Chapter 744: Gotham 1990 (Patreon)

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In the early spring of Gotham, it was far from gentle as it was in the wilderness. Even in this season of burgeoning life, the cold winds still howled relentlessly through the city at night.

However, the sound of the wind outside was overpowered by the roaring fire from the fireplace. Merkel, feeling the chill in the air, carefully added more firewood to the fireplace, freshly retrieved from the warehouse.

The fire cast long shadows in the dimly lit hall where the lights were yet to be turned on. Each piece of furniture seemed to come to life in the flickering firelight.

Footsteps echoed from the staircase, prompting Merkel to turn around. He quickly approached Schiller, who had just descended the stairs, and casually fetched a coat from the nearby rack. After Schiller put on his coat, he reached for a black umbrella from the umbrella stand.

Merkel glanced at his wristwatch and remarked, "Sir, tonight's opera doesn't start until nine. Do you have other plans?"

"Correct. Someone invited me to have dinner at the restaurant next to the theater. He called the school directly to reach me, so you wouldn't have known," replied Schiller as he adjusted his tie in front of the mirror. Merkel picked up a brush and removed any dust from the coat's lapel. He said, "It seems this is a modern gentleman, arranging a dinner date by calling the school directly."

"Yes, after all, it's 1990 now. New year, new beginnings. Many old orders should make way for the new," Schiller replied.

With that, Schiller left the room, heading to the waiting car. Through the car window, he could see that the road was unusually prosperous. The West District Manor district, which had once fallen into decline, was now brightly lit.

As the logistics industry in Gotham continued to thrive, corresponding support services were also developing rapidly. The dining scene in the East District was exceptionally vibrant, especially the small, somewhat humble, and even slightly run-down local restaurants, which had become favorites among pier workers and truck drivers.

Every restaurant near the logistics hubs had a few common traits – their ingredients might not be the finest, but the portions were generous. If they had a unique flavor or specialty that gained popularity among drivers, laborers, and construction workers, their business was assured.

While Schiller made his way to the restaurant near the theater, Copperpot was also in a car, traveling from the North District to the East District to prepare for the opening of his Iceberg Restaurant.

Before deciding to open the restaurant, he had conducted extensive research, which led him to choose the East District as its location.

Most of the restaurants here met the criteria mentioned earlier. Looking out the car window, the roads were still a bit rough, especially when compared to the revived West District with its opulent Gothic facades, ornate signage in French, and waiters in sharp suits and shiny shoes.

Copperpot observed that the restaurants here lacked fancy facades. They were mostly converted from ground-level residences, featuring a small circular window for passing food and a wooden door with a sunshade overhead. The signboard above the door stated what they offered.

French lamb chops and Italian desserts were not welcomed here. As the car moved further into the bustling commercial street, the most popular restaurant was "Anderson's Old Street Steakhouse."

The steaks here were not the fancy ones served on delicate porcelain plates, oozing juices when cut. Copperpot knew the supply chain well, and he was aware that Anderson, the owner, never invested in premium cuts.

The steaks here were not served in their original flavors either. The most famous dish was the "Old Street Secret Steak," smothered in a large bowl of chili pepper sauce. The secret chili pepper sauce was Anderson's capital in this business.

The small steakhouse had less than ten tables, and at this moment, every table was occupied, with some people even enjoying their meals outside.

In the perpetually damp and cold atmosphere of Gotham, spicy cuisine was highly sought after. Copperpot capitalized on this advantage and had a Mexican man make his chili pepper sauce. Physical laborers always craved ample portions of meat and carbohydrates, and the bigger, thicker the steak, the better. Adding some juicy sauce for dipping bread made it even better.

Copperpot recalled his restaurant's menu, making sure to feature large, thick-cut steaks with bread as the centerpiece.

As the car sped by, a bell rang out, and Copperpot looked to the right. A bakery was surrounded by a dozen children. Some were moving boxes, others were packaging bread, and a few were counting milk cartons.

Copperpot had also done this kind of work for a while. It was when his mother had been admitted to the mental hospital, and he had delivered bread and milk, not just to earn money, but more importantly, to learn about these street vendors' activities.

He harbored grand ambitions and hoped to make use of these children. Eventually, he became the undisputed king of the Gotham children.

It might not sound like a grand title, but the locals in Gotham knew that anyone with that title would have a prominent place in Gotham's upper echelons, with a foundation stronger than anyone else's.

