When Schiller woke up, he didn't even need to turn over to know he was back in the quaint Gotham City, because the smell of kerosene in the air and the perpetually cloudy sky outside the window told him he was back again, damn it.
And time hadn't moved at all.
He turned off his alarm and checked the calendar; it was the day after the night he traveled to Marvel, meaning time in the DC World didn't pass when he was in Marvel.
Schiller sighed, momentarily unsure whether the quaint Gotham City was more dangerous or the center of the Universe, New York City, was more dangerous.
To be honest, although New York was more enjoyable, Gotham was always home. At least, it hadn't entered Universe mode yet, and Schiller couldn't deal with the Purple Sweet Potato Monster right now.
He got up, dressed, and since Gotham University required Professors to wear formal attire for class, Schiller wore a shirt, vest, and suit every day, sometimes changing the suit style or wearing a trench coat.
The weather in Gotham in September was quite pleasant, not cold. Perhaps because it was a coastal City, a gentle breeze blew through the City, making it quite warm.
As soon as Schiller stepped out, he saw someone he absolutely did not want to see—Bruce Wayne.
Schiller turned around to go back inside.
Bruce quickly caught up, shouting, "Professor! Professor! I have some Psychology questions I'd like to ask you! Can you wait for me?"
Schiller cursed under his breath. There were many teachers around the Professor's apartment at the moment, so Schiller couldn't just refuse. He could only say, "Alright, alright, I'm not deaf, Mr. Wayne. Let's go to the Psychology counseling room to talk."
So, the two entered the Psychology counseling room. Bruce didn't sit down but instead offered to make coffee. He brought the hot coffee and placed it in front of Schiller.
He said, "Schiller Andale Rodriguez, a World-renowned criminal Psychologist, holds four Dr. degrees in Psychology-related fields, participated in the investigation and solving of the famous Yao Chong City Bloody Massacre, Imperial City Red Glove Serial Murders, and Coast City Underground Dismemberment Case. And, most importantly, he resigned mid-trial from the Metropolis Deputy Mayor case four months ago and accepted an invitation to teach at Gotham University…"
"Professor Schiller, can you tell me why you came to Gotham?"
Schiller's hair stood on end. Good heavens, the original owner's resume could get him directly admitted to Arkham Asylum! Not even Joker could be as crazy as him!
You participated in not just one, but a whole string of these terrifying cases! And Bruce was still holding back, wasn't he?!
Schiller was cursing internally, but his expression remained unchanged. He took a sip of coffee and said, "Gotham is a good place."
"Is it? The City with the highest crime rate in the United States?"
"That's not important."
"Oh?"
"Metropolis doesn't have a high crime rate, kid. Sit down. You think Metropolis is safer than Gotham, right?"
"Isn't it?"
"At least not for me," Schiller said.
Schiller inherited the original owner's knowledge and abilities, but as for memories, he suspected that before he transmigrated, the original owner had already lost some important memories. At least now, Schiller couldn't recall any details about those terrifying cases; there seemed to be some vague shadows, but he couldn't recall them clearly.
Schiller knew that the original owner must have been involved in an unspeakably complex case and then was ambushed.
Schiller said, "The safety you see is merely an illusion, Mr. Wayne. Behind that, behind Metropolis's glamour, there's a darkness you probably can't imagine."
"Then why come to Gotham City?"
"…I imagine you've checked my resume, but it's still not detailed enough. I've offended too many people; only here is safe."
"Why?"
"Only criminals can deal with criminals," Schiller said.
Bruce Wayne seemed shocked by that statement. He said, "Only criminals can deal with criminals, is that right? Professor, is that what you think?"
"Bruce, let's change the subject," Schiller said.
Bruce looked at him, his eyes as gloomy as Gotham City's sky. Schiller realized he was no longer facing the cynical playboy Bruce, but Batman, one of the most complex Super Heroes in history, a dark hero, an incomprehensible fanatic, a genius teetering on the edge of madness.
"If you want to get more from me, you must pay a price," Schiller said.
"What do you want?" Bruce asked.
"What I want, you can't give me now. You should understand what I mean," Schiller said.
"Then I can give it to you later, right?"
"Definitely."
Bruce's expression became unreadable. No one could tell what he was thinking. He said, "Professor Schiller, I'm afraid there are some little gadgets of mine, a kind of nanovirus… in your coffee."
"Bruce, dishonesty won't get you more from me, kid. This isn't your little trick to get candy," Schiller said.
"It seems I'm destined to leave empty-handed today," Bruce said.
"Not necessarily," Schiller said.
"I hope you can get a good enough grade on the final exam, Bruce, to prove that you have the desire to learn this skill, and then come back to me," Schiller said.
"I won't waste any more time here," Bruce said.
"You are far from being a teacher, Bruce; you are still a student," Schiller said.
"I have learned knowledge and skills from all over the World, hundreds of combat techniques, Detective work, lock-picking, counter-surveillance…"
"Except for Gotham, you haven't learned Gotham yet," Schiller said.
Bruce fell silent. Schiller had already seen that Bruce was not yet the dark hero Batman of later stages. Indeed, the thoughts of revenge and executing justice were always in his heart, and perhaps an even darker side, but he still hadn't understood Gotham, this human hell, for what it truly was.
Bruce wanted to utilize every available force, such as this Professor Schiller.
