Chapter 1261: Shadows in Pairs (18)

Jason, standing between the theater seats, had his mouth open wide enough to fit an egg. Before he could even speak, Bruce's voice came from behind: "That isn't you, just as this 'I' is not me."

Jason turned his head to see eyes that appeared exceptionally blue under the screen's light. He opened his mouth, then seemed to lose his focus. After a while, he lowered his gaze and said, "No, perhaps that will be the future me."

"No matter how romantic the inspirational stories written in books are, they won't happen to ordinary people. I won't be wearing a tie to work on Wall Street."

"I would only be like a member of an ordinary Cat Getan child gang, waiting to be picked by the mob. The best outcome would be to grab a gun, rush into the previous leader's office, shoot him dead, and then sit in that position myself."

Barry felt his heart being fiercely tugged. He regretted it the moment he blurted out that name, but he knew Jason would figure it out sooner or later. Suddenly, as if thinking of something, he became dazed and couldn't help but whisper, "And the worst outcome..."

"No, Jason, that isn't you." Barry immediately turned to look at the young boy. "Everything that happened to him has nothing to do with you. You are separated by a vast distance, further than the distance between universes. No matter what you heard, it was just a story."

Bruce stared at Barry with a gaze like a torch. He understood Barry's subtext, but Barry seemed to heave a sigh of relief. He said, "No, it's fine. Batman won't say it, at least not to his face. It's fine..."

Bruce slowly withdrew his gaze. He had already anticipated that a terrible tragedy had likely befallen the Jason of another universe. The irritability and aggression in him didn't just stem from his time on the streets.

He recalled a sentence from the pathological one: only a trapped beast would bare its fangs at every moment. Uncontrolled displays of aggression were a sign of insecurity and fear.

Bruce slowly closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He could already infer what kind of tragedy Jason had encountered. The dark path Batman walked destined him to have countless evil opponents—unscrupulous and despicable to the end.

And when they discovered Batman was invincible, they would naturally pour that madness onto those around him. Whenever he thought of this, Bruce almost began to tremble. Even just associating with this thought, the darkness hidden deep within his heart began to boil uncontrollably.

He couldn't imagine how much pain he would feel if Alfred, Selina, Dick, Aisha, or even Jason and Tim, who hadn't lived with him for long, were harmed.

Is this really worth it?

This question swirled in Bruce's mind. He found he was beginning to not understand Batman's choices, but his reason told him that this lack of understanding was normal. What amazed him was, when did he start to have even a little bit of normalcy?

But on the screen and in the room, the atmosphere became scorching. Batman wanted to persuade Jason to back down, but the more he did so, the less Jason was willing to retreat. And clearly, Schiller was beginning to lose patience.

It wasn't that Schiller was unwilling to mediate the relationships within the Bat-family, nor that he couldn't. He could even easily point out why Jason had such violent behavior, point out what mistakes Batman made in communication, and how they should be corrected.

But the prerequisite was: they should make an appointment first, call before the appointment, arrive on time, and dress like civilized people, not like lunatics in strange costumes.

Then, sit down on the chairs in an orderly fashion, speak in turns from two perspectives, and Schiller would find the potential contradictions from their respective reactions, offer suggestions, and schedule the next therapy session.

In reality, this wasn't Schiller being pretentious. He had this need because this therapy process had been tested thousands of times and was conducive to stabilizing patients with poor mental states so they could pour out their inner emotions.

Like now, two freaks in spandex standing amidst broken glass—you intimidate him, he resists you, one exercising authority, the other venting emotions—was neither beneficial to their relationship nor allowed the psychologist to evaluate their mental state rationally and objectively.

For Schiller, this was very important. If the environment and atmosphere didn't meet the needs of the conversation, the inferred results might be biased. If one went into therapy with this bias, it could very likely cause terrible consequences. He absolutely would not allow such a thing to happen.

Schiller believed that perfectly controlling the atmosphere on his own turf was a requirement of a psychologist's professional ethics. This was to ensure the accuracy of the results; this was the biggest difference between him and the greedy style of practice.

For the greedy one, he hoped the conversation atmosphere would be as relaxed as possible, with the patient completely letting their guard down. They could do whatever they wanted, say whatever they wanted, even if they threw a tantrum here, it didn't matter. As long as there was a reaction, there was material for judgment.

But for the arrogant one, it was normal for patients who came here to go crazy, lose control, and cry incessantly. If they weren't sick, they wouldn't need to come here.

But they couldn't destroy the atmosphere, let alone attempt to usurp the host and take control. If they really could establish an atmosphere and properly exercise initiative, they wouldn't need to come here.

"Please, get out." Schiller pointed to the window and said.

Red Hood and Batman were both stunned for a moment. Clearly, Schiller's method of handling this exceeded both of their expectations.

Batman had experienced this too many times. When he argued with his Robins, bystanders would try to mediate their conflicts. Many people had pointed out the root cause of their conflicts, and some had tried to appease them or take sides to blame the other.

This was the first time they had encountered someone who wanted to kick them out while they were arguing.

"You..."

Red Hood had just blurted out the first syllable when Batman grabbed his arm and pushed him out through the shattered window. Outside the window was the ceiling of the first-floor garage; Red Hood had climbed up here first before breaking the window.