In the process of developing the logistics industry, there had been setbacks. The previous snowstorm had dealt a severe blow to the budding industry in Gotham. However, it had also spurred the children of Gotham to help develop it further.

With roads blocked by heavy snow, freezing temperatures, and traffic congestion, people couldn't go out to work. Most people didn't want to risk going out to buy necessities, as they didn't know which stores had stock. If they braved the cold only to find out that the goods were sold out, it would have been a wasted trip.

Moreover, in a city rife with gangs, it was easy for an adult to run into trouble while trespassing on someone else's turf.

But the children didn't have this problem. They were already accustomed to doing this. They knew which bakery had stock, the best route to get fresh, warm milk, where to buy condiments and beer, and all other daily necessities.

The gangs didn't bother with these children, as they were well-acquainted with the local routes, especially the underground passages. For a small fee, they could deliver newspapers, bread, milk, cigarettes, and beer—anything you needed.

Copperpot quickly learned their network, and due to his involvement with the previous Children King's dealings with Constantine, he had been sacrificed to the devil.

After that, a few children became quite powerful, all vying for the throne of the Children King. At first, Copperpot, who had come out of nowhere, faced skepticism from many.

However, there was no doubting Penguin's ambition and intelligence. His success in becoming the Children King was not just through violence; more importantly, he could make money for everyone.

No other child had the capability to coordinate all the children in Gotham, reassign them to suitable positions, and find the most efficient routes, doubling their daily earnings without creating conflicts over clients.

The bakeries in the East District also doubled as milk suppliers. Fresh milk was delivered to the bakeries from farms outside the city every morning. Customers could directly purchase bread and milk here. Depending on the customer group, additional items such as cigarettes and beer might be included, and breakfast sets might be recommended.

Initially, during the snowstorm, Copperpot had to control the children to buy things for him, but after some time, it became a habit, and people found it convenient.

Every morning, before they even got out of bed, hot milk and freshly baked bread were waiting outside their doors. In the evenings, when they wanted a drink, they didn't have to go to a bar; they could have a glass at home.

After several months, the majority of Gotham citizens had subscribed to these packages.

In typical East District households, a family of three would order a pound of plain white bread, a bottle of milk, and those with better financial conditions might add two slices of bacon and a newspaper.

As for those who liked cigarettes and beer, they usually pre-ordered for the next day. Even daily necessities followed the same pattern.

Although the East District was considered a slum, it wasn't as impoverished as some might think. Gotham's overall economic situation was decent, and resources were relatively abundant. The main problem in the slums was the poor living conditions, frequent water and power outages, and health issues due to inadequate sanitation.

The "Living Hell" slum redevelopment project had progressed smoothly and was now in its third phase. The outer perimeter had already been completely renovated. However, when trying to expand further, they encountered significant resistance.

While conditions in Living Hell had reached an unbearable point, other areas didn't have it as bad. Moreover, since it hadn't reached the point of starving, many people didn't urgently require improvements to their living environment. Some even felt that maintaining the status quo was good enough.

The habits of this generation had already formed, and they had no higher aspirations. As long as they had enough to eat and their houses didn't leak, they were content. So, ultimately, the issue circled back to education.

To make them genuinely accept change, the educational level needed to be raised. People had to realize that their living conditions and sanitation were abnormal. However, the possibility of starting education from scratch for this generation was low. Therefore, the focus shifted to the children.

This was why the Godfather allowed Copperpot to convert the luxurious mansion into an ordinary restaurant. It would show these children a different society from the one they lived in, instilling in them the motivation to climb higher and, in turn, encouraging them to seek education.

Copperpot arrived at the Iceberg Restaurant, where the children, now wearing their waiter uniforms, stood in a row, listening to a waiter explaining their work requirements.

"First, I will teach you how to clean. I don't know if any of you have done this kind of work before, but it's quite simple. You will be divided into three groups: one for dry cleaning, one for wet cleaning, and one for changing water. Your task is to clean the floors, tables, and chairs here…"

"People with more strength will go to the water exchange team, while the weakest will go to the cleaning team. You, yes, it's you. Have you recovered from your fever?" The waiter called out to the thinnest and weakest little boy among them, reaching out to touch the boy's head and said, "No, you haven't recovered. Go back and take another pill, then go lie down."

But to his surprise, the trembling little boy said, "I can work... I'm not sick, I can clean, I've done it before..."

