[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel":3,"chapter-my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-chapter-112":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"chinese","My Life as a Mental Mentor in Marvel",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},2322680,4544,"Chapter 112: The Cat","my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-chapter-112",112,"\u003Cp>At the theater in Gotham Manor, Schiller took a glass of champagne from a waiter’s tray, clinked it against Mrs. Leto’s, and sighed, “Such lively yet dignified balls are rare now—the city’s parties are far too noisy; the speakers give me a headache.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Mrs. Leto brushed her silver-streaked temple hair and said, “In our day, it was always like this—girls and boys were shy, no one dared hold hands at such balls—but you know, today’s youth go too far. Once I went to the Golden Cup Mansion downtown—I was stunned. What they wore wasn’t clothing at all; even curtains were more modest…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Schiller laughed. “Times change fast, but it’s not all bad. The economy seems to be improving lately.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Mrs. Leto agreed. “True enough. My two apartments on Fourth Avenue? Rent jumped over fifty percent. I don’t know how these gangsters make their money—I’m still negotiating with that bull on Elizabeth Street about buying another apartment…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A deep voice came from beside them. A man with a small mustache approached, lightly tapping his glass against Schiller’s and Mrs. Leto’s. “Hello. Here’s my card.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Schiller took it and said, “Manager of the Golden Cup Company? You’re Falcone family’s real estate agent?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Correct. I work for the Godfather—but of course, Golden Cup Company is a legitimate business independent of the Falcone family, with real estate operations all along the East Coast.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You know, we’ve recently partnered with Chicago. Land prices there are skyrocketing. I came here specifically to introduce you wealthy gentlemen and ladies to properties across eastern cities.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Mrs. Leto was intrigued. “I heard Chicago’s scenery is better than Gotham’s. What do you think of me buying a villa there?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You’re Mrs. Leto? You’ve asked the right person. Chicago is fine, but for a retirement villa, I’d recommend Emperor City. Its scenery is unmatched along the entire East Coast—and you know, it’s far safer than Gotham or Chicago.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Mrs. Leto frowned, fanning herself. “I do like Emperor City’s tropical charm, but there are too many casinos and too many out-of-town tourists. I’d never get peace living there.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Then I must recommend Miami. It’s a fine city—more wild, less orderly than Emperor City. Of course, its gangsters are nothing compared to Gotham’s. With your husband’s connections, buying an estate there would be perfect.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Mrs. Leto fanned herself again. “I was just planning to discuss this with him. We’ve lived in Gotham for generations, but the weather here is unbearable. A couple months’ vacation there wouldn’t hurt. We’re both getting older—Gotham’s air isn’t good for longevity…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Schiller said, “I heard the mayor plans to collaborate with Wayne Enterprises on an urban air purification system, to be rolled out nationwide, capable of regulating local climates. But it will take time.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Golden Cup manager said, “That would be wonderful. Honestly, I don’t understand it—Gotham’s location is ideal, yet why so much rain? If we had three or four months of sunshine a year, the beaches here would draw tourists from across the East Coast.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The manager was right. Gotham’s beaches were excellent—nearly untouched, since no sane person came here for vacation. Aside from occasional use by locals, they were the best-preserved urban beaches on the entire East Coast.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The waiter circled again with his tray. The group took some biscuits, sipped wine, ate, and chatted about Gotham’s future. During the conversation, Schiller noticed a black shadow flicker outside the theater—someone was watching him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The theater glowed bright with the ball’s lights, but the manor side lay in darkness. This old manor community was small, with few residents. When balls were held, everyone attended—and their homes stood empty.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Unlike Bruce, busy with his internship, Catwoman’s recent days had been miserable.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She was a thief, her main income from stealing—though she was a high-end thief, not a street pickpocket. Catwoman targeted expensive jewelry from boutiques or rare stamps and albums from collectors.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But Gotham’s reforms had made the city’s nights increasingly lively. Jewelry stores, silverware shops, and watch repair shops along main streets now operated at night, with staff and guards on three-shift rotations.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Catwoman relied on stealth and skill, not brute force like some vigilante who killed everyone to hide his intrusion. Her small frame and strength didn’t support such a path.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The three-shift guards were a nightmare. Even if she distracted one or two, the noisy streets and crowded alleys made her thefts far too easy to spot.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Logically, with her skills, Catwoman could have done anything else and never starved. But she’d been raised since childhood as a thief. She didn’t know how, nor had she ever wanted to do anything else.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>What to do when she couldn’t steal? She had to force it anyway. Sometimes she succeeded—but she was caught too often, accumulating many enemies.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As they say, walk enough night paths, you’ll meet ghosts. One day, Catwoman’s theft failed again.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But this time, she’d angered someone she shouldn’t have. The place she stole from? Golden Cup Jewelry—owned by the Falcones.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Falcone family wasn’t like petty gangs. Their security was professionally trained, well-staffed, with no blind spots. Catwoman was spotted the moment she moved.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Unlike other jewelry stores, Falcone’s men had both the courage and ability to hunt anyone down in Gotham. The Godfather’s dignity couldn’t be stained. Catwoman barely escaped—and was now wanted.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>All twelve families had sent people after her. That day, Catwoman was chased relentlessly, leaping and scrambling—until she fled toward the city’s edge.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The assassins behind her were clearly trained, closing in fast. With no options left, Catwoman hijacked a car, drove out of the East District, and headed west. Thanks to Gotham’s traffic controls, no jams, no accidents—she reached the manor district unharmed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Entering the manor district, Catwoman felt uneasy. The English manors loomed dark and eerie under nightfall—why, even with so many wealthy residents, she rarely came here.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But she had no choice. Her pursuers were right behind. She crept carefully through the manor district, growing more uneasy the deeper she went—because somehow, everyone seemed gone.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Gathering courage, Catwoman kept running—then spotted a faint light glowing from one window.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Nearly terrified into a frenzy by the atmosphere, Catwoman didn’t think—she sprinted straight toward the light.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Inside, she found signs of habitation—this eased her nerves slightly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Feeling she’d lost her pursuers, Catwoman grew bolder. She crept to the building’s base, tossed her grappling hook onto the roof, and leapt lightly up to the lit window ledge.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Pressed against the wall, she peered inside—no one was there. The owner must have forgotten to turn off the lights.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Beside the balcony stood a solid wood desk, piled with chaotic papers and massive tomes that made Catwoman’s head ache just by looking. The manor’s owner was clearly a scholar.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But soon, something caught Catwoman’s eye—a bottle on the desk’s corner.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The bottle was small, filled with murky black liquid—but its material made Catwoman’s heart race instantly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It was diamond! Entirely diamond!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The whole bottle was made of diamond!!!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Catwoman knew she wouldn’t mistake it. Years as a thief, she’d seen thousands of jewels.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The brilliant glow under the light nearly blinded her—she was instantly entranced.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Even after seeing countless beautiful jewels, she’d never seen diamond this pure.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then she gritted her teeth. How could the manor’s owner think to hollow out such a beautiful diamond to make a bottle? Why not leave it solid? That would’ve been perfect!!!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But regardless, Catwoman’s heart as a jewel thief was already stirring.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The window was locked—with a lock she couldn’t understand or pick. But this veteran Gotham jewel thief wasn’t helpless.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Seeing the window wouldn’t open, she dropped from the balcony, tested every window—only to find the owner was absurdly cautious. Every window, even the attic’s tiny one, was sealed with that strange lock.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But diligence rewarded effort. Old English manors had a special feature: medieval estates had hidden doors beneath toilet drains, for servants to clear waste.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Though this manor used modern drainage and didn’t need it, perhaps the architect’s sentiment preserved the medieval sewage passage.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Catwoman’s small frame fit perfectly through the hidden door. She thought, thank goodness no one ever used this tunnel—otherwise, she’d never crawl through it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Catwoman’s acrobatic skills were superb. She emerged from the bathroom without a sound—then her heart sank: the bathroom door was locked too!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>How paranoid was this person?!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But luckily, perhaps the owner found those strange locks too inconvenient—he might’ve needed quick access. So the bathroom door used a simple iron lock.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Catwoman could pick that. In seconds, she had it open, then crept silently to the desk.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She joyfully lifted the diamond bottle, examining it under the light. Now she was certain—it was diamond.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Love\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But she was puzzled: she’d never seen diamond this pure. Color, clarity—nearly flawless. Almost perfect.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And even more confusing: why was this beautiful bottle filled with murky black sludge? Not even sludge—more like thick, sticky black goo.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Was it her imagination? She thought the goo moved slightly. But her eyes were glazed by the diamond bottle—she longed to put it in her collection immediately.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She didn’t care what was inside. She shoved the bottle into her waist pouch.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>With doors and windows locked, Catwoman feared the owner might return. Besides, tonight’s haul—a diamond bottle—was more than enough.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Catwoman left the same way she came. Before departing, she even used a special method to rehang the lock on the bathroom door, restoring it perfectly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Back home, Catwoman took out the bottle, stared at it from every angle—loving it more each second. But the black sludge inside grew more repulsive. What kind of lunatic used such a beautiful diamond bottle to hold sticky black goo?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Catwoman wanted to empty it—but the seal was unusual. Not a wooden stopper. Instead, a complex series of clasps, with a tiny lock.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The technology was beyond her. She didn’t understand it. But she knew one thing: diamond was the hardest gemstone on Earth. She could smash the stopper without damaging the bottle.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>So she fetched a crowbar, files, and pliers. She hammered, pried, and pounded for hours. Only one clasp loosened slightly—the stopper remained unmoved.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Catwoman gasped for breath. Frustrated, she threw the bottle onto her nightstand and went to sleep, deciding to find a professional later, once the heat died down.\u003C\u002Fp>",1710,"2026-06-20T16:39:12.484Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","78fa011d556b2a29b9ff5030a7651d52b783dbac253b40e48435639e13a3d2a1","my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-chapter-113","my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-chapter-111",1000,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fmy-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-cover.jpg"]