"You mean that after staking the place out for several days, the biggest thing you discovered was... that he might be stealing electricity?"
Nick Fury stood in his S.H.I.E.L.D. office, holding a report as he questioned Coulson.
Coulson knew this report really did look like something he had failed to write because of a hangover the day before, then hastily thrown together early that morning. Its conclusion was only one bottle of whiskey away from drunken nonsense.
Nick Fury held the report and took a deep breath. His mouth had opened, yet he paused for a moment, clearly rendered utterly speechless.
He said, "I've never really agreed with S.H.I.E.L.D. agent evaluation standards, Coulson. I think you are the strongest argument against them, aren't you?"
"Uh..." Coulson rubbed his hands awkwardly and said, "It's not like we observed nothing. We found that there might be tunnels beneath his clinic..."
"I really ought to have Nurse Jenny test you for drunk driving, Coulson. You wrote here, 'The target was often observed suddenly appearing at other locations roughly a hundred meters outside the clinic,' and your conclusion from that is... there might be tunnels under the clinic?" Nick Fury said.
"I actually know he may have teleportation abilities," Coulson said. He folded his arms and frowned. "But based on the cases we've encountered, teleportation always has a moment of arrival. We set up hundreds of miniature cameras around the area, yet not one of them captured anything unusual."
Nick Fury said, "Then go install several hundred more. He is important to us right now, and he is the most difficult kind of opponent to deal with. Don't let your guard down..."
Meanwhile, in the bed of the professors' apartments at Gotham University, Schiller had just woken up when he discovered he was hugging something furry. Looking down, he saw Pikachu!
"Oh, what's wrong with you? What time is it?" Pikachu's eyes could barely stay open with sleepiness. Schiller rubbed his own eyes. Why had this mouse followed him over here??
Pikachu drowsily surveyed its surroundings, then jumped in fright and instantly woke up. "Where is this?! Why did you bring me here? Are you actually a human trafficker???"
As Schiller folded the blanket, he said, "Why don't you explain first why you were in my bed?"
"You've got the nerve to ask me??" Pikachu roared. "Three floors, and you only turned on the heat in your own room! If I hadn't known how to pick locks, I'd have frozen to death by now!"
"Oh, really?" Schiller felt no guilt whatsoever. "Freeze-dried mouse is not a very good idea."
"So why are you here? Where is this?"
"As you can see, I can travel through Spacetime, so I woke up and ended up here." Schiller said, "This is a very dangerous place. If you run around, you'll be stewed within three minutes."
"Tch." Pikachu snorted disdainfully. "You can travel through Spacetime? Then I can use Splash."
Schiller was not lying. It did not matter if Pikachu knew; after all, it was a mouse. In the eyes of these superheroes, its words were less trustworthy than a tape recorder. If it went babbling in front of Batman, Batman would definitely stew it at the first opportunity. Batman did not kill people, but that did not mean he did not kill mice.
Few heroes on Earth had much trust in nonhuman creatures. Although Pikachu spoke no differently from a human and even had a strange Canadian accent, this yellow mouse that clearly looked like some kind of genetically modified organism would have a hard time earning any normal person's trust. So Schiller was not worried at all.
While Schiller made the bed, Pikachu scampered around the room, sniffing everywhere. Wrinkling its little nose, it muttered in distaste, "Looks like you really do have some skills. This definitely isn't the original world."
That morning, Schiller went to teach class with Pikachu in his backpack. It was not that he wanted to take Pikachu to class; mainly, if he did not bring it along, Pikachu would certainly sneak out on its own and get stewed.
Pikachu kept poking its head out of Schiller's bag and was shoved back down several times. That afternoon, Schiller set the bag on the table in the Psychological Counseling Room, pressed a hand to Pikachu's forehead, and said, "Listen, even if I don't mind people seeing a strange yellow creature in my bag, I think you should understand what I told you. When it comes to superheroes, every one of them treats 'meddling in other people's business' as a life creed. No one would pass up the chance to study a yellow mouse like you, especially..."
Before Schiller could finish, the door to the Psychological Counseling Room suddenly opened. Bruce said, "Professor, I..."
The moment he entered, he saw his professor pressing a hand against the forehead of a strange yellow creature.
Pikachu was startled and instantly leaped into Schiller's arms. Schiller pursed his lips, looked at Pikachu, then at Bruce. Holding Pikachu, he said, "If I said this was a newly discovered species of albino mole, would you believe me..."
"And if I don't, are you planning to make up another story?" Bruce asked with his arms folded.
