Chapter 828: The Way to Break the Impasse

Generally, students who come for the second-round internship are those who intend to stay in Gotham for employment; otherwise, they would have already secured jobs in other cities by now.

To work in Gotham, dealing with gang members is an unavoidable reality; while academic proficiency matters, you must first learn how to handle these peculiar patients if you want to survive.

Therefore, choosing Arkham Asylum as the location for the second-round internship poses no issue—it may have no true psychiatric patients, but students can still learn much about Gotham's ways of survival here.

Schiller had already alerted all the patients here that a batch of students would be arriving for internship; if they asked questions based on case files, simply answer truthfully.

Anyone, to some degree, has psychological issues; no mind is entirely normal, so even non-typical cases can offer useful experience.

Schiller hadn't expected to see Bruce here, since clearly, Bruce couldn't have built a gang in such a short time.

Since he hadn't truly established a gang, his presence here must involve some deceptive or ambush tactic.

It seems he became more perceptive earlier than I imagined, Schiller thought; yet now, Schiller no longer worried about him failing to graduate due to insufficient credits.

After all, he had participated in the second-round internship—even if as a patient, he had still participated.

Soon, Bruce was surrounded; his former classmates asked him various questions in awkward, halting ways to assess his current mental state.

Bruce could only dutifully play the role of a young, newly risen gang boss, answering their highly pointed questions.

Schiller waited nearby, watching; after a while, he glanced at his watch and said, "I'll check on other groups. It's nearly lunchtime—when you're done, just go eat together. Don't wait for me; I'm returning to my office to handle some matters."

He left. Bruce's gaze remained fixed on Schiller—he clearly wanted to speak with him, but before he could find an excuse to leave, his classmates surrounded him again.

Bruce urgently wanted to speak with Schiller, yet these students from Group Three were all top graduates in candidacy; they were deeply passionate about learning and eager to secure the "Outstanding Graduate" title. Having finally caught a patient, they naturally sought enough information to gain an advantage.

Bruce answered them while glancing toward the door; finally, lunchtime arrived, the other students left, and only Yin Wensi remained.

Bruce hurried toward the exit, but Yin Wensi blocked him and said, "Which territory do you lead? I've never seen you before."

Bruce touched his mask and said, "My Lord, my territory lies near Wayne Tower—I'm newly risen, so it's normal you haven't seen me…"

Yin Wensi narrowed his eyes. "Wayne Tower? That's the Twelve Families' territory. Which one did you kill? Didn't their family come after you?"

Bruce sighed. "My Lord, aren't you hungry? The cafeteria's downstairs—shall I escort you there?"

Yin Wensi grew more puzzled. Though he wasn't the Don—Alberto was—he and Alberto shared memories. When the old Don retired and Yin Wensi officially took over the Falcone family, everyone had praised this new Don.

This strange stranger seemed more concerned with Professor Schiller than with him. Gotham had such a gang boss? Yin Wensi didn't know whether to call him fearless or suicidal.

But Bruce had no time to tangle with Yin Wensi—he had too many questions for Schiller, and strode quickly toward Schiller's office.

Yin Wensi found it odd, so he followed behind. Bruce wanted to shake him off but feared Schiller might leave early, so he ignored him; the two rushed into Schiller's office, one behind the other.

Inside, Schiller was reviewing students' initial diagnosis reports. Seeing them enter, he adjusted his glasses and said, "You're here? Sit down."

"Yin Wensi…" Schiller first waved him over. "Bring your brother out. We need to talk."

Yin Wensi froze—and at that moment, he saw Bruce remove his mask.

Bruce's facial injuries had nearly healed; apart from being slightly thinner, his original features were clearly visible. Yin Wensi widened his eyes in shock. "Bruce?! What are you doing here? How are you still… I mean, how could you possibly…"

"Enough, don't be so startled," Schiller soothed. "Mr. Wayne has taken a keen interest in the second-round internship and volunteered as a patient. You'll still need to examine him this afternoon. Now, call your brother—we have serious matters to discuss."

Seeing Schiller's serious expression, Yin Wensi said nothing, nodded, paused, then changed his demeanor. "Teacher, you called for me?"

"Sit down," Schiller pointed to the chair before him. "I hear the Twelve Families have all changed their stance. Is that right, My Lord?"

Alberto shook his head. "Titles don't matter. They show me respect because I've fully taken over all Falcone family assets—the old Don holds no power anymore."

"And this, I owe to one person…" Alberto glanced at Bruce. "A madman in a red hood, driving a truck full of children, crashing into the North District and confronting the old Don."

