Compared to Gotham, New York doesn't rain as often; the weather here is usually quite clear, but there are always a few exceptions throughout the year.
On this day, before dawn, a fine drizzle began to fall over New York.
This was not good news for the residents of Hell's Kitchen. As Manhattan's largest slum, it didn't enjoy any municipal benefits; there were no diligent street sweepers, and the rain would only make the streets muddier. If you didn't want your sneakers ruined, you could only wear heavy rain boots.
The stench of garbage and dust would be even more pronounced in such weather. Schiller closed the windows on the first floor; there were always a few drunkards throwing up in his back alley, and the smell was unbearable.
Suddenly, the doorbell rang crisply. Schiller glanced at his watch; it was 6:30 AM, which was too early even for fast-paced New York.
Schiller went downstairs and saw a tall man with blond hair and blue eyes staring at the calendar on his bar.
Schiller said, “It seems Natasha really booked me an extraordinary person. In this day and age, it’s rare to find someone who gets up before 7 AM.”
The man said, “So I’m very glad to have found a like-minded person here.”
Schiller took out the file Natasha had sent last night. He looked at the photo in the file, then sized up the man, saying, “Steve Rogers, S.H.I.E.L.D. has booked you for unlimited therapy sessions. They’re being so generous, it seems your problem must be very serious.”
Steve shrugged, saying, “They think all problems are serious, including the fact that I ran out without eating breakfast.”
Schiller tapped the table, motioning for him to sit down. He said, “Then your decision is very correct. Perhaps S.H.I.E.L.D. didn’t tell you, if you happen to come at mealtime, I don’t mind treating you to a meal.”
Steve smiled, his handsome face appearing dashing and cheerful.
Schiller made an American breakfast: toasted bread slices, fried bacon, two sausages, two large hash browns, and two cups of coffee.
Steve wasn’t actually hungry, but the aroma of the breakfast was truly too tempting. He picked up a piece of bread and asked, “Excuse me, do you have butter?”
Schiller looked at him with some surprise and said, “Oh, only strawberry jam.”
Then he sized up Steve and said, “It seems you’re an old-fashioned person. Not many people spread butter on bread these days.”
Steve said, “It’s fine, it’s just that I’m not used to eating such sweet jam for breakfast.”
“Then let me get you some sauce, I made it myself.”
Schiller took out a jar and handed it to Steve.
Steve glanced again at the coffee cup, which was probably only the size of a bottle cap, and the rich concentrated coffee inside, saying, “I’m sorry, but could I have an Americano?”
“An Americano? You could just say you want my rinse water,” Schiller said.
On the other side, Natasha, who was monitoring, said into her intercom, “The subject calls Americano ‘dirty water,’ suspecting he might have Italian heritage…”
Steve didn’t get angry; he just waved his hand and said, “Hey, don’t say that. I just think espresso isn’t good for the heart.”
Before he finished speaking, Schiller chugged two cups of espresso, then took a big bite of chocolate. The Symbiote hummed happily in his head.
Schiller sat opposite Steve, and the two began to eat breakfast together.
“Initially, Nick told me to find a psychologist myself in the slum, and I felt very confused. Aren’t S.H.I.E.L.D.’s own Doctors good enough?” Steve said.
“But now, I find the atmosphere here is much better than those blindingly White psychological counseling rooms at S.H.I.E.L.D.”
“Compared to a counseling room, it’s more like a judgment hall.”
“Who can judge you?” Schiller asked. “Judge Captain America?”
Steve smiled somewhat helplessly and said, “That’s ancient history, including myself.”
“I think S.H.I.E.L.D. would also very much hope you’d go to their own psychological counseling room, but I’m afraid they themselves know that it can’t solve your problem.”
Schiller put down his fork. He said, “Did you walk here from the streets outside? What do you think of this place? I mean, this slum.”
Steve pursed his lips and said, “I don’t know how to describe it. It’s terrifying because it hasn’t changed at all.”
“In my time, slums were also like this: dirty, smelly drains, full of drunkards’ vomit, and drunkards passed out against building corners. Gangs couldn’t find a single coin in their pockets, and even children habitually picked pockets, never learning to be good.”
“Many years have passed, and it’s still like this, without any change.”
“What kind of changes do you think should have happened after decades?” Schiller asked, taking a bite of bread.
Steve spread his hands and said, “Even if we can’t eradicate slums, their size should at least be smaller, or life should be better.”
Schiller shook his head and said, “You won the war, Captain America. You indeed defeated those ***. We won. The righteous war ended many years ago.”
“You believe victory should bring many benefits, such as a more prosperous society, and people living better lives. For those suffering, you were willing to fight to the last moment, and you indeed did so.”
Schiller gently shook his head and said, “After decades, when you woke up again, you found that this World was not like that. It didn’t become what you envisioned before your death. The World, stripped of black, didn’t turn White, but rather gray—a color you don’t understand.”
