Chapter 1737

"You, you're the clown from before, aren't you?"

Spider-Man looked at that familiar smile, a little uncertain as he asked, while also becoming alert, because the body the clown was using looked much stronger than his, and from the clothing and appearance, he seemed more like a member of the Kids' Gang, who are no pushovers.

"Of course I am." The smiling boy nodded and said: "How could I miss Batman's game invitation? You don't seem to be doing too well, kid."

Spider-Man rubbed his stomach and sat down on the ground; he hadn't eaten anything today, the emptiness in his stomach gradually turning into a burning pain, his limbs weak so he couldn't stand properly.

"I don't know what's wrong with this damned city, it's worse than the streets full of hobos I saw in the Bronx." Spider-Man rubbed his face with his hand: "The order brought by the gangs is truly terrible, no one cares about the weak, everything is left to fend for itself..."

"But if I told you this is actually the best era Gotham has ever had, what would you think?" The clown leaned against the utility pole and asked.

"What do you mean?" Spider-Man was a little confused.

"Now is the era when gang order still exists." The clown lowered his head, playing with his fingers, and said: "Street fires happen often, but there are no large-scale bombings or robberies, adults keep dying, but soon someone will take their place, kids go hungry and many starve to death, but the strong always survive and become gang members."

"Isn't that bad enough?" Spider-Man asked.

"Far from enough." The clown shook his head and said: "The worst part is that the gangs have also disappeared, and then comes the era of madmen, when everything is ten thousand times worse than you can imagine."

"What would that be like?" Spider-Man swallowed and said.

"Madmen recklessly create bombings, because no one can sanction them, adults can kill another adult just because they're in a bad mood, since they know the police are useless, kids will be bought and sold at random, with no freedom or free will, merely raw material for some things, and it's impossible to form any small group, utterly powerless."

"That's insane." Spider-Man clenched his fists, staring hard at the clown: "And you are exactly one of those madmen."

"No, I'm merely a product of madness." The clown looked into Spider-Man's eyes and said: "Batman created the madness."

"You're always slandering him." Spider-Man took a deep breath and said: "I know this world is terrible, but if you say he doesn't save the world and is therefore worse than you, that's complete nonsense; you can't absolve yourself of your crimes by any of Batman's actions."

"I'm just stating a fact." The clown walked over, placed the bag of bread he was carrying in front of Spider-Man, and said: "You know? It was Batman who ended Falcone's gang order."

"Has he come here?" Spider-Man didn't even look at the bag of bread, just lifted his head and stared hard at the clown as he asked.

"Of course, or perhaps we might witness history again." The clown flashed another smile, saying the longest sentence he'd said all day.

"Just now, reality presented your first dilemma, revealing its danger, while Batman experienced the consequences twenty years ago."

"If the gang era isn't ended, kids like you will forever live under the oppression of violence and terror, similar tragedies will keep happening, but if the gang era is ended, the last order will be utterly destroyed, and this city will plunge completely into the abyss."

"The Batman I know chose the latter."

Spider-Man stared blankly at the clown, waiting for his answer after the long pause, and sure enough, as he expected, the clown said.

"For you, for him when he first eagerly wanted to be a superhero, seeing you in the dark street corner."

Spider-Man loosened his clenched fist, sitting on the ground staring at the bread the clown threw at him, while the clown crouched on the ground, propping his cheek with one hand and said: "You think Batman can't handle me and criminals like me in this city because he lacks resolve, or because he chose the wrong method."

"But the absurd reality is, there is no right path; heroes merely have the courage to face the consequences of their wrong choices, and Batman's madness lies in his being just an ordinary powerless person for decades, like you now, thinking he had a choice before reality, but he didn't."

"So I say he's a madman, why should he bear the consequences of a choice with no correct answer, why be so arrogant as to think he can atone for the darkness this reality brings to everyone, why refuse to admit what I say is true, abandon vigilance and repentance, and truly laugh?"

The clown stood up, walked to Spider-Man's face, cupped his hands around his face, pressed Spider-Man's mouth corners upward, making him show a fake smile.

"Do you think you should be responsible for your companion's death?"

Spider-Man froze, then trembled all over.

