered. "He wears makeup, his skin is pale, his mouth is cracked, and he has greasy green hair. He's the most dangerous madman in Gotham. He's caused subway bombings, kidnapped council members, and killed countless people... I've been pursuing him, and he needs to be locked up."

Alfred's expression gradually froze, a mixture of unease and astonishment.

"Master Bruce," he leaned in closer, observing Bruce's expression. "I don't recall such a criminal in Gotham. Why would you mistake Mr. Jack for him?"

He paused, then said bluntly,

"Mr. Jack is a gentle gentleman, a fine actor, and your lover."

Bruce slowly leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes as if to escape.

"I don't remember a 'Jack' in my life at all."

...

Alfred's expression changed.

"That's impossible," he said, his brow furrowed, pacing restlessly. "Perhaps it's some kind of magic? Should I contact Miss Zatanna for you?"

Bruce sighed, resting his hand on his forehead.

"I'll go find her shortly."

"Perhaps you're not fit for night patrol duty these days, Master Bruce. We all know you haven't been well lately—this isn't criticism, it's genuine concern."

"...Are you implying I'm imagining this?"

Alfred didn't answer the question immediately.

He simply sat down across from Bruce, his tone soothing.

"I don't know what happened, but this morning's events are too much to ignore. You forgot about Jack...you looked at him and treated him like a dangerous criminal."

"That's the truth," Bruce said.

Alfred looked at him, his eyes as kind as ever. He didn't blame Bruce, only worried, genuinely concerned for Bruce's best interests.

"You need time to recover," he said softly. "Perhaps it's anxiety, perhaps...a subconscious defense mechanism. We all know you've been carrying a heavier burden than anyone else."

Bruce remained silent, listening to him continue.

"Perhaps your brain is trying to protect you, to avoid certain emotions, certain pain... This could be causing your memory problems." Alfred's voice was soft, but every word struck home. "I'm not a professional psychiatrist, but I know this clearly—in either case, you don't have to face it alone."

Bruce slowly raised his head and held his gaze for a moment, a deep weariness in his eyes.

"I can't give you evidence right now... Give me some time, and I'll prove everything I've said."

If he continued to argue, Alfred would diagnose him with amnesia and paranoia.

Alfred sighed softly and said, "

Mr. Jack is still waiting for your explanation on the living room sofa."

"In fact, I can't imagine the two of us sitting on the sofa and having a peaceful conversation. Usually, such situations involve kidnapped hostages or behind the iron gates of Arkham..."

Alfred interrupted him, saying,

"Master Bruce, I think you owe him an apology. The atmosphere of your conversation will depend on your will. It depends on whether you are willing to face reality, whether it is the one you are familiar with or not."

Bruce finally stood up and turned his back to the butler.

"...I understand."

"But that's just your expectation."

Alfred nodded, and without urging him, he turned and left, gently closing the door.

The room was silent again.

Bruce looked at the photo on the table.

In the photo, he and "Jack Napier" were standing together, the two of them were very close, he put his arm on Jack's shoulder, and Jack smiled brightly.

But he clearly realized that there might be something else hidden behind that smile -

maybe the truth he needed to find.

Maybe it was a madman with his mouth grinning from head to toe, quietly waiting for him to collapse.