"Why?"
"Because you're not his enemy, but his pupil."
Accompanying their conversation, the massive screen in front of them inexplicably darkened. When the light reappeared, the ceiling of a hospital came into view.
This ceiling seemed familiar to Bruce; he remembered seeing such a ceiling when he was disguised as a mob boss trying to hunt for clues.
"Arkham Asylum?" Harley's slightly surprised voice confirmed Bruce's guess.
Within the slightly antiquated ward, Shiller looked down at his somewhat crumpled suit, slowly squinting his eyes. Just as he composed himself, he stunned for a moment, then shook his head and spoke, "....Very well. I can't get into the Thought Palace, Greed. You just wait."
Having said that, he lifted his head to survey the room and found a bell in a drawer of a chipped bedside table.
Shiller took out the bell and gave it a shake. The clear sound echoed around the room. After a while, a nurse walked in and impatiently asked, "What do you want?"
"Could you bring me a set of clean clothes? Thank you."
"There are no clean clothes here," the nurse rolled her eyes and continued. "And don't think about following me to the laundry room or the storeroom and then killing me. I'll call Batman!"
"I just want to clean myself." Shiller explained.
"Figure it out yourself."
With a "bang," the nurse slammed the door shut. Shiller sighed, then sat by the bed in that posture, waiting until dark.
Just as he had expected, under the corner light in the room, Shiller saw a shadow with pointed ears.
"You brought clothes for me." Shiller turned his head to look at the shadow by the window and said, "Intentionally leaving me here, ordering the nurse to treat me rudely, then granting me the dignity and decency."
"You understand that the best way to help someone with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder is to satisfy their cleanliness...what do you want from me?"
Batman put a suitcase on the table next to him, and then used his gloved fingers to open the delicate lock on the suitcase,
Inside the suitcase was a clean and tidy suit. Without even looking, Shiller knew it was made entirely according to his dimensions, even the tie was ironed.
Batman remained silent. He just slightly extended his hand forward in a "please" gesture. He didn't offer any condition because he knew that the person in front of him couldn't refuse.
As expected, Shiller still stood up. He reached out with one hand and brushed the fabric of the clothes lightly. The soft touch was not quite in line with the formal requirements of a suit, but Shiller knew very well that this was the best fabric for a suit. The tight fit should come from the tailoring, not stiff fabric.
Shiller lowered his eyelids, struggling to contain the smile at the corners of his mouth. Batman was the soulmate of every criminal. He hated them, so he understood them thoroughly, and could easily please them.
In the end, Shiller picked up the clothes and headed to the washroom next to the ward.
Thank God this outdated mental hospital was established by Europeans. The washroom was not poky, and it had been cleaned up ahead of time. The air was dry, making the process of changing clothes not only smooth but also a bit comfortable.
"It's done." Constantine covered his eyes and started speaking. "To some extent, he understands Shiller best, especially in taste for all sorts of things."
Even though Constantine looked scruffy, like a tramp, that was only about his lifestyle. Like all Englishmen, as a traditional Englishman, he was somewhat aloof, not very friendly, but pursued taste fervently.
This type of personality is difficult to please, as they are extremely picky and sneer at any aesthetics that do not align with their mental waves, no matter how popular they are amongst the masses.
However, when they genuinely meet companions of the same taste, they will cherish them deeply, truly understanding how rare individuals of the same taste are, hence being willing to compromise, even multiple times.
"Schiller saw through Batman's tactics," Bruce muttered to himself. "Deliberately throwing him into a mental hospital, confining him in an old and small room, intentionally allowing the nurses to ridicule him before stepping in as the good guy. Schiller pointed this out, yet Batman didn't appear surprised."
"Was he silently tolerating his own mistakes or was it an intentional strategy of showing his cards? Why did he know? Would Schiller not be upset by the initial unreasonable behavior, but genuinely accept his goodwill?"
"Have you noticed that suit?" A timely reminder came from the morbid voice.
Bruce squinted slightly, seeing on the screen, Schiller walked out in a new suit that fit him perfectly. It wasn't an off-the-rack item, it must have been custom made.
Bruce, having a refined taste in suits, could tell that everything from the fabric to the cut to the fit suits Schiller's temperament. This is an easily appreciated aesthetic value. The taste is expressed very directly, and the emotion is straightforward.
"He deduced what kind of person Schiller is just from their encounter last night," Bruce stroked his chin as he continued. "From the way Schiller adjusted his tie, he observed his obsessive-compulsive disorder and the cleanliness brought by his perfectionism. By observing his attire, he guessed Schiller's aesthetic preferences and comprehensively judged how to appease him."
"There's one more thing," the morbid voice spoke again, "Since you've noticed that the nurse belongs to Batman, you should have thought that Batman would have learned from the nurse that Schiller only wants a clean suit, even if it's a hospital gown."
"So a custom suit that suits Schiller's aesthetic taste would be an unexpected delight. Not due to its expense or beauty, but because it exceeds expectations, offering a sense of satisfaction. This is human nature, something Batman is exploiting."
"Does Schiller know this?" Bruce asked.
"Of course, he knows. The nurse told him directly."
Bruce paused. Then he recalled the nurse's final words before leaving were "I'll tell Batman," which meant the nurse had told Schiller directly that she was sent by Batman.
"So, everything was put out in the open from the start?" Bruce said, propping his forehead with his finger, "From ridicule to appeasement, they both knew each other's intentions but kept quiet."
"Schiller solved his problem of disorderly clothing and Batman achieved his goal of doing good. They both won. Schiller owed Batman a favor and Batman, knowing he could be a criminal, still gave him a gift. They both lost."
Bruce took a deep breath. The morbid figure turned his head to look at him, chuckled in a low voice, and then said, "This is the world of adults. It's terrifying, isn't it?"
"Everything seems to be laid out openly, but the intricate undercurrent of meanings seem to be hidden underneath. Everyone understands, yet no one speaks. Each person is communicating in a nonchalant manner, yet all are deciphering each other's codes and signals, or figuring out who can understand their signals."
"They see each other as intimate friends, yet also regard each other as sworn enemies. They daub honey on each other's lips with their fingers, only to draw a knife when they kiss."
"The bloody conflict is about to end," the morbid figure leaned towards Bruce's side and looked at him from above, saying:
"Resisting paternal authority with violence and gaining power is not the end, but the beginning, and it will be your turn soon. How do you feel about that?"
"I have a headache," Bruce was quite straightforward.
The morbid figure continued to chuckle, looking at Bruce with eyes full of mirth, saying:
"If you feel a headache, you can choose not to go through it. Not everyone has to grow up. It's also nice to stay a boy, isn't it?"
Bruce smirked, glanced at the morbid figure, turned his head back, and said, "I feel great."