[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel":3,"chapter-my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-chapter-19":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"chinese","My Life as a Mental Mentor in Marvel",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},2322587,4544,"Chapter 19: Chapter Eighteen: The Injured Daredevil","my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-chapter-19",19,"\u003Cp>New York City’s Hell’s Kitchen.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>On the bed at Schiller’s psychological clinic, Daredevil Matt let out a scream; Schiller pulled away the alcohol-soaked cotton tweezers and said, “Even if no one comes down this street, you won’t let me extract the bullet if you keep tensing your muscles like this.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He tossed the cotton ball into the trash, wiped the tweezers with an alcohol pad, pried open Matt’s shoulder wound slightly, and said, “I’ll need to cut the wound open a bit more.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Matt said, “You’ve got to give me some anesthetic, or I’ll pass out.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“A superhero afraid of pain—I don’t know whether to laugh at you or admire you,” Schiller said.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Few people can hurt me. Kingpin hired someone formidable this time,” Matt said.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Schiller looked at Matt’s pale face—his lips nearly colorless. Everyone tolerates pain differently, and Daredevil Matt clearly belonged to the more sensitive type.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Just as Schiller said, someone like this becoming a superhero was hard to judge—whether laughable or admirable.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Schiller thought: even superheroes bleed and get hurt; no drug can fully erase pain. Perhaps Batman, through countless unbearable torments, abandoned shallow vengeance and found a greater purpose.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Only the grand ideal of “justice” could sustain these heroes as they silently nursed their wounds alone through night after night.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Schiller set down the tweezers and said, “You’re lucky, Matt—I’ve got some good medicine here.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He pulled out a small white bottle and handed it to Matt; Matt touched the packaging, sniffed the scent, and said, “Damn it, how do you have this painkiller? You junkie!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Schiller said, “Don’t be an idiot—this isn’t some street trash. It’s the highest concentration you can find. If you won’t take it, give it back—it’s expensive.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The painkiller Schiller pulled out was the one he’d stolen from Jonathan during his heist of the fear toxin; Jonathan used it on his test subjects, and these were his own refined formula—far superior to anything on the market.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Matt still swallowed a tablet and said, “God, let me heal fast, then I’ll punch you in the face.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Don’t frame betrayal as common sense. In Hell’s Kitchen, carrying a few pills is normal—not a crime.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Matt felt the pain receding and had to admit Schiller was right—in Hell’s Kitchen, drug use was among the most harmless vices.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And Schiller thought: if someone in Gotham only had a drug habit, he’d be as saintly as an angel.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As Matt’s complexion improved, Schiller performed a basic surgery while asking, “How did you get caught?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Matt clenched his lips and said, “Kingpin hired someone serious. I was prepared—but those guys calling themselves ‘ninja’ can lower their heartbeats. I couldn’t hear them… oh, damn…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Schiller held the extracted bullet with tweezers, turning it slowly. “Your ninja friends must be bored out of their minds—they carved cherry blossoms into the bullet.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Matt looked exhausted; Schiller shouted, “Pikachu! Get the bandages from the cabinet!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Matt heard a small creature leap onto the table; it sneered, “I told you not to treat him in your bedroom—do you enjoy the smell of blood? Hey, loser, your bandages…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Schiller caught the bandages Pikachu tossed and wrapped them around Matt; Matt said, “Hurry up—I’ve got to leave soon.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“And die on the street outside the door?” Schiller asked.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“They’re tracking me. Those ninjas have unique tracking skills—if they come here, neither of us will escape,” Matt said.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He was still a good man—he didn’t want to drag Schiller down, even though Schiller, in his view, wasn’t good either. But Schiller had saved him. Matt talked tough, but he didn’t truly want to repay kindness with betrayal.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As Schiller cleaned his bloody tools, he said, “They don’t need special tracking skills. You ran here from the next street covered in blood—if they haven’t found you yet…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Matt suddenly heard a sharp whistling wind—he shouted, “Dart! Get down!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He was frantic—he could tell from Schiller’s footsteps that he was an untrained civilian, defenseless against those ninja assassins.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But soon he heard a *thud*—the projectile had struck something. Schiller held up an umbrella. He thought: an umbrella really is a great defense, especially against small projectiles like darts—it greatly dampens their impact.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Only one person was across from them. Schiller’s telepathy worked in a radius; besides Matt, he sensed only one mind.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Miss, if you hesitated three minutes before acting, why not sit down and have coffee together?” Schiller said.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Before the other side could reply, Schiller continued speaking to empty air: “You’re being merciful to your old flame—I’ve never seen someone land a bullet precisely in the least lethal gap between the shoulder blades. Since you’re here, why not show yourself?