CH 42

In the blink of an eye, three days had passed.

Mason quickly adapted to the fast-paced new life and everything seemed to be going smoothly with good news coming one after another.

Two days ago, he officially broke through Level 2 in first aid.

Meanwhile, another big shot in Gotham City, Mr. Falcone, was also a very "enthusiastic" person. He had been "delivering" four or five test subjects to Mason every night for three consecutive days, greatly improving the efficiency of identifying unknown potions.

Kite Man had also put the renovation of the Iceberg Lounge on the agenda. He planned to keep the name of the bar but change its style, turning it into a gathering place for the street heroes of Gotham City. He was very confident in his operating idea.

But Mason didn't care about any of this.

After getting enough "volunteers" for testing, his progress in alchemy techniques had improved significantly. He decided to officially work on the Joyous Pill tomorrow night.

As for why not tonight? The reason was simple. Mason's little shop was officially opening tonight.

It was a small shop located near Crime Alley, just one street away from Dr. Leslie's clinic. It used to be a struggling grocery store, but under Kite Man's personal financial attack, the owner quickly completed the transfer procedures.

Taking advantage of the interior decoration of the Iceberg Lounge, the workers also cleaned and renovated the small shop. Mason spent some time with Charles last night to move some of his recent creations into the shop.

He didn't hold any grand opening ceremony.

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He just opened the rolling shutter door of the "Cooper's Mysterious Item Shop" after getting off work from the clinic at 10 o'clock that night.

The shop wasn't big, just a small store on the street. The second floor was where Mason rested, with a bed, wardrobe, and a few workbenches. The wooden boards were laid out in a minimalist style, indicating that the renovation was completed.

The first floor was the main part of the shop.

There were no tables or chairs for receiving customers. Instead, there was a circular counter and five large display cabinets, displaying Mason's handmade "goods" according to the distinction between alchemy and engineering creations.

Only two display cabinets were used, which looked a bit shabby, but the remaining three display cabinets were reserved for future branches of the production business.

Mason turned on the not-so-bright lights, letting the light shine on the street outside the shop. The sign outside was a retro neon light, and the colorful revolving light shining on the water stains on the street had a wonderful feeling.

He sat behind the counter and opened a very peculiar thing.

A sewing machine.

He planned to take some time every day from 10 pm to 1 am when the shop was open to study tailoring skills. The importance of armor for him as a star explorer in a different world was self-evident.

But the location of Mason's little shop was too bad.

Who would be a legitimate customer near Crime Alley? With the security situation in Gotham, anyone still wandering around the streets at night was definitely not a generous person.

An hour had passed since the shop opened, but there wasn't a single customer. The only visitors were a group of flashy little gangsters who seemed to be looking for some fun after getting high.But after seeing the shotgun and a box of bullets on Mason's counter, these thugs immediately sobered up.

They obediently put away their baseball bats and nodded and bowed as they left.

As for Mason himself, he was awkwardly stepping on a sewing machine, trying to make the simplest work. After spending an hour making a crooked and ugly apron for his dog to wear, he frowned and thought that maybe he should start with tanning leather to prepare for tailoring materials?

Or maybe he really didn't have the talent for it?

"Boss, these potions look intimidating. And why aren't there any prices?"

Just as he was frowning and thinking about how to improve his tailoring proficiency, a crisp voice sounded in the shop. Mason, who was busy doubting his life, casually said:

"These potions are for material exchange, friend, not for sale. Please check the exchange conditions next to the cabinet."

The questioning voice was confused by the boss's indifferent service attitude. The small customer frowned and looked at the introduction next to the cabinet, which was filled with various colored potions.

The first line read, "All products in this store are not for sale, only for material exchange. False ones will be compensated tenfold, and there will be no deception of young or old."

The customer who had entered the store at some point continued to read down with a frown:

"Ten bottles of healing potion in exchange for five goat stomach stones, which must be taken from goats aged 4-7 in the last month of summer. This exchange is valid for a long time."

The next line read:

"Ten bottles of vitality potion in exchange for five sets of four materials: dried nettle, ground snake teeth, hedgehog spikes, and snail slime with tentacles. This exchange is valid for a long time."

"Five bottles of paralysis potion in exchange for five supports of any one of the following: sneezeweed, rotten blood grass, or Chinese angelica. Because this material is rare, the exchange must be verified before it can be exchanged."

"One bottle of advanced truth-telling potion in exchange for ten sets of materials: narcissus root powder, wormwood infusion, valerian root, and sleep beans. The manufacturing process of this potion is complex, and four sets of materials must be reserved and paid for a month in advance."

