1. Overused cosplay outfit

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New York, Manhattan West Side.
The NYCC, the largest comic convention in the United States, was starting today, promising four days of nonstop celebration.
DC Comics, as one of the representatives of American comics, had experienced a dip in popularity in recent years due to unsuccessful adaptations and baffling writing choices in film and television. Yet, it still commanded a huge fan base, and the DC section of the convention was bustling with visitors.
At this moment, a sizable crowd had spontaneously gathered in a corner of the venue, surrounding two male cosplayers and occasionally erupting in exclamations.
“Oh my God! This is the perfect embodiment of how I imagined Superman!”
“You two are amazing! You’re exactly the world’s best duo in my eyes! I wonder if I could get your Twitter handles?”
“This Batman is so spot-on! Look at those blue eyes... But why isn’t he wearing the cowl?”
The Superman cosplayer standing on the left overheard the question, still wearing a righteous and sunny smile that radiated hope, but mischievously poked his companion’s arm.
“Bruce, why aren’t you wearing the cowl?”
At his voice, the crowd around them gasped and cheered again, flashing cameras repeatedly, clearly taking his use of “Bruce” as part of the cosplay and roleplay script.
The man, whose real name was also Bruce, only sighed in irritation and absentmindedly ran a hand through his damp hair, too lazy to respond.
Although his Batman costume was custom-made at great expense, it obviously lacked the breathability of the original suit, and the mask he had worn for just a little while was already suffocating him.
He wondered why he had even agreed to come to the convention with Clark.
Damn it, his entire knowledge of superheroes barely extended beyond a few Marvel movies!
His understanding of DC was limited to just the names Batman and Superman—barely enough to know they shared his name—without any of the passion or dedication of cosplayers who would suffer through heat and exhaustion to perform on stage.
With this thought, he glared at the culprit who had dragged him here.
Yet, for some unknown reason, the crowd’s excitement erupted again, as if this interaction had struck a chord. Several girls shouted phrases like “world’s best duo,” “Superbat,” and “so sweet.”
He didn’t understand any of it.
“I bet you’re thinking about why you agreed to this and when we can leave,” Clark said with a gentle smile.
This was the downside of growing up together—they often needed just a glance to know what the other was thinking.
Unluckily for Bruce, he hated feeling so transparent but was utterly powerless against Clark.
Seeing Bruce’s discomfort with the convention environment, Clark put an arm around his shoulder and softened his tone.
“Come on, Bruce, I’ve been looking forward to this for so long. Let’s just do one last lap around and then we’ll go, okay?”
Faced with his childhood friend’s plea, Bruce couldn’t say no but sighed inwardly and began calculating.
Judging by the venue’s size, one more round would mean they could leave in about 20 minutes—no longer needing to be gawked at like circus animals.
…If all went well.
In a dimly lit artificial underground cave, a man who had been leaning against the wall in deep thought suddenly snapped his eyes open, a sharp steel-blue light flashing through his gaze.
The next second, he practically sprang up, the motion so violent it nearly toppled a nearby chair and startled a flock of bats hanging inverted from the cave ceiling.
Yet, despite his seemingly dangerous appearance, confusion filled his heart.

