Chapter 749

The Joker tugged at the lapels of his coat, spun twice in place, and showed Batman his new outfit; apart from the bombs, it was indeed a brand-new suit, entirely different from the one he wore on stage last time.

But when he finished spinning, he realized the scene he expected had not appeared at all.

Upon seeing the Joker carrying explosives, Batman would normally step back immediately, assume a tactical defensive posture, and shout: "Joker! Stop your evil plan!"

Yet now, Bruce looked up at him, and when their eyes met, both froze for two seconds.

The Joker glanced down at himself, then up at Bruce, then down at himself again, as if doubting he was experiencing some hallucination.

He let go of his coat, wiped his nose with his arm, and sniffed hard. "No, no—you're not Bruce. You're Batman… You're Batman right now. I can smell that pain…"

The Joker scrunched his face and leaned close to Bruce, sniffing fiercely. "Yes… yes… that fear—the smell of Batman. A metallic stench, a foul odor. I can smell it from two kilometers away. No one else in Gotham has this scent…"

Suddenly, the Joker leapt backward and screamed at Bruce: "Batman! How could you do this?! Why aren't you wearing your suit? Why are you standing at the hospital entrance instead of the rooftop?!"

He tore open his coat again and shouted at Bruce: "Look at me! I've got enough explosives to blow half of Gotham sky-high!"

The Joker waved his arms wildly, spitting saliva as he described to Bruce the image of the mushroom cloud after the explosion.

He swallowed hard, limped over to Bruce, and pressed the bomb against his eye. "You think this is a prop? No! Smell the gunpowder—it's fresh, freshly made, the most delicious bomb ever!"

"

But Bruce seemed completely lost in his thoughts—he'd been like this since leaving the hospital, a classic state of trauma-induced dissociative stupor.

Patients with PTSD, when confronted with or reminded of scenes resembling their trauma, enter a pronounced state of mental freeze; re-experiencing and stupor are hallmark symptoms of trauma syndrome.

As Bruce stepped out of the hospital, he recalled returning to the empty Wayne Manor, and felt overwhelming resistance—it reminded him of the day his parents died.

Gotham's weather is always the same: gloomy days, rainy nights. Though the Waynes died instantly, their bodies were still taken to the hospital for autopsy. Young Bruce sat motionless at the hospital entrance when he left.

Because whenever he imagined returning to Wayne Manor, facing those familiar scenes, he knew two people would be missing—his parents.

The loss of loved ones is an inevitable part of life, yet even after years, the memories of their hospitalization, emergency treatment, death pronouncement, and death certificates remain vividly etched in the mind—and Bruce was no exception.

This stress response requires time to ease, but the Joker had no idea what had happened. He suspected he'd encountered a fake Batman.

He took off his coat, shook it violently, crumpled it into a ball, and thrust it before Bruce. "Look! Bombs! Say it with me: B-O-M-B-S—!"

"

"Don't you recognize it? Don't you remember? The three workers blown up in the chemical plant? The mechanic I killed last time? Don't you recall?"

Seeing Bruce's complete lack of reaction, the Joker stared in shock.

He took a deep breath, stood still, hands on hips, then suddenly jumped with excitement. "Oh! I get it! It's the clothes! Wait a minute!"

With a *whoosh*, the Joker vanished down a narrow alley beside the hospital. Not long after, a truck rumbled by. When he ran back, he was wearing a different suit.

"Batman, look! This is the one I used to wear all the time. Now you recognize me, right? It's me—the Joker! Jack, the greatest comedic performer in the world!"

"

The Joker sniffed hard, swallowed, then tugged at his coat's hem and held it out to Bruce. "Look—there's still blood on it… Whose blood was it? I can't quite remember."

Then he crouched down, pressed his face close to Bruce's, and gazed at him with hopeful eyes. "Do you remember now?"

Bruce shifted his head slightly, glanced at him, then turned it away again.

The Joker pressed his lips together, then pulled them back, baring his teeth in a grotesque snarl.

He bent low, half-squatted, stomped his foot hard, then ran off again. Moments later, he returned wearing the standard work uniform of a truck driver.

"Now do you recognize me? This is the outfit I wore the first time we met! Look at me!"

The Joker spun, waved his arms, flung off his coat and waved it wildly before Bruce—but Bruce gave no response.

When this failed, the Joker resorted to force. He grabbed Bruce's arm, trying to drag him away, but Bruce's body was stiff, his reactions sluggish. The Joker panted heavily, exhausted, yet couldn't move Bruce ten meters.

Still, he refused to give up, determined to drag Bruce to the side of the hospital building.

Bruce was trapped by imagined horrors, but he still had instinctive reactions. He stood and moved with the Joker's pull, but as soon as he reached the hospital's side, his breathing quickened, and he sat down again on a nearby step.

The Joker bent over, hands on knees, gasping for air. His messy hair blocked his view, obscuring his surroundings.

