Saiyan of Gotham

Ages (six months later):

Ojaga Wayne: 5 years, 8 months

Bruce Wayne: 5 years

The first snow of winter drifted past the tall windows of Wayne Manor, dusting the city below in a pale hush. In the east wing, the old gym was alive with the sound of movement—two boys, brothers in blood and secret, training side by side beneath the watchful gaze of their father.

Ojaga moved with quiet precision, his steps measured, breathing deep and even. Bruce, now five, matched his brother's rhythm, eyes narrowed in concentration. The air between them seemed to shimmer with energy, though only one of them truly understood why.

After their session, Bruce flopped onto the mat, chest heaving, a grin splitting his face. "Did you see that, Oja? I almost kept up with you this time!"

Ojaga smiled, pride and something older flickering in his gaze. He could sense it—a faint but growing spark inside Bruce, like a candle in the dark. He remembered his own first brush with Qi, the strange warmth that had filled him, and how he'd learned to shape and hide it. He'd never told anyone, not even Bruce, how early he'd mastered the art. Some secrets, he thought, were best kept until the right moment.

But today, something had changed. As Bruce caught his breath, Ojaga closed his eyes and reached out—not with his hands, but with his senses. He felt the pulse of energy in his own body, steady and deep, then searched for it in his brother. There it was: a tiny current, fragile but real.

He leaned in, voice low. "Bruce, do you feel anything… different? Like a warmth inside you, when you breathe?"

Bruce blinked, then nodded, a little shy. "Yeah. It started when we did that slow breathing thing you showed me. It's like… like I'm glowing inside."

Ojaga's heart leapt. He kept his tone calm. "That's good. Try it again. Slowly. Focus on your breath, and think about the feeling. The more you practice, the stronger it gets. But don't rush. It's not about being fast—it's about being steady."

Bruce nodded, closing his eyes, face scrunched in concentration. Ojaga watched, quietly guiding him through the process. He knew that with time, Bruce's Qi would grow—not just in strength, but in clarity and control.

Downstairs, in the Manor's lab, Thomas Wayne reviewed the latest data from the scouter. The device, now fully integrated with WayneTech software, tracked strength levels with uncanny accuracy. Thomas had been monitoring both boys for months, curious about their progress.

He frowned at the screen. Bruce's reading had jumped to 13—remarkable for a child his age. Most kids barely registered above 7 or 8, and even trained adults rarely broke 15. Yet Bruce, with only a few months of focused breathing and physical training, was already on par with a grown man.

Ojaga's numbers, however, were more puzzling. When Thomas first began tracking, his older son's strength had soared above 500—off the charts for any human, rivaling the readings Thomas had seen in the scouter's global scan. But lately, Ojaga's numbers had dropped, settling around 100. Still extraordinary, but far less than before.

Thomas called Lucius Fox that afternoon, voice hushed. "Lucius, I'm seeing something odd. Bruce's strength is rising fast—he's at 13 now. But Ojaga… he's suppressing himself. His readings are lower, but I know he's holding back."

Lucius was silent for a moment, then said, "Maybe he's learned to control it. Or maybe he's hiding his true potential for safety. Either way, we need to keep this between us. If anyone outside the family saw these numbers…"

"I know," Thomas replied. "I'll keep monitoring. But I think Ojaga's teaching Bruce, even if he doesn't realize it."

Upstairs, the brothers sat together in the library, a chessboard between them. Bruce was still buzzing with excitement, eyes bright. "Do you think I'll get as strong as you someday?"

Ojaga smiled, moving a piece. "Maybe. But strength isn't just about numbers. It's about what you do with it."

Bruce nodded, thoughtful. "I want to be strong enough to protect people. Like Dad. Like you."

Ojaga's gaze softened. "You will be. Just keep practicing. And remember—never show off. Power is a secret, not a trophy."

Bruce grinned. "Secret brothers?"

"Secret brothers," Ojaga agreed.

As the evening settled in, Thomas stood in the doorway, watching his sons. He saw the way they leaned toward each other, the way they shared secrets without words