“... Sal, like his partners, is a bit clever. I remember the first time I saw him; he was a naive young man who had just arrived in Gotham, leading a few people to extort freight ship owners at the Wharf. Before long, he was taken under the wing of Lauren from the red-light district. That redhead took him around that block, and he quickly bought his first bar. That was more than twenty years ago...”
Falcone sat in his chair, smoking a cigar and reminiscing. He said, “Sal won’t let that Police Director go. Even if he wants to extract some information from him, he will eventually die. You can change your condition. For example, is there anyone else you want to kill, or any other trouble you want to solve?”
“My trouble comes from Metropolis, so I won’t bother the Godfather.”
Falcone’s eyes shifted slightly, glancing at him. He said, “The few guys I helped you deal with seem to have a significant background. Who exactly have you provoked?”
Schiller looked up and said, “Mr. Godfather, I think I might be the longest-living tutor for your son.”
Falcone tapped the table with the end of his cigar and said, “You work for me, so of course, I won’t let trouble find you. But you involved yourself in those strange things, and now you’re hiding here…”
“Aren’t you afraid I’ll drag the Falcone Family down with me?”
Falcone turned his chair back around. He said,
“When has the Falcone Family ever been ashore? From the day I arrived in Gotham, I knew that we are all rotten bones in a sunken ship, and we should never think of going ashore.”
Then he sighed softly.
“...But my son thinks differently.”
The younger Falcone, Evans Falcone, is different from the Old Godfather. He is full of passion and believes he can rectify Gotham’s order himself.
That’s right, although he is the future heir of a gang family, he genuinely wants to reorganize Gotham’s order, but this order is built on violence, not truly creating a utopia.
To be honest, his idea might even be more normal than Batman’s. Absolute violence brings absolute authority, and absolute authority controls everyone. The only question is whether the younger Falcone truly has this ability.
After a while, the butler stood outside and knocked on the door. Evans stood behind him. When he walked in and saw Schiller, he was visibly stunned, then turned to the butler and whispered, “Do you remember me mentioning forgetting to bring homework or forgetting to turn in homework recently?”
The butler shook his head. Evans visibly relaxed. Schiller stood up and said, “Evans?”
“You know each other?” Falcone asked.
“Father, this is my University Professor. I remember I mentioned to you that I needed to write a Psychology assignment.”
Before Falcone could say anything, Evans said, “I’m sorry, Professor. If there’s any problem with my recent assignments, it might be because I’ve been busy lately and neglected them. If you’re not satisfied, I can rewrite them immediately.”
Then he moved his lips and turned to Falcone, saying, “Father, the recent matters in the eastern block have kept me quite busy, perhaps causing me to neglect my studies. I’m truly sorry that Professor Schiller came to visit you.”
Schiller understood that Evans had misunderstood, thinking he was there for a home visit. In reality, Evans was terrified.
He had long heard of Schiller’s fearsome reputation: “Wherever he goes, death follows,” “collector of serial killers,” scolding Bruce Wayne in class for not submitting homework and even sending him withdrawal notices…
Schiller, the homework-chasing maniac, was famous throughout Gotham University. No Professor had ever so strictly demanded students submit homework. No matter who it was, if they dared not submit homework, they would surely receive a humiliating barrage of sarcasm in his class, even if you were Bruce Wayne, the chairman of the Gotham University board.
But Evans never expected that he would run to the Godfather of Gotham’s largest gang family to chase him for homework!
Evans sighed inwardly, “Is this Professor crazy? No wonder he scolded Bruce Wayne like a drowned dog, and even the new principal, Sheldon, avoids him.”
As the heir to a gang family, Evans originally didn’t believe those wild rumors, but now he certainly did. If it weren’t for some mental issues, who would run to the Godfather for a home visit?
It wasn’t Schiller’s fault for being so particular about homework. His mindset hadn’t shifted from his teaching style in his previous life. It’s important to know that many students couldn’t memorize those voluminous Psychology texts and often didn’t get very high scores on their final exams. At such times, to pass, they could only rely on their usual grades to pull them up. But if they didn’t even do their homework, and thus had no usual grades, the passing rate would definitely be terrifyingly low.
