Another rainy night in Gotham, and this ti the rain was exceptionally heavy, accompanied by flashes of lightning and thunder.
Even the citizens of Gotham, accustod to such weather, could only hide in their houses, peeking through small windows at the furious side of nature.
As spring gradually passed, with the arrival of sumr ca typhoons and heavy rains. Although this city never had any gentle disguises, the urgent sound of wind and rain still made people feel shaken in this dark city.
A dark figure descended from a high rooftop, the cape fluttering as it shook off the rain and mist. Like a flat boat in the midst of a stormy sea, the splash of water upon landing created a dazzling display in the glow of the streetlights.
Batman gripped a batarang in his hand, and from the tense muscles in his hand, it was evident that he had encountered a formidable opponent again, and this ti, the pressure was greater than before.
Usually, he defeated criminals to help others, but today, defeating criminals had an additional goal—to quickly return to school and ensure that he wouldn't face any life-threatening danger due to an unfinished research paper.
But soon, he realized it was too late. At the entrance of an alley, he saw a figure carrying an umbrella.
This reminded Batman of the dreams he had in the Temple of Thought at Schiller. In those dreams, he had dealt with nurous murderers in a transford Gotham City, facing many terrifying opponents.
Despite this, he still felt his heartbeat quicken. He understood that this was not a good sign. If he positioned himself as the prey first, he might beco a sacrifice in this dark city.
Without overthinking, Batman threw a batarang based on instinct, but it was blocked by the umbrella. In the indistinct mont, a cold flash of a blade crossed from the neon lights.
With a "swish," a corner of Batman's cape was torn apart as he turned and threw a punch. The umbrella opened again, and when Batman's fist touched the surface, he felt strange patterns, like holding a snake.
He quickly let go, retreated rapidly, and under the faint light of the storefront sign, Schiller coldly looked at Batman. He didn't say anything, but Batman understood what he ant.
It was an absurd joke. Batman rembered the first ti he faced Schiller in a dark alley, discussing cri, law, and humanity.
At that ti, Batman's ntal state was not stable enough, and his logic was not self-consistent, so he retreated.
But today, he no longer felt conflicted about those things. There were no drumbeats like death warrants echoing in his ears. Now he faced a more practical problem.
The assignnt was not finished, the teacher was wielding a knife at the door, and now what? Urgently waiting online.
Batman never needed anyone to give him answers. After hesitating for a second, he turned and jumped onto a wall, launched a grappling hook, and reached the rooftop of a building, with the figure holding the umbrella following closely behind.
In the dark sky above the city, under the curtain of heavy rain, two dark figures moved through the city's rooftops. The clash of tal and rain echoed like the prelude to an attack, the tones growing louder as the rain intensified.
Batman knew that it was impossible to shake off Schiller like this. He hoped more in the Batmobile, which had just been improved with a better security system.
Last ti, Schiller used a mysterious light ring to smash the Batmobile's engine in one hit. Batman realized that the safety system of the car was still not perfect. In the following days, Batman modified the car again, making the engine casing more robust.
Batman pressed a button on his forearm, and a familiar beam pierced the rainy night. Batman ran in that direction, then jumped off the building, using the grappling hook to cushion his landing, rolling to dissipate the impact.
After a series of smooth tactical movents, he stood firm, but as soon as he took a step, he froze.
In front of him was indeed the Batmobile, but the problem was, it only had three wheels.
Not far away, two children were pushing a giant tire, running and laughing, seemingly very happy.
With a slight "clap," the faint sound of footsteps behind Batman rang out. The mont he heard that sound, he knew he was in big trouble.
Half an hour later, in the office of Gotham University, three people stood in front of Schiller's desk, soaked like drowned rats—Bruce, Jason, and Sliphead.
All three had the sa appearance, towels on their heads, holding cups of hot cocoa, silent.
"Well, let's hear your side of the story first," Schiller put his pen on the desk and said. "Why did you two steal his tire?"
Jason and Sliphead glanced at each other. Jason spoke, "We just wanted to see if we could pry it off..."
Sliphead looked down at his fingers and said, "We're not thieves, not doing it for money. This type of tire can't be sold, too big for a car, too small for a truck."
