In the settings of Pokémon anime and games, Pikachu is far from a powerful Pokémon.
Its high popularity stems more from its cute appearance.
In both the anime and games, Pikachu is the absolute mascot, and its actual combat capability is quite average.
Especially in games, it is practically a box-warmer.
Compared to those powerful and flashy legendary beasts, Pikachu is indeed cute, but cuteness is its only merit.
But the Pikachu Schiller met was far from that simple.
It had an intelligence comparable to—and even higher than—most humans, possessed Pikachu’s electric-type skills, and seemed to have other abilities.
It was immune to Schiller’s telepathy, and the fear gas only made it stumble.
In terms of body mass, the dose of fear gas Schiller had used to set the trap that day was enough to drive a small creature like Pikachu insane, yet Pikachu had only sneezed a few times.
Furthermore, it could pick his door lock while Schiller was sleeping and climb onto his bed.
Given Pikachu’s height, it couldn’t even reach the doorknob by jumping.
To pick the lock, it would at least have to drag a chair over.
How this round creature, not even reaching a human’s shin, with extremely short arms, managed to drag a chair in the middle of the night, jump onto it, pick the lock, open the door, and scramble next to Schiller without being noticed remained a complete mystery.
However, this Pikachu was clearly much craftier than Schiller had imagined.
More importantly, listening to its Deadpool-esque voice, Schiller really couldn’t keep a straight, serious face like he did with Batman.
If he didn’t look at Pikachu’s face, he always felt as though a man in a red-and-black skin-tight suit was rambling right next to him.
The mental image made him shudder.
Soon, though, Schiller didn’t have much time to worry about Pikachu.
Detective Gordon sent him a text message informing him that they had secured concrete evidence of Jonathan’s crimes and were about to make an arrest.
Arresting Jonathan had nothing to do with Schiller.
What he was more worried about was that no one would provide him with fear gas in the future, so he had to hurry and take Jonathan’s remaining inventory.
Jonathan, the future Scarecrow, was truly quite unfortunate.
Knowing Jonathan was about to be busted, Schiller basically took whatever Jonathan made.
The young Scarecrow didn’t have much anti-reconnaissance awareness yet.
He was on the verge of a breakdown—who on earth kept stealing his fear gas?
With his teleportation ability, stealing fear gas became even simpler for Schiller.
He only needed to teleport repeatedly from about a hundred meters away from the small church in the Mawson District, go straight into the church basement, take the gas, and leave immediately, without leaving even a shadow.
Batman was naturally involved in this arrest operation as well.
With his superb infiltration skills, he returned to the laboratory.
He found that Jonathan had already created a fear gas spray gun.
He suggested to Gordon that he should be the one to capture Jonathan, otherwise, this spray gun might drive all the participating police officers and the residents of the Mawson District insane.
Though Gordon didn’t quite trust this costumed freak in a skin-tight suit, he had his own difficulties.
The Gotham Police Department was full of “talented” people.
Except for him, they were basically eternal slackers who did nothing but coast along.
Whenever something happened, they were always the last to arrive at the scene, and none of them could be relied upon.
There was no need to think too highly of this squad’s combat capability.
A single gas spray gun was enough to knock out more than half of the police department.
Nor could he expect any help from his superiors.
Gordon had long seen through them.
The current commissioner was in bed with various mob forces.
He didn’t want any extra trouble.
To him, the deaths of a few dozen civilians meant nothing compared to his money-making endeavors.
Gordon was helpless and powerless.
Thus, the only person he could rely on was Batman.
The two of them were like two rookies pecking at each other, and in the end, Batman clearly won.
While Jonathan was conducting an experiment in the lab, Batman knocked him out with an anesthetic dart.
Furthermore, the camera on his Batsuit clearly recorded how Jonathan committed his crimes.
In the face of such a clear-cut case with solid evidence, Gordon, who held little authority, was pushed aside.
Gordon’s direct superior took over the case and quickly filed charges and brought it to trial.
This, at least, was a good political achievement to claim.
A university professor actually being the mastermind behind dozens of murders?
In any other region, this bizarre and sensational case would have occupied the front pages of newspapers for days.
But in Gotham, while it was still a major case, it only occupied a single column on the main page of the newspaper.
Seeing that Gordon’s and Batman’s names didn’t appear in the newspaper, which was instead filled with page after page of praise for Gordon’s superior, Schiller knew that this dark city now had one more frustrated, heartbroken soul.
Gordon, the good cop, still had a long way to go.
To Schiller’s surprise, Gordon quickly sought him out.
