Smile (Part 2)

Everyone present heard their whispers. Just as these Court of Owls members thought, if Alberto had lied, then pressing the button would not kill Haru, but someone else. And the odds of it being oneself were no longer merely a few in a dozen. Everyone believed that chance would not fall on them.

If Alberto had not lied, then killing Haru would cost them nothing. On the contrary, it would eliminate the risk of the bomb being triggered because Haru hit the ground first.

Just as they said, Haru, whose mask had already been removed, was doomed to die sooner or later. Even if he did not die today, the Godfather would not let him see tomorrow’s sun.

"I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die! You can’t press it… Cherie, are you insane? You want to kill me! You can’t press it!!!" Haru began crying desperately, tears and snot smeared all over his face as his fat body writhed without pause.

"Hey!" Gordon suddenly stood up and pointed his gun at the tall, thin man. "You can’t press it. Murder is against the law. I’ll arrest you."

"Is that so, Detective?" Schiller stood as well. "He merely pressed a button from far away, and someone else died. What evidence do you have that he killed anyone? What are you planning to present as the murder weapon? The button?"

"Please! Officer! Don’t listen to them, save me!!!" Haru screamed through his tears.

Falcone spoke. "Officer, without evidence, you truly cannot shoot him directly. But in the name of the police, you can demand that he verify his identity. Even if he has no driver’s license or other identification, he should at least remove his mask."

The tall, thin man let out a shrill cry. "No! There’s no such rule!! You can’t expose my identity!!!"

"Press it, Cherie! Kill him now! How do you know his belly won’t touch the ground in the next drop? Then we’ll all die!"

"Don’t press it! I don’t want to die! If you press it, they’ll tear off your mask too. You and your entire family will die…"

"You can’t press it. You know full well that this is murder. I’ll arrest you!"

"Of course you can press it! This detective has no evidence at all. Police rules don’t work here…"

Like a chaotically edited montage, everyone shouted their own arguments. The light slid from one face to another; before even two seconds had passed, before a shot could focus, it cut to the next.

In the end, it was Joker’s frantic banging on the triangle that finally stopped the argument.

Cherie was already drenched in sweat, while Haru had gone deathly pale. Suddenly, as though he had just remembered, Haru said, "The first answer, the first answer points to the woman! If you dare let Cherie press the button, I’ll press mine too!"

"No!" a woman hanging high in the air shouted. "Are you crazy?! Cherie is my lover. I’ll have him kill you first, you fat pig idiot!"

"Haru… have some mercy. You’re already doomed. Falcone knows who you are. You know perfectly well you’re going to die, so why won’t you make some contribution toward our survival?" The woman suddenly began sobbing again.

"You’re the crazy one! You bitch! Do you think Cherie is really some European noble?! He’s just a fraud! A poor sailor! You two were made for each other!!"

"If I die, I’ll drag all of you down with me!" Haru roared, spittle flying.

"Fuck the Court of Owls! Fuck the senior councilors! I’ve had enough! A con man who got rich by scamming people, a whore who climbed her way up by sleeping around, and all of you! Do you really think you’re such important people? You’ve always looked down on me!"

Haru cursed furiously, as though he had completely suffered a mental breakdown.

Cherie began trembling all over. With tears in his voice, he said, "I can’t do it. They’ll take off my mask. Falcone will kill me, and he’ll kill my family too. I have a wife and children. God! Save me!"

Hearing Cherie’s prayer, the priest below made the sign of the cross over his chest, but said nothing.

"Ding ding! Time’s up!" Joker tapped the triangle and said brightly, "He failed to make a choice, so we’ll assume he chose not to press it. All right, next!"

He deliberately bypassed several people nearby and walked over to the somewhat aged figure. "Looks like you’re their leader, so I’ll give you a privilege. You get to choose first. Who will you pick?"

The old man bound in place did not seem flustered. In a low voice, he said, "I choose the professor."

"What?" Joker pretended not to hear. He struck the triangle hard, making a racket. "He said he chooses Falcone…"

"I heard him choose me." Schiller stood up. Joker cursed and said irritably, "You’ve already used up your clue. He can’t…"

"Then I’ll buy another ticket. You haven’t sold out of tickets yet, have you? At least…" Schiller glanced at Joker’s suit pocket. "There must still be one in your pocket. I saw it earlier."

Cursing under his breath, Joker began searching his pockets. After rummaging around for quite a while, he pulled out a tattered slip of paper. With great impatience, he crumpled it into a ball and threw it at Schiller.

