Chapter 743: Night Rain and Sad Songs (Part 1)

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In the evening in Coastal City, the setting sun cast a brilliant glow on the streets of the Manor district. The lampposts in this area, adorned with intricate vine patterns, turned golden in the sunlight. As the evening breeze wafted through, a piece of paper stuck to one of the lampposts danced gracefully through the air, forming elegant arcs.

It soared past the weathered walls of time, pierced through the pointed roofs illuminated by the evening light, and followed the winding iron railings adorned with patterns, finally drifting into the mailbox at the entrance of the Manor, resting silently at the bottom.

A hand clad in leather gloves reached for the mailbox, unlocked it, and retrieved the paper. Merkel, with an air of excitement, glanced at the contents of the paper. With the paper in one hand, he pushed open the Manor door and handed it to Schiller, who was having dinner.

Schiller put down his newspaper, took the paper, and raised an eyebrow. "What's going on? A theater troupe is actually willing to perform Shakespeare in Gotham? And it's 'Macbeth'?"

"Yes, sir, I knew you'd be delighted. This is the renowned Angelica Troupe from Metropolis, and they are very popular throughout the East Coast. Their specialty is Shakespearean drama..."

Schiller examined the simplified program sheet, which listed the troupe's name, the plays they would perform in the city, their flagship production, and other light comedies.

This simplified program sheet had a distinct Gotham style, with the main attraction being one of Shakespeare's four major tragedies, "Macbeth," which Schiller was particularly fond of.

Unfortunately, the theater troupes that had come to Gotham before were unable to stage Shakespearean dramas. Most of them performed after-dinner sketches or light comedies, far from the serious dramas Schiller desired. Since arriving in Gotham, he had not seen a single legitimate play.

"Hurry, Merkel, call this troupe and help me secure a ticket... no, two tickets. Actually, besides Victor, Harvey Lawyer might also enjoy this play. Get a ticket for him as well. As for Commissioner Gordon... give him a call and see if he's available. And the Godfather, well, I assume his actions are faster than mine?"

Merkel took the program sheet from Schiller's hand, smiling. "Tomorrow, news of your fondness for Shakespearean drama will spread throughout Gotham... or perhaps even tonight."

Schiller stood up from his chair, his steps toward the door filled with excitement. "I haven't been this happy since coming to this city. By the way, who's the lead actor? Is backstage access available? Can I meet the lead actor?"

"I'll inquire for you," Merkel replied as he returned the chair to its place and walked towards the telephone. He added, "But from what I know, theater troupes from Metropolis usually don't offer backstage visits. They prefer to maintain the mystique of their actors."

"That's fine. Although I know that the roles they play on stage have no real connection to their personal lives, I still enjoy conversing with actors who portray different characters. Their insights into the roles they play provide me with valuable material."

Schiller's footsteps towards the door were light and cheerful. He said, "If you can get the detailed program tonight, please check when 'Macbeth' is scheduled. I hope it's after lunch; I don't want it to be like those after-dinner sketches that only attract laughter."

Merkel made a reassuring gesture and then watched as Schiller picked up his umbrella and left the Manor. He summoned the driver and, riding in his car, made his way through Gotham's streets to the entrance of the Iceberg Restaurant in the East District.

Upon entering the restaurant, he saw several children practicing serving plates. They took a few steps back in fear upon seeing him enter, but then they remembered Schiller from a previous encounter and realized that he seemed to be a friend of their boss. Consequently, they remained frozen in place, too afraid to move.

The leader among the children cautiously set down the plate he was holding and went upstairs. After a while, Copperpot descended and, upon spotting Schiller, was somewhat surprised. He asked, "Professor, what brings you here?"

"I came to see how your restaurant preparations are going," Schiller replied.

"We're almost ready. We should be able to open within a week," Copperpot said as he descended the spiral staircase. He adjusted his tie and continued, "I was just thinking about having someone post notices and distribute flyers."

Copperpot pointed to a nearby table, and both he and Schiller took their seats. The waitstaff brought them glasses of water, while the children remained huddled in the corner, staring at the two of them.

Neither Copperpot nor Schiller paid any attention to the children; they were engrossed in discussing the restaurant's opening.

"I believe those newsboys and vendors could provide significant assistance. Just insert an advertisement between newspapers or the parchment wrapping of bread, and soon the entire East District will know about your opening," Schiller suggested.

Copperpot hesitated for a moment and said, "Insert the advertisement in newspapers? I was thinking of having them make a special delivery..."

"In the East District, that might work because most residents don't have independent mailboxes. But if you want to promote in the West District, you definitely can't have them individually deliver flyers; it would be considered impolite," Schiller pointed out.

"While I also find these customs unnecessary, the gentlemen in the West District believe it should be done this way. Playbills for theaters, flower shop catalogues, and even bakery price lists can be placed individually in mailboxes, but not opening advertisements."