In the psychological counseling room of Gotham University, Schiller poured a cup of coffee for Gordon.
The detective, still relatively young at this time, looked exhausted.
He took a sip of the hot coffee, and his complexion improved a bit.
He said, “I know my visit is a bit sudden, Professor.
But regarding Jonathan’s case…”
Gordon hesitated.
Schiller said, “Let me guess.
The investigation went smoothly, but things went awry during the trial stage, didn’t they?”
Gordon clenched his fists on the desk.
His face was grim as he said, “That damn murderer has a PhD in chemistry.
You should know what that means in Gotham.
Someone doesn’t want him sentenced to death.
They want to get him off on the grounds of mental illness so they can put him to work for them.”
Schiller sat across from him and said, “Indeed.
A genius chemist—if he can manufacture even one new type of hallucinogenic drug, whoever employs him will make a fortune.”
Gordon shook his head and said, “It’s far more dangerous than that.
The drugs they want Jonathan to develop might be even more hazardous.”
“If they just wanted to invent narcotics, they’d only make petty money off those junkies.
But if they actually invent a virus that can put the entire population of Gotham under their control, the wealth they could gain is beyond words,” Gordon said.
“Did someone leak the details about the fear gas?” Schiller asked.
The gas’s effects were so outstanding that it would inevitably draw the attention of certain people to Jonathan’s value.
Gordon looked at him, hesitated for a moment, and said, “I don’t mean to offend, but I want to confirm if you’ve seen anyone suspicious lately.”
“I can tell you very clearly that I haven’t mentioned this to anyone, and there is no benefit in doing so for me.
As a university professor, having a murderer for a colleague is already disgraceful enough.
Any further connection to him would severely damage my career,” Schiller said.
“Then…” Gordon crossed his hands.
He said, “That night, I heard you call that costumed freak ‘Bruce’.
He’s Bruce Wayne, isn’t he?”
“Regarding that topic, I can’t tell you anything.
You should verify it with him yourself instead of asking me.” Find the original chapter at g.com.
“I know what you’re worried about,” Schiller said.
“As Gotham City’s biggest commercial tycoon, Bruce Wayne might not be entirely clean of those dirty dealings.
And if he finds out you’re investigating this, you’ll certainly meet a miserable end.
That’s what you’re thinking, right?”
Gordon said, “Jonathan said in his confession that someone had been stealing most of his fear gas all along.
That costumed freak is my prime suspect.
He’s just too suspicious.”
Schiller felt a bit sentimental.
These details that never appeared in the comics were quite interesting to witness now.
This legendary partnership of Gordon and Batman didn’t start with mutual trust.
Gordon was actually very suspicious of this bizarrely dressed vigilante.
It wasn’t surprising.
No normal person would easily accept someone running around Gotham in the dead of night wearing a black skin-tight suit with two pointy ears.
Such behavior didn’t scream “good guy.”
Schiller said, “Have you ever thought that he might be suspecting you in the exact same way?”
Gordon sighed and said, “Actually, he has even more reason to suspect me.
If he really is Bruce Wayne…
I know the Wayne child has never stopped investigating the case from back then.
The deaths of the Waynes were extremely suspicious.
I’ve looked at the case files before, and there are far too many inconsistencies.
If young Wayne is Batman, of course he wouldn’t trust any cop, including me.”
“Gotham’s police…” Gordon said with a sigh.
“I know the police in this city are just decorations.
No one can rely on them for anything.” He looked somewhat dejected, sighed, took a sip of coffee, and fell silent.
Schiller said, “As a rock in the mud, you are already hard enough.
You can’t expect anyone to pull you out.
It’s best if you keep rolling and growing.
When you occupy the entire mud pit, it won’t be any different from an asphalt road.”
“Is that how you see it?
Do you think I should keep going down this path?” Gordon also seemed somewhat lost.
It was no wonder he was so depressed.
After risking his life and putting in countless hours of hard work to crack a case, not only was the credit stolen, but now people were willing to let a killer who slaughtered dozens of civilians go free just for profit.
This was a severe blow to Gordon.
Schiller smiled and said, “Detective Gordon, it looks like you need a psychological counseling session.
Coincidentally, I happen to be a psychologist, and I don’t charge.”
Gordon forced a smile and said, “I’ve seen your credentials on file, Professor Schiller.
Getting psychological treatment from a renowned psychologist like you can count as my year-end bonus.
In any case, thank you.”
Schiller said, “You’re welcome.
It is my honor to assist a good cop in Gotham.”
Gordon’s smile grew even fainter.
He said, almost like a sigh, “A good cop?
Perhaps…”