As evening fell and he prepared for sleep, Schiller realized he could actually stay in the Marvel Universe indefinitely. He could take a nap, return to DC, sleep there, and then come back to Marvel again; after all, time didn’t move in DC, so he could linger in Marvel without having to inhale the smog of Gotham City.

However, the good times didn’t last long. Before Schiller could take Peter and his family for their weekend medical check-up, S.H.I.E.L.D. came knocking.

It was another workday. Schiller had just finished his rounds and was using the internal doctor’s system to schedule appointments for Peter's family when there was a knock at his office door. He didn’t look up from behind his desk, but suddenly his spider-sense tingled. Cautiously, he glanced up to see a stranger standing at the door.

"Hey, doctor, don’t be nervous. I’m Coulson, a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent." The man noticed Schiller’s tense posture. Schiller peered over his glasses and said, "Let’s step outside; this is where my patients are."

Coulson quickly nodded, and they went downstairs to a café next to the hospital. Schiller frowned and said, "Doesn’t S.H.I.E.L.D. have anyone else? Or is it that finding a female agent who can wear a nurse's uniform is so difficult?"

Coulson was puzzled by Schiller’s attitude. Shouldn’t someone confronted by an agent like this show fear or aversion? It seemed the boss was right; Schiller definitely had issues.

Schiller appeared somewhat impatient. "I’ve been late for a day and absent from work for a day; the whole clinic knows I’ve been staying up late, drinking, and using drugs. If you’re looking to cause me trouble, can’t you wait until this blows over? I might get fired!"

"But our records indicate you’re just a temporary psychological consultant hired by the Elder Hospital. You only filled in because the head of psychiatry was absent…"

"Does that matter? I really need this job right now. What if you guys cause me to lose it?"

Coulson replied, "I’m sorry, Mr. Schiller. We didn’t mean to disturb you; we just heard that you’re Mr. Stark's psychological consultant, and we’d like to understand more about his mental state. Of course, we will pay for the consultation…"

"One million dollars an hour."

"Pfft!" Coulson spluttered coffee everywhere. Wiping his mouth, he said, "If you want to refuse, you don’t need to make up excuses like that…"

"If you can’t afford it, then stop coming to see me." Schiller rolled his eyes and stood up to leave, acting like a shameless quack.

Surprisingly, Coulson didn’t stop him. After Schiller left, he pressed his earpiece and said, "There’s probably something shady going on at that hospital. He urgently took me away and is eager to return… Okay, okay…"

Back in his office, Schiller focused, cranked his psychic sense to the maximum, and tried to feel the emotions of the mentally ill patients, expressing some of those feelings in writing as best as he could. The inner worlds of a group of mental patients were indeed very chaotic and insane. Schiller hastily scribbled over a dozen pages and locked them in a drawer.

When he returned to his apartment that night, he discovered that there had likely been agents searching his place. Using his spider-sense, he scanned for listening devices and cameras but found nothing and didn’t think much of it.

At S.H.I.E.L.D., Nick Fury stared at the glowing data panel displaying Schiller’s detailed information. Coulson stood behind him and said, "He seems anxious about his job and appears reluctant to leave that hospital. There were many bottles of alcohol and some drugs found in his home…"

"This is some paperwork we found in his office tonight; it’s all we have. It seems he urgently disposed of more, as we discovered a large amount of shredded paper in the sewer. Unfortunately, it can’t be restored."

Nick took the papers and said, "Does he have a mental illness? No, this doesn’t seem like the ramblings of one person. He’s collecting psychological data from psychiatric patients? How is he communicating with them?"

"These are clearly not pieces of information any ordinary doctor could obtain. These records even contain the patients' extreme privacy…"

"Can he hypnotize?" Coulson asked.

"Our psychologists can too. Can he get you to admit what color underwear you liked to wear in elementary school?" Nick replied.

"Perhaps he’s just making things up," Coulson suggested.

"He seems to have extra knowledge about Stark Industries’ past and our old friends, and he can directly hit on Stark’s weaknesses. Today, he even caused Stark's AI assistant to enter a logical deadlock," Nick said.

"Do you want him to work for us?"

"He has a way of dealing with Stark, and we will have more people like him to handle in the future." Nick set the stack of files aside and said, "In any case, let’s find out what’s really going on at that hospital. If possible, transfer him out of there."

"I really hate these high-level intellectuals. They’re always so calm, cautious, and inscrutable. It’s tough to deal with opponents who think too much," Nick remarked.

