Chapter 392: Is Shiler in Big Trouble?

New York's coastline boasts stunning scenery, with many seaside hotels standing along the shore, mostly tall buildings offering excellent views of the ocean.

This season is the off-season for beach vacations, so the beach is nearly empty, and the few guests in the hotels didn't notice that the clear sky suddenly turned foggy.

A faint wisp of fog skimmed across New York's coastline, and two figures behind him flew after it, as if chasing the air itself—until a sea breeze blew through, scattering the fog, which made a sharp turn and halted atop the New World Hotel tower.

Iron Man, clad in his armor, made an equally sharp turn; the jet blast and mechanical friction sounded simultaneously as he saw the gray mist coalesce into a human shape—his faceplate clicked upward, revealing his furious expression.

Soon after, Captain America leapt up as well, shouting at the mist-formed figure across from him: "Shiler! Stop!"

When Shiler reappeared, he was no longer in a black suit but in a white doctor's coat; he sighed helplessly: "I've stopped. Will you listen to my explanation?"

Before he could finish, a micro-missile flew toward him—just as it neared his body, Shiler turned to gray mist again and began racing around New York.

Originally, Stark and Steve had been speeding across the rooftops of New York's tallest buildings, one in front, one behind—but soon another figure joined them: Peter swung over on a web-line and landed beside Steve mid-air, turning to ask: "Captain! What's going on? Why are you running?!"

"Peter! Stop him!!"

"Stop him?" Peter turned his head forward again, but saw only Iron Man flying through the air; he exclaimed in surprise: "You're fighting again? But this is New York! Captain, civilians could get hurt!"

"It's not Stark!" Steve sighed. "Can't you see? That fog ahead!"

"Uh… actually, I noticed it earlier—is that some new gadget Stark made? Why is it flying—and ahead of you?"

Steve ran while adjusting his breathing, explaining to Peter, making him slightly out of breath.

"Peter! You… never mind. Don't you know yet? That fog is Shiler!"

"Doctor Shiler?!" Peter gasped. "What happened to him? Why is he a cloud of mist?!"

Peter's head swung back and forth—now staring at the fog, now glancing at Steve—unsure whether to believe this was real.

Steve kept running while talking, slightly winded; he coughed twice, slowed down, then pointed ahead: "Peter! Catch up to him! Now! I'm… starting to tire…"

Peter hesitated, but ultimately trusted Steve—he shot a web-line onto a rooftop, swung forward, and in moments caught up to the flying Stark.

"Mr. Stark!!" Peter shouted. "We won't catch him chasing like this—we need to surround him!!"

Hearing Peter's voice, Stark snapped out of his rage slightly; he suddenly realized how foolish he looked—this fog ahead hadn't even been trying, and he was wasting energy.

Stark directly connected to Peter's suit comm: "Encirclement tactic."

"Received!"

It proved true: Spider-Man and Red Bee's combined speed was terrifying—within moments, Spider-Man flanked Shiler and blocked him—but Shiler showed no panic, veered sideways to dodge Stark's dive, then drifted off in another direction.

"Are you planning to keep running forever?!" Stark blasted through his armor's speaker.

"I've got five energy cores—enough to circle the equator chasing you! JARVIS can auto-pilot the suit—I can even nap along the way…"

Hearing this, Shiler seemed to agree—it was pointless to keep running; he couldn't outlast Stark, not from exhaustion, but because this nonstop chase meant working day and night again—he'd just returned from vacation!

Suddenly, the mist halted—and with a "thump," transformed into an arrow pointing to the nearest building.

Stark hovered mid-air, arms crossed, slowly floating toward the spot Shiler indicated; Peter watched, feeling a strange familiarity—seconds later, he realized: "Oh! That's the same gray mist I saw peering through the window on Stark Industries Expo day?!"

Only when Steve finally arrived did Shiler re-form into a human shape, then spoke rapidly: "Listen to me."

Steve stared at Shiler's face: "Are you Doctor Shiler?"

