In Gotham City, on a morning that was not particularly bright but still fairly warm, Schiller set down his coffee cup and heard the click of his colleague Anna's high heels. Before long, a blonde American sweetheart came in with a dark expression and said, "Those damn lazy people at the freshman registration office took leave. Go cover for them for a day."
"I'm going," Schiller said. "You're paying for this coffee."
"You'll never get me into bed!" Anna roared. Schiller happily carried his coffee out of the café, glanced at Gotham City's eternally cloudy sky, and began his fifth day here.
In his previous life, Schiller had been a psychologist. After a plane crash, he had been thrown into this city with its damnably wholesome local customs. Fortunately, he was neither a hero nor a villain, but a relaxed and stable university teacher in his old profession—a Psychology Professor.
Schiller had just been happily thinking that he could slack off for another day when the system in his mind chimed and displayed: "Peter Parker has sent a chat request."
As Schiller headed toward the registration office, he replied in his mind, "What is it, Peter?"
"Hey! I'm starting an internship at Osborn Company tomorrow! You have no idea how hard this opportunity was to get! And Gwen... I mean, she's going too. We'll be there together. It's amazing! We can discuss genome helices together, those incredible machines..."
Schiller silently said to himself, No girl wants to discuss that stuff with you. Wake up, Spider-Man.
Ever since arriving here, Schiller had obtained an "American Comics Chat System." The first person he unlocked had been Spider-Man, Peter Parker. That chatterbox had spent four and a half days rambling to him about his teenage struggles: how much he liked Gwen, wanted to pursue her, but did not dare to.
While encouraging Peter, Schiller arrived at the registration office. He sat down, sorted through the forms, and waited for this year's freshmen to register.
Still, it was strange. Schiller had been here for so many days, yet he had never seen the Bat-Lamp light up, nor had any villains come to cause trouble. Life was so peaceful that Gotham truly seemed to have wholesome local customs.
Before long, students began arriving one after another with stacks of documents. Schiller's job was simply to register their names and dorm assignments.
"Next!" Schiller called without looking up. A whole line had already formed in front of him. A male student sat down, and Schiller asked, "Name?"
"Bruce Wayne."
"Bruce... Men's Dormitory Building Two, Room 306..." Schiller wrote it down absentmindedly, then his pen suddenly stopped. He calmly looked up and studied the student. Black hair, blue eyes, remarkably handsome. Schiller said, "Wayne?"
"Indeed. I'm Wayne."
Schiller repeated, "Men's Dormitory Building Two, Room 306. Didn't you hear me? Take your form and move along. Everyone behind you is waiting."
Now it was Bruce's turn to freeze. He picked up the form and asked, "Which department are you a professor in?"
"Psychology. Don't take my class, kid," Schiller said.
Bruce was intrigued, but Schiller could only feel helpless. So Batman had only just started college! No wonder the Bat-Lamp had not appeared!
Why was his luck this bad? Batman went to college, and he transmigrated into a university teacher!
Schiller had a thoroughly clear understanding of how dangerous Batman's stories were, especially with this eighteen-year-old brat Bruce—a detestable playboy!
Bruce said nothing. He picked up the form, thanked him, and left. After Schiller finished processing the freshmen registrations, he was about to return to the professors' apartments for a nap when he suddenly remembered that he had left his keys in his office. As he headed up the office building stairs, he ran into a tall, thin professor. Schiller said, "Hi, Jonathan. Are you here to get something too?"
"Yes. Did you forget your keys in the office again?"
"Oh, right. Anna rushed me too much today, so I forgot them when I left. I'll be right back down after I get them. See you tomorrow."
"See you tomorrow."
At the instant Schiller and Jonathan passed each other, an icy chill crawled up his spine. Jonathan... Jonathan Crane!
The supervillain Scarecrow!
Facing away from Schiller, Jonathan did not see Schiller turn around and stare at him intensely. If he had not learned today that Batman had only just started college, he would never have remembered. Memories of Scarecrow surfaced in his mind—Gotham University's Psychology Professor, a doctor of psychology and chemistry, the future Scarecrow who would massacre people with fear gas: Jonathan Crane!
Schiller took a deep breath and continued upstairs without changing his pace. Jonathan was not Scarecrow yet. Bruce was only eighteen and had not even graduated from college, which meant he had not become Batman yet. Jonathan was not yet the world-renowned psychologist he would become either. He was only somewhat famous in the academic field of Emotional Psychology, while Schiller was even more famous than him now...
