In The DC World With Marvel Chat Group

Schiller woke up and didn't even need to turn over to know that he had definitely returned to the simple and traditional Gotham City. The smell of kerosene in the air and the perpetually gloomy sky outside the window told him that he had damn well traveled back again.

And time hadn't moved at all.

He turned off the alarm clock and glanced at the calendar. It was the second day after he traveled to the Marvel universe, which meant that time in the DC world didn't progress while he was in Marvel.

Schiller sighed, momentarily unsure whether the simple and traditional Gotham City was more dangerous or if the central hub of the universe, New York City, was.

Honestly, deep down, even though New York was more enjoyable, Gotham was his true home. At least here, the cosmic mode hadn't been activated yet, and Schiller couldn't handle the Purple Potato(Thanos) at the moment.

He got up, dressed in his clothes. Gotham University required professors to wear formal attire for classes, so Schiller wore a shirt, vest, and suit every day. Sometimes he changed the style of his suit or wore a trench coat.

The September temperature in Gotham was still decent, not cold at all. Maybe it was because it was a coastal city, with a gentle breeze blowing through the city, making it relatively warm.

Just as Schiller stepped out of the door, he saw someone he really didn't want to see—Bruce Wayne.

Schiller turned his head and started walking back.

Bruce quickly caught up and called out, "Professor! Professor! I have some psychological questions I want to ask you! Can you wait for me?"

Schiller cursed inwardly. There were quite a few teachers near the professor's apartment at this hour, and Schiller couldn't just refuse. He could only say, "Alright, alright, I'm not deaf, Mr. Wayne. Let's talk in the counseling room."

So the two of them entered the counseling room. Bruce didn't sit down but went to make coffee instead. He held a hot cup of coffee and placed it in front of Schiller.

He said, "Schiller Andrew Rodriguez, world-renowned criminal psychologist, holder of four psychology-related doctorates. He has participated in the famous City Bloodbath serial killer case in Gotham, the Imperial City Red Glove serial murder case, and the Coastal City dismemberment case, and most importantly, four months ago, he participated in the trial of the deputy mayor of Metropolis and resigned midway, accepting the appointment invitation from Gotham University..."

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

Schiller's hair stood on end as he listened. Good lord, the original host's resume alone could land him in Arkham Asylum! You've been involved in not just one but a string of horrifying cases! Bruce must know and is just holding back!

Schiller cursed inwardly, but he maintained a neutral expression on the surface. He took a sip of coffee and said, "Gotham is a good place."

"Is it? The city with the highest crime rate in America?"

"That's not important."

"Oh?"

"Metropolis may not have a high crime rate, kid. Sit down. Do you think Metropolis is safer than Gotham?"

"Isn't it?"

"At least not for me," Schiller said.

Schiller inherited the knowledge and abilities of the original host, but his memories were incomplete. He suspected that the original host had already lost some crucial memories before his time travel. At least now, Schiller couldn't recall any details about those horrifying cases. There seemed to be vague shadows, but he couldn't remember them clearly.

Schiller knew that the original host must have been involved in an unspeakably complex case and was then betrayed.

"You see safety on the surface, Mr. Wayne, but behind that, behind the glamorous facade of Metropolis, there's darkness you can't even imagine."

"Why did you come to Gotham City then?"

"...I believe you've checked my resume, but it's still not detailed enough. I've made too many enemies, and only here is safe."

"Why?"

"The only ones who can deal with criminals are criminals themselves," Schiller said.

Bruce seemed shaken by this statement. He said, "The only ones who can deal with criminals are criminals themselves, is that what you think, Professor?"

"Bruce, let's change the topic," Schiller said.

Bruce looked at him, his eyes as dark as the Gotham sky. Schiller realized that he was no longer facing the playboy Bruce, but Batman, one of the most complex superheroes in history, a dark hero, a genius on the verge of madness, just one step away from being a lunatic.

"If you want to get more from me, you must pay a price," Schiller said.

"What do you want?" Bruce asked.

"I can't give you what you want right now, you should understand what I mean," Schiller said.

"So, I can give it to you later, right?"

"Definitely."

Bruce contained his expression, and no one could tell what he was thinking. He said, "Professor Schiller, unfortunately, there are some gadgets I made myself in your coffee, a type of nanovirus..."

"Bruce, dishonesty won't get you more from me, kid. This isn't a trick you use to get candy," Schiller said.

"It seems like I'm destined to leave empty-handed today," Bruce said.

"Not necessarily," Schiller said.

"I hope you can give me 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're far from becoming a teacher, Bruce. You're still a student," Schiller said.

"I've learned knowledge and skills from all over the world, hundreds of combat techniques, detective work, lockpicking, counterintelligence..."

"Except for Gotham, you haven't learned Gotham," Schiller said.

Bruce fell silent, and Schiller could already tell that Bruce wasn't the later-stage Dark Hero Batman. Indeed, thoughts of revenge and justice had always been in his heart, perhaps even a darker side. But he hadn't yet understood Gotham, this hell of humanity, what it truly was.

Bruce wanted to use any power available, such as this Professor Schiller.

Batman was a Hero with almost no weaknesses, extremely intelligent, cautious, and comparable to gods with his mortal body. But the condition was that he had to don the Bat suit and become a Dark Knight who spread fear in the darkness, capturing all the evil of Gotham, fully prepared to confront all the dirty aspects of human nature and fight against them. But now? Bruce wasn't Batman yet; he had weaknesses.