Realizing Batman's state was nothing like he imagined, the Joker suddenly paused. His facial muscles relaxed, and a mocking smile spread across his face.

He pulled a lighter from his pocket, spun it in his hand, and with the other hand in his trouser pocket, staggered toward Bruce, who sat on the step.

He plopped down beside Bruce, flipped open the lighter's lid, and said: "You know, Batman, humans are born with an innate fear of pain—it shatters many disguises…"

He lit the flame and held his finger over it. Soon, he sucked in air sharply, shook his hand, then grinned at Batman. "Actually, I've always wondered—do you even feel pain, Batman? Let's find out?"

He placed the lighter beneath Bruce's fingertip—but Bruce remained unresponsive. *Click*. The lighter snapped shut. The Joker pursed his lips, expression bored.

"Looks like our Batman's finally gone mad. Ha! I knew it—you've never cared for bombs or fire. Fine. Then tell me—what *does* interest you?"

The Joker sat beside Bruce on the steps of a small square beside the hospital.

The Joker looked up at the stream of people entering and leaving the hospital entrance. "You know, people waste so much time in hospitals. They'll spend fortunes treating physical illness, but never ask why their souls are so ugly."

"I know, one day you'll be heartbroken, Batman. You see yourself as a god—but people don't love gods. They only love themselves."

"Do you love them, Batman?" The Joker clenched the lighter in his hand. "Or do you save them only because you want to be a savior, capable of saving anyone?"

"Alright, little bat, wait here," the Joker grinned, revealing a terrifying smile. "I'll find out who gave you this case of lovesickness. I'll make him pay for it."

He stood, swept back his coat with a flourish, slipped the lighter into his pocket, whistled, and walked off with a light step.

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Half an hour later, in the office on the rooftop of the Iceberg Lounge, Cobblepot stepped back two paces and pointed at the Joker. "Don't come closer! Keep those bombs away from me, you madman!"

!"

"Shhh…" The Joker pressed a finger to his lips, signaling silence. "Don't make a sound, you idiot. I heard Batman crying. Did you hear him?"

Cobblepot's face turned as dark as a soot-covered pot. He stared at the Joker's explosives and felt his legs go weak—he knew explosives well. All that gear together could blow the entire East End into the sky.

He swallowed hard. "Jack, go find Batman. Don't go crazy here. I don't have time for your childish games. I need to make money."

The Joker's right cheek twitched violently. He glared at Cobblepot with icy eyes. "You ruined Batman's reputation. You made him heartbroken. Now he's insane—suffering from an incurable psychosis. You must pay for this!"

Cobblepot noticed the Joker's voice trembled, certain words repeated compulsively—clearly, his mental state was deteriorating.

Cobblepot and the Joker were worlds apart. He wasn't insane at all. He ran a restaurant only to make money.

Seeing the Joker pull out a lighter, he raised his hand. "No! Don't! Jack, I didn't publish that article! Someone came to me—they made me do it!"

"Who? Who made you do it?"

"... hiler." Cobblepot spat out the name.

The Joker buttoned his coat, straightened his tie, and stormed out.

Ten minutes later, he was pinned against the rooftop of a building by Shiler.

Shiler released him. The Joker scrambled to his feet and shouted: "What are you doing?! You meddling fool—you broke my toy!"

!"

"That's no excuse for carrying that many explosives into Gotham University."

Watching the Joker's wild eyes, Shiler smiled. "Aren't you curious?"

The Joker stared silently. Shiler continued: "Don't you wonder why Batman helps others?"

"When he performs good deeds, is it because he's kind—or because he craves the identity of a savior, wants to become Gotham's flawless god?"

"Now he can never be that flawless god again. Someone in this city will believe that article. No matter how he clarifies, it will be a permanent stain."

"The name 'Batman' may forever be tied to disgrace. He's no longer a Christ-like figure. No one will look to him for salvation. And now, he's suffering. Why do you think that is?"

Shiler saw the Joker's eyes brighten. His breathing quickened, his throat rattled. He swallowed hard. "Yes—yes! Because… he can't be the perfect god anymore!"

"He should've known. No matter how hard he tries to fix it, some will never believe him. Others will keep cursing him—many of them! It'll be a hole in a car window. No matter how hard the wipers work, that hole won't disappear!"

The Joker began trembling with excitement. "He's forced to leave his favorite dream—the fantasy where he's a god, omniscient, omnipotent, saving everyone—and return to the cold, pale reality. Just like me. Just like everyone in Gotham!"

"

"He has to become the one thing he hates most—Bruce Wayne! He must return to Bruce's life, unable to escape reality anymore! Hahahahahahaha!"

!

"

The Joker laughed until tears streamed down his face. He wiped his eyes and said:

"God loves mankind… God loves mankind… He should wake up. God never loved mankind. God only loves his own perfection."