Chapter 493

After seeing off Constantine, Merkel took a cloth and scrubbed the chair and table he had sat on repeatedly, his disgust almost written across his face.

Just as he finished, the second visitor arrived as scheduled; when Merkel went down to greet him, he saw Bruce standing outside the estate gate.

Bruce had made an appointment, so Merkel's demeanor warmed considerably—he stepped forward to open the door for Bruce, who entered the estate and headed straight for Schiller's study, as familiar as ever.

In the study, Bruce's gaze landed on the abacus; seeing Schiller continuously moving its beads while reviewing an invoice, he knew today's topic.

"You're here? Sit." Schiller pointed to the chair across from him; once Bruce sat down, Schiller glanced at him and opened his mouth to speak, but Bruce cut in: "My paper will be finished tomorrow."

Schiller sighed and tried to speak again, but Bruce added: "I've written 3,000 words."

Schiller opened his mouth once more, and Bruce continued: "This time I didn't go off-topic, and I carefully checked all the symbols."

Schiller sighed and said: "You've mastered preemptive answers, but what I want to discuss today isn't that."

On Bruce's usually expressionless face, a rare flicker of surprise appeared; his gaze at Schiller resembled that of someone staring at a parrot that had suddenly grown a second head.

Schiller extended his hand toward Bruce: "The itemized account for Gotham's damaged buildings, reconstruction, and compensation—you said you'd send it over by phone?"

Bruce handed Schiller a file; as Schiller flipped open the first page, he frowned and said: "I forgot to mention—the unit on this reimbursement invoice isn't dollars, but Green Lantern rings."

"You're asking the Green Lantern Corps for compensation?" Bruce immediately understood Schiller's intent, but shook his head: "They won't pay. If they truly cared about humans, they wouldn't have descended here so recklessly and left this place unrecognizable."

"That doesn't matter—we just need an excuse."

"If they refuse to pay, what's your plan?"

Schiller sighed and told Bruce: "Let me repeat: I don't issue an invoice to them and wait for them to decide whether to compensate."

"If they refuse, you plan to trigger another major incident—even blow up their homeworld?"

Schiller's expression froze for a moment; seeing it, Bruce's face stiffened as he stared and asked: "You're not seriously thinking of blowing it up, are you?"

Schiller lowered his head and began rapidly calculating on the abacus again; Bruce fixed his gaze on Schiller's eyes and said: "I don't oppose you securing greater benefits for humanity through certain means—but if you're too aggressive, you may only incur needless losses..."

Schiller coughed twice and shifted topics with rigid formality: "I know the standard procedure is for us to submit a compensation invoice, send it to them, and if they refuse, we proceed legally—but the problem is, they are the court themselves."

"There is no third party in the universe capable of adjudicating this—or even if there were, early contact with them would be disadvantageous for us."

The Celebrity Who Wants to Retire

"So I never intended to pursue legal action. Didn't you forget? They have someone on our side."

"I've already studied their structure—it's extremely simple, almost crude. The Green Lantern Corps' leader typically has two assistants: one handles external military affairs, the other internal administration—mainly personnel and finance."

"But after Sinestro's sudden defection, the current leader was appointed in an emergency and never found two deputies; both roles were consolidated into one person—and that person is Hal."

"I think you've noticed: extreme centralization of duties, with no corresponding oversight system, creates opportunities for manipulation. This bypasses legal procedures or threats of force entirely, yet achieves the same goal."

As Schiller spoke, Bruce stared at him; after listening, he said: "Your anxiety must be severe—so severe it's caused dissociative identity disorder. Who are you, really?"

"I'm Schiller. But if Professor Schiller—the one you know—heard you say this, your final grade would be in serious jeopardy." Schiller shook his head.

Bruce's expression flickered with surprise, then settled into his classic skeptical look—but before he could press further, Schiller held up the invoice and said: "Even if these prices were in dollars, they're still far too conservative."

"One traffic light destroyed in the central rotary? That's not an accurate term. Don't you remember? Gordon borrowed your Bat-Light and modified it into the rotary's traffic signal."

"What technology does your Bat-Light use?... Never mind, you'd explain it and I still wouldn't understand—just write 'nuclear fusion.'"

Schiller put on his glasses, held the invoice at arm's length, and frowned as he scrutinized it; soon he added: "Asphalt pavement damaged... Hmm, you call the entire ground collapsing 3.5 meters downward 'pavement damage'?"

"Let me think—your Batcave has underground sections, right? Do you have a land use permit?"

