Chapter 797: The Deadly Joke (21)

In the end, Bruce did not choose to return with Selina to her new apartment, because he felt that if he stayed any longer, he might collapse from hypertension even if he didn't collapse from gastroenteritis.

When dating Selina, Bruce had often imagined what kind of environment she lived in, and what kind of upbringing had shaped her into such a captivating person.

At the time, Bruce had no clear concept of the East End; he felt sympathy for everyone there, including Catwoman.

But when he came here, he realized he was the one who needed sympathy—Selina was thriving here.

She was like a fish in a shallow bay; every pebble in this small pond was visible to her eyes—where to rent, how to take transit, how to find work, how to buy things… all the things Bruce had to slowly figure out, she found effortlessly easy.

Of course, this was because Bruce had only been here less than two months, while Selina had lived here for twenty years—but men, especially when facing their girlfriends, always carried extra pride.

And the truths Selina told him made him realize he had truly been deceived, yet also left him feeling lost.

He had heard not a single cry for help, not a single complaint about how miserable life here was.

If other strangers kept quiet out of pride, Bruce recalled that even Selina, who was deeply close to him, had never uttered a single negative word about the slums.

This was truly unbelievable, because Selina was a lucky girl who rose from the slums to the upper class; since dating Bruce, she had visited every high-end restaurant in Gotham and along the entire East Coast, stayed in the finest hotels, traveled with chauffeurs and bodyguards always at her side.

She carried herself like a true aristocrat, having seen the world's excesses. Bruce had once imagined listening to her vulnerable side, her painful past, and wondered if her distance from him stemmed from recognizing the class divide between them.

But today, Bruce realized Selina had never felt inferior because of his background; after experiencing the most luxurious life the world had to offer, she still thrived in the slums.

This was strange, wasn't it? Bruce thought. People strive their whole lives to climb upward, to create better living conditions. It's easy to go from frugality to luxury, but hard to go from luxury to frugality. After living in Wayne Manor, even the best house in hell looked like a shack.

But Selina didn't hate this place at all; she had no intention of letting Bruce Wayne take her away. Bruce even had the strange impression that she preferred life here.

What was there to like about this place?

This question left Bruce confused, because his own experience here had been grueling, so he assumed everyone here must be suffering as if in hell.

But the truth was, once he regained a slightly more objective mindset and stopped being ruled by emotion, he realized the people here weren't pessimistic—in fact, in some ways, they were positively optimistic.

The smiles they showed weren't forced or bitter—they were genuine.

This once again shook Bruce's beliefs. He felt he would wrestle with this question for a long time, and that he needed to stay here to find a true answer.

But soon, he had new troubles.

After Constantine, Gordon, Harvey, Alfred, and Selina, the one person who should have found him sooner finally arrived—Shiler.

It was a night when Bruce was still wandering; in his sleep, Shiler received a call from Victor.

Victor's first words were: "Shiler, I have news to tell you, but please don't get angry—really, stay calm, don't get angry…"

Shiler had just been falling asleep, and being woken by the phone already annoyed him—but since it was Victor, he tolerated it. Then Victor's news made him furious.

Victor told him that his former star student, Bruce Wayne—the Batman—had skipped class for a full month after Shiler relaxed his demands, and missed the first round of internships.

Anyone who has ever been a teacher, parent, or older sibling understands: the most infuriating thing is when you think a troublemaker is finally showing improvement, only for him to smash an even bigger hole in your plans.

Even at Gotham University, skipping class for a full month was a major incident. If any other student had done it, the professor could have written their death certificate with eyes closed—but it was the Batman who skipped.

Though Shiler very much wanted to write him a death certificate, his reason told him the Batman couldn't possibly be dead—and even if he died, he wouldn't stay dead for a full month.

Though Shiler refused to admit it, the Batman had improved significantly. Beyond his existing combat skills and inventiveness, he had grown slightly in interpersonal conduct and emotional intelligence.

Gotham's external environment had also calmed somewhat due to Shiler's meddling; everyone was busy making money, and no one cared about the Batman.

With favorable timing, geography, and circumstances, the Batman's chances of death were extremely low. So if he wasn't dead, why wasn't he attending class?

With this question in mind, Shiler found Bruce, utterly worn out, in the East End.

