American comics farmer: start by adopting the villain savior.

Chapter 266 Harvey Dent's Two-Sided Coin; Gordon's heart skipped a beat.

Gotham General Hospital, high-rise private ward.

Harvey Dent was half-lying on the hospital bed.

His once upright body was now wrapped in layers of thick bandages, like a broken puppet that had been pieced back together.

His face...

Or rather, the hideous burn scar running from his brow to his jaw, like a geographical dividing line, split him into two completely different beings.

The intact half still features the Knight of Light familiar to the people of Gotham, with a resolute silhouette.

The other half turned to the window, which was mercilessly divided by cold metal railings.

outside the window.

There was no sunshine, no hope, no comfort.

The sky over Gotham remained that suffocating leaden gray, with thick, dark clouds hanging low, as if pressing down on the hospital rooftop, preventing any sunlight from penetrating.

He slowly withdrew his gaze from the nauseating gray sky, his eyes drifting aimlessly across the sterile white ward before finally settling on the bedside table.

There, a bunch of withered flowers drooped, their petals dry and blackened, curled up in a cheap vase, much like him, abandoned.

Several unopened gift packages lay piled up nearby, their ribbons still neatly tied, but covered with a thin layer of dust.

already……

No one has come to see him for a long time.

Only the rhythmic ticking of the medical instruments relentlessly cut through time, and also sever his remaining will.

Memories churn uncontrollably.

It dragged him back to that hellish moment once again.

Scorching heatwave, shattered glass, excruciating pain…

And
In the gaps between the flames and thick smoke, a figure wearing a black mask flashed by!

A deliberate attack.

no doubt.

This realization was like a red-hot branding iron, searing his soul.

But even colder than that was the chill that followed—

He was abandoned.

He had been utterly betrayed by everything he had sworn to defend.

The law and order he fought for, even risking his life for, not only chose silence when he needed justice most, but also reached out that invisible hand to tightly cover his mouth that was pleading for help.

Such a blatant attempted murder was downplayed and attributed to an 'accident'.

He had witnessed injustice befall others countless times, and at those times he felt anger and professional powerlessness, but a sliver of faith always remained in his heart.

If he were in that position, he would fight with all his might.
But now...

When this utter darkness, this chilling betrayal, descended upon him with such precision...

Can he maintain his position as a prosecutor?
Would Gotham tolerate a monster with half his face ruined becoming a prosecutor?

Could we really allow him to wear a mask and become like those lunatics?!
Harvey Dent, the former Knight of Light of Gotham, sadly discovers that he can barely hold onto even his pure rage.

Instead, he felt a more thorough and corrosive sense of powerlessness, which silently seeped into every inch of the wound beneath his bandages, numbing every remaining nerve of reason.

He slowly raised the hand that wasn't wrapped in bandages, watching it tremble slightly uncontrollably.

These hands once gripped legal texts and pointed at evil in court.
Once upon a time... I longed to grasp the scales of justice.

Now, even clenching their fists seems so difficult for them.

He closed his good eye and buried his head deep into the pillow.

"boom--!"

The ward door was pushed open somewhat hastily.

A figure entered, bringing with it the chill of the outside air and a hint of haste, muttering to himself:
“I’m so sorry, Harvey, lately… you know, the city is in complete chaos, and I just can’t get away…” Gordon’s voice was filled with undisguised exhaustion.

He was carrying a rather ridiculously simple fruit basket that looked like it had been hastily bought at the convenience store downstairs, which complemented his wrinkled trench coat and together conveyed a sense of helplessness and haste.

He placed the fruit basket next to the pile of dusty gifts, his movements somewhat stiff.

Then, he pulled up a chair and sat down by the hospital bed, rubbing his knees somewhat awkwardly with his hands.

Harvey looked out the window, seemingly not wanting to look at him.
Gordon's throat bobbed.

"how do you feel?"

He asked the question dryly, but immediately realized how stupid it was.

Harvey didn't move, he just let out a sneer.

Gordon was taken aback by this reaction, causing an awkward silence to fall over the ward once again.

“Listen, Harvey.”

Gordon took a deep breath, trying to make his voice sound firmer. "I know what you're thinking. That thing... that was definitely not an accident."

"I assure you, I will never give up the investigation..."

“Investigation?” Harvey finally spoke, managing to squeeze out the words from his half-open lips. “Chief Jim… how’s your ‘investigation’ going?”

