"I'm a magician," Raven said bluntly.
"No, I mean, was that magic just now?" Killer Croc gestured with his claw.
"That was telekinesis, one of my abilities, I guess. It's currently the one I have the best control over," Raven sighed lightly and turned back to continue watching TV.
Killer Croc's eyes lit up and he said, "Can that ability be learned? Can I learn telekinesis?"
"It's not for you," Raven answered coldly: "It's a bloodline ability, unless your father is also a Big Devil, otherwise, it's impossible."
"I don't know who my father is, definitely not a crocodile," said Killer Croc with a shrug.
Raven suddenly froze, then she stood up again, turned around, and scrutinized Killer Croc closely: "Do you mean both your parents are humans but you ended up looking like this?"
Killer Croc nodded.
"Ancestral bloodline, huh?" Raven mused: "An ancestral bloodline usually involves more than just a change in appearance. Do you feel different from ordinary people in any way?"
"Does being exceptionally strong count? I hardly ever feel tired, and I don't need to eat much to keep going for a long time."
Raven shook her head and said: "There's definitely more to it than that. Animal ancestral bloodlines usually come from a blessing by the animal gods of ancient times. Goddess Ache once told me that, in the age when humans still needed the protection of various gods, many Beast Gods would bless the powerful warriors in their tribes."
"These warriors would acquire some characteristics of beasts, or even the ability to transform into beasts. They would have immense strength and some of the Beast Gods' magic, leading their tribes to conquer the wilds and extending their bloodlines."
"However, the reproduction rate of the human race is too rapid; generation after generation, this precious bloodline got diluted, which is why it's virtually unseen now. But there are still some lucky individuals who suddenly awaken their ancestral bloodline."
"You mean I might be able to use magic?"
"If you're the holder of such an ancestral bloodline, you should be able to use some magic. As for why you can't, I'm not sure. If the High Priest were here, he might be able to tell."
Raven thought Killer Croc would feel dejected since he seemed very interested in magic, but the Big Guy was not discouraged at all. He said, "It's okay if I can't, you can, right? Have you been looking for work recently?"
"Someone offered me a job," Raven replied truthfully: "To work as a mover at a bookstore."
"Perfect!" Killer Croc snapped his fingers and said: "Moving, you're just perfect for the job."
Then he rubbed his enormous claws together, almost shyly: "Um... I was thinking of starting a moving company myself. I'm just a bit short of the money needed to rent a place, and it's a bit slow when I move things alone. What do you think...?"
"I can work anywhere, but I've already promised them," Raven said: "And I'm dangerous. I have a vast amount of energy inside me that could explode at any moment."
"Explode?" Killer Croc thought for a moment and said: "I have a friend who's also great at exploding. I just happen to be meeting him for dinner after I finish work this afternoon. How about giving it a try then?"
"I'll make a call first," said Raven.
Raven called the Forgotten Bookstore, but as it was morning, the coffee shop downstairs was sure to be busy, so neither Constantine nor Zatanna answered the phone.
Although she was supposed to work at the bookstore, neither of them had specified when she should start. She liked the house she was in now, especially being able to watch TV. It would be terrible to have to move out because she couldn't pay the rent.
After some thought, Raven asked, "Will you pay me if I work for you?"
"Certainly, but you have to be able to move at least half of the stuff, and it has to be steady and fast. Absolutely no breaking anything, or idle chatter. I'll split the earnings with you fifty-fifty," he laid out the terms.
Raven nodded and said, "I could give that a try."
Having said that, she extended her hand and the few pieces of furniture that had not yet been moved floated up at the doorway. They glided steadily through the entire first floor of the house and landed neatly in the backyard, sorted by both size and color.
Killer Croc was even more delighted. Usually carrying these big items himself would take several trips, and while he was not easily tired, hauling them all day still strained his back.
More importantly, it was slow. He could move at most two households a day, or three if he worked overtime. But with this girl's help, they might be able to finish a house in just an hour. Even accounting for travel, he could manage over ten households in a day.
As for whether the moving process might seem a bit fantastical, Gothamites couldn't care less; in fact, the ability to move without touching any furniture at all could be considered a selling point. There had been an employer worried that his scales might scratch their precious furniture, but now that problem was completely eliminated.
"You haven't had breakfast yet, right? As a welcome gesture for joining the team, I can whip up a big meal for you, but I may need to use the kitchen here. I'll call Professor and ask."
Shiller was munching on a sandwich during a break when Killer Croc called to ask if he could use Shiller's new kitchen to make breakfast for himself and Raven; Shiller seriously considered whether he should just fly back home to partake in the ready-made meal.
