The gymnasium of Gotham Academy hummed with the low thrum of fluorescent lights and the squeak of sneakers against polished wood. Bleachers stretched along the far wall, scarred from years of use. Basketballs thudded in wire racks. The air smelled like rubber, sweat, and something floral—probably from the gaggle of girls clustered near the scoreboard.
The Wayne boys stepped through the double doors in a loose formation that seemed practiced, instinctive. Conversations didn’t so much stop as hitch.
Richard Grayson
rolling his shoulders Told you we’d be late.
Jason Todd
shoving a locker shut Didn’t say we wouldn’t.
Tim Drake
adjusting his glasses Actually, you said, and I quote, “We’ve got time.”
Jason Todd
That’s not what I said.
Damian Wayne
cutting past them You are all insufferable. It’s a physical education class. Not a war council.
Duke Thomas
grinning Speak for yourself. I’ve seen you tie your shoes like you’re planning an ambush.
A few girls near the water fountain elbowed each other. One whispered something behind her hand. Another giggled.
Coach Morrison whistled once, loud enough to rattle the windows.
Coach Morrison
Alright, listen up! Warm-ups! Two laps, then stretches. Move it!
Students scattered reluctantly. The Wayne boys broke off toward the far sideline, pulling off jackets, stretching arms overhead.
That’s when Sarah Smithers appeared. Ponytail high. Smile bright. Timing absolutely intentional.
Sarah Smithers
slowing into a stretch beside Richard Oh—hi, Dick. I didn’t realize you were in this class.
Jason Todd
not looking up Twelve weeks.
Tim Drake
still tying his shoe Actually, fourteen. The semester started January seventh.
Sarah Smithers
laughing, flipping her ponytail Guess time just flies when you’re busy.
She straightened, shifting her weight onto one hip, eyes landing on Jason.
Sarah Smithers
You play basketball, right? I could never. I’m way too delicate.
Jason Todd
flatly Yeah. Tragic.
Duke Thomas
under his breath You good, man?
Jason Todd
Fine. Allergic to bullshit.
Damian Wayne
arms crossed Your form is inefficient. And you are obstructing our warm-up.
Sarah Smithers
eyebrow twitching before the smile reset Wow. Someone’s intense.
She turned, leaning closer to Richard, voice dropping like they were sharing a secret.
Sarah Smithers
How do you deal with him?
Richard Grayson
smile easy, something flickering behind it We don’t deal with Damian. We survive him.
Coach Morrison
Alright! Teams! Wayne, Grayson, Todd, Drake, Thomas—you’re all on blue.
Jason Todd
dragging a hand down his face Of course we are.
Tim Drake
sighing Statistically, that’s unfair.
Sarah Smithers
clapping, jogging toward them Oh! I’m blue team too! Guess it’s fate.
Damian Wayne
Fate is a lazy excuse for poor planning.
The game started. Sarah positioned herself near Richard—then Jason—then Tim—like a hummingbird on caffeine.
Sarah Smithers
Nice shot, Jason!
Jason Todd
It was a pass.
Sarah Smithers
laughing Tim, you’re literally a genius!
Tim Drake
dribbling past her I just calculated the arc—
Sarah Smithers
Richard, you’re amazing at everything, aren’t you?
Richard Grayson
catching the ball I try.
Jason Todd
passing harder than necessary She ever breathe when she talks?
Duke Thomas
murmuring Unclear.
Tim paused mid-stride. His eyes caught movement across the court—not Sarah. Someone else. A figure near the bleachers, arms resting on knees, watching with quiet attention. Not part of the game. Not cheering. Just looking.
Tim Drake
narrowing his eyes
The ball bounced past his feet.
Coach Morrison
Drake! Head in the game!
Tim Drake
blinking Right.
He glanced back. The figure was gone.