Only then did he realize, all the clown's words were merely to lower his guard, and this final sentence was a sword, piercing straight through his heart.

The clown left, his sword-sheathing posture elegant like a swordsman, but Spider-Man, following his own heartbeat, heard from the empty pause in his heartbeat a sentence——"What right do I have to be responsible?"

He is no longer the mighty Spider-Man, but a wounded, hungry child who can't even guarantee his own safety, facing a problem countless adults in this city can't solve, one even heroes can only repent for after retreat; if he says he bears no responsibility, who could blame him?

His weakness will be his best excuse to retreat, something Spider-Man as a superhero has never had; he did his best, fate toyed with him, reality is cruel, this will be his best excuse to forgive himself.

What if he doesn't forgive himself?

Spider-Man thought of the Batman the clown mentioned, who made his choice in reality's dilemma, and for the next twenty years faced the consequences of that choice, doing all he could to make amends.

But he actually had no need to torment himself so, for no matter how he chose, it was wrong; he wasn't even a superhero with powers, why not accept his weakness guiltlessly, rightly abandon the meaningless responsibility this absurd reality imposes on him, and laugh with relief?

The sensation of the clown's fingers still lingered on Spider-Man's face; as long as he followed that force to lift his mouth corners, laughing and sighing as if feeling regret for that girl, he could cast aside sorrow and heaviness and begin a new life.

Why not? Spider-Man closed his eyes, thought, stood up, picked up the bag of bread, and staggered back to the house.

"Why did you kill Falcone in the first place?"

In a corner of the abandoned factory, a little boy chewed a mouthful of bread, mumbled unclearly, asking another bigger boy, while the black-haired boy just silently sat in place, his face showing no expression, stern as a statue.

"I didn't kill Falcone."

"But you didn't save him either." The little boy wiped bread crumbs from his mouth and said: "Dick told me you actually knew Maroni was preparing to strike then, and you had the ability to stop him."

"I had no need to stop him; this was just two fully corrupt gang members fighting internally, I had no need to save either." The black-haired boy's tone was flat, devoid of emotion, not like chatting, more like being interrogated.

"Right? That's what you did." The boy holding the bread shrugged: "Gangs are gone, worse came, you brought it on yourself."

The little boy picked up the water bottle beside him, gulped a few mouthfuls, stood up, and sat opposite the black-haired boy, saying: "If you hadn't killed Falcone back then, well, well, if you had saved him, the gang situation could have been maintained, everything wouldn't have been so bad, so why were you so impulsive back then?"

"Do you think I was impulsive back then?"

The little boy looked aside and said: "Not exactly, but you might not have considered the consequences; honestly, Batman, have you regretted it?"

"I will never regret the death of a gang boss, Damian, never."

"You're changing the subject again." Damian looked at the boy opposite and said: "I'm asking whether you regret destroying the gang order, plunging Gotham into a worse era."

"How do you judge whether an era is bad or not?"

Damian rubbed his face and said: "Anyway, the Gotham I saw in another universe is much better than yours; you often say seeing is believing, I saw it, compared, naturally yours is worse."

"Did you really see it?" Batman's tone remained unchanged, but he stood up, turned, and walked outside the building.

"Hey, wait, where are you going?"

"You don't need to follow me." Batman turned his head to look at Damian: "Because outside this city is exactly the better era you speak of, and you also want to turn your hometown into this, so you can perfectly live here alone."

"I certainly can!" Damian said angrily, raising his voice: "You're angry because your mistake was exposed, Batman, you're always like this, can't stand anyone giving correct advice!"

Batman said nothing, silently disappearing into the stairwell; Damian took a deep breath, clenched his fists, stood up from the ground, ran to the window, and shouted at Batman walking alone into the sunset: "I will correct your mistake!!!"

Batman did not turn back.

At the same time, in the back kitchen of a restaurant, Bruce quickly opened the cabinet door under the stove, feeling around in the dark cabinet with his soapy hand from just washing dishes.

Suddenly his eyes lit up, he pulled out what he was holding, and a satisfied smile appeared on his face.

And under the light, glinting was a delicate small silver spoon engraved with vine flower patterns.