Chapter 144 Popperpot's Happy Life (Part 1) (Patreon)

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The First Law of Gotham is: here, things always tend to go bad. If you have a bad feeling about something, it will surely come true.

And the Second Law of Gotham is: no matter how righteous your intentions are, how clever your methods are, or how perfect your plans are, they will all end up in a mess in Gotham.

This vocational school, founded by a dozen major gangs, is located in the East District's Living Hell. Thanks to the construction and renovation here, the hardware facilities have become the best in the entire East District, and it is the only place in the East District where you can find an environment and atmosphere relatively suitable for a school.

Note that it is relatively suitable.

When Schiller returned to Living Hell, it had already changed a lot.

After the renovation, Living Hell was still crowded and chaotic, but at least it was no longer old and dilapidated. The alleys were still narrow, but at least they were clean. The corridors were still narrow, but at least there was sufficient lighting and signage to prevent getting lost.

The vocational school was opened in an empty room on the 8th floor of the eastern building of Living Hell, with a terrace outside that could be used by students for leisure activities.

Originally, this place was supposed to be a laundry room, but due to changes in the water pipe route, it was left vacant.

With such a great location of a terrace, it was naturally controlled by the largest gang in this area, the Mooney Gang, and under pressure from the other dozen major gangs, the Mooney Gang relinquished this spot for them to open the vocational school.

So far, the situation has been relatively normal, although the whole thing itself sounds absurd, it hasn't exceeded Schiller's perception of Gotham.

As expected by Schiller, he was warmly welcomed by the gangs upon his arrival, and was invited to give a lecture here.

The content of the course didn't have any special requirements, to put it simply, it was just about teaching the descendants of the Falcone family, so that's what Schiller was going to teach these students.

Schiller had anticipated this, so he didn't refuse and went up to the podium. He planned to talk about the history of Gotham City and the development of the gang industry, just like he usually did at the Falcone Manor.

The classroom was relatively large, at least compared to the other rooms in Living Hell, it was already considered spacious.

However, the forty-something students below were already packed tightly together. When Schiller walked up to the podium and looked down, he noticed that the people below were all still young. The oldest was no more than twenty years old, and the youngest was probably in their early teens.

This was normal too. The gang bosses weren't stupid. Of course, they knew that a middle-aged drunkard, even if they could come to school, would not have any future prospects.

And these young people, even if they had some bad habits now, at least their minds had not been ruined by alcohol. They would definitely learn faster than middle-aged people.

Schiller had a habit of taking attendance no matter where he taught. The first thing he did in class was call roll.

As a result, this class didn't even have a roster. The gang boss sitting below the stage could only get a piece of paper and let the students write their names on it themselves.

When the paper made its way around the class and Schiller collected it, he covered his forehead and said a little helplessly, "Okay, it looks like the situation here is worse than I thought."

But he tried to maintain his professionalism as a teacher and said, "First of all, I need you to write your real name, not your nickname or alias. Who is the person called 'Tyre'? Can you raise your hand and show me?"

A chubby boy raised his hand below, he proudly smiled at the person next to him, then shouted: "It's me, teacher! I am the tire! The exploding tire!"

"Okay, then what is your name? Your surname?"

"I'm just called Tire. That's what my mom and everyone around me call me because I was born fat."

"Well, you must have a surname, right?"

The chubby boy frowned and said, "My dad died before I was born, so I don't know what his surname was. As for my mom, I only know her name is Bonnie..."

"Okay, you can sit down." Schiller continued to look at the paper and said, "So, who is this person named...Red Truck?"

A black man wearing a red jacket and lip and nose piercings stood up and said, "It's me! I'm the street racing king in this area! Teacher, do you need something transported? Just look for me! I can drive from Living Hell to Elizabeth Street in 10 minutes!"

Schiller paused for a moment, thinking back to when he drove from here to Elizabeth Street, it would take him at least 40 minutes. Was this person flying to get there in 10 minutes?

Another voice immediately sounded in the classroom, "Come on! You ride a motorcycle, what kind of cargo can you transport?"

Schiller looked up to see a white girl with tattooed arms speaking, "What is your name?"

"I don't have a name. Most people here don't have proper names. You can call me Rocket, like the most powerful one, swoosh...hahaha." The girl and her classmates laughed.

Schiller sighed as he continued to look at the name on the paper. His eyes followed his finger as it moved down, and soon he noticed a handwriting that was different from the rest.

