Chapter 255: Snowy Night Campfire (5)

Schiler, who was napping in the lounge, heard the doorbell ring; he raised his arm sleepily, glanced at his watch, then sat up and called out to the door: "Just a moment."

He straightened his clothes in the mirror, opened the door, and stepped out.

Yin Wensi stood in the center of the room; seeing Schiler emerge, he said: "Sorry, Professor, did I come too early?"

"No," Schiler turned to look out the window, noticing the car that usually picked up Yin Wensi was absent. Seeing his gaze, Yin Wensi said awkwardly: "I didn't come from the estate."

"Sit down."

Schiler and Yin Wensi sat at the table; Schiler studied Yin Wensi closely and noticed he looked worn out. He asked: "What's wrong? I was surprised when Mrs. Miller told me little Falcone called to schedule therapy—why didn't you just invite me to the Falcone estate?"

"I don't… live at the Falcone estate anymore," Yin Wensi placed his hands on the table and lowered his eyes. "I moved out."

"Oh?" Schiler took a sip of water; the fireplace in the room burned hotter, making him feel warm. He said: "That's quite interesting—you moved out?"

"I know it sounds absurd, but… anyway, I'm no longer living with my godfather."

"Why?"

Yin Wensi pressed his lips tightly; his expression, unusually serious, said: "Alberto told me everything. I never imagined…"

His expression was sad and tangled with inner conflict; he seemed to have much to say, desperate for an outlet.

"I never thought it would be like this… I never imagined… how could my brother possibly…"

Yin Wensi covered his eyes, then waved his hand before Schiler could speak: "... lright, I've accepted it now, but… Alberto and my godfather's relationship is complicated, isn't it?"

"I still live at the Falcone estate as before, but I've always felt an inexplicable unease, sometimes even fear. More importantly, when I'm with my godfather, I feel like I can't breathe."

"I know this isn't my own feeling—it's Alberto's influence on me."

Yin Wensi frowned, looking pained. He continued: "Before, when Alberto took over, I felt nothing—like I was asleep. But when his emotions became too intense, I'd wake up. One night, it rained heavily, with thunder…"

Yin Wensi's gaze drifted to the window, as if seeing that rain-soaked night: rain streamed down the glass, and when lightning flashed, the fine droplets glowed brilliantly.

Alberto knelt halfway on the floor, his face filled with terror; opposite him stood his godfather by the window.

"That emotion was too overwhelming. I didn't know what he was afraid of, but it woke me up—I felt his pain as if it were my own."

"So what did you do?"

"I didn't know what to do, but there was one thing I could do: separate them."

"So you moved out?"

Yin Wensi nodded. "My godfather was furious, but I refused to return home—he couldn't force me. Lately, I've been staying in the dormitory, sometimes at classmates' places."

"But since then, my brother hasn't appeared. I'm worried something's wrong, Professor—could you…"

"Alright, I know this sounds absurd," Yin Wensi pressed his forehead. "But today, the one who needs therapy isn't me—it's Alberto."

"Of course. Your bills are sent to the same address anyway. Close your eyes, do as I say…"

Two minutes later, Alberto opened his eyes and stared at Schiler with a cold gaze: "Why did you call me out?"

"Your brother is worried about your condition, so he asked me to give you psychological treatment."

Alberto muttered a curse under his breath. Schiler rested his elbows on the table, chin in hand, observing Alberto with interest. It was strange: though they shared the same face, the two looked entirely different.

Their differing temperaments altered their expressions, and those expressions reshaped the lines of their faces, making them appear as two distinct people.

This was excellent material for observation—it was genuine dissociative identity, not a hypnotic or imagined illusion.

"So you don't appreciate your brother's concern?"

"Appreciate it? Do you know what that idiot did?!"

Alberto turned his head away and sighed deeply. "He went to my godfather and said, 'I'm moving out—I don't want to live here anymore.' My godfather asked why. He replied, 'Because the Falcone estate has you.'"

Alberto covered his eyes. "Can you imagine my godfather's expression?"

Alberto's voice was exhausted. "I can tell—he's grown old. In the past, if I'd dared say such a thing, he'd have shot me on the spot, let me bleed out, then patched me up."

"Worse still, this was just the beginning. He left the Falcone estate. The driver offered to take him, but he refused—he insisted on walking. He planned to walk from the Falcone estate to Gotham University through the night."

"Thank God he made it safely to Gotham University. But since he didn't have his dorm key, he had to climb in through the window. The students upstairs were startled—heard two gunshots, but neither hit him…"

"The next day, he complained the dorm bed was too hard and the environment awful, so he decided to ask a classmate to let him stay…" Alberto covered his face.

