Gotham Singularity (Nine): Bearded Man with Maxed-Out Evil Attributes...

A little over a year ago, this bar was just a place in Gotham's underground where thugs and low-level thugs would drink and chat; there were countless bars like this throughout Gotham.

That is, until the current boss took over. It is said that under the guidance of an expert, he transformed this place into a center for underground intelligence exchange in just six months.

As long as you have enough tempting chips, you can trade for almost any intelligence here, some of which even Batman doesn't know.

This place would obviously attract Batman's attention, but after staking out the location for a year, he found nothing except for the thoroughly searched owner's files. Rumors are just rumors.

The appearance of Red Hood six months ago also led to the rapid expansion of the group, and he too had an advisor by his side. Coincidentally, the minor who appeared with Red Hood last night also came here looking for an old friend.

Just as Matchstick Marlon was calming down and about to say something more, a glass of orange juice was pushed in front of Fujimaru Ritsuka, shielding him from his questions.

"Hello, Ms. Fujimaru."

Fujimaru Ritsuka looked up. The bartender who was speaking was handsome and pale, with a pair of fox-like eyes that narrowed with a smile, and he had an innocent and harmless appearance.

But Ritsuka immediately became wary. Honestly, based on all the people she'd met, she swore this bartender was definitely not as innocent as he seemed.

Moreover, she wasn't the only one who realized this; her peripheral vision caught Matchstick Long next door. He leaned forward, his muscles, hidden beneath his jacket, taut.

The young bartender, seemingly oblivious to anything amiss, continued politely, "This is your orange juice."

"...Are there any drinks left in the bar?" Fujimaru Ritsuka took the orange juice, and was startled by the ice cubes, the coldness creeping up her fingertips.

She suddenly had a very bad feeling, as if she was about to step into a trap that had been set long ago.

Xu Fu gripped Ritsuka's sleeve tightly. She was startled and looked back following Xu Fu's tense gaze. Only then did she realize that she, Xu Fu, Matchstick Marlon, and the bartender were the only four people left in the entire bar.

The ominous premonition came true.

The bar was as quiet as if it had closed for the day, yet each of the individuals inside was experiencing a turbulent storm. From a certain perspective, Fujimaru Ritsuka even felt a strange sense of relief. Just as she thought, this was the normal procedure.

But Matchstick Marlon didn't have Ritsuka's easygoing attitude. The anxiety of not being in control of the situation and the excitement of finding clues were churning his heart.

He glanced at the orange-haired girl subtly, realizing that even though she seemed suspicious, he couldn't interrogate her like a regular criminal.

Should we trust reason... or intuition?

The first to break the silence was the bartender, who pretended to be nonchalant, "This was specially prepared for you."

He bowed slightly, revealing an impeccable smile, "The gentleman said that it is not time for you to drink, please forgive my presumption."

You can tell from the tone of his voice how much he admires that gentleman.

Which other gentleman would know her habits? Haha, Mr. Holmes guessed right! James Moriarty was here!

Fujimaru Ritsuka maintained a very subtle smile, secretly adding a grudge against Moriarty in her mental ledger. He was almost always involved in every mischief; truly an expert.

Then she heard the bartender say, "Of course, he also left you something, which needs to be given only after you are absolutely safe."

As expected! But Fujimaru Ritsuka didn't let her guard down and asked seriously, "What do you mean by absolutely safe?"

The bartender looked at Matchstick Marlon.

Originally, only Ritsuka and her Servant should have been left behind for absolute safety, but he left Match Marlon behind because of a crucial secret.

However, when explaining to Ritsuka, she said that because she and Matchstick Marlon had a pleasant conversation, she did not immediately expel him, but let Fujimaru Ritsuka handle it.

"If you can't bear to do it, I can handle it for you," the bartender concluded with a smile playing on his lips, his beautiful eyes holding a hint of something more.

Everyone knows what this "processing" means.

After a moment, Fujimaru Ritsuka studied the confident young man before her. She didn't answer his question, but hesitated for a moment before asking him one.

"You want me to keep him, and you're incapable of handling him... right?"

The ice cubes suddenly struck the glass with a clinking sound, forcing the bartender to put down the glass. He lowered his head, his expression hidden by stray hairs.

No one chose to speak first.

Matchstick Marlon remained nonchalant, as if they weren't discussing his life or death. But the subtle glint in his eyes revealed his hidden plan.

At such close range, he could see the determined light in the orange-haired girl's eyes, her beautiful golden eyes shining even brighter in the reflection of the overhead chandelier.

It's hard to imagine that someone with such eyes could be a criminal. Even Batman, hiding under Matchstick Malone's skin, was momentarily stunned and almost gave him the trust he was so reluctant to give.

Realizing this, he nearly lost his composure, his lips twitching downwards in a forced smile. Was it a magical method? Or some kind of chemical substance? It couldn't just be his personal charm, could it?

Until the bartender put his hand to his forehead and suddenly burst into laughter, "Ha, hahahahaha!" How direct, how to the point!

He looked into those bright golden eyes; she was the second person to guess his thoughts at a glance. "Truly worthy of being the daughter that the master often praises and is so proud of. Absolutely right."

