[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel":3,"chapter-my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-chapter-58":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"chinese","My Life as a Mental Mentor in Marvel",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},2322626,4544,"Chapter 58: Gotham","my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-chapter-58",58,"\u003Cp>In a pitch-black alley, the faint glint of moving armor tangled with a deeper, denser fog.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In an instant, the gray mist solidified into a figure, stopping at the alley’s end; the clinking of armor ceased, replaced by the heavy tread of footsteps on still-wet puddles, each step a soft, deathly chime.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Deathstroke?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“That is indeed your death knell.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>No sooner had the words left his mouth than a blade flashed—Shiler vanished from where he stood and reappeared behind the figure.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Who is your employer?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You don’t need to know.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“So you have great confidence in your professional skills.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Shiler dodged two thrown daggers with another flash, then faced Deathstroke and said:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You shouldn’t kill me.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I can kill anyone, as long as the price is right.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Shiler extended his hand; a flame ignited in his palm.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“No matter who your employer is, the price they offered you is wrong.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Deathstroke fell silent for less than a second, then turned and walked away.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Indeed. Goodbye.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“How will you treat an employer who deceives you?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“It depends.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Kill him. I’ll pay.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You don’t have that much money.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“The richest man in the world pays.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Goodbye.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Shiler watched the armored figure vanish into the far end of Gotham’s street within a few breaths; he thought, his enemies truly had some ability—they could hire Deathstroke to kill him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Several consecutive flashes had drained much of Shiler’s strength; no vehicle could enter this deep alley, so he decided to walk back slowly, and once he reached the church, he’d call for a car.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He turned out of the alley onto the main street, then looked back—and saw movement at the very end of the street.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At this moment, Batman stood inside a crumbling, dark, and narrow room.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The environment was abysmal; Batman had never entered a room so unbearable in his life.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It was a third-floor apartment; all windows were nailed shut, the outer walls had peeled away entirely, the interior was soaked with dampness, the floor was slick with greasy tiles, all furniture lay where it shouldn’t, and every other space was piled high with trash.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The room’s owner, startled by Batman’s unexpected presence, froze for a moment, then lowered his head, glanced at his own feet, muttered something indistinct, hunched over, picked up a salt shaker, and tried to hand it to Batman.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Batman took the salt shaker—it was empty, nothing inside—then the man waved his hand, as if urging him to leave.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He was a shriveled, hunched old man, skin pitch-black, eyes deeply sunken into their sockets, limping as he walked, mumbling curses nonstop.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It seemed a neighbor downstairs, hearing the commotion, poked his head out from beneath the stairs: “What do you want with this old man? Who are you to him?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“What’s wrong with him?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“What’s wrong? Can’t you tell? He’s got dementia—he doesn’t recognize anyone anymore. Even if you knew him, he won’t know you.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The neighbor couldn’t see Batman’s face, only a vague shadow; he said: “This old man can’t pay rent. Every time the landlord comes, he gives him the salt shaker. Maybe in his day, salt shakers were valuable—but that shaker’s been empty for years.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Still, he’s lucky—his landlord apparently died at the hands of the mob. This attic’s worthless; killing him would mean hauling away the corpse, so he’s still alive.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Regardless of who you are, leave him alone. He survives by scavenging scraps thrown down from above—but the tenants upstairs moved out a few days ago. He won’t last much longer.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>With that, a loud “thud” came from below—the neighbor had shut the door.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Batman held the salt shaker, watching the hunched old man sit on the chair, staring silently at the table, a trickle of drool sliding from his mouth.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He saw Louis’s hands—rough, gnarled, every knuckle twisted from years of lifting heavy loads, veins bulging visibly across the dry, withered palms.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Are you Louis?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>No answer came except Batman’s own voice.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Do you remember Thomas Wayne? Do you remember Martha?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Batman felt his voice trembling.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>An extreme rage rose in Batman’s chest; he crushed the salt shaker until it groaned under his grip.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His enemy didn’t remember any of the innocent lives he’d destroyed—he’d simply forgotten all his crimes.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This wasn’t punishment—it was escape, Batman thought. He’d avoided all inner condemnation.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He asked Louis again and again:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Why don’t you remember anything?! Don’t you remember the name Wayne?! What about Edward? What about Falcone?!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The moment Batman uttered “Falcone,” the aged Louis let out a strange, piercing scream; his jaw, long unused, cracked open with a series of sharp clicks.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He tumbled off the chair, trembling violently, shrieking “Aaah!” and hurling everything within reach at Batman, tears, snot, and saliva streaming down his face.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>On his face, Batman saw endless terror.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Batman thought: Falcone hadn’t lied—when he killed Leif, he truly terrified many.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Louis was among them.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Shiler walked to the middle of the alley, looked up—and saw only one room on the third floor lit, its interior holding a dark silhouette with pointed ears.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He waited below for a moment, then saw Batman emerge; Batman, surprised to see Shiler, was mentally sluggish.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Shiler studied Batman—no injuries, no signs of recent combat.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then his gaze fell on the salt shaker in Batman’s hand.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Shiler didn’t know what it was, but clearly, Batman—emotionally tangled—needed to speak; before Shiler could ask, Batman told the whole story.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They walked and talked; by the time they passed the church, dawn was nearly breaking. Batman held the salt shaker and said:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“He doesn’t remember any of it.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When Batman spoke those words, his tone was no longer rage—it carried a complex, heavy sorrow.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You said he still remembers one person.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Yes. He remembers Falcone. Why does he remember Falcone but not Wayne…?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Shiler sighed, gazed into the distance, and said: “Because fear. Fear is the deepest, most enduring scar carved into the human soul.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“He forgot everything—except fear, is that it?” Batman said.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It was the darkest moment before dawn; the thick blackness swallowed everything, all buildings shrouded in shadow, their outlines invisible.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Soon, the heavy bell of Gotham Cathedral jolted Batman from his thoughts—the dull, resonant chime carried far, its waves as pervasive as darkness, reaching even the blackest, most hidden alleys, vibrating through them all.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Batman thought: Fear. Fear.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If he could no longer exact true vengeance upon the people or events of that era—if the killer he’d pursued with all his strength, the man he sought to punish, had utterly forgotten everything, leaving his rage and hatred utterly hollow—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then at least this reminded him of one thing: sometimes, worse than death is the unshakable fear.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If so, Batman thought, he would become the Dark Knight who brought endless fear to every criminal in Gotham.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Many years ago, the death of his parents was accompanied by the shadowy bats streaking across the sky; many years later, he would finally bring the fear of bats to every criminal in this city.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Like the Gotham midnight bell—seeping into every street, every dark corner.\u003C\u002Fp>",1178,"2026-06-20T16:39:12.484Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","b17fe96b172a975af2dbb8da9ace13fab958ab47c5ed1d7c9f3b3f2498087d9d","my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-chapter-59","my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-chapter-57",1000,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fmy-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-cover.jpg"]