The first law of Gotham is: here, things always evolve for the worse, if you have a bad feeling about something, it's sure to come true.
And the second law of Gotham is: in Gotham, no matter how correct your motivation, how brilliant your methods, how perfect your plan, they can still turn everything into a pile of shit.
This vocational school, founded by more than a dozen major mafia groups, sits in the Living Hell of the East District. Because of its construction and renovation, it now has the best facilities in the East District and is the only place in the East District where the environment and atmosphere are relatively suitable for a school.
Note, relatively suitable.
When Shiller came to Living Hell again, it had changed significantly.
Though the renovated Living Hell was still crowded and busy, at least it was no longer old and dilapidated. The alleyways were still narrow but at least clean. The stairways were still tight but at least they had sufficient light and signage so people wouldn't get lost.
The vocational school was set up in an empty room on the 8th floor of a building on the east side of Living Hell, with an outdoor balcony on the 8th floor for students' free activities.
Originally, this space was designed to be a laundry room, but due to changes in the water pipe route, it was left vacant.
This prime location with a balcony naturally fell under the control of Munney Gang, the biggest mob here. Under pressure from the other mafias, Munney Gang finally relinquished this location and used it for their vocational school.
So far, things are still going relatively normally. Although the whole situation sounds absurd, Shiller's understanding of Gotham remains intact.
As Shiller had expected, the mafia warmly welcomed him and asked him to give a lesson.
The content of the lesson wasn't anything special. In simple terms, teach these students whatever he would've taught to children from the Falcone Family.
Shiller had expected this, so he didn't refuse. He walked onto the stage, planning to teach about the history of Gotham City and the development of the mafia industry, just like he normally did at Falcone Manor.
The classroom was rather large, at least it seemed spacious compared to the other rooms in Living Hell.
However, the forty or so students already filled the room to the brim. When Shiller got on the stage, he looked down and saw that everyone was relatively young, with the oldest being no more than 20, and the youngest around 10.
This was expected. The mafia bosses are not fools. They know that a 30 or 40 years old drunkard, even if he could attend school, would have no future.
But these young people, even if they have some bad habits, at least their brains have not yet been ruined by alcohol. They certainly learn faster than middle-aged folk.
Shiller had a habit, no matter where he taught, the first thing to commence a class was always roll call.
Turns out, this class didn't even have a register. A mob boss under the stage had to hand out a piece of paper for the students to write their names on.
When Shiller received the paper after it went around the room, with his hand on his forehead he said with a helplessness, "Alright, it seems the situation here is even worse than I thought."
But he still maintained his professional teacher demeanor. Shiller said, "First of all, what I need you to write is your real name, not your nickname or moniker. Who is the person named Tire? Could you please raise your hand so I can see?"
Down below, a chubby boy raised his hand. He looked gleefully at those beside him, then bellowed, "It's me! Teacher! I'm Tire! The exploding Tire!"
"Alright, then what's your name and surname?"
"I'm called Tire, and my mom and the people around us call me that because I was so chubby when I was born."
"But you must have a family name, right?"
The chubby boy frowned and said, "My dad died before I was born, I don't know his surname. As for my mom, all I know is that her name is Bonnie...."
"Alright, you sit down." Shiller kept looking at the paper and said, "then who is this... Red Truck?"
A black man in a red jacket, with a lip piercing and a nose ring, stood up, "It's me! I'm the king of racing! Teacher, do you need anything delivered? Look for me! I can get from Living Hell to Elizabeth Street in 10 minutes!"
"Wow, so you really are..." Shiller paused. After thinking for a while, he realized that if he were to drive from here to Elizabeth Street, it would take at least 40 minutes, this guy can get there in just 10 minutes?
Another voice immediately sounded in the classroom, "Oh come on! You ride a motorcycle, what kind of goods can you deliver on your motorcycle?"
Shiller looked up at the person who talked, a white girl with a tattoo on her arm. He asked, "And what's your name?"
"I don't have a name; most folks here don't have proper names either. You can call me Rocket, the most formidable kind. Whoosh— hahaha…" The girl and her classmates all started laughing.
Shiller sighed, continuing to look at the names on the paper, dragging his gaze downward, following his finger. Then, he discovered something unusual in the handwriting.
Most of the writing on the paper looked like hieroglyphs, even the simple strokes of the English alphabet were written like crawling worms by them. However, there was one handwriting that stood out among all of them.
