Bruce furrowed his brows as he listened, he said, "But if you don't go to school, wouldn't you even lack basic grammar?"
"What does that matter?" The fat boss shrugged nonchalantly, shaking his head, "All you need to learn is how to put on a show at a gangster family gathering. Conveniently, the cigars you brought today are to my taste, so let me teach you a thing or two…"
"I'm all ears." Bruce said.
"First off, there's no problem with your attire. That suit of yours must be of good quality. Seems like you've got some family wealth, but that alone won't cut it, you must learn how to converse. Conveniently, Dale, you probably haven't learned this either, you can take advantage of this opportunity too…"
Dale smiled at Bruce, who merely nodded slightly without uttering a word. The fat boss took another puff of his cigar and said, "I ask you both, if you're in some mansion and meet a rival with whom you've recently had a minor dispute, and he comes up to you and says, 'The food here today is awful, I see you've eaten quite a bit', what does he mean?"
Dale furrowed his brows first, said, "I think he's asking for trouble! He thinks the food is awful, yet points out that I've eaten so much, isn't he criticizing my taste? I'll make him pay when we get back!"
Bruce wrinkled his brow and said, "The two sentences should serve a progression, conveying the same idea. If it's just a provocation, there are much simpler ways to say it…"
The fat boss chuckled, "Still, this one... what's his name? Oh, Match Malone is a bit smarter. What he actually means is, 'We shouldn't be here right now, you've eaten enough, let's find a place to talk.'
"Because you two have had a recent dispute, and since he took the initiative to approach you, he's probably trying to back down and show weakness to you. However, his manner of concession isn't too apparent. He's not willing to discuss the matter in public. It's akin to saying, 'The past issue was problematic for both of us, but it's not worth burning bridges over such trivial matters. Let's drop it for now, but if this happens again in the future, I won't let it go again.'"
Dale and Bruce exchanged glances, and Dale shook his head, "Luckily, my territory is remote and there's less fuss. If it wasn't for riding on my brother-in-law's coattails recently, I wouldn't even be able to come here."
Bruce, however, felt a bit daunted, as if he was back in a psychology class. He still remembered when Shiller had lectured on behaviorism for two classes. During those classes, Bruce had slept deeply.
Analyzing a person's every word and action via an exaggerated magnifying glass was not madness here, but rather a very reasonable and frequently occurring behavior.
It was as though everything lay under a veil of elusive mist. On the surface, everyone looked like civilized men in suits and ties, bobbing and weaving between the candlelight, nodding, smiling, dancing, exhibiting such restrained politeness that they scarcely resembled gangsters.
But behind all this glamor lay watchful eyes, calculating glances, scornful whispers, and silent conversations.
Bruce felt as though he was stepping into a new world where all modes of behavior were different from before. Yet he was more interested in the advantages and disadvantages of these rules and where the key focus might be.
He instinctively felt that the education problem Dale had earlier mentioned regarding his son might be central to it all. So, he asked again, "I understand that I should learn these rules. If I had the chance, I would love to learn them. But isn't the knowledge taught in schools also necessary?"
The fat boss shook his head, "Sure, reading more books could be beneficial. For instance, you'd speak more eloquently, like you. You must have a high educational background, right?"
Bruce managed to say, "Yes, I graduated from college."
Then he mentally added, "But haven't fully graduated."
"Right, that could be an upgrade for you," said the fat boss. "Because you were lucky enough to take down an unpopular boss through force, and successfully got his men to follow you."
"But for many others, rather than learning grammatical knowledge, it's better to learn how to observe words and colors. Anyway, nobody here is going to test you on grammar, and if you don't make up for this knowledge, you won't hold your position for long."
"Of course, if they're going to learn anything, I'd rather my children learn to play an instrument or draw. They don't need to excel in these areas, just as long as they maintain their demeanor and avoid vulgarity. If they can display a bit of artistic cultivation when speaking to others, it can certainly earn them some extra points."
After leaving the sickroom, Bruce was deep in thought.
For a long time, he'd been chased by Shiller to write papers, which gave him the illusion that everyone in the world had to study. That life was meaningless without studying, and that the consequence of not turning in a dissertation equaled death.
