[{"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-188":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},2322756,4544,"Chapter 188","my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-chapter-188",188,"\u003Cp>When Jack lay back on the bed at Arkham Asylum, Schiller chuckled: “Now you know where your permanent home is, don’t you? Since you paid so much, I’ll give you extra painkillers.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Do you think I’m an addict?” Jack shouted angrily: “Don’t compare me to those brain-damaged junkies!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Cheer up—at least you’ve got a permanent bed here. You’ve seen how badly the mob bosses outside want one.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At the mention of “mob bosses,” Jack made a disgusted face and muttered: “You’re just like that bat—he doesn’t want to laugh, you don’t want to go mad, you’re both lying to yourselves…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He stared at the ceiling, babbling endlessly: “Why are you all so serious? Why won’t you admit it? Why aren’t you proud of your chaos and disorder?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Suddenly, he grew calm, almost philosophical: “In this utterly mundane world, possessing a uniquely insane soul should be something to be proud of.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“But you always trap these brilliant souls inside bodies so dull they’re nauseating.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Living every day with grim seriousness, pretending you’re no different from walking corpses—it makes me sick…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Madness isn’t the only way to understand this world,” Schiller sat down, his tone calm. “I’ve always believed that.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“If you can’t become a sharp blade, using madness to pierce the world’s disguise, you’ll be tamed by its false order.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Jack murmured obscure words like a dreamer, each syllable pausing on his tongue as if he didn’t recognize them—yet every sentence flowed perfectly complete.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Order creates disorder; without order, chaos ceases to be chaos—it becomes order itself. When you destroy order, you’re merely building another.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Many believe the world’s ultimate answer is chaos—but the moment they think that, they’ve already been tamed by order. The world has no ultimate answer.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Romance\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Is this why you and that bat refuse to do anything?” Jack looked at Schiller.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I’m still different from him,” Schiller poured himself a glass of water. “Batman is a warrior who maintains order within chaos. I’m not. I’m just an ordinary man.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Ordinary man…” Jack sneered at his words.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“And you? You see yourself as a savior, trying to tell everyone only madness reveals truth—especially telling Batman his answers are right there, simple as a smile.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“But he understands that. He just refuses to do it.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“That’s why I think he’s insane,” Jack’s voice betrayed a hint of envy. “He has what I don’t—what I crave most: the deepest darkness and madness. Yet he refuses to embrace it. He could be the great god who tears open this mundane lie—but he won’t even smile.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“This question haunts me every day, driving me mad with confusion.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Why are they all so serious?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Schiller shrugged. “Everyone lies to themselves. Only you speak the truth. Everyone pretends to be serious. Only you laugh. That’s why you’re the only clown.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Jack stared at the ceiling. “When laughter is about to burst from their lips, their first reaction is fear, rejection, self-doubt—that’s the real madness.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Being a clown must be joyful—because nothing in this world is too absurd to laugh at. You want them to know how happy you are. Too bad no one gets it.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I’ve always thought the man who dresses as a bat is insane,” Jack said to Schiller. “…And so is the man who pretends to be ordinary.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Night fell slowly over Gotham outside the window, lights flickering to life. With the weather warming, the city stirred with renewed energy—still mad, still evil, still chaotic, yet still thriving.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In the morning, Schiller stood in his office, holding a paintbrush. Beside him, Brand peeled off his paint-splattered gloves with distaste. Schiller said: “I’m certain this broken-down asylum needs a full renovation.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He pointed to the corner. “If not for that lunatic’s graffiti ruining my wall, I’d never have noticed—the brick seams are cracking. One day, it might collapse.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Brand sighed. “You’re right—but this needs a long-term plan. We can’t just tell the patients, ‘Tomorrow we’re renovating, get out’?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He looked up at the ceiling corner. “For now, we’re still stuck doing it ourselves.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You just can’t bear losing these days’ revenue,” Schiller smiled. “If we shut down for two months, no commissions—that’s a huge loss, right?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Brand rubbed his nose, muttering under his breath: “It’s all your damn mob empire. I never knew money could be this easy to make. If we shut down for two months, how much will I lose?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Fine, we’ll do it ourselves. But cracked corners? Minor. The real problem is lack of beds.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Brand sighed—he knew this all too well.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Arkham Asylum had a long history. When built, Gotham had far fewer people; its capacity was limited. Even with Schiller’s revolving door of parole and early release, beds remained scarce.