Chapter 2663: Hollywood Rhapsody (Part 22)

Schiller hesitated for a second in the hallway, then turned and walked toward the library. Just as he rounded a corner, a girl leaning against the windowsill waved at him.

"Hey, Schiller," the blonde girl said with a smile. "Are you coming to the football party next week? Renee asked me to invite you, you know."

Schiller didn't know this girl, but he knew he *should* know her. Clearly, from this moment on, the background story was being filled in with details. He hadn't forgotten that in the setting the Super-Ego had written for him, he had quite a few admirers in college.

"Sorry, I never have time on weekends. I've already promised the priest," Schiller said with a lowered head and a smile, then looked at the girl.

"Oh, no, you're just being shy. I promised her I'd get you there... well, I know she's a bit impatient, but what if I'm the one inviting you?"

"I truly appreciate your kindness, but I really do have a prior engagement. To that end, I need to get to the library now to finish this week's assignments. How is your small project going?"

The girl was clearly pleased by Schiller's concern. She said, "So-so. Professor Walter doesn't like me much, so he isn't pushing me too hard. But you—you're Professor Bailey's star pupil; the pressure must be immense."

Schiller stepped aside slightly and started toward the stairs. The girl followed, reaching out to adjust the pen in her pocket, and walked down the stairs behind him, saying, "He should give you some personal time."

"Lest I squander so much goodwill? Well, nothing gets past you, miss. I really do have some trouble—it's a private matter, and I probably won't have any time for the next few weeks."

The girl stopped and said, "Of course, I understand. It seems you don't just want to be an ordinary psychologist. Perhaps we'll run into each other in the stands at the football game?"

"I hope so. Who could say that an encounter with you wouldn't be a romantic journey? Give my regards to Renee."

"I will. Goodbye."

Schiller smiled at her, turned, and went downstairs. The moment he took a step toward the main entrance, he felt an unfriendly gaze.

He turned his head and saw Stephen Strange's face. Schiller nodded at him and strode away.

Schiller walked quickly toward the library. It was noon, and many people were rushing to the library after lunch. He blended into the crowd, appearing unremarkable, and didn't run into any other acquaintances. He reached the library smoothly, found a seat by the window, and sat down.

Schiller hadn't brought a computer, and mobile phones in this era weren't that smart. He could only pretend to read while using his glasses to ask Jarvis if there were any cases in the vicinity of Manhattan recently.

The internet in this era wasn't very advanced, and there weren't surveillance cameras everywhere. For Jarvis to query certain things, he had to mobilize more equipment, so the conversation on the other end went quiet.

Schiller wasn't in a hurry. He picked up a novel to read at random. Suddenly, a figure swept past his peripheral vision. Schiller didn't look up, but he could judge from the figure and gait that it was Stephen Strange.

His frequency of appearance was a bit too high. Schiller knew this wasn't right. Strange was a genius with a near-photographic memory. If they had had this many interactions in this era, they couldn't possibly have that kind of relationship 20 years later.

Although he was only a background character, Schiller was very certain that even according to the persona the Super-Ego had written, he couldn't possibly have had such a strained relationship with an acquaintance after 20 years of interaction. The only explanation was that they weren't close.

Seeing a figure sweep past him again, the corners of Schiller's mouth lifted slightly. It looked like he had seen something funny in the novel he was holding, but it looked more like he had seen a cunning fish circling the bait, coming and going, as if looking for a good angle to bite without getting hooked.

Fully immersed in his act, Schiller was genuinely drawn into the plot of *The Count of Monte Cristo* in his hands. Although he had read it before, it was a rare classic of "revenge fantasy," with a clean and efficient plot and satisfying scenes of retribution, making it perfect for venting stress.

One could tell from the heavily worn exterior of the book just how much stress there was in medical school.

A figure flashed in front of Schiller and sat down. That familiar gaze appeared again. Schiller didn't look up, acting as if a stranger had chosen this seat to share the table.

The other person had obvious communication barriers. The movement of the fingers Schiller caught in his peripheral vision showed that he hadn't expected Schiller not to speak first, and had never imagined he would need to initiate the conversation himself.

Since they were future acquaintances, Schiller finally looked up, looked at Strange, and asked, "Is there something you need, classmate?"

