Chapter 430: Metropolis Mystery (XI)

When Shiler arrived in the reception room, Leonel still wore a dark expression. Shiler sat down opposite him, picked up the cigar box left on the table, pulled out a cigar, then took the cutter and began trimming it slowly and calmly.

Leonel opened his mouth to speak, but Shiler said: "I'm usually a man who gets along with others; few people look at me with such aggressive eyes."

"I know what you're thinking…" Shiler didn't look at Leonel's eyes, only spoke to himself: "With your barren imagination, you dream day and night of the praise geniuses have received…"

"In your fantasy, someone like me should have been called a prodigy since childhood, effortlessly admitted to the best university, casually earning several doctorates, sailing smoothly along the academic path until becoming world-famous…"

"Then, when others ask how I achieved all this, I'd put on a show and answer: it was all due to hard work—anyone can do it…"

"I imagine you've seen plenty of such interviews on TV—even if the subject wasn't me—yet when you heard that line, your heart burned with rage…"

"Because you tried, but you couldn't do it. You think those people are all frauds—just luckier, born with greater talent, so they could easily possess all this."

"You envy everyone like them, so much it drives you mad—even your own son. You abuse him mentally and physically, hoping to turn him into a puppet that obeys only your commands."

"I imagine, when I told you your son Lex might not be autistic, your emotions were complicated."

"You're afraid—afraid this whole thing is just an act. Yet you refuse to believe that a perfect genius truly exists, one who possesses superhuman intelligence without being hindered by any disease."

Shiler finished trimming the cigar and lit it with a motion Leonel didn't catch. He continued: "Perhaps you haven't noticed—there are more geniuses around you than you think, including your own son, Lex Luthor."

"He has no autism, no mental illness. He may have emotional flaws due to your abuse, but not everyone needs to be optimistic, kind, or upbeat. Overall, he's a super-genius, destined for brilliance."

Shiler saw Leonel's teeth clench tighter, his facial muscles tightening downward like melting ice cream—his entire being had sunk into utter darkness.

"Perhaps there's another person you know well: Bruce Wayne. When introducing your son, you constantly compare him to Bruce. Though you claim you want Lex to become a playboy like little Wayne, you actually despise him."

"Yet he too is a super-genius. Lex and Bruce are evenly matched in intelligence. He pretends to be a playboy only because he bears the weight of the Wayne Corporation alone—inevitably drawing envy, needing disguise."

Leonel's face had grown too grim to worsen. He wanted to refute Shiler, but he knew deep down: Shiler had no reason to lie. Whether Bruce was a super-genius, whether Shiler even knew Bruce was one—it had nothing to do with Shiler.

Shiler took another drag of his cigar, exhaled smoke, and said: "You despise many people—perhaps even Bruce's companion."

"You think she's just another common socialite—fake, sycophantic, flattering—only lucky enough to cling to little Wayne."

"So when speaking with Bruce, you never even looked at her once. You assumed she'd grown used to such treatment."

"Yet Selina is also a genius. You may not know—she's Gotham's most famous thief, having broken into Falcone's estate more than once, and even the Don couldn't stop her."

"Even without that, her charm is nearly irresistible—a power more irrational than intelligence. If you truly understood how strong Bruce's will is, you'd know Selina is a favorite of God…"

"You've done business in Metropolis your whole life—perhaps you've never been to Gotham. Maybe you think the city has nothing worth seeing: chaotic, dark, perpetually rainy…"

"Yet there are more geniuses there than you can imagine—a scholar willing to freeze the entire world for his wife, a penguin just beginning to swim the vast ocean, a child growing wild yet possessing engineering skill beyond most automobile experts…"

"A gang of mad, evil, brilliant criminals; a legendary Don who ruled Gotham's underworld for forty years; a motley crew of chaotic, captivating lunatics… and a clown who frightens even them."

"Enough!" Leonel's voice rang like a forge-quenched anvil, its edge humming sharply. He said:

"Why should I envy you?! I built a vast commercial empire from nothing! Achieved feats no one else could imagine—what right do you have to judge my work?!"

"It was forged with my blood and sweat—precise, elegant, perfect! Just like the Luthor Corporation—my masterpiece!"

"Had you started with this attitude, I wouldn't have wasted so many words on you. But sadly, you lack not only the mind of a genius, but also the breadth of heart."

Shiler looked into Leonel's eyes—his sclera were streaked red, not from sleeplessness, but from envy so thick it seemed ready to bleed down his cheeks.

"Do you know why you feel such pain now? Why your logic and thoughts feel incoherent? It's not because you lack a genius's mind."

Leonel kept his gaze locked on Shiler. Though the conclusion startled him, he still held his breath, refusing to relax.

"Someone I know once had the chance to ascend—he was already a genius, but this opportunity could have made him near-omniscient. He refused it."

Shiler spoke seriously. Leonel's attention involuntarily shifted. Shiler murmured, almost to himself:

The most ordinary people possess the most complex and beautiful inner worlds—not because they're smart, but because greatness arises from precisely this.

Clearly, Leonel didn't listen. But Shiler didn't say it to make him listen. A man trapped in a logical loop for years is nearly impossible to convince.

"Why did you call me here?" Shiler leaned back, relaxed. Leonel, tense, pressed his knees together and propped his elbows on his thighs.

He took a deep breath, composed himself. As he struggled to calm his emotions, Shiler spoke again: "You didn't bring me here just to make me re-read your papers—papers that win only by sheer quantity, not quality, right?"

Instantly, Leonel's carefully masked expression shattered.

Finally, he gritted his teeth: "I know. You know the secret of that treasure. And you killed people during that incident too…"

"Treasure? What treasure?" Shiler narrowed his eyes. Leonel scoffed: "Don't play dumb. The mayoral election—that was just various factions fighting over a treasure."

"You heard rumors from somewhere and dared to join. In the end, you fled to Gotham with your tail between your legs."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Shiler stared into Leonel's eyes, dead serious: "I've lost my memory. I know nothing."

Leonel wasn't swayed. He said: "I invited you here to propose cooperation. I can forgive your rude criticism of others' work—and share the treasure with you…"

"I'm not interested." Shiler refused immediately. But Leonel pressed on: "I know you don't trust me. But last time, you got burned in this kind of affair. Are you truly confident you'll win this time?"

"Sorry—I meant I'm not interested in the treasure. And even less interested in cooperating with you."

Shiler stood, crushed the cigar on the table. Seeing him rise to leave, Leonel frowned and said:

"You really lost your memory? If you truly have no interest in the treasure, why did you assassinate candidates during the last mayoral election?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Shiler repeated the same words. Leonel paused, then said: "Looks like last time's lesson stuck. You don't plan to wade into this mess again."

"But if agents find out you were involved in that incident, they won't mind adding another spy suspect to their list."

"If you're sure, go ahead and report me." Shiler said, then turned to leave. But behind him, Leonel pulled out a gun.

Shiler stopped. Leonel stepped forward, pressing the barrel against Shiler's head. "You call me mediocre—but even a mediocre man with a gun can kill."

Shiler turned. The black muzzle pointed at his brow. He said to Leonel: "Your actions show me—spending even a moment more on you is a waste."

Instantly, a black umbrella appeared in Shiler's hand. He gripped its center and flicked upward.

*Bang. * The hard handle struck Leonel's jaw, knocking him to the floor. Shiler stepped forward, his shadow engulfing Leonel.

Leonel screamed, clutching his bruised jaw. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Shiler wasn't looking at him—he held the umbrella, muttering to himself:

"I'm sorry. After you changed into new clothes, the first enemy you faced was an idiot."