On a morning in Gotham City, still shrouded in smog, Schiller stretched and sat up from his bed. He had just settled down in Marvel and enjoyed a few days of leisure when he discovered S.H.I.E.L.D. Agents appearing near his Psychology clinic again.
Those people were like gum that couldn't be shaken off. Perhaps that was true for ordinary people; even Stark, the wealthy magnate of that World, was still annoyed by them and helpless.
But Schiller was different. After being annoyed by the young Batman in Gotham, he could simply pack up and leave, going to Marvel to enjoy some peace. Now that he was being watched by Agents in Marvel, he could choose to leave again and come to Gotham to hide.
The Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. had no idea how Schiller disappeared. His departure left no traces; there were no train or plane tickets, and his figure was not seen at any road intersections. This only strengthened Nick Fury's conviction that Schiller was by no means an ordinary person.
Upon returning to the DC World, his colleague, the future Scarecrow Jonathan, had not discovered that his Fear Toxin had been stolen, because Schiller was not greedy; he only took a small test tube's worth.
After all, he wasn't like Scarecrow, who used Fear Toxin to create terrorist attacks. He only needed to deal with a few low-level gang members, and he didn't need any high-tech equipment to spray the toxin. He just needed a small spray bottle, and by spraying it at an ordinary person's nose, this concentrated Fear Toxin became the best weapon, as those gang members couldn't possibly have Batman's reaction speed.
While studying this toxin, although Schiller didn't have systematic chemical knowledge, he at least knew how to make the best use of it. Besides spraying it as a weapon, Schiller found that this initial version of Fear Toxin seemed impure. Besides inducing fear, it could also induce some other negative emotions. This was the best news for a psychologist, as treatment couldn't proceed if the patient was unwilling to reveal his inner emotions.
Schiller found that he could completely use Fear Toxin, diluted hundreds of times, as perfume on himself. He didn't know why, perhaps it was due to the system, but this toxin had no effect on him, yet it could cause people who approached him to be infected with a small amount of negative emotions.
That's right, Schiller planned to use this trick against the inexperienced Bruce, who was the young Batman.
The current Batman was not the omniscient old man he would later become. Bruce was still too young, having just traveled the World and learned many skills. He was eager to begin his revenge plan. He put on the initial version of the Batman suit, took his Batman Batarangs, and wanted to fight crime. In his eyes, spending hundreds of millions to build equipment was a simple matter, but he hadn't yet realized that what truly made him Batman was not these external things, but the spirit deep within him.
Clearly, Batman still had a long way to go in his growth, and Schiller, for his own safety and a stable life in Gotham in the future, had no choice but to serve as the young Bruce's mentor.
It was another ordinary morning. For Bruce, encountering Schiller in the rainy night was just last night's event. Schiller called out his real name, and Bruce wasn't surprised. He knew this person must have something extraordinary about him.
Perhaps it was superpowers, or perhaps magic. During his travels around the World, he had seen many such people, and he also knew that this World was far from as simple as ordinary people imagined, with many incredible forces lurking and observing.
Bruce knocked on the psychologist's door again. A steady and deep "Come in" came from inside.
Somehow, Bruce felt a sense of relief, because the response came very quickly. Clearly, the person inside knew who he was and was happy to let him in.
Batman hated all mystery and nihilism, and so did Bruce. In his opinion, Schiller's attitude meant that perhaps he would tell Bruce what was going on, instead of continuing to evade and conceal, or play word games with him.
Bruce sat down opposite Schiller again. Bruce said, "Professor, it seems you're in a good mood today."
"Mr. Wayne, it seems you're not in a good mood today," Schiller said. "I thought you'd come and pour me a cup of coffee like on the first day."
He spread his hands, indicating the empty desktop. "You know, I deliberately didn't make coffee this morning, waiting for you."
Bruce was silent for a moment, but still got up to make Schiller a cup of coffee.
Schiller actually just found it interesting to drink coffee brewed by Batman himself, but Bruce thought it was a test, or a technique of mental interference, using words to force the other party to act according to his command. Well, thinking that way, it probably fit Schiller's persona better: a mad Doctor obsessed with the study of Psychology and spiritualism.
