Enrollment Poster
Bring your child to Marabella's School for Tots.
They will learn to read, write, and respect the gods!
We charge no fee, but donations are welcome.
Your generosity keeps us going.
...
To the children, Teacher Marabella was gentle and patient, warm and energetic, knowledgeable—someone who seemed to know more than anyone.
Brown-haired and brown-eyed, she lived in the Bits, near a little square everyone called Beggar Square. People liked to say most of the Bits was middle-class—but the name "Beggar Square" said plenty all on its own.
In short, the neighborhood wasn't flourishing. The streets were usually safe enough…
Usually.
"N-no… don't come closer… Stop! Don't you come any closer! If you come closer, I'll scream!" Marabella said, returning home late at night.
A drunk with a leering grin chuckled. "Heh-heh-heh. Scream your throat raw—no one's coming to save you!"
A thug with a filthy, glittering stare breathed out, "Come on, we're just gonna have a little fun with you."
"Help! Help! Someone, please save me!" the teacher cried out—pure cheap-broadsheet melodrama.
"Hahaha! If you're out at night, it's because you want to be touched, isn't it?"
"Heh! I'd like to see who's got the nerve to interfere with a gang's business."
From their open-fronted clothes, it was easy to tell: the three men harassing the night-walking teacher were all under Whoreson Junior. And even though they were drunk, the habits of street brawlers meant they still watched their surroundings.
So when they noticed the woman in front of them suddenly stop screaming—her eyes no longer panicked, replaced by something baffled, as if something unbelievable had just appeared behind them—
They turned around at once.
And in the moonlight, they saw a black, indistinct shape.
Yes. On this very night, that free man—Batman—made his dashing debut on Novigrad's grand stage!
And as everyone knows, if you don't have enough lighting, stepping out in all black while standing in darkness isn't actually very cool. Since no one can see you, it's hard to make villains stumble back in terror.
So Victor improved the design.
There had to be light.
Snap.
With the sharp crack of fingers, a gentle white glow bloomed from beneath his feet, throwing everything into crisp relief—the bulging muscle plates beneath the leather suit, every line and ridge made unmistakable.
"W-what the hell is this?!" the drunk yelped, backing away so fast he slipped and hit the ground.
"What the hell is that thing?!" the thug hissed, staggering backward until he slammed into the wall.
This was the third-generation bat boots. Once enchanted with a glow-tube, they came with built-in night lighting—guaranteed to let every villain see, clearly and in detail, exactly who was about to beat the life out of them.
As for Marabella—who'd been trapped against the wall—she squeezed her legs together and practically started shining herself. She'd heard of this man, and the emblem on his chest confirmed his identity.
Just like Master Dandelion's earlier work—Prideful Bat and Miss Prejudice—so passionately praised: he was bold and fearless, wild and unstoppable. No wonder he'd managed to conquer that proud lady.
He was Vizima's king of the night, the champion of women—
Batman!
"You will release this lady. What you're doing isn't what a decent citizen should do. You disgrace this city!"
His voice was deep and powerful, like muffled thunder rolling overhead—the "words of judgment" just like the poem said…
"N-no… impossible! Why are you here?!" the thug screamed.
The drunk's eyes bulged, disbelief written all over him. "D-don't tell me… don't tell me you're—"
With a flick of his left hand, the back of the third-generation bat armor lit up as well, pouring out a soft radiance.
In that blazing brilliance, his cape's silhouette flared and snapped.
"I… am Batman."
"No! This isn't your city! You should be in Vizima!" one of them shouted, trying to drive away his panic with noise.
"A hero can be anyone. A hero can appear in any city. No one can stop him from shining—just like no one can save you."
After delivering the handsome line, Victor stepped forward on a floor of white light and began tonight's beating.
...
Angoulême found out Batman was prowling the streets while she was eating dumplings at Hattori's—she read it in the paper and almost choked mid-bite.
Ink still fragrant and fresh, the brand-new Novigrad morning paper's front page screamed:
That Free Man Is Here!
"Last night at Beggar Square in the Bits district, a masked vigilante calling himself 'Batman' launched a forceful assault. Beginning with the brutal punishment of gang members who attacked a woman, he went on to chastise a total of twenty-three hooligans through the night. No deaths reported.
Some readers may not yet know who 'Batman' truly is. In fact, he is the 'Pride' described by Master Dandelion in Prideful Bat and Miss Prejudice. In Vizima, he has long devoted himself to protecting women who return home late…
…(several thousand words omitted)…
Regarding this self-appointed night patrolman, Chapelle, Captain of the Eternal Fire Guard, stated that such behavior is illegal, and that the Temple Guard has both the confidence and the strength to maintain peace within Novigrad's city districts.
In the days ahead, patrol ranges at night will be expanded, and this costumed individual is urged to surrender to the authorities as soon as possible.
As of press time, local gangs have issued no response to Batman's appearance."
After reading, Angoulême folded the paper and slipped it into her clothes, intending to bring it back for the captain to see. That lusty bard had really gone and written a scandalously steamy poem about Batman like he'd claimed he would—she wasn't sure whether the boy even knew.
...
Victor knew.
In fact, he'd just finished appreciating Prideful Bat and Miss Prejudice and was leaving Crippled Kate's.
Crippled Kate's was the nearest brothel to home. They offered bath service, specialized in being cheap, and the service was decent enough.
The poem itself was pretty well written, blending all the popular ingredients: a fearless Batman, a beautiful noble lady, love across a gulf of status, and plenty of titillating heat…
Which meant it was almost entirely made up, with no basis in reality whatsoever.
During his first outing last night, the thugs' reactions made it obvious they already knew Batman. That tipped Victor off that something unexpected was going on, so after the beating, he spoke briefly with the teacher returning home late—and immediately learned what "good deed" Dandelion had been up to this time.
And for once, he didn't mean that sarcastically. It genuinely felt good.
Because with a publicity machine behind him, the third-generation bat suit's debut was maximum drama from the start—and watching villains panic, flail, and fall apart under the spotlight was unbelievably satisfying.
So when he got back to the alchemy workshop—his mental feedback brimming, and with plenty of materials on hand—he brewed nonstop through the night, topping up the herbal satchel's missing Blizzard and Thunderbolt potions, regaining the confidence to flex the power of coin again.
Ever since arriving in Novigrad, he'd first had to deal with Whoreson Junior's poetic invitation, then the frenzy of opening a shop, then the shut-in grind of alchemy-for-profit—never once getting real rest.
Finally, with a rare stolen half-day of peace, the boy strolled into Books and Scrolls on Hierarch Square, a shop the bard had noticed during his recent wanderings.
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