Silence hung briefly in the office before Schiller spoke:
"Later, take this report to Mrs. Felton in the Academic Office. As for the club matters, let's hold off until after finals. Right now, the students don't have the time or energy for that."
Evans, holding the stack of files, nodded. "That's true. Almost everyone's been studying hard. Even the ones who used to skip classes are practically living in the library these days."
Schiller shuffled some papers on his desk, then handed Evans another pile. "I told you the whole book is important, but at your current level, memorizing it cover to cover is wishful thinking. Here's the range of materials for the paper topics. Make sure they finish reading these as soon as possible."
As he was speaking, there was a knock at the door. Evans glanced back and said, "I'll leave you to it, Professor. I'll get everything arranged."
After Evans left, Bruce walked in as if it were his own room and casually sat down. Schiller, tidying up the textbooks on his desk, asked, "So, have you finished reviewing?"
"Of course. It wasn't that much." Bruce's pride in his intelligence and memory was plain.
"You'd better make sure your paper passes, or else I'll call your butler… what was his name again?"
"Uh—Alfred. Professor, my butler's name is Alfred Pennyworth."
"Oh, right. If you fail this exam, I'll call your butler Alfred."
Bruce was quiet for a moment, then sighed. "Fine… maybe you should give me some more materials."
A strange, prickling feeling came over him. Schiller's matter-of-fact "call your parents" attitude made him feel like a little kid. He was annoyed—but when he pictured that scene, he decided it was better to just go home and study more.
"What are your plans for the break?" Schiller asked.
"I've got plenty to do. You know that. What about you?"
"Yesterday, the attending physician at Arkham called me. We were classmates. He's swamped over there and asked me to help. I plan to take two students along for fieldwork."
"Oh? And who?"
"I've already cleared it with Falcone—Evans will definitely go. His grades are excellent, and he's first in the class. As for the other… I haven't decided yet."
Bruce opened his mouth, but Schiller cut him off. "Not you. Your grades are terrible."
Bruce scowled. "Things at the East Docks are still unstable. Without the Edward family, it's chaos again. I've been busy at night. So has Gordon."
"I suspect your nightly 'work' isn't just your hero business. How's that thief who stole your heart?" Schiller teased.
Bruce replied, "Lately, it's only been the other half of my work. Selina's friend Maggie has been sick, so she hasn't been around."
"But…" Bruce gave a small grin. "Our noble attorney Harvey seems to be making moves."
Schiller raised a brow. "He's taken a liking to Gotham's ladies? That's rare. Who's the lucky one?"
"Christine."
"The cheer squad captain? Wasn't she a Batman fangirl?"
"The old headmaster was thrown back in prison thanks to her testimony, with Harvey leading her case. This time, because of his defense, there's no loophole like medical parole left. The old man got 137 years. He's never coming out."
"You know how it is—Harvey's silver tongue in court, making waves… of course, he'd win a girl's admiration."
Schiller rubbed at his brow with mock dismay. "Tsk, tsk. Our lawyer certainly doesn't lack romance."
After Bruce left, Schiller returned to his apartment, still half-distracted, chatting with Green Lantern in his head.
He knew this routine all too well. Right now, Hal was just like Peter had been when he first got powers—excited, reckless, eager to talk. It was obvious he'd already gotten the Green Lantern ring.
Compared to Peter, though, Hal was older, a licensed pilot, far more grounded. He might be buzzing with excitement in chat, but he never once mentioned aliens or the miraculous ring.
Schiller humored him for a while, then clicked his profile. Sure enough, Hal's powers could now be copied.
Schiller activated the copy—but the response lagged far too long. No system chime.
Instead, his symbiote buzzed faintly in his mind. Schiller called to it, but no answer came. At last, the system's voice arrived:
"World within the Ring—Loaded."
Schiller was baffled. Then the symbiote pulsed with excitement. A moment later, something materialized in his hand. He looked down—a simple, ancient-looking silver-gray ring.
Strange. The system never duplicated external objects. And even if it had recreated Hal's Green Lantern ring, shouldn't it be green? Why was this one gray?
The symbiote explained: Green Lantern was unique. Almost all his powers came from the ring—the energy constructs, the barriers, teleportation, even healing. These abilities required a vessel.
Schiller didn't have the ring. So the system had reshaped the symbiote into that vessel.
"So… the vessel is you. What's this ring for, then?"
"Nothing. Just pretty," the symbiote replied.
"…Great," Schiller muttered.
He studied the ring: plain silver-gray, engraved with wavy lines. Nothing flashy. Except… it had appeared on his ring finger.
"So how do I use it?"
"Just think it."
Schiller closed his eyes. Darkness filled his vision—then a cloud of gray mist swelled before him. A flash of white light, and suddenly his awareness stood on an island shrouded in that same mist.
The island was small; from any point, he could see its edges. He flew his perception to the edge and peered down.
Below lay an unfathomably vast city.
Between island and city, layer after layer of gray fog swirled. The city was colossal, its architecture warped and alien. From time to time, massive shapes—too indistinct to identify—moved through the misty streets.
A floating island over a monstrous city.
Schiller recalled the "world within the ring" from the comics: a pocket dimension. Green Lantern had shrunk enemies and trapped them there, and even been trapped inside himself.
Even its wielders could not fully control this inner world. Schiller found the same: he could only roam the island. The city below was unreachable, beyond his control.
Fortunately, the island seemed isolated. The immense figures in the fog paid him no notice.
What shocked him most was that his physical body had entered, too. And here, he could still commune with the symbiote.
He cut the link and returned to reality. The clock ticked forward. Time flowed normally.
That meant this place could serve as a private refuge. If ever faced with danger beyond his power, he could slip into the gray world and wait it out.
But those blurred giants below… that city beneath the mist… There were secrets there, dangerous ones. Staying too long would be unwise. This "ring-world" was a last resort.
Later that evening, Mrs. Felton from the Academic Office came by. She'd meant to confirm next term's textbook budget, but being warm-hearted, she added, "Our new principal was just discharged yesterday. He may be back in his office tomorrow."
She gave Schiller a meaningful look. "He seemed restless. Might be planning something big."
Sure enough, that night Principal Smith called.
This time, he wasn't blustering with demands. Instead, he made small talk about working hard. Only at the end did he hint: Gotham University's faculty might soon be reshuffled. He was bringing in colleagues from Princeton—renowned experts to form a new team.
It was a clear tactic to unsettle Schiller. Resources at the university were tied to departments' prominence. Right now, Schiller's psychology program was Gotham's crown jewel, drawing students from afar just to study under him.
But if world-class scholars came with new labs and projects, would psychology still command the same resources? That was the implied threat.
At first, Schiller didn't mind. Stronger faculty would elevate the school and enhance his résumé, too.
Then he saw a name on Smith's list—
Victor Fries.