Gordon opened his mouth, as if to say something about evidence, procedures, and the efforts Iceberg was secretly making...

But it still got stuck in my throat.
He recalled the pressure from above, the files that had been forcibly transferred, and Black Mask's unbridled declaration.

“They suppressed it, didn’t they?” Harvey continued in that flat tone, as if he were talking about something that had nothing to do with him. “Just like they’ve suppressed countless cases before, just like what happened to us on the iceberg.”

He turned his head slightly, and Gordon's embarrassed figure was reflected in his intact blue eye.

"Because it involves... a 'big shot'?"

"Or is it simply... 'inconvenient'?"

Gordon had no rebuttal.

At that moment, he felt like a despicable liar, sitting by the bedside of a friend whose system he had sworn to protect together had been destroyed by his own hands, peddling a hope that even he himself did not believe in.

“I will find a way, Harvey.” Gordon’s voice was low, with an almost desperate stubbornness. “I swear.”

"swear?!"

Harvey whirled around, the movement so violent it almost aggravated his wound.

The face, half covered in white gauze and half with grotesque burns, suddenly drew near, its intact blue eyes blazing with terrifying rage and pain, causing Gordon to instinctively shrink back in fright.

"You swear?! Jim! Swear on that tattered 'justice' that's already riddled with holes?!"

His gaze was so intense it seemed to burn two holes in Gordon.

I was stunned by the sudden, intense stare.

Gordon looked at his best friend's face, which looked as if it had been kissed by both God and the devil, and at the despair and resentment in his eyes that seemed to devour him.

He was the first to give in, awkwardly shifting his gaze away, no longer daring to meet those eyes.

I don't know if I'm afraid of that broken face, or I'm afraid of those eyes.

Seeing Gordon's reaction, Harvey's chest heaved violently a few times, as if the fuel for his burning rage had been instantly drained, leaving only cold ashes.

He seemed to have exhausted his last bit of strength, his body leaning heavily backward, sinking back into the embrace of the pillow.

After what felt like an eternity, he spoke again with his eyes closed.

“Jim…”

He said calmly, "I have nothing left."

"My house, my car, my identity, my face... everything I've fought for..."

"They were all destroyed in that fire."

He reopened his eyes and looked at the ceiling.

There was no light in that perfectly good blue eye.

"After I'm discharged from the hospital..." he almost muttered to himself, "Give me a gun."

"You know... in my current state, no one will sell to me anywhere."

"What are you doing?!"

Gordon turned around abruptly, his voice filled with disbelief and horror.

Harvey didn't look at him, but that calmness seemed especially terrifying at that moment.

"...You always need something to protect yourself. After all, Gotham right now... isn't it?"

“No! Absolutely not!” Gordon refused resolutely, his voice rising with emotion. “Harvey, you know your situation! You can’t…”

"Then what should I do?!"

The suppressed rage reignited, and Harvey roared, "Do you think I'm going to hide in a corner like a piece of trash, praying that your perpetually belated 'justice' will one day happen to visit me?!"

“I told you I’d catch that bastard!” Gordon tried to grab his shoulder, but pulled his hand back before it touched the bandage, and could only wave his arm helplessly.

"Protect? Did you 'protect' me from that explosion?!"

Harvey's words were like poisoned daggers.

"That's different!"

"What's the difference?!"

Harvey roared, propping himself up, ignoring the excruciating pain, and glared at Gordon with his intact eye, "And what about you?! James Gordon! The Gotham Police Commissioner! Always talking about law and order! And what happened?! You've actually gotten involved with that underworld 'king' of the Iceberg Club!"

He seemed to have used up his last bit of strength, his voice filled with the pain of betrayal:
"And who are you?! Gordon!"

These words struck Gordon's conscience like a heavy hammer of judgment.

He stood frozen in place, the color draining from his face instantly. His lips moved, but he couldn't utter a single syllable.

Looking at Gordon's speechless expression.

Harvey's half-undamaged skin contorted into a sinister, grotesque grin.

He stopped looking at Gordon and instead reached out his hand, which was trembling.

He fumbled around on the bedside table and finally picked up a rather old-looking coin from a pile of medicine bottles and odds and ends.

His eyes were vacant, as if he were lost in some distant memory.

The sound also became ethereal:
“Jim, my childhood… my father was a politician.”

Harvey said in a flat tone, "He was addicted to gambling and alcoholism. He often abused me... He would even decide whether to beat me by flipping a coin."