But because the new classroom still needed some tweaking, with a few students currently adjusting the wall decorations and notice board, he had to stay and supervise to prevent any Little Smart Ghosts from tampering with the schedule. With a sigh, he gave up the idea.
Killer Croc was showing off his culinary skills in the new house's kitchen. Even though the original manor's kitchen was more suited to his size in terms of space and furniture, the new house had many modern gadgets like pots and pans, an oven, and everything else he needed for his cooking artistry.
His dishes were essentially the Gotham working class's home-cooked meals: stewed fish, baked bread, cream cheesy casseroles with a heap of chili peppers. Soon enough, a strong, fragrant aroma filled the surroundings of the house.
It was typical of Gotham's local cuisine to be rich and spicy, as the lower-class laborers doing heavy physical work needed food with lots of calories and plenty of protein. Combining these two elements usually meant a dish was complete.
You could imagine that Raven, from her diet in Azarath, which could be described as a life-sustaining meal, was quickly attracted by the intense fragrance and couldn't even continue watching TV.
She sat next to the kitchen island platform continuously sniffing, and as each dish was served up, she couldn't help but swallow her saliva.
"Come on." After cleaning all of the dishes and washing his hands, Killer Croc grabbed the biggest plate available and gulped down a large piece of bread.
Raven curiously stared at his throat, knowing that crocodiles swallow their food whole without chewing. Was it the same for Killer Croc? If he couldn't chew, wouldn't he miss out on the taste?
However, it seemed Killer Croc had answered this question many times before. He explained, "I have a row of molars similar to the human race, hidden under my tongue, which I can use to chew. It's a bit more effort than normal, so I usually just chew a couple of times before swallowing."
"Possibly because my tongue is longer and I have many more taste buds than humans, I can actually taste more flavors than you can. And since I don't sweat, I really enjoy eating spicy food—the sensation is just too thrilling."
Raven tore a small piece of bread and dipped it in the cream soup in front of her, clearly laden with a generous amount of cream cheese. The milk's fragrance was overwhelming, and the bread was chewy.
Raven has always been devoid of worldly desires, and she had no particular cravings for clothing, food, housing, or transportation; just being alive was enough. But she had to admit that this kind of meal was more delicious.
The two of them finished breakfast at record speed. Killer Croc washed the dishes and even put them into the dishwasher for another round of cleaning. After tidying up the kitchen and drying the water on the floor, they were ready to set off.
It wasn't until she was on the moving truck that Raven realized the restless energy in her body had been much quieter since Shiller arrived. Did the Professor have something special?
Soon they arrived at their first employer's house, where it was apparent that Killer Croc was familiar with the regular client. They shared a hug, and Killer Croc introduced Raven, saying, "This is a distant relative's cousin of mine. She's a bit odd, like me, but that won't get in the way of the work. Just watch."
At Killer Croc's command, Raven raised her hand, and this time it wasn't just one or two pieces of furniture—they all neatly floated up into the air, arranged by size, and one by one drifted into the truck's cabin.
The employer was clearly amazed, while Killer Croc explained whether it was magic or telekinesis he was using, the result was undeniably good.
Even the best moving companies rely on people to do the lifting, and as long as that's the case there's bound to be wear and tear from picking up, carrying, and setting down the furniture, not to mention the jostling during transport. Scratches and bumps are inevitable.
But this method gave people a sense of security. Although the items would still be jostled in the truck, it at least reduced the chances of damage during lifting and setting down, especially for popular electronic products with screens, like plasma TVs. The most worrying part is the screen getting damaged during handling, but with telekinesis, that concern disappeared altogether.
Killer Croc had also noticed this and realized that if that was the case, their moving company could take a high-end approach, specializing in moving expensive items like TVs, computers, and big screens. The transportation fees for these items were quite high and landing a corporate big deal would be a huge win.
However, it wasn't ideal to rely solely on this young girl; after all, humans tire out. If there were more mages who could do this kind of work, they would have no clue how profitable it could be.
Killer Croc complained to Raven about this on the road, saying, "People always look down on this kind of physical labor, thinking it's not tough and not profitable, something only low-class people would do. But in reality, I'm earning more now than those white-collar workers getting pay cuts in the tall buildings."
"Direct customer service with heavy-lifting involved often brings in tips, and with a generous employer, one tip can cover my meals for several days. They don't know what they're missing, huh."
The truck arrived at the destination soon enough, and after unloading the cargo and settling the bill, Raven looked in astonishment at the banknotes Killer Croc was holding. He had earned 30 US Dollars just for this one trip.
If he ran two trips a day, that would be 60. No matter the weather, he could earn close to 2000 US Dollars a month, excluding tips. Even after deducting vehicle maintenance and gas expenditures, the net profit was almost 2000.
