At the Gotham Natural History Museum, Barbara ended her call with Dick and moved immediately.
She didn't waste time wandering the crowded halls or pretending to be a normal visitor. Her steps were steady and purposeful as she headed straight for the one place where the real battle was happening.
The monitoring center.
It was located on the top floor of the Cultural Relics Pavilion, hidden behind security doors and guarded corridors. From there, the police could observe every hallway, every staircase, every entrance—and every suspicious movement.
But as soon as Barbara reached the monitoring room entrance, several officers stepped forward and blocked her path.
"Sorry, Miss Gordon," one guard said politely but firmly. "No one is allowed inside without Commissioner Gordon's order."
Barbara wasn't surprised.
She wasn't GCPD staff. She wasn't assigned to security. The only reason she wasn't being forced to leave immediately was because everyone knew who she was.
The commissioner's daughter.
Barbara smiled calmly, keeping her voice respectful.
"I understand. But I have something very important to tell my father in person."
She gestured toward the door.
"Could one of you go inside and inform him? He usually turns off his phone while working. I can't reach him."
The guards hesitated.
Barbara lowered her tone slightly, adding the key detail.
"It's about Kaito Kid's Notice Letter."
The moment she said that name, the guards exchanged quick looks.
Their expressions shifted from polite annoyance to cautious attention.
Because in the last few days, the GCPD had been dealing with endless trouble.
As Kaito Kid's popularity rose, every Notice Letter became a public event. People were obsessed. Theories exploded everywhere—newspapers, radio shows, even random citizens on the street.
And because of that, the GCPD had been flooded with "experts" claiming they had decoded the letter.
Most of them were nonsense.
Some people couldn't even explain their reasoning without contradicting themselves in the first minute.
Eventually, the guards developed a habit.
Anyone who said, "I decoded it," got turned away.
But this time?
This was Barbara Gordon.
They couldn't just treat her like a random crank.
And she wasn't asking to be let in directly—she was asking them to inform the commissioner.
That wasn't disobeying orders.
One officer nodded. "Wait here, Miss Gordon."
He opened the door and entered the monitoring room.
A moment later—
The door swung open again.
Commissioner Jim Gordon came out quickly, his face tense, his voice sharp even before he reached her.
"Barbara," he demanded, "are you telling me you decoded the Notice Letter?"
He pointed a warning finger at her.
"If I find out you're joking and interfering with official work, I'm never letting you attend that late-night karate class again."
Barbara raised an eyebrow and put her hands on her hips.
"Dad," she said flatly, "when have I ever lied to you while you were working?"
Gordon paused.
His daughter's confidence was not the careless kind—it was the kind that came from certainty.
His expression tightened.
"Then tell me," he said quickly. "Right now. What did you figure out?"
Then, as if he realized he was demanding too aggressively, he added a small "reward," like a father trying to bargain.
"If you're right… I won't complain the next time you tell me my computer setup is outdated."
Barbara smirked. "Now you're negotiating."
Gordon didn't laugh. He was too tense.
Because deep down, Gordon knew something.
Barbara wasn't just a librarian.
When Barbara went to college, her original studies had nothing to do with library work.
She had studied criminology. Psychology. Cryptography. Computer science.
For a long time, she had wanted to follow in his footsteps.
She had wanted to be a police officer.
But Gordon had stopped her.
Hard.
So hard that he had used connections to make sure the police academy rejected her application… claiming she didn't meet the height requirement.
Barbara never forgave him for that.
Out of stubborn pride and frustration, she switched to library science and eventually earned a doctorate.
For a long time afterward, father and daughter had lived in a quiet cold war.
So Gordon knew her mind was sharp.
And if she was standing here with this expression—she wasn't guessing.
Barbara took a slow breath, then recited the letter smoothly, line by line.
"If twenty multiplied by three equals four,
Then I shall arrive at a time that does not exist,
When Mars has passed its tenth day and night,
Following the guidance of Caesar the Great,
I come to claim the blood-stained Dragon Egg."
Then she explained, clearly and confidently:
"The first sentence is not about normal math," Barbara said. "It's telling us to think in Roman numerals."
Gordon narrowed his eyes.
Barbara continued, "Roman numerals have no zero. That's why the letter mentions a non-existent time. The time that 'does not exist' in Roman numerals is midnight—00:00."
Several guards blinked.
Barbara's voice remained steady.
