When Schiller woke up, he didn’t even need to turn around to know he had definitely returned to the wholesome Gotham City, because the smell of kerosene in the air and the perpetually overcast sky outside the window told him he had damned well time-traveled back. And time hadn’t moved an inch. He turned off the alarm clock and glanced at the calendar; it was the day after he had traveled to Marvel, which meant that time in the DC world hadn’t passed while he was away. Schiller sighed, momentarily unsure whether the innocent Gotham City was more dangerous or if the cosmic center, New York City, posed a greater threat.

To be honest, while New York was more enjoyable, Gotham was still his forever home. At least here, the cosmic mode hadn't been activated yet, and Schiller wasn’t ready to deal with the Purple Sweet Potato essence. He got out of bed and dressed himself; Gotham University required professors to wear formal attire to class, so Schiller donned a shirt, vest, and suit every day, occasionally switching up the style of his suit or wearing a trench coat.

The temperature in Gotham in September was still quite pleasant, not cold, perhaps because it was a coastal city, with a gentle breeze blowing through the streets, making it feel warm. As soon as Schiller stepped outside, he saw someone he desperately didn’t want to see—Bruce Wayne. He immediately turned to head back.

Bruce hurried after him, calling out, “Professor! Professor! I have some psychology questions I’d like to ask you! Can you wait a moment?” Schiller cursed under his breath; there were quite a few teachers near the professor’s apartment, and he couldn’t just refuse. He could only say, “Alright, alright, I’m not deaf, Mr. Wayne. Let’s discuss it in the psychology consultation room.”

So they entered the consultation room. Bruce didn’t sit down but instead went to make coffee, bringing a steaming cup to Schiller. He said, “Schiller Andel Rodriguez, world-renowned criminal psychologist, holder of four psychology-related doctorates. You have participated in the investigations of the notorious Blood Man Massacre in Convergence City, the Red Glove serial murders in Empire City, and the Beach City dismemberment case. And most importantly, four months ago, you left your position during the trial of the Metropolis Deputy Mayor and accepted an invitation to join Gotham University…”

“Professor Schiller, can you tell me why you came to Gotham?”

Schiller felt a chill run down his spine; this resume could get him directly assigned to Arkham Asylum! The Joker couldn’t compete with this! These were not just terrifying cases he had participated in; he had been involved in a string of them! Bruce had managed to keep it under wraps, hadn’t he? Schiller cursed internally, but on the surface, he maintained his composure, took a sip of coffee, and said, “Gotham is a good place.”

“Really? The city with the highest crime rate in the nation?”

“That’s not important.”

“Oh?”

“The crime rate in Metropolis isn’t high, kid. Sit down. You think Metropolis is safer than Gotham, right?”

“Isn’t it?”

“At least not for me,” Schiller replied.

Schiller had come here inheriting the knowledge and abilities of the original owner, but as for memories, he suspected that before he time-traveled, the original owner had already lost some crucial memories. At least now, he couldn’t recall any details about those horrifying cases; there were only vague shadows in his mind, but he couldn’t bring them into focus.

Schiller knew that the original owner must have been involved in a complex case that was difficult to articulate and then had been framed.

“You see, the safety you perceive is merely an illusion, Mr. Wayne. Behind the glamorous facade of Metropolis lies darkness that you can scarcely imagine.”

“Then why come to Gotham?”

“...I assume you’ve checked my resume, but it still lacks detail. I’ve offended too many people; only here is safe.”

“Why?”

“The only ones who can deal with criminals are criminals,” Schiller said.

Bruce Wayne seemed shaken by this statement. He replied, “The only ones who can deal with criminals are criminals, is that right? Professor, is that how you think?”

“Bruce, let’s change the subject,” Schiller said.

Bruce looked at him, his eyes dark like the Gotham sky. Schiller realized he was no longer facing the carefree playboy Bruce but Batman, one of the most complex superheroes in history—a dark hero, a genius walking the line between obsession and 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 provide right now; you should understand what I mean,” Schiller replied.

“Then I can provide it later, right?”

“Absolutely.”

Bruce’s expression grew serious; no one could tell what he was thinking. He said, “Professor Schiller, unfortunately, there are some little gadgets I made in your coffee, a kind of nanovirus…”

“Bruce, dishonesty won’t get you more from me, kid. This isn’t a trick to get candy,” Schiller said.

“It seems I’m destined to return empty-handed today,” Bruce said.

“That may not be the case,” Schiller replied.

“I hope you can give me a good grade in the final exam, Bruce, to prove that you have the heart to learn this skill, then come back to see me,” Schiller said.

“I won’t waste more time here,” Bruce said.

“You are far from being a teacher, Bruce; you’re still a student,” Schiller stated.

“I’ve learned knowledge and skills from around the world, hundreds of fighting skills, detective work, lock-picking, counter-surveillance…”

“Except for Gotham, you still haven’t learned Gotham,” Schiller said.

Bruce fell silent. Schiller could see that Bruce was not yet the dark hero Batman he would eventually become. Indeed, the thoughts of vengeance and administering justice lingered in his heart, perhaps with an even darker side, but he still did not understand what Gotham was—a hell of human nature.

