The days of being a spiritual mentor in Meiman

The first law of Gotham is: things will always go wrong here, and if you have a bad hunch about something, it will definitely come true.

And the second law of Gotham is: in Gotham, no matter how correct your starting point, how clever your method is, and how perfect your plan is, they will eventually make you a piece of shit.

This vocational school, co-founded by more than a dozen big gangsters, is located in the living hell in the East District. Because of the construction and renovation here, the hardware facilities have become the best in the entire East District, and it is the only one that can be found in the entire East District. The environment and atmosphere are relatively good. More suitable for schools.

Note that it is relatively suitable.

When Schiller came to the living hell again, it had changed a lot.

Although the renovated living hell is still so complicated and crowded, at least it is no longer old and dilapidated. The alleys are still very narrow, but at least they are clean, and the corridors are still very cramped, but at least there are sufficient light sources and signs, which make people uncomfortable. As for getting lost.

The vocational school is opened in an empty room on the 8th floor of the building on the east side of the Living Hell. The outside is a terrace on the 8th floor, which can be used by students for free activities.

Originally, this place was designed to be a laundry room, but due to the change of the water pipe route, it was left vacant.

The great location with a terrace, of course, is controlled by the largest gang here, the Mooney Gang, and the Mooney Gang was also forced by a dozen other big gangs to hand over this location for them. Open vocational schools.

So far, the picture style of things is pretty normal. Although this incident itself sounds a bit ridiculous, it has not surpassed Schiller's understanding of Gotham.

As Schiller expected, the mob welcomed him warmly and invited him to give a lecture here.

There are no special requirements for the content of the course. To put it simply, if you teach the children of the Falcone family, you should also teach this group of students.

Schiller had expected this a long time ago, so he didn't shirk it. He stepped onto the podium, intending to talk about the history of Gotham City and the development of the gang industry as usual at Falconer Manor.

This classroom is relatively large, at least compared to other rooms in the living hell, it is already considered spacious.

But the forty or so students below were already packed. When Schiller walked to the podium, he glanced down and found that the people below were still young, the oldest was no more than 20 years old, and the youngest was about ten years old. In his early years.

This is also normal, gang bosses are not stupid, of course they know that a drunkard in his 30s or 40s will have no future even if he can go to school.

And these young people, even if they are a bit of a bad habit now, at least their brains have not been poisoned by alcohol, and they must learn things faster than middle-aged people.

Schiller has a habit, no matter where the class is held, the first thing to do at the beginning of the class is to roll the roll.

As a result, this class didn't even have a roster, and the gang boss who was staring at the audience could only take a piece of paper and ask the students to write their names on it.

The piece of paper was turned around at the bottom, and when Schiller put it up, he covered his forehead and said helplessly, Well, it seems that the situation here is worse than I thought.

But he tried his best to maintain the professionalism of a teacher. Schiller said: First of all, what I need you to write is your real name, not your nickname and nickname. Who is this person named Tire? Will you show me your hand?

A little fat man at the bottom raised his hand, and he smiled triumphantly at the side, and then shouted: It's me! Teacher! I'm a tire! A tire that can explode!

Okay, then tell me what your name is? What's your last name?

My name is Tire, which is what my mother and everyone around me call me, because I was born fat.

Then you must have a last name?

The little fat man wrinkled his face and said, My father died before I was born, and I don't know his last name. As for my mother, I only know her name is Bonnie...

Okay, sit down. Schiller continued to look at the piece of paper and said, Then who is this... red truck?

A black man in a red jacket with lip studs and a nose ring stood up and said, It's me! I'm the king of drag racing in this area! Teacher, do you want to deliver? Just call me! From living hell to Elizabeth Main Street, I can drive there in 10 minutes!

Then you really... Schiller paused for a moment. After thinking back, he realized that if he drove from here to Elizabeth Street, it would take at least 40 minutes. Did this person fly? Be there in 10 minutes?

Another voice immediately rang out in the class: Come on! You ride a motorcycle. What can your motorcycle carry?

Schiller looked up, and the person who spoke was a white girl with tattooed arms, and he asked, What's your name?

I don't have a name. Most of the people here don't have proper names. You can call me Rocket Bomb, the most powerful one, hahahaha... The girl and the classmates around her laughed.

Schiller sighed, he continued to look at the name on the paper, his eyes moved down his fingers, and soon he found a distinctive handwriting.

