[{"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-3":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},2322571,4544,"Chapter 3: Chapter Two: Another Transmigration","my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-chapter-3",3,"\u003Cp>If Schiller were to write a psychological profile of Batman from the comics, his greatest trait would not be caution, wisdom, or strategic planning, but suspicion.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Batman never fully trusts anyone.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His skepticism has become its own school of thought; doubt and conspiracy theories are etched into his bones—he is as suspicious as he is brilliant.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Schiller’s answer clearly plunged the young Batman into deep suspicion.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Bruce had never imagined anyone could see through his inner self; he had immense confidence in his disguise, even believing that Alfred, who had raised him since childhood, knew only a part of him—not all of it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But this professor, this seemingly ordinary, gentle-minded psychologist, gave him the one answer he least expected—and yet the most accurate, the most piercing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In the instant he received this answer, the surge and heat within Bruce told him he had indeed been waiting for someone to give him this answer—it was time to begin his revenge.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But the person who gave this answer made Bruce’s newly ignited blood of revenge feel as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over it—he didn’t believe, and never had believed, that anyone could see the demons lurking within him, that swarm of shadowy bats, solely through psychology.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Schiller said: “Consultation time is over. I have to go teach. Goodbye, Mr. Wayne.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Schiller believed Bruce would agonize over this for a long time.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If he figured it out, he should just become Batman and fight for justice—why waste time in class? What class could Bruce possibly be taking? Why force himself to clash with these diligent faculty members?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Schiller thought he’d likely come to terms with it soon; then the gangs and criminal organizations would be enough to keep him busy, and Schiller could happily stay at school, collecting his salary while slacking off—maybe even fly to Hawaii for vacation.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Schiller’s reputation at the university was decent, partly because his name carried weight—but that was all from the original owner’s record. Schiller followed the principle of “get paid, do the work”: he sat down, lectured, and vanished the moment the bell rang. Office hours? Didn’t exist.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>For these five days, he had acted exactly this way. Fortunately, the original Schiller had also been quite reclusive, with few friends. He had only recently been hired as a professor at Gotham University, and he didn’t know anyone well there—so the transmigrated Schiller revealed no inconsistencies.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At lunchtime, Peter sent a message: “Dr. Schiller, everything is terrible.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Accompanied by a depressed emoji. Schiller knew this messaging system wasn’t brain-to-brain communication; only he used the system, while Peter had accidentally met an online acquaintance, and Charles had received the message through a hobbyist educational forum.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The system transformed these conversations into formats these individuals could accept: Peter received them via social media, Charles via academic forums—if it were Thanos, it might be some kind of cosmic network signal.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Thus, the other party wouldn’t feel startled, and the system only guaranteed they’d answer Schiller’s first question; after that, Schiller had to manage the conversation himself. So Schiller’s main conversational partner right now was the naive, youthful Spider-Man.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>With someone like Charles, a seasoned fox, Schiller wouldn’t risk probing unless he had a foolproof plan.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Schiller replied: “What’s wrong, Peter? Is your relationship with Gwen not going well?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Oh, it’s not going well, but that’s not what I meant by ‘terrible.’”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Then what? Did you mess up your experiment?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Sort of. I knocked over a piece of dangerous lab equipment, and one of the… dangerous creatures inside escaped. I got bitten by it.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Schiller knew Spider-Man’s fate had already been partially altered by their conversations. Through chatting, he learned Peter was the 616 comic universe’s Spider-Man. Originally, this high schooler should have been bitten during a museum exhibit—but because Peter had fallen for Gwen and kept telling Schiller how charming and adorable his classmate was, Schiller, annoyed by this chatterbox, gave him advice on how to pursue Gwen.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Gwen came from a good family and landed an internship at Oscorp during summer vacation. That had nothing to do with Peter—but Schiller advised him to be bold and apply for the same internship. Peter’s grades were excellent, and he got accepted. Now, instead of being bitten by a spider at the exhibit, he was bitten by a spider from an Oscorp lab experiment…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Either way, he had to get bitten—Spider-Man was chosen by the Weaver of the Spider Totem; whether today or tomorrow, he’d get bitten. Schiller comforted the poor little spider and went to sleep.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Gotham’s night was deep and thick, perfect for sleeping—but Bruce stayed awake, staring at the moon nearly shapeless in the fog, clutching a stack of files. The first page bore the name: Schiller Andael Rodriguez.