"For forty years, Gotham hasn't seen such boldness. The old Don felt the time had come—his rule must end."

"That night, he summoned me to his room and spoke at length." Alberto shook his head. "He spoke to me—not to Yin Wensi."

"We hadn't had such a heart-to-heart in years. I should have been happy…"

Bruce looked at him. Alberto's face bore solemnity—not the exhilaration of seizing power.

He heard Alberto say: "Gotham's situation is worse than I imagined. No—worse still is the condition of the Twelve Families. They teeter on the brink of collapse."

Bruce and Schiller narrowed their eyes. Though both knew Gotham well, neither had ever ruled it; their understanding of the Twelve Families at the top remained limited.

Hearing this, Schiller asked, "What happened? Explain."

"Perhaps you've heard: the Spencer family's eldest daughter and their youngest son, just returned from out of town, are locked in bitter conflict. Old Spencer can't stop them. If this continues, the Spencer fortune will be split in two—and the Twelve Families' name will vanish."

"What exactly happened?" Schiller frowned. "A few days ago, my neighbor said there was a violent clash at Old Spencer's birthday banquet—someone was injured?"

Alberto nodded. "Correct. I was there that day…"

As he recalled, the ballroom lights brightened. Gang members in suits entered from the red carpet, adjusted their ties, tapped their shoes, and stepped into the dazzling hall.

"Hey! Char, you old bastard—you're still alive! Come here! How many years since we last met? Ten…" Old Spencer approached, patting another elder's back. "Time flies…"

"Indeed," Char replied. "You damn old squirrel, back when we were still loitering at the docks, you swore you'd throw a grand birthday party, invite me, and make Marina dance the Persian with me…"

Char shook his head. "Marina died two months ago. Thankfully, her grandson was filial—he held a Catholic funeral. We both had no time to attend…"

Old Spencer's face softened with nostalgia. "Marina was the most beautiful girl among the young faction then. Too bad she married that French fool—he deserved to die."

As they reminisced, they walked into the hall. Old Spencer pulled forward a young man with the same red hair, introducing him: "This is my son. When he was born, you and Liv hugged him—you called him a sturdy little colt."

Char patted the young man's back. "So long since we last met—your little son's grown so big. Come, let's talk over there…"

They moved to another spot when footsteps echoed on the stairs. A woman in an elaborate gown descended, her beautiful red hair cascading like a waterfall, her stunning face radiating commanding presence.

The moment she appeared, Old Spencer and his son's expressions changed—but more guests surged toward her, showering her with flattery.

"That damn bitch…" the younger Spencer muttered. But Old Spencer glared fiercely. "Shut up, you fool—she's your sister!"

"My sister?!" the younger Spencer raised his voice. "She's a bitch trying to steal the Spencer fortune!"

Char glanced at the younger Spencer and, where Old Spencer couldn't see, sneered.

Then he turned to the woman at the center of attention, narrowed his eyes, and shifted his gaze—as if calculating.

Char was a veteran gang boss. Though his family had declined, he still ranked among Gotham's notable figures.

He and the Spencers were longtime allies; his wife Liv was a distant cousin of Old Spencer. The families had always maintained ties, so they knew each other's affairs intimately.

Old Spencer's son and daughter weren't from the same mother. The eldest daughter, Freya Spencer, was born to his first wife, who later died. He remarried and had this son.

His second wife was an outsider—a West Coast actress. When the boy was born, Old Spencer noticed his extraordinary intellect and planned to raise him personally.

But his second wife wept and screamed, demanding he send their son to the best university. Old Spencer, blinded by emotion, sent him away in high school—he was gone seven or eight years. When he returned, Gotham had changed beyond recognition; no one knew him.

Old Spencer never favored his daughter, so he never trained her. Yet Freya Spencer was exceptionally gifted, stunningly beautiful, and emotionally astute—she was famous throughout Gotham's social circles and possessed formidable connections.

This created a problem: when the favored son returned, he was utterly outmatched by his sister.

But the son had studied economics and management, understood family business well, and attracted many followers. The daughter, with deep roots and wide networks, also had loyal supporters.

If one side were dominant and the other weak, it'd be manageable. But this balance of power meant constant conflict: today you force me to surrender shares, tomorrow I cut off your production line. The Spencer fortune was being torn apart.

Old Spencer had a poor relationship with his daughter, yet he wasn't close to his son after years apart.

The daughter believed her father had caused her mother's death; the son believed his father had failed to protect his mother. Old Spencer was damned either way.

With no authority over his children, he might have held power—but his own talent fell short of theirs. As soon as the struggle began, he lost control.