"Isn't that obvious?" Shiler sighed. "I knew that guy wasn't that kind—he told me to take a vacation, and I should've guessed…"

He shook his head, looking resigned—but the others didn't hear his muttering. Stark raised his faceplate again, his anger still smoldering: "Shiler, you've gone too far!"

"I know the world doesn't always follow rules—if it did, we couldn't solve most problems."

"So I don't care about you and Nick's methods—even if I know they're shady, someone has to do these things. I understand you."

Stark spoke with grave seriousness: "But that doesn't mean you can raid S. . . . . .'s base, kidnap hostages, threaten us, or collaborate with Hydra to assassinate key figures!"

Shiler opened his mouth, but Stark cut in: "I know it was your other personality—but if one of your personalities is Hydra, then you need treatment!"

Worried he might trigger Shiler, Stark stepped closer and extended his hand: "Look, I hate when people say 'I'm doing this for your own good'—but I have to say it now…"

"Because we're friends, we must stop your other personality's dangerous actions—to protect you from harm."

As Stark spoke, Peter and Steve stayed silent—they'd never seen Stark so serious. They didn't understand Shiler's uniqueness, but Stark knew it perfectly.

He believed Shiler, like himself, had once reached "the One"—but since no third example existed, Stark didn't know if reaching "the One" had only one condition, or if there were other peculiarities.

So he wasn't sure whether those who reached "the One" might suffer from mental illnesses like dissociative identity disorder—or if the other personality might share the same "One" perspective and become dangerous. If so, this would be a nightmare.

Just as Stark prepared to continue, a portal suddenly opened mid-air—Strange stormed out, furious: "You tricked me into doing experiments on the ship, then framed me as Hydra—just to bypass me and deal with Mephisto?! Do you know what you've broken?!"

Strange was livid—as if a fortune had vanished before his eyes. He waved his hand; the rings behind him glowed brighter, ready to strike: "The Sanctum's legal team is en route. You owe me an explanation!"

Shiler opened his mouth—but suddenly, the roar of helicopter rotors filled the air. Nick hung from a ladder lowered from the chopper, shouting at Shiler: "You really know how to pick a spot! You turned my best secret base into a mess—I lost millions! Next time you want to do something, can't you give a heads-up?!"

"Shiler, you need to come back with us…"

"You owe me an explanation!"

"Explain—I need an explanation…"

"Why did you do this?"

"What's the truth about Hydra?"

"You've gone too far, do you know that?!"

"Stop!" Shiler raised his voice. He took a deep breath, turned to Strange first: "I framed you? Did your experiment on the ship fail?"

"Uh…" Strange choked. "It succeeded—but that's not an excuse to frame me!"

"How did I frame you?"

Strange opened his mouth to detail Shiler's elaborate conspiracy to make Iron Man and Captain America distrust him—but as he mentally replayed the events, he realized Shiler hadn't framed him at all.

"In Hydra, my codename is 'Doctor.' So what? Am I not a doctor? Is there only one doctor in the world?"

"But you deliberately misled me…"

"Then why did you get misled?"

Shiler crossed his arms: "And I broke a contract? I dealt with Mephisto behind your back? Who told you that? If you're going to conclude that, then I'm taking your share…"

"The One Sword Supreme"

"Wait—you mean there's a share for me?"

"Of course. You're the Sorcerer Supreme."

Strange's expression turned uncertain. He touched the sash in his hand, then his ring. Shiler continued: "You're not leaving—do you plan to negotiate the split right here?"

A "zzzt" sounded—the portal opened. Strange stepped through, pausing to add: "Better give me a price I'll accept—or else…"

Seeing Strange leave, Shiler turned to Nick, gesturing sideways with his arm: "Leave. Or I'll call the IRS right now, turn myself in for tax evasion, and become a cooperating witness against you—apply for witness protection."

At the words "IRS," Nick didn't even look back—he waved to the pilot: "Go!"

"Hey, Nick! You're just leaving?! You really believe he'll turn himself in?!" Stark stared at the retreating chopper. Nick shouted back: "Don't you see yet?! He's insane!"

Watching the chopper vanish into the distance, Stark was speechless—then noticed Shiler had turned to face him. Stark shook his head: "Don't try to sway me. Stark won't compromise."

