Chapter 6255: Chicago Stories (24)

Stark wasn’t sleeping either; he was at the desk drawing some kind of bearing design. He glanced at Bruce, who was grinning like a Samoyed.

Stark asked, “Didn’t you get caught?”

“No, I had a word with that Batman in advance.” Bruce shrugged and said, “Plus, I went to the police station beforehand and deflated the tires of their new cars. Only those old Dodge cars were left, which couldn’t possibly catch up to me.”

Stark thought for a moment and realized that the police cars were indeed older models. The Chicago Police Department shouldn’t be lacking funds, so Bruce was clearly prepared. He gave Bruce a look: “How are you so skilled at this?”

Bruce shook his head, “The driving skills of the Chicago Police are terrible, much worse than Gotham. Of course, it might also be because that Batman is busy with other things. He’s the only one I acknowledge who can compete with me in driving skills.”

“There’s a ranking for this kind of thing?” Stark turned back to his drawings. “Classes start tomorrow. Did you know that?”

Bruce paused, “I thought classes were suspended?”

“They’ve been suspended for several days,” Stark said, “but they can’t keep students from attending indefinitely. The pressure on the school administration is too great, so they had to resume classes. We’ll deal with the Carnage issue later.”

Bruce was a bit helpless. The University of Chicago sure has a big heart. Even if such a case happened in Gotham, they’d take at least half a month off. But the University of Chicago dares to let students attend class, not worried about the serial killer barging into a classroom to repeat the crime.

However, it’s also beneficial for Bruce because once students start attending classes again, Shiller’s movements become more predictable. After all, there’s only so much time outside of classes, making it easy to anticipate the schedule.

Early the next morning, as it was the first day back to school, most students overslept. When Bruce headed for the classroom, they were all crowded around the food truck buying breakfast. Then the crowd began to split, with most heading toward the courtyard area while some got on buses.

Bruce observed and noted that the buses might be heading to other campuses. He began to ponder the question of which year Shiller was in.

Although Shiller is a student, he might not be an undergraduate, since the University of Chicago also has a medical school and a law school, both of which require a bachelor’s degree. If Shiller is in the medical school, then they are not on the same campus.

Bruce reflexively thought to open the communication interface to ask Oman, but Brainiac wasn’t responding to his messages at all—truly an evil AI.

Bruce sighed deeply but still went to the classroom. Before the lecture started, there was time to chat with classmates, but once the professor entered, the oppressive atmosphere of a prestigious university hit, and they launched straight into the lecture without any warm-up.

Most videos circulating online about American elite university professors integrating entertainment and demonstration into their teaching are rare occurrences. Most of the time, students endure dry lectures. Whether it’s science, engineering, or business, the advanced knowledge has no room for entertainment, especially with America’s actuarial system, which all finance majors endure, and that sounds like a headache.

Classes like economics principles or history are alright, but as soon as they started talking about taxes, Bruce began to doze off. Especially when each tax had to be explained with its historical context, Bruce directly fell asleep on the desk halfway through.

Absurdly, every course at the University of Chicago has assignments; no professor skips giving them. As soon as class ended, Bruce hurried to the library, not because he was particularly diligent, but because assignments carry considerable weight. Not doing them means failing.

It’s not that Bruce cared much about failing, but the evil green bald head had tasked him with excelling in all subjects, or else it would electrocute him. Not that Bruce feared electrocution, though he was laying low here, avoiding trouble. Batman at Arkham couldn’t just hit anyone, but if Brainiac expelled him, chaos would follow.

The other assignments weren’t bad, Bruce listened in class and jotted down some notes randomly, but he couldn’t wrap his head around the tax issue and didn’t bother thinking about it. Upon returning to the dorm and finding Stark there, he tossed it for Stark to do it.

Stark looked at the assignment Bruce tossed to him and was somewhat speechless, “You’re the heir to a major corporation, and you can’t understand tax issues? How does Wayne Enterprises survive?”

“It didn’t survive.” Bruce shrugged.

“Surely, your parents must have taught you…”

“My parents didn’t survive either.” Bruce spread his hands.

Stark covered his forehead, but he still helped Bruce complete it. After all, the start of the term wouldn’t involve very complex material, just some basic tax principles. A few offhand remarks about the necessity of taxes and a bit of flattery toward the tax bureau would suffice.

Then Bruce looked at Stark and asked, “Did you get into the lab?”

Stark nodded and then said, “For the first time in my life, I’m actually networking in the lab, and it feels pretty good.”

