"This time, I want to give special praise to Mr. Robert. His argument on emotional segmentation analysis aligns perfectly with the theories I covered in class. Of course, Miss Hoff wrote the longest essay this round, but I have to say—word count doesn't equate to quality. If you can clearly express your ideas within 3,000 words, I'd be much happier."
"And, unsurprisingly, there's still one person who hasn't turned in his assignment. Mr. Wayne, please come to my office after class. If you still don't plan on submitting your work, then you don't need to bother with the final exam. Without coursework grades, you won't be able to earn credit for the semester, no matter how well you do on the test."
Schiller closed the textbook in front of him and said, "Class dismissed."
Gotham University is located on the U.S. East Coast. As everyone knows, most of the country's top universities are also clustered here—Harvard, MIT, Princeton, and so on.
Gotham University isn't a competitor to those schools. Although it's a nationally recognized public university, it's not an Ivy League institution. And in Gotham—famous for its terrible crime rate—few American students would even consider applying. Even the rare locals with the means to attend college usually opt for schools in neighboring cities.
This leaves Gotham University's student body mostly comprised of those who couldn't gain admission elsewhere, or international students. Their academic performance is hardly stellar. For many, the only reason they bother to turn in assignments at all is Schiller's terrifying reputation.
But even that isn't the main reason Gotham University ranks so low. With the Wayne family as a powerful backer, the school could easily afford top professors and advanced labs, enough to attract elite talent. And truthfully, as long as you stayed within the campus, the city's crime wasn't much of a problem.
The real obstacle was the university president, who refused to let the Wayne family exert too much control. Don't mistake this for integrity—he viewed the school as a political stepping stone, and had no intention of handing that leverage to the Waynes.
As a result, Gotham University languished in a half-dead state. Schiller was deeply dissatisfied; he didn't want a failing university to blemish his perfect résumé. His private goal was simple: turn Gotham University into an Ivy League institution.
After all, it was already in the Northeast, and its football team wasn't bad. Joining the Ivy League didn't seem too far-fetched.
Until then, no matter how messy Gotham became—even if Batman cracked skulls in the streets—Schiller intended to mind his own business.
That afternoon, Bruce Wayne came to Schiller's office. "Professor," he said, "it's not that I didn't write the paper. My butler can bring the USB drive by shortly…"
"No paper in hand means no paper at all," Schiller snapped.
He tapped the desk. "If I let you off for skipping assignments, what's to stop the others from doing the same? You assume that as a Wayne, you're entitled to special privileges. But the billions your family donates don't end up in my pocket. If you don't hand in your work, I'll strip your credits and you won't graduate."
Bruce muttered, "Technically, I already have my diploma. The factory that prints them belongs to my family."
Schiller rubbed his forehead. "Why am I wasting my breath with a spoiled rich kid… How's your investigation going?"
"Christine never left Gotham University," Bruce explained. "She disappeared on campus. And it happened after Jonathan's arrest, so he couldn't have been involved."
"Do you have any suspects?" Schiller asked.
"The university president looks suspicious," Bruce replied quickly, before Schiller could question him. "I don't have proof he kidnapped her, but the three jurors pushing hardest for Jonathan's acquittal, along with his defense lawyer, are all tied to the Red Crow gang."
"And the president is friends with their boss. They've attended mayoral banquets together. Most damning of all, his daughter is married to the Red Crow's smuggling chief."
"But what role does Christine play in all this? By all accounts, she's just an ordinary girl—albeit a very beautiful one."
"I suspect she overheard the president scheming with Jonathan," Bruce said. He leaned forward on the desk, frowning. "You know the football season is about to start. The cheer squad has been under pressure, especially since their uniforms for the new season hadn't been approved. Christine, as captain, was desperate. She likely went to the president directly—and heard something she wasn't meant to."
"Do you have evidence?" Schiller pressed.
Bruce shook his head. "I'm not going to act rashly and confront him—not without proof. That would only tip him off."
"I doubt she's dead," Schiller said. "If the president really is behind this, he wouldn't kill her. Not yet. The cheer squad can't replace a captain on such short notice. If the team's performance suffered, the football season would tank. And that would stain the president's résumé."
Bruce sighed. "Whatever the case, Christine is innocent."
"Have you spoken with Gordon lately? Any progress on his end?" Schiller asked.
"Not much. But if I can find Christine and put her on the stand, her testimony could expose their conspiracy to clear Jonathan. That might finally send him to prison."
"Have you considered," Schiller said, "that Jonathan doesn't necessarily need to serve his time in Gotham's prison?"
"You want me to build a private one?" Bruce asked.
Schiller didn't answer. He stood. "Do you really plan to run every criminal you catch through this rigged justice system? Do you enjoy wasting your time in their broken courts?"
"You could've crushed the gangs in not just Morrison District, but two or three surrounding blocks, in the time you've spent chasing paperwork."
"Deep down, you know which fights Batman should be picking, Bruce."
Bruce left, weighed down with thoughts.
Schiller had his own problem to solve. If Jonathan went to prison—any prison—the supply of fear toxin would dry up. His current stockpile wouldn't last forever, and he lacked both the formula and the skills to synthesize it. Losing such a useful weapon would be a shame.
But Schiller wasn't as reckless as Batman. He knew the best move wasn't to interrogate Jonathan, or worse, break him out and force him to work. Too messy. Too dangerous.
No—better to let someone else do the dirty work. Find a buyer willing to squeeze Jonathan for the formula and keep him working. Then Schiller could quietly steal the finished product.
The gangs would never use the toxin for anything good. So why not let them produce it, while he skimmed off the top? With his new Grey Mist ability, he could steal anything they made without being caught.
Schiller knew Crane's chemistry was top-notch, but the man had no instincts for survival. He must have already handed over the fear gas formula. The problem wasn't the recipe—it was the cooks. The gang's chemists just weren't good enough to reproduce it. Their batches came out weak, unstable, nothing like Crane's concentrated toxin.
So once again the whole mess circled back to the same point: they needed Crane. For all his inexperience, Gotham's underworld couldn't afford to cut him loose.
Schiller watched them struggle and shook his head. He had even planned to camp outside their factory, ready to swallow up every ounce of toxin they produced. But the fools couldn't even get the line running.
His "zero-dollar procurement" plan had failed. Still, he wasn't discouraged. If the Red Crow gang couldn't handle it, he'd simply line up a new buyer for Jonathan—someone with more brains and resources.
Someone like Maroni."