Chapter 824: Gang Dilemma (Part 2) (Patreon)

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Bruce furrowed his brow as he listened. "But if I don't go to school, won't I lack even the basic grammar skills?" he asked.

The chubby boss seemed unconcerned and shook his head. "What's the relationship? All you need to do is learn how to put on a show at the Gang family gatherings. Besides, the cigars you brought today suit my taste, so I'll teach you a thing or two."

"Please, go ahead," Bruce replied.

"First of all, your attire is fine. This suit looks like it's of good quality, so it seems you have some resources. But that's not enough. You must learn how to speak. Doyle, you probably haven't learned this either, but you can benefit from this as well."

Doyle smiled at Bruce, who nodded silently. The chubby boss took another puff of his cigar and continued, "Let me ask you both this: if you were in a mansion and ran into your rival, someone you've had a recent disagreement with, and he comes up to you and says, 'The food here today is terrible, and you've eaten quite a bit,' what does he mean?"

Doyle frowned first and replied, "I'd say he's asking for trouble! If he thinks the food is bad and comments on how much I've eaten, isn't he basically insulting my taste? I'd make sure he regrets it!"

Bruce furrowed his brow and said, "These two sentences should be related, expressing the same idea. If it's just provocation, there are simpler ways to put it."

The chubby boss chuckled and said, "This one... what's his name again? Oh, Matchstick Marlon, he's a bit smarter. The meaning behind this statement is that we shouldn't be staying here right now. You've both had enough to eat, so we should find a place to talk."

"Because of your recent conflict and the fact that he approached you first, he likely wants to show some weakness and resolve the tension. However, his attitude of showing weakness isn't very obvious because he doesn't want to discuss it openly in front of others. This is more like him saying, 'We had issues a couple of days ago, but it's not worth causing a scene over such a minor matter. Let's let it slide, but if it happens again, I won't let it go.'"

Doyle and Bruce exchanged glances. Doyle shook his head and said, "Good thing my territory is more remote, so we don't have all these formalities. If it weren't for my brother-in-law's influence lately, I wouldn't have come here."

Bruce, however, felt a bit overwhelmed. It was as if he had returned to his psychology class. He remembered Schiller giving two lectures on behavior psychology, and during those lectures, Bruce had slept soundly.

Analyzing every word and action of a person, magnifying them excessively, was not a sign of mental illness here but rather a reasonable and common behavior.

Everything seemed shrouded in a secret mist. On the surface, everyone appeared as civilized individuals in suits and leather shoes, moving between the lights and candlelight, nodding and smiling, dancing gracefully. They restrained themselves and didn't seem like members of a gang.

But behind all the prosperity were scrutinizing gazes, calculating eye contacts, disdainful whispers, and silent conversations.

Bruce felt like he was entering a new world where all the rules of behavior were different. However, he was more concerned about the advantages and disadvantages of these rules and where the key lay.

He had an instinct that the education issue Doyle mentioned about his son might be crucial, so he asked again, "I understand that I should learn these rules, and I'd like to if given the chance, but are the knowledge and subjects taught in school unnecessary?"

The chubby boss shook his head. "Yes, reading more books may have its benefits. It can make your speech more refined, just like you. Your educational background must be quite good, right?"

Bruce hesitated for a moment and replied, "Yes, I graduated from college."

Then he added in his mind, "But not quite finished yet."

"Yes, that's an improvement for you," the chubby boss said. "Because you're lucky, you eliminated an unpopular boss through force and managed to get his men to follow you."

"But for many others, it's better to learn how to read people than grammar. After all, nobody here is going to test you on your grammar, and if you don't catch up on these skills, your position won't be secure for long."

"Of course, if you do decide to learn, I'd prefer my children to study instruments and art. You don't need to know too much; just maintain your grace and avoid being too vulgar. If you can cultivate some artistic sensibilities, it will earn you respect in conversations with others."

After leaving the hospital room, Bruce couldn't stop thinking.