"Why did you steal, then?" Bruce turned his head and asked.
Jason shouted, "We're not stealing! We just wanted to try... what's that word? Sliphead, you say!"
"Technological upgrade," Sliphead sighed and said, "Living Hell's school teaches too simple things—spelling, symbol usage. At most, they teach cooking and running errands. I don't need to learn those things."
"I had to figure things out on my own without a teacher, through trial and error. I've already figured out the structure of the Majoritycar's power system. I originally wanted to build one myself, but there are still many technical issues."
"I think ordinary car technology is quite average. If you want a technological benchmark, it has to be that car with the bat symbol on it. We tried to remove its tire, but it was quite a challenge."
"So, Jason and I wanted to try again. Initially, we wanted to dismantle the engine, but the engine cover had a special lock, and we couldn't open it. So, we had to settle for removing the tire."
Sliphead and Jason both had innocent expressions as they stared. Schiller turned to Bruce and said, "Last ti, they took off your tire. Why not modify the car?"
"My ti is limited," Bruce replied. "Engine modifications are riskier than tire removal."
"Engine is more..." Schiller paused for a mont, then realized what Bruce ant. He sighed and continued, "Alright, they haven't sold the tire. You can take it back and put it back on."
"Moreover, the lack of basic education is not their fault. You won't hold them responsible, right?" Schiller looked at Bruce.
It wasn't a moral obligation; it was just based on Bruce's expression. Schiller wasn't very angry. The eye contact between Bruce and the two kids seed more like regret.
After all, if these two were born in another city with better conditions and access to good education resources, they might at least beco automotive engineers.
Bruce nodded, and the two children breathed a sigh of relief. If Wayne held them responsible, their fate would undoubtedly be miserable.
Then, Schiller looked at them and said, "Since Living Hell's foster ho can't et your educational needs, co to Gotham University's technical college. You like cars, right? Learn to repair them."
Sliphead widened his eyes and said, "Technical college? But that's a place for adults to study. Can we really enroll at our age?"
Schiller reached for an application form and began filling it out. He said, "Age doesn't matter here, only skill level. Both of you have dismantled the Batmobile's tire, surpassing all the students here."
Schiller wasn't exaggerating. Repairing regular cars and the Batmobile were entirely different technologies, with a significant gap in skill. Although these two kids weren't at Bruce's level, their talent was top-notch. It would be a waste if they couldn't receive proper education.
"But I don't like sitting in a seat and reading books. I really can't focus on those things," Jason complained. "I can't morize them at all."
While continuing to write, Schiller said, "No problem. You can attend practical classes only. No one in that college will require you to write papers. Just be proficient in practical operations."
Jason scratched his head, reluctantly accepting this idea. He patted Sliphead on the shoulder and said, "Hey, brother, you can finally learn more professional knowledge. Let's go out and have a big celebration later!"
After Schiller filled out the application form, he gave each of them one and asked them to go to the administration office to register. After the two walked away shoulder to shoulder, Schiller looked at Bruce again.
Bruce coughed and said, "I really didn't lie. There's a mysterious person who can disappear at any ti, broke into Wayne Tower. I don't know how he left, but I'm investigating..."
Schiller observed Bruce's body language and felt that he didn't seem to be lying. However, in his impression, Gotham shouldn't have this type of villain.
Gotham's villains had a very prominent style—crazy and unabashed. They were obsessed with proclaiming their ideals to the world, not hesitating to create various murders and explosions to gain attention.
But the mysterious person Bruce described seed more like a thief, a thief with special abilities. This kind of villain was not in line with Gotham's style—no grievances, no ideals, no philosophical thinking. How could they survive in Gotham?
Schiller recalled the so-called Great King he had heard before. It couldn't be ruled out that this person adopted a high-sounding title but was actually a sneaky thief. Schiller had done such things before, like naming a certain substance "wine."
Holding a stack of papers, Schiller handed it to Bruce. However, to Schiller's surprise, Bruce, following Schiller's words, made a joke:
"I'd rather that be the case. At least, Helicopter engine won't cause to graduate late."
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