[{"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-61":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},2322629,4544,"Chapter 61","my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-chapter-61",61,"\u003Cp>New York’s weather is far better than Gotham’s; even though it’s winter, the sky remains clear, and from the third-floor window of the clinic, one can clearly see the highway along the skyline packed with traffic.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Shiler woke up early; Pikachu shoved the door open with his tiny short hands, stretched lazily, and said: “Your damn old-fashioned kettle is way too loud! Yawn… where did you even get that antique?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Shiler walked down the stairs, while Pikachu slid down the handrail; at the second-floor dining room, the kettle was steaming vigorously and occasionally let out a shrill whistle.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Shiler used magic to levitate the kettle onto the table, then waved his hand—a frying pan flew over; he poured some olive oil onto it and began making breakfast.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Pikachu slammed open the fridge, dove inside to rummage for food, complaining as he dug: “I really should throw out all your damn blue cheese—it’s so stinky! Oh… and these damn lettuce leaves, they taste like chewing plastic… let me see… here it is! My car cheddar! Put it in my breakfast sandwich later, and this canned luncheon meat—I love this one—slice it thick and put it in the middle, remember, thick slices…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At that moment, the front door downstairs creaked open; Shiler heard Peter’s voice accompanied by footsteps climbing the stairs: “Sir! I’m here! I borrowed a toolbox from my uncle—we’ll definitely fix that damn circuit breaker today…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As he stepped up, the open fridge door blocked his view; he casually slammed it shut—and then a cry rang out: “Oh! Shit!! My back!!!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Peter frantically yanked the fridge door open again and found the furry Pikachu clinging to the shelf inside—his waist had just slammed into a can lid sitting on the shelf.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Peter picked him up and said: “You’ve got a waist? Where is it?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Hey, kid, don’t push me into exposing you—last night wasn’t a broken circuit breaker, you just died thirty times and still couldn’t beat the level…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Peter clamped his hand over Pikachu’s mouth and blurted: “Dr. Shiler, what are you making? It smells so good!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Just a regular grilled sandwich. If you want, I’ll make you a big one.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Sure, but it doesn’t have to be huge—my appetite’s gotten smaller lately.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“That’s good news,” Shiler said, flipping the egg. “At least your aunt won’t have to cook until her wrists ache every day.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As Peter chatted with Shiler, his eyes caught the ring on Shiler’s ring finger; Pikachu noticed the subtle shift in Peter’s expression, glanced around, and said: “We haven’t pulled out yesterday’s game cartridge yet—wanna play another round?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Peter didn’t understand, but Pikachu’s tail whipped sharply downward toward the stairs; Peter instantly got it and followed Pikachu downstairs.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After a while, the two returned whispering; Pikachu leapt onto the countertop and stared at Shiler.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Shiler was flipping the egg, golden-yellow in the center; Peter made exaggerated facial gestures behind Pikachu’s back; Pikachu wrinkled his nose and said: “Hmm… well, I guess… cooking for us is pretty hard work. Maybe we should eat out?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Shiler stared at him in disbelief. “Did the sun rise in the west? Usually at this hour you just tell me to fry the egg softer.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I mean… well, never mind. But I always think humans shouldn’t bottle things up inside—it’s bad for your health…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I’m a psychologist—I know better than you. Otherwise, who do you think I’m making money from?” Shiler said.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Pikachu flicked his tail; he was about to say more when Peter grabbed him, then laughed awkwardly: “Ha ha, Doctor, let’s go play some games first—we’ll help you later.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Pikachu whipped his tail hard across Peter’s face in retaliation for the waist collision; Peter didn’t back down—he grabbed Pikachu’s ears and yanked them around; the two tumbled downstairs, wrestling.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Shiler felt utterly baffled—he had a strong feeling Peter was hiding something from him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A while later, Steve returned from his morning run; he wiped his sweat with a towel and followed the scent upstairs. “This old house’s layout is ridiculous—why’s the kitchen on the second floor?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Thank God I can afford a decent exhaust hood,” Shiler said.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You should thank Nick—he’s given you plenty of bonuses, hasn’t he?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“What? What excuse did he use this time? How much did you get? Thirty percent? Twenty?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Eighteen percent, before taxes,” Steve shrugged.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“His understanding of economic distribution for extra income is getting increasingly macro.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Steve draped his towel over the railing, then opened the fridge with perfect ease: “Let’s see… where’s my steak I put here last time? Oh, here it is—still half left. I could make a beef and cheese burger. Where’s the cheese? I remember there was half a block left…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Don’t bother. You forgot I’ve got a rat just like Jerry? Aside from blue cheese, what cheese survives past the next day?