“How could it be the first time?” Bruce was a bit surprised. “You’ve worked in your own lab before… Oh, you have a lab all to yourself.”

“More than one,” Stark said. “I have around twenty different labs in the Stark Building, and even more across America. I don’t need lab assistants, so most of the time, it’s just me in the lab.”

Bruce nodded. That’s the difference between Batman and Iron Man. Batman makes gear to fight crime, while Iron Man, although he has the same purpose, makes gear mostly to create better gear—it’s pure addiction.

Although his anti-whatever armors never really succeeded, he still enjoyed making them, consistently losing battles but fighting again. It’s clear that he’s not purely driven by utilitarian considerations; there’s a bit of self-amusement involved.

“Honestly, I still don’t like having other people in the lab. I’m thinking of winning a Nobel Prize so I can have an independent lab…”

Bruce nearly spat his drink out: “You’re planning to win a Nobel Prize? How are you preparing for that? Flying a mecha to the judges’ homes?”

“Mechas aren’t good for awards,” Stark waved his hand. “Ideally, it’s best to stick to fundamental basic science areas, so I have to go to a chemistry lab tomorrow.”

“Aren’t you here to uncover Shiller’s past?”

“That’s precisely the preparation I’m doing to uncover Shiller’s past,” Stark confessed. “Without wearing a mecha or carrying the Extremis Virus, I wouldn’t dare provoke him.”

“No way.” Bruce whispered.

“Then don’t expect me to save you when the time comes.”

“You better hurry up,” Bruce said. “Best to get nominated today, win the award tomorrow, and build a Stark Building the day after. Chicago’s beautiful skyline is missing such an ugly building.”

Actually, the shape of the Stark Building isn’t particularly ugly; it’s the sign on it that’s ugly. Even Chicago’s most famous buildings haven’t gone as far as slapping their company’s sign on the forehead, one wonders what’s wrong with Stark.

In Bruce’s view, Iron Man has no problem with aesthetics; it’s even quite good. The various colors of the mecha are beautiful, even things pieced together from scrap parts have a sense of ordered beauty. How did he manage to make the building so ugly?

Bruce thought and thought but couldn’t resist asking. First, he armored himself with layers, indicating he definitely wasn’t doubting personal aesthetics, then very tactfully asked if he genuinely doesn’t think the building is ugly.

“If I really thought the building wasn’t ugly, I should be scolding you right now,” Stark rolled his eyes. “Spending my money while daring to doubt my aesthetics? Be careful I don’t cut off the electricity and freeze you.”

“Then why did you build the building like that?” Bruce’s features scrunched up. “Honestly, New York’s skyline looks much better without the Stark Building.”

“Just to get people to criticize me,” Stark said. “To mix in upper-class society, it’s not just your merits that matter but your flaws. Remember what I said before? You need a blemish.”

“In essence, they don’t believe in perfect people in this world. By our standards, perfection might mean being well-rounded, but by theirs, not committing crimes, not drugging, staying emotionally stable, mentally normal, and having a gentle demeanor is already considered very perfect. They don’t believe such people exist; they instinctively don’t accept them, for it highlights their own sheer inadequacies.”

“They only want to believe that no matter how talented or brainy a person is, they also share their dirty desires. Even if not as evil as them, they must have flaws, whether being aloof and dismissive or having a chaotic personal life and being overly indulgent—that makes them feel safe.”

Although Stark spoke exhaustively, Bruce thought even more. The Federal Government would absolutely never accept an Iron Man adored by the masses.

When you study the characteristics of The Avengers, you find that those with power don’t have a good reputation, and those with a good reputation lack power. The government won’t allow a superhero who is both wealthy and influential, genuinely fighting for the people, and adored by the masses as it would destabilize them.

Stark voluntarily relinquishes public favor to calm the government, then forms an organization with reputable people, settling halfway. Yet, the government isn’t keen on compromises either, otherwise, there wouldn’t be a Civil War.

Sowing discord between Iron Man and Captain America is just to prevent power and prestige from uniting. If those two were as close as one person, the Federal Government would be doomed.

Bruce couldn’t help but wonder, what flaws would Shiller display? He doesn’t seem like the type who would deliberately smear himself.

Later, Bruce thought about going to the library to borrow some books to research that damned tax law so as not to fail the course. While passing Rockefeller Chapel, it was already completely dark, with just a faint glow of light coming through the windows.

Walking past the door, Bruce slowed down, turned his head to look through the crack exuding light, and with just a glance, he captured a pair of light brown eyes as cold and stern as a frigid pool under the sunlight.