When Gordon wakes up, the dimly lit ward is only lighted by a small desk lamp. Schiller is dozing off on a chair beside him. Hearing Gordon's movement, he wakes up, takes off his glasses, and says, "I know you will wake up while I am keeping watch..."
Gordon can't speak at the moment as he has a breathing apparatus. Schiller continues, "You are severely injured, too severely. We barely save your life after more than twenty hours of operation. But whether you can fully recover is still uncertain."
The voice of this psychologist always carries a calming power.
Gordon blinks. Other than that, he can't do much more. Schiller yawns, "Thank your partner. He arrives in time and saves your life."
"But I am sorry. The group of people chasing you seems to have initially come after me."
Gordon shakes his head slightly. He knows those people are just hired assassins. Even if Maroni doesn't hire them, he will hire others.
Just as Schiller is about to continue speaking, the door opens. Harvey walks in and says, "Is he awake?"
Schiller nods and stands up from the chair. Harvey reliefs, "Let me take over. You should go to rest."
Before leaving, Schiller glances at Gordon. This detective who usually looks full of energy now appears extremely haggard. The dual torment of body and mind has left him somewhat mentally hazy.
The late-night corridor of the Central Hospital is really black, with only the sound of Schiller's footsteps echoing clearly.
Arriving downstairs, a car is parked at the hospital entrance. A tall man in a suit gets out of the car and opens the door for Schiller. After Schiller gets in the car, he says, "Play some jazz."
Soon, some light and lively jazz begins playing, adding a bit of fresh air to the stuffy atmosphere inside the car. The neon lights outside continue to flicker.
Schiller closes his eyes with drowsiness. The person sitting in the passenger seat hasn't expected Schiller to fall asleep so quickly. This professor is truly extraordinary, he thinks.
By the time the car arrives at its destination, Schiller hasn't fully awakened from the drowsiness. The brief nap makes him even sleepier.
Going up the wooden stairs step by step, Schiller enters the room. Falcone, dressed in a suit as usual, is sitting behind the desk, while Evans, also in a suit, stands behind his father.
Schiller sits opposite the Godfather. He crosses himself on the chest and greets, "Good evening, Godfather."
Falcone first waves his hand to signal the tall man in the suit to come forward. He takes out a box of cigars from under the desk and has his assistant cut one for Schiller. Just as Schiller is about to refuse, Falcone suggests, "I heard you like cigars. Well, I also like, so have one."
Schiller adjusts his posture, leaning his back completely against the chair back. He doesn't hide his fatigue but still accepts the cigar. Evans approaches, bends down, and lights it for him.
Holding the cigar, Schiller glances at him and jokes, "I've never seen you in suit. There will be many girls falling in love with you at a ball."
Evans gives a modest smile, says nothing, and retreats behind Falcone.
"You've changed a lot, I can see it," Falcone smiles. This Godfather still appears very elegant while smoking the cigar. He only takes a shallow puff. After all the smoke dissipates, he speaks again.
"The first time I saw you, I didn't know you weren't one of Gotham. But now, it's much better. That's good."
"When you are wary of everyone here, you will find that everyone is against you. But when you truly consider this place as your own home, you will find that anyone can find like-minded people here."
"Perhaps because everyone is a potential criminal," Schiller shrugs.
"What surprises me is that you don't question why I didn't take care of Maroni," Falcone remarks.
"Maroni never matters," Schiller says in a low voice.
"You always amaze me. I have met too many people in my life, seen too many geniuses. They often consider themselves extraordinary, even if they appear humble. I also know that their respect is only due to their fear of my gun."
"But I know perfectly well that the Godfather commands respect not because of his gun."
"You have shown me the allure of psychology. Always give me the answers I want," Falcone says, letting the cigar burn slowly in his hand.
"I hope Evans can grasp the essence of this discipline. Unfortunately, I know he doesn't have the talent."
"His grades are not bad," Schiller flicks off the ash , "and he is diligent, a good student."
"But that's all, right?"
Schiller doesn't care about Evans' slightly disappointed expression. He says, "It's a good thing. Don, learning psychology is a dead end."
