Chapter 6234: Chicago Memories (5)

Bruce put on his trench coat and headed out the door. As soon as he stepped outside, he realized that the weather was even colder than he had imagined. Chicago truly lived up to its nickname as the Wind City; the wind blowing off Lake Michigan could pierce through all warming clothes in an instant, leaving a chill in the bones, similar to a rainy night in Gotham City.

Walking down the street, the fallen leaves rustled in the wind, and Bruce had to lift the collar of his coat to prevent the wind and sand from getting into his eyes. Even though it was early, quite a few students were already on their way to the library. Most of them, like him, were shivering in the wind, striving to move forward.

Just then, two Cadillacs drove past on the road beside him, and the leaves they stirred up drifted far away in the wind. Lost in thought, Bruce didn’t pay much attention, but it seemed that many students were discussing something.

Bruce glanced at the flyer in his hand, identified the direction, and headed toward the new student orientation square. Many others were headed the same way, mostly freshmen with faces full of unfamiliar bewilderment. Some people had already gathered around the square for small talk, while several food stands sold breakfast and coffee.

Bruce went to buy a cup of coffee, hoping to find a spot shielded from the wind, but soon saw Eric walking toward him. Bruce greeted him.

Eric seemed a bit disappointed by his outfit, pouting, “You can’t go like this. Didn’t your parents prepare you some good clothes?”

Bruce answered like Clark would, “No, the wheat at home was just planted, and all the money went into buying seeds and repairing the tractor.”

“But why do I feel like you don’t look like you’ve done farm work?” Eric asked, puzzled. “The farmers I’ve met are pretty tanned, and their hands are rough.”

Bruce had indeed heard people ask Clark this question. Clark, being a Kryptonian, couldn’t get tanned no matter how much sun he got. His body was so resilient that even intense work in the sun might not give him calluses, let alone tractor work, making him look quite different from other kids of farmers.

“I’m the youngest in the family,” Bruce said. “My parents are especially partial to me, so they don’t let me do much work. At most, I run errands to town with the car. Besides, it’s not planting season now; I might be quite dark in the spring, but after all this time, I should have whitened up again.”

Eric nodded. Bruce glanced at his outfit; the fabric of his suit was good, but Bruce saw a flaw. The cashmere suit was lightweight yet warm, perfect for this season, but the density of this set was a bit too high, making the wrinkles appear especially thick and heavy, which could look a bit aging.

Moreover, wearing a suit to an event like this wasn’t appropriate. Bruce hadn’t attended a Brotherhood recruitment before, but he understood these situations. Typically, such interviews have several rounds; the first round is generally quite relaxed, just a friendly chat to get acquainted. The second round is the serious interview, and the third round is a banquet after the selections have been made.

Wearing something too formal for the first interview can make you seem not relaxed enough. The upper-class society emphasizes creating a relaxed, effortless vibe—as if you’re not trying hard, even if you really want it. You act like you’re just here to hang out with young friends and enjoy the campus atmosphere. If you’re too purposeful and seem too calculative, it’s easy to be labeled a social climber desperate to squeeze into the upper class. Bruce didn’t have high hopes for Eric’s interview.

However, you can’t be too casual at such an event. If you wear a full tracksuit or ordinary hoodie, they might think you don’t value them. What you need is that polished yet unpolished look; the best choice would be basic but good-quality clothing or focusing on one sophisticated element.

For instance, wearing a basic casual suit, similar to what you’d wear to an art exhibit, or wearing a sweater but styling your hair nicely, or vice versa. Like Bruce, who wore a relatively formal shirt, but just tousled his hair a bit and put on some nerdy-style glasses, making him look relaxed.

Bruce thought about advising Eric to mess up his hair a bit or simply stand in the wind for a few minutes, which might give a relaxed vibe. But thinking that the Brotherhood wasn’t a great place after all, interfering with others getting eliminated might actually harm them, so he stayed silent.

The orientation soon began, and everyone started holding flyers, standing outside in lines. For some reason, the registration process was excruciatingly slow, taking two to three minutes per person. With almost twenty people ahead of Bruce, it meant he’d have to stand in the wind for an hour.

Bruce could only look repeatedly at the dorms on the back of the flyer. DKE, you better be partying every day; otherwise, what’s the point of wasting this time?

Some people, impatient, walked away directly, but there weren’t many, maybe just two or three in each line. There were quite a few who cut in line, seemingly acquainted with people at the registration, who got to go in without queuing.

Eric nudged Bruce with his elbow and said, “Why don’t you talk to the registration person, so we can go in first?”

“I don’t know him,” Bruce said. “Do you know him?”

“Just chat with them, and you’ll know them, right?” Eric looked quite helpless, “Can’t you strike up a conversation? Such a waste of that face of yours.”