Schiller suddenly felt relieved. If he truly faced that dark knight standing in the shadows of Gotham, perhaps none of his methods would work, because Batman wasn't Superman. He wasn't a just Hero; he was a complete outlaw.

After Bruce left, Schiller stood by the window for a long time. Perhaps Batman would arrive soon; Bruce couldn't wait any longer.

The next day, Schiller went to class as usual, and it was the first class for the new students. Unfortunately, his attempt to prevent Bruce from choosing psychology didn't succeed. This young Batman had to appear in Schiller's peaceful life to remind him that things were about to become chaotic.

However, strangely enough, Schiller noticed that Bruce was limping. His right foot seemed injured, but he still insisted on attending class. While teaching, Schiller pondered, where had Bruce gone?

He was a billionaire, the Wayne family, who ruled over Gotham City. Could he have been beaten up by some thugs?

After class, Schiller refused Bruce's obvious hint of "let's talk." He quickly packed up his books and lecture materials, then left with the flow of students. He had some business to attend to in the evening.

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

He was tracking Jonathan Crane, the Scarecrow.

Jonathan wasn't a normal person. He started committing murders at the age of eighteen, so even though he wasn't the Scarecrow yet, he had already begun his fear gas experiments.

Schiller wasn't here to seek justice and stop him; he wanted to get some fear gas for self-defense.

In this dangerous city, a scientist discreetly setting up a laboratory was considered the safest place for theft. At least Jonathan and Schiller were similar—they were both civilians, not rough gang members, not skilled in combat or firearms. They had to rely on their intellect.

On this rainy night, Gotham was once again engulfed in darkness. The rain fell heavily, carrying the strong scent of coal oil. No matter how warm it was here, the September cold rain still chilled people to the bone. Schiller wore a long coat and carried a black umbrella as he walked down a narrow street. He had gradually discovered Jonathan's hiding place for the fear gas—it was the abandoned underground of a church in the neighborhood. As long as Jonathan was away, Schiller could easily go in and get the fear gas.

Suddenly, Schiller's heart started pounding rapidly. He saw a vision of himself being struck by an unknown weapon. In an instant, he turned around and opened his umbrella with a "pop."

Two projectiles failed to pierce through his umbrella and landed on the ground. Spider-sense had saved Schiller's life.

Schiller slowly lowered the umbrella, his face far from the mild demeanor he had during the day. He had almost died.

It's hard for anyone who has just been attacked to have a good expression. At the end of the alley, Bruce, dressed in a bat costume, saw his highly accurate and fast-flying dart being blocked by the mysterious person with an umbrella. It was as if they had foreseen it.

As the black umbrella, now wet with rain, was lowered, Bruce recognized the familiar face underneath. It was his college professor, Schiller.

Indeed, it was him, but at the same time, it wasn't. Schiller was completely different from his daytime self. At this moment, Schiller resembled the person described in Bruce's records—a madman obsessed with criminal psychology.

Taking a deep breath, Schiller said, "You should know what would have happened if I hadn't blocked it."

"The dart would have stopped thirty centimeters away from you," Batman replied.

Bruce's voice was also completely different from during the day, and Schiller knew he was using a voice modulator.

Batman was still far from being the complete hero. His bat costume lacked maturity, without a cape or utility belt, and his bat darts didn't seem to be very effective. It was evident that the rookie Batman had faced some challenges along the way. After all, defending justice in Gotham was like tackling a difficulty set to hell mode.

Schiller said, "Let me remind you, Mr. Batman, unlike the wealthy area you live in, the rooftops of the Morrison Street district have no guardrails. If you were to accidentally fall again, your internal organs might rupture."

The dark figure across from him remained silent. He asked, "How did you figure it out?"

"You're still too green, Mr. Hero. The medicine you use has almost no smell—it's a high-end chemical formula, not something the poor wretches in the slums can afford. And..." Schiller's gaze fell on Bruce's only exposed chin as he said, "No one shaves their beard so neatly and symmetrically around here."

"Who are you exactly?" Batman asked.

Schiller opened his umbrella again and said, "Go home quickly, young master. Nobody will answer every one of your questions. I'm not a mentor for beginners."

With that said, he left in the rain. Batman stood in the alley for a long time, then limped away, turning into another street. He saw a beggar, shivering in the rain.

He pulled out a wad of money and handed it to the beggar. Then he heard footsteps behind him, the sound of shoes on the rain-soaked pavement, accompanied by words that made his hair stand on end: "That's why I said you don't understand Gotham, Bruce."

Batman turned around and saw Schiller standing at the intersection. Schiller walked over and

handed the umbrella to the beggar, who, after taking it, opened it to shield herself from the cold rain. She then tremblingly returned the stack of dollars to Batman.

"Why?" Batman accepted the dollars and asked.

"Because this is the territory of the Sewer Gang. If they found out she had such a large sum of money, her body would end up in the drain the next day."

"A large sum of money?" Batman's voice revealed absurdity as he said, "Thirty-seven dollars?"

"Yes," Schiller looked toward the end of the street and said, "This is Gotham..."

"Welcome to Gotham."

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