Chapter 315

Another rainy day in Gotham; as dawn broke, the rain poured heavily, and the city's still-unrepaired streets were dotted with puddles. Besides the downpour, strong winds howled, and pedestrians on the streets held umbrellas before them, bracing against the usual terrible weather.

A wisp of gray mist slowly coalesced in the room—the psychological counseling office at Gotham University—where Schiller shook his head at the umbrella in his hand.

This umbrella was in terrible shape; originally, it had merely been missing one part, causing one rib to snap and one side to cave in, but it was still barely usable.

Yet the more it was forcibly used, the faster it deteriorated—the second and third ribs soon snapped, and most of the canopy sagged inward, nearly impossible to open.

Though the ribs holding the canopy were broken, the central metal shaft remained intact; when folded, it could still serve as a cane. But earlier, Schiller had flashed down underground and struck that demon with the umbrella.

The demon's chin wasn't made of cotton—the handle was chipped open, nearly impossible to grip; later, he struck Constantine with it too, and the handle shattered completely, leaving only the inner metal tube. Altogether, it had become nothing more than a club…

When Alberto walked in, he saw the professor standing behind his desk, holding an object no longer worthy of the name "umbrella," his face filled with regret.

His entrance caught Schiller's attention; Schiller looked up and said, "Good morning, Alberto. Please sit."

"Professor, if you need a new umbrella, I can have one custom-made…"

Schiller shook his head, placed the broken umbrella beside his chair, and said, "No, I'll have a new one soon."

He straightened his coat, sat upright, and looked at Alberto. "Has Hawk's funeral been held?"

"Yes, I spoke with his brother at the funeral. He expressed his willingness to pledge loyalty to me." Alberto's tone remained its usual somber depth, but his satisfaction was unmistakable.

"I told you before: when a group has two centers of power, they can never be as close as brothers—even if they are actual brothers."

"To be honest, they hid it well," Alberto sighed. "In Yìn Wénsī's memories, I never saw any sign of discord between the Hawk brothers. Everyone in the Twelve Families praised their unbreakable bond and perfect harmony."

"Perhaps it was true once," Schiller said, rising and walking to the coffee machine. He turned his back to Alberto. "But don't forget—Gotham has changed a great deal lately."

"As you said, the elder Hawk was the true power behind the family, while the younger handled internal affairs and managed details."

"If you studied the part of Yìn Wénsī's memories concerning my teaching him psychology, you'd understand: it's not only thought guiding action to change the environment—the environment and behavior shape thought as well."

"The elder, as head of the family, must appear strong—this is the style of every mob boss. He must seem aggressive, perpetually energetic, never hesitant or indecisive—or no one will follow him…"

"But the younger, as chief of internal affairs, must weigh every detail, balance costs and gains, and never act rashly—or he risks breaking the financial chain or damaging alliances."

"These two brothers, when facing Gotham's reform-induced pain, would inevitably clash."

Alberto took the coffee Schiller handed him. "Indeed, the elder Hawk told me they'd been estranged for years. His brother constantly used trivial reasons to obstruct the gang's growth—at least, that's how he saw it."

"After Gotham's reforms began, their conflict reached an irreconcilable point. The elder wanted bold action—to seize a larger share of the pie, to ride the wave to a higher tier…"

"But the younger was cautious. He couldn't be sure whether the reforms would alter the existing order. He feared the Hawk family would plummet. So he used every method to thwart his brother."

Alberto leaned his elbows on the table, sipped his coffee, and said with quiet reflection, "Professor, I noticed in Yìn Wénsī's memories that he held you in deep respect. I didn't understand why before—but now I'm beginning to."

"By exploiting the Hawk brothers' conflict, you helped the elder eliminate the brother dragging him down—not only securing the Hawk family's loyalty, but accelerating reform and uniting the Twelve Families."

"More importantly, you used the serial killings as cover. If you openly targeted the old Don's men, you'd insult your father's face no matter what. But if a mysterious serial killer did it? Then Hawk's misfortune is just that—his own bad luck." Schiller concluded.

Alberto's fingers twitched around his coffee cup. He ventured cautiously, "I heard… yesterday…"

"What do you want to ask?" Schiller looked up.

Alberto paused, then said, "Ritchie was killed on the Don's orders, right?"

"You asked the right question. So I'll answer: yes."

"And I'll tell you this too: Ritchie deliberately arranged for his daughter to 'accidentally' meet you, then seduced you. The Don was furious—and chose a gruesome death for him."