How could Bruce not know? He’s just playing dumb. He’d rather stand in the wind than bother with small talk (American-style superficial chatter). Plus, he needs to take the opportunity to see if there’s a serial killer lurking nearby.

Right now, Bruce is jumpy, always feeling like Shiller has slipped into the crowd. Although from the gossip file he knows Shiller is actually someone from their cosmos, sent by God to another cosmos, whose body in that cosmos is probably also shaped by God, making their appearance unlikely to differ. But he just feels Shiller might be in disguise, so he has to be cautious.

After standing in the wind for over an hour, Bruce finally got his turn. The person doing the registration brightened upon seeing Bruce’s face, and their attitude was noticeably warmer. To avoid suspicion, Bruce had to act shy, quickly jot down his information, then hurriedly hid behind Eric, like a small-town boy who’s never seen the world.

Thank Clark, Bruce clasped his hands together in his heart. If it weren’t for him, Bruce couldn’t have acted this convincingly.

After registration, Bruce received the registration form and could proceed to the building behind for the interview. This seems to be the Brotherhood’s activity room, possibly part of the dormitory. Bruce paid special attention to the architectural structure as he walked in, silently assessing the security factor.

It must be said, DKE claims to be America’s largest Brotherhood, and they sure have some skills. This building looks ancient but is maintained much better than the dormitory, with a more lavish and classical decor. The doorways are of the typical Roman architectural arch style, and the wall panels seem newly replaced. Despite the vintage style, they’re brand new.

The only thing that slightly dissatisfied Bruce was the sharp Mary-style candlestick on the wall. How low is the vigilance of the Brotherhood? If a serial killer breaks in, wouldn’t the whole wall become a weapon? Bruce doesn’t know about others, but Shiller could definitely yank those candlesticks down.

Following the corridor, Bruce arrived at a spacious hall. One side of the hall had pointed Gothic windows, with a long table in the middle. Several boys sat behind it, some with their girlfriends chatting away, while those sitting in the hall appeared a bit awkward.

Next came another long wait. Bruce was genuinely sleepy, ready to doze off. Luckily, the waiting area provided coffee and snacks, and Bruce couldn’t care less about etiquette, diving in for a feast.

Someone seemed to approach to speak with him but, noticing his demeanor, swallowed their words. Bruce didn’t spare them a glance, selectively picking the expensive snacks. However, the priciest here was Ferrero, with handmade chocolate out of the question.

Bruce internally scoffed at the so-called greatest Brotherhood in America. Where are the handmade chocolates and macarons? At least some homemade cream cakes, one would think. Why is it all commercial snacks?

Eric approached to stop him, lowering his voice, “Stop eating, everyone is watching you.”

Bruce rolled his eyes slightly but still stopped. If you’re worried about these commercial snacks, I’m worried about my body consuming excessive unhealthy trans fats and palm oil. Despite this thought, he set aside a particularly sweet cookie, intending to bring it back for Selina, who loves them.

Finally, Bruce and Eric’s interview arrived, and Bruce felt a bit dizzy when he sat down. Eric nudged him with his elbow, and Bruce sighed inwardly, then looked towards the interviewer.

It was a row of classic competition-grade white males. From left to right: the son of a finance family with a perpetual fake smile, the seemingly proper old-money heir from the shipping and railroad industries, the quarterback with the worst family situation but excellent athletic performance, and the mixed-race gofer, merely middle-class but desperate to mix in with them.

“Hello, I’m Bruce Wayne from Kansas State, a farmer’s son.” Bruce didn’t slack off, introducing himself earnestly, suppressing his instinct to discuss agricultural economics, mimicking Clark’s introduction of his family’s assets, “We have six tractors, around a hundred cattle, and plenty of chickens and ducks.”

Bruce downplayed as much as possible; otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to explain why he had no nice clothes or money. America’s consumerist atmosphere is strong; families with a bit of money would buy things. Few save, and kids going to college would have something prepared unless truly strapped for cash.

Bruce roughly reduced Clark’s family’s scale by a tenth, fabricated several siblings, then complained about agricultural taxes and climate, effectively creating the image of a small-town boy from a financially constrained family.

Bruce had a hard time. People say it’s difficult for the poor to pretend to be wealthy, but it’s also hard for the wealthy to pretend to be poor. Simply put, if Clark were less talkative normally, Bruce wouldn’t have gathered enough material and would’ve certainly been exposed.

Thanks to Clark’s unwavering simplicity over the years, never changed by the big city, always thinking of home soil and livestock, discussing farm conditions in everyday conversation—fields ripening today, cows calving tomorrow—with pride in his roots and family, indifferent to others’ opinions.

Bruce tried hard to mimic this direction but still fell short. Clark’s genuine simplicity and sunny optimism are truly hard to imitate. Bruce has to admit, he’s been seasoned by Gotham.