Page 2 of 3
Where was he? He had just been at the crowded convention hall—how did he suddenly black out?
He rubbed his temples, the veins on his forehead twitching, his head pounding with pain.
As the headache eased slightly, some indescribable force seemed to infiltrate his mind.
Bruce’s expression turned dazed, then instantly morphed into one of horrified disbelief.
According to a popular theory, he had been forcibly transported to another world—a “kidnapping” rather than a mere “transmigration.”
He wasn’t abducted by a person but by an entity claiming to be the collective consciousness of this world.
This entity had no human-like avatar to communicate with, so after bringing him here, it left only a “message” outlining his mission.
Bruce struggled to process the massive influx of data left by the world consciousness—enough to fry a human brain’s CPU.
Simply put, this entity had been aware from its inception that it belonged to a parallel universe within the DC multiverse, quietly waiting for a destined storyline to unfold.
However, when the crucial plot was about to happen, it discovered that its world had been missing many superheroes and villains from the very beginning—even the pillars of the DC universe, Batman and Superman, didn’t exist here!
With the essential DC plots about to be disrupted and its mission in jeopardy, the entity desperately resorted to cross-dimensional kidnapping, bringing the most suitable person over to play the dual roles of actor and director—
In layman’s terms, it had summoned Bruce to cosplay as Batman, aka Bruce Wayne, and guide this world to complete the story that was supposed to happen.
The world consciousness promised that Bruce wouldn’t have to work indefinitely; once he completed enough of the storyline to prevent the world’s destruction, he would be sent back home at exactly the time he left.
Most importantly, as a reward, it would grant Bruce’s deepest, most heartfelt desire.
Bruce paused a moment to consider what that desire could be, then realized the entity had definitely picked the wrong person.
Though, admittedly, by an incredible coincidence, he did share a name with that Batman, but—
He was just an ordinary person who had never watched a single DC entertainment product. Playing Batman? Seriously?
Worse yet, after combing through all the information left by the entity, he confirmed there was not a single word about the script, much less the entire comic source material.
In other words, if he had to accept this job, he had no chance for any crash course or training.
He, Bruce, knew nothing but the name of the character he was supposed to play.
The shady kidnapper had already bailed, but from this moment on, Bruce had to perform as someone he didn’t understand at all.
Oh, and the merciless kidnapper had kindly left a warning: before the original inhabitants of this world, he must convincingly play Batman. If his true identity was exposed, he would be immediately rejected from this world.
There was no loophole—he wouldn’t be sent home but expelled, with his destination entirely random.
He might even end up in a post-apocalyptic survival nightmare.
Bruce sighed and looked around. He was alone here for now, surrounded by high-tech equipment and a very cool-looking computer, which brought some reassurance.
This had to be Batman’s secret base.
He summoned whatever faint impressions he had of Batman and similar vigilante heroes, vaguely recalling traits like “suspicious” and “cautious.”
Logically, a suspicious and alert vigilante would be extremely careful about the security of his secret base.
Oh, right—he remembered a phrase: Batman works alone!
So as long as he stayed in this hidden base unknown to anyone else, he could avoid performing in front of others for now and quietly figure out Batman’s character…

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Just as he comforted himself, a strange mechanical humming suddenly echoed through the quiet underground cave.
Bruce’s pupils contracted sharply as he warily looked toward the dark corridor.
Within seconds, the sound ceased, but his heart sank.
Because it was replaced by steady footsteps.
Tap, tap, tap…
From the darkness, a man in an exquisitely tailored suit appeared, carrying a tray.
He looked elderly but his eyes were sharp and vibrant, lacking the usual cloudiness of old age.
“Master,” he said in a refined British accent, elegant enough to send shivers down the spine, “I presume even bats dwelling in underground caves require sustenance?”
“…”
Bruce stared fixedly at the sandwich on the tray, refusing to meet the old man’s gaze, looking like a weary Batman who had once again stayed up late working, now feeling guilty in front of his lifelong butler.
But only Bruce truly knew the truth.
His mind raced, grappling with a series of questions—
Who was this old man? What was his relationship to him, or rather, to Batman? Could he feign ignorance and get the man to leave for now?
And, most importantly, who on earth was spreading the rumor that Batman works alone?!
…
As Bruce’s mind neared collapse, far away in a snowy wasteland near Gotham, at the North Pole, another man was on the verge of breaking down.
“Fuck!”
Dressed in the classic red, yellow, and blue uniform, Superman was wildly out of character in this desolate place, rubbing his arms frantically.
“It’s freezing, freezing… How did I end up in this godforsaken place? Where’s Bruce?!”
Clark’s memories were still stuck at the convention, unaware he was no longer just a Superman cosplayer but truly possessed an iron body.
He hadn’t realized the Arctic cold had no effect on him, anxiously scanning his surroundings for Bruce and searching for a way out.
“No, I can’t stay here any longer. I need to find somewhere warmer, or I’ll freeze… Ah!”
Superman let out a scream, hardly heroic.
His body reflexively struck a soaring pose and, with a sonic boom, shot into the sky like a missile.
But then—
“I’m afraid of heights, aaaah!”