Alberto sighed. "Old Spencer's son is a naive outsider—he doesn't understand Gotham's rules. At the banquet, he couldn't hold back and tried to strike his sister."

"Miss Spencer wasn't passive. She'd just had her nails done—she flicked her hand and slashed her brother's eye, leaving him a one-eyed man before his time…"

"Now it's a mess. The Spencer family became a joke among the Twelve Families. The son tried to attack his sister at his father's birthday party—and got injured instead. The banquet started with bloodshed within minutes. It's a disgrace to the family name."

"In the past, the Don might have intervened. But now, the Falcone family is busy making money—who has time for other families' domestic squabbles?"

"They don't want to be among the Twelve Families? Plenty of others want the spot. I even said the other day: the Spencers' decline is perfect for the Oswald family to take their place. I'm betting on Cobblepot…"

Schiller and Bruce exchanged glances. They realized their concerns aligned. Finally, Schiller spoke:

"How common is this situation among the Twelve Families?"

Alberto frowned. "From my and Yin Wensi's memories, such cases have been increasing in recent years."

"The Twelve Families rarely lack money—especially the heads' households. They vacation annually, own home theaters and endless DVDs. Children raised in such homes often refuse to stay in Gotham—they crave escape."

"With gang leadership changing so rapidly, if you're absent for a few years, you might return and not recognize half the people. If another child emerges in the family, competing with the heir becomes nearly impossible."

Alberto shook his head. "Many second-generation gangsters who leave are sharp and visionary—they want reform. But most current leaders are from the old generation, like the old Don—they despise these reckless newcomers."

"They want to preserve the old order, so they suppress these youths by backing other heirs. But the other side won't yield. Over the past few years, family conflicts have multiplied. The old Don couldn't mediate every dispute—many issues must be resolved internally."

Alberto's expression grew grave. "That's why I feel such pressure. Since taking power, the new generation expects me to abolish these rules and grant them freedom, while the old guard expects me to uphold order on their behalf…"

"What do you think?" Bruce asked.

Alberto nodded. "If you were in my position, you'd see clearly: these rule-breakers cause immense trouble—they're impulsive, reckless. But those raised within the system are rigid, lacking creativity."

"If I must choose, I lean toward the intelligent ones…" Alberto rubbed his temples wearily. "I can't even communicate with many uneducated men—it's like we speak different languages. Their comprehension is truly flawed."

"Take logistics: those who've never studied, bound only by rules, can't grasp why road construction must pass through their territory—or why their business suffers. They see only short-term gains and losses…"

"The educated are reasonable—they're willing to sacrifice present gains for long-term returns. But they're loud, arrogant, convinced only they're right and everyone else is stupid…"

Schiller smiled. "This isn't unique to Gotham—it's a global problem. Enforcing rigid rules suppresses creativity, yet letting everyone run wild leads to chaos."

"I've been pondering this for days," Bruce said. "If the lower class lacks education due to survival struggles, Gotham's upper class lacks it too—due to its unique gang rules, its breakneck competition, and rapid turnover. Uneducated leaders guide the uneducated, trading everyone's future for present prosperity."

Schiller shook his head. "Gotham's people aren't uneducated—they're educated in social rules and practical skills, not systematic learning. The flaw? No stable upward path for talent; overall thinking and logic don't improve."

"This imbalance persists because Gotham holds geographic and industrial advantages. But long-term, the weaknesses will surface—especially if technology explodes and human connections intensify. Falling behind could shatter entire economic chains, plunging the city back into chaos."

Schiller glanced at the calendar. "It's 1990. I believe what I've described won't be far off."

Bruce and Alberto frowned. These two were the least likely to leave Gotham. Other gang bosses could flee after amassing wealth—but they couldn't abandon this city.

Bruce pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket. "I want to raise Gotham's education level—but it's not simple."

"To raise education, people must attend school. But to let them attend, we must ensure they survive outside school hours."

"To achieve that, they need to earn more money in less time. To earn more, we need more and better jobs. To create better jobs, we need industry growth and economic advancement. But industry growth requires talent—and talent requires education…"

By the end, Bruce was gritting his teeth. It felt like a noose around his neck—each thought tightened it further, until he choked on despair.

"There are industries that bring quick money…" Bruce added. "But they're unhealthy—unsustainable, incapable of providing stable jobs. The profits aren't invested in education."

"Actually, our starting point is good," Alberto said. "Built on the previous era's accumulation, Gotham's economy is strong—not yet at the point where all classes are collapsing."

"But most wealth flows upward through the gang system, concentrating in the Twelve Families. Yet they don't invest in education—because their gang system doesn't require it. Why waste money?"