The paper ball fell in midair, yet somehow still flew toward Schiller. Schiller caught it.

The old man spoke. "Even if you have no clue, I chose you only because I wish to make a deal with you. I can see that you can shake the rules of this game."

"But I’m sorry, actors do not leave the stage halfway through. After all, I paid for my ticket."

"I do not wish to leave. I merely hope the rules can be changed."

"Which part do you want to change?"

"If you make a request of me, I can choose to forgo the clue and have you do me a favor instead."

"Tell me your request first. Then I’ll consider whether to agree."

"I want to give up the button in my hand. Take it away."

"What? Mr. Meng! Have you gone mad? If you don’t have a button, what will you do when someone else presses theirs to kill you?"

Schiller suddenly lowered his head and laughed. "It seems you should be a member of the previous generation of the Court of Owls, shouldn’t you?"

"I can only say that if it were your generation, this method might have worked. But you destroyed your own foundation long ago and chose the wrong path."

"Do you think that if you demonstrate a way out of this predicament first, they’ll follow you? If that were true, they would not have been exposed."

"Everyone understands the logic. If everyone throws away their buttons, there will be no show to perform. Then neither the audience nor the host can do much to you."

"We are not Assassins. Our goal is not to kill people, only to watch a good show. If you refuse to perform this way, we will not stage a massacre either, because that would be far too boring."

"But unfortunately, the companions around you are no longer owls pursuing ultimate darkness and chaos. They are merely clawed Assassins you brainwashed through crude means, no longer possessing your lofty ideals that transcended personal interest."

"They will not throw away the buttons in their hands. They firmly believe those are weapons for threatening others into not pressing their buttons."

"Even if I told them the answer now, they still would not be willing to do it."

The old man sighed. "It seems there is no cure for any of this. I withdraw my choice. I choose… Batman."

The moment that word fell, countless spotlights once again focused on Batman. Joker leaned backward, opened his mouth wide, and wore an expression of immense delight.

He raced to the front of the stage and waved at the lighting technician, telling him to direct every spotlight at him. He made faces at Batman with all his might. When Batman ignored him, he rushed into the orchestra, clumsily picked up a drum, carried it to the center of the stage, rolled up his sleeves, and began pounding it.

After all that fuss, he realized Batman was completely ignoring him, merely standing there in silence. Joker slumped in disappointment and snarled, "I should have tied myself up there. Then, when I said I chose Batman, he definitely would have been thrilled. Maybe he’d even smile."

At that moment, in Batman’s eyes, time throughout the entire opera house began to freeze. Whether onstage or offstage, everyone solidified into the scene of a play, every expression and movement clearly visible.

Falcone was speaking quietly with Father Daniel. His face was carved with the ravages of time, yet the eyes beneath his brow still held a sharp, piercing gleam.

Batman saw madness there, like on the countless nights when Falcone had stood beside his son’s bed, wanting to kill that monster. Perhaps he had been driven mad long ago.

Alberto, sitting in the back row, had lowered his head in silence. He was mad too. On countless such nights, he had faced his father’s deep malice and hatred, until at last he plunged a knife into his own father’s chest.

Father Daniel, speaking with the Godfather, was just as old—perhaps even older than Falcone. His white hair floated under the stage lights, yet his eyes were filled with kindness and serenity.

But perhaps he had gone mad long ago as well. No normal person would believe that some faith could save a place like Gotham, yet he continued faithfully serving here as a priest. He had even become a good priest, but in Gotham, the better one was, the madder one became.

Sheriff Gordon was the same. Perhaps he looked like the most normal person in all Gotham, but he was a police officer—a real police officer, a good officer who held justice in his heart and stood by his beliefs. Such a person could exist anywhere in the world without seeming out of place, yet he insisted on staying in Gotham. He was just as mad.

And the professor… he was simply mad.

Joker… was mad anyway.

Batman stood amid this group of madmen, watching their frozen movements, watching them fixed upon the stage, and then the stage began to turn.

The stage spun faster and faster. Amid the weaving light and shadows, it became a mad vortex. Batman stood at its center, gradually being swallowed.

He thought he must be mad too.

He was certain that perhaps he really was mad.

At the center of the spinning stage, Batman extended his hand. He held a crumpled slip of paper, the ticket he had received and the clue he was about to read aloud.

But when Batman had opened it just moments ago, he discovered that it was completely blank. There was nothing written on it.