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A cold snort came from the air, and then the assassin vanished.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Matt stared blankly. “What? What old flame?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Schiller shook his head. “Didn’t you notice? This assassin could’ve shot you dead without you noticing—so why aim for the shoulder blade?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Wasn’t the bullet meant for the heart?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Ten thousand miles off.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Matt’s mind went blank—he hadn’t realized yet that the assassin was his former classmate and ex-girlfriend, Elektra.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Schiller, knowing the story, understood clearly: Elektra was torn apart right now. She still loved Matt, but hesitated to complete her mission—she wanted to appear, yet didn’t want to face her ex. So the moment Schiller named her, she fled—she wasn’t ready for Matt to know who she was.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Women’s hearts—you can’t guess them.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Soon, Daredevil Matt fell into a sleep of pain and worry. Schiller lowered and locked the roller shutter, sealed every window, then stood by the bed, gazing at New York’s night sky.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A bright meteor streaked across the sky; countless couples made wishes—but it was really Stark’s armor.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>People in Hell’s Kitchen didn’t have time to wish on meteors, but Schiller pulled out his phone and called Stark. As soon as the line connected, Schiller said, “Does Pepper know you’d rather fly around in armor than go home to her?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And under the gaze of countless couples, the meteor plummeted straight down.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A while later, on the roof of Schiller’s clinic, Stark stood in his smoking Mark 5 prototype, complaining: “I should’ve added you to my blacklist…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Schiller lit him a cigarette. “A middle-aged man sneaking out at night to cruise in a suit that curves like a sob—of course you’re fighting with your wife.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Stark sat on the eave, took the cigarette, and said, “...She’s pressuring me too much. Honestly, I haven’t figured it out yet…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Figured out what? Whether to marry Pepper?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Stark choked on a cough. “Marry? Did you skip some important steps?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Oh right—in your stud eyes, there’s definitely one more step.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Don’t say that. Pepper’s different from those women.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I just wonder if you’re any different to her than other men,” Schiller said.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Before Stark could reply, Schiller added, “But I bet you’re about the same—you spend less time with her than the security guard.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“...I’ll fire that guard when I get back,” Stark growled.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Clearly, he was avoiding something.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After a pause, Stark touched his cheek, hesitating. “...You really can read minds?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“If I say yes, will you believe me? Don’t keep asking about things you don’t believe in,” Schiller said.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I want a way to believe mind-reading exists—then you can tell me what Pepper really thinks,” Stark said.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Iron Man wasn’t a traditional “invincible justice” hero. He had a sensitive, emotional heart—a sentimental brain that clashed with his genius-tech persona, leaving his thoughts tangled in knots.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>With Pepper, Stark could never move forward. He didn’t realize this hesitation already said everything.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Schiller changed the subject. “How’s that red-and-blue-suit kid in New York lately? I’ve heard you complain about him.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Oh yeah—a kid in the ugliest suit imaginable, jumping and swinging through the city like a flea,” Stark said. “JARVIS says he’s probably underage. I’m planning to catch him and send him home.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Schiller said, “I’ve got a lead. Want to hear it?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I’ve seen him a few times at the edge of Hell’s Kitchen—he never came inside. I noticed a high school logo on his blue pants—somewhere in Queens…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You call that a lead?” Stark scoffed. Schiller continued: “He can’t afford decent gear—his family’s poor. So he’s not from one of those crazy-expensive private schools. Probably a student at Midtown High or Forest High…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Forest High’s a boarding school—if a student wandered out like that, he’d get his legs broken. Midtown High’s looser. His build suggests freshman or sophomore.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“A kid,” Stark concluded. “Probably built some toy to show off and rushed out to play hero.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“So you’re going to show him how cruel adults can be?” Schiller asked.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Of course. More importantly, New York isn’t his playground,” Stark said.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Though he’d just recovered, he was still an adult who’d seen real things—he knew Spider-Man’s reckless antics would eventually get him killed. In fact, some media had already noticed him.\u003C\u002Fp>",1476,"2026-06-20T16:39:12.484Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","e58289f41f0f7fd71e27f29f45976ca60804b856c8f4e907ba6ea909ca634d20","my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-chapter-20","my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-chapter-18",1000,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fmy-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-cover.jpg"]