Bruce wanted to utilize all available power, like this Professor Schiller. Batman was a hero with almost no weaknesses, incredibly intelligent and cautious, comparable to a god in human form, but first, he had to don that bat suit and fully become a dark knight spreading fear in the night, ready to gather all of Gotham’s evils and face every dirty aspect of humanity with determination. But right now? Bruce was not yet Batman; he had weaknesses.

Schiller suddenly felt relieved; if he really faced that dark knight lurking in Gotham's shadows directly, perhaps all his tactics would be useless, because Batman was not Superman; he was not a righteous hero; he was a thorough outlaw.

After Bruce left, Schiller stood by the window for a long time, wondering if Batman would arrive soon; Bruce couldn’t wait much longer.

The next day, Schiller held class as usual, and it was the first class for new students. Unfortunately, he had failed to prevent Bruce from choosing psychology, and this young Batman was determined to appear in Schiller’s peaceful life, reminding him that things were about to get messy.

Strangely, Schiller noticed Bruce was limping; his right foot seemed injured, yet he still insisted on attending class. As Schiller lectured, he pondered where Bruce had been.

With a fortune in the billions, as the heir of the Wayne family in Gotham City, could it be that he had been beaten by thugs?

After class, Schiller declined Bruce’s obvious hint of wanting to “talk.” He quickly packed his books and teaching materials, then left with the flow of students; he had to go out again that evening.

If Gotham City was hell, then Gotham at night would frighten even Satan. This city of crime never ceased to echo with the remnants of evil. Schiller left the safety of the university and truly entered Gotham.

He was tracking Scarecrow, Jonathan. Jonathan was not a normal person; he had been 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 administer justice and stop him; he wanted to obtain some fear toxin for self-protection. In this dangerous city, a chemist secretly conducting experiments in a lab was among the safest places to steal; at least Jonathan and Schiller were civilians, not brutish gangsters, and wouldn’t resort to fighting or firearms, relying only on their brains.

That night, it was raining again in Gotham; the night was as dark as ink, and the rain carried a heavy smell of kerosene. No matter how warm it was here, the cold September rain still made one shiver. Schiller wore a long trench coat and held a black umbrella as he walked through a narrow street, gradually nearing the location where Jonathan was hiding the fear toxin—an abandoned church underground in a neighborhood. As long as Jonathan wasn’t around, Schiller could rightfully go in and get the fear toxin.

Suddenly, Schiller’s heart began to race, and a vision of being struck by an unknown projectile flashed before his eyes. He instantly turned around and “bang!” opened the umbrella.

Two projectiles didn’t pierce his umbrella and fell to the ground; his spider-sense had saved Schiller’s life.

Schiller slowly lowered the umbrella; his expression was nothing like the gentleness of the day. He had almost been killed.

Anyone who had just been attacked would find it hard to maintain a good demeanor. At the end of the alley, Bruce, dressed in a bat suit, saw his precisely guided, fast-flying shurikens being instantly blocked by that mysterious person’s umbrella, reacting as if he had anticipated it.

As the black umbrella lowered, revealing a familiar face, Bruce recognized it was his university professor, Schiller.

It was indeed him, but he seemed different; Schiller’s demeanor was completely unlike during the day. At that moment, he resembled the person Bruce had read about in his resume, a madman obsessed with criminal psychology.

Schiller took a deep breath and said, “You should know what would happen if I hadn’t blocked it.”

“The shuriken would stop thirty centimeters from you,” Batman replied.

Bruce’s voice was entirely different from that day; Schiller knew he was using a voice modulator.

At this moment, Batman was far from complete; his suit wasn’t mature enough, lacking a cape and utility belt, and the bat shurikens didn’t seem very effective. It was evident that this rookie Batman had gone through some rough patches. After all, championing justice in Gotham meant a novice was directly challenging a hellish difficulty.

Schiller said, “Let me remind you, Mr. Bat, unlike the affluent area you live in, the rooftops of the Mosin neighborhood have no guardrails. If you happen to fall again, you might rupture your internal organs.”

The shadow across from him fell silent and asked, “How did you figure that out?”

“You’re still too green, hero. The drug you used has almost no smell; it’s a high-end chemical agent that the poor in the slums can’t afford. And…” Schiller’s gaze fell on Bruce’s neatly symmetrical chin. He said, “No one here would shave their beard so neatly.”

“Who exactly are you?” Batman asked.

Schiller reopened the umbrella and said, “Go home, young master; no one will answer all your questions. I’m not a novice tutor.”

With that, he left into the rain, and Batman stood in the alley for a long time before limping out, turning into another street, where he saw a beggar shivering in the rain.

He pulled out a wad of cash and handed it to the beggar, then he heard footsteps behind him in the rain and a sentence that made his hair stand on end: “That’s why I said you don’t understand Gotham, Bruce.”

Batman turned around to see Schiller standing at the corner. Schiller walked over and handed the umbrella to the beggar. After the beggar opened the umbrella to shield herself from the cold rain, she trembled and returned the wad of dollars to Batman.

“Why?” Batman asked as he took the dollars.

“Because this is the territory of the Waterway Gang. If they find out she has such a large amount of cash, her body will turn up in the drainage ditch the next day.”

“A large amount of cash?” Batman’s voice revealed incredulity. “Thirty-seven dollars?”

“Yes,” Schiller looked toward the end of the street and said, “This is Gotham…”

“Welcome to Gotham.”