Chapter 636: Is This Really a Professor from Gotham University? (Part 1)

Sitting on the Batjet, Arthur gazed out through the small window beside him; as he looked, he noticed something was off, and asked, "Isn't this plane flying a bit too fast?"

"Have you ever flown on another plane?" Shiler asked.

"I haven't, but planes landing in Gotham fly over the sea off Broodhaven—I've seen them sometimes, and I'm sure they don't fly this fast."

"That's because I'm an excellent pilot!" Hal shouted from the cockpit. Shiler shook his head. "Don't listen to him. The planes you saw were slowing down for landing—that's why they seemed slow. Normal cruising speed isn't that slow. This is normal."

Arthur nodded, half-understanding. Shiler stood up and walked to the cabin's refrigerator, looking for something to eat. The fish soup had been delicious, but since Shiler disliked grilled fish and fish stew, he hadn't eaten much for dinner and was now hungry.

Arthur tilted his head, turning his gaze around the cabin, clearly curious. "I've never been on a plane before. My classmates won't believe I've flown this high."

"And this plane is way too luxurious, isn't it?" Arthur stood slightly, then sat back down, testing the cushion beneath him. "My sofa at home isn't this soft. And when I came in, didn't I see a bed?"

Indeed, the entire cabin of the Batjet resembled a condensed, elite private jet interior: smaller in size, yet equipped with sofas, tables and chairs, a refrigerator, and a bed.

At that moment, Hal appeared in the cabin, stretching. "Good grief, it's already past midnight. I should be asleep in bed… Whatever, I'll just nap for a bit."

"Oh, there's a bed." Arthur pointed to the bed beside him, then suddenly stared at Hal in horror. "How are you here?!?"

"Aren't you supposed to be flying the plane?!?"

Hal waved his hand dismissively. "This plane flies itself. I just set a destination—it'll auto-navigate to the vicinity and land once I call the tower."

Arthur was even more astonished, but Hal tightened his jacket, collapsed onto the bed, and was soon snoring loudly—he was clearly exhausted.

As for why he was so tired, Shiler didn't need to guess: it was because of his fight with Clark.

Shiler had assumed Green Lantern and Superman got along well, but in reality, their ideologies clashed, and since they were evenly matched, their fights often spilled beyond the solar system.

Though Green Lantern energy could replenish instantly, mental fatigue couldn't be recovered so quickly. Just hours before Shiler dragged him here to pilot the plane, Hal had returned from Pluto—he'd lost to Clark by half a move and nine punches.

Shiler opened the fridge and found its contents astonishingly abundant—clearly packed by Alfred. The butler had mastered every domestic skill; even this modest fridge maximized every inch of space.

The freezer held prepped beef, salmon, tuna, and lamb chops; the chill compartment contained an array of vegetables for salads or sandwiches, plus various gourmet canned goods—not the overly spiced supermarket kind, but premium, health-focused cans clearly meant for the wealthy.

Corn kernels, cherry tomatoes, and beans were all extremely fresh, likely added today, possibly even picked this morning. Butter, light cream, and cream cheese were plentiful, and most importantly, there was a large block of cheddar cheese—visually irresistible.

It was already late. Shiler decided on something light: he made a vegetable salad with lettuce, kale, and tomato; pan-seared two salmon fillets; and prepared two thin-sliced beef sandwiches without cheese.

The plane carried a mini-kitchen: just one fixed griddle and a prep counter, but sufficient for simple meals.

After serving the food, Arthur was even more astonished. He swallowed hard, then couldn't resist the aroma of the roasted beef—he grabbed a sandwich and took a huge bite.

Shiler took a bite of his sandwich and sighed: living with money was truly wonderful. The quality of this beef was so high that slicing it thin felt like a waste—even so thinly cut, it remained tender and juicy when bitten.

Arthur had never tasted beef this good. He devoured the beef sandwich in a few bites, but when it came to the salmon, he hesitated. He took one bite, then put down his fork. Shiler looked at him. "What's wrong? Aren't you fond of fish?"

"This salmon isn't good quality—not bad quality, just… not fresh. Is it chilled?" Arthur asked.

