Chapter 834: The Charm of Education (Part 2)

When night fell, a long-absent shadow appeared atop the building, beside whom stood an even smaller figure.

The two shadows leapt between buildings; the front one wore a cloak, agile and powerful, like a cheetah.

The rear figure, though shorter and slimmer, moved with smoother, more graceful motion, like a bird gliding through the air.

"This is so cool!"

Dick shouted as he ran: "I never knew running and jumping could be this fun!"

！」

"You can go faster!" Batman shouted, then fired his wrist grappling hook and swung to the roof of another building. Dick imitated him; as he landed on the rooftop, he took a deep breath, crouched down, and looked down at the thousand lights below.

He wasn't wearing a costume—just a regular hoodie and sweatpants—but he had donned a Robin mask, beneath which his eyes shone brightly.

"This is amazing! I feel like there's an engine in my lungs, running at full throttle—it hurts a little, but it's incredibly exhilarating!" Dick gasped as he spoke: "I thought I was bad at sports…"

Batman stood beside him, his black suit turning him into a silhouette against the lights. He said: "You have to move to understand how wonderful it feels to exhaust your body…"

"Yes, I feel it!" Dick's mask was gilded by the light. He said: "I want a costume too—black, like yours. It'd be so cool!"

Batman fell silent for a moment, then said: "If you want one, you should first learn how to make it—then you'll know exactly what you need and how to build it."

Dick seemed to want to avoid the topic. He asked: "What's next? Are we going to fight criminals?"

"Yes—but in a more fundamental way."

Half an hour later, the two arrived atop the Living Hell Building. Batman pulled out a notebook from his suit and handed it to Dick: "Now, walk around this area and count how many overpasses there are. Then give it to me."

Dick stared blankly at the notebook and pen in his hands: "What? Do we need to take notes to fight crime?"

"I mean, walk around this area, count the overpasses, write them down, and hand them to me," Batman repeated patiently. "If possible, record the shape and length of each bridge—and check the traffic flow right now."

"You take the south side, I'll take the north. Meet back here in half an hour." With that, Batman jumped down with another notebook, leaving Dick alone in the cold wind, utterly bewildered.

Counting overpasses? What kind of strange mission is this? Dick thought, puzzled. He had imagined his first mission with Batman would involve heart-pounding fights, cunning schemes, epic stories…

But this… counting bridges around Living Hell? Dick couldn't understand it at all.

Still, he'd had a good day. He'd sneaked out to play on the gym equipment while Bruce was away—and got caught. He'd expected Bruce to scold him sternly and force him to do homework.

But instead, Bruce not only let him play—he played with him, even helped him succeed in a nine-roll sequence. Now he was taking him out for a night ride. It was already more than he'd ever dreamed of.

So, despite his confusion, Dick did as told. He circled the southern half of Living Hell, counted every overpass, even sketched their layouts. When he returned to the meeting point, he immediately handed over his notes.

Batman opened the notebook and was surprised: Dick's notes were extremely detailed. Beyond what he'd asked for, Dick had even calculated the traffic volume per minute and recorded the common and official names of every bridge.

Putting the notebook down, Batman caught Dick's gaze. His eyes were always bright, filled with quiet hope. In that moment, Batman felt an unfamiliar emotion stirring within him.

He thought: perhaps, this is the charm of education.

"That's the charm of education…" Schiller's voice came. Jason pulled up the side of his shirt so Schiller could examine his wound. As he checked it, Schiller said: "Theory teaches you much, but so does practice. Practice pushes you to think deeper—and if you feel stuck, it's because you lack some theoretical knowledge…"

"The wound is fully healed—no scar left. But I still need to ask: how exactly did this happen?" Schiller removed the cotton swab, let Jason lower his shirt, then led him to the office's reception area. They sat side by side on the sofa. Jason picked up a glass of water and took a sip:

"The infiltration went smoothly. I got into the hotel disguised as cargo on a delivery truck. But I'd never used carpet before—I didn't know which material leaves footprints. I wasn't careful enough and left a print along the edge of the carpet in the hallway."