Pikachu bared its teeth at him, only for Schiller to immediately cover its mouth. "What do you need, Mr. Wayne?"
Bruce walked over and said, "Actually, I'm sorry... It's like this. I would like to invite you to Wayne Manor as a guest..."
A visit to Wayne Manor?
What kind of invitation was this to turn himself in?
Bruce was clearly a little awkward. Since Schiller knew his true identity, he could not quite decide whether he was supposed to be Bruce or Batman. Besides, this Batman was not yet as cold and aloof as he would become in the future. He would even take the initiative to seek Gordon out for cooperation. So Bruce was in a deeply conflicted state.
Through telepathy, Schiller could sense a little of it. He tapped the table and took the initiative to say, "I can tell you're conflicted right now, Bruce. Sit down."
"You did very well before. Bruce was not Batman. He was merely an ignorant playboy whose favorite activities were drinking at bars and surrounding himself with beautiful women. Batman, on the other hand, was exactly the opposite..."
Bruce sat down and pressed his fingers to his temple. "I don't understand what the point of doing this is. I don't think it can fool anyone."
Bruce was not stupid either. He was the only person in all of Gotham City who was that rich. Only he had the financial resources to create Batman's equipment. He did not think criminals were idiots who would not realize Batman was Bruce Wayne.
And even his physique gave it away to some extent. Bruce played the field; surely he could not remain completely covered up at all times. It would not be difficult to figure out certain details about his build.
Schiller had especially seen Bruce out partying in the middle of the night more than once, never with the same female companion twice. Half the famous Nightingale Cheerleading Squad alone had gotten involved with Bruce.
Schiller suspected that many of the highly intelligent villains in the comics could not possibly have been completely in the dark. The deduction was not difficult, yet they still put on an act of, "Who exactly is Batman? Why can't I figure it out?" There had to be a reason for that.
"Yes, it isn't really a secret. But as long as you want it to be one, it can become your weapon when necessary."
"If you make it seem as though a certain secret is important to you, others will believe that it is important to you too. You desperately hide it, but if you reveal it at a crucial moment, it naturally proves your sincerity, even if it was never actually important."
Schiller was talking about what Bruce would do to the Justice League in the future. To earn the League's trust, Batman would remove his mask—revealing a secret everyone actually already knew: Batman was Bruce Wayne.
Yet everyone would still trust Batman more, because Batman had always acted as though this secret mattered deeply to him and had been willing to reveal it for his companions. Naturally, that could win people's trust. It did not matter that anyone with half a brain could have guessed the secret; what mattered was the attitude!
Bruce stroked his chin and readily added, "For example, if a criminal wanted to use that against me, I could calmly set a trap for him..."
"Enough, Mr. Wayne." Schiller glanced at his watch, then said, "Our counseling session is over. As for your invitation, once I receive the invitation card, I will consider it carefully."
Bruce did not quite understand why Schiller needed to consider it so carefully. In the United States, a verbal invitation meant it was a private, informal visit—probably just having a meal together in private.
But once Schiller mentioned an invitation card, Bruce assumed Schiller thought this kind of invitation was not formal enough and did not show sufficient respect. So after leaving the counseling room, he had Alfred prepare an invitation and a banquet.
What he did not know was that, to Schiller, being invited to Batman's home was like being told, "Would you be interested in walking into a trap?"
He had far too much psychological preparation to do.
Although Schiller knew the current Bruce was nowhere near the Batman he would become later, and his two identities had not even fully separated yet, comic-book Batman would only bring over a bottle of wine and say he wanted to introduce Schiller to a few beautiful women at a party.
Rather than acting serious and awkward.
But Schiller's stereotyped impression of Batman ran too deep. He even suspected this was a trap Batman had deliberately arranged to obtain his DNA. That was absolutely the kind of thing Batman would do.
Besides, though Bruce had not said it, Pikachu, this yellow mouse, had clearly caught his attention.
Schiller grabbed Pikachu by the tail and lifted it up. "Did you see the person who just came in? That was the Gotham Boss. If you want to live well from now on, you'd better not offend him."
Pikachu flailed its little stubby arms desperately in midair and struggled. "Put me down! That person just now was really terrifying!"
Schiller held Pikachu up by its tail in front of his face. "How did you know that?"
"Detective's intuition!" Pikachu shouted. "You should seriously consider not staying here anymore. This place gives me chills. Can't we go back to where we were yesterday? I can even tolerate you eating strawberry jam!"
Schiller looked Pikachu up and down and felt that it was not telling the truth.
Before you continue