Shiler nodded. Arthur explained: "I prefer fresh cod, and I like it raw. I don't pair it with wasabi like others—I prefer Broodhaven's special fisherman's hot sauce. It'll make your teeth fall out from the flavor."

"If I get the chance, I'll definitely try it." Shiler took a bite of the pan-seared salmon. Whether due to psychology or not, he now felt the salmon tasted worse.

After a while, Hal woke up—not because he'd truly slept, but because the scent of Shiler's cooking had roused him. By the time he awoke, both meals were gone. He went to the fridge, found something, and started cooking.

"When it comes to handling seafood, you're both amateurs," Hal said as he chopped beef. "The world's most famous coastal city? My hometown, Haibincheng—the finest seaside resort on Earth…"

"Nonsense, Broodhaven is better…" Arthur denied, but his tone lacked conviction, because Hal was right—Haibincheng was essentially a luxury upgrade of Broodhaven, far surpassing this coastal town.

It was a truly global tourist city: cuisine, scenery, and culture all at the world's peak, boasting the longest and purest coastline on the entire West Coast, a vast city with fully developed infrastructure, and tourism development far ahead of the rest of America.

"I haven't returned to California in a long time," Hal said, slicing beef. "The name feels foreign now. If you ever reach the West Coast, you'll understand—it's entirely different from the East."

"Life moves slower there—relaxed, romantic, full of charm. Whether beach or desert, people or landscapes, it's all the best."

"Your hometown is in California?" Arthur asked. He hadn't known Haibincheng was in California—he'd assumed it was on the East Coast.

"Of course. So when I heard Shiler was going to California, I was surprised—but I must say, you made the best decision. My old folks all say: if you have more than ten days off, you must go to Haibincheng, or you're wasting your vacation."

yawenku.

When Hal spoke of his hometown, he never stopped talking—he clearly loved it even more than Arthur did. "Back then, the West Coast wasn't developed. People only remembered Los Angeles."

"But after the Gold Rush, they realized: beyond Los Angeles, there was a lost jewel on the West Coast—my hometown, Haibincheng—with the most beautiful coastline, the brightest sunshine, the tallest palm trees, and the softest sands."

"Its cuisine rivals Los Angeles's too. When we land, I'll take you to my favorite restaurant, Tarkin's. Their sea bass feast will make you swallow your own tongue…"

Shuowan ， Haerbataganggangjiandeniuroulihedunhaodedouzitangduanleshanglai ， Ranhounaliangpianjianhaodetusi ， Peishangzhishi ， Baniurouhedouzijiajinqu ， Henhendeyaoleyidakou 。

"This way of eating is unusual—is it from Haibincheng?" Shiler asked.

"Sort of. I call it the Pilot's Meal. Pilots there love it—beef cubes and beans keep well, taste great. Try it."

Shiler spooned up a bit of the bean soup. It was decent—light, but considering pilots needed to control fat and salt intake, it was quite good.

After eating their fill, the three dozed off on the sofa. Outside, the night sky hung heavy; city lights blurred into a hazy orange-red glow beneath their drowsy eyes, like spilled paint on a deep blue starry backdrop.

When Shiler opened his eyes again, the city was right outside the window. Hal was gone. Shiler leaned forward and saw him in the cockpit, operating the controls—meaning they were about to land.

Arthur had been right: the Batjet was far faster than ordinary passenger planes. In just this short time, Shiler could already see the tower's lights. As soon as the plane touched down, Shiler began clapping.

Hal stepped out of the cockpit, looked at Shiler, and asked, "Why are you clapping? I didn't do anything…"

"I'm thanking you for doing nothing."

Saying that, Shiler grabbed his luggage and stepped off the plane. Arthur followed. As soon as they exited the cabin, a wave of heat hit Shiler's face. Though it was still April, Haibincheng's lower latitude made it already hot.

As Shiler stepped off, he heard tower staff murmuring: "Who's this rich idiot, painting his private jet like this? I've seen tiger and lion liveries, but never a bat…"

"Who knows? Some people like tigers, some like lions—why not bats?"

Behind them, Hal whispered low: "No, that's too strange."

Shiler turned. "Not strange. Strange is the man pretending to be a bat."

At that moment, Arthur, walking last, sniffed the air and said:

"Let's go. I can already smell the sea breeze."

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