Then he saw Shiler slowly reach into his pocket—and pull out a voice recorder.

"Click. I realize now… I was incredibly stupid…"

"I realize now… I was incredibly stupid…"

"I realize now… I was incredibly stupid…"

"You think this will shake me? Your childish trick—" Stark scoffed—then heard Shiler say: "I remember Pepper's birthday is coming soon. This would make a perfect gift. Don't you think?"

"Boom!" A micro-missile exploded before Shiler. Stark rose into the air: "Give it to me!!"

"Enough!" Steve's voice cut in. He knew he had to stop this spiraling farce. He stepped forward, locking eyes with Shiler: "If you're truly Doctor Shiler, you'll cooperate with us."

"Your other personality says you're innocent—you're not Hydra. And you're our friend. So you should stand with us against Hydra, right?"

"What do you want?"

"Come back with us, Doctor. We'll treat you."

"I swear—if you're truly innocent, I won't harm you, and I won't let anyone harm you. I swear it on Captain America's honor," Steve said seriously.

"I don't believe in Captain America's honor," Shiler replied, meeting Steve's gaze. He saw a flicker of disappointment in Steve's eyes—then added: "But I believe in Steve Rogers."

He stepped forward, facing Steve: "What now? Put handcuffs on me?"

"No," Steve shook his head. "Precisely because I don't want to treat you this way—because you haven't done anything wrong—I didn't act immediately."

Shiler stared into Steve's eyes—seeing the lingering exhaustion and weariness, nothing like the usual bright, spirited gaze of Captain America.

He sighed: "Steve, do you know why I'm standing here, willing to surrender? Not because you or Stark can threaten me—but because of you, Steve…"

His tone grew wistful: "Steve Rogers. A truly good man."

Ten minutes later, Shiler sat alone in the only chair in a S. . . . . . underground office—not a restraint chair, just a plain armchair, no restraints at all. This wasn't an interrogation room—just an empty staff office.

Yet Shiler sat calmly, motionless, merely gazing at the flickering overhead bulb, as if resigned to surrender.

His cooperation left Stark speechless. Shiler didn't look at Stark by the door—he kept staring at the bulb: "You're probably thinking: if I'd fought you, it might've moved things forward."

"But 'no fight, no friendship' or 'laughter erases grudges'—those scenes don't suit me. I dislike pointless waste."

"If a battle would lead everyone to sit down calmly and talk, better skip the fight entirely. Pretend we've already fought—let's just talk."

"Are you aware of your other personality?"

Shiler nodded, but said nothing. Stark pressed: "Which of you appeared first?"

"You've clearly read a lot of psychology books. You asked the right question."

"So?" Stark felt a bad premonition.

"He came first," Shiler said truthfully.

Stark's premonition came true. At that answer, he squeezed his eyes shut and muttered a curse.

"So… he's the dominant personality?"

Shiler shook his head, silent. Stark took a deep breath: "Looks like psychological treatment will be harder than I thought."

"I told you before—if the patient refuses to cooperate, the therapist can do nothing."

"Why won't you cooperate? Are you afraid we'll use harsh methods against your other personality?"

Shiler lowered his head, staring straight at Stark: "You've missed the key point. I'm not refusing to cooperate—I'm refusing to cooperate with you. Because you can't treat me."

Stark took a few steps forward, standing opposite Shiler, looking down at him—but felt no sense of dominance he might have expected. "I know," he said, "you've only studied theory for a few days—you're not a psychologist yet. But at least I can ask about your symptoms?"

"Tony, you're just like Peter—you're not cut out to be a therapist," Shiler said slowly, turning his head. "It's not because you lack intelligence or haven't studied theory systematically."

"Then why?"

"Because you're too compassionate."

"Shouldn't doctors be compassionate?"

Shiler shook his head. "In a way, compassion is the very foundation of becoming a doctor—it's because you care for your patients that you learn complex, difficult knowledge to heal them."

"But if you walk this path to its end, you'll find that over-identifying with your patients, feeling their pain as your own, will only destroy you."

"Not to mention…" Shiler lifted his gaze to Stark's eyes. "You're still trying to treat me, Tony. That's dangerous."

