Moving out of Wayne Manor wasn't a spur-of-the-moment decision Bruce made.

The idea had been looming in his mind since the Joker got out of his car that day. He was worried—the Joker wasn't in prison, not in the jail, not in Arkham… nor anywhere within his sight, and he couldn't bear to see him living freely in the city.

The decision to move finally took shape late that night.

At three in the morning, exhausted from his night patrol, Bruce lay in bed, tossing and turning, unable to sleep, his mind filled with images of the Joker's rampages in Gotham…

After an hour of wrestling with his mind, Bruce gave in.

He climbed out of bed, quietly drove a sports car from the garage, and headed straight for the Joker's apartment.

He parked the car downstairs and flew his drone to the rooftop of another building. From this vantage point, he could see the Joker's bedroom—

the curtains were open, and the Joker lay asleep in bed, his blanket only half covered, his chest rising and falling slightly.

No explosions, arson, looting—nothing unusual; he was simply sleeping normally.

His anxiety instantly subsided.

Bruce had only intended to observe for a moment, but watching the live feed from the car brought a long-lost sense of peace, and before he knew it, he too fell asleep.

He was awakened by the sunlight on his face and the vibrating communicator in his pocket. In that moment, he finally realized the serious consequences of disappearing in the middle of the night without notifying anyone...

He didn't even want to think about the look on Alfred's face when he returned that morning.

Of course, Jason had also been the catalyst for his decision to move.

Since that day, Jason had repeatedly questioned him about Jack and their relationship. He was deeply concerned about Jack's kidnapping and the strange emotional entanglement between Bruce and Jack.

He claimed that as Bruce's son, he deserved to know all this—and Bruce was sad to discover that only then did Jason realize he was his father.

Bruce initially brushed him off with plausible excuses like Jack was "overwhelmed" or had "mental problems," but Jason was perceptive and had his own standards for judgment.

He astutely pointed out the flaws in Bruce's story—which later led Bruce to resort to fabricated medical records to deceive him.

But Jason was clearly determined to get to the bottom of things. Over the past two days, he'd brought up a number of bizarre details about their past relationship—including Bruce's unauthorized use of Jack's messaging account.

Based on these considerations, he moved out.

Bruce spent nearly an hour trying to convince the housekeeper to let him go. His reasoning wasn't, "I need to keep an eye on the Joker," but "Jack's sick and I need to take care of him." "Yeah, that's right. It's not him taking care of me, it's me taking care of him—"

Alfred finally relented, simply looking at Bruce with a worried look and offering to bring a renovation team to Bruce's new apartment.

Bruce declined the housekeeper's offer.

"No, I don't want to draw attention—it'll disrupt our lives. We've already agreed. We'll do some minor renovations and move in this afternoon."

...

Late at night.

Bruce worked Wayne Enterprises during the day and went on his usual night patrols. He packed his gear and dragged his exhausted body back to the apartment.

After washing up, he dove into bed.

His consciousness drifted into a hazy state, and sleep soon took over. He fell into a light slumber—

and something suddenly began to tear at his nerves.

A roar... a sharp sound... a terrifying laugh... a deadly sound—

like a high-speed bullet piercing his solar plexus, his heart pounding—Bruce jolted awake.

There was no attack, no gunshot. The sound came from the other side of the wall.

...It was his mentally ill neighbor, blasting heavy metal at three in the morning.

Bruce rolled over, trying to cover his head with a pillow to block out the noise—

but the horrific music and laughter easily seeped through the cracks and into his head...

At three-thirty in the morning, Bruce got out of bed with a gloomy face.

He slipped on his slippers and went to the balcony. On the next balcony, a half-dried dark green shirt was drying, fluttering slightly in the breeze.

He strained to peer over and vaguely made out a shadow on the wall next door, throbbing to the ferocious beat of the drums.

Bruce stood there, staring at the arrogant figure for more than ten seconds.

Finally, he turned and went back inside, grabbed his coat, and flung the door open—

he rang the next doorbell.

The music suddenly stopped.

A few seconds later, the door was pulled open from the inside. Jack, dressed in pajamas, leaned against the doorframe, his expression innocent.

"Hey, sweetheart, what's up?" he yawned and said lazily. "Come at this time... did you miss me?"

Bruce stared at him intently and said,

"No, I'm here to stop you from playing rock music."

Jack's expression was shocked, his eyes wide, and he gestured for Bruce to look inside.

The room was pitch black, without a single light.

"There's no rock music, Bruce," he tilted his head. "I was sleeping... You woke me up."

Bruce clearly didn't buy his distorted story. He stared intently into Jack's eyes and threatened,

"You're disturbing the public... If you do that again..."

"What then?" Jack asked with a smile. "Will Batman come and get me?"

"..."

"You're being unreasonable, sweetheart." Jack sighed and grabbed the doorknob. "Did you hear that? There wasn't a sound—"

The door slammed shut before him.

Bruce was silent for a few seconds, then turned and walked back.

...

Five minutes later, the heavy metal music started again—louder than before, the laughter even more unbridled.

He flung the covers back and walked out.

The music suddenly stopped.

The door opened again, and Jack leaned against the doorframe. He asked with a look of concern, "

What's going on? Bruce, are you hallucinating?"

When he returned, the crazy music started again—higher in pitch, accompanied by a vibration machine.

Bruce took a deep breath, telling himself not to argue with a psychopath.

...

Five minutes later, a bat climbed through the window and entered the next room - and beat up a laughing and arrogant clown.