The letters were not only neatly written but also had traces of cursive handwriting. Shiller read out the name: "Oswald Cobblepot…"
Just as he was about to look up to see who it was, he suddenly paused. Why did this name sound so familiar?
Could it be a coincidence?
As soon as he finished reading the name, a small figure sitting in the corner stood up. His face was pale, his eyes sunk into sockets, and he had an unappealing eagle hook nose. He raised his hand and said, "That's me, teacher."
Shiller opened his mouth, feeling it inappropriate to ask what was on his mind at this moment. After all, the boy who had raised his hand looked no more than a teenager, likely younger than Bruce.
He couldn't just walk up and ask him if he'd grow up to be Gotham's notorious villain, the Penguin Man, could he?
Indeed, Oswald Cobblepot, a distinctly unique name. There wouldn't be a duplicate in all of Gotham. If he was not mistaken, this must be the adolescent Penguin Man.
Shiller took a careful look at Cobblepot. He found that apart from being somewhat short and having a melancholic disposition, the boy was quite refined.
Considering the motley array of ghouls and monsters in the room, the students here, most of whom bore a resemblance to that red-card truck—dressed in flashy jackets, with half a dozen piercings in their ears, Afro hairstyles for the black students, and the whites sporting odd coiffures—all filled with tattoos and fidgeting uncomfortably in their chairs every minute. If it hadn't been for the mob bosses standing about, they would have turned everything upside down by now.
In such an environment, Cobblepot appeared extremely normal, even somewhat refined.
He was wearing a somewhat old-fashioned suit that was clearly a bit too loose for him. He donned a plaid shirt underneath, the collar neatly done, even buttoning every cufflink.
His hair was black and his sideburns were carefully groomed. His face was void of any crazy piercings or prominent tattoos. If it weren't for his eagle hook nose making him seem a little gloomy, he would look rather nice.
For some reason, looking at Penguin Man, Shiller felt a touch of emotion, realising there were still normal kids in this living hell after all.
Indeed, compared to the boisterously chaotic black-haired youths, Penguin Man could even be considered disciplined.
Shiller recalled that this was probably normal. After all, in the original comics, the Penguin Man was portrayed as a mob boss with a penchant for aristocracy, maintaining an air of sophistication while often sporting a top hat and a cigar, and owning an elegantly decorated restaurant.
This young Penguin hadn't developed that far yet; however, hints of his future behavior were already apparent. His attire and dressing style were antiquated, reminiscent of people from the 19th century, which made him seem rather out of place.
Cobblepot sat alone in the corner of the class, completely disengaged from the whispers of others while absentmindedly looking at Shiller.
Shiller found him vaguely familiar, but he couldn't remember where he had seen this future Penguin Man before. After thinking for a bit and failing to remember, he put it out of his mind.
Shiller cleared his throat, causing the room to quieten a little. "A teacher should've already taught you all before. However, I'm here to organize some classroom rules for you. There are two things we need to do."
"The first is to create a roster. I don't care if you had a name before, but now, all of you need to make one. Cobblepot is the only one who wrote his name correctly listed on the roster. You can tell him your names after you make one, then have him write it on a sheet of paper…"
"The second thing is to elect a class president, who will be in charge of scheduling and arranging class times… The chubby kid named Tire, you seem quite popular, so let's have you. After every class, you can ask the teacher when the next class will start, then record it on the schedule."
The chubby kid opened his mouth, clearly not expecting such a big responsibility to fall on him. He looked at one of the mob bosses standing near the wall for help. The boss gave him a stern look, forcing him to agree reluctantly, "Alright, but, teacher, I can't spell some of the names of subjects."
"That's why you need to go find Cobblepot. He should be able to help. He seems to be good at writing. Later, let him write down the class schedule and post it on the wall."
Cobblepot obviously didn't expect Shiller to delegate the task to him. He looked somewhat awkward, yet showed none of the future villain traits, mumbling under his breath. Still, he didn't utter a word in the end.
It wasn't that Shiller was biased or had taken a liking to the future Penguin Man.
He was stating the facts. In this whole classroom, Cobblepot was the only one who wrote legibly. Besides, such a complicated name remembered and spelled right, if Cobblepot couldn't do it then no other person could.
Just as Shiller announced the end of the class, the classroom underneath him was plunged into chaos, with Cobblepot still hiding in a corner, not uttering a word.
Looking at the scene, Shiller shook his head. In a city like this, even the most fundamental vocational education was an uphill task.