The first law of Gotham is: here, things will always go in the wrong direction. If you have a bad premonition about something, it will definitely come true.
The second law of Gotham is: In Gotham, no matter how correct your starting point is, how brilliant your method is, or how perfect your plan is, in the end they will make shit happen to you.
This vocational school jointly founded by more than a dozen major gangsters is located in the living hell of the East District. Due to the construction and renovation here, the hardware facilities have become the best in the entire East District, and it is also the only one found in the entire East District. The environment and atmosphere are relatively
A place more suitable for schools.
Note that it is relatively suitable.
When Schiller came to the living hell again, the place had changed drastically.
The renovated living hell is still complicated and crowded, but at least it is no longer old and dilapidated. The alleys are still narrow, but at least they are clean. The corridors are still cramped, but at least there are enough lights and signboards to 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 Living Hell. Outside is the terrace on the 8th floor, which can be used by students to move freely.
Originally, this place was designed to be a laundry room, but due to changes in the water pipe route, it was left vacant.
The great location with a terrace is of course controlled by the Mooney Gang, the largest gang here. The Mooney Gang was also forced by more than a dozen other big gangs to hand over this location for them.
Open vocational schools.
So far, the style of things is quite normal. Although the incident itself sounds a bit ridiculous, it has not exceeded Schiller's understanding of Gotham.
Just as Schiller expected, the gangsters warmly welcomed his arrival and invited him to give a class here.
There are no special requirements for the content of the course. To put it simply, if you want to teach the children of the Falcone family, you should also teach this group of students.
Schiller had anticipated this, so he did not shirk and walked to 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 quite large, at least compared to other rooms in the Living Hell, it is spacious.
But the forty or so students below were already crowded. When Schiller walked to the podium, he glanced down and found that the people below were all relatively young. The oldest was no more than 20 years old, and the youngest was about ten years old.
Early years old.
This is normal. Gang bosses are not stupid either. Of course they know that a drunkard in his thirties or forties will not have a good future even if he can come to school.
And these young people, even if they have some bad habits now, at least their brains have not been poisoned by alcohol, and they must learn things faster than middle-aged people.
Schiller had a habit that no matter where he taught, the first thing he did at the beginning of class was to take roll call.
As a result, this class didn't even have a roster. The gang boss who was watching from 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. When Schiller brought 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 or nickname. Who is this person named Tire? Can you give a speech?
Can you take your hand and show it to me?"
A little fat man at the bottom raised his hand, smiled triumphantly at the side, and then shouted: "It's me! Teacher! I am the tire! The exploding tire!"
"Okay, then tell me what your name is? What's your last name?"
"My name is Tire. My mother and the people around me call me that because I was born fat."
"Then you have to have a last name, right?"
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 was Bonnie..."
"Okay, sit down." Schiller continued to look at the piece of paper and said, "Then who is this person named...Red Truck?"
A black man wearing a red jacket, lip nails and a nose ring stood up and said: "It's me! I'm the drag racing king here! Teacher, do you want to transport goods? Just call me! From Living Hell to Elizabeth
I can drive to the main street in 10 minutes!"
"Then you really..." Schiller paused. After thinking about it, he found that if he drove from here to Elizabeth Street, it would take at least 40 minutes. Did this person fly? He could get there in 10 minutes?
Another voice immediately sounded in the class: "Come on! You ride a motorcycle, what kind of cargo can your motorcycle transport?"
Schiller looked up and saw that the person speaking was a white girl with tattoos on her arms. He asked, "What's your name again?"
"I don't have a name. Most people here don't have serious names. You can call me Rocket Bomb, the most powerful one. Whoa-hahahaha..." The girl and the classmates around her laughed.
Schiller sighed. He continued to look at the name on the piece of paper. His eyes moved downward along his fingers. Soon, he discovered a distinctive handwriting.
The handwriting of most people on this paper is like ghost drawings. The English letters and strokes are simple enough, but they make them look like insects crawling. However, among this bunch of insect-like handwriting, there is one
The handwriting is very special.
Not only were its letters written neatly, but there were also some traces of cursive stitching. Schiller read out the name: "Oswald Cobblepot..."
