Chapter 13: Business Competition—Always the Same!

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Roland shook his tingling hand, his eyes revealing shock. The martial arts technique he had just acquired improved his skills but hadn’t enhanced his physical strength. Was it really plausible for a single punch from him to break a tree? That seemed exaggerated.

But then he recalled the description from Father Mapo about that move used against Wei Gong: its destructive power was likened to a grenade exploding in the chest; an elbow strike against a wall could leave a huge crater. Compared to that, his punch breaking a tree was indeed much weaker.

Still, now he could take down ordinary people with one punch each, so he no longer worried about gangsters causing trouble.

Back at the church, Roland instructed his men to prepare souvenirs to sell at the Gotham Zoo, planning to make a hefty profit.

Gotham City Zoo

In the director’s office:

“Sir, forgive my frankness, but we’ve spent so much on promotion that even if the zoo is packed, we won’t recoup the costs,” the financial officer said, placing a thick stack of receipts on the zoo director’s desk. “Please take a look.”

“That is quite a sum…” the director sighed as he examined the receipts. “But don’t worry; this money isn’t coming from our zoo.”

“What?” The financial officer was puzzled, then suddenly exclaimed, “Director, are you going to pay this out of your own pocket?”

“Do you think that’s possible?” The director’s tone was dry.

“That’s true. You even sneak bites of the meat meant for the tigers; expecting you to pay up yourself is wishful thinking,” the accountant shrugged. “So where is this money coming from? Surely not some wealthy patron obsessed with seals, paying for our publicity?”

“Something like that,” the director nodded. “The entire event is sponsored. Our only task is to ensure as many Gotham residents as possible know there’s a celebration that day.”

“Strange indeed…”

“The quirks of the rich are hard to fathom,” the director said, tapping the receipts. “So you’ve still lowballed the figures.”

“Um… how much more do you plan to add?”

“Add five percent more; they probably won’t notice.” A greedy gleam flashed in the director’s eyes. “Wait, make it twelve percent. After spending this much, they won’t care about a little extra.”

“That’s not a little,” the financial officer’s eyes widened. “If we get caught, both of us will end up in Blackgate Prison.”

“Just keep it under wraps. Isn’t secrecy your forte?” The director chuckled. “Don’t worry, your share will be distributed as before.”

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“Alright.” The financial officer felt a twitch in his eyelid. He’d conspired with the director many times before, but this time he had an ominous feeling, as if something unexpected was about to happen.

Inside the zoo’s aquarium, the Riddler was directing staff to adjust some devices, twirling his cane thoughtfully.

At the Falcone family estate, Alberto Falcone, seeing the servants busy outside, summoned the courage to approach his father. “Father, I want to…”

“I’m done discussing this with you. Don’t even think about getting involved in the family affairs!” Falcone snapped impatiently. “At all!”

“Y-yes!” Alberto flinched at his father’s harsh tone and trembled.

“You two, watch him closely. On March 1st, he is not to go anywhere,” Falcone ordered his bodyguards.

“Yes, Godfather.” The two burly men nodded.

Alberto lowered his head and retreated to his room, cursing inwardly: Idiots. Aren’t they supposed to go fishing for the holiday killer? Who do they expect to catch with me locked up here?

At Harvey Dent’s home:

Harvey stripped naked, standing before a full-length mirror.

He studied himself intently, but his gaze was as if looking at a stranger. His body was covered with scars—remnants from many years ago when he was just a child.

Those scars were inflicted by no one else but his own father.

When Harvey was five, his parents divorced due to financial hardship, and he stayed with his alcoholic father.

Heartbroken by love, his father sank deeper into drinking. Every night when drunk, he would come home and flip a coin.

He told Harvey if the coin landed on tails, he would spare him the beating; if heads, Harvey would endure a brutal, senseless thrashing. Later, Harvey learned the coin had heads on both sides.

Those merciless beatings left deep psychological scars. From a young age, Harvey vowed never to become like his father. He studied hard, became a lawyer, and later a district attorney. Even after being assigned to Gotham, the city with the worst crime, he remained a steadfast champion of justice.

Harvey’s expression changed constantly as he muttered words as if talking to himself:

“When we do evil, we consider nothing else; when we do good, we are devout. The notion that humans are purely good or evil is too absolute. People are not singular; division is constant.”

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“Though I am an irredeemable duality, I am by no means a hypocrite. Both sides of me are sincerely extreme.”

“In fact, humans are not singular but dual.”

“We all dwell in the gutter, yet some of us still look up at the stars.”

March 1st

“See? The smaller the table, the smaller it should be; the tighter the chairs, the tighter they should be. Don’t let the customers sit comfortably—once they finish eating, they should leave quickly. The thicker the straw, the thicker; the bigger the ice cubes, the bigger. That way, they’ll gulp down the soda and buy another right away,” Roland instructed his men as they set up a mobile stall inside Gotham Zoo.

“Boss, if we sell here, won’t the zoo staff kick us out?”

“No worries. I slipped the gatekeeper a little something. No one will bother us,” Roland said proudly. “Actually, paying the gatekeeper is just as good as paying the zoo itself—and saves a lot of money.”

“Alright, boss. But some guys near the aquarium won’t let us get close.”

“They don’t allow selling there?”

“No, it’s a few souvenir sellers. They look tough and fierce, like gang members. They’re guarding the spot, not letting anyone else sell souvenirs nearby.”

“Ha! So they’re that arrogant?” Roland’s interest was piqued. “Let me go and have a chat with them.”

“Boss, be careful. Those guys don’t look like good people.”

Roland thought, Do I look like a good guy? Without a word, he lit a cigar and headed toward the aquarium.

At the aquarium entrance, just as his men said, a few burly men wearing sunglasses were stationed there with stalls. Oddly, they didn’t try to attract customers; they just stood idly.

“This spot is wasted on you…” Roland muttered as he crept closer.

Don’t blame me for being ruthless—business competition has always been like this! Roland chuckled darkly to himself.