Alberto curled his lip. "Ritchie's daughter was beautiful—but only beautiful. Her father never taught her properly. Her intentions were written all over her face. Eight parts beauty only sparked one part interest…"

Schiller, hearing his tone, asked, "You didn't sleep with her?"

Alberto shook his head. "She practically painted her motives on her forehead. How could I fall for it? Besides, I didn't know if the Don would approve of me getting too close to her…"

"You made the right choice. The Don only saw Ritchie as a dog."

"Still, he didn't care if you slept with her—she could never be the next Don's wife. Your caution cost you a romantic encounter. Regret it?" Schiller smiled.

Alberto took another sip, shook his head. "An encounter that happens by chance is a romance. One arranged in advance? That's no romance at all."

"So the Don really…" Alberto traced his fingertip along the rim of his cup, hesitating. "He eliminated Ritchie for me… does that mean…"

"You don't need to hesitate. It's exactly what you think."

Schiller placed both hands on the table. "You and the Don have a grudge… though perhaps 'grudge' isn't quite right. The grudge belongs to the Owl Court. You're merely a casualty."

"Now, the Don has only two choices: you, or someone else. You have a grudge with him—but do the others not? Do you expect the sons and nephews of the Twelve Families to spare the Falcones once they rise?"

Alberto shook his head. "Impossible. Unless we're willing to exile ourselves—say, retire to Italy."

"Of course, once you rise, you might send the old Don to Italy to retire. But at least you bear the Falcone name. More importantly, you have the ability to rule Gotham. The others? Besides being corrupt, they're fools."

"As long as the old Don refuses to let his life's work be taken from him—as long as he still wants to be Gotham's shadow umbrella—he has only one choice…"

Alberto exhaled slowly, stared at the foam on his coffee for a long time, then said, "He'll never admit you're his son. So I won't admit he's my father. But in this endless vortex of power, only the last shred of father-son bond can preserve a sliver of dignity for us both in this war."

After Alberto left, Schiller finished his coffee. The moment he swallowed the last sip, the counseling room door was knocked again. Schiller said, "Come in."

It was Cobblepot, wrapped in a large black raincoat, dashing in—his hair and eyebrows dripping with rain.

He entered, shrugged off the coat. Schiller pointed to the coffee machine. Cobblepot made himself a cup, then sat across from Schiller.

Schiller opened the patient file. "Before we begin, I must ask: how is your mother's mental state?"

"Better. She's improved greatly. Yesterday, I took her to the new apartment. After she woke, she was very pleased with the environment…"

Cobblepot's tone finally showed some variation—he seemed to have emerged from those shadows.

Schiller jotted a few notes, then said, "Alright. How's things going with the gangs? Lawrence, Hawk, and Ritchie are all dead. Lawrence's family is leaderless. Hawk's family has shifted its stance. Alberto's path to power is clear. What about you?"

"Bruce recommended me to Yìn Wénsī. But that was just formality. Alberto and I have long had an understanding. He has too few loyal men and urgently needs his own faction. I fit his needs perfectly."

"Lawrence was the one who disliked me most. Ritchie also resented Alberto for not using his men. But now they're both dead. I'll be Alberto's chief advisor after his ascension."

"It's no surprise the older generation of family heads meddle in Alberto's inner circle. They only resent you. Had any one of them been decisive, you'd already have been replaced—your body dumped in the sea."

"You mentioned earlier… our deal… " Cobblepot looked at Schiller. "You helped me remove those blocking my rise, and I owe you a favor… are you asking me to kill someone?"

Schiller shook his head. "I won't ask a child to kill for me. And I have no enemies I must eliminate."

"I've always been honest. I have many friends. I have no rivals in Gotham. And my request is simple—well within your ability."

"... hat is it?"

That night, the rain finally eased. At the entrance of Gotham University's cafeteria, Victor closed his umbrella and used its tip to lift the curtain, stepping inside. Schiller followed, folding his own umbrella.

Victor glanced at Schiller's umbrella. "You fixed it? It was ruined beyond repair—how did you fix it?"

Once seated, Victor leaned closer, examined it closely, and noticed the Veking Umbrella Maker's mark on the tip. "Isn't this the umbrella from Cobblepot's house? Wasn't it his father's? How did it end up with you?"

"I made a deal with him. I helped him with something, and he gave me this umbrella."

"No one in Gotham cares to understand me. Here, I didn't even have an umbrella—I had to find one myself. But now, thank God, a new umbrella…"

Schiller narrowed his eyes, studying the umbrella in his hand as if admiring the fruit of his labor. He said, with clear satisfaction:

"Look. A beautiful new umbrella."