Before the Great Depression, a McDonald's hamburger cost only 60 cents, even cheaper with a meal deal. Although prices had increased, for someone of his size, it wouldn't cost more than five dollars to eat to fullness. Even if he were to eat like that three times a day, he could still save over a thousand dollars a month.
Now Raven understood why he was keen on starting a moving company.
At this moment, Shiller did not know that Raven had already left with Killer Croc; he had another troublesome issue to fret over.
Of course, it was not the students' academics, for he was already accustomed to their constant headache.
Gotham University's student recruitment had improved significantly, and in recent years, some young people chasing the latest trends had applied to the university out of curiosity for the city. With the city's security situation proven to be on the mend at the concert, there were some achievements. However, the average students with mediocre resumes saw an opportunity to venture into the big cities on the East Coast and chose this seemingly prestigious university, which in reality did not attract many non-local students.
Theoretically, there is always a loophole to be exploited, and ever since people realized that Gotham University had strong faculty and teaching conditions, along with high rankings, but was under-enrolled due to the city's special nature — resulting in many available spots and lenient admissions — a lot of people blindly followed suit.
Although this group couldn't be considered top-quality student recruitment, as most were from less developed towns in the Mid-West, they were indeed somewhat better than the local students from Gotham, at least genuinely and earnestly studying legitimate knowledge.
Generally speaking, Gotham University's humanities and social sciences departments were more famous than the science and engineering departments, of course, except for the renowned law and medical schools, which operated as independent systems and were not under discussion here.
Shiller himself had become a figurehead for attracting students to Gotham University. Many had applied to this school, following his reputation, planning to study all the way from undergraduate to Ph.D. and earn the title of a renowned psychologist's disciple, establishing a foundation for becoming a psychological doctor.
The problem was that the vast majority were just average people who had to consider their meals, and most naturally did not have the talent to become psychologists. It would be excellent if they could become a psychological counselor, and only the relatively outstanding ones could run their own private clinics. Otherwise, most were destined to work at counseling organizations all their lives.
Having Shiller's name alone could not give them an edge in job hunting, so Shiller always taught undergraduate courses, at times teaching more than 70 hours a week in basic psychology, as this was the most important course in practical applications.
The short essays collected today finally showed some improvement; in a class, at least five or six passable papers could be selected, with more than a dozen written earnestly, increasingly resembling a normal university.
Just now, Shiller was in a good mood. He had just finished his last afternoon class and was ready to go to the cafeteria for something to eat.
It's a tradition in America to have a simple lunch and a hearty dinner; the same applies to schools, usually bringing one's lunch or buying a sandwich at noon and going to the regular staff restaurant for dinner.
As soon as Shiller entered the staff cafeteria, he saw the sports department Professor sitting by the window waving at him. This man was a leading figure in the Gotham University sports department, a former star football player whose team had won the Super Bowl, and he had produced relatively impressive results while coaching in Chicago before earning his physical education license due to injuries.
In fact, this man was also a star coach at Metropolitan University, but because he was too straightforward and offended some people, he couldn't continue there and didn't want to stray too far from home, so he came to Gotham.
He had arrived much later than Shiller, so he had come at a better time; since his arrival, security had continually improved, and although he was just an average outsider with a bad temper, he had still managed to survive till today.
Shiller got along quite well with him, mainly because Gotham University's football team had achieved new heights under his leadership and had even defeated the teams from Chicago University, which were long-established powerhouses on the East Coast.
To help Gotham University enter the Ivy League, Shiller occasionally went to watch football games. After watching a lot, he began to understand them, and the coach thought that Shiller was a real football fan, always enthusiastically explaining the rules and competition system to him. Thus, the two were very familiar with each other.
"What's up, Vincent?" Shiller sat down, signaling to the waiter to join their tables. As the waiter was about to remind him of other available seats, Shiller waved him off, indicating it was not necessary.
After sitting down, Shiller surveyed the environment of the restaurant, which was located on the third floor of the exhibition area, boasting a whole curved wall of floor-to-ceiling windows offering a view over the entire stadium and most of the campus. At that moment, the women's track team was training on the field.
The restaurant was many times larger than the old-fashioned staff cafeteria, with two levels and a spacious, bright international kitchen that provided delicacies from over a dozen countries.
The robust man known as Vincent, however, seemed out of sorts and unwilling to praise the new cafeteria. He squeezed his muscular frame into a small chair, arms resting on the table, and sighed deeply, apparently uncertain how to start.
"What's the matter?" asked Shiller, taking a sip of water, "Have you run into some trouble?"
"Ah, no, that's not it." Vincent, afraid of being misunderstood, gestured with his hands and said, "The East Coast United Cup has been canceled, and the sponsorship for the All-America College Football Game has dropped to a dangerous level. More importantly, we don't have the money for 'paycheck games' anymore."
