Chapter 803

"Batman, in these short two months, you've seen the darkest side of this city—no, perhaps not even the darkest, since you've brought plenty of darkness yourself, far more than just an umbrella."

"Before you came here, you mastered martial arts, invented countless devices, trained relentlessly, maintained an astonishingly healthy body, and kept a razor-sharp mind with no vices."

"You thought you were alone, experiencing life—but in truth, you possess more than anyone here."

"You came to Gotham's slums with these advantages, witnessed how people here live, and realized your first decade-plus had been wasted effort."

"Wherever there is soil for crime, poison will grow. No matter how many flowers you cut, you cannot stop thousands of seeds from taking root."

"You felt despair, comforted yourself with a bitter smile—but you weren't truly laughing; you were merely clumsily imitating…"

Schiller stood still, touched his ear, and said: "I didn't hear you want to laugh. That smile you're showing? It's disgusting."

"But now, you can laugh from the heart, because I am a forgiving man—the most forgiving man in all of Gotham. Even if you collapse before me now, I will not harm you."

"On the contrary, I'd be delighted to return you to Wayne Manor—that's where you belong."

"There, you'll find everything you need: food to fill your stomach, medicine to heal your wounds, a bed for rest, safety, pleasure, warmth. It's time you did this."

"You've seen it, haven't you?" Schiller spread his hands. "You've ruined yourself. You've felt the hardship of the lower classes. This experience is enough to move you for another ten years—isn't that enough?"

"If I send you back tonight, you'll put on your Batsuit again, stand atop Wayne Tower, and pity the world with even deeper sorrow. This time, you haven't paid nothing—this mental and physical toll has left you with near-permanent wounds. You've given too much for them…"

"You didn't need to do this at all. They don't deserve it. Your kindness has left you battered and broken. You hold to your principles—they have none."

"What drove you to do this? Your kindness. Your great sense of justice. Even in the slums, you refused to break the law. That's your moral boundary."

"The slum dwellers can give you nothing, yet you give them so much, suffer so deeply for them. Enough… it's all enough now…"

"So, another Joker offers you a little money—but I can do more. Your body is near its limit. I can return you to Wayne Manor. Rest properly."

"Soon, Alfred will bring you steaming hot meals. Elsa will leap into your arms. Dick will watch you with worry. You'll share family warmth…"

Schiller's voice echoed through the empty, dark chemical plant, carrying an inexplicable allure. Bruce's vision began to blur with hallucinations.

The moisture on his eyelashes, lit by the match's glow, transformed into neon light.

Bruce saw the chandelier of Wayne Manor, shimmering with dreamlike radiance. Beneath it, on a priceless wooden table, dishes of rare delicacies he hadn't seen or tasted in years were being served.

Alfred stood beside him with a smile. Elsa sat in his lap. Dick sat at the side seat. Then Selina arrived in full regalia, kissed his cheek, and called him a hero.

Everyone praised him—for his sacrifice, his boundless compassion, for doing what was unnecessary. All were deeply moved.

Then he heard the click of a camera shutter. Reporters had entered. Everything was witnessed, recorded exactly as it happened.

Batman's bad reputation was finally washed clean. Mansions, restaurants, estates—all praised him.

Even more astonishingly, Bruce Wayne earned the title of a prodigal son. Wayne Enterprises' stock surged. With one more step, he had the makings of a final heir.

Batman's popularity far exceeded expectations. He entered politics.

He sought to change this nation at its roots. As expected, under the dual weight of wealth and fame, he reached the highest position.

Batman announced educational reform, a series of welfare measures for the slums. He succeeded. He completed it all.

Years later, recalling these glorious moments, he told reporters: "It was all because of that single moment of kindness."

He descended into Gotham's lowest depths, felt the hardship of the poor. These two months were the most important of his life. He learned much from those living in the slums…

The dream followed its timeline to its end. The dreamlike glow was fading.

Bruce longed to see it once more—but there were no more matches to strike.

When the little match girl's final match went out, she felt no warmth or satisfaction—only colder than before.

Lying on the cold platform, Bruce's life flashing before his eyes lasted only an instant. At that moment, Schiller's words had just ended.

Bruce felt a force erupting in his chest—like a volcano about to erupt. He had never experienced such intense emotion. He didn't know how to release it.

At that moment, he felt a shadow fall over his head. Schiller walked over, looking down at him. In Schiller's eyes, Bruce saw that familiar, mad grin. He understood: this was the Joker's trap.

Jack helping him wasn't an accident. He hadn't abandoned his mad plans. He never truly wanted to be Batman's mentor. The Joker's goal had always been one: to make Batman laugh.

Schiller crouched down, gripped Bruce's shoulders. "You're about to escape this suffering, Batman. Aren't you glad? If you're glad, then laugh. Laugh from the heart…"

"Let's go, Batman. I'll take you home. You need a good sleep…"

Schiller grabbed Bruce's shoulders, hoisted him onto his back, turned, and carried him toward the platform's staircase.

Just as they neared the railing, Schiller felt a sudden surge of immense power from the man on his back.

Schiller staggered, one hand grabbing the railing—but in the instant his balance faltered, Bruce flipped over the rail, gripping its edge with his hands.

Schiller turned, eyes blazing at Bruce: "What are you doing?!"

"What else do you want?!"

"Batman!"

"Are you insane?!"

"!"

Bruce's hands slid downward—from the horizontal bar to the vertical posts—until only his fingertips clung to the platform's edge.

Beneath him lay a bottomless chemical mixing pool.

The fluorescent liquid's surface shimmered with tiny bubbles, like particles orbiting the sun. A pungent odor spread, inducing dizziness and nausea.

Amid this chaotic, hallucinatory light, only one pair of eyes burned bright. Bruce looked up. His face, against the light, had every scar's groove deepened—but thus, his eyes resembled sapphires buried in rock strata.

"There's… nothing… here… I'm looking for…" Bruce spoke in fragments. "I've experienced… all of life. Understood many things… no need… for more of this…"

He swallowed hard. In this state, even speaking a full sentence was difficult.

"I'm hungry. I'm in pain. I'm exhausted… just like them."

His arms trembled, then his whole body shook—but he still lifted his face, meeting Schiller's gaze from above. "There's one thing left… I haven't done…"

One of Bruce's hands released its grip. Schiller's face twisted in horror. He dropped quickly, reaching for Bruce—but the instant his hand extended, Bruce let go of the last one.

In the moment Bruce was seized by the sun's gravity, his hair lifted upward. He no longer felt weary or heavy—he became light, like a dragonfly skimming water, like a gull gliding on wings.

The sound of impact echoed with his final words:

"There's one last thing I haven't done: become them."

"When facing this mad reality… tell yourself… smile."

As Bruce merged with the sun's light, he smiled—truly, from the heart.

A droplet of spray fell before Schiller. He slowly closed his eyes. The mad expression vanished from his face—but his hand, gripping the railing, did not loosen.

Gotham's silent night was like a dark, mysterious universe.

Soon, dawn arrived. When the sun rose over the horizon, it carried no twilight's mystery or allure—only a unique gloom.

One figure dragged another from the factory's entrance. Behind them, a sun veiled in mist.

Cool morning dew fell, reflecting the shine of polished shoes. As mist rose over the cobblestones, a reverent whisper came:

"If in this world there can be only one smiling Batman… the Laughing Bat—God bless you forever, Amen."