But now, he realized clearly that Shiller's demand of him was special and, in fact, quite rare. In Gotham, a majority of the gangster children don't really study much, and when they do study, they usually aim more at improving their demeanor rather than gaining valuable knowledge.
But in their mob life, they really don't need any of that knowledge. What the family tutor teaches is sufficient; add on the fact that they have to spend most of their energy leading the family to win competitions, they simply don't have the time to go to school.
Although Bruce himself was somewhat fed up with having to write papers from dawn till dusk every day, he felt that swinging to the other extreme of not studying at all was equally unacceptable.
Bruce's ingenious mind allowed him, at such a young age of 20, to master the world's most essential knowledge. His understanding surpassed his peers in both depth and breadth, even exceeding that of the vast majority of the human race.
But the thing about knowledge is, the more you understand, the more you realize how little you know. The more learned you are, the more aware you become of the multitude of things in the world you do not understand or have not fully grasped.
Bruce was no different; the deeper he delved into learning, the more he realized how much he had yet to learn. He even wondered whether he would truly be able to appreciate the charm of endless knowledge within his limited lifetime. It was unthinkable for Bruce not to learn; without knowledge, he felt insecure.
He had an inkling of the implications if the mob continued to evolve in this manner. Eventually, the rules would become more rigid, and those caught in the rules would expect to see less and less. This well they were in would keep shrinking, and in the end, they would be like a frog in a well.
The thought of Gotham's current situation not being the worst, that there was still room for further decline, put Bruce on even more edge.
Even if he exerted his full force in the current situation, he couldn't necessarily turn the tide. If the downfall continued, reaching the absolute bottom, they would all die together.
After undergoing days of examination and experience, Bruce understood that he was not only saving Gotham, but also himself.
Bruce sat on his hospital bed, constantly writing and drawing. He had spent a considerable amount of money to buy a single room, where he could relax and think.
Bruce eventually fell asleep while on his thoughts. The next day, what awakened him was not the nurse, but a noisy commotion. He heard a familiar voice outside the door:
"Come on! Group One! Right ward! Go in one by one, two people per room, stand by the room door, look at the room numbers, remember the patients you are responsible for ministrating…"
"Group Two! Follow me! Why are you standing idle? Weren't you told about this at school? This is what an internship looks like…"
"What? You say you see your dad? He is a patient now, understand? Don't talk about family ties; it's not your parents who will decide whether you graduate, it's me…"
"Group Three! Group Three! Come here…"
Bruce heard footsteps growing louder. He promptly turned around, feigning sleep, but at this moment, he heard the door open, and Shiller's voice appeared outside the door.
"Group Three consists of candidates for outstanding graduates, therefore, Dr. Brand handles the other two groups, but I will personally lead Group Three, come on, all ten of you... oh, no, nine actually; that damn Wayne didn't come."
"Evans, Evans, you come here, first distribute this, everyone observe the rules. Come, this patient, please cooperate…"
Shiller waved his hand at Bruce, but Bruce remained still. Shiller hesitated for a moment, and then he said, "Hello, this patient, I'm Dr. Rodriguez, can you cooperate, please?"
Bruce still didn't move. Seeing that Shiller was about to approach him, Bruce had to turn around.
All the students took a step back upon seeing the mask on his face because they all knew that in Gotham, those who wore masks were not weaklings.
Seeing Bruce, Shiller froze. He looked Bruce up and down, making sure he wasn't mistaken, then stood in place, took a deep breath, gritted his teeth and said,
"This patient, our third round of internships have begun. Can you cooperate, please?"
Bruce coughed forcefully, then said in a remarkably hoarse voice, "No problem, let's get started."
Seeing the man in front of them wearing a mask, covered with burns all over, and speaking with an extremely hoarse voice, who is potentially a homicidal maniac in the making, the students glanced at each other.
All the students took yet another step backward.
Shiller took a look at him and said, "I reckon this patient is seriously ill. Come on, Evans, pull the teams together, let's start inquiring, one by one."
Bruce saw his familiar classmates, each carrying a case history, lining up in front of him.
Bruce opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but feeling Shiller's death stare, he could only lean on the bed like a typical mob boss, in a state of complete despair.