Shiller frowned, understanding what Vincent meant by "paycheck games." Simply put, it's when one university invites another to play a game and pays the invited team.
Gotham University's football team used to be decently ranked nationally but wasn't notable on the East Coast, making it a relatively weaker team. Many teams liked to invite Gotham University's team for games because they could earn ticket sales by hosting, and winning the game greatly promoted their own university and city, making it a guaranteed profit.
Back then, not only did the football team not cost money, but it also made money for the school, since one invitation game could bring in several hundred thousand US dollars, which was considered a hefty appearance fee at that time. If invited twice a year, the entire sports department's budget was secured.
However, as the team's strength grew stronger and stronger, let alone those in-state universities, even the traditional powerhouses on the East Coast grew wary of inviting Gotham University to play. After all, the last time Metropolitan University reluctantly issued an invitation, they ended up being humiliated 56:42 on their home turf, a loss that was felt acutely.
Gotham University also invited some weaker in-state teams to play and even leveraged the publicity from concerts to build a substantial fan base. Of course, they had to write several sizable checks, with total expenditures exceeding 2 million US Dollars.
But at that time, they received generous sponsorships and had the backing of Wayne Enterprises. Roy was willing to invest in any project that promoted the city. Gotham University could indeed be described as wealthy and extravagant.
The game results were impressive too, with victories by large margins and numerous exciting plays. They cultivated some promising young stars. Although ticket sales were mediocre, the events served their promotional purpose effectively.
But times had changed, Vincent complained, "Wayne Enterprises has reduced its sponsorship for all external projects, and the city government is no longer providing as much funding. All academic staff at the university have taken a pay cut. Even if we had the money, how could we dare to spend hundreds of thousands of US Dollars on games?"
Shiller nodded; he understood. The university had always favored the sports department financially, enabling it to not only earn money and promote the university but also command a strong appeal among the youth—never underestimate the power of football games to attract teenagers.
In an era with limited entertainment options and video games not particularly widespread, watching football games was one of the most important recreational activities for the vast majority of youth. Even Pamela, who normally showed no interest in sports, could talk at length about football.
Because if you didn't follow it, you'd have no one to hang out with at bars, nothing to talk about at parties, and even struggle for small talk with the mailman delivering letters to your yard.
So the sports department had always been quite well-off, with plenty of discretionary funds. And even to this date, they should still be the richest department; the problem was they couldn't spend the money.
Now that everyone's salary had been cut by 30%, how could they justify writing checks for hundreds of thousands of US Dollars to other schools? How could the other academic staff possibly be happy about it?
Yet if they didn't invite other teams for games, they couldn't generate excitement or ticket revenue. Absorbing costs without income wasn't sustainable. Moreover, with the economic crisis upon them, sponsorships for many competitions had been consistently declining. The viability of scheduled events was questionable, and with ongoing training expenses, it was no wonder Vincent was worried.
"Tim told me we might have to lower the food quality standards," Vincent said with a deep frown. "But the kids are still growing, and with the intensity of training required to prepare for this year's playoffs, compromising their nutrition would be harmful to their bodies. It would be gambling with their professional careers."
"Aren't there any upcoming matches?" Shiller asked.
Vincent shook his head and said, "No matches for the next two months, but, barring any surprises, the playoffs should go ahead as scheduled, so we can't neglect training."
"It all boils down to money," Shiller said. "If the university hadn't cut salaries, you might have had some funds to invite other teams to compete, which would also shift the public's attention. At least a victory would brighten their spirits."
"You're telling me. But the problem is the university's finances are in a dire state, and a salary cut was inevitable."
"Who made the decision to cut salaries?" Shiller asked, "He had too many classes and wasn't very familiar with the university's management system nor acquainted with the administrators."
"The board of directors made that decision at a meeting," Vincent replied. "I was there too. We thought about inviting you, but you're always busy with teaching, and we knew you wouldn't want to miss classes just for a meeting, so we didn't call you."
"Has Gotham University always been without a president?" Shiller asked.
"Yes, normally it would be the board's decision, but the chairman is Wayne, and without his designation, no one else can make that call."
"So now the administrative department is in charge of day-to-day operations?"
"Yes, we don't even have an interim president. Most of the daily affairs are decided by meetings of the academic staff in the administrative department," Vincent sighed. "Not to speak ill of others behind their backs, but most teachers in the administrative department aren't professional managers. There are significant issues with how they allocate and use funds, and they can't present a unified program. The management chaos is one of the reasons for the poor financial state."
"You think we should have a president."
"Certainly, while prosperous times may not call for meticulous budgeting, now that we've decided to make things last, we need a competent Head Steward, right?"
Shiller fell into deep reflection.