"Later, go see the mayor and classify the Batcave as part of the central rotary's public infrastructure—count it as common area—and file it as a building fire with critical equipment destroyed. As for which equipment counts as 'critical,' that's up to you, Victor, and the other technicians."

"What else? Oh, here—this section on reconstruction needs revision."

"Didn't we already say during urban planning that the central rotary's original design was too limited? Its small area restricted traffic flow—perfect chance to widen it."

"How much wider?"

"Two thousand kilometers okay?"

"... The Soviets won't agree," Bruce replied flatly. "If you plan to turn the entire Pacific into Gotham's transportation hub, you'll need to negotiate with the Kremlin first."

"Then count the Pacific as Gotham's common area... Alright, let's start with repairing the damaged area—how big is it?"

"The diameter has expanded to 1.5 times its original size; the joint report from the City Planning Bureau and Gotham University's Architecture Department confirms it's sufficient."

Schiller sighed deeply and glanced at Merkel beside him: "Can't we just call the Kremlin?"

Bruce merely stared at him with his classic expression, silent; Schiller lowered his head again, reviewed the report, then pointed to one line: "The warehouse damage section is a major problem."

Schiller thought for a moment and asked: "Do you have a lunar mission planned?"

At this question, Bruce's expression subtly shifted; seeing it, Schiller's face stiffened: "You're not seriously planning to go to the moon, are you?"

Bruce remained expressionless; Schiller sighed and continued reading the invoice: "List all warehouse inventory as 'cosmic engines and accompanying parts,' file as cargo damage, then add charges for electronic waste disposal, chemical waste disposal, radiation and hazardous material handling..."

"You want them to mortgage their planet to you?"

Schiller shook his head: "I don't want planetary-scale waste—I just want energy."

He set the invoice down and looked at Bruce: "The military demands annual budgets to attack oil nations—not because they covet the desert, but the oil beneath it."

"The emotional spectrum is the universe's equivalent of oil. Humanity currently lacks the capacity to exploit it on a large scale. We have two options: either, like I did before, use crude methods to steal some oil—but that's dangerous, unsustainable, and incredibly messy."

"Or we do what the military and we are doing now: launch a war, create chaos, trigger internal upheaval, plant our own agents, gradually destabilize the leadership, and eventually convince some among them to willingly sell us the oil."

"So next you'll..."

Schiller gathered all the invoices, lightly tapped the abacus beads, then revealed a smile Bruce had never seen before.

The next day, in the Green Lantern Corps headquarters, the detention cell, Deputy Leader Owen stared intensely at Hal before him—but Hal no longer spoke with anger; instead, he spoke calmly:

"I imagine you're furious, thinking I've taken everything you deserved. But I must tell you—anger is useless."

"You're here just to mock me?!" Owen shouted in rage, but stripped of his Green Lantern ring, he was powerless against Hal, whose body glowed with thick green light.

"Don't get worked up. In a way, I understand you. Don't you think the Green Lantern selection process is flawed?"

Owen continued to glare coldly at Hal, but it was clear he was waiting for Hal's next words.

Hal rotated his ring and said: "In my homeworld, I was never outstanding. Before I got the ring, I was unknown, earning a meager wage, doing dangerous work."

"My homeworld had far stronger people—smarter, more visionary—but they were barred from this power by nothing more than some vague notion of willpower."

"I think you're the same, aren't you?" Hal looked into Owen's eyes; Owen turned his head away, but the tight clench of his jaw betrayed that Hal had struck true.

"I believe you were a prodigy in your homeland—well-educated from childhood, gifted, achieving great success, convinced you were a genius of exceptional intellect—yet the Lanterns chose you not..."

"Enough!" Owen's voice trembled with suppressed rage, as if his deepest wound had been ripped open: "If you're here only to mock me, you've succeeded—now get out."

Hal crossed his arms, still utterly calm: "I'm not mocking you from the standpoint of a victor. I'm telling you—I think this is unjust too."

"My homeworld is remote, yet filled with countless geniuses, excluded by these vague rules. Meanwhile, in prosperous sectors, far more people gain this power. I find that unfair."

"If my homeworld had produced dozens of Lanterns, we might have already flown beyond the universe. Now that I've reached this position, why shouldn't I secure some benefits for myself—and my homeworld?"

Owen turned his head, locking eyes with Hal; he saw no trace of mockery in Hal's gaze. Suddenly, he sneered: "I knew it—all those who preach justice are just pretending."

"Taal is the leader, and you're deputy—who should you flatter? But equally obvious: who should you do business with?"

"What do you want?" Owen stared at Hal.

"I've said it already..." Hal leaned closer, gazing at Owen. "No matter how we reached this position, we can unite—and take back what's rightfully ours."