"Heroes only make them increase their budget to buy more expensive locks."
This sentence still hung in the air, along with that standard philanthropic smiling face of Bruce Wayne on the cafeteria wall.
Chen Mo turned to look at Barbara and asked very politely, "Who taught you those words? It doesn't sound like something someone like you would say... you know, the person who almost slammed her hands on the desk and stood up to curse in class this morning."
Sister, you look absolutely nothing like the cautious type of superhero.
Barbara hid her hands behind her back, her face devoid of any embarrassment from being seen through.
She lifted her chin, her tone stubborn. "I wasn't going to slam the desk. I was just preparing to execute necessary preventive control on the desk before it got out of hand."
Chen Mo fell silent for a moment, thinking that the Gordon family education might be even closer to a police interrogation than he had imagined.
And so, he nodded. "Got it. Attempted assault on an officer by a desk. Furniture in Gotham has certainly always possessed a high criminal potential."
Barbara glared at him.
Chen Mo didn't continue teasing her. His gaze fell back behind the cafeteria window, where the box of hot meals sat on a metal cart. The lid was tightly buckled, and a white piece of paper was pasted next to it, reading: "Reserved for Visitation, Do Not Touch."
These few words were written neatly and coldly.
Compared to letting a bunch of poor kids at the bottom have a meal, displaying food in front of the cameras to showcase the masters' benevolence was clearly more valuable.
The queue had already dwindled by half.
The students who had after-school activities, whose families had cars to pick them up, or who could at least hold out until dinner had left one after another.
As they left, some cursed, some rolled their eyes, and some slammed their lunch cards into the trash can, but they were able to walk away.
Not many people were left, about forty or so. Chen Mo scanned them; they were basically the type of people who looked like they were trying to save power just by walking. Their shoulders slumped, their eyes blank, and their fingers constantly pinched their lunch cards like they were holding onto an emergency pardon that was long overdue for redemption.
Someone sat on the ground, pressing an empty water bottle against his stomach.
There was still a little water in the bottle from the restroom faucet. The surface of the water rippled slightly, and his Adam's apple moved with it, but in the end, he didn't drink, as if he wanted to save this bit of liquid for a worse moment.
A small boy picked up the scraps of lettuce from the cold meal box earlier, wiped them with a piece of paper, and stuffed them into his mouth.
That piece of lettuce was as limp as a green penalty ticket crumpled by life. He chewed very slowly, as if chewing fast would waste its dignity as food.
There was also a girl who kept staring at the hot meal box.
She didn't speak. In her hand was half a pencil from the orientation gift pack given to them when they were brought in earlier. The tip of the pencil was already covered in teeth marks.
Chen Mo saw that she was biting the wood, not the eraser. It seemed that children in Gotham knew how to develop the supplementary food value of even school supplies.
Hunger here wasn't as simple as a "growling stomach." It made people short-tempered, it made their eyes sharp, and it made them subconsciously count how many people in the room were weaker than them when they smelled meat.
Chen Mo recalled some news he had seen in his past life, about kids having their lunch trays taken away in public because of unpaid lunch fees, or parents who couldn't afford to pay and could only let their kids eat the cheapest alternative meals.
Back then, he would curse a few words. Now that he was in Gotham, those news stories seemed overly civilized.
So why the hell, in such a prosperous city and such a powerful country, are there still children who can't afford to eat!
Gotham didn't take away your tray.
Gotham made you stand in line holding an empty tray, watching others eat, watching the red light of the system flash, and watching adults say "not my problem," until you finally learned to lower your head and find something to eat on your own.
Barbara followed his gaze and frowned. She lowered her voice. "Don't look at that box again. The way you look at things is very obvious, like a cat evaluating the thickness of a glass display case."
Chen Mo turned around, looking very hurt. "Is your evaluation of a new classmate always this impolite? I'm just purely appreciating the school's food reserve management work, and incidentally mourning my dead stomach."
Barbara wasn't fooled by him. "If you really want to do something, at least don't let them suffer bad luck because of you."
Chen Mo blinked, showing a bright, almost punchable expression. "A law-abiding citizen like me, how could I cause bad luck for others? I even pick up backpacks from the trash can with a great sense of environmental awareness."
Barbara glanced at the old backpack on his shoulder. The zipper of that backpack was missing half its length, and on the side, a previous owner had written "Get out of my house" with white correction fluid.
She was silent for two seconds and said honestly, "That sounds even more suspicious."
"Don't worry about me, why haven't you left yet?" Chen Mo narrowed his eyes at the little girl Barbara pretending to be an adult in front of him.
Barbara crossed her arms, her chin lifting a bit higher, her eyes shining as if declaring war.
"My dad is a hero, so I want to try too."
"You just told me not to be reckless, that heroics only bring worse results."
"The world needs reckless heroes, doesn't it?"
"Heroes only make them increase their budget to buy more expensive locks."
"Even if you know there's a ditch in the road ahead, you still have to go over and see how deep it actually is, right? Otherwise, how can you fill it up?"
Over by the cafeteria window, the hot meal box was still on the cart, lonelily emitting a bit of steam, the aroma running around like evidence of a crime.
The security guard stood nearby, his face still stiff. The teacher who had just stepped in to stop the boy who threw the tray had already been called over to fill out forms, leaving a blank space that screamed, "Whoever touches this box of rice, I'll deal with them."
Chen Mo lowered his head and shifted the tips of his shoes back half an inch.
The movement was so small it looked like an ordinary student adjusting their stance after standing for too long.
His gaze swept across the cleaning cart, the tray return rack, the position of the cart's brake clip, and then over the "Employees Only" sign at the kitchen entrance.
Above the sign was a fly trap lamp. The tube buzzed loudly, just enough to cover the sound of some people talking.
Chen Mo suddenly turned to look at Barbara, his tone as lighthearted as if discussing today's cafeteria menu. "Barbara, when your dad usually catches criminals, what type of criminal does he hate the most?"
Barbara froze for a moment.
The question came out of nowhere, but that dialogue about heroes and locks still hung between them like a loose screw, so she decided not to question it further and followed his lead to answer, "The kind who flaunts themselves in front of him and still thinks they're smart."
Chen Mo nodded. "Good. Now I'm going to do something not-so-smart, and I need you to do another not-so-smart thing."
Barbara narrowed her eyes. "Name it."
Chen Mo lowered his voice and spoke a few words quickly.
After Barbara finished listening, her expression shifted from "Are you kidding me?" to "You really are sick," and finally settled on a dangerous look somewhere between spite and curiosity.
Barbara took a deep breath and tossed her red hair. "If this trick doesn't work, I'm breaking off our friendship."
Chen Mo was deeply touched. "We only met on our second day, and you're already prepared to break off our friendship."