Welcome to Gotham

When Schiller woke up, he did not even need to turn over to know that he had returned to the plainspoken Gotham City again. The kerosene smell in the air and the sky beyond the window, which had never once been clear, told him that he had bloody well transmigrated back.

And no time had passed at all.

He turned off the Alarm Clock and glanced at the calendar. It was the day after the night he had transmigrated to Marvel. In other words, time in the DC world did not pass while he was in Marvel.

Schiller sighed. For a moment, he did not know whether plainspoken Gotham City was more dangerous, or New York City, the center of the universe.

Honestly, although New York was more comfortable, Gotham would always be home. At least it had not entered cosmic mode yet. Schiller could not deal with the Purple Sweet Potato right now.

He rolled out of bed and got dressed. Gotham University required its professors to wear formal attire when teaching, so Schiller wore a shirt, vest, and suit every day. Sometimes he switched up the suit style or threw on a trench coat.

Gotham's temperature in September was fairly pleasant, not cold at all. Perhaps because it was a coastal city, the breeze through town was warm enough.

The moment Schiller stepped outside, he saw someone he desperately did not want to see—Bruce Wayne.

Schiller turned around and headed back inside.

Bruce hurried after him and called out, "Professor! Professor! I have some psychology questions I'd like to ask you! Could you wait a moment?"

Schiller cursed under his breath. There were quite a few teachers around the professor apartments, so he could not simply refuse. He could only say, "All right, all right, I'm not deaf, Mr. Wayne. Let's discuss it in the Psychological Counseling Room."

The two of them entered the Psychological Counseling Room. Bruce did not sit down. Instead, he took the initiative to make coffee and set a steaming cup in front of Schiller.

He said, "Schiller Andel Rodriguez, world-renowned criminal psychologist. You hold four doctorate degrees related to psychology. You participated in the investigation and resolution of the famous Bloodman Massacre in Keystone City, the Red Hand serial murder case in Imperial City, and the underground dismemberment case in Seaside City. Most importantly, four months ago, you left midway through the trial of Metropolis's deputy mayor and accepted a position at Gotham University..."

"Professor Schiller, can you tell me why you came to Gotham?"

Schiller's hair stood on end. Good lord, the original owner's résumé could have gotten him directly admitted to Arkham Asylum! Even Joker could not cause trouble like that!

Not only had he participated in one terrifying case after another—he had taken part in a whole string of them! Bruce had definitely held back when he described it!

Schiller was cursing furiously inside, but his expression remained blank. He took a sip of coffee and said, "Gotham is a good place."

"Is it? The city with the highest crime rate in America?"

"That is not important."

"Oh?"

"Metropolis does not have a high crime rate. Sit down, child. You think Metropolis is safer than Gotham, don't you?"

"Isn't it?"

"At least, not for me," Schiller said.

Schiller had inherited the original owner's knowledge and abilities when he came here, but as for memories, he suspected the original owner had already lost some important ones before Schiller transmigrated into this body. At the very least, Schiller could not recall any details about those horrifying cases. There seemed to be vague shadows of them, but he could not remember clearly.

Schiller knew that the original owner must have become involved in an unimaginably complex case, then been set up.

Schiller said, "The safety you see is only an illusion, Mr. Wayne. Behind that, behind Metropolis's bright and glamorous facade, lies a darkness you probably cannot imagine."

"Then why come to Gotham City?"

"...I think you investigated my résumé, but it still was not detailed enough. I offended too many people. Only here is safe."

"Why?"

"Only criminals can deal with criminals," Schiller said.

Bruce Wayne seemed shaken by those words. He said, "Only criminals can deal with criminals, is that it? Professor, is that what you believe?"

"Bruce, let's change the subject," Schiller said.

Bruce looked at him. His gaze was as gloomy as Gotham City's skies. Schiller realized that he was no longer facing that carefree playboy, Bruce, but Batman—a superhero of unparalleled complexity, a dark hero, an incomprehensible obsessive, a genius only one step away from madness.

"If you want more from me, you will have to pay a price," Schiller said.

"What do you want?" Bruce asked.

"What I want is something you cannot give me yet. You should understand what I mean," Schiller said.

"Then I can give it to you later, right?"

"You certainly can."

Bruce reined in his expression, and no one could tell what he was thinking. He said, "Professor Schiller, regrettably, there are some little things I made in your coffee. A nanovirus..."

"Bruce, dishonesty will not get you more from me, child. This is not some little trick you use to get candy," Schiller said.

"It seems I am destined to leave empty-handed today," Bruce said.

"Not necessarily," Schiller said.

"I hope you can give me a sufficiently good grade on the final assessment, Bruce. Prove that you truly want to learn this skill, then come find me again," Schiller said.

"I will not waste any more time here," Bruce said.

"You are still far from becoming a teacher, Bruce. You are still a student," Schiller said.

"I have learned knowledge and skills from all over the world—hundreds of fighting styles, detective work, lockpicking, counter-surveillance..."

"Everything except Gotham. You have not learned Gotham yet," Schiller said.

Bruce fell silent. Schiller could already tell that Bruce was not yet the dark hero Batman he would become later. The desire for vengeance and justice had always been in his heart, perhaps along with something even darker, but he still did not understand what Gotham, this hell of human nature, truly was.

Bruce wanted to use every force he could make use of, including Professor Schiller.

