"Mr. Anthony, I hope you can write a check."
In the hotel, Eric said to Anthony, the publisher's representative accompanying him.
Medium build, in his forties or fifties, with an aquiline nose and a sharp demeanor, Anthony said in confusion, "But the publisher has already prepaid a royalty of thirty thousand. The first batch of hardcover books has just begun selling. Although your book is very popular, we can't..."
"It's not the publisher, it's me."
Eric explained, "I'll cover the money for this check, but it needs to be sent to my home in the name of the publisher."
Anthony nodded, instantly understanding Eric's intention.
Eric wanted to avoid the Kents questioning the source of the money, so he was using the publisher's name to send it.
He didn't ask where Eric got the money from and agreed to the request.
"So, how much?"
Anthony asked.
"Fifty thousand."
"Hmm..."
Anthony hesitated a bit, "Though it's a bit troublesome, it's not impossible."
"I'll send the check to Kent Farm under the guise of a publisher's royalty payment. I'll write a letter to Mr. Kent, explaining that due to the good sales of the book in Gotham, the royalties originally scheduled for next quarter are being paid early."
Anthony thoughtfully came up with a reason to dispel any doubts from Eric's parents.
His attitude towards Eric was always respectful, not only because Eric was his client but also because he was often influenced by Eric's aura, automatically seeing him as a dangerous, untouchable figure from his dark-themed works.
After Anthony left the room, Eric stretched and walked to the window, pulling back the curtain.
The dark sky came into view.
Drizzling rain fell from the black clouds, and the Gothic buildings stood tall under the clouds.
Looking far away, Gotham stood in a white mist.
It was the first time Eric saw Gotham in the rain.
Although he had visited Gotham several times before, it was always brief glimpses in the deep night.
The most memorable were the filthy alleys and the bright streets.
As for Batman and some famous villains, maybe due to bad luck, he hadn't encountered them yet.
He only ran into some petty robbers and thugs, whom he easily dealt with.
Now, because of the rain, the planned outdoor book promotion event was moved indoors, reducing its scale and his workload, allowing him to return to the hotel early.
After watching Gotham's scenery for a while, Eric turned and left.
He casually picked up an umbrella and walked out of the hotel.
Gotham National Bank.
In the intensifying rain, the gunfight between the police and the Red Hood gang at the bank's entrance was coming to an end.
The heavily wounded Red Hood gang members were being pushed back by the police's firepower, with gang members occasionally screaming and falling from gunshots.
The flowing blood was quickly washed away by the rain.
And from the underground sewer system, a faint rumbling sound could be heard.
Bruce Wayne, dressed in a black suit, was riding a black CB400 motorcycle, speeding through the wide sewer.
His young face, chiseled and angular, but slightly haggard, ruined the perfect image.
Driving the motorcycle with one hand, Bruce operated the front display screen with the other.
"Bruce, sir?"
"I'm here, Alfred."
Bruce's voice was somewhat weak amidst the roar of the motorcycle.
"It looks like you've had another sleepless night."
"Yes. But I also made a foolish mistake, Alfred."
Bruce Wayne looked into the dark depths of the sewer, speaking heavily, "I should have spent more time studying them, figuring out the Red Hood gang's plan, but... to save those people in the bank, I had to reveal my identity. I could have stayed undercover longer with the Red Hood gang..."
"Life often doesn't go as planned, does it? Sir."
"I understand. Even though the Red Hood gang is finished, the price we paid, whether it was me or those in the bank, was a bit high."
Despite Bruce successfully infiltrating the Red Hood gang and delivering a fatal blow during their bank robbery, many citizens were involved, which still troubled him.
"Don't doubt your original goal just because of one setback, Bruce, sir."
After comforting him, Alfred suddenly changed the subject, "Hmm, the back door had a slight issue, sir. Forgive me, I did warn you in advance, operating a top-level computer is beyond my usual work. You need to give me some time..."
"The Red Hood gang could catch up any second, Alfred, I don't have much time."
Bruce glanced back, hearing the gunfire getting closer, while his motorcycle approached the end of the sewer—a heavy wall.
Buzz!
At the moment the motorcycle hit the wall, a freight elevator rose from below.
Bruce's motorcycle successfully entered the elevator at the last second, being transported down.
"Did it work?" Alfred's uncertain voice came through.
"Perfectly!"
Bruce praised his butler.
"Sir, if you always want to come in from the south, I suggest you set up a better entrance instead of coming through this stone house."
The underground base's butler, Alfred, said to Bruce after his escape.
"Alfred, this stone house is my home. Forty feet from here is where my parents died. My presence here is to fight."
Bruce replied to Alfred while operating the base's equipment to shut down.
"Your war isn't just about being Batman, sir. The Wayne family's legacy is to change this city's face. Even though you just returned to Gotham, I still hope you will do what Gotham citizens expect you to do."
Alfred said to Bruce as they went upstairs.
Entering the living room, Bruce changed clothes, "I know what this city needs, Alfred."
He picked up a book from the desk, "Do you remember? Every Saturday, the Gotham Times used to add a lifestyle section called 'Gotham Impressions.' In this column, random citizens were chosen to complete a sentence in three or fewer words: 'Gotham is—!'"
"What word was used the most? 'Damn'? 'Cursed'? 'Crazy'? Or using a villain's name as the answer to 'Gotham Impressions'?"
Bruce displayed a book with a gothic building on the cover, titled "Cthulhu," to Alfred. "I recently read a book that gave me a different answer. 'Gotham is a twisted darkness on the brink of destruction, impossible for anyone to define.'"
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