"Sorry, I haven't introduced myself," Shiller suddenly changed the subject, turned back to look at the nu, and said, "My na is Naog Sokhup, an Honorary Research Fellow at All Souls College, Oxford University, and a historian and folklore expert."
Jero's eyes widened even more, but he quickly seed to rember sothing, curled his lips, and slightly showed a disdainful expression.
"If you know a little about history, you'll realize that rich people exploiting the poor is a social phenonon that existed since ancient tis and has never changed with the dynastic cycle."
Shiller looked back at the chef and asked, "Do you think if you beca rich one day, you would be benevolent to the poor, never drawing nutrients from them?"
The chef nodded.
"Then I'm sorry, you'll never beco rich," Shiller continued, "because the rich don't hold nutrients themselves, all their nutrients co from the poor. Therefore, harvesting nutrients is a necessary condition for soone to beco rich, exploiting the poor is an inevitable process of becoming rich, not the result."
The chef didn't seem to understand what Shiller was getting at, he just blinked and waited in place.
"Wealth always circulates upwards; it's an incurable disease of human society. No system can change that, and wealth and privilege will always be held by a small fraction of the population."
"I fully understand your hatred because you're not one of that small fraction. You're not them, so you can righteously claim that if you beca one of them one day, you would never be as filthy and despicable as they are."
The chef's complexion grew darker; he seed convinced that Shiller was making excuses for these people. But Shiller didn't give him a chance to speak, instead, he quickly began talking.
"Unfortunately, this group of people don't see themselves as dirty or despicable. They're well-educated and understand how human society operates. They know precisely how to beco that small fraction, even the minority within the minority, the pinnacle of the pinnacle."
"As for collecting nutrients and thriving, they do not consider it shaful; instead, they take pride in it. If out of ten people, seven could be kings, they would kill the other three. And if among the seven, five could be kings, they would kill another two. It's as mundane to them as eating and drinking."
"You bring this group of people here, provide them with fine cuisine, and an opportunity for them to devour their kind. You're not punishing them but fostering this problematic ntality."
"You see them as a whole, but that's not how they think. Wealth circulation upwards is never-ending; they would think that killing and absorbing others is perfectly normal because, in their eyes, that's just how society operates. The notion of mutual assistance and overcoming difficulties together doesn't exist at all."
"So, in reality, you're not torturing them; you're just making them go through what they experience every day in a different way. Would you be in pain if one day you changed the way you use the restroom?"
The chef looked at him, bewildered, and Shiller said, "Do you think their current howling and screaming is them expressing remorse? No, that's just physiological, like crying out in pain, no different from an infant."
Shiller, seeing the chef's baffled expression, said, "Don't believe what I'm saying? Then why not give it a try? Stop controlling them, stop ssing with their brains, let them preserve their precious last monts of clarity for you. Wouldn't that be nice?"
Before the chef could respond, Jero's face clearly showed hesitation; he felt sothing was off.
Who'd have thought that Shiller never ceased to shock with his remarks, he glanced at the restaurant and said, "I know, one day you obtained the power to take revenge on others, and then you chose the most efficient thod to carry out your plan."
"I think that's a bit too forceful, like a dish with too much seasoning. You thought using human heads as a way to express self-devouring would have a sufficiently horrifying impact, but I feel it ruins the balance of flavors."
The chef looked into Shiller's eyes and asked, "Then do you have any better ideas, Mr. Sophop?"
"I prefer the natural flavor of the ingredients," Shiller said with clear implications. "If you want to let people experience terror and despair, you don't necessarily need to put those things on the plate. Simple hints and tactics are enough to make these people reveal their ugly nature, which also highlights their stupidity, doesn't it?"
"How do you think I should prepare this dish?"
"First of all, I'm not sure you can make them regain clarity," Shiller shook his head. "If the chaos in their brains is irreversible, then I'm afraid I can only regretfully taste your less than perfect creation."
"It's not irreversible," the chef finally chose to be candid. "Since you've already discerned that the the of the restaurant is cyclical, I can tell you clearly that even if you leave the restaurant now, once the midnight bell chis, you will still return here. This is a restaurant no one can leave."
"Is that so? That's quite a coincidence. I just left a room that claid no one could leave," Shiller said nonchalantly. "I guessed as much, you trapped them here in so way."
The chef didn't want to talk further and instead turned and walked to the front of the restaurant.
Snap!
He clapped his hands forcefully, and the scenes in the restaurant began to rewind. The comings and goings of people returned to their respective places, and this ti there were neither cold dishes nor drinks on the table—the banquet had not yet begun.
But Shiller was already sitting there. Jero was obviously witnessing such a scene for the first ti, and the fact that he was shocked by the different scenes in the restaurant proved his mory hadn't been tampered with.
But all the other patrons seed to wake up from a deep dream.
"Sorry, ladies and gentlen, there have been so changes to the dishes today. I need to invite a special friend to tour the kitchen," the head chef nodded to everyone. So checked their watches, saw it was not yet dinner ti, and said nothing more.