Batman was a hero with almost no weaknesses: brilliant beyond reason, cautious and meticulous, a mortal who stood alongside gods. But that was only after he put on that Batsuit and completely became the Dark Knight who spread fear through the night, after he took Gotham and every evil within it into his grasp and resolved himself to face all the filthiest aspects of human nature and fight them. But now? Bruce was not Batman yet. He had weaknesses.

Schiller suddenly felt fortunate. If he had truly faced the Dark Knight standing in Gotham's shadows directly, perhaps none of his methods would have worked. Batman was not Superman. He was not a righteous hero. He was an outlaw through and through.

After Bruce left, Schiller stood by the window for a long time. Batman might arrive soon. Bruce could not wait much longer.

The next day, Schiller taught as usual. It was also the first class for the new students. Unfortunately, his attempt to stop Bruce from choosing psychology had failed. This young Batman simply had to appear in Schiller's peaceful life to remind him that it was about to become a muddy mess.

Oddly, Schiller noticed that Bruce was limping. His right foot seemed injured, yet he still insisted on attending class. As Schiller lectured, he wondered what Bruce had been doing.

He possessed billions in wealth and belonged to the old Wayne Family, Gotham City's blue-blooded royalty. Could he possibly have been beaten up by some thugs?

After class, Schiller ignored Bruce's obvious hint of we need to talk. He quickly packed away his books and teaching materials, then left with the flow of students. He still had somewhere to go that evening.

If Gotham City was Hell, then even Satan would fear Gotham City at night. This city of crime had never stopped producing the aftershocks of evil. Schiller left the safe university grounds and truly entered Gotham City.

He was following Jonathan, the Scarecrow.

Jonathan was not a normal person. He had begun committing murder when he was eighteen, so even though he was not yet Scarecrow, he had already begun his Fear Gas experiments.

Schiller was not here to uphold justice and stop him. He wanted to get some Fear Gas for self-defense.

In this dangerous city, a chemist's hidden laboratory was already one of the safest places to steal from. At the very least, Jonathan and Schiller were both desk workers, not hulking gangsters. Neither knew fighting or firearms; they could only rely on their minds.

Gotham was raining again that night. The darkness was as black as ink, and the rain carried a heavy kerosene smell. No matter how warm this place was, the cold September rain still made people shiver. Schiller wore a long trench coat and carried a black umbrella as he passed through a narrow street. He had gradually traced the place where Jonathan hid the gas: beneath an abandoned church in one district. As long as he waited until Jonathan was gone, Schiller could naturally go in and take the Fear Gas.

Suddenly, Schiller's heart began pounding wildly. An image flashed before his eyes: he was struck by an unknown projectile. He spun around instantly and snapped open his umbrella with a bang.

Two projectiles failed to pierce his umbrella and fell to the ground. Spider-Sense had saved Schiller's life.

Schiller slowly lowered the umbrella. His face bore none of the gentleness he had shown during the day. He had nearly died.

Anyone who had just been attacked by death would probably struggle to keep a pleasant expression. At the end of the alley, Bruce, dressed in a Batsuit, saw his precisely aimed, incredibly fast Batarangs get blocked in an instant when the Mysterious Person opened an umbrella. That reaction had been so quick, it was as though he had known in advance.

Then the black umbrella, dripping with rainwater, lowered and revealed a face Bruce knew very well. It was his university professor, Schiller.

It was indeed him, yet it also somehow was not. Schiller's presence was completely different from how he had been during the day. This Schiller resembled the man described in Bruce's investigation records—a madman obsessed with Criminal Minds.

Schiller took a deep breath and said, "You should know what would have happened if I had not blocked that."

"The Batarang would have stopped thirty centimeters from you," Batman said.

Bruce's voice was completely different from before as well. Schiller knew he was using a voice changer.

Batman still had a long way to go at this point. His Batsuit was not mature enough, lacking both a cape and a belt, and his Batarangs did not seem especially effective either. It was clear that the fledgling Batman had taken some wrong turns. After all, upholding justice starting from Gotham was like a beginner directly attempting Hell difficulty.

Schiller said, "Let me remind you, Mr. Bat, unlike the Affluent Area where you live, the rooftops in Morsen District do not have safety railings. If you accidentally fall again, your internal organs might rupture."

The shadow across from him remained silent. He asked, "How did you figure it out?"

"You are still too green, hero. The medicine you used has almost no smell. It is a high-end chemical compound, not something those poor bastards in the Slums can afford. And..." Schiller's gaze fell upon the only part of Bruce's face that was exposed, his chin. "No one here shaves his beard so neatly and symmetrically."

"Who exactly are you?" Batman asked.

Schiller opened his umbrella again. "Go home, Young Master. No one is going to answer every one of your questions. I am not a beginner's instructor."

With that, he left through the rain. Batman stood in that alley for a long time, then limped out and turned onto another street, where he saw a beggar shivering from the cold in the rain.

He took out a wad of cash and handed it to the beggar. Then he heard the sound of leather shoes stepping through the rain behind him, followed by words that made his hair stand on end: "That is why I said you do not understand Gotham, Bruce."

Batman turned around and saw Schiller standing at the intersection. Schiller walked over and handed his umbrella to the beggar. After she took it and opened it, she was shielded from the freezing rain. Then, trembling, she returned the wad of dollars to Batman.

"Why?" Batman took the dollars and asked.

"Because this is Gutter Gang territory. If they find out she has that much money, her corpse will appear in a drainage ditch the next day."

"That much money?" Batman's voice held disbelief. "Thirty-seven dollars?"

"Yes." Schiller looked toward the end of the street and said, "This is Gotham..."

"Welcome to Gotham."