After Batman also exited through the window, Schiller stood by the window and said, "I'll wait for your appointment call."

Early the next morning, "Bang, bang, bang" knocking echoed at 125 Kazi Suowo. Schiller walked out of the bedroom, wearing a silk shirt, tying his tie as he walked out.

After tying his tie, he opened the door. Outside was the young man in a hoodie, still wearing a mask. Although the hood completely covered his face, everyone could tell he must have been wearing a sour face, reluctant, with resistance written all over him.

"Come in." Schiller said softly.

He opened the door. Red Hood looked up and down at the scene in the room, that scrutinizing gaze seemingly looking for hidden compartments where Schiller might hide weapons or criminal evidence.

When his gaze fell on the cabinet of collectibles, Red Hood was about to open his mouth to make some unfriendly comments to seize the initiative, but before that, Schiller walked toward the sofa and said:

"Last night, Batman called me and apologized for your unreasonable behavior last night, and for your act of breaking the glass of my house."

Red Hood's words were blocked back directly. He stood by the door, looking Schiller up and down, snorted, and said, "... Just because of you?"

"Yes." Schiller turned and walked to the back door porch of the living room, opened the window, took the ordered breakfast from outside the windowsill, placed it on the table by the window, and sat down.

As Schiller tied his napkin, he said, "Actually, Batman knew early on that the criminal would come here."

"Then, why would the criminal come to you?" Red Hood walked swaggeringly to sit opposite Schiller.

But Schiller observed a small detail: when Red Hood pulled the chair, he lifted it and moved it backward, rather than dragging it by the backrest, avoiding scratches on the wooden floor and the harsh sound.

At the same time, his feet left no traces on the floor, which meant he must have wiped his soles clean on the doormat; otherwise, the muddy ground of Cat Getan after the rain wouldn't have spared him.

"Are you an accomplice of the murderer?" Red Hood asked.

"I am Batman's accomplice." Schiller took the dishes out of the food box and said, "Cantonese morning tea I ordered in Chinatown last night, for two."

Red Hood was about to speak when Schiller continued, "I told Batman to handle your breakfast. After all, I haven't had a chance to thank him for giving me two sets of clothes and this house."

Red Hood's words were blocked back again. He had to ask, "How could you be Batman's accomplice? And why would Batman give you these things?"

The confusion in his tone was easy to read—it was roughly saying, how could Batman have an accomplice? And how could he give gifts to others?

"This brings us to the murderer you saw that day." Schiller leisurely placed some strangely shaped plates and less common food on the table.

Red Hood opened his mouth, seemingly wanting to say something to seize the initiative, but he couldn't help but be attracted by Schiller's orderly movements, starting to guess where Schiller would place the next dish taken from the food box.

"Clearly, my act of investigating the murderer with Batman annoyed that not-so-smart murderer. He wanted to retaliate against me, and at the same time, alienate the alliance between me and Batman. And the best way was to create a homicide and frame me."

"Of course, misleading Batman's line of sight is too difficult. He doesn't have that talent, so naturally, he could only settle for the next best thing. He had to find someone reckless, impulsive, and not very gifted in detective work to mislead."

"What did you say?!" Red Hood raised his tone.

"Oh, you misunderstood. I am absolutely not saying you are such a person."

"Maybe you just happened to run into the murderer, among the countless homicides in Cat Getan City, very coincidentally ran into the scene where he assassinated the City Council spokesperson, and even more coincidentally stopped his crime, and even more coincidentally, in the chaotic night of Cat Getan, didn't lose him and chased him all the way here."

"In that case, you must be an extremely cautious, restrained detective with considerable talent for reconnaissance and counter-reconnaissance? It's really disrespectful, may I ask your name?"

"Hahahahahahahahahahahaha!"

In the theater, Harley was almost laughing herself to death. She was so out of breath that Diana thought she was about to choke to death and had to pat her back to let her calm down.

Jason pursed his lips, looking both unable to laugh or cry and feeling stifled in his chest with anger. He took a few deep breaths and said, "I'm not Tim, I don't have any detective talent, I just have a bad temper, so what?!"

Harley laughed until she fell off her chair. Diana had to scoop her up, holding her with her arm, letting her lean against her. Looking at the joyous little girl in her arms, Diana couldn't help but raise the corner of her mouth.

On the screen, Red Hood's chest rose and fell continuously. He let out a long breath, stared into Schiller's eyes, and gritted his teeth, saying, "You can call me Red Hood."

"Okay, Jason, Batman said this is your nickname."

"What exactly is your relationship with Batman?!" Red Hood slapped the table and stood up, shouting at Schiller, "From the moment I entered the door, you've been Batman, Batman, Batman, making it seem like you're very close?!"

"We are indeed very close." Schiller said leisurely.

"Huh?!"

Schiller slowly picked up the tableware, looked up at Red Hood, and said slowly.

"All white shirts are placed in the middle compartment on the far left of the closet, colored shirts are in the compartment below, those with special materials are hung on the lower right, and the tie rolls are dark, light, diamond, and striped from left to right. When sleeping, he is accustomed to lying flat and on his left side. The first thing he does when he gets up is to smooth his hair from his forehead backward..."

"Huh???!"

!

"

In an instant, everyone's gaze in the theater fell on Bruce.