It Didn't Have to Be This Gotham

Chen Mo drew a breath.

Before anyone else could move, he bent down and picked up the gun.

The movement was far too natural.

As natural as helping someone pick up a dropped eraser.

He didn't raise the gun or check the magazine. He simply pinched the grip between two fingers, gave it a slight turn, removed the magazine, and ejected the round in the chamber.

The whole process took no more than two seconds.

Then he placed the empty gun in the teacher's arms.

The teacher held the gun with the expression of someone who had just been handed a live snake.

Chen Mo flashed a sunny smile.

"Sir, this probably doesn't count as a teaching aid, does it?"

No one in the hallway laughed.

Everyone was watching him.

For the first time, the look in the tall boy's eyes changed beneath his black jacket.

Barbara was watching him too.

She had seen how steady Chen Mo's hands had been during those two seconds.

That wasn't how an ordinary new student should react to a gun, much less a homeless kid who had just been scooped up by a street registration van and brought to school.

Ordinary people froze when they saw a gun.

People familiar with guns grew wary.

But Chen Mo had handled it as though it were a leaking fountain pen.

A hassle, messy, but nothing worth fearing.

Chen Mo shoved his hands into his pockets and lowered his head, avoiding Barbara's gaze.

I'm screwed.

It's only my first day, and I seem to have turned my "ordinary poor Asian transfer student" persona into "poor Asian transfer student suspected of having spy training."

This is bad.

Very bad.

I was supposed to be a gorgeous, powerful guy with a tragic past.

A hot nerd or something.

Meanwhile, in the underground data room at Wayne Tower, Bruce Wayne watched the school's hallway surveillance footage, his fingertips resting motionless on the console.

Alfred stood beside him with a freshly printed report of the first day's data.

Naturally, whichever school his colleague attended-the one who, by age, ought to qualify as child labor-was the school Bruce Wayne paid particular attention to.

"East End No. 7 Public Middle School recorded seventeen fights, six suspected drug transactions, twelve incidents of knife possession, and one exposed firearm this morning. Attendance among students in the foundation program was quite good, however, exceeding projections by thirty-one percent."

The old butler paused, his tone as level as ever.

"From a certain perspective, Master Bruce, your education initiative has been very successful. The children have indeed come to school. They simply brought Gotham into the classroom with them."

Bruce said nothing.

On-screen, Chen Mo handed the empty gun to the teacher and gave a smile so clean it was almost dazzling.

Bruce rewound the footage.

Remove the magazine, clear the chamber, check the muzzle's direction, hand it to an adult.

No showing off, no hesitation, no excessive panic. His movements were practiced, yet a second later, he immediately tucked himself back into that talkative, harmless, seemingly joking shell.

There was now a hundred percent certainty that he was the one who liked climbing walls at night.

Bruce's gaze darkened.

"The gangs are testing the school."

Alfred looked at him.

"Testing whom?"

"Everyone," Bruce said. "The teachers, security, the foundation's procedures, the students' reactions, and him."

He opened another clip.

At the end of the hallway, the boy in the gray cap was noting something down. After the fight ended, the tall boy in the black jacket hadn't left. Instead, he had looked at Chen Mo.

There was no anger at having been offended.

Only interest after confirming the value of his prey.

"They've found fish in the new pond," Bruce said quietly. "And one of them doesn't look much like a fish."

By the last class that afternoon, the teacher had given up on teaching entirely.

She had everyone write an essay titled "My Future."

Chen Mo stared at the topic in silence for a long time.

Giving that topic in Gotham's East End was practically like asking a bunch of drowning people to write about "My Love of the Ocean."

In the row ahead, Barbara had already started writing.

She wrote quickly, her handwriting neat and her back straight, as though forcibly carving out a small patch of order for herself amid the chaos.

Chen Mo lowered his head and looked at his paper.

After some thought, he wrote the first sentence.

In my future, I'd preferably have a bed where rain leaking through the roof wouldn't drip on me and wake me up.

After writing it, he felt the sentence brought too much shame on Spider-Man, so he crossed it out.

The second sentence.

In my future, I'd preferably not have to match wits every day with all the bizarre challengers of the law out on the streets.

He stared at that sentence for a second, then crossed it out too.

The third sentence.

Capital comes into the world...

Cross it out. Hurry up and cross it out.

Sure, Gotham went on every day about independent thought and encouraged students to have unique opinions and all that.

But just because they told you to be unique, did you really think you could be unique?

Chen Mo felt that little old him still couldn't shoulder the great responsibility of reforming the social system. Better to play it safe and build himself up for a while first.

In the end, he wrote on the paper.

In my future, I hope Gotham's schools won't need to post "No guns allowed" at the entrance.

That sentence looked very noble, glorious, and righteous.

Chen Mo nodded in satisfaction.

Then he added another sentence.

If they have to, at least make the lettering bigger. Someone clearly didn't see it today.

When the dismissal bell rang, the whole school building became a zoo with its cages thrown open.

Students rushed out of classrooms, and the hallways filled with footsteps, curses, laughter, the sound of locker doors being kicked open, and the muffled thump of some unlucky soul being stuffed into a locker.

Chen Mo slung on his backpack and had just reached the doorway when Barbara stopped him.

"Chen Mo."

He turned back.

The red-haired girl stood in the hallway shadows beyond the reach of the setting sun, watching him, her voice very soft.

"Weren't you scared when you picked up that gun?"

Chen Mo gave her an extremely natural smile.

"Of course. Scared to death. I'm a huge coward. My knees go weak whenever I see a gun."

Barbara glanced at his legs.

So long and straight... wait, no.

Very steady.

As steady as if they were welded to the floor.

Following her gaze, Chen Mo looked down at his own legs, then earnestly tried to salvage things.

"My knees go weak mentally. You can't tell from the outside."

Barbara fell silent for two seconds.

"You're strange."

"Thanks," Chen Mo said. "That sounds like high praise."

Barbara didn't press him further.

She merely gave him a look, as though placing his name in a separate folder in her mind.

Chen Mo waved to her, then turned toward the stairs.

Halfway there, the back of his head tingled faintly again.

Downstairs, beside the sports field, the boy in the gray cap was talking to the tall boy in the black jacket. Their voices were very low, and they were far away, but Chen Mo's senses were now sharp enough to catch a few scattered words.

New kid.

No guardian.

Quick reflexes.

Tonight.

East gate.

Chen Mo didn't slow down.

He even hummed a couple of off-key lines, like an ordinary student who had finally finished his first day of classes and was heading home to feed his dog.

But his eyes had already turned cold.

The setting sun shone in from the end of the hallway, lighting up the temporary student ID on his chest.

Chen Mo, East End No. 7 Public Middle School, temporary ID number CM-0719.

He glanced down at the card and suddenly gave a short laugh.

Bruce Wayne had sent him to school.

The school had brought Gotham right to him.

Good.

Now I know where to start patrolling tonight.