"The next sentence: 'Mars.' That's the Roman god of war—but it's also the obvious hint for March."
She tapped the air gently as if marking a calendar.
'Passed its tenth day and night' means after the tenth full day ends. That brings us to March 11th at 00:00—midnight after March 10th."
Now Gordon was leaning in.
Barbara wasn't finished.
"And Caesar the Great's guidance?"
She looked around as if she could already see the place.
"There is a statue of Julius Caesar inside the museum's Ancient Rome special exhibit. That statue is positioned as part of a themed display—and it points toward a corridor leading into the Jungle Pavilion."
She paused, letting the conclusion land.
"So in summary…"
Barbara's eyes sharpened.
"Kaito Kid will appear at midnight—00:00—on March 11th. He will enter or operate through the Jungle Pavilion, and from there he'll move toward the Cultural Relics Pavilion to steal Mrs. Chandler's Dragon Egg Ruby Necklace."
She finished in one breath.
For a moment, the hallway outside the monitoring room fell silent.
Then the guards reacted like they had just watched a magic trick performed right in front of them.
One officer muttered, stunned, "That… actually makes sense."
Another whispered, "It fits everything."
A third nodded, almost in awe. "We've been stuck for days, and she solved it like it was obvious."
They looked at Barbara differently now.
Not as the commissioner's daughter.
As someone who belonged here.
Commissioner Gordon didn't praise her immediately.
He didn't flatter. He didn't celebrate too fast.
He replayed her explanation in his mind, searching for flaws, gaps, loopholes.
But the more he tested it, the more it held together.
Finally, his expression softened into a rare, genuine smile.
Because what Barbara had just given him was priceless:
A confirmed time of action.
That meant the GCPD no longer had to burn manpower for fifteen days.
They could plan precisely.
They could concentrate forces at the right moment.
They could keep officers fresh instead of exhausted.
They could maintain morale.
And most importantly—
They could set a trap strong enough to catch a phantom.
Barbara watched his reaction.
Then her expression changed.
Her tone became serious.
"Dad," she said quietly, "I have a request."
Gordon's smile faded instantly. "No."
Barbara didn't even finish speaking, and he already refused.
She frowned. "You didn't even hear it."
"I don't need to," Gordon snapped. "Whatever it is, the answer is no."
Barbara crossed her arms. "I want to join the operation."
Gordon's face hardened.
"As a temporary consultant," Barbara added quickly, "or even as a civilian advisor. Something official."
"No," Gordon repeated immediately. "Absolutely not. It's too dangerous."
Barbara stepped closer, eyes locked on him.
"Dangerous?" she echoed. "Dad, you just saw my value. I can help."
She pointed back toward the monitoring room.
"You've never allowed me to become an officer. Now I'm not asking for a badge. I'm asking to assist."
Gordon clenched his jaw.
Barbara pressed harder.
"Kaito Kid doesn't kill. He doesn't hurt civilians. He's not like the maniacs we usually deal with. What danger is there in me standing near you and watching?"
Gordon hesitated.
Barbara didn't give him time to recover.
"If you don't agree," she said, voice steady and sharp, "I'll come on my own that night anyway. And you won't be able to stop me from entering the museum."
Gordon stared at her.
He knew she meant it.
And that was the worst part.
Barbara didn't throw empty threats.
Finally, Gordon exhaled slowly, as if he were swallowing a stone.
"…Fine."
Barbara's eyes brightened—but Gordon raised his finger instantly.
"This is one time only."
He added a second rule.
"You do not leave my sight."
Then the third.
"And you do not interfere with anyone's work."
Barbara nodded immediately, as if she hadn't just forced the commissioner into a corner.
"Agreed."
In that moment, Barbara Gordon successfully stepped into the GCPD operation—exactly the way she wanted.
Even with restrictions, it was enough.
Because with that identity…
some doors would open.
And some truths would come within reach.
---
Meanwhile – Gotham High School
The day's classes were nearing the end.
Dean sat in his seat, outwardly calm, face neutral.
But all day long, he had felt it.
A gaze from behind.
Cold. Sharp. Watchful.
Dean didn't need to turn around to know who it was.
Dick.
Dean already understood what was happening.
Dick had started to suspect him.
From now on…
Every movement Dean made needed to be cleaner.
Every action needed to be more careful.
Every expression needed to be controlled.
Because once suspicion became certainty…
There would be no second chance.
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