"Yes, if you dip the cloth into cold water and use it to clean, you'll probably die tonight. Do you expect me to get up in the middle of the night to throw your corpse into the trash can?" Copperpot said as he approached quickly. "If all of you die like this, who will do the work?"

The waiter urged the little boy, saying, "Hurry up, if you're better tomorrow, we'll call you."

The little boy sniffled, and the fear on his face slightly diminished. He nodded and walked away.

As the remaining children began to work, Copperpot quickly realized that they didn't actually know how to work at all, not even the simplest task of cleaning the floor.

These children, the oldest of whom were only seven or eight years old, were especially weak due to long-term malnutrition. They could hardly perform any physical labor. However, the cleaning area wasn't large, and with nine children working together, they should have been able to finish quickly.

But they cleaned haphazardly, moving forward while cleaning instead of retreating, and as soon as they finished cleaning, their footprints dirtied the floor again. Two people worked together to clean a single chair, and the seat was polished to a shine while the legs were completely ignored.

Copperpot stood there for a while, not angry but rather, he turned to the waiter and said, "Is Mrs. George here? Ask her to come over and teach them how to work. Besides cleaning, they also need to learn how to boil water, carry plates, shine shoes, carry luggage, and handle umbrellas, and other tasks that a servant should do."

The waiter shook his head and said, "Cleaning and carrying plates are manageable, but the other tasks require considerable strength. Maybe we should see if they can handle them..."

"I've also hired professional servants like you. Tomorrow, they'll be reporting for duty, one person will be responsible for two children. If they can't handle this job, we'll have them deliver newspapers instead," Copperpot said before turning and heading upstairs. He didn't make any more arrangements, and his attention never seemed to be fully on the group of children, as if he didn't really care about them. But the children, seeing his attitude, breathed a sigh of relief.

Because they knew that if Copperpot, like their previous parents, put all his energy into them, it would mean that he would expect tenfold or even a hundredfold returns from them.

If Copperpot didn't care much about them, their work, or how much money they could make, it meant that he was actually wealthy and didn't need to exploit them to make money.

Upstairs, Copperpot stood on the balcony of the mansion, from where he could see the lights of the pier. Despite the light rain, the pier remained bustling, with countless goods being unloaded from cargo ships and loaded onto trucks before being stored in cold storage.

It wouldn't be long before these goods were taken out of the cold storage and transported to various destinations on the East Coast.

Gotham had now become the largest cold chain transportation hub on the East Coast, covering the entire underground of Gotham with natural cold storage facilities, making it a trump card in the city's sustainable industry transformation.

The cold chain industry could serve as an economic pillar for a city. Typically, coastal cities with cold chain industries would also complement fisheries, light manufacturing, and tourism.

However, the problem in Gotham was that it couldn't develop fisheries, light manufacturing, or tourism. Relying solely on the cold chain industry couldn't replace the unsustainable gray and even black industries.

"It's much better now," Gordon said, putting down his fork and wiping his mouth. "For a city's security, the most frightening thing is having unemployed people everywhere. On the contrary, if everyone has work to do, the likelihood of crime decreases significantly."

"Work requires physical effort, and gang shootouts, which require physical effort, also involve bloodshed. Working can earn money, and maybe shootouts can expand your territory, but the returns might not be as good as working, so why not work?" Schiller said as he cut into his steak on the plate.

"Correct, that's exactly right. I often hear this from the gang leaders I deal with. The people at the bottom are too busy to pick up guns. One of them said to me, if I drive a police car along the entire street, I might not even encounter anyone shooting at me, which was unthinkable in the past," Gordon said with a sigh.

He held his wine glass and leaned back in his chair, saying, "But now, the main problem is the education of these children."

"There are 23 community elementary schools in all of Gotham. It may sound like a lot, but for a city as large as the East Coast, that number is pitifully low. Even if we don't compare it to Metropolis, just comparing it to Brooklyn, which is only one-fifth the size of Gotham, they have 16 elementary schools."

"This is actually in violation of the law, but because the previous mayor lacked the resolve, nothing changed."

"High schools are even fewer, and there's only one university. With these education conditions, even in the West, it would be considered incredibly inadequate."

Schiller lightly tapped the table with his fingertip and asked, "Do you think it's because Gothamites don't want education, so there are few schools, or is it because there are few schools that Gothamites don't want education?"

Gordon paused for a moment and said, "I think it's the former because I've seen in the records that there were originally over forty schools in Gotham, but later, many schools closed for various reasons, with security concerns being the majority."

