Chapter 4569: Day of White (35)

This question was something Deathstroke himself couldn't answer well. In reality, he had never felt that he truly loved anything very much.

If one were to talk about loving sports, his football performance back then was actually quite good. If he had chosen to go to college, he might have really made something of himself. But he gave that up and chose to join the army instead—and he even lied about his age to do it. Which is to say, he didn't even finish high school; he probably only attended for a year or two before going to serve.

If one were to talk about liking the military, he could have actually stayed in the service forever. He had good physical fitness and was well-liked. If he had chosen not to undergo the experiments and just slowly climbed the ranks in the military, he would probably be a Lieutenant Colonel or a Colonel by now. Yet, he still chose to come out and work for himself.

If one were to talk about liking being a mercenary, he actually started in this line of work because the human body modification had some side effects that made him become violent and bloodthirsty. He couldn't quite control himself, so he could only go to the battlefield to vent. Later, he met a middleman who felt he had talent. Deathstroke also felt that he could solve the side effects while making money, which was killing two birds with one stone, so he agreed. He's been doing it ever since.

Most of the experiences in his life were not chosen out of love. Thinking about it now, it really is somewhat bizarre.

Deathstroke began to recall carefully why he had chosen to play football and why he had wanted to join the army. Because it was all a bit distant, he searched for a long time before digging up some details of his memories. But he couldn't remember if those were real memories or things he had fantasized.

He remembered that his good neighbor once mentioned to his sons that he hoped they could become quarterbacks. At that time, Deathstroke didn't even know what a quarterback was; his understanding was that it was the most powerful person among football players. When he joined the school team in high school, he was aiming to be a quarterback. This might have been the influence of that gentleman.

Then there was joining the army. Of course, Mr. Sanders had been in the army. It seemed he repaired tanks or engineering equipment or something; he belonged to a technical branch. Since he was a child, he had taken his children into the yard to tinker with those car parts. He also hoped his sons could go into the military to serve the country.

Everything from the past gradually became clear before his eyes, and Deathstroke was surprised to discover that this man, who had only spent a few months with him, had exerted such a powerful influence on his life, even to the point where one could say he changed his entire life.

"Power abhors a vacuum," Schiller said, "and the same goes for paternal authority. When you need it, there will always be someone to satisfy you, regardless of who they are."

"Then why did I still fail?" Deathstroke said. "Because the time I spent with him was too short?"

"Because you started imitating him too early. Before people have become their own selves, trying to become someone else is the root of many people's suffering," Schiller lowered his eyelids and said. "Whether it's the children in their parents' ideals, some form under social conditioning, or the self in one's fantasies."

"Good son, good daughter, good student, good employee—these identities expand infinitely during their growth period until they completely overwhelm the self. The consequence is cognitive dissonance that spreads throughout their lives. The appearance is harmonious, but in reality, they are drifting further and further away from the whole world. That barrier will become thicker and thicker until it completely isolates the inner self. This is a common phenomenon in modern society."

Deathstroke roughly understood Schiller's meaning. At that time, Slade Wilson was only a few years old; he should have been under the protection of his parents, fully displaying his self, playing ball if he wanted to play ball, reading books if he wanted to read books. But in reality, his father was dead, his mother was busy making a living, and they were displaced throughout his journey; there was no space to develop his self.

His imitation of Mr. Sanders allowed him, at an age when he should have been a child exploring his self, to learn how to be a father through imitation. This is why he had to join the school team to play football, and why he didn't hesitate to lie about his age to join the army—because he had always been playing the role of a father.

"This is a manifestation opposite to mental degenerative disease," Schiller said. "It is generally called mental precocity. Mental regression is the inability to become mature, while mental precocity is becoming mature too early. But what is contrary to common sense is that these two situations always appear at the same time."

"Because of mental precocity, people are unable to explore themselves, which leads to the truest self always being suppressed. Just like you, you had no opportunity to complete self-exploration, struggle, and transformation, so you have always remained in early childhood, resulting in mental regression."

"This is why people always say that what one cannot obtain in youth will haunt them for a lifetime. Many children who mature early are always spending the second half of their lives chasing the childhood they never had. This is the manifestation of mental precocity and regression."

Schiller continued: "Unfortunately, the father you are playing is not suitable for your son. Because he is not the same as the person you imitated back then, nor is he like his sons."

After a pause, Schiller said: "But this should actually be considered a sign of your success. Because you made a lot of money, gave him a relatively stable living environment, and at the same time, you didn't always appear in front of him. Most of the time, it was his mother educating him, and his mother was relatively more willing to respect his personality. So he could develop freely and had plenty of time to explore his self. And it is normal that the self he explored is different from you and the person you imitated."