Matchstick Marlon looked completely bewildered: "...Daughter?"

Fujimaru Ritsuka: "...Wow." Why wasn't she surprised at all? "Excuse me for asking," she said through gritted teeth, "what did my Papa say?"

As if recalling something unbearable, the bartender's perfect expression suddenly cracked. His facial muscles twitched, unable to accept that his idol was showing a lecherous, self-pitying side—even though it was mostly an act.

Seeing the pale young man's suddenly lively expression, Ritsuka couldn't help but rub her forehead. Did the professor really not pretend at all, or did he disdain pretending?

“Never mind, that’s not important right now,” Fujimaru Ritsuka said, clearly seeing the bartender breathe a sigh of relief. “I agree that Mr. Matchstick Marlon should know about this information, and you can make it public.”

The bartender smiled with satisfaction and took out a slightly worn black notebook from the bottom of the liquor cabinet. "One last question, it's just a personal matter for me, you don't have to answer it."

"Please speak."

He pushed the notebook in front of Ritsuka, his pale, slender fingers gripping the black cover, and asked, word by word, "Why did you trust Matchstick Marlon?"

Trust shouldn't exist in Gotham, should it?

The bartender had firmly believed this until today. If trust existed, his father wouldn't have been beaten to death six months ago for trying to collect debts owed by the foreman, and the family bar wouldn't have fallen into disrepair and be sold off in a couple of days due to outstanding debts.

If trust existed, he wouldn't have suffered the loss of his family and been driven to desperation.

However, it was fortunate that trust didn't exist in this world that he was able to meet his benefactor.

The day before the bar was sold, the bartender—no, young Joseph—met a bartender applying for a job.

"I'm sorry, sir... I'm no longer qualified to hire employees. This shop will be changing hands tomorrow."

The bartender, James, didn't leave; instead, he walked to the bar. Joseph watched as his gaze slowly shifted from examining a brand-new glass to the counter. With a hint of a smile, he asked, "Are you content with this?"

"……What?"

"This pink sticker is from you, isn't it?" It's placed where the bartender can see it but won't get it dirty. It seems the bartenders of the past cherished it.

Joseph's gaze couldn't help but drift to the memories of his childhood, but he looked away as if stung. "What do you want to say?" he emphasized.

“You didn’t have to go through all this,” Moriarty said. “Your mother died young, your father was murdered, and your only remaining possession was this bar, which was then easily taken away—wouldn’t you hate it?”

"...Enough! Sir, if you're here to cause trouble, you've come to the wrong place! Starting tomorrow, I will no longer be the owner of this shop, and any trouble you cause will be none of my concern!"

Moriarty, however, seemed to have everything under control, his black-gloved hands clasped together in a tower shape. "No, I'm here to help you."

Under the incandescent light, the elderly, white-haired gentleman was impeccably dressed and composed, with an elegant and mysterious smile playing on his lips, like a spider on its web catching its prey that could not escape.

Joseph didn't chase the strange bartender away; he admitted that he had been like a madman, grasping at the last straw.

But it was also the best decision he ever made in his life.

They talked for a long time. Every word, every gesture, and every expression of Moriarty led Joseph step by step into the dream he had woven, completely unaware of his surroundings.

Only when the terms were finally discussed did he snap out of his reverie, cold sweat running down his back. Yes, there are no selfless helpers in Gotham.

The bartender turned from his reverie back to reality, and the girl in front of him was one of Moriarty's conditions.

The condition was simple, but what impressed him most was both the expression on the gentleman's face when he mentioned the girl and the condition itself.

Matchstick Marlon also turned his head, and the Batman beneath the skin was also curious about the answer.

It seemed that many people had asked her this question. Fujimaru Ritsuka smiled and said without hesitation, "Because I trust the professor, and the professor trusts you, and you in turn give this Mr. Matchstick Marlon your trust."

She gave a reassuring smile. "So—I can trust him."

With a sincere tone and genuine eyes, neither the bartender, skilled at reading people, nor Gotham's greatest detective detected a trace of lying.

But this made them even more silent and surprised.

The trust behind the orange-haired girl's words was far too heavy for someone meeting her for the first time. Matchstick Marlon lowered his head slightly, having to admit that she possessed a unique charm, a charm that neither magic nor potions could imitate.

Like a blazing flame, it attracts others to fly like moths to a flame.

The bartender was puzzled yet shocked; something indescribable was stuck in his throat.

Perhaps it was because of this trust that the gentleman... In the end, he just chuckled softly, pushed the notebook completely in front of Ritsuka, and let go.

Fujimaru Ritsuka glanced at the Gothamites who had suddenly fallen silent with a puzzled look. Xu Fu, however, understood their thoughts and, instead of paying attention to the sudden silence, urged Ritsuka to quickly look for clues.

Opening the notebook, familiar handwriting appeared on the first page.

"Giving clues to the confused hero is probably what that hypocritical and despicable Sherlock Holmes would do, and then the Master will reach the end of the road to correcting the singularity with his reminders!"

But! But alas—! Unfortunately, the clue this time came from a bearded man over fifty years old with a wicked streak!

Welcome to the Abyss, Master of Chaldea! Welcome to Gotham, the place that breeds evil!

..."