"It's because the effort taken to create these items, print them on scented colored paper, signifies that these shops are established for the gentlemen's benefit, and they are more than happy to make purchases. But if you were to directly insert an opening advertisement in their mailboxes, stating it's for an East District restaurant and including a menu, they might feel insulted, perhaps even perceive you as a gang forcing them to patronize."

Copperpot nodded thoughtfully. "You're right. They might prefer to see complex dishes on the menu rather than just steaks or bread."

"This building has seven floors. Haven't you considered creating a VIP section?" Schiller asked, surveying the restaurant's ceiling.

Copperpot looked uncomfortable. When he was younger, he had indeed interacted with Gotham's upper-class citizens, but after his father's death, the Oswald family's fortunes had declined, and he had been forced to take up the role of an umbrella boy.

"I don't really know how... how to interact with people of your status," Copperpot confessed. "Although I've seen various celebrities during my time as an umbrella boy, I still find it challenging to navigate social situations."

Schiller smiled and said, "Didn't you observe how various celebrities behaved when you were an umbrella boy? You should already have a good understanding of their behavior."

"Yes," Copperpot nodded. "But when I started preparing for the restaurant, I realized that things aren't as simple as I thought."

"I guess you wanted too much," Schiller turned his head to look out the window. "You must be aware that the concentration of labor brought about by the logistics industry can bring you substantial wealth."

"For example, the restaurants in the Manor district, while grand and luxurious, cater mostly to the rich and famous. However, they may not necessarily be profitable, and many of them are running at a loss. If not for the support of the Twelve Families, they would have closed down long ago. These high-end ingredients have low sales, are difficult to preserve, and can damage their reputation if mishandled. It's a thankless task."

"But in contrast, the restaurants in the East District that focus on thin margins and high volume have a daily influx of significant revenue. They use simple and easily manageable ingredients, and their customers' tastes are not as demanding. If the portions are generous, almost every customer leaves satisfied. Plus, being located near the pier, they have a large flow of customers, and all the owners are making a fortune."

"Seeing this situation, you naturally wanted a piece of the pie. We all know that having a sick family member means constant financial strain..."

Schiller took a sip of water from his glass and continued, "But at the same time, you want to realize your ambitions, to climb the social ladder and interact with higher-class people. That's why you chose this mansion as the location for your restaurant because the facilities here are luxurious enough to attract the Twelve Families and the wealthy residents of the area."

"But many times, these two types of clientele clash. The wealthy gentlemen want exotic and exclusive ingredients to showcase their wealth and taste, while the majority of customers here just want generous portions and aren't too picky about their food. The clientele is different, so the approach needs to be different. But there's only one restaurant. Have you figured out how to manage this?"

Copperpot appeared somewhat uneasy. When he was younger, he had indeed encountered Gotham's upper echelons, but as he grew older and his father passed away, he became more isolated.

As time passed, Copperpot had become indistinguishable from the common residents of Gotham's lower echelons. He was out of touch with the current trends in the affluent district, unsure of how to navigate its peculiar rules, and uncertain of how to fit into this elite circle.

"Should I have never combined the two?" Copperpot frowned, beginning to doubt his initial decision, which had been carefully thought out. The bustling crowd of the East District could bring in substantial funds, while the mansion's location and historical significance could attract the upper class. It seemed like a win-win situation.

However, in practice, he encountered numerous challenges. The affluent people of Gotham were quite particular, and they would never consider dining at a restaurant frequented by pier workers and laborers, let alone dine with them.

Furthermore, their tastes differed from the common folk. They were willing to spend exorbitant amounts on rare and exotic ingredients, regardless of their palatability, as long as they were scarce and hard to obtain – a stark contrast to the working-class patrons.

To accommodate the large influx of customers, the ground floor had to be converted into a restaurant, and to attract the wealthy, a ballroom was needed for dance parties. With only one restaurant, striking a balance was challenging.

Schiller placed his hands on the desktop and looked into Copperpot's eyes. "Are you doubting your initial decision? Do you think that these two worlds are fundamentally incompatible? But I believe they can coexist."

"If you were my student, you should have learned this in our previous lessons – where does human superiority stem from?"

Copperpot furrowed his brow, deep in thought. Then, he began to piece together his thoughts, struggling to articulate them systematically.

"Human superiority stems from comparison. You don't need to be the wealthiest person in the world; you only need to be wealthier than the majority. You might not need to be wealthier than most people, just wealthier than your neighbors."

"It's a fundamental aspect of human nature, nearly impossible to change. Even those who eschew wealth and fame will still find pleasure in winning through comparison."

"The restaurant situation provides a foundation for creating these comparisons. The mansion was originally open exclusively to the upper class. So once ordinary people receive your advertisements, they will become curious. Even if they don't come to dine, they will come to see."