Schiller took a sip of hot coffee, which dispelled the chill that permeated his body due to Gotham's cold weather. Bruce spoke first:
"Why were you there last night?"
"I don't understand what you mean."
"If you wanted to hide, you should have worn a mask last night, instead of choosing to deny it now after I've seen your face."
Schiller put down the coffee cup, making a crisp sound on the desktop. He said, "I'm not denying that you saw me last night. I'm asking you, why would you, with hundreds of millions in wealth, not donate and set up charitable foundations, but instead wear a ridiculous tight suit, and run around the streets of Gotham City in the heavy rain, fighting hand-to-hand with some thugs?"
Faced with this question, Bruce was silent.
"This isn't a rhetorical question..." Schiller said, "You don't need to think about how to answer, because I will answer you."
"Because your fundamental purpose is not to help, but to retaliate."
"This is the answer you gave me," Bruce said.
"No, I just saw the answer in your heart," Schiller said.
"I don't believe there's such a thing as mind-reading in this World."
"Of course there's no such thing as mind-reading in this World. It's just that some people don't realize how their strong inner desires can be expressed. People always think they hide their true selves well, but in reality, that's not the case."
"Can I learn this ability?" Bruce asked, "This ability to see through people's hearts."
"And then use them to retaliate against criminals?" Schiller asked. "Clearly, you've thought of all this too simply, Bruce. Perhaps your motivation is revenge, but if you treat it as the sole driving force for everything you do, then it will be like last night."
Schiller made a downward gesture, and Bruce explained:
"Last night when I got back, I added a cape to my Batman armor, and I'm also planning to design a utility belt..."
"You know those things aren't the point. You can add an iron fist with thousands of kilograms of force to your hand, or an engine to your boots that can make you leap to the Moon. You can even design a pair of wings for yourself to fly to any Planet in the Solar System. You can do these things, Bruce, I believe you can do them."
"But these are not enough, far from enough."
"If I had such power, I could eliminate all criminals in the World, couldn't I?" Bruce asked.
Schiller sighed. Clearly, Batman, who had not yet met Joker, could not imagine how an unarmed criminal, an ordinary person who only knew a little acrobatics and fighting, and was thin and weak, could defeat a Super Hero proficient in hundreds of fighting techniques and who had learned various abilities from all over the World.
Schiller felt that no matter how he guided the current Bruce, the future Batman, he could only be considered an associate Professor in Batman's life. The one who truly taught Batman everything was precisely his arch-nemesis, Joker.
And now, Joker should still be living a very ordinary life in some circus.
The current Bruce was still very arrogant. He made a request to Schiller to study Psychology, because that's how he had learned various skills from all over the World. His humility, eagerness to learn, and arrogance, in fact, did not conflict.
Schiller said, "It's still the same thing: of course you can study Psychology. Everything is in the textbooks. You can come and listen to my lectures, go home and memorize, do homework, write papers, and then take the final exam. I am a Professor; I will not stop any student from learning."
"You know I don't want to learn that..."
"Then what exactly do you think there is?"
"Your... special ability." Bruce gestured. He said, "I've seen many such people around the World; they have special abilities that ordinary people don't..."
"No, I'm not like them. I don't have any abilities beyond the ordinary."
Bruce pondered for a moment, then pursed his lips, clearly not believing him, but Schiller really had nothing more to explain. The young Batman was clearly still too naive; he was too straightforward, impulsive, and didn't consider the consequences.
And he seemed too impatient. The lack of smooth progress in his Super Hero career only exacerbated this impatience. Clearly, he felt that if he could learn those mind-reading-like abilities from Schiller, he could deal with criminals more easily, instead of being pushed down a building by a few gang members and falling embarrassingly to the ground.
He hadn't even figured out what caused his failure.
Bruce returned from Schiller empty-handed once again. Schiller merely told him, even threatened him, that he had better study hard, complete all his courses, and get a good grade on the final exam.
But Bruce clearly hadn't listened to a single word.
In the evening, Schiller went out again. He went to Jonathan's secret Base again and stole a lot of Fear Toxin. This time, even if Jonathan was stupid, he should have been able to see that more than half of his two rows of test tubes were missing.
