Saiyan of Gotham

**Ages:**

- Ojaga Wayne: 5 years

- Bruce Wayne: 4 years, 6 months

The morning sun filtered through the high windows of Wayne Manor, painting gold across the study floor. Ojaga and Bruce had just finished their daily training, sweat cooling on their brows, laughter echoing down the hall. Bruce, always eager, was already at the table, flipping open his workbook. Ojaga sat beside him, but his mind wandered far beyond the page.

He remembered a world not his own—a life as a boy on Earth, struck down suddenly, memories of heroes and legends flickering in his dreams. He saw flashes: Superman soaring above Metropolis, Aquaman rising from the ocean's depths, the darkness of Gotham's alleys. He remembered, too, the moment he awoke here, in this world, with a tail curled around his waist and a hunger that never faded.

He was certain now: he was Saiyan, reborn as the son of Thomas Wayne. In his past life, he'd heard tales of legendary warriors, of exiles and battles beyond imagining. Here, he was just a boy with secrets.

Down in the manor's lab, Thomas Wayne and Lucius Fox worked in quiet concentration. The battered Saiyan scouter flickered with unreadable symbols as Lucius ran diagnostics. Beside it, nutrient samples from the pod's food system glowed faintly.

"These nutrients are beyond anything on Earth," Lucius murmured, adjusting his glasses. "No wonder Ojaga's always hungry—he's not getting what his body needs."

Thomas frowned, reviewing the data. "We'll have to supplement his diet. But we also need to keep him safe. If anyone saw his tail—"

Lucius nodded, voice low. "We're not ready for the world to know."

Upstairs, Ojaga tugged at his belt, feeling the tail pressed tightly against his waist. He remembered stories—how Saiyan tails could trigger monstrous transformations under the full moon. So far, he'd been lucky, always asleep before moonrise, but he knew school was coming. He couldn't risk an accident in public.

That evening, Ojaga approached his parents, voice trembling. "Please… I can't go outside like this. People would be afraid. I want to be normal."

Martha's eyes filled with worry. "Ojaga, it's part of who you are. Are you sure?"

Tears welled in his eyes. "I just want to go to school. Please, Mom."

Thomas knelt beside him. "If this is what you want, we'll do it together."

The decision was heavy. Martha protested, but Ojaga's pleading finally convinced her. The surgery was simple, but the loss felt strange—Ojaga missed the warmth of his tail, but he was free to walk among other children.

Six months passed. School days blurred together—lessons, laughter, the steady rhythm of growing up. Bruce excelled, quick-witted and curious. Ojaga remained quiet, always watching, always hungry.

One morning, Ojaga woke to a strange sensation—a tingling at the base of his spine. In the bathroom mirror, he saw it: a stub of fur, slowly growing. Within weeks, the tail had returned, full and strong.

He told Thomas quietly. "Dad… it's back."

Thomas's brow furrowed. "We'll need to find a way to hide it. And you'll need to be careful—no one can know."

Ojaga nodded. He remembered from comics and stories that the tail was a weakness, but here, it was something more—a secret, a burden, and maybe, one day, a strength. He wondered if the regeneration meant something deeper about his biology, or if it was just another mystery of this new life.

On the morning of their first day at Gotham Academy, Bruce and Ojaga stood side by side at the gates, uniforms crisp, nerves hidden behind determined faces. Ojaga's tail, carefully wrapped and concealed, was their shared secret. No one else knew. No one else could.

As they stepped into the crowd, Thomas watched from afar, mind already racing with ideas—special belts, reinforced uniforms, anything to keep his son's secret safe. He knew the world wasn't ready for the truth. Not yet.