"It's human nature, almost impossible to change. Even the most dispassionate about fame and fortune can feel pleasure in scoring a victory in comparison."
"As for the restaurant, it now has the foundation for comparison. This mansion, originally exclusively accessible to the upper classes, will pique the curiosity of ordinary people once they receive your flyers. Even if they don't come for a meal, they'll come for a look."
"In the early days of opening, you will gather a large crowd. From my observations, this restaurant won't be able to accommodate such numbers. The large crowd may result in queues. As long as you can ensure the order, making them line up outside your restaurant, those people are your basis for comparison."
"On this basis, you can send invitations to celebrities. Let them take the VIP entrance to the upper VIP rooms."
"When they get here, they will see that those less privileged than them can only queue outside in wind and rain, while they are escorted by the waitstaff into the luxurious private rooms. This is a comparative victory: an affirmation of their wealth and status."
"Perhaps, you could set up a pathway allowing these celebrities to traverse through the queues, or directly let them see and have some limited close contact."
"But..." Cobblepot raised an objection: "From my understanding, those rich old men don't like dock workers; they feel those laborers smell, even just seeing them from afar would cause them to frown."
"Yes, they might sit in the splendid rooms and complain about this – possibly complaining about it for an entire dinner – saying you don't know how to do business, saying those people have tarnished their suits and even looking at them is disgusting."
"But, these complaints actually enhance the subliminal suggestion. In order to highlight their distinction from the commoners, they will be more inclined to order expensive dishes, consume food and drink those people cannot afford, and then show off to their peers."
"They might even use you as a conversation topic, thinking that if they were to open a restaurant like this, they would make wiser choices than you, kick those people out and solely keep the wealthiest and high-status customers."
"But what's the matter with that? Cobblepot, would you feel angry about this? Would you feel insulted by their views?" Shiller asked.
Cobblepot shook his head and said: "Absolutely not, I don't care at all about what they say, all I care about is how much they are going to spend here, how many times they will come here in a week, and who they are coming with..."
"Sometimes, playing a fool in interpersonal relationships is not entirely a bad thing." Shiller turned to Cobblepot and said: "Becoming a conversation topic might make you look like a clown, but at least your name gets circulated in this social class – that's the first step to climbing up."
All along, Cobblepot paid close attention. He didn't know why Shiller knew about all this or whether such comprehension was from Shiller himself or a result of the subject he studied."
As his encounters with Shiller deepened, Cobblepot became increasingly interested in psychology. Despite his busy schedule, he even attended classes at the Living Hell school regularly and considered enrolling in a postgraduate course."
His relatively simple worldview led him to believe that, as long as he grasped these theories, he could grasp victory like cheating in gambling – that was what he loved to do."
Cobblepot imagined his future for a moment. Then, he said: "I've been away from this social class for too long, I can't really figure out what they're like. Thankfully, there's you, Professor. Otherwise, I might have really ended up putting ads in their mailboxes, which would set a bad precedent..."
At that moment, Shiller took out a neatly folded piece of paper from his coat pocket, passed it to Cobblepot, and said: "…You need to see this."
"What's this? The Metropolitan Angelica Troupe show schedule... Is the theater company coming to Gotham to perform?" Cobblepot frowned, looking at the consecutive drama titles and feeling completely clueless."
"If you wish to open doors to a particular social class, you must first obtain a brick to knock on the door. If you can join in on a hot topic, naturally you can promote your restaurant in a new way."
Cobblepot recalled: "When I was very young, my parents also went to the theater to watch performances. It was dark, and I don't recall what happened on stage. I only remember that my father was continuously chatting with the person next to him."
"Yes, that's the purpose of going to the theater. Many plays, I know the plot and have seen many times, but I still go with different friends. We discuss the plot, the performance of the actors, the strength of the theater company, and so much more. There are just too many topics to contemplate."
"Am I supposed to watch this play?" Cobblepot asked, looking at the show schedule. "But I've never read this book, nor watched this play. If I don't understand the plot in just one viewing, how am I supposed to join in their conversation?"
"The more you don't understand, the better. Or, even if you do understand, you should pretend you don't," said Shiller, taking another sip of water. "You can introduce the topic and ask them your questions. They will certainly explain enthusiastically. If you mention other topics like movies, TV shows, it will further enhance their taste."
Cobblepot thought while talking to Shiller; before he knew it, night had fallen.
Shiller looked at his watch and said: "It's getting late. I may still have to pay a visit to Wayne Manor. After all, resolving the kids' troubles there won't be as easy as yours."
As soon as Bruce was mentioned, Cobblepot's face darkened. He said: "I can almost picture the situation over there."
When Shiller left the Iceberg Restaurant, it was completely dark, and a light rain had begun to fall. The car headlights appeared like neon in the refracted rain.
When Shiller arrived at Wayne Manor, Alfred didn't come out to greet him, which was unusual; the old butler almost never left.
Shiller walked into the grand hall of Wayne Manor by himself. There were no lights on in the hall, only the faint flicker of the fireplace. The firewood had burned out, and the flame was about to extinguish.
Suddenly, a sound came from behind. Shiller turned his head and saw Bruce Wayne slumped, drunk, on the couch.