Schiller shook his head and said, "I think it's the latter."

"Please elaborate," Gordon said.

"A while back, I read a book called 'The Urban Development History of the East Coast,' which mentioned the situation in Gotham. Initially, all of Gotham's schools were established by the church or funded by wealthy families, and there were almost no public elementary schools."

"The church and private elementary schools monopolized education here, leading to the majority of citizens losing the opportunity for education. Church elementary schools only allowed a tiny fraction of citizens to enroll, and privately funded private elementary schools were exclusively for wealthy children."

"Later, as the security situation in Gotham deteriorated, some wealthy people left, investments stopped, and schools were abandoned. After that, the church also stopped paying attention to this sinful place. Now, the elementary schools that are still operating are either funded by the Twelve Families or the Wayne Family."

"Both in terms of quantity and quality, they can't possibly meet the education requirements of such a large city. Over time, the majority of Gotham citizens are restricted by their education levels and can't engage in technical jobs."

Gordon fell into deep thought and said, "I haven't paid attention to this issue, but why weren't there public elementary schools when Gotham was built? Didn't the state legislature intervene?"

Schiller shook his head. Lucifer Morningstar had erased the existence of the Court of Owls, but Gotham hadn't improved. This meant that the idea of Gotham as a city of sin was likely a fundamental rule of the DC universe. If the Court of Owls had been erased, there might still be other forces at play.

In any case, someone had clearly intervened in Gotham's education development, otherwise, in the late 20th century U.S., there wouldn't be a city where the majority of people hadn't even attended elementary school.

"To improve citizens' education, we need to establish elementary schools. To establish elementary schools, we need money. To have money, we need to develop new industries. To develop new industries, we need to raise citizens' education levels. It's a vicious cycle," Gordon said, covering his forehead with his hand. "But involving companies and gangs in school construction won't work."

"The Gangs have spontaneously begun to establish themselves at the Formschool," Schiller remarked as he took a bite of his shrimp. "However, they are destined not to develop systematic education. When they lack electricians, they pull people into electrical training. When they need security personnel, they recruit them for security training. No one wants to simultaneously teach grammar, mathematics, arts, and critical thinking."

"That's the problem," Schiller continued, shaking his head. "They can't understand what systematic education truly entails. They believe that learning whatever they need at the moment is the right approach."

"I've pondered this issue before," Gordon said, touching his cheek. "I used to think, 'I don't plan to be a musician, so why should I take music classes? I don't use math in my current job, so why bother learning arithmetic?'"

"In reality," he continued, "the process of learning these things helps people develop their way of thinking. But explaining this to the Gangs is challenging. They want to see immediate results."

Schiller tapped his plate with a fork and said, "Victor, Anna, and I have discussed this matter. We believe that opening a vocational high school for those who want to learn technical skills might be a solution."

"By learning these skills, individuals can improve their quality of life, broaden their horizons, and understand the significance of systematic education. Perhaps, in time, they'll encourage their children to receive systematic education like people from other cities. It's a relatively conservative approach."

Gordon nodded in agreement, but Schiller added, "The challenge lies in maintaining the purity of this technical school. We can't allow it to turn into a battleground for the Gangs."

"Some Gangs want more electricians, some manage water resources, and they naturally need talent in those areas. Even the Twelve Families have different focuses. They want the school to teach only their chosen subjects to fit more students. But you know that's not feasible."

Gordon sighed sadly and said, "In a city where no force can suppress the Gangs, confronting them is difficult. The Gotham Police Department might handle some security tasks, but we definitely can't deal with the Twelve Families."

"What if the Wayne Family gets involved?" Schiller inquired.

"He has no need to," Gordon shook his head. "Everyone knows it would be a troublesome endeavor. Which department recruits more people, which department recruits fewer, how many individuals each family can admit, and how to distribute the Big Gangs and Small Gangs... It would lead to conflicts."

Gordon hesitated and then said, "I can't help but feel that Bruce hasn't turned a corner. I don't understand how he thinks. It's as if he's determined to save this city and everyone in it."

Schiller smiled and asked, "Why are you asking such questions? Isn't that how you feel?"

Gordon sighed and shook his head. "No, we're different. Batman wants to send all the sick to the hospital, all the criminals to prison, and all the children to school. He wants everyone to stay where they belong, creating a perfect society."