"In the early days of the opening, you will amass a significant number of customers. Based on my observations, this restaurant may become overcrowded. Long queues may form outside, but as long as you maintain order and ensure that they wait patiently outside, these people will become the basis for comparison."

"On this foundation, you can send invitations to those elites, allowing them to use the VIP entrance to access the upper VIP rooms."

"When they arrive here, they will see that those less fortunate are waiting outside in the wind and rain, while they are escorted by attendants into luxurious private rooms. This is a victory of comparison, an affirmation of their wealth and status."

"Perhaps you can construct a pathway for these elites to walk through the waiting crowds, or even allow them to witness it directly, encouraging some limited close interaction."

"But..." Copperpot raised an objection, "From what I know, those gentlemen despise pier workers. They believe these laborers have an unpleasant odor. They even wrinkle their noses at the mere sight of them."

"Yes, they may sit in their opulent private rooms and complain about it throughout their entire dinner. They may berate your business acumen, saying that these people have tainted their suits and that just looking at them is repulsive."

"But these complaints actually reinforce the psychological suggestion. In order to differentiate themselves from the commoners, they will lean towards ordering more expensive dishes, consuming food that the commoners cannot afford, and drinking wines that the commoners cannot reach. They will then use these choices as topics of conversation, bragging to their companions."

"They may even use you as a talking point, believing that if they were running such a restaurant, they would make wiser choices, and they would kick out those people, retaining only the wealthiest and most influential customers."

"But does any of this matter, Copperpot? Do you feel anger because of their views? Do you feel humiliated by their opinions?" Schiller asked.

"Of course not. I don't care about what they say. I only care about how much money they will spend here, how often they will visit within a week, and who they will come with…"

"Sometimes, in interpersonal relationships, playing the fool isn't entirely a bad thing." Schiller looked at Copperpot. "Becoming the subject of others' conversations may make you appear like a joker, but at least your name will be known in this social stratum, making everyone remember you. It's the first step in climbing upward."

Throughout the conversation, Copperpot's eyes remained bright. He wasn't sure if Schiller's insights came from his own experiences or from his academic studies.

As he interacted with Schiller more and more, Copperpot felt his growing interest in psychology. Even amid his busy schedule, he found time to attend classes at the Living Hell school and even reviewed high school enrollment information.

His relatively simple worldview led him to believe that mastering these theories would allow him to achieve victories as simple and quick as cheating in a game, which was something he thoroughly enjoyed doing.

Copperpot daydreamed about the future for a moment but then said, "I've been away from this social class for too long. I find it challenging to understand them. Fortunately, Professor, you're here. Otherwise, I might have resorted to delivering advertisements directly to their mailboxes, which would have been a terrible idea."

At that moment, Schiller pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper from his coat pocket and handed it to Copperpot, saying, "... You should take a look at this."

"What is it? A program sheet for the Metropolis Angelica Troupe's performances... Are they coming to perform in Gotham?" Copperpot frowned as he looked at the list of theatrical productions, feeling somewhat puzzled.

"If you want to open doors in a particular social circle, you need to obtain a talking point. If you can participate in a trending topic, you can promote your restaurant in a completely new way."

Copperpot recollected his childhood memories and said, "When I was very young, my parents also went to the theater to watch performances. But it was so dark there, and I can't remember what was being staged. I only remember my father chatting with the person next to him."

"Yes, that's the essence of going to the theater. In fact, I already know the plots of many plays, and I've seen them numerous times. But I go with different friends, discussing plots, actors' performances, the troupe's talent, and more. There are so many topics to discuss."

"Should I go see this play?" Copperpot stared at the program sheet. "But I've never read this book or seen this play before. If I don't understand the plot at once, how can I join their conversation?"

"It's better if you don't understand, or even if you do, pretend not to. You can bring up the topic and ask questions about what you don't understand. They will be enthusiastic about explaining it to you. If you also bring up topics like movies and TV shows, it will further highlight their taste."

As Copperpot conversed with Schiller and contemplated, night descended unnoticed.

Schiller looked at the clock and said, "It's getting late. I might need to make a visit to Wayne Manor. Dealing with those children isn't as easy as your situation."

The mention of Bruce made Copperpot's expression turn sour. He said, "I can only imagine what it's like over there."

When Schiller arrived at Wayne Manor, Alfred didn't come out to greet him, which was unusual as the butler rarely left the estate.

Schiller walked into Wayne Manor's hall, which remained unlit, with only the faint glow of the fireplace flickering. The firewood was almost burned out, and the fire was on the verge of extinguishing.

Suddenly, a noise came from behind, and Schiller turned his head to find Bruce Wayne passed out on the sofa.

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Next Chapter>>Chapter 744: Song of Sorrow in the Night (Part 2)