Chapter 472

At breakfast, Merkel watched Siegel's awkward attempt to fold the newspaper, hesitated, then said:

"Sir, would you like me to help you?"

Siegel said nothing; he tried to hold the newspaper upright so he could read it while eating with his fork, but soon realized it was far too difficult—far less convenient than using a phone—so he sighed and tossed the newspaper aside.

He sighed again at the backwardness of 20th-century technology and turned his attention to the food on his plate.

Re-toasted toast, paired with sausage, fried eggs, and stewed peas, plus a cup of perfectly warmed milk—no cooking, no washing dishes—after eating his fill, Siegel leaned back in his chair and marveled at the decadence of aristocratic life.

But Merkel, about to clear the plates, froze again; he glanced at his watch once more and realized Siegel had eaten for only twenty minutes—it was still before seven.

The plate held almost nothing: just a slightly overcooked crust of bread, a trace of stewed pea broth, the knife carelessly tossed beside his hand, the fork resting on the plate, the milk cup placed just ahead of the plate…

Merkel thought: Siegel must really be ill.

Leaving aside the complete lack of ritual or routine in his eating, the irregular leftovers, the haphazard placement of knife and fork—even just the milk cup, placed in the center but not quite centered, was enough to send the old Siegel into a full-day rage.

In the past, when such a thing happened, Merkel could only silently pray for the students in Siegel's next class.

The unnaturally normal meal routine left Merkel stunned; he was so absorbed in his shock that he had no chance to speak.

Just as he was about to find an opening to speak, Siegel stood up and said: "I'm going back upstairs to sleep a bit more. Wake me at 9:30, thank you."

Merkel's eyes widened; he wore a hesitant expression. Siegel noticed and asked: "What's wrong?"

"You mean… you plan to go back upstairs and sleep after eating?"

"Hmm? Is that not allowed?" Siegel glanced at his watch. "My class isn't until ten. It's only seven now—why go so early?"

Tomato Novel

"Hmm… alright, if you're going to do that, I'll wake you on time. Oh, wait! You just said 9:30—this…"

"Gotham University isn't far from here," Siegel said as he walked upstairs. "Even by bicycle, it's only half an hour."

With that, he returned to his bedroom, leaving Merkel still stunned.

Two minutes before ten, Siegel, sitting in the driver's seat, looked ahead at the endless line of traffic, then glanced back at his own house—still clearly visible in his field of view—and sighed deeply, regretting his decision to volunteer to cover for DC Siegel.

At 10:10, the classroom at Gotham University was packed; most students were whispering to each other.

Just then, footsteps sounded outside the door. Everyone instantly sat up straight, fell silent, and the air in the room froze like ice.

The footsteps quickened—but it was Yin Wensi who burst into the classroom. He hadn't even looked toward the podium before blurting out:

"I'm so sorry, Professor. Today's the first day of resumed traffic—it's been absolutely gridlocked. I woke up at six, left at seven, and now I'm only here. I'm truly sorry…"

When no one responded, Yin Wensi finally looked up at the podium—and saw no one there.

He stared, bewildered, and slowly walked to his seat, where he noticed Bruce Wayne beside him, also staring thoughtfully at the podium.

"What's going on? Bruce, where's the Professor?"

Bruce slowly shook his head. Yin Wensi's eyes widened again; he looked around and realized all the students were staring at him. He stood up and said:

"Don't panic—I'll call the Professor."

About twenty minutes later, Siegel, still stuck in the estate district, saw a helicopter bearing the Wayne Enterprises logo slowly land on the lawn of a manor.

Bruce stepped out. Siegel rolled down his window and waved at him.

Bruce walked over, stared silently at Siegel in the driver's seat, and asked: "Why are you here?"

"Shouldn't that be my question? Why are you here—and in a helicopter?"

"Yin Wensi called your estate. Your butler told him you left an hour ago. Given Gotham's traffic patterns, I guessed you were stuck here."

"What's wrong with you?" Bruce asked, thoroughly confused.

"What's wrong with me?" Siegel was equally puzzled; he misinterpreted Bruce's tone and waved his hand. "Look, I just had bad luck—massive traffic. Next time I'll leave earlier. Tell your students this class is now self-study…"

Bruce walked around the car, opened the passenger door, and sat beside Siegel. Then he turned, squinting at him.

"Is something wrong?" Siegel asked, looking at him.

But Bruce kept staring, silent. Siegel sighed and said: "Alright, you little brats—free time. Happy now?"

Bruce's eyes narrowed further, into the classic expression of suspicion. Catching the look out of the corner of his eye, Siegel turned and studied Bruce up and down. "Don't tell me you want me to take a personal day from other professors—that's going too far."

"What's wrong with you? This isn't just an anxiety attack. Have you had a mental health evaluation lately?"

"My mental health is fine."

Siegel gripped the steering wheel with one hand and inched forward with the traffic. "Don't forget—you still owe me a bill. If you've got nothing better to do, go manage your corporation and earn more money."

Bruce stared at Siegel for a long time. When Siegel said nothing more, Bruce opened the door and got out.

When he returned to the Gotham University classroom and announced the class was now free time, no one showed excitement. The students whispered among themselves.

"Oh no! If this is free time, the next class must be a major exam. The Professor's testing whether we can study independently—if we fail…"

"Free time? Bullshit free time! That devil would never let us have free time—it's a trap!"

"We've been off for so long—and he's not giving an exam?? Bruce, are you sure you heard right?"

"Stop talking—get to the library now. Don't forget, first-years will fight us for seats too!"

"Come on, let's go! Bruce, are you coming? I'll save you a seat…"

When he heard this, Bruce hesitated—for he truly couldn't be sure if this was Siegel's trap.

Though Bruce's grades had little room to fall further, if he hit a new low and Siegel called Alfred, he wouldn't be allowed to go out at night again.

After less than a second of hesitation, he said:

"Save me a seat. Thanks."

When Siegel arrived at Gotham University, it was lunchtime. As he entered his office, every eye turned to him. Anna, who taught advanced math, stepped forward first, scanned him up and down, then said:

"Just now, your student Yin Wensi came to me after your math class and asked me to check on your mental state—he heard from Bruce that your class was at ten, but you didn't leave until 9:30."

"Of course, being late isn't unusual in Gotham—but being late because of traffic? Are you new to Gotham?"

Siegel sighed. "Why do you all think an average traffic delay of three hours is normal?"

"An average of three hours isn't normal—because last year's average was five hours."

"There are only twenty-four hours in a day!" Siegel raised his voice.

"There are exactly twenty-four hours in a day!" Anna raised hers.

At that moment, Victor entered, holding books and materials—apparently just finished teaching. Seeing Siegel seated at his desk, he walked over, set down his things, and tapped the partition. "Come on—lunch."

He turned to Anna. "Anna, don't be like that. Being late is perfectly normal, especially after traffic resumed last night. Everyone's been cooped up—cars will be packed."

"Both you and Siegel are outsiders—you're not used to our traffic conditions. That's normal."

Then he turned to Siegel. "Don't worry about it. It's actually a good chance to give your students a break. Honestly, you've been pushing them too hard. Education can't be rushed."

With that, Victor came over and pulled Siegel off to the cafeteria.

For Siegel, Victor was his best friend in Gotham. For Victor, Siegel was the same.

Because they were so close, Victor knew Siegel's quirks well. He didn't care at all about Siegel's sudden decision to leave late and arrive late due to traffic—so what? Was it weirder than the Ice-Bound Gotham Project?

But this relaxed mood lasted only until he sat down to eat with Siegel.

Because he saw Siegel pick up a piece of broccoli with his fork and put it in his mouth.