Chapter 1: Chapter 1
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A/N:
This is a translation...well not only that. I am not only translating it. I have done many other things as well. I cut out all the stupid-ass crap. If you compare my translation to the mtl version, you'll see some things missing and some extra things added. I have also edited dialogue to make them sound like the characters as much as I can and real. This is not just a translation.
Oh, and keep in mind, the protagonist's name is Schiller and is pronounced {C-Luh-r}.(google it...I had to as well. I was butchering the pronunciation)
While this may not be exactly a Marvel DC crossover fanfic(well it kinda is), there are times when it sure as hell feels like it. Schiller's hopping back and forth between these worlds like it's nobody's business, and you'll be seeing that happen real soon.
It is titled: { American Comics: Opening Guidance Batman} in mtl.
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Gotham City, a metropolis notorious for its darkness and danger, was shrouded in a heavy cloud cover on this particular morning. Schiller heard the staccato rhythm of high heels approaching and set down his steaming coffee cup with a soft clink.
In walked a stunning blonde, Anna, her features twisted in a scowl. "Those damn lazy bums at the orientation office took the day off. You go cover for them for a day," she demanded, her tone sharp and curt.
With a slow nod, he acquiesced, gathered up his belongings, and got out of the café. The oppressive grayness of the city's skies greeted him. It was his fifth day in this gloomy city.
In a previous life, Schiller had been a psychologist with a fulfilling career. But, after a harrowing plane crash, he found himself in this dreary city. Luckily, he wasn't a hero or a villain, just a normal university professor teaching his old profession of psychology.
He was contentedly daydreaming about his plans to go fishing when his system "dinged" in his mind. Peter Parker seemed to want to chat with him.
As Schiller ambled towards the orientation office, he responded in his mind, "What's up, Peter?"
"Hey! I'm starting my internship at Oscorp tomorrow! You probably don't know how rare this opportunity is for me! And Gwen... I mean, she's going too, it's just amazing! We can discuss things like genome helix and those awesome big machines together..."
Schiller gave a small chuckle and thought, 'No girl is going to want to discuss these things with you, little spider, wake up.'
When he transmigrated to this world, he awakened a wondrous system called "Marvel Chat System". And the first one he was able to chat to was none other than the talkative Peter Parker, who had been yapping away for the past four and a half days about his teenage journey, his affection for Gwen, and his cowardice in pursuing her.
As Schiller egged Peter on, he plopped himself down in the orientation office, arranging some forms and waiting for the new students to arrive.
Oddly enough, although he had been stuck here for quite some time, he hadn't witnessed the Bat-Signal lighting up or any of Batman's usual villains stirring up trouble. Life seemed peaceful enough, and the folks appeared genuinely simple.
Of course, except for the gangsters that crawled the city like cockroaches.
The trickle of students soon turned into a steady stream, each one lugging in stacks of materials, and Schiller's duty was to register their names and assign them to their respective dormitories.
"Next!" he hollered without lifting his head, for the line had already stretched out long before him. A strapping young lad sauntered up, and Schiller inquired, "What's your name?"
"Bruce Wayne."
"Bruce... male dormitory building 2, room 306…" Schiller scribbled inattentively, but then his pen suddenly halted. He surreptitiously glanced up and caught a glimpse of the dashing youth with raven locks and sapphire eyes. He asked, "Wayne?"
"Yes, that's me," the boy confirmed.
Schiller reiterated, "Male dormitory building 2, room 306. Did you not hear me? Grab the form and leave. Others are waiting in line behind."
Bruce smiled at Schiller's curt reply. He grabbed the form and inquired, "What department do you profess in?"
"Psychology. Avoid my class, son," Schiller.
Bruce was intrigued hearing that.
'Batman's just attending university. No wonder there was no Bat-signal appearing in the sky!'
Schiller didn't know if he should be glad or terrified. Glad because there was no crazy clown and borderline supernatural criminals running around. And terrified that those criminals would soon start appearing in Gotham.
Schiller was acutely aware of the treacherous nature of the Batman universe, and his concern had only grown in recent times. With the Caped Crusader being nothing more than a mere 18-year-old adolescent, the danger level had reached an all-time high.
Bruce's lips remained sealed, giving away nothing as he scooped up the paperwork and made a swift exit from the room, punctuating his departure with a polite "thank you". Schiller, meanwhile, completed his tasks and was on his way back to his residence in the university for some much-needed rest when he was struck with a sudden realization: he had left his keys in his office.
Turning on his heel, he retraced his steps back up the stairwell. As he ascended, he came face to face with a tall and lanky professor.
"Hey there, Jonathan. Are you, by any chance, here to retrieve something as well?"
"Indeed. Did you forget your keys in the office again?"
"Ah, yeah. Anna was rushing me today, and I kinda forgot. I'll grab 'em and be back down in a jiff. See you tomorrow."
"Take care now."
As Schiller and Jonathan brushed past each other, a frosty shiver traveled down Schiller's spine. Jonathan... Jonathan Crane! The villain Scarecrow!
Jonathan's back was turned to Schiller, completely oblivious to the intensity of his stare. If it weren't for the news of Batman's enrollment in college that day, Schiller might never have thought of it. But memories flooded his mind like a tidal wave - memories of Scarecrow, the psychotic psychology professor at Gotham University who held a doctorate in both psychology and chemistry and who would one day unleash terror with his fear gas.
Jonathan Crane!