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Schiller had no idea Batman had dug up his entire history. In his deep sleep, he heard the system’s alarm—but he slept too soundly, unaware, as a blue light swept over him—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The system’s alarm grew more frequent, yet Schiller still didn’t wake. Something seemed to be blocking the system. Finally, after a burst of chaotic static, Schiller’s figure vanished entirely.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Emergency protection system activated. Locating universe… locating universe… target universe confirmed. Identity data writing… writing… failed… writing… success.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When he woke again, Schiller rubbed his eyes and was blinded by sunlight. What the hell? Gotham had a sunny day?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He pulled back the curtain—outside was bright, sunny… New York City.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Unlike Gotham’s filthy, rotten weather, New York was clear and radiant, the morning sun already harsh. Schiller glanced out the window and realized he was in a high-end apartment in downtown New York. He turned around and saw a messy pile of items on his desk, including bottles of alcohol. Beneath one lay a name badge.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Schiller, Psychiatrist, New York Presbytery Hospital… or attending physician? Did I get transmigrated again?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Damn it, Schiller thought. Before he could curse, his phone rang. He answered, and a loud voice shouted: “Dr. Schiller! Where have you been?! You absolutely cannot miss today’s joint consultation! Are you drunk again?! Get here right now!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The voice hurt Schiller’s ears, but since he was now a doctor and this emergency might involve a patient’s life, he might as well do his job—he was here, so he’d work.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Schiller grabbed his credentials, went downstairs, and found a car. Living in such a luxury apartment meant he must have a car. In the garage, he found a relatively new Mercedes matching his key’s model. He pressed the button—it unlocked.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Thanking his past self for having once visited New York for academic exchange, Schiller used the car’s navigation to reach Presbytery Hospital—the largest hospital in New York—as fast as possible.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As soon as he entered, a receptionist ran over: “Dr. Schiller, hurry! The joint consultation has already started.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Schiller didn’t know his current persona, but he nodded coldly and went upstairs.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Fortunately, someone guided him. He reached the conference room. When he arrived, the room fell silent for a moment, then resumed discussion. Schiller sat in the seat reserved for him and observed silently.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He must be a well-known doctor, among the top in his department. The people across from him weren’t psychiatrists. One doctor looked arrogant and said: “Indeed, it makes sense to let those charlatan specialists take a look first—otherwise he might fake insanity again and try to grope the nurses on the operating table.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Schiller glanced at his name tag: Stephen. Stephen Strange. The Doctor Strange. Great. He’d ended up in the Marvel universe again.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Schiller ignored him. Judging by Strange’s appearance, he was still far from his car accident—right now, he was just a self-centered, insufferable jerk, universally disliked.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Schiller said nothing as he reviewed the patient files. Strange, however, disliked him intensely—not because of anything specific, but because Schiller clearly had been drinking the day before and was late for the consultation. Strange had a slight obsession with cleanliness and despised Schiller’s unprofessional attitude. Moreover, he always believed psychologists were frauds. In short, he loathed Schiller.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Throughout the meeting, Strange constantly criticized Schiller. Schiller ignored him, reading straight from the script. After the meeting ended, Strange deliberately bumped into him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Schiller grew extremely irritated, but then he remembered Strange would eventually get his comeuppance—he probably had only a few years left before his accident. If Strange weren’t so insufferable, Schiller might have warned him. But now, let Strange suffer through his own plot.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Right after the consultation, Schiller opened his phone and received a call. A beautiful female voice, anxious, asked: “Dr. Schiller, has your consultation ended? Could you come to Stark Tower? Tony isn’t doing well…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Tony Stark?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When exactly was this? Had Iron Man been kidnapped? Or had he already returned?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Schiller had no time to check online—the Stark Corporation’s car was already waiting downstairs. He hurried in. In the passenger seat sat a beautiful woman with a businesslike air. She said: “Ever since Tony came back, you know how he was during his last diagnosis—he’s started having random outbursts, acting wildly. Last night, I heard him crying…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Miss Potts? Are you alright?” Schiller probed. Potts covered her eyes and said: “I’m sorry, but please, for this treatment, give it your full attention.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Schiller understood. This was after Iron Man’s kidnapping, when he learned his company’s weapons were being used in unjust wars—and he, Schiller, was the psychologist Potts had brought in during Tony’s psychological turmoil.\u003C\u002Fp>",1570,"2026-06-20T16:39:12.484Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","4018ed38bb62cc825b7f76cd8bd0386d2a3e19166fd0a3e5769cd325b654850d","my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-chapter-4","my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-chapter-2",1000,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fmy-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-cover.jpg"]