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 final psychology exams.

When Evans handed out the papers, there was a howling of ghosts and wolves 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. 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 writings. 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.

Half an hour later, 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 full. Two minutes into the exam, someone finished writing their name, stood up and left.

"This Star Wants to Retire"

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 this group of Gotham University students who are used to being ignorant, even those students from famous American universities must prepare before the special lectures, otherwise they will easily fall into the dilemma of having 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 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 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 them spit out the "collection" and hit the floor heavily, there were exhalations in the classroom. It was obvious that they were 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 screwed!"

"Damn it! I memorized the definition of psychology last night! But I didn't take the test? I shouldn't have wasted so much time on the previous questions!"

"I wrote the answer to the second essay question on the fourth one. Oh my god, what should I do? I'm sure I won't get any points on the essay questions!"

"Which of you has written a graduate application? Evans, have you written it? Yesterday my father told me that if my brain can go to graduate school, I might as well hope that our dog can climb trees! But my dog ​​is a Corgi..."

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"I still owe two papers that have not been submitted. I must complete them before the holiday. Otherwise, I will definitely be on tenterhooks during this holiday and not have any fun..."

Several people gathered in front of Bruce's table. They were the first club members invited by Bruce. Reni, the graffiti boy wearing a fluorescent yellow forehead protector, said: "The professor will like my paintings. I can see that he is a A person with artistic accomplishment.”

"But he'd probably prefer to see your correct answer," Bruce said.

"Come on, I know nothing. Reciting will pollute my brain." Reni touched his nose. He was a typical Germanic race, with green eyes and a little freckles, and wore reggae-style clothes.

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

"Okay, I'll pay you to draw a poster for me. It should be bigger and more impactful to promote this association. The price is whatever you want, but I hope it must be shocking enough." Bruce said.

Lenny snapped his fingers and said: "Rich man, you have found the right person! There is no one in Gotham who knows how to shock people better than me!"

Several people put their heads together and muttered.

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

"You are such a genius..."

"Add me one, I want to come too!"

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

"Maybe for the sake of this, he will give us a passing grade..."

A few days later, Schiller was grading papers and accumulating anger bars. Although he had already expected the level of these unskilled students at Gotham University, he still didn't expect that they would be able to do this well in the exam.

Not wanting to continue to pollute his brain with 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 high-pitched chirp coming from outside the window of his 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 dark now, far from the time when the street lights turned on, and most of the teachers and students had not left the school yet.

He heard a commotion downstairs, as if 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 someone say before that it was undergoing wall renovation. He didn't often walk that way, so he didn't pay much attention.

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

It was indeed a huge graffiti. The bottom was Schiller's back, and the top was a black sun filled with countless strange patterns. The sun was surrounded by several circles of flames composed of golden patterns. Schiller's figure stood on the black sun. the front.

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

Schiller stood in front of the window. His eyes were first dazzled by the high-power spotlight. As soon as he opened his eyes, he saw such a picture.

Schiller: "..."

Symbiote: "...Wow."

The entire side of the graffiti reads: "Join the psychology club, face the human heart, face the black sun. - Blue Ghost Renee"

When Schiller lowered his head, he saw a group of people standing at the bottom of the building waving to him excitedly. They were most of the psychology students at Gotham University, including Bruce Wayne.

Schiller raised his head again and looked at the black sun composed of countless strange patterns. It was full of a bizarre and terrifying aesthetic that made people unable to move their eyes away from it, as if their souls were being sucked in by it.

Horrible, weird, bizarre, absurd, but also full of beauty that makes people unable to extricate themselves from it.

Schiller recalled that "Gotham" originally meant "Fool's Village", and it was indeed full of all kinds of ridiculous fools who had no idea where they were born and where they were going to die.

But at the same time, this place is full of all kinds of geniuses. They have unparalleled talents and a fascinating vitality.

Schiller was indeed a little obsessed. This bold and weird absurd action was full of special vitality that could not be found anywhere in the world. It was like a terrifying vine climbing up from the bottomless abyss, and like a top work of art that could rival countless masters.

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

It is true that he has not learned Gotham yet.

Everyone living here is crazy, but at the same time sane.

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

This kind of vitality grows out of the darkness, and the people here use madness as a blade to point directly to anyone's heart so accurately.

Schiller stared straight at the black sun. He thought, maybe, the people here are all unparalleled geniuses, and the only fool is himself, everyone who tries to be a savior outside the comics.

The people here, with their brains without any knowledge of psychology theory, saw through their professors like a mind reader.

The black sun is also a sun, which is a very accurate profile of Schiller.

Schiller's incarnation is indeed not a scorching sun, but a sun that does not shine or have heat, a black sun.

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

In an instant, 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.