Schiller took a deep breath and continued up the stairs at the same pace. Jonathan wasn't yet Scarecrow. Bruce was only eighteen, had not yet graduated, and probably still had some time before he become the Dark Knight.
Jonathan himself was far from being the world-renowned psychologist he would later become. At this time, he had only a modest reputation in the field of emotional psychology.
Schiller, on the other hand, had climbed the ranks to become a world-renowned expert in criminal and abnormal psychology, a famed psychological researcher, and Gotham's most sought-after psychology professor.
Jonathan's earlier deference to him now seemed insignificant. After all, what good was it? He couldn't create any deadly gases. He was a pure humanities student, while Jonathan held a Ph.D. in chemistry.
The importance of science, math, and chemistry couldn't be clearer to Schiller. Armed with such knowledge, one could travel the world without trepidation, fearless in the face of any challenge.
He knew that the blood-soaked curtains of Gotham's grand theater were about to rise. And here he was, a mere scholar with no power, a weakling who struggled to move a chair, a pure intellectual without a fighting chance against the infamous super-criminals who ruled the city's dark alleys. Even the lowly henchmen in the world could easily end his life with a single bullet.
He feared that his normal life would get wrecked due to the heroes and villains. After his experience with death, he wanted to have some peaceful time for himself.
Schiller's fears were soon realized when, the following morning, he sat in the school's psychology clinic, brewing coffee, only to be interrupted by a sharp knock at the door.
"Professor Schiller, may I come in?" a voice called out.
He took a deep breath, amazed that anyone would bother seeking treatment at this run-down clinic. After all, he was only here because of the extra money the university paid him to give the students psychological counseling.
But as he opened the door, his jaw dropped at the sight of his unexpected visitor.
It was none other than Bruce Wayne!
Schiller clenched his jaw so tight, he thought his teeth might shatter. He forced out a strained reply, "Please take a seat, student. Do you require any assistance?"
Wayne, the carefree playboy, shrugged with a devil-may-care grin. "Can't a guy just stop by and shoot the breeze? I don't need help."
Schiller adjusted his glasses and spoke with controlled patience. "This is a place for students who need psychological guidance. If you don't have any issues to discuss, kindly leave."
He tried his best to sound as dull as a canned airplane announcement. Despite his lackluster tone, Bruce persisted with great curiosity. "Okay, then let me ask a question. What do you think is the meaning of life?"
Taking a deep breath, Schiller realized he couldn't keep going like this. Regardless of how he responded - with indifference or earnestness - it was clear that the young Batman was determined to keep him engaged. Schiller needed to come up with a strategy to redirect the hero's attention elsewhere.
As he pondered his options, Schiller couldn't help but think to himself, 'May God have mercy on me, for I am no protagonist. Without the plot armor, I won't last beyond three episodes if I get tangled up with Batman.'
Schiller then activated the Marvel Chat System in his mind. He recalled earning a chance at a random chat after helping Peter Parker with his relationship troubles. With a mental flurry, he typed out his thoughts:
"A vigilante who's lost both parents and is hell-bent on avenging their deaths, yet still plays the part of a carefree playboy is now pestering me about the meaning of life. I need a response to make him think deeply for a long time. Any suggestions? I'm in a hurry."
A prompt response materialized: "I am an educator. In regards to your query, I suggest you approach this unfortunate young man with patience and offer him psychological support from two angles..."
He scanned the chat box and his eyes widened in disbelief. Charles Xavier! Professor X himself had replied.
As he thought about Xavier, Schiller couldn't help but feel impressed by his credentials as the founder and principal of the prestigious X Academy. The man was undeniably an expert in his field.
Yet, as he scrutinized Xavier's profile picture, he noticed something peculiar. It was clickable. With a mental click, a dialog box popped up: "You can randomly copy one ability of the chat partner (low-level). Do you want to copy?"
Without thinking too much, Schiller clicked "Yes."
"Telepathy (low-level) has been loaded."
Suddenly, Schiller's vision swam with a deluge of noise and unfamiliar emotions. His mind reeled, struggling to sort through the overwhelming influx. Gradually, he realized that he had absorbed a fraction of Professor X's formidable telepathic ability.
Telepathy was Charles Xavier's specialty, one that granted him the power to manipulate the minds of the entire human race with the aid of a brainwave amplifier. However, the telepathic gift that Schiller received was a weakened version. He could only perceive vague emotions and fleeting thoughts, unable to delve into someone's mind completely.
Despite its limitations, he found it more than sufficient. He trained his attention on Bruce and sensed a maelstrom of emotions roiling beneath the young man's nonchalant facade. Given Batman's storied past, he deduced that Bruce had recently returned from a sojourn abroad and was likely attending university incognito. But the true him loathed the mundanity of everyday life and was consumed by a thirst for retribution against the criminal underworld.
Bruce noticed a change in the professor's demeanor as he gazed at him with his unique gray eyes. It triggered a sense of unease in him, like he was being scrutinized and laid bare.
Then, Schiller spoke up: "You've been searching for a conclusive answer, haven't you? In the future, if you do not have a good reason, do not disturb me again. If you can promise that then I'll give you the answer you seek."
"Alright, then please tell me the answer," Bruce said.
"Revenge," Schiller replied, locking eyes with Bruce. As the words sank in, Bruce's expression turned dark and brooding. "The meaning of life is revenge."
Ignoring Bruce's sullen countenance, Schiller continued, "Are you satisfied, Mr. Wayne?"
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone