“Are you saying that after staking the place out for a few days, the biggest problem you found is…
he might be stealing electricity?”
Standing in his office at SHIELD, Nick Fury looked at a report and questioned Phil Coulson.
Coulson also knew that this report looked a lot like something written in a morning rush after a hangover the night before.
The conclusion written on it was only a bottle of whiskey away from utter nonsense.
Nick Fury held the report and took a deep breath.
His mouth opened, but he paused for a second, clearly at a complete loss for words.
He said, “Actually, I’ve always disagreed with SHIELD’s agent rating standards, Coulson.
I think you’re my strongest argument against them, aren’t you?”
“Uh…” Coulson rubbed his hands in embarrassment and said, “Actually, it’s not like we didn’t observe anything.
We found that there might be a tunnel under his clinic…”
“I really should have Nurse Jenny give you a breathalyzer test, Coulson.
It says here ‘observed the target frequently appearing suddenly in other locations about a hundred meters outside the clinic,’ and your conclusion for this is…
there might be a tunnel under the clinic?” Fury said.
“Actually, I know he might have teleportation abilities,” Coulson said, crossing his arms and frowning.
“But based on cases we’ve dealt with, teleportation always has a moment of landing.
We set up hundreds of micro-cameras around, but not one caught anything unusual.”
Nick Fury said, “Then add a few hundred more.
He’s very important to us right now, and he’s the hardest type of opponent to deal with.
Don’t be careless…”
***
Meanwhile, on the bed of a Gotham University professor’s apartment, Schiller had just woken up when he realized he was holding a furry thing in his arms.
He looked down—it was Pikachu!
“Oh, what’s wrong with you?
What time is it?” Pikachu was so sleepy its eyes could barely open.
Schiller rubbed his eyes.
How did this mouse follow him here?
Looking around in its sleepy daze, Pikachu suddenly got startled and woke up instantly.
“Where is this?!
How did you bring me here?
Are you actually a human trafficker???”
Schiller folded his blanket and said, “Why don’t you explain to me first why you’re in my bed?”
“You have the nerve to ask me?!” Pikachu yelled.
“In a three-story building, you only turned on the heater in your room!
If I didn’t know how to pick locks, I would have frozen to death by now!”
“Oh, really?” Schiller felt absolutely no guilt.
“Freeze-dried mouse doesn’t sound like a good idea.”
“So why are you here?
Where is this?”
“As you can see, I can travel through time and space, so I ended up here after waking up,” Schiller said.
“This is a very dangerous place.
If you run around, you’ll be stewed within three minutes.”
“Pff,” Pikachu snorted disdainfully.
“You can travel through time and space?
Then I can use Splash.”
Schiller wasn’t lying.
It didn’t matter if Pikachu knew; it was a mouse.
To those superheroes, its credibility was worse than a repeating parrot.
Batman doesn’t kill humans, but he doesn’t spare mice.
Faced with non-human creatures, few Earth heroes had any trust.
Though Pikachu spoke just like a human and had a weird Canadian accent, this yellow mouse looked like some genetically modified creature, making it hard for any normal person to trust.
So Schiller wasn’t worried.
While Schiller tidied the bed, Pikachu hopped around, sniffing the room, wrinkling its small nose.
“Seems you actually have some skill.
This really isn’t the original world.”
In the morning, Schiller went to class, carrying Pikachu in his bag.
It wasn’t that he wanted to bring Pikachu to class, but if he didn’t, Pikachu would definitely sneak out and get stewed.
Pikachu poked its head out of Schiller’s bag and got pushed back several times.
In the afternoon, Schiller put the bag on the counseling room desk and pressed Pikachu’s forehead.
“Listen, even if I don’t care about others seeing a weird yellow creature in my bag, I think you should understand what I told you about superheroes.
Every single one of them takes ‘sticking their nose into other people’s business’ as their life creed.
No one will let go of the chance to study you, a yellow mouse, especially…”
As Schiller was speaking, the door of the psychological counseling room was suddenly pushed open.
Bruce said, “Professor, I…”
He walked in and saw his professor holding down the forehead of a strange yellow creature.
Pikachu was startled and instantly scrambled into Schiller’s arms.
Schiller pursed his lips, glanced at Pikachu, then at Bruce.
Holding Pikachu, he said, “If I said this is a new species of albino mole, would you believe me…”
“And if I don’t, do you plan to make up another one?” Bruce said, crossing his arms.
Pikachu bared its teeth at him, but Schiller immediately covered its mouth.
He said, “Is there something you need, Mr.
Wayne?”
Bruce walked over and said, “Actually, I’m sorry…
The thing is, I’d like to invite you to Wayne Manor as a guest…”
To Wayne Manor as a guest?
What kind of “invitation to walk straight into a trap” was this?
Bruce was clearly feeling a bit awkward.
Because Schiller knew his true identity, he didn’t know whether he should act as Bruce or Batman.
Furthermore, the current Batman wasn’t as cold and distant as he would be in the future; he even actively sought out Gordon to cooperate.
Thus, Bruce was in a very conflicted state right now.
Schiller could sense this slightly through telepathy.
He tapped the table and took the initiative to say, “I can tell, Bruce, you’re very conflicted right now.
Sit down.”
“Actually, you did very well before.
Bruce is not Batman.
He is just an unlearned, playboy billionaire whose favorite things are clubbing, drinking, and surrounding himself with beautiful women.
Batman is the exact opposite…”
Bruce sat down, pressing his fingers to his brow.
“I don’t see the point in doing this.
I don’t think it can fool anyone.”
Bruce wasn’t stupid.
Only he was this rich in Gotham City, and only he had the financial power to manufacture Batman’s gear.
Even just looking at his build, one could deduce a thing or two.
Bruce played around in the social scenes, but he wouldn’t always keep himself completely wrapped up.
If someone really wanted to find out details about his physique, it wouldn’t be hard.
Especially since Schiller had seen Bruce out fooling around at night more than once, with a constant rotation of female companions.
Even among the famous Nightingale cheerleading squad, half of them had hooked up with Bruce.
Schiller deduced that many highly intelligent villains in the comics probably weren’t entirely kept in the dark either.
This deduction really wasn’t hard.
But they still acted like, “Who on earth is Batman?
How can I not guess it?” There must be a reason for that.
“Yes, it’s not really a secret, but as long as you want it to be a secret, it will be your weapon when necessary.”
“If you act like a certain secret is extremely important to you, others will also think this secret is crucial to you.
You desperately try to hide it, but if you reveal it at a critical moment, it naturally proves your sincerity, even if it actually isn’t that important.”
Schiller was referring to Bruce’s future operations with the Justice League.
To gain the League’s trust, Batman took off his mask—revealing a secret that everyone actually already knew: Batman is Bruce Wayne.
But everyone still trusted Batman even more, because Batman had always behaved as if this secret was highly guarded.
His willingness to reveal it for his teammates naturally gained their trust.
Even if anyone with a brain could guess it, it didn’t matter.
What mattered was the attitude!
Bruce touched his chin and seamlessly followed the logic: “For example, if some criminal wants to use this to blackmail me, I can calmly set a trap for him…”
“Alright, Mr.
Wayne.” Schiller glanced at his watch and said, “The counseling session is over.
Regarding your invitation, I will think it over carefully once I receive the formal invitation letter.”
Bruce didn’t quite understand why Schiller needed to think about it so carefully.
In the United States, a verbal invitation usually meant a private, informal visit—basically just having a meal together in private.
But since Schiller mentioned an invitation letter, Bruce thought that perhaps Schiller felt a verbal invitation wasn’t formal or respectful enough.
So, after leaving the counseling room, he had Alfred, the butler, prepare a formal invitation and a banquet.
What he didn’t know was that to Schiller, being invited to Batman’s home was like Batman saying to him, “Are you interested in walking straight into my trap?”
He needed a lot of mental preparation.
Though Schiller knew that the current Bruce was still far from the future Batman, and his two identities weren’t even fully separated yet.
If it were the Batman from the comics, Bruce would just bring a bottle of wine and say he wanted to introduce him to some beauties at a party.
Rather than acting so serious and awkward.
But Schiller’s stereotype of Batman was too deep.
He even suspected this was a trap Batman set up specifically to get his DNA—which was absolutely something Batman would do.
Also, though Bruce didn’t say anything, it was obvious that Pikachu, this yellow mouse, had caught his attention.
Schiller grabbed Pikachu’s tail, lifted it up, and said, “Did you see the person who just came in?
That’s Gotham’s big boss.
If you want to live a good life in the future, you’d better not offend him.”
Pikachu flailed its short arms and struggled desperately in mid-air.
“Put me down!
That guy just now was really terrifying!”
Schiller held Pikachu by the tail right in front of his face.
“How do you know?”
“A detective’s intuition!” Pikachu shouted.
“You should really consider not staying here.
This place gives me the chills.
Why can’t we go back to that place yesterday?
I can even tolerate you eating strawberry jam!”
Schiller looked Pikachu up and down, feeling like it wasn’t telling the truth.