His gaze made Stark want to step back—as if he were the one sitting in the chair, being treated.

Stark realized that certain theories in books were far harder to apply in practice. For instance, a position of superiority didn't strengthen his confidence as a doctor. The "patient" sitting in the chair was more like a doctor than he was.

Stark was about to speak when his phone rang. The screen showed Steve's name. He paused, then turned and walked out of the office to answer.

"Hey, I'm at Bucky's. You better come over."

"Why should I? To interrupt your reunion with your best old friend?"

"I'm not joking, Tony. Bucky told me how Shiler's other personality kidnapped him—and… I can only say he's more dangerous than I imagined. Don't rush to treat him."

Stark hung up. He turned his head, glanced through the window above the office door at Shiler, sitting quietly there. He put his phone away and strode down the hallway.

When he reached the ward where Steve and Bucky were, Stark paused just before pushing the door open. Then he heard Steve's voice, unusually serious: "Bucky, do you remember what happened during this time?"

"Yes," came another hoarse voice. "My memories are fragmented and chaotic, but certain fragments keep circling in my mind…"

"Do you remember Howard Stark?"

At that moment, Steve heard the door open. Stark walked in as if he'd just arrived. Steve immediately cut off his question, stood up, and said to Stark: "You need to hear what Shiler did to him."

Stark stood still, glancing at Bucky, then at Steve. "Are you sure he's lucid now? I don't want him suddenly standing up and taking a swing at one of us."

His tone was hostile, but Steve didn't care. "I was just about to say this—do you want to know how he broke the brainwashing?"

Stark looked up at Steve, waiting. Steve glanced back at Bucky. "Shiler didn't just kidnap Bucky—he tortured him for six hours, and then…"

Steve swallowed, his Adam's apple trembling, as if recalling something horrific.

"Within those six hours, he completely tore apart the Hydra-brainwashed personality."

"He drove wedges into Bucky's body…" Steve gestured with his hands, struggling to explain. But Bucky's low, hoarse voice cut in: "'Some' isn't accurate. He used over forty wedges."

"If I hadn't been specially modified, I'd be dead by now—from pain."

Steve covered his forehead, bowed his head, and sighed deeply. "Regardless, Shiler's other personality is far too dangerous."

"'Dangerous' isn't accurate either," came Bucky's dry voice again. "He's a madman."

"At first, he woke me up. I thought he wanted me to suppress the brainwashed personality myself. But then I realized—he just wanted me to witness it. He needed an audience for his performance."

"In front of me, he drove that personality insane. I don't know how many pieces it shattered into—but in the end, it was utterly erased."

Bucky's voice sounded numb, as if describing something unrelated to him—but it sent a chill down Stark's spine.

Bucky lay flat on the bed, his gaze shifting from the ceiling to Stark. "I remember Howard Stark. I remember being ordered to cause a car crash that killed them."

"No, Bucky, don't say that," Steve turned, reaching out to stop him. But Stark stepped forward, blocking Steve's hand, and looked Bucky in the eye. "Do you know who I am?"

"I know," Bucky closed his eyes. "You look just like him. That's why I brought this up—the madman told me after he finished: if I ever saw someone who looked like Howard, I should tell him everything."

"The Hydra-brainwashed personality died in agony. Even watching it terrified me."

"That's why he woke me up before doing it…" Bucky gripped the bed rail tightly. "That personality paid the price. Now it's my turn."

Steve heard an unusual tone in Bucky's words. He hurried to his side, gripping his arm. "Don't say that, Bucky. I think we can talk—"

Bucky's expression remained blank, as if years of control had erased his ability to show emotion. But Steve saw resolve in his eyes.

"Someone already paid the price for you," Stark glanced at Steve, then said to Bucky. "You should be grateful your friend chose—again—to sacrifice himself, even when it had nothing to do with him."

Stark turned his head away. "... complete idiot."

Bucky turned his head toward Steve. He had already pieced together everything from Stark's words. He saw Steve's exhaustion: dark circles under his eyes, pale skin, colorless lips, bloodshot blue irises—he looked nothing like Captain America.

