Chapter 11

Compared to Shiler, Jonathan looked far more like a good person—slender, with long limbs, messy curls, and thick black-rimmed glasses; dark circles always lingered under his eyes, giving him a frail, utterly nerdy appearance.

His personality at school was equally that of a gentle soul; every student at Getan University knew Jonathan’s classes were lax, exams easy to pass, and even if someone skipped or arrived late, he’d merely adjust his glasses and gesture for them to sit, never reprimanding them.

He looked every bit the bookworm, whereas Shiler, the new psychology professor, resembled a high-ranking member of Arkham Asylum.

Shiler’s appearance had a mixed-blood quality: black hair, gray eyes; the original host had also been straight-laced, wearing only black or gray clothing.

Most of it consisted of coats, scarves, and formal work attire; Shiler had never bought new clothes, so he still wore the original host’s style, and with Getan’s recent rain, he carried a black umbrella everywhere.

This image? It was as if he’d be a disservice to viewers if he weren’t the final villain in a TV drama.

Within days of arriving, Shiler’s students discovered he was, in fact, a brutally strict professor—his lectures were excellent, but he showed zero mercy to latecomers or early leavers, gave surprise quizzes every few classes, and bluntly declared in lecture: “At least thirty percent of you will fail this course,” leaving everyone on edge.

Though Getan University students came from wealthy families, not all were obedient; no college student liked such a professor. At first, several troublemakers attended his class, but soon, someone gossiping spread Shiler’s resume—after that, students fell silent in his classroom, as docile as sheep.

After all, no normal person could have repeatedly participated in so many serial murders; soon, Shiler became a campus legend.

Some claimed their professor was the serial killer himself; others said he carried a curse of misfortune—wherever he went, horrific crimes followed; still others invented a tragic backstory for Shiler, suggesting his involvement in so many murder investigations was driven by revenge.

No matter the version, one always matched the students’ inner expectations; bizarre, slightly terrifying stories spread rapidly among them, and within days, nearly all students knew Shiler’s past.

When Shiler went out for breakfast, the window he stood at was always empty—students watched him from afar; in class, his assignments were always submitted perfectly—no professor had ever achieved this.

Since that night’s confrontation, Shiler often felt Bruce following him—even during daylight hours on campus. Fortunately, he had spider-sense; Bruce had tried multiple times to install cameras in Shiler’s dorm, his counseling office, and the classroom podium—all failed.

But this gave Shiler an idea.

Clearly, the young Batman still hadn’t come to his senses. Yet Shiler noticed Bruce seemed to have reached some agreement with Gordon; Shiler visited Mossen District several more nights and confirmed they were truly working together.

Finally, one evening, as bedtime approached, Getan’s sky turned as black as ink.

Shiler had no intention of going out—he planned to sleep well. University teaching wasn’t as easy as he’d thought; occasional students genuinely needed psychological counseling—to relieve anxiety, ease depression, or receive real advice—and all of it was exhausting, so he intended to rest properly.

But fate intervened: Jonathan, who normally only moved after midnight, suddenly left campus in the early night. Shiler knew he was off to capture new test subjects.

Indeed, Gordon and Bruce had been active in Mossen District lately; Jonathan knew he couldn’t beat the police—if caught, he’d be locked up.

His physical condition was worse than Shiler’s; he might even misfire his fear toxin. After Batman cleared out the Water Gou Gang and several other small Mossen gangs, he’d gained some fame; people now knew a strange vigilante was fighting the gangs there, and Jonathan hadn’t shown his face in nights.

But his fear toxin was on the verge of a breakthrough; no mad scientist could accept failure at such a critical moment. His test subjects were already exhausted—he had to capture new ones.

Though weak, capturing test subjects was simple for him: he only needed to find a house with an open window, insert a tube, spray in large doses of anesthetic, then pry open the door and drag the victim out.

Shiler watched him leave campus, then put on his coat and grabbed his umbrella, following behind. He had no saint complex—he didn’t plan to be a superhero—but he couldn’t ignore tragedies unfolding before him.

More importantly, if Jonathan kept this up, Mossen District would be emptied of people; Batman’s debut would end before it began. Since Scarecrow would inevitably be captured by Batman anyway, why not today?

Moreover, Shiler had planned a small trick—he intended to teach Batman a lesson, to snap him out of his arrogance.

Batman still had room to err, because the Joker was still just a circus performer; Shiler couldn’t imagine what would happen if the Joker appeared before the young Batman—how utterly broken he’d be.

Though still young and flawed, Batman couldn’t deny his global travels and acquired skills weren’t for show.

Jonathan, meanwhile, wasn’t a meticulous criminal—he’d had no special training, no counter-investigation awareness; many of his clues had been found by Batman and Gordon.

The two had traced the trail to a small church’s basement, where they found Jonathan’s lab—not a sophisticated setup, but more like a shady workshop.

Dim, cramped, reeking of foul odor; Batman stared at the basement’s drainage pipe and said: “I think I know where those people went.”

Gordon walked over with his pistol and said: “Though I hate to ask, my report must state the truth.”

“Aqua regia. It dissolves metal—and the hardest parts of the human body.”

“Fine, I get it. Don’t elaborate. I don’t want the details,” Gordon said.

As they investigated the small lab, Gordon suddenly noticed traces beneath an old wooden crate—some torn leaves.

“Eastern white pine,” Batman said. “I saw its cotyledons.”

“Damn it, where in Getan are there any pine trees? Otherwise, the weather wouldn’t be this way,” Gordon said.

“I think there’s one place with this plant…” Batman said.

“Getan University. It’s the greenest place in the entire city—along its widest sidewalks, these plants line both sides.”

Gordon crouched down, studying the traces closely, and said:

“The killer’s boots must have stepped on these leaves. There’s mud clinging to them—clearly, the heavy rain these past few days has troubled him. When he arrived here, the dirt fell off unintentionally, and he didn’t bother cleaning it.”

Gordon looked up. “Is the killer a student at Getan University?”

“Or possibly a professor,” Batman said.

“That person you threatened the other day?” Gordon asked.

“I didn’t threaten him,” Batman said.

“But you slashed his throat with a batarang and made him bleed heavily—that long wound must leave a scar,” Gordon said.

“You’re sympathizing with a criminal?” Batman asked.

“He’s not a criminal—not until proven guilty.”

“Trial…” Batman sneered.

Gordon sensed Batman’s distrust of the judicial system. He didn’t rebuke him sternly—he’d been a cop in Getan too long; the judicial system here wasn’t trustworthy, nor was the entire order system.

“But to me, wielding a dangerous weapon and freely harming an unarmed civilian is a threat,” Gordon said.

“Unarmed…” Batman murmured.

He suddenly realized he couldn’t refute Gordon—according to his knowledge, Shiler clearly hadn’t received professional combat training; Batman was certain one punch could knock him out.

Yet he’d been haunted by this man for days with no solution—then he remembered a phrase he’d heard during his travels: Words are stronger than fists.

But that was as far as it went, Batman thought.

The killer was from Getan University—there was no other plausible answer. Wasn’t this evidence conclusive enough? Perhaps it was time to send that mad professor to prison.

He stared at the filthy, muddied drainage pipe—forty-some souls had vanished there, and among them were surely some parents.

Long ago, on that night, his parents’ lives ended in an alley—and no one paid the price they deserved.

But now it was different. With him here, every criminal would end up where they belonged—not one would escape.