Batman is a hero with almost no weaknesses: extraordinarily intelligent, cautious, meticulous, and capable of rivaling gods as a mere mortal. But the prerequisite is that he must first put on that Batman suit, completely become a dark knight who spreads fear in the night, bring Gotham and all its evil under his control, and be ready to face and fight all the dirty aspects of human nature. But now? Bruce is not Batman; he has weaknesses.
Schiller suddenly felt fortunate. If he truly had to face the Dark Knight standing in Gotham's shadows, perhaps none of his methods would work, because Batman isn't Superman; he isn't a hero of justice; he is a complete outlaw.
After Bruce left, Schiller stood by the window for a long time. Perhaps Batman would arrive very soon; Bruce couldn't wait much longer.
The next day, Schiller taught as usual, and it was the freshmen's first class. Unfortunately, his attempt to prevent Bruce from choosing Psychology was unsuccessful. This young Batman just had to appear in Schiller's peaceful life to remind him that things were about to get messy.
However, what was strange was that Schiller noticed Bruce was limping. His right foot seemed to be injured, but he still insisted on coming to class. Schiller lectured while thinking, where did Bruce go?
He owned billions, from the old Wayne family, a prominent family in Gotham City. Could he possibly have been beaten up by thugs?
After class, Schiller rejected Bruce's obvious hint of "let's talk." He quickly packed up his books and teaching materials and then left with the flow of students. He still had to go out that night.
If Gotham City was hell, then nighttime Gotham City would make even Satan tremble. This City of crime had never ceased its aftershocks of evil. Schiller left the safe University and truly stepped into Gotham City.
He was tracking Scarecrow Jonathan.
Jonathan wasn't a normal person; he had started committing murders since he was eighteen. So, even though he wasn't Scarecrow yet, he had already begun his Fear Toxin experiments.
Schiller wasn't there to dispense justice and stop him; he wanted to get some Fear Toxin for self-defense.
In this dangerous City, a chemist secretly setting up a laboratory was already the safest place for theft. At least Jonathan and Schiller were alike; they were both white-collar workers, not burly gang members, and they didn't use combat or firearms, only their brains.
That night, it was raining again in Gotham. The night was as black as thick ink, and the rain carried a strong smell of kerosene. No matter how warm it was, the cold September rain still made one shiver. Schiller wore a long trench coat and carried a black umbrella, walking through a narrow street. He had gradually located where Jonathan hid the toxin, which was in the basement of an abandoned church in a street district. As long as Jonathan wasn't there, Schiller could naturally go in and get the Fear Toxin.
Suddenly, Schiller's heart began to pound rapidly. A scene flashed before his eyes: he was hit by an unknown projectile. He instantly turned around and "bang" opened his umbrella.
Two projectiles failed to penetrate his umbrella and fell to the ground. Spider-Sense saved Schiller's life.
Schiller slowly lowered the umbrella, his face completely unlike his gentle demeanor during the day. He had almost died.
Anyone who had just been attacked by Death would likely not have a good expression. At the end of the alley, Bruce, in his Batman suit, saw his precisely guided, extremely fast flying Batarangs instantly blocked by the You-Know-Who's opened umbrella. The reaction was so fast it was as if he had anticipated it.
And as the black umbrella, dripping with rain, lowered, the face revealed was very familiar to Bruce: it was his University Professor, Schiller.
It was him, and yet it wasn't. Schiller's demeanor was completely different from during the day. At this moment, Schiller was more like the person Bruce saw described in his resume, a madman obsessed with criminal Psychology.
Schiller took a deep breath and said, "You should know what would have happened if I hadn't blocked it."
"The Batarang would have stopped thirty centimeters from you," Batman said.
Bruce's voice was also completely different from during the day; Schiller knew he was using a voice changer.
At this point, Batman was still far from complete. His Batman suit was not mature enough, lacking a cape and utility belt, and his Batarangs didn't seem very effective. It was clear that the rookie Batman must have taken some detours. After all, starting the fight for justice in Gotham was like a beginner directly challenging hell difficulty.
Schiller said, "I need to remind you, Mr. Batman, unlike the wealthy district where you live, the rooftops in Mossen Street District don't have guardrails. If you accidentally fall again, you might suffer internal organ rupture."
The dark figure opposite was silent. He asked, "How did you know?"
"You're still too green, Mr. Hero. The medicine you use has almost no smell; it's a high-end chemical agent, not something these poor people in the slums can afford. And…" Schiller's gaze fell on Bruce's only exposed chin. He said, "No one here shaves their beard so neatly and symmetrically."
"Who exactly are you?" Batman asked.
Schiller reopened his umbrella. He said, "Go home, young master. No one will answer your every question. I'm not a rookie mentor."
With that, he left in the rain. Batman stood in that alley for a long time. He limped out and turned into another street, where he saw a beggar shivering 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 in the rain behind him, and a sentence that made his hair stand on end: "That's why I said you don't understand Gotham, Bruce."
Batman turned and saw Schiller standing at the intersection. Schiller walked over and handed his umbrella to the beggar. The beggar opened the umbrella, which provided shelter from the cold rain, and then she tremblingly returned the wad of dollars to Batman.
"Why?" Batman asked, taking the dollars.
"Because this is the Water Ditch Gang's territory. If they knew she had such a large sum of dollars, her body would appear in the drainage ditch the next day."
"A large sum of dollars?" Batman's voice betrayed a hint of absurdity. He said, "Thirty-seven dollars?"
"Yes," Schiller looked to the end of the street and said, "This is Gotham…"
"Welcome to Gotham."