Gordon looked up in shock.

He had never heard his closest friend mention such a dark past.

But Harvey ignored his reaction and continued in that flat tone:
“Until one day, after I returned home from Arkham Juvenile Detention Center… I discovered that my father was trying… to reform himself.”

Hold the coin between your thumb and forefinger and bring it up to eye level.

Harvey's intact blue eye stared intently at Gordon:

"So let's make a bet, Gordon."

“If the coin I flip next lands heads… then it means Gotham is completely beyond saving, rotten to the core. You must give me a gun.”

"If it's the other side..."

He twitched the corner of his mouth, as if imitating a smile.

"That might... mean Gotham can still be saved. What do you think?"

Looking at the coin that gleamed ominously under the light, and then at Harvey's eyes burning with despair, Gordon felt a wave of suffocation wash over him.

He had no desire to participate in this absurd and dangerous game.

"Harvey, don't do this..."

“No,” Harvey interrupted him calmly, a chilling madness lurking beneath the calm. “You have to bet with me.”

"Why should I..." Gordon tried to refuse.

Harvey's gaze slowly shifted to the window of the ward, which, despite its railings, still seemed dangerous. His voice carried a deadly threat:
"You won't gamble..."

He clearly uttered a few words, "I'll jump from here."

Gordon's pupils contracted sharply, and he growled in horror, "What are you doing...?!"

"That's right."

Harvey admitted it readily, even tilting his head slightly.

A chilling mockery flashed in that intact eye.

“I’m threatening your conscience, Gordon.”

He asked softly:
"Am I despicable?"

Gordon stood frozen in place, his body ice-cold.

He looked at Harvey, at the coin that would decide his fate.

He was put on the moral rack by his best friend, who used his life and the last vestiges of his conscience.

Gordon opened his mouth, but ultimately...
He could only squeeze out a broken syllable through his teeth:

"...I'll bet."

A twisted smile curled at the corner of his mouth.

Harvey stopped talking and focused all his attention on the coin.

Place your thumb against the edge of the coin.

"Ding--!"

Fate was thrown into the air.

No one reached out to take it.

Gordon didn't, and Harvey certainly didn't either.

They just watched as the coin reached its highest point and then began to fall.

嗒…

Tap...tap...

The coin landed on the cold terrazzo floor and bounced a few times.

Still.

Gordon's gaze slowly moved downwards, finally settling on the floor at the foot of the bed.

There, the coin lay quietly.

front.

It faces upwards with stark cruelty, like the mockery of a demon.

Gordon was silent for a few seconds. Then he slowly bent down, reached out and picked up the coin from the ground, clenched it in his palm, and looked up at Harvey, who was staring intently at him from the hospital bed.

Forcing a smile:
“Harvey… is the opposite.”

He affirmed.

but.
Harvey's face remained expressionless.

There wasn't even a ripple in that perfectly intact blue eye.

He simply countered with a calm question:

"is it?"

He then slightly raised his chin, gesturing to Gordon's clenched fist.

"Then...why don't you flip it over and take a look?"

Gordon's smile froze.

His heart skipped a beat.

Almost trembling, he slowly opened his clenched fist and, with the fingertips of his other hand, extremely slowly placed the coin in his palm...

It flipped over.

Still positive.

It's still that same pattern that carries an absolute sense of mockery.

Double-sided…

All positive!

They're all facing forward!
Harvey...you bastard
"Haha...hahaha...hahahahahaha!!!"

On his hospital bed, Harvey burst into a near-manic laugh.

The laughter tore open the wound in his throat, a mixture of pain and a chilling sense of relief that crashed and echoed through the walls of the ward.

He laughed so hard he almost fell over, tears welling up from his one intact eye, mingling with pus from his facial burns, and sliding down his face.

"Gordon!!"

He abruptly stopped laughing, staring intently at the sheriff, whose face was deathly pale as if struck by lightning, with eyes burning with the flames of madness. His voice came from the depths of hell:

"Back then, my father melted down the coin that determined my fate and recast it into this coin—one that has heads on both sides!!"

"He used this to symbolize that he would never raise his fist against me again! A father's promise to his son!"

"Unfortunately, that was just a self-deceiving, false promise!!"

He raised his bandaged hand, trembling, and pointed at Gordon, then at the city outside the window.

