Chapter 39: Harvey Dent

Regardless, the new principal’s campus alcohol ban was being implemented in an orderly manner.

No vehicles or shops selling alcoholic beverages were allowed near Gotham University; all gatherings and parties were inspected, and dormitories were searched—but they did not confiscate high-power appliances, only seized all alcohol and issued severe demerits to students.

Of course, these students had no capacity to resist; although Gotham University had produced the Scarecrow as a major villain, most students were still obedient.

But clearly, this had also cut into the profits of another group.

Everyone knew what kind of city Gotham was—its drunks didn’t start drinking only after they began working.

Tens of thousands of alcoholics in Gotham supported countless bars and liquor shops; annual alcohol and tobacco sales formed a major portion of tax revenue.

You could certainly forbid students from drinking, but if they had no addiction, who would the merchants sell alcohol to?

Students were far too easily manipulated; any habit they picked up during this period might follow them for life—and drinking was no exception.

If they started drinking at twenty, they would spend tens of thousands, even hundreds of thousands of dollars on alcohol over their lifetime; every alcoholic would spend half their salary on various kinds of liquor.

The profits from selling alcohol were siphoned off by monopolists, who reinvested those profits to expand production, open larger factories, and hire those same alcoholics at lower wages, paying them back with only two bottles of cheap liquor after each shift.

What a perfect supply chain it was—what they needed to do was simply dump cheap, tasty beer near Gotham University at a loss, starting with beer, then moving on to distilled spirits and hard liquor.

For centuries, Gotham had operated this way; if you prevented those people from corrupting students, wouldn’t Gotham have long ago become a virtuous, civilized city?

Schiller understood this perfectly, so he had never intended to be a diligent, responsible teacher here; this city did not allow any clean seedlings to grow, because only villains and criminals could survive here.

Turn Gotham University into a utopia? Don’t be ridiculous—naïve graduates wouldn’t last a year in Gotham.

This was merely a large vortex, enclosing countless smaller ones; no one could escape.

Since Schiller sent Bruce a notice of withdrawal, the principal had rarely mentioned involving him in this matter—but having disrupted the profit chain, Schiller faced immense pressure and had no choice but to find another ally.

“Hello, I’m Harvey, Harvey Dent, a lawyer specializing in criminal litigation and adjudication.”

Schiller shook Harvey’s hand; before Schiller could speak, Harvey said: “I’ve heard of you—you did excellent work in the GCPD case, that damn serial killer is now behind bars.”

He spoke quickly, like a lawyer, with a steady tone and firm delivery, then added: “But I must say, your enforcement of Gotham University’s alcohol ban hasn’t matched your performance in those major cases. I believe saving the city’s future is just as important as catching criminals, isn’t it?”

Schiller had just released his hand; he pursed his lips and said: “Perhaps.”

Harvey detected the reluctance in his tone; he frowned and said: “I’ve heard stories about you down south, but you don’t seem as fiercely righteous as the rumors suggest.”

“More than that, I’d like to know—who’s spreading stories about me?”

Harvey paused. “Didn’t you say them yourself?”

He sized Schiller up; Schiller looked like nothing—neither a sharp, brave detective nor an impartial judge. He appeared refined, fitting his professional demeanor.

Harvey was clever. “You mean someone’s deliberately spreading stories about you? But why? To build your reputation? What’s the benefit?”

Schiller invited Harvey to sit, then took the seat opposite. “Perhaps you only know half the story. Later, in a case in Metropolis, I was sabotaged by someone—that’s why I came to Gotham. It wasn’t anything good, and clearly, these people still haven’t let me go.”

Harvey blinked. “Sorry. Then you really shouldn’t be drawing attention—but no matter. I’m now Gotham University’s legal advisor, and I fully support this alcohol ban. A little drinking isn’t harmful—I drink too—but heavy drinking during student years? That’s unacceptable.”

As Harvey spoke, his reasoning was always clear, logical, and delivered with unwavering conviction, giving one an instinctive sense of safety. Had Schiller not known he would become Two-Face, he would never have linked this man to the coin-flipping madman.

Two-Face was a complex villain—the only one Batman ever tried to save. Batman tried many times, but failed. That failure may have wounded him more deeply than even being defeated by the Joker.

Because Harvey Dent was truly a good man—the Knight of Gotham’s Light.