He was about to raise his head to see who it was, but then he was suddenly startled, why was this name so familiar?
It can't be such a coincidence, right?
As a result, as soon as he finished reading the name, a short figure sitting in the corner stood up. His face was pale, his eyes were sunken in his sockets, and he had an unflattering hooked nose. 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 looked to be in his teens, probably younger than Bruce.
He can't go up and ask, will you become Gotham's famous villain Penguin later?
That's right, the name Oswald Cobblepot sounds very special. There should be no one with the same name in the entire Gotham. As expected, this should be the Penguin in his teenage years.
Schiller took a closer look at Cobot and found that, apart from being a little short and gloomy, the boy was also gentle and gentle.
After all, you have to see what kind of monsters he is among. Most of the students sitting here have the same style as that red truck. They wear various bright coats and have six or seven holes in their ears. They are black.
Most of them have dreadlocks, white people have weird hairstyles, and are covered in tattoos. They all sit on chairs as if they have thorns on their butts, moving seven times a minute. If there weren't gangsters standing next to the wall,
The bosses, they had already made a big fuss.
In this environment, Cobot seemed very normal, even a little gentle.
He was wearing an obviously old suit. The suit didn't fit very well, and he didn't know where it came from. He was wearing a plaid shirt underneath, the collar was meticulously done, and even the cufflinks were fully buttoned.
He has black hair and his sideburns have been repaired. There are no random holes or obvious tattoos on his face. Except for the hooked nose that makes him look a bit gloomy, he looks pretty good.
I don't know why, when Schiller looked at the Penguin like this, he was even a little moved. It turns out that there are still normal children in the living hell.
That's right, compared with these gangsters who have a chaotic style of painting and dancing with monsters, Penguin can even be regarded as following the rules.
Schiller thought about it and found that this might be normal. Originally in the comics, Penguin was a gangster with aristocratic plots and a pretentious elegance. He often wore a top hat, held a cigar, and had a luxuriously decorated restaurant.
.
Although this little penguin hasn't developed to that stage yet, there are already some clues. His clothes are very old-fashioned, like a person from the 19th century, which is inevitably a bit out of place.
Cobot sat alone in the corner of the classroom, completely uninvolved in the whispers of others, and just looked at Schiller in a daze.
Schiller thought he looked familiar, but he couldn't remember where he had seen this future Penguin. He thought about it and found that he couldn't remember it, so he forgot about it.
Schiller cleared his throat, and it suddenly became quiet. He said, "A teacher should have come to give you lectures before, but I want to straighten out the discipline in this class. There are two things in total."
"The first is to make a list. I don't care if you had a name before, but now you have to make up a name for yourself. The only one who writes well on this list is Cobot, so let him do it. You guys
After making up the name, tell him, and then ask him to write it on a piece of paper..."
"The second thing is to choose a monitor, who will be responsible for arranging the class schedule, and arranging the time for starting and ending classes... That little fat guy named Tire, I think you are very popular, just you, you go and ask every teacher after class
When will he have his next class, it will be recorded on the class schedule."
The little fat man opened his mouth, obviously not expecting such a big thing to happen to him. He looked at a gang boss standing by the wall as if asking for help. The boss glared at him, and the little fat man Tire had no choice but to say:
"Okay, but, teacher, I can't even spell the names of some subjects."
"Then go to Cobot. He should be able to do it. I think his handwriting is pretty good. I'll ask him to write out the course schedule and stick it on the wall."
Colbert obviously didn't expect that Schiller would actually give him the task. He seemed a bit reserved and didn't have the temperament of a villain who would cause trouble in the future. He muttered a few words in a nervous voice, but in the end he didn't say anything.
What.
It’s not that Schiller wanted special treatment, or that he had his eye on the future Penguin.
What he said was true. Copot was the only one in the whole class who could write clearly and could remember such a complicated name and spell it correctly. If he didn't give it to him, there would be no one else.
As soon as Schiller called for the end of get out of class, the classroom below became a mess, and Cobot was still hiding in the corner without saying a word.
Looking at this scene, Schiller shook his head. In a city like this, even the most basic vocational education has a long way to go.