Deathstroke opened his mouth, not knowing whether to cry or laugh. He said: "So I should appear less in front of him?"

"You might not believe it, but he doesn't understand theory, yet he might have already seen that the father you are currently playing is too thin and hollow. That is not the real you, and it doesn't have the great charm you imagined that could cause him to imitate you."

"You would imitate your neighbor because he was indeed that kind of person. It was the self he truly revealed that appeared very attractive. But you are just an imitation, a fake; there will inevitably be all sorts of flaws. And your son happens to be sensitive and smart enough; he felt that something was wrong, so he chose to stay away from you as much as possible instead of learning from you. Because even if he learned, that wouldn't be the real you, just another imitation of the appearance."

More details surged up, giving Deathstroke a feeling of suddenly catching a glimpse of a corner of the real world. When Joseph was still very young, they were also very close. No matter what Deathstroke was doing, Joseph would follow behind him, simply like a little tail that couldn't be shaken off.

Deathstroke built him a trampoline, took him to clean the swimming pool, and let him sit on the roof of the car to identify car parts. These seemingly warm parent-child interactions should have always appeared in his mind, giving him strength and making him nostalgic.

Movies always film such scenes: a dying soldier has scenes of playing with his children in the backyard in his mind. But for Deathstroke, this kind of thing had never appeared.

When he was in trouble, he never recalled these so-called beautiful scenes for even a moment. He would think of Joseph, but it was definitely not these scenes.

Deathstroke racked his brains even more, wanting to recall what the other party was like when he thought of Joseph. Then he suddenly realized that in the scenes he recalled, both sides were very quiet.

Either they had finished eating, there was no game today, Deathstroke was sitting in front of the computer watching boring variety shows, and Joseph was there tinkering with something himself, maybe building blocks, maybe some book.

Or after playing on the lawn, they were both a little tired, lying on the grass motionless looking at the sky, neither asking questions, neither answering, and neither paying attention to each other.

Or even, Mrs. Wilson would find Deathstroke too noisy and demand he shut up, and on the drive back from the supermarket, the family of three wouldn't say a word until the cold war between the two of them ended.

Deathstroke never expected that these would be the memories he dug up. What was he thinking about at those moments? Was it boredom? Was it fatigue? It didn't seem to be either.

Deathstroke realized that he relaxed during those quiet moments. No, he didn't even realize he was relaxing; his mind was just blank. And his brain, which far exceeded that of ordinary people, was not so easily blanked.

Suddenly realizing this made Deathstroke feel somewhat broken. It's like you've lived for decades, and suddenly someone tells you that the past you was not the real you. But you are powerless to refute it, because your life really couldn't be called happy.

"Perhaps you are a person who likes quiet by nature," Schiller said. "You could have studied hard in high school, chosen a college major you liked, and spent every weekend in the library."

"Gotham Academy?" Deathstroke said irritably. "The reason for going to the library every weekend was to create an alibi for a murder case?"

Schiller slowly looked away. Deathstroke narrowed his eyes.

"The power of genes is more powerful than you imagine," Schiller said. "You think your son's personality is not like yours, not because you are refuting this theory, but precisely because it confirms this theory. Because if you had the same childhood life as him, your personality might also be similar to his."

"I still think it's absurd," Deathstroke said. "Even so, could a quiet boy have a way to deal with the current situation?"

"You might as well think about another question. Are private schools really that good?"

Deathstroke's movements paused; he never expected Schiller to bring this up; the topic switched too fast. He thought for a moment and said: "It also depends on what grade of private school. The school I sent Joseph to is considered quite good; the tuition for one year is about 200,000 US dollars, and it is a regional superior school."

"But not the best."

"Not the best. I'm not stupid. Someone like me, whose money source is unclear and who is away from home all year round, if I send my child into a pile of rich people, he will definitely be bullied. I chose a school where the family conditions of most students are similar to ours."

"You've done very well. However, it's still not that simple. It's not easy for someone who likes to be alone and is not good at socializing to gain a foothold in a private high school. Moreover, if you say his friends have never complained to you about anyone bullying your son, that is even more abnormal."

"Why?" Deathstroke said. "Of course I know there might be bad people in the school, but it doesn't have to be that they bully Joseph, right?"

"The problem is that you said that boy is a bit reckless and righteous. Such people are often emotional and will be more temperamental. Their views will have many subjectively beautified components, and they will also be exaggerated. Thinking about it this way, isn't there a big problem?"