An Invitation to Walk into a Trap

"You mean to say, after staking the place out for days, the biggest problem you found is... that he might steal electricity?"

Nick Fury stood in a S.H.I.E.L.D. office, holding a report and asking Coulson.

Coulson knew full well that this report looked like something cobbled together hungover from the night before, rushed out first thing in the morning. Its conclusions were only a bottle of whiskey away from pure nonsense.

Nick Fury held the report, took a deep breath, his mouth already open, but he paused for a moment, clearly at a complete loss for words.

He said, "Actually, I've never fully agreed with S.H.I.E.L.D.'s agent evaluation standards, Coulson. I think you're the strongest argument I have against them, aren't you?"

"Uh..." Coulson rubbed his hands awkwardly and said, "Well, it's not like we observed nothing. We found that there might be a tunnel under his clinic..."

"I really should have Nurse Jenny test you for a DUI, Coulson. This says, 'Observed the target frequently appearing in other locations about a hundred meters outside his clinic,' and your conclusion is... there might be a tunnel under the clinic?" Nick Fury said.

"Actually, I know he might have teleportation abilities," Coulson said, crossing his arms and frowning. "But based on the cases we've handled, teleportation always has a landing moment. We set up hundreds of micro-cameras around the area, and not one caught anything abnormal."

Nick Fury said, "Then go add a few hundred more. He's very important to us right now, and he's the hardest kind of opponent to deal with. Don't let your guard down..."

Meanwhile, on the bed in a Gotham University professor's apartment, Schiller had just woken up to find a furry thing in his arms. He looked down—Pikachu!

"Oh, what's wrong? What time is it?" Pikachu's eyes were too heavy to open. Schiller rubbed his eyes. How did this rat follow him here??

Pikachu, still half-asleep, glanced around, startled, and snapped awake instantly. "Where is this?! How did you bring me here? Are you actually some kind of human trafficker???"

Schiller folded his blanket as he said, "Why don't you first explain why you're in my bed?"

"You've got the nerve to ask me??" Pikachu shouted. "Three floors, and you only turned on the heat in your room! If I didn't know how to pick locks, I'd be frozen to death by now!"

"Oh, really?" Schiller said without a shred of guilt. "Freeze-dried rat isn't exactly a great idea."

"So why are you here? Where is this?"

"As you can see, I can travel through spacetime, so I woke up here," Schiller said. "This place is very dangerous. If you run around, you'll be stewed in under three minutes."

"Pfft." Pikachu let out a dismissive snort. "You can travel through spacetime? Then I can use Splash."

Schiller wasn't lying. It didn't matter if Pikachu knew—it was just a rat. In the eyes of these superheroes, its words were less credible than a broken record. If it went blabbing to Batman, Batman would definitely stew it first thing. Batman didn't kill people, but he didn't spare rats either.

When it came to non-human creatures, few Earth heroes trusted them. Pikachu might talk just like a human, with a weird Canadian accent to boot, but this obviously genetically modified yellow rat would have a hard time convincing any normal person. So Schiller wasn't worried.

As Schiller tidied the bed, Pikachu hopped around sniffing the room, wrinkling its little nose and muttering disdainfully, "Looks like you've got some skill after all. This really isn't the same world as before."

In the morning, Schiller went to class with Pikachu stuffed in his bag. It wasn't that he wanted to bring it—if he didn't, Pikachu would definitely sneak out on its own and get stewed.

Pikachu poked its head out of Schiller's bag, only to be shoved back in several times. By the afternoon, Schiller set the bag on the desk in his counseling office, pressed a hand to Pikachu's forehead, and said, "Listen, even if I don't care about people seeing a weird yellow creature in my bag, I think you should understand what I told you about superheroes. Every single one of them treats 'minding other people's business' as their life motto. No one will pass up the chance to study a yellow rat like you, especially..."

Just then, the counseling office door swung open. Bruce said, "Professor, I..."

He stepped in and saw his professor pressing a hand to the forehead of some strange yellow creature.

Pikachu was startled and shot straight into Schiller's arms. Schiller pursed his lips, glanced at Pikachu, then at Bruce. Holding Pikachu, he said, "If I told you this was a new breed of albino mole, would you believe me..."

"And if not, you'd just make up another one, right?" Bruce said, crossing his arms.