Strange pursed his lips, blinking very rapidly. His fingers extended two digits but curled them inward. His lower body, while seated, was tilted slightly, as if he didn't want to face Schiller completely.

"Too anxious." Schiller took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, hoping Jarvis would bring him good news soon. He was about to be drowned out by the noise in Strange's mind.

"I'm curious," Strange said, speaking very rapidly.

"Curious about what?"

"Why are you so popular?" Strange's lips didn't move in sync with his speech; they moved at will, but his articulation was clear and his pace fast. "I don't understand. It's hard to fathom."

"Do I look like a very unpopular person?" Schiller asked, looking at Strange with slight confusion.

He saw Strange look him up and down rapidly, then shake his head and say, "No. But you're just not annoying, rather than being *that* popular."

"I fully understand that you have no feelings of jealousy," Schiller said. "You're not a jealous person full of aggression."

"Right, I'm not," Strange nodded rapidly. "I just want to know why."

"But first, you have to tell me, in what way do you think I'm popular? Is it my relationship with classmates and teachers? Or with the opposite sex?"

"With the opposite sex."

Strange's answer completely exceeded Schiller's expectations, but he remained calm and said, "Most men like to display their aggression, making people feel they are powerful and intimidating, thinking the opposite sex will like that about them."

"Isn't that true?"

"That attracts more hormones, but what truly attracts your rational, genius brain—what makes you think something is good and worth entrusting your life to—is profound knowledge, stable emotions, or a witty and humorous way of speaking."

A look of disappointment appeared on Strange's face. This was clearly a very generic answer. Schiller didn't want to tell him the truth; regardless, he couldn't explain that this was just a rule of the universe written into him, a prank by two of his personality traits.

But Schiller *was* popular. As long as he wanted to, he could make everyone flock to him. The slight negative factor in that description was the true essence; the people attracted to him were never good people.

"Are you blaming me for not telling you the truth?" Schiller looked at Strange and asked, "Do I have that responsibility?"

"No, you don't," Strange shook his head. "The fact that you're still sitting here is the greatest politeness."

"You don't seem so nervous anymore, sir." Schiller looked down at the book in his hand. The plot on these two pages was leveling off, and he had no interest in continuing. He added, "Do you have a romantic interest? Are you trying to ask me how to be popular with the opposite sex?"

"Yes." Strange suddenly hesitated again. He turned his head to the side, though it didn't seem like he was looking at anything; he just didn't want to look at Schiller.

"Is she an admirer of mine?"

Strange suddenly erupted. He pressed his lips until they were bloodless, turned his body straight toward Schiller, and stared at him with what could be called a vicious gaze. "I just don't understand..."

"You have no jealousy. Clearly, you don't blame me, because in many people's eyes, their lover is perfect and flawless, and they'd better be devoted to them alone. If there's any accident, it must be someone else's fault."

"But you don't think so. You place the blame on the opposite sex you like, but you don't blame me. You even admire me a little. You think that the fact that I attracted someone's attention means I've mastered certain skills, and you don't think these skills are evil."

Strange leaned his upper body back, his hands clasped together on the table.

"You want to learn from me, thinking that if you also mastered this skill, you wouldn't be any worse than me, and you could also gain someone's attention." Schiller tilted his head slightly, staring at Strange. "This is truly strange. Your emotional functioning is abnormal."

"Don't analyze me!"

"Oh, sorry. My bridge of the nose just hurt a little," Schiller said, seemingly irrelevant, but he put on the glasses he had just taken off. Under the reflection of the lenses, no one could see his eyes.

"You think what moves people isn't emotion, but technique. You don't take the happiness of the person you like as your own happiness; you don't even have empathy for her. You only have the desire to obtain and possess her. So you come to me, not to ask me what she likes about me, but to ask me how I obtained her attention."

"You would be an excellent psychologist," Strange's tone was icy, so every word of praise sounded like a mockery.

"That's far from enough," Schiller said. "Can you tell me who she is? Someone from the cheerleading squad?"

"Renee Hopkins," Strange said.

"The technique I use isn't a healthy one."

"I only care if it's professional."

"There's no professional term to define it. Personally, I think it works well enough," Schiller said with a smile.

"Then what exactly is it?" Strange leaned forward, pressing for an answer.

"Don't treat yourself like a kidnapper."

"What?"

"Treat yourself like a hostage, and then cultivate a kidnapper."