This paper board's requirements for materials were diverse, and even the small customer who thought he was well-versed was frowning at the strange names of herbs and materials listed by Mason for the first time.

This made the small customer, who was wearing a black coat and a baseball cap, couldn't help but feel that this shop might be some kind of "performance art" that he couldn't understand.

But the small customer frowned and looked at the various potions in front of him. Based on his intuition, he felt that these things were not fake. Hmm, at least the appearance of the bottled potions was somewhat similar to the genuine ones he had used before.

So the small customer hesitated for a while and said again:

"Your exchange conditions are so strict. Although they don't cost money, they are much more expensive than paying for them."

Mason was thinking about how to get started with the tailoring branch at the moment. He didn't have time to play with customers, so he replied with a straight face:"You see, there are no real alchemists in Gotham City now. My potion is unique, made with solid ingredients and has excellent effects. You think it's expensive, but I think it's expensive too."

This was a bit of a rush.

The young guest sneered and said in a prolonged tone:

"I didn't say I wouldn't buy it, but are these potions real?"

"I am a professional alchemist. Can I sell you fake medicine?"

Mason finally raised his head and glanced at this troublesome young guest.

He looked up and down at him, looking at the baseball cap brim that covered most of his face, but he could judge that he was at most in his teens and still a child.

The young man's tone softened a bit, with some helplessness, and said:

"Little boy, go home quickly. Don't wander around at night. It's dangerous around here. Here, this bottle of soda is a gift from your big brother."

"Who wants your soda!"

But the young guest was angry because of this kind act.

He stared at Mason, and a hint of ferocity appeared on his face under the brim of his hat, as if he was very angry because Mason treated him as a child.

He said fiercely:

"I'm asking you if these potions are real!"

Mason could tell that something was wrong with this situation. He frowned. When did this child come into the store? Why did he have no impression at all?

The young man stood up and casually grabbed the handgun placed beside him, leaning on the counter and looking at the fierce little boy in front of him.

He said:

"Are you here to cause trouble? Who sent you?"

"I'm not!"

The little boy snorted and took a bottle of healing potion from the display cabinet, shook it up and down in his hand, glanced at Mason, and said:

"If your medicine is real, I will definitely buy it. Although the materials you need seem ridiculous, they can still be found. My family... um, is a veterinarian.

There are many things like sheep stones.

But what if your medicine is fake?

Can I bring my friends back to smash your store?"

"You little rascal!"

Mason laughed out of anger.

It was obvious that he was here to cause trouble, but he was too lazy to say anything more to an unknown little troublemaker. He just waved his hand and joked with him:

"You are the first customer in my store, so I will give you this bottle of medicine as a gift. Take it home and play with it. If it's fake, feel free to come and smash my store.

Don't go over there.

Those are special parts for gun making, not something a child like you should play with.

Okay, I'm going to ask you to leave now.

As you can see, I'm very busy now."

He pointed to the sewing machine and various shapes of fabric just cut out in the counter.

"You just wait for me to expose your tricks!"

The little troublemaker snorted, grabbed the bottle of medicine and left the Cooper's shop, strolling down the dark street and turning into the alley next to it, where a low-key black car was parked.Four black-suited bodyguards with sunglasses stood guard by the car like iron towers. The little boy approached the nearest bodyguard and took out a dagger from his arms, cutting his wrist.

Blood flowed out immediately.

Throughout the entire process, neither the bodyguards nor the boy showed any change in expression, as if it was the most ordinary thing.

"Drink it and tell me the effect in five minutes."

The little boy threw the potion in his hand to the bodyguard, then took off his baseball cap to reveal his black short hair. He bent down to pick up an Eastern-style black and white demon mask from the open car door and put it on his face, then clicked the safety off his black military pistol.

The other three bodyguards also opened the trunk and took out their weapons.

This fierce little brat said that if Mason gave him fake medicine, he would go and smash his shop. It seemed that it was not a lie, as he had already made all the preparations to bloodbath that little shop.

Even the absurd single-use rocket launcher was prepared in the trunk.

While such things may be outrageous in other cities, in Gotham, everything seemed to fall into place.

"Young master, it's the madam's call."

Two minutes later, the bodyguard sitting in the car with the sleeping little brat next to him handed him a specially encrypted satellite phone. The little boy, who was ready to make a big move, frowned and put the phone to his ear.

