Chapter 41: The Guilt-Ridden Wife

"Harvey..." Bruce donned his Batman suit, weaving through the streets and alleys of Gotham. While putting a stop to the city's rampant crime, his mind remained preoccupied with Harvey.

However, this was a problem he had to solve himself; no one else could be of much help. Even after long periods of deep thought, Batman could not find a suitable solution.

After halting several crimes, Batman returned to the Batcave just as the sky began to gray with dawn. He took some time to rest and recover. Checking the calendar, he noted that March would soon be over, and he was about to face a particularly troublesome opponent.

April 1st. April Fools' Day.

Batman had no doubt that on this day, the Joker would emerge to wreak havoc, even if he currently appeared to be sitting quietly within Arkham Asylum.

After all, in a certain sense, April Fools' Day was the Joker’s personal holiday. Like a birthday, it only came once a year, and naturally, he would want to pull off some grand, theatrical stunt on such an unusual day.

Compared to the "evil arts" the Joker might unleash, the Holiday Killer’s tendency to strike on that day felt like a routine chore for an old married couple; it might sound exciting to a novice, but for those involved, it was actually quite tedious.

Shaking off the bizarre analogy, Batman took a sip of the coffee Alfred had prepared and fell into deep contemplation.

Church.

"April Fools' Day is almost here again," Roland muttered, looking at the calendar.

"What kind of business should we run for April Fools'?" Jason asked. "Retractable plastic knives? Snake-in-a-can potato chips? Electric buzzing spiders? Or all of the above?"

"I'll take them al—no, that’s not what I meant." Roland shook his head. "I’m worried about whether the Joker might come out to cause trouble on a day like April Fools'."

"Oh, right..." Jason leaned against the wall. "The Joker wouldn't miss a day like that. It just depends on how wide his reach will be this time."

"We'll see when the time comes; there are still plenty of days left," Roland said. "We can stock up on items a day early and sell them, but let's not stir up any trouble when April 1st rolls around."

"Got it." Jason made an "OK" gesture.

"Alright, let's go. I noticed the kitchen doesn't have many ingredients left. Let's go buy some."

"Don't we have someone specifically hired to handle the kitchen procurement?" Jason asked, puzzled.

"Oh, you mean that lady? I caught her taking kickbacks while shopping, so I fired her yesterday," Roland said, displeased. "I can't believe she tried to pull that on me."

"That's outrageous."

"So, for now, I have to handle it myself." Roland climbed into a pickup truck and drove toward a market on the outskirts of the city.

"I'm taking my right with destiny, Willing to play my part."
"Living with painful memories."
"Loving with all my heart."
"Made in heaven, made in heaven..."

Roland turned on the radio, and a powerful melody filled the air.

It was the titular track from the album *Made in Heaven* by the British rock band Queen—a true final curtain call for lead singer Freddie Mercury. The song was filled with such raw, abundant emotion that it left both men in the truck feeling deeply moved.

"Written in the stars... Written in the stars..." Roland hummed along with the radio, paying little attention to the road. When he stopped at a red light, he failed to move even after the signal turned green, drawing a chorus of honks from the cars behind him.

Feeling in the wrong, Roland didn't respond to the shouting from behind and quietly drove through the intersection.

But one driver remained relentless, maneuvering his sedan to cut off Roland's pickup. The two vehicles refused to yield, nearly colliding several times.

"FXXK!" Roland pulled his truck alongside the sedan's driver's side to shout at the driver, but just as he was about to unleash a tirade, he recognized the man behind the wheel.

Harvey stared at Roland with a ferocious expression, but the moment he saw who it was, he performed a traditional Chinese art: face-changing.

"Are you on your way to..."

"I'm just going to restock; the kitchen's running low on supplies," Roland said, patting the bed of the pickup. "I'm planning to bring back a bit more this time. What about you? Don't you have to work at this hour?"

"Ah... I'm just... I have other business to attend to..." Harvey’s face turned bright red, and he stammered, "Uh... I'm in a bit of a rush... I'll get going. Let's talk next time."

With that, Harvey got into his car, stalled the engine twice before finally getting it started, and drove away with an air of desperate flight.

"Something's not right..." Roland stroked his chin. "Something is twelve times not right."

"What's not right about it?" Jason asked curiously.

"Harvey's state is very strange," Roland mused. "Why did he seem so guilty?"

"Guilty?" Jason thought for a moment. "I suppose he did seem a bit that way."

"Exactly. Just like a housewife who has just been threatened by her boss—'Madam, you wouldn't want to lose this job, would you?'—feeling guilty when she suddenly runs into her oblivious husband."

"…Why are you so talented at analogies? You just rattled off a complex sentence like it was nothing," Jason couldn't help but retort. "So, what are you going to do now?"

"Let's follow him and see." Roland released his *Kamaitachi* spirits to tail Harvey’s car from a distance, carefully listening to the sounds emanating from his vehicle.

The task of driving naturally fell to Jason.

As a professional car thief, Jason knew how to drive, of course. He followed Harvey’s car through the streets, neither losing him nor being discovered.

"Hmm, there’s sound inside the car now." Roland used the *Kamaitachi* to capture the audio around Harvey, his expression growing increasingly strange.

Harvey had picked up a phone call. When he saw the number, his expression shifted from anger to terror, and he let it ring for a while before answering.

"Prosecutor Harvey, hello. Why did it take you so long to pick up my call?" A flippant voice came from the other end.

"Gulp... Cut the crap. What exactly do you want?"

"Hehehe... Prosecutor Harvey, I just want to be 'friends' with you. No need to be so worked up."

"Hmph... I have no interest in such disgusting ideas."

"Oh, is that so?" The sound of paper turning came from the other end of the line. "Perhaps you'll change your mind after hearing this..."

"Name: Harvey 'Apollo' Dent. Gender: Male. Age..."

"DSM-5 Depression Diagnosis: A1: Unusual perceptual experiences, including somatic illusions. A2: Bizarre thoughts and speech. A3: Paranoid ideation."

"The patient's mental health assessment shows some abnormalities. The patient's self-assessment scale indicates that the patient has a certain awareness of his own violent tendencies."

"The patient believes he has been treated unfairly (suspicion, paranoia, bordering on delusion); has experienced brief visual and auditory hallucinations under stress and in a semi-sleep state."

"Diagnosis: Schizotypal Personality Disorder."