More and more blood flowed from Schiller's body. The large amount being drawn made the process painfully slow. People at the other tables had already begun their matches, while everyone at Schiller's table remained staring at the blood-drawing tube.
The sight drew plenty of attention, but there were almost no byes in this round, and most people had their arms secured to the tables. They could only cast curious glances in Schiller's direction.
As more blood flowed out, Schiller's arm grew paler and paler. The alarm bells in Bruce's mind made him want to yank his arm free and jump ship.
"It's time to test our hypothesis," said that dangerous voice in his mind. "Where exactly does Schiller's unfathomable psychoanalytic ability come from?"
"You know how risky this is," another, more rational voice said. "We could attribute it all to talent. Isn't that how our detective abilities work?"
"Of course it's different. We follow logic. There are traces to follow."
"But that speculation is utterly absurd." Bruce drew a deep breath and thought, You're saying that psychoanalytic results with an eighty percent accuracy rate are actually just hallucinations seen by a mental patient during an episode?
"Once every possibility has been ruled out, whatever remains, however absurd, is the truth. Want to gamble on it?"
Bruce took a deep breath, feeling sweat gather in his palms. "Even if that's true, we still can't know the deeper reason. Hallucinations can't happen to align perfectly with the truth, and brain science can't provide an answer either."
"But it would tell us how to avoid being analyzed."
Bruce jolted in surprise. Main Universe Batman knew perfectly well about Schiller's mysterious psychoanalytic ability. How could Batman, the most suspicious man alive and the one most averse to being seen through, get along so happily