Chapter 1239: The Farm of Justice (Part 38)

In the spacious lecture hall, the sound of the professor in a suit and leather shoes stepping on the floor is very clear. The lecturing voice has a clear tone and a gentle rhythm, and behind the desks, aside from the "scratching" sound of taking notes, there is almost no other sound.

Most of the students sitting here are wearing FBI training uniforms, which are blue shirts with black ties, with trainee IDs hanging on their chests. Most of them have short hair, are physically strong, and look focused, appearing very spirited.

Most of the students sitting in the front row keep their bodies straight, their backs not leaning against the chair backs, their hands resting on the desks, looking focusedly at the screen behind Schiller.

The students in the back rows are either lowering their heads to copy notes or discussing the case with the people beside them in voices so low they are almost inaudible.

The young man sitting at the far right of the front row has dazzling golden hair. After the lecturing voice pauses for a while, he puts down his pen, stands up, walks to the podium, whispers a few words to the lecturing professor, and then stretches out a hand to the students:

"With me as the dividing line, my right side is the affirmative side, and my left side is the negative side. Every three rows form a group, sharing one debater position."

"Now, pass this document I gave you to the back. Reading time for materials is half an hour, group discussion time is half an hour. One hour later, speak in turn from right to left. The form is free debate. There is no requirement for speaking time, but the discussion angles of different groups on the same side must not be exactly the same..."

"You can call me Allen. I will listen to and record this debate. After class, come to me to check the speaking records and sign. The professor will grade everyone based on classroom performance and written records."

Barry nods to the left and right, withdraws his hand, and distributes the materials to the first row. Everyone passes the materials to the back without a word and starts looking at them seriously.

Barry walks out of the classroom without any hesitation. After a while, he moves a table and a chair to the side of the podium, picks up his notebook, voice recorder, and fountain pen, and sits down.

After the reading time and group discussion time end, the debate begins. Barry listens while recording, occasionally looking up. Schiller, standing behind the podium, glances at the content he is writing.

Schiller knows that Barry didn't use the Speed Force, but his handwriting is still very neat. Even if it is shorthand, the size of the letters and the spacing between words look very pleasing to the eye.

However, soon, Schiller's attention is attracted by the content of the debate in the field.

He has indeed not heard such a substantial debate for a long time. Even though the debaters in the field are at most 30 years old and are still at the student stage, almost every debater who speaks has a loud voice, clear pronunciation, and is quite logical.

More importantly, after the second round of speaking in turn, the theme has not deviated, and no one has substituted personal emotions. No one has attacked the loopholes in the other party's words, but everyone is discussing the matter as it stands, presenting facts and evidence, or strengthening the rationality of their own logic.

Schiller's reason tells him this is normal. These people have all been screened by the FBI and also screened by the conservative faction within the FBI. They are all quite good seedlings. Speaking human language with reason and evidence and being able to control one's emotions are the basic skills of an adult.

But Schiller's heart still rises with a trace of surprise and emotion. He can't even remember how long it has been since he heard an authentic East Coast rap in a classroom debate.

They clearly have guns on their bodies, but they can live in peace for more than two hours. Schiller even feels that he has witnessed the most brilliant chapter of American public security.

And what moves him even more is that after the debate ends, Barry hands in a debate record that is neat in handwriting, complete in content, and without any blood stains on the paper.

Below the record, all the trainees' names are neatly signed, all legal names, and all spelled correctly.

Standing in front of the podium, Schiller takes off his glasses, looks at his somewhat exhausted expression. Barry thinks he did something wrong: "Sorry, Professor, my shorthand experience comes from my internship work at the court. The court's habits might be a bit different from the classroom. You see where there is a problem with this record, I will correct it now, and I can remember it better next time."

"You did well enough. The handwriting is neat and the content is complete." Schiller flips through the pages of the notebook.

"You must not be embarrassed to say it. This is also accumulating work experience for me. I feel that classroom debate shorthand and physical evidence data recording have commonalities. If you can point out where there are errors, when I do my own job, maybe I can also optimize the physical evidence analysis report better." Barry says very sincerely.

Schiller stretches out his hand to cover half of his face and says: "You can even draw inferences about other cases from one instance, and you value your professional ability very much, willing to pay efforts for it, have a stable mentality, and strong initiative."

Barry is a bit confused by these words of his. Schiller doesn't sound like he is praising him, just evaluating him from an objective angle, but it also doesn't seem like he is just evaluating him.

"Alright." Barry shrugs and says: "When do you hope to grade today's debate reflection and summary essay?"

Schiller opens his mouth and says somewhat hesitantly: "Can I choose the time?"

"Of course." Barry doesn't quite understand why Schiller asks this. He says: "If you want to finish grading tonight, I will try to collect them once after dinner. Those who don't have classes in the afternoon should have finished writing, and then I will collect them once tomorrow morning and send them to your office before lunch tomorrow."

"If you are busy tonight and tomorrow, then I will collect them uniformly tomorrow afternoon, and then give them to you at night."

"Are you sure they can finish writing?" Schiller asks somewhat hesitantly again.

"It's just a 500-word essay." Barry says in surprise: "Isn't it written in an hour? Before when you left homework, I even wanted to ask if you left too little..."

"An hour? Not including the time of the Speed Force?"

"Of course not! It's not like everyone has the Speed Force!"

Seeing Schiller's expression, Barry seems to have figured something out. He folds his hands on the podium, looks up at Schiller, and asks: "Then what are the essays you usually receive at Gotham University like?"

"There are several types." Schiller says while organizing the records in his hand: "The most common is requiring 500 words, but only 300 words are written, and they can't be collected even after a week."

"There is another type, requiring 500 words, but writing 5000 words. The discussed theme has amazing creativity and innovation, the kind that can be directly published in journals."

Barry widens his eyes in shock and says: "Then will they be published?"

"They can't be published. The profanity and anti-human parts are too many." Schiller shakes his head: "At least half or more are these contents."

"There is another type..." Schiller purses his lips, revealing an indescribable expression and says.

"A 500-word essay, running to my office three times, my home five times, going back to meditate for a week, dreaming for a week, asking for leave for three days for business entertainment, asking for leave for three days for family trifles, I go to his home three times, the company five times, doubting my academic level for a week, doubting my teaching level for a week..."

Barry stares with wide eyes, gulps, and looks at the black umbrella placed beside the podium: "How did this kind of student survive under you???"

Schiller's voice becomes lower and lower as he speaks. He looks down at the classroom shorthand with very neat handwriting again.

He now deeply understands

Watching the black Qi permeating Shiler's entire body, Barry couldn't help but instinctively take a step back.

In an instant, the Speed Force covered the surface of his body. After the Flash started running, he only left behind one sentence: "I'm off to collect my homework."

At the same time, in a warehouse at the end of a small village in western Mexico, Clark stood with his hands on his hips in front of a massive, menacing-looking black tractor, and together with Diana, who was also looking up at the tractor, he let out an exclamation of wonder.

Bruce was still squatting by the side of the tractor, making adjustments. Clark asked with his mouth wide open: "So, this is what you've been busy with for the past few nights? Is this... a Bat-Tractor?"

"There is no such thing," Bruce denied. "This is just an ordinary tractor."

"But you clearly printed the Bat-emblem on the wheel hubs."

"That's just for decoration."

"The wings on the steering wheel..."

"Personal aesthetic."

"But it and your Batmobile are really a bit..."

"Coincidental."

Bruce answered without raising his head while tightening the lug nuts on the tires. Diana poked Clark with her elbow and said: "Don't force a city-dwelling young master to admit this is part of his collection. Would you want to see a tractor among a pile of luxury sports cars?"

"It's not because it's a tractor," Bruce said, standing up while holding a wrench. "It's precisely because it's just a tractor, and it doesn't have any of the functions that Bat-equipment should have."

"Of course, this is only version 1.0. Materials here are limited, and the material strength isn't enough. I plan to install reasonable firepower suppression equipment, add flight functions, and build a defense system immune to explosions and radiation on the basis of increasing horsepower later..."

"Stop, don't say any more. If you keep talking, I'll have to add a psychiatric appointment for you," Clark interrupted Bruce.

Clark sighed, walked up, and patted Bruce on the shoulder, saying: "Look at your dark circles. How many days have you gone without sleep?"

"Alright, Bruce, I know you're worried about the speed of the spring plowing here, but there's no need to push yourself this hard. You've been working day and night, making us several days ahead of schedule, but it's not worth it if you hurt your body for it," Diana also stepped forward to dissuade him.

At this moment, Green Arrow walked in hurriedly with his little Mexican partners. He wasn't too surprised to see the tractor; after all, when he was on the island, he had already seen the crashed Bat-plane. He knew Bat-equipment was always this style, so he just said joyfully: "Great, we finally have equipment. There's plenty of time; let's start plowing now!"

Bruce nodded and was about to climb onto the tractor when Oliver rushed up and grabbed him, saying: "You don't need to drive the tractor yourself; we have plenty of manpower."

Clark simply hugged Bruce's waist and dragged him directly to the ground, then said: "Didn't you say this was just an ordinary tractor? Then Diana and I can drive it too. What you need to do now is go get some good sleep."

"Have you forgotten what you said before—not to do everything yourself, and to leave opportunities for others to practice?" Clark stared into Bruce's eyes and said.

"I certainly haven't forgotten, but the situation is special now. No, I don't mean the spring plowing of this land; there are more urgent things to do."

Everyone stared at Bruce with puzzled eyes, but Bruce turned his head to look at Clark and said: "Remember the question I asked you before?"

"What question?"

"Can we grow broccoli?"