Bucky stared into Steve's eyes. "I've never seen you like this."

"Sorry. I've been tired lately. Maybe a good night's sleep will fix it."

"No. I mean—I'm glad the first person I saw when I woke up was Steve Rogers, not Captain America."

Bucky's numb tone finally cracked. "Forget the lies they implanted in you. The war's over. It's just you and me now."

Steve's arm trembled again. The side effects of acute anxiety hadn't faded, leaving his mind unstable and his motor control severely impaired.

Stark cut in. "Now we need to discuss Shiler's condition."

"Logically, if that personality was Hydra, it had no reason to help Bucky break free," Steve sighed. "On the way here, I thought it through calmly."

"If he really was Hydra, what damage did he cause?"

Stark followed his logic. He thought for a moment. "Sure, fighting Hydra got harder—but in the end, we stormed their nest, destroyed it."

"My surveillance shows Hydra's been quiet lately. Incidents that used to be constant have dropped sharply."

Steve rubbed his chin, forcing himself to focus. "He kidnapped Bucky—but freed him from brainwashing. If we ignore the violence, maybe only he could've done it."

"But he admitted himself he's Hydra," Stark added. "And evidence points to him for assassinations."

"But now he's retreated into Shiler's body. We can't use force against him. Shiler hasn't done anything wrong… Wait—will he cooperate?" Steve looked up at Stark.

"He says he's willing to cooperate—just not with me," Stark shook his head. "He says treating him is dangerous. But I can't see why."

"Tony, I don't mean to belittle your learning ability, but I doubt you can master any field—especially medicine—after just a few days of theory. It requires far more practice."

"Don't be so polite. I know I'm not a professional. If he refuses to work with me because of that, I'll find him a real expert."

Stark seemed determined to match Shiler's will. He picked up the phone and called Pepper. "Invite every world-class psychologist and psychiatrist you can find. I'm arranging a consultation for a seriously ill doctor…"

The next day, Steve and Stark stood outside the door of a consultation room at Arkham Sanatorium, silently watching the scene inside.

"Hey, Tim, long time no see—still wandering around Florida? … What? You're married? Congratulations, that's a surprise. Back in Harvard days, you were famous for being a playboy. What changed your mind?" Schiller slapped a Black doctor on the shoulder.

As they chatted, another thin White doctor approached and said: "Schiller, it's been ages. Why didn't you tell me you came to New York? And why leave Elderly Care Hospital for a nursing home?"

The Black doctor added: "Exactly. You were the top student among us. Even if you didn't stay on as faculty, why end up in a nursing home?"

"I was at Elderly Care Hospital, but someone there gave me trouble—you know I'm here to escape the noise."

Schiller turned to another elderly professor with gray hair and said: "Professor Tier, what are you doing here? How's your health? Still teaching pathology?"

The old professor, clearly irritable, sighed and sized up Schiller: "I didn't expect to be called here to treat you. What's wrong? Describe your symptoms."

"Professor, don't be like that—I haven't taken an exam in years." As he spoke, Schiller spotted another figure and walked over: "Samantha, you got the invitation too?"

"Dr. Schiller? I didn't expect to see you here. Don't tell me you're the patient in this consultation?"

"That's right. Who knows what Stark is thinking?"

Stark poked his head in from outside. Steve said to him: "Are you sure this is a specialist consultation? Feels more like a reunion."

Stark sighed: "It's normal. The top people in this circle all graduated from those few schools—either classmates, alumni, or professor-student. Doesn't matter—as long as they can treat him."

Soon, they heard the doctors' conversation from inside the room.

"Samantha, how's your OCD? Last time we talked, you said you adjusted your dosage. How's it going?"

The blonde female doctor shook her head: "Don't even ask. I was busy and missed doses—symptoms got worse. But now they've improved."

"By the way, is Hope still at the psychiatric hospital in Los Angeles? Hasn't his family considered transferring him?"

"He's doing fine in LA. His attending physician is the same professor who taught him basic psychology. He's even getting advanced training while hospitalized—I'd kill for that opportunity."