Most of the people's handwriting on the paper looked like chicken scratch, with the English letters and strokes so simple that they looked like worms crawling on the paper. However, among these worm-like strokes, there was one handwriting that was very special.

Its letters were not only written neatly, but there were also some traces of cursive writing. Schiller pronounced the name, "Oswald Cobblepot..."

He was about to look up to see who it was when suddenly he froze. Why did this name sound so familiar?

Could it be just a coincidence?

As soon as he finished pronouncing the name, a short figure sitting in the corner stood up. He had a pale complexion, sunken eyes, and a rather unpleasant-looking hooked nose. He raised his hand and said, "It's me, teacher."

Schiller opened his mouth but felt that the question he wanted to ask was not appropriate. After all, the boy who raised his hand looked to be only in his teens and probably younger than Bruce. He couldn't just ask him if he would become the infamous villain, the Penguin, in Gotham later on, could he?

Yes, Oswald Cobblepot was a very unique name, and there probably wouldn't be anyone else in all of Gotham with that name. If things went as expected, this should be the young Penguin.

Schiller took a closer look at Cobblepot and found that, apart from being a bit short and having a gloomy temperament, he was also well-mannered.

After all, you also have to see what kind of weird devils and monsters he is among. Most of the students sitting here are in the same style as that red truck, wearing various bright jackets, with six or seven holes in their ears. Most of the black students have dirty braids, and the white students have strange hairstyles, covered in tattoos, sitting on chairs like they have thorns on their buttocks, moving seven times in a minute. If it weren't for the gang leaders standing by the wall, they would have caused a riot long ago.

In this environment, Copperpot appeared very normal, even a bit refined.

He was wearing an obviously outdated suit that didn't fit well, and it's unclear where it came from. He was wearing a plaid shirt inside, with a meticulously groomed collar, and even the cufflinks were properly fastened.

He had black hair, and his sideburns were trimmed, with no messy holes or obvious tattoos on his face. Apart from the hooked nose that made him look a bit sinister, he looked pretty good.

For some reason, Schiller felt a bit touched looking at this penguin-like person. It turned out that there were still normal kids in Living Hell.

Yes, compared to these second-generation black kids who danced wildly with their unique style, the penguin guy could even be considered well-behaved.

Schiller recalled that this might be normal. After all, in the comics, the penguin was a gang leader with a noble complex who liked to pretend to be elegant. He often wore a top hat, smoked cigars, and even had a luxurious restaurant.

Although this little penguin hadn't reached that level of development yet, there were already some hints. His dressing style was very old-fashioned, like someone from the 19th century, which inevitably made him stand out.

Copperpot sat alone in the corner of the classroom, not participating in the whispering of others, just looking somewhat dazed at Schiller.

Schiller felt like he recognized the future penguin-man in front of him, but he couldn't remember where he had seen him before. He thought for a moment but couldn't recall, so he pushed it out of his mind.

Clearing his throat, Schiller said, "A teacher should have already given you a lesson before, but in this class, I want to improve discipline. There are two things I want to address."

"First, we need to make a name list. I don't care if you had a name before or not, but now you must come up with one for yourself. The only person with decent handwriting is Copperpot, so let him write it down on a piece of paper after you come up with a name and tell him."

"Second, we need to elect a class leader to schedule classes and arrange the timing for them. You, the chubby boy named Exploding Tire, seem to be well-liked, so I pick you. After each teacher finishes class, ask them when the next one is and record it on the schedule."

The chubby boy Tier opened his mouth, clearly surprised that such a big responsibility was being placed on him. He looked over at a gang leader standing against the wall for help, but the leader only glared at him. Tier could only say, "Alright, but, teacher, I don't know how to spell some of the subject names."

"Then go find Copperpot. He should know how to spell them. I see that he writes well, so let him create the class schedule and put it up on the wall."

Copperpot was clearly surprised that Schiller had given him this task. He seemed a bit awkward and lacked the villainous air of someone who stirs up trouble in the future. He muttered a few words nervously but ultimately said nothing.

Schiller wasn't playing favorites or singling out the future penguin-man. He was simply stating the fact that Copperpot was the only person in the class who could write legibly and spell such complex names correctly. There was no one else to delegate this task to.

After Schiller called for class to end, the classroom below became chaotic. Copperpot remained silent and hidden in the corner.

Seeing this scene, Schiller shook his head. Even providing the most basic vocational education in this City was a daunting task.

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Next Chapter >>Chapter 145 Copperpot's Happy Life (Part 2)