"Maybe he’s just an ordinary psychologist, and collecting those patients’ rants is his hobby…" Coulson said.

"Coulson, sometimes you really make me doubt that your level eight agent status isn’t inflated," Nick replied.

"Do you think someone who can completely lose Stark's composure in thirty minutes and swagger back into Stark Industries the next day is an ordinary psychologist? Or do you think Tony Stark is just a playboy who only hangs out with models?"

"Understood, I’ll make sure he leaves that hospital first," Coulson said.

So, the next day, Schiller received the news of his termination in Stark’s office. He spread his hands and said, "You see, I really need your support, Mr. Stark. You wouldn’t just sit back and watch your dedicated psychological consultant end up unemployed and bankrupt, would you?"

Stark replied, "Two million dollars isn’t enough for you to open your own psychological practice?"

"Money isn’t the problem; the issue is the qualifications needed for a psychological practice. I need to set up a legitimate psychological clinic, not a scam operation that’s no different from a street fortune teller."

"With your credentials, you shouldn’t have trouble applying for it. Jarvis told me yesterday that you have three doctorate degrees and have worked at the best hospitals in six states."

"Yes, but the location I want for my psychological clinic is quite special," Schiller said, sipping on his ice wine.

While tinkering with a machine, Stark asked, "Where?"

"Hell's Kitchen," Schiller replied.

Stark’s hand trembled, and the poor Mark II sparked wildly. He said, "I can’t see you having a heart like Saint Mary, wanting to save the poor and drug addicts in that hellish neighborhood."

Schiller didn’t elaborate, saying, "I need a legally established psychological clinic in Hell's Kitchen. For that, I can agree to one of your requests."

He emphasized the word "legally."

Stark scoffed, "Am I supposed to ask for your help? Ha, what a joke. I’m Stark."

"Don’t you want to know if Pepper really likes you?"

Stark’s hand trembled again, and his Mark II’s right leg exploded. Schiller took a quiet step back, watching Stark, who had his face blackened from the explosion. He nervously rubbed his face and asked, "What did you say? What’s wrong with Pepper?"

Clearly, Stark hadn’t realized his feelings for Pepper yet.

"I can tell you at an appropriate time whether Pepper truly loves you, I guarantee it. You’ve seen my abilities."

"Of course, Pepper loves me. All the women in the world love Stark," Stark boasted.

"Is that so? She’s just one of all the women in the world? Nothing special?" Schiller asked.

Stark fell silent.

"I can agree to this. Of course, starting tomorrow, you won’t have to come to me for any psychological consultation anymore. If Pepper reaches out to you, just brush it off."

"Can’t afford the consultation fee anymore?"

Stark reacted like a cat with its tail stepped on, yelling, "Even if you charge ten million dollars an hour, I can afford it! I just don’t need any psychological consultation! I’m not crazy! I’m fine!"

Schiller shook his head and slowly replied, "I’m afraid Mark II doesn’t think so."

He and Stark simultaneously looked down at the armor missing a leg. Stark pointed to the door and shouted, "Get out now!!!"

Schiller returned home and texted Peter, "The check-up for the weekend has been scheduled. I’ll talk to the hospital to ensure they provide you with excellent service, but our meeting time may need to be postponed since I’ve left that hospital."

Peter quickly expressed his concern, but Schiller only mentioned it was a change in his career plans without further elaboration. Peter felt a bit moved; after all, even after resigning, Schiller still thought about the earlier scheduled check-up. Eagerly, he said, "Are you still in New York? If you are, I think we can meet up for a meal or something, or you can come over to my place…"

Schiller politely declined Peter’s offer and messaged Charles: "What do you think would happen if I opened a hospital in hell?"

"I’m afraid the devil wouldn’t show you any favor."

"You seem to have some experience with that."

"I advise you not to do it. You might just be a talented ordinary person, but ordinary people can’t resist the devil."

"But only criminals can confront criminals, right?"

Charles on the other side of the computer fell silent at this statement. He wondered, Marx, do you think the same way?

Only by becoming a criminal can one deal with the most heinous criminals?

Charles shook his head. No, justice must have its fair means of realization. If one must descend into hell to confront the devil, it’s no different from colluding with evil.

Outside, students from Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters were chasing and playing on the playground. Storm was scolding them to return to class, while Jean watched from the side. Everything seemed beautiful.

But Xavier knew the shadow of the Phoenix was far from gone.