Then, a very pleasant and magnetic but very indifferent voice sounded on the phone:

"Damian, you were supposed to leave Gotham this afternoon, but you haven't left yet. This will delay your geography and history classes tomorrow. I need an explanation. You better not lie to me."

"Mom, I'm just verifying something I'm interested in. Don't bother me. I'm already grown up."

The little boy said with some annoyance and helplessness:

"I will board the plane at midnight and I promise to be home on time."

"What are you doing exactly?"

The cold mother on the other end of the phone asked again, saying:

"Speak!"

"I...I just want to see what's so special about Mason Cooper, the man that man is so interested in."

The little brat answered honestly:

"As you know, Mason escaped in the pursuit I commanded last time. That was my first mission failure in three years, and I hate shameful failures! Grandpa taught me from a young age that the best way to deal with failure is to try again.

After you stopped me from killing Dick Grayson and Tim Drake, are you still going to stop me from facing failure?"

The voice on the other end of the phone was silent for a few seconds, saying:

"I'll give you an hour! Also, Damian, don't think I don't know why you've been avoiding the arrangement of the doctors I carefully selected to teach you.

If you miss tomorrow's class...

The heads of your geography and history teachers will be on their dining tables tomorrow afternoon!"

This sentence completely angered the little boy, and he screamed in anger:"What's the difference? Even if they survive tomorrow's danger, after I finish your coursework assessment, the two useless doctors will still be thrown into the cement and sink into the sea!

Since I was six years old until now, there have been seventeen professors from various industries who died just because of the 'learning' plan you made for me!

I don't like this! Mom...

They are not the little dog that you raised me and forced me to kill with my own hands when I was eight... They are people! Living people, they can still benefit us in the organization. They shouldn't be treated like this just because of me..."

"You are too weak, Damian."

The little boy's retort was coldly interrupted by his mother, who said:

"How can you inherit the great legacy your grandfather will leave you if you are so fragile? How can you accomplish the mission you were born with if you are so pitiful?

You saw that man in Gotham with your own eyes!

You know how powerful he is, almost invincible and indestructible, just like the god of fear born in Gotham.

If you don't study hard now and arm yourself with knowledge, how will you defeat him with your own hands in the future? Damian, you have half of his blood in you.

But unfortunately, I didn't see the potential in you that made me and even the entire League of Assassins intoxicated like him!

If you continue to indulge yourself in boring kindness, don't come back.

Don't call me mom again!

I won't accept a weak failure as my son.

That's all!

Remember, Damian, you still have fifty-five minutes."

"Beep beep beep"

The phone hung up, and the vibrating busy tone was ruthless, bringing a trace of silent desolation in the night.

But the little boy in the car seemed to have already been accustomed to all this. He handed the phone in his hand to the bodyguard expressionlessly, and clenched the gun in his hand again.

The guinea pig bodyguard walked over when the five-minute countdown ended, showing his young master his hand that had completely healed except for a shallow scar.

Damian Al Ghul looked at the shallow scar in front of him.

It proved that Mason Cooper's healing potion was indeed effective, and he had lost the legitimate reason to bloodily attack that small shop.

Of course, maybe before the reason was lost, the little boy had already lost the interest in tonight's action.

He threw the gun aside, closed his eyes and ordered:

"You go prepare the materials and try to buy all the goods in that store. At the same time, apologize to Mr. Mason for me, and say that I will visit his magical little shop again when I come to Gotham next time.

Drive, I'm tired.

It's time to go home and study."

The low-key black car that can resist rocket attacks at close range started silently and slowly slid into the night of Gotham.

And in Cooper's magical little shop, Mason hummed a song while pressing the shining cold head into the magazine, and touched the Hell Eye collar pin on his collar that was shining with a faint light.There were eight aeronautical engineering bombs and six bottles of weak petrification potion, as well as a row of paralysis potions beside his feet. His hand cannon was inserted into his waist, and the Penguin's armed umbrella was placed beside his leg. The invisibility cloak was folded and placed in front of him.

This set of equipment was enough to deal with any crisis that might arise tonight.

But as Mason waited eagerly, the attacker not only did not appear, but the faint light on his needle quickly dimmed.

This made the young man blink in surprise.

"Hmm? Has Damian Wayne given up on trying to kill me? That little demon raised by the King of Assassins actually showed rare mercy?

It's a pity. I was ready to tie up that little guy and send him to Wayne Manor, and prepare to extort a billion dollars.

Alas, Batman, it seems that your 'father-son reunion' will have to be postponed."