"He asked a man named Bruce Wayne."

"He said he'd never been to the famous Wayne estate, but that he and Bruce were on good terms—he was sure Bruce would let him stay for a couple days…"

Schiler coughed twice, then covered his mouth. Alberto glanced at him. Schiler paused a long while before regaining composure and said to Alberto: "I swear, I didn't laugh."

Alberto said weakly: "Then Bruce actually agreed. That same night, they returned to Wayne Manor."

"Did you see a strange figure standing by your bed that night?"

Alberto's hand twitched—as if no word could describe his feelings.

"He talked to Bruce about his new musical all night, then improvised a performance. Old butler Alfred loved him—and insisted he stay longer."

Alberto ground his teeth. "And then he was utterly confused—wondering why I hadn't appeared these past few days…"

Schiler could no longer hold back. Alberto stared at him, expressionless—as if he'd expected this reaction.

Schiler took a deep breath, suppressing his urge to laugh. He looked at Alberto: "I admit, Yin Wensi's actions are… odd. But you haven't been absent for that reason alone, have you?"

Alberto leaned back in his chair, golden hair half-covering his face.

"You're jealous, aren't you?"

Alberto said nothing. Schiler returned his pen to the holder. "You know, I once encountered a case similar to yours—a young prince of a nation…"

"His older brother was the royal heir—reckless, impulsive, thoughtless. But no matter what chaos the crown prince caused, his father always cleaned up after him."

Alberto lowered his eyes. "People always grant extra leniency to fools."

"You're more perceptive than he is."

"Your example isn't accurate. We aren't brothers—we're one person. Even from a personality standpoint, he has a brother in his memories, but I don't consider myself to have a younger brother…"

"But you must realize: without Yin Wensi's existence, your godfather would have killed you long ago. He killed you once—he could kill you again."

Golden strands completely obscured Alberto's eyes. Through the gaps in his hair, he looked at Schiler: "I know. He never saw me as his son. His only son is Yin Wensi."

"So now you're torn—everyone abandoned you, everyone chose someone else: your godfather, Batman, even me. They all chose Yin Wensi…"

"Then Yin Wensi chose you."

"When he realized you were terrified of your godfather—and your godfather despised you—he decisively stood by your side."

Alberto's lips pressed tightly, his mouth tinged faintly blue. Schiler continued: "So you're torn—you can't find an answer, so you choose to flee."

"But you could look at it differently…" Schiler pulled out a new file and began writing, his eyes lowered. "You've noticed, haven't you? Your godfather's entire training plan for Yin Wensi has failed. He was never cut out for this life."

"He's a bad man—he feels no moral guilt over killing, doesn't mind gang wars or crime. But he's not bad enough, not ruthless enough."

"He's a good man—excellent grades, wide circle of friends, loves art. But he's not good enough—he lacks innate righteousness or sense of mission, easily swept along by the tide."

"Such a man can do any job—except become a godfather."

"Your godfather likely realized this long ago. He tried many methods—but none worked."

"Your godfather said he's like his wife."

"Perhaps. But now the problem is: your godfather has only one son. Even if he refuses to pass his position to a blood relative, among the Twelve Families, there's no better heir. The others are not just foolish—they're evil."

"That's why I'm still alive," Alberto's voice carried pain.

"I live not because I'm his son—but because I'm a qualified heir."

"Otherwise, as you said—he killed me once, he could kill me again…"

"Have you ever tried talking to your godfather?"

"Talk?" Alberto gave a stiff smile. "How? When I face him, I can't even stand straight…"

"If you were his enemy, you'd understand how terrifying it is to face him."

"You see yourself as his enemy—but how do you know he sees you as one too?"

"If I weren't his enemy, why would he have killed me?"

"Even if you were his enemy, he's already killed you once."

"The only definite answer I can give you is this: many believe your godfather is forgiving—not because he's pretending, but because that's his nature. That's what sets him apart from other crime lords—and his greatest charm."

"You say you're like him. So imagine yourself in his position: a man you've already killed returns. Would you fixate on him as your enemy?"

siluke.

"He can kill you once—he can kill you again. But that's precisely the point."

"You've lost to him once—you'll lose to him again, and again. Your repeated failures have proven you're no threat to him. That's why he might spare you, isn't it?"

Alberto sat silent as a statue. Schiler saw Loki's shadow in him—jealous of his brother, fearful of his father, loving yet unattainable.

To Schiler, this was a marvel: they existed across two universes, utterly unrelated, yet their souls were astonishingly alike.

For Schiler, experiencing this twice was like solving a math problem in school: after finding one solution, contemplating a second didn't feel tedious—it felt joyful.