Chapter 43 A Suspicious Storyline: The Owl Lied Again ( )

Gotham East.

Even in Gotham, this place is quite "vibrant." Gunshots ring out from time to time on the streets, as many people take advantage of the night owl's curfew and the last moments before nightfall to complete their day's shootouts and robberies.

In such a place, a person dressed in a neat full suit would stand out a bit. Even though the gentleman's clothes were a bit too big and looked like a rented suit, quite a few people still looked at him with the eyes of someone eyeing dessert.

The man had his head down and was wearing a mask that covered most of his face; he looked like a naive graduate who had failed to find a job.

Such people generally lack connections, courage, and fighting skills... Although they may not have money, the fact that it's difficult for the other party to retaliate is enough for them to take action once.

Several people were watching him furtively as he walked straight into a bar that catered to gangsters.

This place is their territory now. Whether they let him have a few drinks and then steal his valuables, or they corner him inside and rob him directly, it's all good.

Unfortunately, just as he was about to step into the bar, a pair of hands grabbed the hem of his clothes.

The "naive graduate" turned his head and looked down at the hand that was tugging at his clothes.

It was a bit dirty, and seemed to be covered in dust and oil. Judging from its size, the child was probably still in elementary school.

“If you want to drown your sorrows in alcohol, I suggest you go to another place,” the child said in a low voice. “When you go to a new place, you have to follow its rules.”

After he finished speaking, he turned to leave, but the masked man grabbed him by the back of his collar.

"What are you trying to do!" the child struggled violently.

A large hand was spread out in front of him.

"I'm just giving you a friendly reminder, are you still going to rob me?!"

“You’ve got the wrong one, that’s not a wallet.” The masked man’s somewhat muffled voice came through as he pulled a bulging genuine leather wallet from his inner pocket with one hand. “This is the one.”

After saying that, he stuffed the wallet into the child's arms, snatched the black square box back from the child's hand, and let go.

The child opened it and saw that it was filled with official "portraits" of Mr. Benjamin Franklin. From the paper to the details of the illustrations, it was clear that this was an impeccable official product.

!

The child immediately closed his wallet, glanced again at the strange man heading towards the bar, gritted his teeth, grabbed the man's wrist, and whispered, "Don't go, there's a trap inside today."

The masked man acted as if he hadn't heard him and continued walking inside.

Seeing that he was really ignorant, the child didn't say much. He had already given all the advice he could, and even this one sentence was said at the risk of his life.

But at that moment, he keenly noticed a guy charging towards him.

He recognized the face very well; it belonged to a rather notorious robber.

Clearly, this guy smelled the allure of a hundred dollars and realized that this masked man was actually a fat sheep, so he planned to rob him along with the masked man.

This is the last time!

For Franklin's sake!

The child suddenly tugged at the masked person, who, bewildered, ran along with the force. The two of them darted into a side path and, in a series of twists and turns, managed to shake off the person.

"What's wrong?" the masked man asked, somewhat puzzled. "All the cash I brought is with you. Someone's trying to rob us, why are you pulling me along?"

"Huff...huff...where did you come from, you idiot, running all the way from out of town to Gotham...to go to college?" The kid leaned against the wall, panting. "Let's not even talk about that...black box in your pocket. What if they kidnap you and demand money from your parents?"

“First, I’m a Gotham native and I’ve been working here for several years,” the masked man replied. “Second, my parents are dead and they can’t get the money.”

"……Feel sorry."

“It’s okay, I don’t care about these things. My parents died young, and I have no feelings for them,” said the masked man, Thomas. “In fact, if it weren’t for the portraits of them still hanging in the house, I wouldn’t even remember their faces.”

"Just go already," the child waved at him impatiently, "This area is dangerous today, why do you have to go to that bar..."

“Someone called me.” Thomas didn’t care much about the rented suit (he had paid a lot of deposit anyway), and leaned against the dirty walls on either side of the alley without a care. “I’ve been really bored lately, and I can’t keep up with my research plans.”

You've come already?

"I'm coming."

The child didn't speak, but it was clear from his expression that he felt he was facing a fool.

"Then why haven't you left yet?"

“Because you look familiar, I wanted to say a few words, but we just happened to be blocked. It seems that your words just now accidentally provoked some people,” Thomas closed his eyes, “those who want to deal with me, and those who want to rob you, they surrounded us.”

"What!" The child almost jumped up.

"Literally, congratulations, you've inadvertently become involved in a conspiracy."

"What level of conspiracy?" The child swallowed hard.

