Chapter 45: Batman, Damn the Early Shift!

Ma Zhaodi certainly saw the fire at the factory; after all, he was the one who started it.

In fact, this question was fundamentally a multiple-choice question with only one correct answer, just like every question Batman had asked before.

He knew that Ma Zhaodi had carved a pumpkin in the shop, so for the first question, he naturally could not answer that he hadn't.

Batman had ways to trace what he had said to his colleagues, and he had mentioned in the shop that he would go out to sell pumpkins on Halloween. Therefore, for the second question, Ma Zhaodi had no choice but to answer that he had gone out to the street.

Similarly, Batman could easily verify that a pumpkin head was kept in his home, had probably already taken photographs of it, carefully checked the surveillance cameras at key intersections, or directly questioned residents and passersby near the area where Johnny Viti was murdered. If anyone—even an elderly grandmother with a poor memory—had seen his distinct pumpkin mask, they would have recognized it immediately because it was simply too unique.

Thus, for the third question, Ma Zhaodi answered that he had gone to the Diamond District wearing the mask.

Those three questions were meant to use known intelligence to determine whether he was lying. But the question about the factory fire sounded rather different. Ever since he put away the pumpkin head, he had completed his concealment and wardrobe change with the system's help, so there was a high probability Batman could no longer continue tracking the pumpkin head's trail.

Yet it only "sounded" different.

The fire at the factory was colossal. That night, almost everyone in the Diamond District could see the billowing black smoke and roaring flames from half a district away. Such a spectacle was an extremely rare emergency in an affluent neighborhood like the Diamond District, bound to attract attention. Therefore, without exaggeration, probably the entire Diamond District had noticed the fire that caused Falcone to fly into a rage.

"I saw the fire from a distance and heard the commotion in the crowd. Afraid that something else might happen, I left immediately."

"But you weren't wearing the mask anymore?"

"I took it off..." Ma Zhaodi gave an awkward chuckle. "It was too ugly, a bit embarrassing, and everyone went to see the fire anyway. I was afraid people would notice my mask."

This much was true. After quickly getting away from the factory area, he had deliberately removed his mask. Once the fire broke out, that became his alibi.

So he actually knew his carved pumpkin was ugly.

A sudden thought popped into the heads of everyone present—even Batman.

At that moment, Batman was still staring intently at Ma Zhaodi. The man's bodily reactions—his pupil constriction, heartbeat, and perspiration—all indicated that he was telling the truth, yet Batman instinctively felt something was amiss.

He was both too nervous and too relaxed.

Everyone felt nervous when facing Batman, but criminals usually harbored extreme fear and hatred toward him. Even ordinary people mostly felt dread, distrust, and a hint of hostility toward him—which was only natural. Who would trust a freak shrouded in darkness who constantly beat people until their bones cracked and hung them from towers?

He was the nightmare of Gotham City, not just for criminals, but for everyone. Very few people were ever willing to trust him.

Yet the person before him seemed utterly certain that Batman would not harm him. Either his head wasn't screwed on right, or his understanding of Batman ran deeper than the average person. He understood—or rather, believed he understood—Batman's capabilities and code of conduct, making him simultaneously more afraid of Batman and more trusting of him than most.

"I'll need to thoroughly investigate the background of this newcomer to Gotham later," Batman thought silently to himself, then turned his gaze back to the manager.

"Where is Donald?"

The manager's expression shifted abruptly. He and Donald had recently carried out numerous midnight assignments for the Falcone family and killed quite a few people; Batman certainly wasn't looking for Donald to catch up on old times.

"Don't even fucking think about getting anything out of me!"

In a flash, the manager lashed out with a fierce, powerful hook from his other hand. Judging by this punch alone, he was undoubtedly an accomplished boxer. Had that blow landed on Ma Zhaodi's face, it would have knocked him senseless on the spot.

However, his punch was aimed at Batman.

*Crack.*

The sound of a dislocation echoed as Batman effortlessly extended his other hand, seized the manager's wrist, and snapped his joint out of place.

"Where is Donald?"

"Go to hell! Rot in the dirt!"

This clearly was not a satisfactory answer.

Consequently, Batman grabbed the manager with one hand, walked over to the shattered window, drew his grappling gun, and leaped down into the night with him.

"Aaaaaah—!"

Watching the shadow of the Batman vanish into the Gotham night sky while dragging the manager, Ma Zhaodi wept silently and roared in anguish within the depths of his heart.

"Batman! Damn you to hell! I haven't even collected my paycheck yet!"

Down below, the sirens of police cars soon drowned out the sound of the pouring rain. Commissioner Gordon rushed in with his team, staring at the casualties strewn across the floor and Ma Zhaodi standing there in silent grief, completely bewildered.

How come there was still one person left standing this time? Did Batman convert to Buddhism?

...

"Age?"

"Twenty-four. I'm a restaurant waiter."

"Gender?"

"Male."

"Name?"

"Ma Zhaodi."

Staring at the blinding, harsh white lights, Ma Zhaodi, who had never smoked in his life, suddenly felt the urge to light one up.

"I was just working there, Officer. Why am I being dragged back to the Gotham precinct for interrogation again?"

"Who told you to be in the wrong place at the wrong time?" Gordon shook his head and pulled out a cigarette. "And I've never seen anyone as unlucky as you—mind if I smoke?"

"Go ahead, smoke away." With a look of utter despair, Ma Zhaodi pulled a Pocky stick from his pocket and held it in his mouth. "You can laugh if you want to. I'm already in this state anyway."

Gordon hadn't really wanted to laugh, but seeing Ma Zhaodi's current expression, he found it genuinely difficult to hold back. This was the first time he had ever seen a truly innocent citizen hauled into the Gotham police department twice in such a short span of time.

"Your situation isn't normal either. You were at the scene when Richard Daniel was shot, and you were also present when Johnny Viti was assassinated and the counterfeit money factory went up in flames—you even work at that restaurant."

He turned his head and exhaled a puff of smoke. "You just arrived in Gotham City and you're not a mobster, so your suspicion is lower, but you just can't shake that incredible streak of bad luck."

Ma Zhaodi sighed and finished chewing his Pocky stick. "Whatever, whatever. Let's just finish taking the statement quickly."

"I still have to go to work tomorrow..." he thought to himself. "I hope someone ends up reissuing my wages."

...

The next day, Ma Zhaodi stood outside the restaurant entrance, staring blankly at the locked doors with a bewildered expression on his face.

"Wait a minute, where did my workplace go?"