Falcone looks at him, and Schiller takes another puff of the cigar before saying, "It is not an exaggeration. When you study it to the end, there are only two ways. The graveyard or the asylum."
"So it seems you haven't chosen either."
"Perhaps I have chosen both?"
Schiller begins to feel more and more tired. The sweet scent of tobacco makes him feel drowsy with every wave. He narrows his eyes. The light of the whole world blurs into white.
"I know, Evans still has a long way to go. He is like his mother. Neither an absolute good person nor a bad one. It is the most terrifying thing."
"What kind of person do you want him to be?"
Before Falcone can answer, Schiller continues, "Or should I say, do you want him to become the Godfather?"
Falcone falls silent.
Obviously, he has an answer in his heart, but he is unwilling to admit it.
Is becoming the Godfather a good thing?
After so many years as the Godfather, Falcone can't even give an answer.
"What about that cop?" he asks.
Schiller shakes his head and replies, "He was hurt badly. It may take a long time for him to recover."
"You could have let him lean towards Maroni, I wouldn't blame him," Falcone says. "I know these people have no choice. Cooperate or die. In fact, their perseverance until now has made me respect them."
"Perhaps my word is offensive, but his doing is not because of the Godfather."
"So because of what? If not out of fear of me, why would he resist Maroni's request for cooperation?"
"Because Maroni prevented him from going out to fight crime."
"What?"
"He is a cop. He believes that it is the duty of the police to fight criminals."
"Such naive thinking, isn't it? It even seems absurd in this city."
"Good people never have long lives, especially in Gotham," Falcone sighs.
"That's why I will be your longest-living tutor."
Falcone closes his eyes, and after a while, he orders, "Evans, go and kill Maroni, do it with your own hands."
Evans purses his lips and says in a low voice, "Yes, Father."
"As for those people from Metropolis, I will deal with them."
"No need for you to trouble yourself."
"What do you plan to do?"
"I have made a lot of money. And there happens to be a highly priced super mercenary who is very interested in the price I offered."
"I will pay for this," Falcone says.
"In your name, God bless Gotham."
It seems that the godfather is indeed old, and he truly loves his son. He believes , in his decades as the godfather, he has never shown such goodwill to anyone.
Actually, during the glorious years of the godfather's past, he did not need to make such a gesture to anyone, and no one dared to ask for it. But today, he is able to invite Schiller here and show his goodwill in this way, indicating that he is truly getting older.
Schiller thinks this, and his drowsiness grows deeper. Falcone looks at the man in front of him who gradually closes his eyes. The godfather sighs and says to Evans, "Take your tutor back to rest."
Evans complies. The godfather stands up and looks out the window. Outside the window is the quiet night of Gotham. From Falcone Manor, only can see the faint light of the lighthouse on the coast.
Forty years have passed, he thinks. The godfather's friends and enemies have all disappeared with time, and his life has come to an end along with Gotham's previous era. Only this lighthouse still shines throughout the night, witnessing the rain and snow of this city's history.
Evans watches his father from behind. Falcone's figure does not show any signs of aging, still very upright. The suit on him is always so fitting.
Finally, the godfather extinguishes his cigar and says, "I only hope, he really will be the longest-serving tutor for you."
On the dock in the East End of Gotham, the sea reflects the light of the lighthouse, and the waves surge like a golden school of fish. A cargo ship leaves the harbor in the dark of night.
The smell of blood on the deck has not yet dissipated, and the bodies of the crew members are thrown into the cold sea. A burly man standing at the bow spits on the ground and swears, "We lost a lot this time, lost a few people, and didn't earn any money."
"Don't worry about it, at least we escaped." Another person beside him replies.
Suddenly, when they are not far from the port, a dull bell sounds from Gotham City. The bell rings seven times with an obvious tremor. The leader at the bow asks in confusion, "Why are they ringing the bell in the midnight?"
"Who knows? Maybe it's to send us off." The person next to him shrugs.
A light noise comes from above, and then a figure with black and yellow appears on the mast.
"It is indeed to send you off... with death bell."