Schiller wasn't proficient in any chemical knowledge. He couldn't perform any improvements or modifications to these special gases, only put them into different containers or perform some simple dilutions.
But there was one more thing he could do, and that was to use this Fear Toxin to scare Batman.
Soon, Schiller reappeared in the Mossen Street District. He knew Batman would come here again. Bruce was the kind of person who, wherever he fell, he would definitely get back up there, never willing to change locations. This was his pride.
The entire Mossen Street District was not large, with only six alleys. The building Bruce fell from was exactly in the first alley of the Mossen Street District, where there was a nightclub controlled by the Water Ditch Gang.
The Water Ditch Gang was just a small Gotham gang because there was a Gotham drainage ditch next to the Mossen Street District, and the Water Ditch Gang liked to throw some tragic victims into that ditch, which became increasingly foul-smelling. So other gangs started using "Water Ditch" to refer to this gang, and the Water Ditch Gang was quite pleased and proud of this.
Batman's first enemies were clearly not famous villains; they were just a group of thugs smoking upstairs in a nightclub. Batman used his fighting skills to defeat most of them, but due to his lack of combat experience, someone threw lime in his eyes, and he stumbled and fell from the building.
Early Batman had no assistants, and his equipment was not mature. It was not surprising that he would fail in a gutter. However, the Water Ditch Gang did not have such good luck a second time. Schiller leaned against a wall at the end of the Mossen Street District for a while and then heard terrified shouts from the nightclub. Soon the night became quiet, and a small gang that no one would care about disappeared into Gotham.
Batman walked out, clearly in much better condition than last time. He was looking down, seemingly still pondering how to modify his Batman equipment.
Suddenly, he remembered something, so he walked forward and turned a corner. He wanted to find that beggar and give him some more U.S. Dollars, and tell him that the Water Ditch Gang had been dealt with by him, and that he would no longer be in danger with the money.
Indeed, he found the beggar in the old spot again. She was still tightly wrapped in her blanket, shivering in Gotham's damp, cold night air. The umbrella Schiller had given her was also gone.
Batman handed him the money and said in a low voice, "There are no more gangs in this district. You are safe now."
The beggar trembled and looked up, but Batman saw no gratitude in his eyes. He disbelievingly discovered that the beggar's eyes, fixed on him, held only hatred.
"Aren't you happy?" Batman asked.
"Of course he isn't." A familiar voice came from above Batman's head. Schiller stood on the balcony of the beggar's building, looking down at Batman from the second floor.
"Because of the Water Ditch Gang, that nightclub would have a steady stream of customers every day. Some customers would hold food in their hands, and when they had only a little left, they would casually throw it on the roadside, so the beggar could pick it up and continue eating."
"But now that the Water Ditch Gang is gone, the nightclub can't stay open. No customers means no food."
"But a few hundred U.S. Dollars are enough for him..."
"Yes, you have the best medical system in all of Gotham, private Doctors, and family health consultants. You haven't experienced a few colds or fevers, and you don't know what it feels like to be frozen to the point of not being able to stand up."
"In your imagination, he could easily take a few hundred U.S. Dollars to the nearest supermarket, buy enough daily necessities, maybe even find a hotel to stay for a few nights, and then cure his illness..." Schiller drew out the last word, then continued:
"But unfortunately, he can't even do the first step."
Batman knelt down. He pulled open the blanket at the beggar's feet and found that her entire lower limbs were already bruised and purple from the cold. Gotham City had been raining for several days, and her legs had been soaking in Water, already swollen beyond recognition.
Batman was proficient in surgical theory. He knew that even in Gotham's best hospital, such lower limbs could only be amputated.
He fell completely silent, looking at the many U.S. Dollar bills that the beggar hadn't held in his hand, but had let them fall freely to the ground. He felt an incredible absurdity, a suffocating shame.
He suddenly felt many negative emotions irresistibly engulfing his heart, making him want to roar. Batman felt he had never been so distraught as he was tonight. He stood up, stumbled backward a few steps, and then fell to the ground.
Clearly, a tragically unexpected ending story, combined with a tiny bit of Fear Toxin-induced negative emotions, was enough to keep Bruce subdued for several days.