The handwriting of the vast majority of people on this paper is like ghost characters. The English letters and strokes are simple enough, and they can be written by them like bugs crawling. However, among this bunch of bug-like handwriting, there is one The handwriting is very special.

Its letters are not only neatly written, but also have traces of cursive strokes. Schiller read out the name: Oswald Coppert...

He just wanted to look up to see who it was, and then he was taken aback suddenly, why is this name so familiar?

It can't be such a coincidence, can it?

As a result, as soon as he finished saying the name, a short figure sitting in the corner stood up. He had a pale face, sunken eyes, and a hooked nose that didn't look very pleasant. He raised his hand and said : It's me, teacher.

Schiller opened his mouth. He felt that what he wanted to ask was a bit inappropriate. After all, the boy who raised his hand seemed to be only in his teens, probably younger than Bruce.

He can't go up and ask, will you become Gotham's famous villain Penguin later, right?

That's right, Oswald Copperpot sounds a very special name. There should be no one with the same name in Gotham. If it is not unexpected, this should be the penguin in the teenage stage.

Schiller took a closer look at Copperpot, and he found that apart from being a little short and gloomy, the boy was also well-mannered.

After all, you have to see what kind of demons and ghosts he is in. Most of the students sitting here are in the same style as that red truck, wearing all kinds of bright coats, with six or seven holes in their ears, black people Most of them are wearing dreadlocks, and the hairstyles of white people are also weird. They are covered with tattoos. They sit on chairs like they have thorns on their buttocks. They move seven times a minute. If it weren't for the gangsters standing by the wall The bosses, they have already fallen out.

In this environment, Copperpot appears very normal, even a little gentle.

He was wearing an obviously old suit. This suit didn't fit very well, and he didn't know where it came from. He was wearing a plaid shirt inside. The neckline was meticulously done, and even the cuff buttons were completely buttoned.

He had black hair, shaved sideburns, no messy holes or obvious tattoos all over his face, and aside from the aquiline nose that made him look a bit dour, he looked pretty good.

For some reason, when Schiller looked at such a penguin, he was even a little moved. It turns out that there are still normal children in the living hell.

That's right, compared with this group of black second-generation gangsters who danced wildly, Penguin can even be regarded as following the rules.

Schiller thought about it and found that this may be normal. Originally in the comics, Penguin was a gangster with aristocratic plots and who liked to pretend to be elegant. He often wore a top hat, held a cigar, and had a luxuriously decorated restaurant. .

Although this little penguin has not yet developed to that stage, it has already begun to show some clues. His clothes are very old-fashioned, like a person from the 19th century, so it is inevitable that he is a bit out of place.

Coppert sat alone in the corner of the classroom, not participating in the whisperings of other people at all, but looked at Schiller with a dull look.

Schiller thought he looked familiar, but he really couldn't remember where he had seen this future penguin. He thought about it for a while and found that he couldn't remember it, so he put it behind him.

Schiller cleared his throat, and there was a lot of silence at the bottom. He said, A teacher should have come to give you a lecture before, but I want to rectify the discipline in this class. There are two things in total.

The first is to make a list. I don't care if you have names before. In short, you must make a name for yourself now. The only one who writes well on this list is Coppert. Let him come, you guys Tell him after making up the name, and let him write it on a piece of paper...

The second thing is to choose a class leader, who is responsible for arranging the class schedule, arranging the start and end of class time... That little fat man named Tire, I think you are very popular, just you, after every teacher is out of class, you go ask When will he have the next class and record it on the class schedule.

The little fat man opened his mouth, obviously he didn't expect such a big thing to happen to him, he looked at a gangster standing by the wall as if asking for help, the boss gave him a stare, the little fat man had no choice but to say: Okay, but, teacher, I can't even spell the names of some subjects.

Then go to Coppert. He should be able to. I think his handwriting is good. When the time comes, ask him to write out the schedule and stick it on the wall.

Colbert obviously didn't expect that Schiller would hand over the task to him. He seemed a little reserved, and he didn't have the slightest villain temperament to make trouble in the future. He muttered a few nervous words in a low voice, but in the end he didn't say anything. What.

It's not that Schiller is getting special treatment, or is fancying the future Penguin.

What he said was the truth. In the whole class, Coppert was the only one who could write intelligibly, and he could remember and spell such complicated names correctly.

As soon as Schiller called the get out of class to end, the classroom below was in chaos, and Coppert still hid in the corner without saying a word.

Looking at this scene, Schiller shook his head. In this kind of city, even the most basic vocational education is a long way to go.