"I'm not saying it's wrong, but we all know it's not realistic. Maybe he knows it too, or maybe he believes that aiming high and trying to achieve it, even if he saves one person, is a good thing at least."

Schiller looked at Gordon and asked, "Who do you think can save Gotham, Batman or Bruce?"

"If Batman were asking me this question, I'd definitely say it's him," Gordon replied, pursing his lips. "I'd want to give every good person the answer they want to hear. But because you're the one asking, a psychology professor, I can only say that I have more faith in Bruce."

"We all know that Bruce Wayne is a billionaire. In this world, rich people do things much simpler, even in the business of saving people."

"Then do you know why he doesn't want to do it?" Schiller asked, lowering his head to eat, then continued, "Do you know why he'd rather spend a fortune maintaining that expensive and absurd armor, and then go fist-to-fist with criminals, saving people one by one, instead of saving the city as Bruce?"

Gordon shook his head. "That's the part I can't fathom. It's all spending money, so why not spend it where it's more effective?"

"Have you ever considered that someone might have tried that and failed, paying a heavy price, which is why he resists doing it?" Schiller suggested.

"But I don't think Batman is someone who easily wavers. Even if others failed, he would still believe in himself. He's quite determined and not easily swayed," Gordon said, spreading his hands.

"What if that someone is his parents?" Schiller asked.

Gordon fell silent.

"Wealthy businessman, generous philanthropist, a kind-hearted wealthy man—none of these roles brought a good ending to his parents. The Wayne couple once tried to save this city, but in the end, they died, and Bruce witnessed it all."

"If it were you, would you tread the same path?" Schiller asked Gordon.

Gordon remained silent for a long time. Schiller continued, "We see Bruce Wayne's soul as a third party. He has two paths to choose from: become Bruce Wayne or become Batman."

"His reason will surely tell him that becoming Bruce Wayne is a much simpler path. He has too many resources at his disposal, and with his intelligence, he might genuinely save the city."

"His reason will also tell him that becoming Batman is an incredibly difficult path. Trying to save a city of sin through crime-fighting sounds like a joke."

"People are naturally inclined to seek gain and avoid harm. If someone goes against this innate instinct, there must be a reason compelling them to do so. Most of the time, this drive comes from within."

"At least in my observation," Schiller paused and said, "he despises the identity of Bruce Wayne. He doesn't want to be Bruce Wayne."

"He becomes Batman not because he wants to be Batman but because he doesn't want to be Bruce Wayne. He fears repeating his parents' fate."

Schiller sighed softly and said, "When he acts as Bruce Wayne, he constantly engages in charity work. He spends a lot of money, but it's not about saving people; it's just spending money. He believes that Bruce Wayne can't save anyone, just as he couldn't save his parents."

Gordon looked at his plate and said, "I feel very sad about his tragic childhood, but continuing down this path, he might end up at the other extreme."

"His parents chose a happy family life and a peaceful existence, without resorting to violence to address the city's problems. But they fell victim to violence. Batman, on the other hand, if he chooses violence, he might lose his family."

Gordon wore a sorrowful expression and said, "...I hope he realizes this sooner. Maybe there's still a chance to turn things around."

"He will," Schiller said. Afterward, he turned his head to look out of the restaurant window. The night grew darker, and the rain intensified. The Manor building appeared faintly through the mist and rain.

When the wind brushed past the sharp Gothic spires of the Manor district's rooftops, it instilled fear. Yet, when the warmth seeped through the cozy windows of Wayne Manor, it didn't bring warmth.

"Now, you need to go to sleep. Understand? Don't stand here, don't look at me like this. Lie down in bed and go to sleep. Is that too hard?" Bruce gently pressed his hands on the frail shoulders of a little girl.

This young girl was one of the children Batman had brought to the hospital earlier. While the other children were lying in hospital beds receiving treatment, she was the exception. No matter how hard Batman tried to persuade her, she would only cry and scream, attempting to escape and even biting people.

The young girl kept looking up at him with wide, fearful eyes, but she remained still. When Bruce tried to hold her, she would flee; when he cornered her against a wall, she would bite. She couldn't speak or communicate, behaving like a wild cat gone mad.

Bruce squatted down, covering his eyes with his hand, and said, "Can you please tell me what you want to do?"

The young girl turned her head to look out the window. Bruce clenched his eyes shut for a moment and said, "It's raining outside, and you have a high fever right now. If you go out, you'll immediately get worse. Why don't you understand?"