Pikachu bared its teeth at him, but Schiller clamped a hand over its mouth. "What's the matter, Mr. Wayne?"

Bruce walked over and said, "Actually, I'm sorry... I wanted to invite you to Wayne Manor as a guest..."

A guest at Wayne Manor?

Wasn't that an invitation to turn himself in?

Bruce clearly felt awkward. Since Schiller knew his true identity, he couldn't decide whether to act like Bruce or Batman. And this Batman wasn't yet the cold, distant figure of later years—he even actively sought Gordon's cooperation. So Bruce was in a very conflicted state.

Schiller could sense a bit of it through telepathy. He tapped the desk and took the initiative. "I can see you're conflicted, Bruce. Have a seat."

"You've actually done well so far. Bruce isn't Batman—he's just a good-for-nothing playboy whose favorite hobbies are bar-hopping and drinking, surrounded by beautiful women. Batman is the exact opposite..."

Bruce sat down, pressing his fingers to his brow. "I don't see the point. I don't think I can fool anyone."

Bruce wasn't stupid. In all of Gotham City, only he had that kind of money. Batman's gear required a fortune to build. He didn't think criminals were dumb enough not to know he was Bruce Wayne.

And just from body type alone, you could make a guess. Bruce played the field—he didn't exactly stay fully covered at all times. Figuring out some physical details wasn't hard.

Especially since Schiller had seen Bruce sneaking out late at night more than once, never with the same female companion twice. Half of the famous Nightingale Cheerleading Squad had hooked up with him at some point.

In fact, Schiller guessed that many of the super-intelligent villains in the comics probably weren't completely in the dark. The deduction really wasn't that hard. Yet they still acted like, "Who is Batman anyway? I can't figure it out," and there had to be a reason.

"Yeah, it's not really a secret. But as long as you want it to be one, it can become a weapon when needed."

"If you act like a secret is important to you, others will think it's important too. You go to great lengths to hide it, but if you reveal it at a critical moment, it naturally proves your sincerity—even if it's not actually that important."

Schiller was talking about Bruce's later move with the Justice League. To earn their trust, Batman took off his mask—revealing a secret everyone already knew: Batman was Bruce Wayne.

But everyone still trusted Batman more because he always acted like the secret mattered. Being willing to reveal it for his comrades naturally won people over. Even if a little thought could figure it out, that didn't matter—what mattered was the attitude!

Bruce stroked his chin and smoothly followed up, "For example, if some criminal tried to use that to threaten me, I could calmly set a trap for them..."

"Alright, Mr. Wayne." Schiller glanced at his watch and said, "Your counseling session is over. As for your invitation, I'll give it careful thought once I receive a formal invitation."

Bruce didn't quite understand why Schiller needed to think it over. In America, a verbal invitation meant a private visit, informal—just a casual meal together.

But when Schiller mentioned an invitation, Bruce figured Schiller thought the offer wasn't formal enough, that it didn't show proper respect. So after leaving the office, he had his butler Alfred prepare an invitation and a banquet.

What he didn't know was that, to Schiller, being invited to Batman's home was like hearing, "Interested in turning yourself in?"

He needed way too much mental preparation for that.

Even though Schiller knew this Bruce was far from the later Batman—his two identities hadn't even fully diverged yet. In the comics, Bruce would just show up with a bottle of wine and say he wanted to introduce a few beauties at a party.

...rather than acting stiff and awkward.

But Schiller's impression of Batman was far too deeply ingrained. He even suspected that Batman had deliberately set up this situation to obtain his DNA—this was absolutely something Batman would do.

Additionally, although Bruce hadn't said anything, it was obvious that Pikachu, that yellow rat, had caught his attention.

Schiller grabbed Pikachu by the tail and lifted it up, saying, "Did you see the person who just came? That's the Gotham Boss. If you want to eat well and live well in the future, you'd better not offend him."

Pikachu flailed its tiny arms in the air, struggling desperately, and said, "Put me down! That guy just now was really terrifying!"

Schiller tugged Pikachu by the tail and brought it up to eye level, saying, "How do you know?"

"Detective's intuition!" Pikachu shouted. It added, "You really should think about not staying here anymore. This place gives me chills. Wouldn't it be better to go back to where we were yesterday? I could even tolerate you eating strawberry jam!"

Schiller looked Pikachu up and down and felt that it wasn't telling the truth.