I hadn't asked for any of it. Not the costume. Not the role. Not the weight of the legacy. But that morning, Bruce had simply said: — Meet me in the Batcave. Alone. I'd had a bad feeling. The kind that knots your stomach like a shoelace pulled too tight. But I went anyway. Because it was Bruce. Because even when he was vague, he was impossible to ignore. I made my way down through the hidden entrance behind the library—a delightfully obvious cliché, I had to admit. The cave was as immense and alive as ever. Monitors. Computers. Bats fluttering somewhere in the darkness. Bruce stood with his back to me, facing a display stand. He wasn't wearing the cape. He was dressed entirely in black. Not Batman. Just Bruce Wayne. And beside him stood a silent mannequin, draped in a costume whose colors I recognized immediately. Red. Green. Yellow. The R stitched across the chest. Reinforced gloves. Boots. A black cape lined with gold. Robin's costume. But not a copy. A unique version. My version. I walked toward it slowly. The cape was longer, designed to shield my skin from the sun. The fabric looked light and flexible, yet reinforced with microscopic armor. The domino mask was a matte black, carefully designed so it wouldn't irritate my hypersensitive skin. And hanging from the utility belt... ...was a small metal snowflake charm. I turned toward Bruce. — Dick came up with the snowflake, he said. He said you weren't like anyone else. That a snowflake is unique. Fragile. But sharp enough to cut like a razor when it falls at just the right angle. I stayed silent. My fingers trembled slightly. — I'm not forcing you into anything, Dale. You don't have to wear this suit. It isn't a contract. It's a possibility. I looked at him. — Then why make it? — Because despite everything you've been through... despite everything you still don't understand... you're here. And you want to understand. You want to belong. To grow. To protect what you're beginning to care about. That's what being Robin means. I laughed nervously. — Even though I haven't thrown a single Batarang yet? — Even if you fail every training session for a month. Even if you never go out on a single patrol. This suit isn't battle armor. It's a symbol. I stepped closer, reached out, and brushed my fingertips across the fabric. It was warm. Alive. I thought about Dalphée. About the rink. About my old costumes, covered in sequins, made for dancing beneath bright spotlights. This one... ...didn't have any rhinestones. But it shone with something else. — Have the others seen it? I asked. — No. This is between you and me. I smiled. — This is going to cause some gossip. Jason's going to laugh his head off, Tim's going to recalculate my survival odds before every patrol, and Dick's secretly going to cry like the drama queen he is. — They'll adjust. Robin isn't a fixed position. It's a torch that's passed on. I took a deep breath. Then I put the suit on. The feeling was strange. Not like slipping into a skating costume. Not like putting on a uniform. Something... heavier. More meaningful. It was like wearing a memory that didn't belong to me yet. When I lifted my head, Bruce was looking at me. And for once... ...his face held nothing but pride. — You look like a hero, he said quietly. — You need darker rose-colored glasses, old man. I look like a kid in cosplay at a convention that went spectacularly wrong. But my heart was beating far too fast. And I didn't want to hide it. Dick came down the ramp a few minutes later. He stopped in his tracks, staring at me. — Wow... You wear that really well, kid. — You mean I fill it out? — No. You make it feel like it's yours. Jason came in next. He smirked, arms folded. — Great. Another pixie in tights. I pointed a finger at him. — Back in your day, you were wearing green briefs and bright red boots. At least I got spared that. — Fair enough, he muttered. Tim stayed near the back, but I noticed his eyes linger on the little snowflake charm. He gave the faintest nod. No hostility. Just a quiet sort of respect. That was enough for me. Finally, Alfred appeared. He studied me for a long moment. Then he simply said: — Master Robin. There was no sarcasm in his voice. No hesitation. Only calm acceptance. I still didn't know what it truly meant to be Robin. But at that precise moment, standing tall in the center of the Batcave, surrounded by shadows, light, familiar faces, and a future that was still uncertain... I wasn't afraid anymore.

Red, Green and Vertigo