Steve pursed his lips, appearing somewhat silent. Schiller said, “I know your problem is not what S.H.I.E.L.D. thinks it is: sleeping too long, being out of touch with society. It’s not about minor issues like not knowing how to use a phone, liking to listen to the radio, or having too regular a schedule.”
“For Captain America, as long as he wants to learn, there’s no modern social tool he can’t learn.”
“If he can’t learn it, it can only be because he doesn’t want to.”
“You are resisting this era, unwilling to accept it, unwilling to accept the fact that the results of your hard-fought battles were not as beautiful as you hoped.”
Steve said somewhat bitterly, “I’ve tried my best, and even if the results aren’t good enough, I’m trying to accept it. But what saddens me the most is that during the war, if people were suffering, I would strike my enemies, defeat them no matter the cost. But now, people are suffering, and I don’t even know who the opponent is.”
“Perhaps you haven’t considered that your era has passed, and the era where you were responsible for people has also passed. You don’t need to be a War Machine anymore.”
“Then what should I do? I should do something, shouldn’t I?”
Schiller said, “Captain America, you are so compassionate, so even if I suggest you pursue your hobbies, like drawing comics or exercising, you wouldn’t abandon the suffering of these people to just enjoy yourself. You’re not that kind of person, so I won’t give you such useless advice.”
“I believe S.H.I.E.L.D.’s psychologists have told you this too, right? Is there anyone in this World who doesn’t know how to enjoy life? They sincerely think that if they were you, they’d definitely fly to Hawaii for a vacation, since S.H.I.E.L.D. is paying.”
“Ordinary people cannot understand your somewhat excessive compassion and sense of responsibility. Of course, you don’t need to worry about their lack of understanding.”
Steve deeply agreed; he felt that someone finally understood him. He complained, “They think I have many things to do, like working out, watching movies, playing video games, but those aren’t the things I need to do. When I show resistance, they think it’s because I’m too old-fashioned and don’t know how to play these things.”
“But perhaps you can change your approach: don’t seek understanding from ordinary people. The World is so big, you are not a good person of this era, but every era has good people. You can certainly go find them. These people who, like you, have saved the World or are currently saving the World, will understand you.”
Schiller said, “And the good people of this era also encounter trouble. They haven’t lived as long as you, nor are they as experienced. They might have power but not know how to use it, or they might have passion but lack skill, or they might be scattered and not united enough.”
“You can certainly go find these people. Your era has passed, but the Earth still turns, and there are still people fighting to save this World, aren’t there?”
Steve sighed and said, “I’m just an outdated veteran who’s unwilling to leave the front lines. You’re right, Doctor, it’s time for those new recruits to enter the battlefield.”
“But I’m a bit confused, can I really help? After all, it seems the rules by which this World operates are completely different from during the war.”
“I do have someone I must recommend to you. He’s a lucky kid, and his experience is very similar to yours. He was originally just a bullied nerd at school, but suddenly one day, he gained immense power. He started jumping around the City, not doing anything serious.”
“You know how dangerous such sudden immense power can be. It’s no exaggeration to say that his power is still growing. Dozens of well-trained special forces might not even be a match for him.”
Steve immediately became a little restless. He said, “Indeed, after I had just finished my transformation, I also couldn’t control my strength and accidentally injured two medical personnel. Where is he now? Which hospital?”
“He’s still in school; his final exams are coming up, and he’s studying.”
“My goodness, why is he still in school?!”
He angrily slapped the table and said to the listening device on the table, “Hey, Nick, what are you doing? How can you let a modified soldier stay in school? What if he can’t control his power? How many people would get hurt?”
Steve stood up. Schiller waved his hand at him and said, “I said, he’s a lucky kid. He’s different from you; he’s not a drug-modified human, but a special mutation. His power will gradually increase, rather than becoming uncontrollable all at once.”
“What I mean is, these teenage guys, you know, arrogant yet sensitive, impulsive yet timid. Someone needs to teach him well, preferably let him see the harshness of society.”
Steve clenched his fists and said, “Indeed, I’ve seen too many new recruits like that. They want to rush onto the battlefield with just a burst of passion, then they scream when they see bombings and grenades. They still have a long way to go.”
Schiller said, “He’ll probably finish his exams tomorrow night and will definitely be out wandering. You can stop him and give him a beating. Don’t worry, his mutation ability is very strong; a beating is nothing much.”
Steve even seemed to be rubbing his fists, which reminded him of his days on the battlefield, when the young recruits would scream as the Captain disciplined them. Watching new recruits get flustered was one of the few moments in his military career that made him feel relaxed and happy.
Author's Mini-Theater:
Schiller: I only drink espresso.
Natasha: He's definitely not American!
Schiller: I only dip dumplings in strawberry jam.
Natasha: He's definitely not Chinese!
Schiller: I only drink Fukushima mineral Water.
Natasha: He's definitely not an Earthling!