Jason sighed: "I was careful—but still left a trace. My shoe size is completely different from an adult's, so the security guard noticed."

"They thought a guest's child had wandered out. They panicked—afraid the hotel would be held liable if the child got hurt."

"One guard found me in the storage closet. I'd planned to hide there and wait for Savage to come out through the door crack. But he just yanked the door open—startled me."

"I didn't look like a guest's kid, and I was soaked in rain. He got suspicious and tried to drag me out. I saw the gun on his hip—I had to run."

"I darted past him, but he grabbed my arm. Before he heard any noise from the storage room, he'd already drawn his knife—and swung back. I got slashed."

Jason shook his head: "The gap between us was too big. He weighed twice what I do. I couldn't fight him head-on—only run."

"But this was also my fault—I acted too hastily, didn't scout properly. If I'd noticed earlier, maybe none of this would've happened."

Schiller picked up his own glass and took a sip. "Did I ever tell you how to subdue someone when there's a huge size difference?"

Jason turned to him, interested. "You know this stuff? You don't look like the fighting type…"

"True—I dislike using violence. But for self-defense, there are techniques."

Jason stared at him, eyes full of hope. "Great! Professor, if you teach me, I can teach the other kids in the gang. They're okay in street fights with kids—but when they face adults, they can't even run away…"

Schiller smiled again, picked up his umbrella, and Jason saw him unfasten the strap—attached with a clasp to the canopy, removable, turning it into a standalone cord.

Schiller gripped both ends of the strap and pulled it taut. "I once heard of a case…"

"A girl, chronically abused by her father, malnourished, nearly powerless—yet she killed him with a shoelace."

"Jason, do you know? When someone sits on a backrest sofa, if their neck aligns correctly with the top of the backrest, a rope pulled from behind will lock their neck—no escape possible."

Jason opened his mouth to speak, but Schiller handed him the strap. "If you ever need to tie an umbrella, this is a good choice. Don't lose it."

Jason took the strap, admiring its silk sheen. His throat moved, but he said nothing. Schiller asked: "You said you were thinking about something. What is it?"

"I… when I heard Bruce say, 'The old order must step aside,' I was shaken."

"I've thought about that phrase countless times—but never knew who to say it to. I wanted to scream: this damn system that exploits us must die—it should've been torn down long ago. But I never shouted it out…"

"Why?" Schiller asked.

"Because I didn't know how to express it. 'The old order'—I didn't know how to phrase it. Maybe my grammar's too weak—I can't think of enough words…" Jason frowned. "I feel there's one single word out there that captures what I mean—but I don't know what it is."

"Then you really should read more," Schiller said. "You can tell me in plain language what you mean. I'll help you find books."

He stood, walked to the bookshelf, and traced the spines with his fingers. "Philosophy… sociology… maybe you need this one?"

Jason sat on the sofa, speaking to himself: "When I first took over the Tail Gang, a gangster broke a kid's leg—just because the kid bent down to pick up a cigarette butt."

"From that moment, I felt rage. But others just said, 'It's fine—he's lucky to be alive. He shouldn't have picked up the butt.' But I was furious."

"That rage pushed me to scream—but I had no words to express it. When I heard his screams, I just wanted every one of those who hurt us to vanish."

"But I knew it wasn't that simple. If I acted recklessly, everyone else would suffer. None of the kids would survive."

"I could move the Tail Gang from here to there—but we'd still be abused elsewhere. We could move again—but we'd always be wandering. Can't we find a place to settle? Where everyone eats, where no one gets bullied?"

"I voiced my opinion—but no one agreed. They said, 'This is good enough. Everyone's lived like this.' Some even warned: 'Don't let anyone hear you say this—or we're all done for.'"

Schiller's hand stopped searching. He stood still, glanced at his watch, and said: "Afternoon class starts soon. I need to go ahead. You stay here and look around."

Without looking back, he left. Jason caught the subtle emphasis in his tone. After Schiller departed, he rose and walked to the bookshelf.

He noticed one book slightly pulled out, tilted between others. He glanced around, then reached out and took it.

He opened it. The first page read:

"A specter is haunting Europe…"