"Hey, Schiller! Over here—Professor Tier wants you!"

As Schiller approached, the old professor adjusted his glasses: "Stark didn't bring us here to treat your loneliness. Your symptoms don't need treatment. Let me guess—your anxiety's flared up again?"

"A bit, but not severe. This time, they probably want to treat my dissociative identity disorder."

"Dissociative identity? When did you get that?" Tim, the Black doctor, looked at him. "Remember Angel? He called me just a few days ago—he's improved a lot. Back in school, he kept losing things because of it. Remember the dance? He almost lost his date."

Everyone laughed. The thin doctor said: "I bet Stark knows nothing about psychology or psychiatry. Laypeople always overreact—hear 'mental disorder' and they think it's terminal."

"Can't help it. Many still don't understand mental health treatment," the old professor sighed. "We study hard, master our craft—to erase prejudice…"

Outside, Stark said to Steve: "This isn't a reunion—it's a support group."

"Damn it, can't you be a psychiatrist without being mentally ill?"

"This makes no sense," Steve concluded. "They keep treating each other, but none of them get better…"

Stark rubbed his forehead: "Forget it. This isn't working. Let's find someone more professional."

That afternoon, Stark and Steve arrived at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. When they explained their purpose to Charles, he surprised them by shaking his head and refusing.

Steve sighed: "Professor, I know—you mutants don't want to get involved. It might bring you trouble. I understand—you've got your own struggles…"

"It's not that," Charles denied. "I'd be happy to help—but not this."

"Why?" Stark asked, baffled.

"You want me to treat Schiller. But in my view, he can't be treated."

"What do you mean?"

"His condition—no, not a condition. His situation—it's beyond illness. It's more like an ability."

"I can't ask you to cure an ability, just like I can't cure your intelligence or his strength. There's no need."

"Ability?" Stark and Steve exchanged glances, both puzzled. They couldn't fathom what mental illness could be called an ability.

"Maybe you can't understand this. But if you can get his consent, I might show you why."

"He said he's willing to cooperate. Don't you think we can skip asking again?"

Charles shook his head again: "If you truly want to do this, go to bed on time tonight. I'll come to you."

That night, Stark arrived at the Luminous Alliance base in his dream and met Charles—but Steve was gone. He asked Charles: "Wasn't he coming too?"

"Yes, but… he seems to have insomnia. Do you think I should help him?"

"Absolutely. He won't mind at all."

"Alright." No sooner had Charles finished speaking than Steve, looking bewildered, appeared in the dream base. He pressed his hand to his forehead and said, "I must be exhausted—why else would I dream about Stark?"

Stark snorted. "I told you, not everyone can control their consciousness within a dream."

In the following minutes, Charles explained the situation to Steve. Steve sat on the sofa, still pressing his forehead. "So we're truly inside a dream—and we have to find Doctor Shiler through it?"

"Correct. I called him during the day. He agreed to let us visit tonight."

"Visit? Why can't he come here?"

"You'll find out soon enough."

Charles waved his hand, and the group appeared outside the base. Thick white mist enveloped them. The massive steel city Stark had constructed receded into the distance as they sped through the dream.

Soon, a tiny black dot appeared on the horizon. Stark squinted toward it.

Within seconds, they drew near. As the distance shrank, Stark and Steve saw it: a colossal, sky-piercing tower.

In an instant, they stood before the tower's gate. Charles stepped forward, gripped the door ring, and knocked. The door creaked open. Shiler stood there, wearing a white uniform—Charles exhaled in relief.

He muttered under his breath, "Thank goodness it's not that cylinder-headed guy—he was a total chatterbox…"

Stark and Steve stepped inside. The moment they entered the tower, they were stunned by the sight.

It was a vast, bustling, thronged, and wildly vibrant—Sky-Piercing Tower.

As far as the eye could see, floors stretched endlessly.

At that moment, Stark and Steve finally understood what Charles meant by "superpower."

Shiler turned, shut the door, and opened his arms.

"Welcome to my mind palace."

——————Author's Note——————

I write long chapters because the plot flows too cohesively to be split. I have artistic standards for chapter breaks: C