If the passing rate was too low, his evaluation would certainly be affected. Although Gotham University had no reliable Professor evaluation system, and no one cared whether students passed or failed, Schiller was already accustomed to it from his previous life. He felt he hadn’t even used thirty percent of his power, and these students at Gotham University, who had grown up with happy education, had already broken down.
If they were thrown into the university where Schiller taught in his previous life, just a small in-class essay could overwhelm them. You know, those students wrote twenty thousand words for small essays and completed large essays to the standard of publishing a book.
So he couldn’t understand why some people couldn’t even meet the word count for a small essay that only required less than 3,000 characters. Moreover, English essays inherently have fewer words than Chinese essays; a standard 3,000-character essay would only be about 2,000 words. Why couldn’t they complete it?
So, after Schiller used various methods to relentlessly chase homework, three-quarters of the people in his class finally submitted their assignments. This, of course, included Evans, and he was even one of the better ones. He basically submitted every assignment, met the word count for each, and the content was quite good. He even achieved first place two or three times.
Schiller felt that such good students should be praised. They were both freshmen, but look at that good-for-nothing Bruce. In a two-thousand-word essay, transition words could take up one-third, meaningless modifiers and descriptions another one-third, and what was left was just “the” and “a.” Others’ dashes were only two characters long, but he could write a long row, and even then, he had the nerve to ask Schiller to help him pass.
Falcone frowned slightly. He said, “In that case, how is Evans performing in school? Are there any problems with his homework? What about his exam scores?”
Evans took a deep breath. Schiller said, “In fact… he’s doing very well. Anna, who teaches Advanced Mathematics, also told me that Evans is quite good at science. At least, I’d be willing to offer him a spot in graduate school. He has some talent in Psychology.”
Evans breathed a sigh of relief. Seeing his son’s performance, Falcone directly said:
“From now on, Professor Schiller will be your tutor.”
Evans flinched, a chill running down his spine, but he dared not question his father’s decision, only saying, “Yes, Father.”
Falcone gripped the armrests of his chair, stood up, and said, “It seems I’ll have to deal with those troubles you brought from Metropolis for you.”
Schiller shook his head and said, “This is a huge trouble. I don’t think the price I’m paying is worth you doing that.”
Falcone said, “Becoming my son’s tutor is indeed not enough, but if you become a friend of the Falcone Family, we will resolve all troubles for our friends.”
“Behind Metropolis lies a colossal dark Vortex that no one can imagine. I escaped from there, but I lost many things. People in Gotham don’t need to get involved in Metropolis’s affairs, do they?”
Falcone shook his head. He took another puff of his cigar and said, “You still don’t understand me enough, Master. Forty years ago, I came to Gotham alone. No one had ever heard the name Falcone then. Thirty years ago, I became the Master of three streets. There was no Falcone Family yet…”
“I don’t want to boast about my achievements, but I ruled Gotham for forty years, ruling this City once called hell.”
Falcone pressed the end of his cigar against the table, smoke rising between his fingers. He said, “So you just need to answer ‘Yes,’ and all the troubles you once suffered will bid you farewell.”
Schiller looked at him. Falcone’s expression was calmer than Schiller had imagined.
Schiller thought, this Falcone is clearly not the small-time villain from Batman’s novice period in the comics. He is the undisputed Godfather of Gotham, the uncrowned king of Gotham City.
Even without Batman, Gotham City was never peaceful. This Godfather ruled here for forty years. Such a person could not be as foolish and short-sighted as depicted in the comics.
Finally, Schiller stepped forward. He kissed Falcone’s right hand and said, “…God bless Gotham, Godfather.”
Schiller rolled the emphasis of the last word in his mouth. Falcone heard this subtle difference, but he didn’t mind.
Regardless of how glorious he had been for these forty years, the Godfather was truly old, and the heir to the Falcone Family was far from mature enough.
Falcone thought, perhaps the kingless era of Gotham was about to arrive.