Ch: 5 [Cutting Class]

    Five years had passed since that rainy night in the small wooden cabin, where a three-and-a-half-year-old Bruce had crafted his first wristwatch gun. Now, at the age of eight, Bruce Wayne sat in a classroom, surrounded by classmates whose minds were far simpler and less voracious than his own.

    The years had been both a blessing and a curse for Bruce. On one hand, he had used his intellect to excel in academics, absorbing knowledge at an astonishing rate. On the other hand, he found himself stifled in the confines of a conventional education system. The subjects were too easy, too slow for his advanced understanding.

    He wanted to focus on crafting various equipment and bizarre items, but his parents said education and degrees were two things he must possess if he wanted to live his dream life and there was no shortcut. His father won''t allow him to cut grades and move up to higher grades.

    "You must have patience, Bruce. I know you are a genius, but if you don''t have patience, you won''t succeed in your life," Thomas''s words echoed in his ears as he polished his wristwatch.

    The wristwatch gun had undergone numerous modifications and refinements, each designed to make it more efficient and less conspicuous.

    As he sat in the classroom, his attention divided between the teacher''s monotonous lecture and his own thoughts, Bruce couldn''t help but feel a sense of restlessness. The school year had just begun, and he was already well ahead of the curriculum.

    "Bruce!" The teacher''s voice rang out, frustration evident as she tried to get his attention.

    Bruce snapped back to reality, his gaze shifting from the intricate design on his wristwatch to the teacher at the front of the classroom. His classmates turned to look at him, some with curiosity, others with amusement.

    "Yes, Miss Davis?" he replied, his tone polite but distant.

    Miss Davis sighed, clearly exasperated by his lack of participation, "Bruce, you need to pay attention in class. You can''t just drift off like that."

    Mrs. Davis the maths teacher, looked at Bruce with a mix of concern and frustration.

    You know that one teacher in every school who''s kind of annoying and just bad at her job? Yeah, that''s this lady. She was dressed in her usual pantsuit, her dark hair pulled into a tight bun and her expression pinched. Her voice was high-pitched, grating on Bruce''s nerves and she reminded him of the annoying and demanding aunts who make people uncomfortable and yet never gets it. She was definitely someone who wouldn''t do anything she was ordered to do. She would whine and make excuses when caught but would never accept any blame.

    "36," Bruce replied with an absent tone. His face still held the same pleasant yet detached smile.

    Miss Davis let out an indignant huff, crossing her arms over her chest, "Bruce, you were not listening to me!"

    "Am I?" He cocked a brow in question. His classmate stifled their chuckles at the back, causing his brows to frown slightly. It had not been the first time they had done such a thing, but his question had gotten Miss Davis a tad nervous. He pointed at the blackboard, the second-grade mathematical formula painted on the surface, and let out a light sigh as his classmates failed to stifle their chuckles again. "36, Miss Davis. I''m right."

    "Okay," her response stammered as she attempted to find her composure. "Sit down." She brushed back a loose lock of hair before focusing her attention to the students in the front rows. "But pay attention from now on, Bruce," her voice shook, a visible tremble going through her figure.

    "Uumm... I know some might say it''s disrespectful, but could you elaborate on what you mean by ''pay attention''? Was the answer wrong?" He opened his book and flipped to the back page where all the answers were printed. Finding his question at the top of the page, "Nah! It''s the right answer. So, what''s the problem? Or, do you have a problem with me?" He tapped his finger, his eyebrows cocked upwards.

    His actions only worsened Miss Davis'' stance, and soon enough she ran away to get the headmaster, trying to play the victim as usual.

    ''Does the good cop, bad cop strategy work at 8 years... He is not bad at trying though. Old Coot must have sagged her, huh? Interesting,'' His face still maintained the fake innocence of an 8-year-old having another dark mole of his personality, ''naivety''. "Director Flemming," his voice carried slight sadness in his words, "For what? For pointing out the obvious fact? But don''t worry about that. We will just submit a petition to the education council that her qualification as a teacher is in serious question if her test scores are that horrible," He sighed, as if sad and exhausted, "What a pity. Such a pitiful and sad thing!"

    His words struck a nerve in the already embarrassed and flushed director, whose eye started to twitch. Bruce smirked slightly at the twitching eye and relaxed posture as the director restrained the anger.

    "Fine, I will take a look. Self-study today," His gaze fell upon Miss Davis and he signaled her to come forward and provide him the explanation.

    She walked over obediently and with her head bent forward, giving the impression of a dog begging for forgiveness, as she passed the solution book in her hands.

    Director Flemming and his emotional companion proceeded to exit the class with her hands shaking due to nervousness and a visible hint of anger on her face. Her face was red, a sure sign that she had been on the verge of tears and her cheeks were wet, though Bruce was pretty sure the old man had already done a full course in 3 to 4 mins with her.

    ''Time to slip out and take a look around the city,'' Bruce packed his backpack and slipped out of the school''s back gate during the lunch break since he got nothing to study there anymore.

    Sneaking out of school wasn''t a big deal to Bruce. Well, his parents might be angry with him but his mom does care more and a good old-fashioned hug along with the line ''don''t go alone next time'', should do.

    Bruce couldn''t help but let a wry smile float across his face. His parents have always trusted him way too much and he had done nothing that would hurt their trust or disappoint them. However, they often didn''t recognize the way they should approach him to make him less rebellious was, different, in the same manner as one would raise a ''regular'' child and one who is a ''genius.''

    He had been asked and trained as someone with great promise as a great successor, but his parents treated him like a normal boy all this while, without fully utilizing the talents God blessed him with.

    As he was strolling near the slum area on the Gotham road, a police car stopped beside him.

    "Bruce, What are you doing here?! Don''t tell me that you slipped out of the school again!" A middle-aged male face peered out the driver''s window, shock etched clearly on the face. It was Gordon''s face.

    Lieutenant Jim Gordon of the G.C.P.D.

    ''Haaa... There goes my fun time,'' He grumbled.

    [AN: I will pick up the pace in the next chapter.]

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