“Gotham is the same!! Gordon! Gotham will never change! All the hope it gives you, all the ‘opposites,’ are illusions!!” His voice rose to a hoarse tone, “It will only stab you in the back again and again! In the dirtiest, most despicable ways!!”

"this place……"

Harvey's voice suddenly lowered, and he announced, word by word:

"It's hopeless!"

Gordon stood frozen in place, the double-sided coin in his palm.

Looking at his dearest friend, who seemed to be completely swallowed by darkness, he felt as if something was blocking his throat. All the comforting words, vows, and even a simple apology he had prepared seemed so pale and ridiculous.

Fortunately, at that very moment, the encrypted communicator in his pocket started vibrating untimely and stubbornly.

As if grasping at a straw, Gordon almost mechanically pulled out his communicator and pressed the answer button.

"The dock? An explosion?"

A moment later, upon hearing the urgent report from the other end, his face instantly changed from deathly pale to a tense and serious expression. "I understand... I'll be there right away."

He hung up the phone and cast a complicated look back at Harvey on the hospital bed.

"Gordon, are you going to break the bet?" Harvey sneered.

A thousand words churned in his chest, but in the end, he couldn't utter a single one. Gordon simply placed the coin back on the bedside table next to Harvey's bed in silence.

The crisp metallic clanging sound seemed to be tolling the final death knell for their friendship.

Then, he fled in panic.

His steps were hurried and disorderly.

He dared not look back at those eyes that pierced his soul.

As he watched Gordon's disappearing figure, Harvey simply reached out his still-intact hand and clenched the coin on the cabinet back into his palm.

Only the coldness of the metal seemed to be able to slightly suppress the flames of hatred within him.

The ward fell silent once more.

His heavy breathing and the regular ticking of the instruments were his only companions.

I don't know how much time passed; it might have been just a few minutes, or it might have been a long century.

"squeak--!"

The ward door was pushed open again.

Harvey looked up, still carrying a lingering sense of unease.

But the person who walked in was someone he had never expected.

The person who arrived was dressed in fashionable clothes that were completely out of place in the hospital environment.

His golden hair still shone brightly under the pale lights of the ward, and his scarlet eyes, calm and undisturbed, were fixed on him on his handsome, almost otherworldly face.

Dior.

The King of the Iceberg Club.

Upon seeing that face, Harvey's face flashed with barely concealed jealousy, which quickly turned into an even colder mockery.

He tugged at his half-intact lips, letting out a hoarse, cold laugh:
"Ah... what a rare guest."

"The 'King' of the Iceberg, instead of running your criminal empire, you condescend to come to me, a down-on-his-luck prosecutor who has been burned down and abandoned..."

He stared at Dio's flawless face, his voice practically dripping with venom.

"Is there something you need? You're not here to... offer condolences, are you?"

Dior did not answer immediately, but simply placed the fruit basket he was carrying on Harvey's bedside table.

It was as if his gifts of comfort were different from the garbage piled up next to them, as if they came from another world.

Harvey glanced at the fruit basket, his words laced with self-deprecation and sharpness:
"What? You're only now thinking of trying to win me over?"

"What a pity, Your Majesty, look at how I look now..."

"What value do you have in a person who is disfigured, has lost their job, and can't even protect themselves?"

He tried to project the same harshness he had shown towards Gordon onto Dio, hoping for the latter's disgust, pity, or at least a slight emotional fluctuation.

He even deliberately leaned forward slightly.

The light made that face, half bandaged and half scarred, even clearer under the lamplight.

However.
Dio simply looked back at him calmly, his scarlet eyes showing no disgust, no pity, not even a ripple of emotion.

He didn't even twitch an eyebrow.

“Mr. Harvey, look at you now…” Dio’s gaze swept across Harvey’s face, his tone devoid of any sarcasm, only an almost cruel objectivity, “Do you only get to go out on Halloween?”

"..."

The expected reaction did not occur.

Harvey was stunned.

The venom and fury that were brewing and about to erupt seemed to have crashed into an invisible and smooth ice wall, causing no harm and inexplicably... dissipating.

He didn't feel humiliated; instead, he felt a sense of...unable to refute the absurdity.

He could even picture himself blending into the Halloween crowd, a scene both pathetic and laughable.

The anger inside deflated like a punctured balloon.

He opened his mouth, but in the end it only turned into a sigh filled with deep helplessness and self-mockery, and he silently leaned back against the pillow:

“G**F*K”

Dior seemed completely unconcerned about his reaction.

