Light shined over Bruce's eyes.

He groaned, pulling the blankets over his eyes as Alfred walked away from the curtains.

"Bats are nocturnal," he grumbled.

"Bats may be," Alfred said. "But even for billionaire playboys, 3:00 is pushing it. The price for leading a double life, I fear." He turned on Bruce's scroll, showing him an article published earlier that day. "Your theatrics made an impression."

Bruce took the scroll, looking at the title of the article.

"BATMAN" STOPS ROMAN TORCHWICK

"Theatricality and deception are powerful weapons, Alfred," Bruce repeated Cinder's words, sitting up in his bed. "This is a good start."

Alfred looked over Bruce's body, taking note of a few scars received during battle. "If those are to be the first of many injuries to come, it would be wise to find a suitable excuse. Polo, for instance."

"I'm not learning polo, Alfred," Bruce said.

"Strange injuries, a nonexistent social life," Alfred elaborated. "These things beg the question as to what exactly does Bruce Wayne do with his time and his money."

"What does someone like me do?" Bruce asked, standing up and dropping down to do pushups.

"Drive sports cars, date movie stars," Alfred said. "Buy things that are not for sale. Who knows, Master Wayne? You start pretending to have fun, you might even have a little by accident."

This day thing was not his style. Already, he missed protecting people at night as Batman.

He couldn't wait for the day to end . . .