The moment he saw him, Shiler thought he must be mistaken—he specifically adjusted his visual cells with Gray Mist to confirm he wasn't hallucinating.

When Shiler met Bruce on the street, Bruce wore a dull, dirty coat, his pant cuffs caked with mud, mismatched rain boots, and an umbrella with three broken ribs.

Even more striking was his appearance: a full beard, shoulder-length hair, sunken cheeks, and a large burn scar stretching from his neck to his cheekbones, his entire face marred by chemical dye corrosion.

Seeing this, Shiler nearly shouted "Joker"—until he activated his Spirit Realm vision and confirmed this was indeed Bruce, Bruce Wayne, the man who had once been called Batman over a month ago.

The two locked eyes, silent.

Shiler guessed Bruce had done something, but faced with this version of Bruce, he didn't know what to say.

He stood there for at least two minutes before walking up to Bruce, tapping the ground before his feet with the umbrella.

"Maybe you should just go back and write your thesis."

Bruce froze—he never expected that after two months apart, this professor's first words would be this.

Bruce had never hoped to hear anything kind from Shiler; the professor hated everyone equally.

His logic assumed everyone owed him millions; his speech style aimed to equally shatter every person he spoke to—no one was exempt.

Bruce was certain this was the gentlest thing he'd ever heard from Shiler since meeting him—he hadn't even mentioned skipping class or missing assignments.

Shiler sighed. "No matter how you ended up like this, no matter what you're struggling with, you can still return to school. It's a good place—for anyone, including you, Batman."

"Thank you, but I don't want to go back," Bruce said, and as he spoke, he felt ringing in his ears.

"Then where do you want to go?" Shiler asked, frowning.

"I want to stay here—in the slums. Live here."

Shiler surveyed the surroundings: a chaotic street in the East End, where dark alleys still revealed greedy eyes, watching every living thing.

"Why do you want to stay here?" Shiler asked again.

"Because I want to know what it feels like to live in the slums," Bruce answered bluntly again—his tone was so direct and precise, it didn't sound like him at all.

"Live in the slums?" Shiler frowned, looking puzzled—but Bruce spoke up immediately.

"Professor, have you ever lived in the slums? Do you know what life here is like?"

Shiler paused, searching through his Mind Tower's archives.

He was certain he had never lived in any slum. In his past life, he followed the standard path—graduated, never left the city. Conditions weren't great, but they certainly weren't slums.

Since arriving in this world, in the DC universe, he had lived at Gotham University, then bought an estate—both places far from any slum. The closest he'd come was living in Hell's Kitchen in the Marvel New York.

But that wasn't really a slum—it was more a gang hub, with poor law enforcement but decent living conditions.

True, Hell's Kitchen had once been Manhattan's most notorious slum—but that was long ago. Now, it was extremely close to Manhattan's business district, with commutes under half an hour—prime real estate. Even Stark couldn't call it a slum anymore.

Now it was 1990. Even relatively wealthy East Coast cities still had many slums. Gotham's slums had turned the tables: other cities had mostly normal areas with slums as appendages; in Gotham, normal and wealthy areas were the appendages.

"What are you trying to say?" Shiler asked Bruce.

"Do you know how hard it is to live in the slums?" Bruce asked. No sooner had he spoken than he saw the professor's face twist into deep confusion—and then heard Shiler ask, in a tone of genuine bewilderment:

"Is living in the slums hard? Hard how?"

Then, to Shiler's shock, Bruce offered a stiff, unnatural smile—thin, almost like crying—but he smiled.

The rigid expression vanished instantly. Shiler slowly opened his mouth. "I'm not worried about the slums. I'm more concerned about your mental state…"

"But I'm staying here. I won't go anywhere," Bruce said. "If you want to treat me, you'll have to stay here too."

Shiler pressed his lips together. "You mean you don't want to attend class, and you want me to skip with you? Isn't that a bit excessive, Bruce?"

"Besides, what's so hard about living in the slums? Harder than writing a thesis? You're almost done revising your thesis—can't you handle the slums?"

Bruce looked directly into Shiler's eyes. "Are you willing to try?"

Shiler was genuinely perplexed. "You're not serious, are you? You really think living here is harder than living in the upper class?"

He sighed. "Fine. Since most students are already doing internships, I'll stay here for a while."