On a morning in Gotham City that was neither bright nor warm, Gotham University's students faced their final psychology exam.
When Evans handed out the papers, the classroom erupted in wails and groans. Then, the sound of leather heels striking the marble floor came from outside. In an instant, the classroom fell silent.
Schiller entered while folding up his umbrella. Seeing everyone bent over their papers and writing furiously, he nodded in satisfaction.
Then he planted the umbrella on the floor, rested a hand on its handle, and stood in the center of the classroom. "This exam lasts one hour and forty minutes. In theory, you may hand in your papers early, but it's boring for me to proctor here. Any paper you turn in early, I will grade early."
"At the very least, make sure what you've written gives me enough to read until you walk out that door."
"Also, although I didn't make you sit apart, it would be best not to whisper to one another. Keep your handwriting neat. Cursive is not allowed. Most importantly, write your name clearly. I mean your legal name. Don't make me repeat what I said during the first week of school: no nicknames."
"All right. Begin."
The entire classroom then fell completely silent, leaving only the soft scratching of pen tips over paper.
Never before had any classroom at Gotham University possessed such a thick atmosphere of study. During a pause in his writing, Bruce looked up. Sitting ahead and to his right was the nephew of an East End hyena. The guy had smoked, drunk, fought, and brawled since he was barely over ten. He was a pure-blooded bad boy.
Yet now, he sat at his desk with his head down. Ten minutes had passed, and he was still writing