Chapter 67: Black Sun and Bat Lamp (Part 1)

In Gotham City, on a morning that was neither sunny nor warm, students at Gotham University took their psychology final exams.

When Evans handed out the papers, there was a sound of ghosts howling in the classroom, and then, outside the door, the sound of leather shoes stepping on the marble floor was heard, and in an instant, the classroom became silent.

Schiller walked into the classroom while packing up his umbrella, and saw that everyone was working hard, and nodded with satisfaction.

Then he put the umbrella on the ground, put his hand on the handle, stood in the middle of the classroom and said: "The time for this exam is 1 hour and 40 minutes. In theory, you can hand in the paper in advance, but I am bored here to supervise the exam. I will definitely mark the papers you hand in in advance."

"At least, you have to make sure that what you write is enough for me to read until you walk out of this classroom."

"Also, although I didn't ask you to sit separately, it's best not to whisper to each other. Please write neatly on the paper, and no cursive is allowed. Most importantly, please write your name clearly. I mean your legal name. Don't make me emphasize repeatedly not to write nicknames like I did in the first week of school."

"Okay, start answering the papers."

Then the whole classroom became completely quiet, with only the rustling sound of the pen tip scratching on the paper.

There has never been a classroom at Gotham University with such a rich learning atmosphere. Bruce looked up between writing. Sitting in front of him on the right was the nephew of the East District Hyena. This guy smoked, drank, and fought when he was in his early teens. He was a pure bad boy.

But at this time, he was sitting in his seat. After 10 minutes, he was still writing hard, or his brain full of alcohol and tobacco could still support him to write.

Sitting on Bruce's left was a famous graffiti boy at Gotham University. He was good at spray painting and often messed up the walls everywhere. He even sprayed his big head graffiti on the wall of the corridor of the principal's office when Seldon enforced the campus alcohol ban.

He was almost there. He couldn't write the first essay question and was drawing various patterns on the paper.

Bruce took a quick glance with his good eyesight and found that he was drawing Schiller. However, unlike those spoof graffiti, the Schiller in his painting had his back to a black sun, his hands open, and some particle-like patterns surrounding him. The whole picture looked weird but handsome. I just don't know if Schiller would be willing to give him two more points for his careful creation.

After half an hour, more than two-thirds of the people were still writing, which was simply a miracle of Gotham University.

In the past, during the final exams, first of all, there would be a few troublemakers who were absent directly, and the seats would definitely not be filled. Two minutes into the exam, someone would finish writing their names, stand up and leave.

After 10 minutes of the exam, many people would guess the simple and easy-to-write multiple-choice questions, throw down their pens, hand in the papers in advance, and leave directly.

In the past, after 20 minutes, there were only a few people left in the whole classroom. Even if they stayed, they didn't go to write those essay questions, but they didn't have any plans later, so they took advantage of the quietness of the classroom to sleep.

But now, Bruce looked up at his watch. 40 minutes had passed, and half of the students were still writing.

No one dared to hand in the paper early. Even though most of them had racked their brains and were on the verge of exhaustion, most of them still bit their pens and sat in their seats, hoping that their small brains could squeeze out a few more words to write on the paper, trying to make the professor less angry when he saw their answers that were between illiterate and semi-illiterate.

In fact, even the introductory textbooks on psychology, which involve various proper nouns, names, theories, and definitions, are difficult.

Not to mention the Gotham University students who are used to being ignorant, even the students of those famous American universities must prepare before the special lectures, otherwise they will easily fall into the dilemma of a blank mind.

Reciting is a difficult task for these students whose brains have not been working for a long time, not to mention reciting in a rush within a week or two.

After an hour, most people had stopped writing. Bruce wrote down the names of those who were still writing hard on the draft paper. They would be the backbone of the psychology club he would form in the future.

He thought about it and wrote down the name of the graffiti boy. After all, the club always needs an artist to promote it.

After waiting for 1 hour and 40 minutes, when the professor sitting in front of us spit out the "collection" and hit the floor heavily, there were exhalations in the classroom. It was obvious that they were all going crazy.

After the papers were collected, no one dared to leave. Until Schiller nailed all the papers, checked the number of copies, checked the names, and left the classroom with a stack of papers, the classroom was like a bomb that suddenly exploded, and it exploded with a "boom".

"Oh no! I don't know how to answer most of the fill-in-the-blank questions. I'm done for now!"

"Damn it, I memorized the definition of psychology last night! But I didn't take the exam? I shouldn't have wasted so much time in the front!"

"I wrote the answer to the second essay question on the fourth one. Oh my god, what should I do? I will definitely not get any points for the essay question!"

"Who of you has written a graduate application? Evans, have you? Yesterday my father told me that if I can study for a master's degree with my brain, I might as well hope that our dog can climb trees! But my dog ​​is a corgi..."