Schiller was currently a world-class master of Criminal Minds and abnormal psychology, a renowned psychological researcher, and Gotham's most famous Psychology Professor.
That was why Jonathan's attitude just now had been so respectful... But what use was that! Schiller could not make poison gas! He was a pure liberal arts student, while Jonathan was also a Chemical Doctor!
Sure enough, master math, physics, and chemistry, and you could travel the world without fear...
Schiller knew very well that on Gotham City's grand stage, the bloody curtain was about to rise. Yet he was still only a helpless scholar, a weakling who struggled to move a chair, a purely intellectual talent. Forget famous supervillains—even the background extras from the comics, those street thugs, could kill him with any random gun!
And his worries became reality. Early the next morning, Schiller went as usual to slack off during his shift at the school psychology clinic. He had just brewed his coffee when he heard a crisp knock at the door.
"Professor Schiller, may I come in?"
Schiller took a deep breath. Did this damn psychology clinic actually have students coming in? He was only here to slack off, okay? Paid leave, understand?
Bruce Wayne stood outside the door!
Schiller could only grit his teeth and say, "Please sit down, student. What psychological problem are you here to consult me about?"
"Can't I come by for a chat if I don't have a problem?" Wayne spread his hands, revealing the unmistakable mannerisms of a playboy.
Schiller adjusted his glasses. "This is a place for students to receive psychological counseling. If you have nothing to consult about, then you may leave."
Schiller swore that his tone had been drier and more perfunctory than an airplane announcement, yet Bruce still asked with interest, "All right, then let me ask a question. What do you think the meaning of life is?"
Schiller took a deep breath and opened the American Comics Chat System in his mind. He remembered that after advising Peter Parker about his relationship problems, he had received one random chat opportunity. He hurriedly wrote in his mind:
"A kid whose parents died, who swore revenge against every criminal, but hides behind the image of a playboy, is asking me what the meaning of life is. I want him to stop bothering me in the future. How should I answer him? Waiting online, urgent."
A reply quickly appeared: "I am a teacher. Regarding your question, I believe you should remain sufficiently patient and provide psychological counseling to this unfortunate child from two different angles..."
Schiller looked at the name on the chat window. Charles Xavier! Professor X!
No wonder. The founder and principal of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters—this really was his old line of work.
But when Schiller noticed the profile picture, he found that Charles's avatar could be tapped. He tapped it in his mind, and a dialog box popped up: "For your first chat, you may randomly copy one ability from the chat partner (low-level). Copy?"
Schiller clicked "Yes" without understanding why.
"Telepathy (low-level) loaded."
Schiller's vision blurred. Suddenly, countless noises flooded in, and innumerable unfamiliar emotions surged into his mind, leaving him unable to distinguish them. After adapting for quite a while, Schiller realized that he truly had gained part of Professor X's abilities.
Telepathy was Charles's signature ability. Combined with Cerebro, it could even brainwash all humanity. But what Schiller had gained was an extremely weakened version. He could only vaguely sense another person's emotions and a few thoughts that suddenly flashed through their mind. He could not directly read minds with clarity.
Still, that was enough. Schiller focused his attention on Bruce and discovered that Bruce's emotions were chaotic. Yes, he was not nearly as carefree as he appeared.
Judging by Batman's life story, he had probably just returned from traveling the world and completing his training. Entering college was likely only part of Bruce's identity disguise. The real Batman already despised this unbearably dull everyday life. Every drop of his blood screamed, "Revenge," "Revenge against those criminals."
In Bruce's eyes, the professor opposite him seemed to have suddenly fallen into quiet contemplation. Schiller had a pair of somewhat unusual gray eyes, and when Bruce was fixed beneath that gaze, his sharp instincts began sounding an alarm—he seemed to be under observation, seen through.
Then Schiller said, "Perhaps you have been waiting for someone to give you that answer, a certain answer. If getting that answer will give you more things to do and keep you from bothering me again, then I'm willing to give you that answer."
"Oh? What is it?"
"Revenge." Schiller stared into Bruce's eyes. As Bruce's face abruptly darkened, Schiller stared at him and repeated, "The meaning of life is revenge."
Ignoring Bruce's expression, now as dark as Gotham's sky, Schiller said, "Are you satisfied, Mr. Wayne?"
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