Disclaimer: I do not own DC Comics or its characters.
Caped Crusader
Looking For Trouble
Sensei Ken Watanabe's refusal to train a future vigilante did not prove the exception to the rule. His Krav Maga teacher in Israel had done the same thing. He taught him, grew disgusted with him, and stopped training him. He could have a dozen teachers. It would happen a dozen times.
Haim Levine's refusal shocked Bruce more than Ken's. Haim had watched his parents murdered by an S.S. officer during the Holocaust. If anyone should understand his mission, he should have. Nonetheless, his training had not proved worthless. Bruce now knew how to fight in worst-case scenarios without jeopardizing innocent lives.
Bruce Wayne needed to seek out folks who understood places like Gotham, people who understood the kind of determination that could literally will limbs out of atrophy. Such a man (or woman) could finish his training.
Within the martial arts subculture, he heard rumors about a man condemned for "training a league of shadowy characters." He swore that he would train any student who showed promise, no questions asked. The infamous Henri Ducard had trained under him. Bruce had no other details besides a name. Rā's al Ghūl.
The year spent tracking him down gave Bruce a chance to hone his deductive skills. A vigilante could not hope for trouble always finding him. The skills of a detective would help him look for trouble. Tracking down a man expert in the art of evasion taught Bruce a valuable lesson in crime-fighting. Even the most careful quarry left a trail, tiny specks of evidence that betrayed their presence.
He also spent the year gaining a skill normal for a child about that age, the ability to operate a motor vehicle. His ambitions of vigilantism would require rapid movement to and from crisis centers. Bruce had his heart set on a motorcycle but an unarmored mode of transportation, even a fast one, might prove lethal on the streets of Gotham. On the other hand, a tank had the opposite problem.
Bruce Wayne, now fourteen, arrived at his destination with Alfred carrying his luggage. According to months of chasing leads and gathering evidence, he had found his hideout. Here in this monastery in the jungles of Southern Mindanao, he would meet a man who stopped counting his age after he turned 100.
Expecting to find an old geezer flanked by out-of-shape monks, the sight of black-clad soldiers guarding a well-dressed Arab in his late forties shocked him. The man looked like a James Bond villain with matching ninjas. "Stand down," he said in perfect Mandarin. "I believe these intruders can justify their behavior."
Bruce caught sight of a radiant girl his age giggling from behind the doors to the monastery. Rā's al Ghūl tilted Bruce's chin upward. "Speak quickly and to the point. My associates grow restless for practice."
Bruce pushed his hand aside and stanced off. If these guys wanted practice, he would give them practice. One of the ninjas stepped out of rank and engaged Bruce. In minutes, the ninja had run Bruce into the ground. The ninja pulled off the mask, revealing the face of a Filipino woman.
The Arab looked impressed. "Lady Shiva has fought the finest martial artists in the world. She has defeated them all. Only two others have lasted as long as you did. I believe you trained under both, Detective." Bruce smiled. He liked that title. "In all fairness, your dashing good looks might have distracted her."
Rā's al Ghūl looked Bruce in the eye again. "I know what you want. You need not even ask. I will train you. Who knows? Someday you might last an entire round with Lady Shiva. Fighting, I mean." Lady Shiva blushed. Bruce looked up at Alfred for approval. He clearly didn't trust this man, but he would stand by whatever Bruce decided to do. His dual role as butler and father figure made such compromises inevitable.
Bruce shook the hand of Rā's al Ghūl. "Prepare a room for the Detective." Rā's walked through the massive doors of the monastery. "Remind me to introduce you to my daughter." Rā's paused. "Training can get rather lonely. I would not deprave a boy your age a chance at romance."
In latter years, studying psychology at Miskatonic University, he would learn about a cult mind trick called the love bomb. The cult leader would bombard the new cultist with informal praise. With time, the praise would stop and the informality would cease. By then, the cult would control every aspect of their lives. If he had known that he had just joined a cult, he would never have shaken that man's hand.
Thinking back, Bruce Wayne would wonder why he stayed so long. Every time he remembered a half-Arab half-Filipino girl in a Chinese dress and the first words she said to him. "You have a cute face." After that, he would have followed Rā's al Ghūl to the gates of Hell, which he did.