"The problem is this: if I use violence to dismantle the gang system, it won't hurt the rich—it'll crush the poor," Bruce said, inhaling deeply. "Gang bosses can leave anytime—they've earned enough to live luxuriously elsewhere."

"But if the gang system collapses, those who can't flee, no longer bound by rules, will seek survival through plunder. The only way left is war. When everything is taken by force, the unarmed civilians become the greatest victims."

"That's the problem…" Shiler drank some water. "Many people think Gotham is already terrible, but in truth, it hasn't hit rock bottom yet. Some may believe the gang rules are already cruel, but in fact, they maintain stability and ensure most people can survive—even if poorly, struggling just to live, at least they live."

"Once the rules collapse instantly, the city's capital and economy are completely drained—then Gotham will truly have no cards left to play."

Shiler looked up at the door, as if seeing a future. "At that time, all kinds of madmen will take turns appearing; this place will become a hell without order. Neither Batman nor any other hero will have the ability or means to solve this problem at its root—they can only act like drinking poison to quench thirst, striking down one criminal at a time, saving one person if they can…"

Bruce tightened his grip on the armrest. He understood Shiler's meaning: if Gotham were a person, its current state resembled Bruce himself after falling into the chemical pool.

His entire skin had been corroded away, exposing muscle and bone; his appearance was utterly unrecognizable. For an ordinary person, such total corrosion of skin tissue would be impossible to survive.

But forty years ago, someone gave Gotham an adrenaline shot, riding the tide of the times, establishing a gang system that kept the wound from rotting or infecting.

Forty years have passed; the drug's effect is nearly over. Though this drug saved Gotham's life, it was addictive. Once its effects fade, not only will the injuries worsen, but withdrawal symptoms will emerge.

Currently, the damage hasn't reached the vital organs, but if this continues, decay will slowly spread from skin to bone to internal organs. By then, no surgery on any single part could save it.

To perform a full surgical reconstruction on a person whose skin, bones, and organs are all completely rotted—Batman cannot do it. Bruce Wayne cannot do it. Even if the two of them combined, they could not.

Many believe the most condemnable trait of Batman as a comic character is that he has the ability to save Gotham by other means, yet insists on punching criminals.

But from Shiler's perspective, standing in present-day Gotham, Batman's later actions were likely not due to ignorance—they were simply too late.

Gang order is still order. As long as there is order, it won't rot completely. But in the original comics, when Batman became Batman, Gotham's gang order had already reached its end; what followed was an era of madmen.

Why did that era produce so many madmen? Because the soil itself was no longer order—it had become pure chaos. There was no education, no economy, no culture, no upward mobility, no escape.

At that time, even if Wayne Enterprises was the richest corporation on Earth, for a private company to save such a megacity under such a system was like dreaming in broad daylight.

No corporation in this world dares claim it can save a post-war New York. The rescue costs, construction costs, resettlement costs, and later education and development costs—no single corporation, not even a small nation, could afford them without being utterly drained.

In this world, things that defy the current are rare. Most historical cycles fall irreversibly downward. Once something drops below a certain threshold, the cost to save it exceeds the cost to destroy it—and it is almost doomed.

All Batman could do in that era was keep Gotham barely above the threshold, preventing its evil from spilling over. If its madness became too extreme, destruction became his only option.

"Though I don't agree with Batman's 'save one person at a time' philosophy—I think it's too passive—I will never say, 'You can't save Gotham this way; you should save it like this…'" Shiler drank water. "No company, no individual in this world possesses the ability to save this city alone."

"I once foolishly believed one of my identities alone could save Gotham," Bruce said slowly. "After I deeply understood all of this, after I grasped the city's truth, I realized—even Wayne Enterprises and Batman combined struggle. And it's already ten years too late."

"Let's return to our current goal," Shiler said, easing the heavy atmosphere.

He said: "My goal is to establish a normal learning environment in Gotham, so that family education, social education, and school education complement each other instead of dragging each other down. The most important goal is systemic education."

"Even without mandatory universal education, Gotham must at least cultivate an atmosphere where education is valued—not, as now, where being educated is shameful. That is unbearable for any teacher."

After Shiler finished, Alberto spoke: "The Falcone family now sits atop the pyramid, but we all know this cannot last. Many flaws have already surfaced; this system no longer suits the times. When the pyramid collapses, those at the top fall hardest."

"I hope the Falcone family lands gently—even if it loses its dominant position. I hope my father can enjoy his final years in peace."

After Alberto finished, Bruce fell silent for a long time, then spoke: "I only want this city to improve—or at least become normal—no longer rotting further."