“That’s hard to calculate, although I personally think it’s child’s play,” Thomas said thoughtfully. “The main thing is that I don’t really know who my opponent is right now, so figuring it out in advance would be pointless.”

"What do we do now?" the child cried out in despair, pulling at his hair. "Run?"

“Of course we’re waiting for them to come and arrest us. You can’t escape alone,” Thomas said. “It’s okay, don’t be afraid. I’ve observed that this place is perfect for urban warfare.”

The narrow roads, poor ventilation, tall buildings on both sides, and difficulty in using high-powered weapons... make it perfect for Batman to shine.

Are we going to take on a whole group just the two of us?

“Who said it takes two people to fight a whole group?” Thomas unbuttoned his coat. “I believe there will be kind people to help.”

He believed in Batman's abilities.

He then sat down on a few crates that were placed to the side: "Since neither of us can get out anyway, do you want to chat for a while?"

This seems unusual, as Thomas would rather memorize pi than strike up a conversation with a stranger.

His eerie calmness, as if he were someone tall and could handle anything, infected the child, who didn't stand on ceremony and sat down next to Thomas, taking the initiative: "Did you go to college?"

Gotham University.

“Great! I suddenly realize that these prestigious universities aren’t so out of reach after all,” the kid complained. “What are you studying?”

"philosophy."

Does philosophy also require scientific research?

“Social science is also science,” Thomas replied, “although I haven’t studied it.”

"Aren't you a philosophy student?"

“I chose philosophy as my major because I didn’t want to waste time listening to people explain cutting-edge technologies; I wanted to hear something new.” He casually unbuttoned a button on his jacket. “But on my first day at school, I realized I was really not suited for social sciences here.”

"Then what?"

“I forged a medical record and dropped out of school to work.”

“Wasteful,” the child smacked his lips in dissatisfaction.

“Not quite. Philosophy is still useful to me,” Thomas replied sternly. “At least if I say something crazy, as long as I tell the other person that I study philosophy, most people will assume that I studied philosophy and ended up like that—anyway, most people think that people who study philosophy only talk nonsense.”

"..." The child was speechless, then asked, "So you're a scientist? Did you research something dangerous that got targeted by gangsters?"

“You can’t say that,” Thomas replied. “I don’t make a living from scientific research.”

He mainly sought death through scientific research.

"So what exactly do you do? Why are so many people trying to arrest you?" The child frowned. "I heard yesterday that several gangs have put aside their past grudges and teamed up to ambush someone at that bar."

“I’m a businessman,” Thomas replied. “Working in a family business, I’ve certainly offended quite a few people.”

"A businessman? No wonder he's so rich." The child touched the wallet in his pocket. "What's your family's company called? I'll be careful when buying things from you in the future."

Thomas remained silent for a short while.

"If you don't want to talk about it, then don't."

There were sounds of fighting coming from outside.

“You seem to care a lot about school.” Thomas finally found a suitable opportunity to ask something he was interested in. “Judging from your age, are you in elementary school?”

"I don't have that kind of money." The child slammed his heel against the box. "When I was a kid, I was almost sold to a gang by those two drug addicts to pay off their debts. I'm lucky to be alive now."

It was indeed worth it; abandoning the people in the bar and running away with this kid was definitely the right thing to do.

Thomas tapped the crate with his fingers.

This seems to be a different individual, and he has never observed this person's origin.

Did I cause this change? Or is it simply because this is the way the world is supposed to go?

"So you need money?" Thomas took a piece of paper and a pen from his inside pocket, turned around, and pressed the paper against the crate. "How much money do you need?"

"Around 240,000. I've calculated it. That should be enough for the public schools in the state. I can also work part-time."

“Great, money is exactly what I need most.” Thomas told him, “I can lend you this money, but you have to promise to work for my company to pay off your debts. I will also check your academic performance regularly.”

"You do charity work?" The child moved back, this sounded like a trap within a trap.

“I’ll throw money at you to make you happy,” Thomas said. “If I really wanted to play any tricks on you, I could just give half the money to your parents and see if they would sell you. Given the level of chaos in the East Side, the police probably wouldn’t go all out searching for a child that the parents wouldn’t call the police for.”

"..." The child choked, "That makes so much sense."

Soon, the strange man finished writing the IOU and handed the pen to the child: "Sign here."

The child hesitated for a moment, picked up the pen, squeezed it tightly and then loosened it, and finally wrote down his name.

Jason Todd.

Thomas looked down at him expressionlessly.

Is this an inherent possibility of this universe? Or is it a worldline disrupted by me?