Batman was profoundly shaped by him; when Maroni injured Harvey in court and drove him mad, Batman finally realized: without enforcement, without authority, law and justice meant nothing.

A vile, filthy criminal had publicly assaulted a fair prosecutor—and paid no price, and no one dared to prosecute him again.

Schiller placed his hands on the table and looked Harvey in the eye. “Mr. Dent, you understand this city better than the new principal. You know how many interests you’re threatening.”

“I know,” Harvey said. “But I don’t care.”

Schiller sighed, removed his glasses, and began wiping them with a cloth. “Perhaps you’ve truly prepared yourself to pay the price of delivering justice?”

“You sound like you’ve felt it deeply.”

“Of course—I’m lucky to be alive.”

“Then I believe I am too,” Harvey said, still empathetic. “I won’t condemn those who abandon this path because of its dangers—they’ve already done their best. I don’t know how far I’ll go, but in this world, you don’t have to reach the end to win.”

Schiller did not reply further. He shook Harvey’s hand again, and Harvey left. For the first time, Schiller did not try to manipulate or persuade him with words.

Schiller had once heard a wise saying: Don’t try to warn someone walking steadily through darkness—they’re not blind.

So Schiller would not correct Harvey’s beliefs, nor tell him his actions were useless to Gotham. Every act Harvey performed was right; every choice he made was just, correct—but unfortunately, this was Gotham.

The Knight of Light cannot save Gotham. Neither can the Knight of Darkness.

Harvey was indeed a charismatic man. Unlike Daredevil Matt, who preferred to work alone, he excelled at leveraging every resource at his disposal, bonding with professors and students alike, even winning praise from staff; Mrs. Mafi praised him over a dozen times a day and wanted to introduce her younger daughter to him.

Even most students, though upset their hidden alcohol was seized, still admired Harvey, seeing him as a successful, kind-hearted elite.

Within days of arriving at Gotham University, Harvey was welcomed by nearly everyone.

The new principal, Xie Dun, grew more depressed. He had hired someone to be the gun—not become the gun himself. He merely wanted a scapegoat to charge ahead while he reaped fame and profit.

But just as Schiller had been too rigid, Harvey was too popular—he stole nearly all the spotlight.

Few knew the new principal’s name, but nearly everyone knew the new legal advisor: Harvey Dent, a highly educated, high-income, dedicated elite lawyer.

Among those who bonded with him were even the hardest to reach: Schiller and Bruce. Schiller was willing to talk life goals with him because their educational backgrounds were similar—they were both Columbia University alumni and could reminisce about campus days.

Bruce felt an instant connection with Harvey; they could discuss anything. On justice, Harvey offered Bruce perspectives he’d never considered, profoundly inspiring Batman.

Previously, Schiller’s cryptic, insight-dependent conversations had conditioned Batman to endure a shock, then return alone to ponder.

But Harvey was different. He answered Bruce’s questions in meticulous detail. When Bruce offered opposing views, Harvey never mocked or interrupted his rhythm. He listened quietly, expressed his own opinion, then carefully analyzed how his view differed from Bruce’s. If they couldn’t agree, they simply held their views and discussed again later.

No one could dislike such a friend—wise, seasoned, warm, empathetic, and knowledgeable. Far better than enduring Schiller’s conversations, which felt like losing ten years of life.

Schiller was pleased too—now that Harvey was here, Bruce stopped bothering him daily, and the psychological clinic finally grew quiet.

Aside from Gordon’s visit a few days later, no one else appeared there.

Gordon came to deliver an invitation—he’d been promoted, skipping several ranks, a major cause for celebration.

Gordon had few friends; his police colleagues were envious, so he couldn’t invite them. He decided to invite Schiller and Bruce for a small gathering.

Bruce introduced Harvey to the officer. The two hit it off immediately. In a sense, Harvey and Gordon were the perfect pair—they were remarkably alike, except Harvey was more aggressive, while Gordon was more conservative.

The two bonded intensely, leaving Bruce sidelined. Schiller held his wineglass, staring silently at Bruce standing outside the psychological clinic. “Let me see—this homeless stray dog has finally remembered his old trash heap. Should I feel honored?”

“Hey, don’t say that,” Bruce replied. “Harvey’s great, but I still think Professor, your professional ability is stronger.”

“Thank you for the compliment—but you’re going to lose all your credits this semester.”