It was as if that comment was just a casual, objective remark.

He casually took a bright red apple from the exquisite fruit basket, then pulled out a small, unusually sharp knife from somewhere and began to slowly and methodically peel it.

For a moment, only the faint sound of the knife blade slicing through the fruit flesh could be heard in the ward.

Dior chatted casually with Harvey, the conversation rambling on and on, from Gotham’s terrible weather to the vintage of a certain wine, his tone as indifferent as if they were just two estranged old acquaintances who occasionally bumped into each other.

Rather than a mafia kingpin and a former prosecutor on the verge of collapse.

The apple was quickly peeled, smooth, round, and flawless.

Dio picked it up, but instead of handing it to Harvey, he opened his mouth and took a crisp bite.

Harvey watched him chew and couldn't help but say speechlessly, "...Can't you share some with me?"

Dio paused in his chewing, glanced at him, shrugged, and said matter-of-factly, "I've never heard of seriously ill patients eating fruit; it's bad for digestion."

Harvey was so angry at these bastard's words that his wound ached, and his lips twitched. In the end, the pain from the aggravated wound made him give up arguing, and he could only say helplessly, "So you just wanted to eat fruit, so you bought this basket, right?!"

“I have plenty of apples at home.”

Dio corrected him seriously, taking another bite of his apple. "My family owns ten thousand acres of orchards, Mr. Harvey."

"..."

Harvey was utterly speechless, feeling as if he were communicating with a being from another dimension.

However, the feeling of not being treated as a pitiful creature, but rather with an almost absurd sense of normalcy, actually relaxed his tense nerves a little.

He sighed and decided to stop going in circles:
"Speak, what do you want from me?"

Dior swallowed the last bite of apple.

He casually and precisely tossed the fruit pit into the trash can in the distance.

He picked up a silk handkerchief from the side, slowly and methodically wiping his fingers, then raised his eyes, his scarlet pupils staring directly at Harvey, and spoke bluntly:

"What happened that night? Tell me the details."

Harvey paused for a moment, then let out a cold laugh: "Ha... Is this how you treat a patient who may have severe PTSD? Not even a single step of psychological counseling?"

Dior's expression remained unchanged: "A waste of time."

Harvey stared at him, his eyes flashing with a complex light.

It must be said that this unpretentious, direct, and even somewhat ruthless efficiency, in this situation, was more appealing to him than any insincere sympathy…

reality.

"Do you need this information?" Harvey asked tentatively.

"I suppose so," Dio replied noncommittally, his tone remaining indifferent.

Harvey's sneer deepened.

He picked up the coin again, twirling it deftly between his fingers.

"Want to know? Sure."

He said calmly, "Let's flip a coin."

"If it's the other way around... then I'll tell you everything I know."

Dio looked at the coin in his hand.

"can."

Harvey's smile froze for a moment, but he didn't hesitate and pressed his thumb down.

"Ding!"

The coin flew into the air again.

Harvey's gaze followed the spinning metal disc, anticipating its fall and its demonstration once again to him and to Dio that this world was beyond redemption.

however--

The coin did not fall over as expected, revealing neither side.

It fell and touched the cold surface of the bedside table.
then…

As if precisely controlled by some invisible force
It landed firmly on the edge and stood there steadily!

Harvey's facial muscles tensed, and his pupils contracted.

He stared intently at the coin that stood upright, as if he were seeing some kind of illusion.

"impossible……"

He refused to believe it and almost violently grabbed the coin, throwing it into the air again!

"Ding!"

The coin spins and falls.

despair.

It remains upright.

Harvey was breathing rapidly.

He repeated the action over and over again, as if he were caught up in some kind of crazy ritual, obsessively trying to get a normal result.

but.
Tossed up, fell, stood upright.

Tossed up, fell, stood upright.

……

He repeated this countless times, his movements becoming faster and more agitated, cold sweat even beading on his forehead, causing sharp pains to radiate from his burned skin.

But that coin, as if nailed to that vertical dimension, mocked us every time…

Stand there!

Until Dior's calm, unwavering voice rang out again:

"That's enough, Mr. Harvey."

Dio didn't even look at the coin; his gaze remained fixed on Harvey's face, contorted with shock, anger, and despair.

"After all, you should probably explain things to me now..."

His tone was somewhat weary, "Two coins with both sides heads... what's going on?"

"Are you kidding me?"
-
PS: One more chapter to come.

(End of this chapter)