The banquet was not large in scale, with no dance party. The venue was a restaurant that appeared vintage and even somewhat old-fashioned. A long table was packed with chairs on both sides, deep red table flags, and intricately carved candlesticks, reflecting a classic style. Attendants in black suits and white gloves opened the large doors, and guests started to take their seats.
The banquet had not yet started since not all guests had arrived. Bruce was one of the early arrivals, accompanied by Jason and Tim. They sat on his right side with Tim sitting closer to Bruce.
Bruce chose the left side of the table facing the room's main door, not far from the dominant position, reflecting his significant status.
As other guests started to arrive sequentially, none of them seemed surprised to see the two children at Bruce's side. In high society, this is a common strategy. If one can't squeeze into a gathering themselves, they would find a way to get their children in.
They were only trying to guess the potential familial connections of these two children, wondering which lucky child had managed to hitch onto the Wayne Family's wagon. But Bruce, sitting at the table, was not as calm as he appeared to be.
People waiting for the lottery draw feel a fantastic mix of emotions—they want the moment to come quickly, yet they dread its arrival.
Bruce didn't know which Shiller he would draw. He only hoped it would not be the one he least wanted to see.
But before that, he heard other bad news. Clark Kent, a trainee reporter from Metropolis who was supposed to come with Mayor Roy, could not attend due to personal matters.
Jacob, who was seated, shook his head slightly and whispered to Tim beside him: "You know what? Sometimes I think he gets the worst luck."
"I don't understand why he's so scared." Tim also lowered his voice, "That's his teacher, not his enemy. What can Shiller do to him?"
Just as they were speaking, a series of footsteps came from outside the door. Bruce's hand on the table visibly tightened. He drew his hand back, leaning back in the chair and staring intently at the entrance.
As soon as Shiller's silhouette appeared, Tim heard Bruce curse under his breath, a first for him.
Shiller handed his red wine to a waiter and sat down on the spot opposite Bruce. Even before Bruce had a chance to say something, the Falcone couple had already entered. Next came Gordon, the de facto head of the Gotham Police Department, along with two other officers.
All those who arrived did not have the relaxed expressions of typical banquet attendees, including the hosts - the Falcones. It was as if everyone knew something was about to happen. Everyone was guessing the state in which certain things would occur.
Bruce hadn't forgotten his other mission for being here—to prevent a murder from happening. He visually scanned each seated guest, memorizing every detail about them, ensuring he would not miss any potential clue. Meanwhile, Shiller remained quietly in his spot.
"This is just an ordinary family feast, don't be formal. Even if there are things to discuss, we should first enjoy some delicious food."
As Alberto's voice trailed off, the waiting staff began to dish out course after course of meal. All were popular common Italian dishes.
Nobody expected to see any innovative food presentation at this time. Everyone knew they weren't just here to eat.
The tension in the atmosphere had to do with the current situation as well. The Falcone family, Wayne Enterprises, and the City government were not exactly cooperative partners; each of them wanted to assert their authority.
Now, with two murder cases respectively involving the Falcone Family and the city government, whom would be the most likely suspect?
Even if everyone had their suspicions, none dared to speak up; not even the two victims did.
But that didn't mean they would just sit idly by. Frictions were inevitable. Those not affiliated with these three parties thought about how to survive in the gap—avoiding getting affected by the conflict and perhaps even profiting from it.
After the starters came the main course—commonly grilled ribs, paired with uniquely Italian roast vegetables. As the lid of the main dish was lifted, the aroma of the meat unavoidably wafted out.
Even though everyone knew that their job today was not to eat, their human instinct for food still made them pick up their knives and forks once again to begin eating.
Bruce noticed that Shiller calmly stripped the meat off the bone, cut it, and put it in his mouth. Pausing before he began to chew, he appeared thoughtful while eating.
Seeing that Shiller didn't seem to have any immediate plans, Bruce began to focus on the other attendees. Most had familiar faces—police officers, government officials, mob bosses, renowned businessmen and women, and their children.
One could say that those at the table were controlling Gotham City, holding well over 90% of its power.
They all had refined dining etiquette. No one picked up the ribs and gnawed directly. Most people slowly separated the meat from the bones, chewing slowly and carefully. As a result, even after ten or so minutes, most people had only eaten half of their main course.