Bruce thought he had been very clear in his explanation. Even Aisha would have fully understood his words, but it seemed like this young girl couldn't comprehend anything.

Bruce even had the strange feeling that she was intentionally opposing him, but when he calmed down, he realized that this couldn't be the case. He hadn't mistreated her, so why was she acting this way?

"Dick, Dick! Come here and keep an eye on her. I'll go find a book," Bruce called Dick over to watch the young girl while he went to his study to get a book on child psychology.

This was his textbook, something he hadn't taken seriously before, but now he had to read it carefully.

After reading for a while, Bruce realized that the young girl likely had post-traumatic stress disorder, a condition often seen in abused children. The suggested treatment was to establish a sense of security for her, especially by creating a safe environment.

Bruce looked up at Wayne Manor and felt that there was no safer place in the world than this.

The hall had warm-colored floors, all the furniture was solid wood, and the fireplace burned brightly, providing a cozy warmth. The windows and doors were tightly sealed, keeping out even a breath of cold air.

If this place wasn't safe enough, would those dark and cramped alleys be safer?

Bruce felt that he had done more to comfort her than what the book recommended, constantly asking, caring, and taking care of her. However, it had no effect. She not only didn't respond but also refused to take injections or medication, eat, or drink. She even exhibited aggressive behavior.

It continued late into the night, and Bruce felt extremely tired. Fortunately, the young girl was also exhausted, unable to sustain this ordeal. She had just passed out, and Alfred had examined her, administered some medicine, and her fever was gradually subsiding. She just needed rest now.

Bruce leaned back on the sofa and wiped his face. He felt the fatigue setting in. At that moment, he heard the sound of footsteps, and Dick, now dressed in pajamas, descended the staircase holding a pillow.

In the dimly lit hall, with only the fireplace's glow, the contours of the furniture were clearly visible. Bruce had a strange feeling, as if he was unfamiliar with the scenes he had lived in for so many years.

"What's wrong, Dick?" Bruce asked, trying to stay alert.

"I just... I just wanted to ask about that little girl. What's wrong with her?" Dick hesitated and said, "She doesn't seem to want to be here, or maybe she's in pain, and being here is making her suffer. Shouldn't we try to make her feel better if she's in pain?"

Bruce countered, "Why would being here make her suffer? We have medication and food, a safe room, and a comfortable bed. Why would that cause her pain?"

"I don't know," Dick said, shifting his body. "I just feel like if she's uncomfortable, we should figure out why and try to make her feel better."

"I'm trying to do that," Bruce raised his voice. "She's taken medication and is sleeping now; that's progress."

"But she passed out tired," Dick said softly. "I saw it just now, even while she was asleep, she was frowning..."

Suddenly, there was a loud bang that startled Dick. Bruce had pounded the table. He stood up, moving about a meter away from the coffee table, and then looked at Dick.

Suddenly, Bruce lowered his head, took a deep breath, and said, "Go back to sleep, Dick... just go back to sleep."

Dick faced him for a moment, then took two steps back, moving out of the range of the light, and turned to run upstairs. Bruce remained alone on the sofa, listening to the sound of the rain outside, and soon fell asleep.

The next morning, Dick was absent from the dining table. Alfred explained, "Master Dick left for school early today."

Bruce nodded without saying a word. However, even in the evening, Dick had not returned. Bruce asked Alfred, "Isn't he allowed to come home on Mondays and Tuesdays? Why hasn't he returned?"

"Just now, Master Dick had a messenger deliver a letter. It seems he's too busy with his studies and will be staying over for a few days."

Bruce took the letter from Alfred's hand. He looked at the handwriting, which he couldn't quite recognize. He remembered seeing Dick's schoolwork notebook recently, with much less refined handwriting. But now, the English in this letter had a more sophisticated style, something he hadn't paid attention to before.

As Gotham began to rain once again, Bruce remained alone on the sofa, accompanied only by the solemn tolling of the Manor's bell.

Before falling asleep, he clenched his fist, seemingly making a decision. However, as he drifted into slumber, he relaxed his arm, and his fingertips trembled slightly with each breath, as if playing the flames of the fireplace.

On this cold night in Gotham in 1990, all that could be seen were fleeting thunderbolts in the sky and the clouds shrouded in rain and mist in the distance, hidden beneath the light. Three years had passed since Gotham's inception!

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Next Chapter>>Chapter 743: Night Rain and Sad Songs (Part 1)