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Good God! That was nearly two pounds of cheese—he ate it all? Not even a crumb left?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Not just him—Peter made a Margherita pizza last time and used at least a pound of cheese.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Steve shook his head and shut the fridge. “Kids today have no sense of thrift. Are there any decent convenience stores in Hell’s Kitchen? I could just buy some cheese slices.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Turn right, walk two blocks—go to Madame Helene. But better just say you’re buying cheese—otherwise she might think you’re applying for a job.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Applying? What kind of job’s left in this damn place?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Of course—Madame Helene runs three strip clubs. They’re packed. She’d love your type.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Steve grimaced. “I’ll just take a detour—buy cheese outside Hell’s Kitchen.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He walked over, clapped Shiler on the shoulder, and said: “Hey, I know you’re a doctor, but doctors are still human—psychologists aren’t magic. If you’ve got something you need to unload, come to me. We’re friends.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He turned and left; Shiler was utterly confused—he’d just woken up, made breakfast, fried an egg… why was everyone acting so weird?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Not long after Steve left, Stark flew in through the window wearing his armor, arms full of files; the cold wind from his suit howled into the clinic.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Shiler turned and was startled by Stark’s dark circles. “What the hell happened to you?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Oh… did Pepper take the day off?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“What are you talking about? I stayed up all night studying the data you brought yesterday.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He dumped the pile of documents on Shiler’s desk. “Neural interface tech has made almost no progress. Uncle Obadiah’s still unconscious—I can’t ask him. But I’ve thought of another path.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Still in his armor, Stark pointed with his metallic gauntlet at a section of the documents: “If aging or dead neurons can’t be restored, we replace them mechanically—like replacing a heart.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I don’t need you to explain the theory—I just want to know: how feasible is it?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Stark crossed his arms, staring at the diagrams. “You need to understand—even I’m a genius, I can’t conjure tech out of thin air. More importantly, even if I master it, it must undergo massive safety testing before deployment.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Stark glanced at the ring on Shiler’s finger, touched his lips, and said: “If you’re truly desperate, I can convene a neurology consult under Stark Industries—bring in the world’s top neuroscientists.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Of course, you’d better bring the patient along—otherwise they can’t conjure a cure out of nothing.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“That’s going to be hard,” Shiler said.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He spoke the truth: not only could he not bring DC characters into the Marvel universe, but even if he could, the differing time flows between worlds would cause serious problems—and grave risks.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Shiler knew well: unlike in Marvel, his most vital task in the DC world was to escape his enemies' entanglement.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His enemies weren’t ordinary people. First, he hired Deathstroke to kill him; the things Deathstroke left behind before departing revealed enough. When Shiler offered to pay him to retaliate against the employer, Deathstroke’s first reaction was: “You can’t afford it.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When Shiler probed further—asking if the world’s richest man would pay—Deathstroke still left without hesitation. That meant even sufficient money wasn’t worth a full betrayal.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>For Deathstroke—the world’s top mercenary—to make such a judgment speaks volumes. The original owner wasn’t caught in some simple financial dispute—there was a far larger conspiracy behind it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Therefore, Shiler hoped Victor could become his ally, compensating for his own lack of engineering and mechanical expertise. So he was willing to help Victor’s wife as much as possible—to prevent Victor from becoming Mr. Freeze. But that didn’t mean he had to risk crossing between worlds.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Besides, it wouldn’t solve the core problem—if DC’s experts couldn’t cure this disease, Marvel’s ordinary ones wouldn’t either.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Shiler remained silent as he thought; finally, Stark couldn’t hold back. “You… I mean… she’s okay, right?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Shiler said: “What?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Stark rubbed his temple awkwardly. “I heard from Coulson—your wife’s condition isn’t good…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Shiler froze. Where the hell did this rumor come from? He didn’t even have a wife!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That’s why everyone’s behavior felt so strange today!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He suddenly remembered—the first person he met after returning to Marvel: the future Doctor Strange, now a neurologist.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That little sneak!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Shiler glared internally at the symbiote: “Next time, make sure you eat Strange’s brain—he’s useless anyway.”\u003C\u002Fp>",1524,"2026-06-20T16:39:12.484Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","43b9d1e1428ec10f3a7dd4f6e6f5e7631cd5750b326dd4dc0cc0e94f7a53ef92","my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-chapter-62","my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-chapter-60",1000,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fmy-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-cover.jpg"]