"I still owe two papers to hand in. I must complete them before the holiday, otherwise I will be nervous during this holiday and don't think about having fun..."

Several people gathered in front of Bruce's desk. They were the first group of club members invited by Bruce. The graffiti boy Rennie with a fluorescent yellow forehead protector said: "The professor will like my paintings. I can see that he is an artistic person."

"But he may like to see your correct answer more." Bruce said.

"Come on, I know nothing. Reciting will pollute my brain." Rennie touched his nose. He is a typical Germanic with green eyes and a few freckles, wearing reggae-style clothes.

"And who says that's not the correct answer? Who says you have to write to answer questions? The same goes for drawing. I will pass!"

"Okay, I'll pay you to draw a poster for me. It should be bigger and more impactful. It will be used to promote this club. You can name the price, but I hope it must be shocking enough." Bruce said.

Rennie snapped his fingers and said, "Kuo, you found the right person! No one in Gotham knows how to shock people better than me!"

Several people put their heads together and muttered.

"What? You mean you want to..."

"You're such a genius..."

"Add me, I want to come too!"

"This is a big surprise... Yes, I'm sure it will work..."

"Maybe he will pass us for this..."

A few days later, Schiller was grading papers while accumulating anger. Although he had expected the level of Gotham University's unlearned students, he still didn't expect them to score this badly.

Since he didn't want to be polluted by these academic garbage, Schiller planned to work overtime today, grade all the papers in one go, and then give most of them a failing grade.

Suddenly, he heard a sharp sound from the window of the office building, a bit like a fire siren, but shorter and sharper than that.

Schiller stood up and looked out the window, and found that some lights were shaking. It was just getting dark, and it was far from the time when the street lights were on. Most teachers and students had not left the school yet.

He heard a noisy voice downstairs, and it seemed that someone was calling his last name. Schiller put down his pen, left his desk, and walked to the window.

The entire side of the building opposite was wrapped in a huge curtain. Schiller had heard people say that the wall was being renovated. He didn't often walk that way, so he didn't pay much attention to it.

But as soon as he walked to the window, the curtain on the opposite wall fell down instantly. There seemed to be a huge graffiti on it, as high as a 7-story building. A row of spotlights suddenly lit up below, illuminating the side of the entire building as bright as day.

It was indeed a huge graffiti. At the bottom was Schiller's back, and above was a black sun full of countless strange patterns. The sun was surrounded by several circles of flames composed of golden patterns. Schiller's figure was standing in front of the black sun.

Schiller's figure was almost integrated into the background of the black sun, or this huge sun was like his shadow.

Schiller stood in front of the window. He was first dazzled by the high-power spotlight. When he opened his eyes, he saw such a picture.

Schiller: "..."

Symbiote: "...Wow."

The side of the entire graffiti read: "Join the psychology club, face people's hearts, and face this black sun. - Blue Ghost Rainey"

Schiller looked down and saw a group of people standing at the bottom of the building waving at him excitedly. They were most of the psychology students at Gotham University, including Bruce Wayne.

Schiller looked up again and looked at the black sun composed of countless strange patterns. It was full of a bizarre horror aesthetics that made people unable to take their eyes off it, as if their souls were being sucked in.

Horror, weird, bizarre, absurd, but full of beauty that made people deeply trapped.

Schiller recalled that "Gotham" originally meant "Fool Village". It was indeed full of all kinds of absurd fools, who didn't know where to live or where to die.

But at the same time, it was full of all kinds of geniuses, who had unparalleled talents and fascinating vitality.

Schiller was indeed a little fascinated. This bold and weird absurd action was full of special vitality that was not found anywhere else in the world, like a terrifying vine climbing up from the bottomless abyss, and also like a top work of art that was comparable to countless masters.

Schiller knew more than these students, but he just realized that he had not learned one thing yet -

He really hadn't learned Gotham yet.

Everyone living here was crazy, but at the same time sober.

This dark city does not need anyone to correct it. They live so madly in the abyss, living out a twisted and weird vitality.

This vitality grows out of the darkness. The people here use madness as a blade, so accurately pointing to anyone's heart.

Schiller stared straight at the black sun. He thought, perhaps, the people here are all incomparable geniuses. The only fool is himself and everyone who wants to act as a savior outside the comics.

The people here use their brains without any theoretical knowledge of psychology to see through their professors like mind reading.

The black sun is also the sun. This is a very accurate profile of Schiller.

Schiller's incarnation is indeed not the scorching sun, but a sun that is not bright and has no heat, a black sun.

After a few minutes, Schiller wrote a line of words on the foggy glass with his finger - "You passed."

Instantly, violent cheers broke out downstairs. Under the black sun, it was as if the people under the shining star that would never shine were celebrating the new life.