Shiller stood up and followed the chef to the kitchen, which was as spacious and orderly as any Michelin Restaurant, with rows of chefs stationed at their workstations.
The waiting area here had two chairs, and Shiller unceremoniously took a seat in one of them, crossing one leg over the other as he said, "It's very simple, you can just say you kidnapped them and want to play a ga with them."
"It's that simple." The chef narrowed his eyes, seeming unsatisfied.
"The winner is the diner, the loser is the ingredient, it's as simple as that."
The chef seed a bit interested now as he asked, "What kind of ga? Cards?"
"That's too cliché and has nothing to do with the the of the restaurant. Since you say they don't really respect food, why not play this – you just do what a chef should do."
Shiller quickly left the kitchen and returned to his seat, but to his surprise, Jero imdiately spoke up the mont he sat down, saying, "You idiot, you've ssed everything up!"
"I don't know why you would say that."
"I've almost figured out all the patterns of the cycle," Jero said through clenched teeth, pushing his glasses up as he spoke, "I've gotten through six levels, and now there's only the final hurdle of the digestif left, but you've changed all the rules, making all my past efforts in vain."
"Don't try to morally blackmail ," Shiller retorted. "Especially when you had no intention of sharing any information about those six levels with ."
A shadow of darkness flickered almost imperceptibly in Jero's eyes, but he masked it well, appearing like a mad scientist desperate for knowledge as he said, "I was close to the truth, and you've ruined everything. You've ruined my only form of entertainnt."
"You're not as composed as you pretend to be. On the contrary, your ti-wasting tactics seem quite foolish to . You're acting like an idiot, and I have to say, another person just like you I've t perford much better than you."
Jero's face turned dark almost imdiately, as he could no longer maintain his façade. Shiller, however, leaned forward, resting an arm on the table as he looked at Jero and said, "Your brother is much better than you."
With a bang, a plate was overturned, and the chef, who had just co out, looked at Jero with dissatisfaction as Jero clenched his fists tightly.
Observing Jero's emotions, Shiller realized he might not be pretending. This didn't look much like the Joker. Could the real Joker actually be Jero?
Suddenly, the chef cleared his throat and announced, "Thank you all for attending my banquet despite your busy schedules. To express my gratitude for your ongoing support, I will serve you seven courses."
"First, an aperitif, which I've nad 'Gotham Sunset.' I know the na sounds a bit trite, but it actually represents a thrilling day for . I must tell you what happened when I first ca to Gotham..."
The chef began to elaborate on his experiences of coming to Gotham and how he sparked the inspiration to create this special aperitif through combining various spirits. He talked about the flavor of the drink and the celebrities who had tasted it, including Bruce Wayne's opinion on it.
The audience beneath seed to listen attentively; so were nodding frequently, others took notes, so clapped cheerfully, while others had tears of emotion in their eyes.
Then, the chef went on to tell the story of the cold dish. It took him nearly two hours to explain the source of inspiration, the process of creation, the backstory, the flavors of the dishes, and the aning he wanted to convey for all seven courses he had arranged.
The waiters began serving the courses in order.
After the aperitif was served, two hours had already passed since the chef had ntioned the story of the beverage, which was neither too long nor too short, certainly not enough to reach the first point of the forgetting curve.
The waiters efficiently took their positions by the windows, and the chef turned to everyone with a smile, saying, "Before we take the first sip together, I must inform you all of an unfortunate piece of news – you might not be able to leave here smoothly."
So people looked puzzled, others murmured among themselves, but with a slight raise of his hand, Shiller noticed sothing moving on the ceiling. As he looked up, he saw a spine.
A blood-red spine, stripped of flesh and sinew, dangled above his head. If Shiller rembered correctly, that was the sa thing that had previously pressed down on his head.
Above everyone's head hung a spine, a dense network of nerves covering the entire ceiling. Shiller could even identify many familiar nerve structures. Bizarrely, it was highly scientific.
But it clearly terrified the diners. The chef had reset them to a sober mont, and they couldn't accept such a horrifying sight; they scread and tried to leave their chairs.
The spines extended downwards, touching the brainstem that controls movent, piercing right into their necks. Nerves spread down the spine, making everyone's head droop.
"I didn't say that this ti would be forever," the chef declared, raising a glass. "As long as you finish the seven courses, you can leave naturally."
"Unfortunately, due to so problems earlier, I haven't prepared enough ingredients and may need to ask for your generous contribution... No, I don't want your money. I consider so of you here to be the finest ingredients."
Ignoring the horror-stricken faces, the chef sighed lightly and added, "Now, write down the inspiration behind this drink, my story, the flavor of the drink, the origin of the raw materials, anything will do, on the paper in front of you."
"The ten individuals who perform the worst will beco the ingredients for the next course – to be enjoyed by the others."
The chef finished the normal contents of his glass in one gulp, his expression turning grim as he commanded, "Start writing, friends."
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