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The asylum’s primary conflict now: outdated facilities versus the ever-growing demand from mob bosses for beds.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After Gotham’s disaster, this tension grew sharper. Logistics were still being rebuilt; most mob bosses were idle. What better place than Arkham Club?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Here, they reorganized their empires, traded resources, built circles, expanded networks—all preparing for the next phase.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They exchanged information, advancing layer by layer within their hierarchies. If you didn’t join now, when operations resumed, you wouldn’t even get a spoonful of broth.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Especially since Jack returned to the asylum—he was a nightmare. Cobble, Evans, and Jack were utterly incompatible.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Cobble and Evans could barely share a room—but not if Alberto showed up. When the future Penguin and the Joker shared a room, they often fought over ideological differences.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Cobble belonged to Gotham’s lawful evil faction—in short, not crazy enough. In canon, the Penguin ran a grand restaurant, chatted with mob bosses, even became mayor—a normal, almost unnatural rise. Nothing like the Joker’s chaotic evil.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>So Cobble saw the Joker as a complete lunatic, uncommunicable. The Joker saw Cobble as just another stupid mob boss—every second near him was an insult.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Cobble refused to reason with a madman. The Joker wouldn’t waste words on a fool. Their solution? Fight.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Neither was strong. Cobble was small and weak. The Joker fought with no technique, his mind too chaotic. They always ended evenly matched—bloodied, bruised, tied to beds, glaring at each other.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Joker and Evans clashed over artistic taste. They argued more than fought—Evans disliked violence, and Jack couldn’t beat him. So their fights became opera duels.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If Evans’s singing was tolerable, Jack’s voice would knock Batman off his feet.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Whenever they shared a room, complaints about noise and disturbance flooded Schiller’s office like snowflakes.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>So each of them needed their own room.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Beds were already scarce. These three patients, producing zero profit, each demanded a private room. Schiller had long resented them—but they all had legitimate reasons.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Cobble had been stabbed multiple times by Evans—he was seriously injured. Discharging him now would be inhumane.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Evans’s conflict with his father remained unresolved. Alberto refused to return to Falcone Manor, and the Don showed no intention of retrieving his son. So he stayed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Jack stayed because Batman was busy with classes, and Gordon’s mental health and workload had to be considered.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Another afternoon, right after Schiller finished lunch, Jack stood on the seventh-floor balcony of Arkham Asylum, one foot dangling over the railing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Inside, Bruce, Evans, and Cobble stood watching. Evans said to Jack: “Talk reasonably. Can’t you come back in? If you fall, the professor will be furious.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Bruce had only come to hand over club duties to Evans. He knew nothing of the asylum’s recent dramas. He turned to Evans: “What’s going on? Why is he trying to jump?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Cobble sat on a nearby bed. “Can’t you see? He’s mad. Having a breakdown.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Evans kept pleading: “It’s the seventh floor. If you fall headfirst, brains and blood will stain the floor. The professor will have to pay a fortune to clean it—he’ll be furious.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Cobble added: “Below is stone pavement. Blood soaks in. You’d have to lift every brick. If you really do it, I have no doubt he’ll throw you a funeral full of greed.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Jack’s face showed a flicker of hesitation. “Will he carry my coffin to a gathering of mob bosses and make them recite eulogies? Have you, you idiot, lay flowers? Have that musicless fool sing hymns? Good God—he’s a demon!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“But do you think I’m afraid?!” Jack slammed his hand against the railing, declaiming: “Brave Jack fears no demon! I’ll prove to you now—I am the Arkham Knight!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He lurched sharply left—and plunged downward. Bruce lunged to the balcony—only to see Jack hovering midair. Below, Schiller reached up, scowling, and shoved him aside.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Jack landed, rolling on the ground laughing. “Hahahaha! Ordinary man—you call yourself ordinary! Hahahaha! That joke’s hilarious—I’ll listen again tomorrow! Hahahaha!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Evans checked the calendar, then glanced at Cobble. “Bet you—will this be the fifteenth time this week?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Cobble stood, walked out the door, heading back to his room. “I bet it’ll be over twenty.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Only Bruce remained on the balcony. He looked back at Evans and Cobble, then down at Schiller and Jack. The wind tugged at his hair. He whispered to himself:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“…Am I the one who’s mad?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>————Extra Notes————\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Hehe.\u003C\u002Fp>",1513,"2026-06-20T16:39:12.484Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","2a5470344850ceea66bd15340be047c4eb773e20f879864c05e28d32f50997fe","my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-chapter-189","my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-chapter-187",1000,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fmy-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-cover.jpg"]