For a long time, Schiller had been pressuring him for his thesis, creating an illusion that everyone in the world had to study, and life was meaningless without it. Not completing a thesis meant a certain death sentence.

However, now he realized that Schiller's demands on him were unique, even rare. In Gotham, most gang scions didn't bother with education; if they did, it was primarily about refining their demeanor rather than acquiring knowledge.

In their gang life, knowledge was seldom required. The teachings of private tutors covered everything necessary, and with most of their energy devoted to leading the family to victory in various competitions, there was simply no time for school.

Though Bruce found it a bit tiresome to write papers day and night, he felt that completely forsaking education was not the answer.

Bruce's brilliant mind had enabled him to grasp the world's most profound knowledge by the age of twenty, surpassing his peers in both depth and breadth of understanding. Yet, with knowledge, the more one acquired, the more they realized how much they didn't know. The more one learned, the more they discovered that there were countless aspects of the world they still couldn't comprehend.

Bruce was no exception. The more he studied, the more he understood how much he had yet to learn. He couldn't imagine a life without learning. Without knowledge, he lacked a sense of security.

He could foresee the consequences of the gang's development—a solidification of rules and a dwindling diversity of perspectives. It would become an increasingly narrow well, eventually transforming into a form of ignorance.

Thinking about the current state of Gotham, he felt an increasing sense of urgency. Even in this situation, he had to give it his all, but there were no guarantees that he could turn things around. If they continued to plummet, hitting rock bottom, everyone would suffer together.

After days of observation and reflection, Bruce realized that he wasn't just saving Gotham; he was also saving himself.

Bruce sat on his hospital room's bed, constantly jotting down notes and sketching. He had spent a considerable sum to secure this single room, a place where he could relax and think.

Lost in thought, Bruce gradually drifted off to sleep on his bed. The next day, he was awakened not by a nurse but by a noisy commotion. He heard a familiar voice outside the door:

"Group one! Right side hospital rooms! One by one, move in, two people per room, stand outside your assigned room, and remember your patient..."

"Group two! Follow me! Why are you all just standing around? Didn't we tell you in school? Practical training is like this..."

"What? You say you saw your dad? Right now, he's a patient, understand? Don't mention any family connections. Whether you graduate or not depends on me..."

"Group three! Group three! Come over here..."

Bruce heard footsteps getting closer and quickly turned over, pretending to still be asleep. However, at that moment, he heard the door being pushed open, and Schiller's voice came from outside.

"Group three consists of potential top graduates, so I'm personally in charge. All nine of you... Oh, no, it's just nine since that damned Wayne didn't show up."

"Evans, Evans, come over here, distribute these, and make sure everyone follows the rules. And this patient, could you please cooperate..."

Schiller waved towards Bruce, who remained motionless. Schiller paused for a moment, then said, "Hello, this patient. I'm Dr. Rodriguez. Could you please cooperate with us?"

Bruce still didn't move. Seeing Schiller approaching, he had no choice but to turn over.

Seeing Bruce's masked face, everyone took a step back because they all knew in Gotham, those who wore masks weren't to be underestimated.

Upon seeing Bruce, Schiller was momentarily stunned. He examined Bruce from head to toe, making sure he wasn't seeing things. Then he took a deep breath and said through gritted teeth:

"This patient, our three-stage internship begins now. Could you please cooperate?"

Bruce coughed forcefully and, in a raspy voice, replied, "No problem, let's begin."

Seeing the burn-scarred, masked, and hoarse-voiced aspiring psycho killer patient in front of them, all the students exchanged glances.

They all took another step back.

Schiller glanced at Bruce and said, "It seems this patient is quite ill. Evans, organize the queue and start asking questions one by one."

Bruce saw his familiar classmates, each holding a case file, lining up in front of him.

He opened his mouth to say something but felt the weight of Schiller's stern gaze. He had no choice but to lean back on the bed, looking utterly despondent, just like any regular gang leader.

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Next Chapter>>Chapter 825: The Way to Break the Stalemate