"I hope no more tragedies occur. I hope nothing slides further into darkness, but moves toward light—never returning to night again."

All three fell silent for a moment. Shiler spoke again: "So we agree—the Gotham system must undergo fundamental change, correct?"

Alberto and Bruce both nodded. Shiler continued: "Now, let's examine the difficulties. I see two. First: if we use excessive violence to completely overthrow the gang system, the city will plunge into chaos for a long time."

"Second: once reform begins, the human and material resources required will be enormous. Once you pull the trigger, there's no turning back. If you try to stop halfway, the sunk costs will be unrecoverable."

"I think there's a third point," Alberto said. "The state legislature never interferes with us, and we never pay them any mind—but if we make major moves here, won't they object?"

Hearing this, Bruce thought Alberto had changed his nature—until he heard Alberto say: "So shouldn't we first create some legislative seats for the state legislature, then bribe them?"

"Not yet," Shiler said, stroking his chin. "Wait until the broad strategy is settled."

Bruce felt out of sync with them. He had a bad feeling—he had become the minority on moral grounds. If they voted soon, he'd be at a disadvantage.

"There's another difficulty," Bruce said. "We say we're acting for the people of Gotham—but they may not see it that way. Whether they're from the underclass or gang members, if we truly threaten their livelihood, they'll resist fiercely."

Shiler nodded and noted it down. The three discussed further, ultimately categorizing all problems into these three types.

"First point: if we reform, it's like stabbing the gangs. They won't let it pass. What method do you think is best?" Shiler posed the question.

Alberto thought a moment: "I think we should avoid excessive violence. Though I prefer speed, precision, and a killing blow, if we provoke them into fierce retaliation, not just the gangs but ordinary citizens may suffer. If we damage the foundation, it's nearly impossible to repair."

Bruce paused. "I know my view may seem radical, but I believe violence may be the only way."

"But haven't you considered that under these rules, the vast majority are related to the gangs in some way? If your methods are too extreme, fierce retaliation is inevitable…"

Bruce paused again, as if hesitating whether to speak further. After a long silence, he said: "To solve this problem at its root, we must violently overthrow the system from the bottom up."

"To eliminate class disparity…" Bruce paused again, sensing his words were too blunt. He hesitated, then continued: "You can't rely on top-down reform. Those who hold resources won't give them up. Only violence works."

To Bruce's surprise, Shiler remained calm. He looked at Bruce: "In a sense, you're right. But the question is—who are you? Are you proletarian?"

"I…" Bruce paused again. His entire life had never touched the word "proletarian." Shiler continued: "The reason class conflict can only be resolved through violence is because capitalists never awaken. Have you awakened? Must the Wayne family be utterly torn apart, its corpse used to nourish everyone?"

"Or do you believe the ones who tear apart the Wayne family and distribute its corpse will be fairer, more capable than you?"

Bruce fell silent, thinking. He suddenly realized—he had misread that book. He'd forgotten the biggest question: he was a capitalist. The world had—or perhaps had never had—a capitalist who wanted to save the world.

If he continued to identify with the underclass, violence truly was the only solution. Capital's flow is always ruthless; greed is its core trait. No capital can awaken, nor can the class it represents.

But Batman was special. He was a man with a savior's heart—and willing to pay a price beyond imagination.

Bruce Wayne had stayed up all night last night, reading every Marxist work, absorbing parts of them into his own thinking.

More strangely, while reading them, he had identified with the underclass—perhaps because of his past living in the slums.

Regardless, Batman remained a hero with compassion. His obsessive traits, when he hadn't found his path or awakened, looked like madness.

But when he chose his own path, those same traits became immense power and support, allowing him to firmly carry out his will.

Bruce remained silent for a long time, then spoke: "I want the one who changes Gotham to be me—not just because I want to control the city, but because I don't trust anyone else."

Bruce took a deep breath. No one noticed the faint tremor in his voice. "Alfred often tells me people change. I can't wait for a savior to emerge from the underclass, nor can I expect one to remain steadfast."

"You can certainly do it yourself," Shiler concluded. "And you've underestimated yourself—you've exaggerated the difficulty."

"First, you're not a Gotham underclass civilian, nor a gang boss. These two experiences were merely steps to understand Gotham's structure—not the whole."

"If you truly were one of those two classes, you'd first need to break your own class shackles, then lead your peers to break the rules, seize power, and only then implement sweeping reform."

"But from start to finish, you've always been Bruce Wayne and Batman. When these two identities combine, you can skip this entire process."

"Skip it?" Bruce frowned.

Shiler suddenly changed the subject: "Gotham has nearly used all its cards—but one legendary card remains unplayed."