Second Crossing

If Schiller were to create a psychological profile for Batman in the comics, his greatest trait wouldn't be caution, intelligence, or strategic planning, but rather paranoia.

Batman never fully trusted anyone.

His skepticism had become a school of thought in itself; skepticism and conspiracy theories were etched into his very bones. He was as paranoid as he was intelligent.

Schiller's answer had clearly thrown the young Batman into a profound state of suspicion.

Bruce had never imagined that someone could see through his inner self. He had immense confidence in his disguise, believing that even his lifelong butler, Alfred, only knew a part of him, and certainly not all of him.

But this professor, this seemingly ordinary, refined psychology professor, had given him the most unlikely answer, yet also the most accurate and incisive one.

The moment he received this answer, the surging excitement within Bruce told him that he had indeed been waiting for someone to give him this answer—it was time to begin his revenge.

But more than the answer he received, the person who gave it made his newly ignited vengeful blood feel like it had been doused with a bucket of cold water. Bruce didn't believe, and never would believe, that someone could see the devil lurking in his heart, that flock of shadowy bats, with mere psychology.

Schiller, however, said, "Consultation time is over. I have to go to class. Goodbye, Mr. Wayne."

Schiller believed Bruce would be wrestling with this for a long time.

If he figured it out, he should hurry up and transform into Batman to uphold justice, instead of attending class here. What other classes did Bruce have to attend? Why insist on bothering these diligent faculty members?

Schiller figured he'd likely come to his senses. By then, the gangsters and criminal organizations would be enough for him to deal with. This way, Schiller could happily slack off at school while getting paid, and at worst, he could fly to Hawaii during the holidays.

Schiller had a decent reputation at school, largely due to his name, though that was the original body's resume. Schiller adhered to the principle of "getting paid for what you do," starting his lectures as soon as he sat down and disappearing the moment the bell rang. After-class Q&A? Non-existent.

He had been like this for the past five days. Fortunately, the original Schiller seemed quite reclusive and didn't have many friends. He had only been hired as a Gotham University professor a few months ago and wasn't very familiar with anyone at the school, so the transmigrated Schiller hadn't revealed any flaws.

During lunch that afternoon, Peter sent a message: "Mr. Schiller, everything is just awful."

It was accompanied by a dejected chat emoji. Schiller knew that this chat system wasn't a direct mind-to-mind communication. Only he was using the system; Peter had coincidentally met a netizen online, and Charles had received messages while browsing educational forums in his spare time.

The system would convert conversations with these individuals into a format they could accept. For Peter, it was through online social software, while for Charles, it was through knowledge-based forums. If it were Thanos, it might be some kind of cosmic network signal.

So, the other parties wouldn't feel it was abrupt. Moreover, the system only guaranteed that they would answer Schiller's first question. How the conversation proceeded afterward was up to Schiller. Therefore, Schiller's main chat partners were the young, naive, and romantically budding Spider-Man.

Schiller wouldn't easily test an old fox like Charles without absolute certainty.

Schiller replied, "What's wrong? Peter? Is it not going well with Gwen?"

"Oh, it's not going well, but 'awful' isn't about that."

"Then what is it? Don't tell me you messed up your experiment?"

"Kind of. I knocked over some dangerous-looking experimental equipment, and a... dangerous creature inside escaped. It also bit me."

Schiller knew that Spider-Man's fate had been partially altered by chatting with him. Through their conversations, he knew the person on the other end was the Spider-Man from the 616 comic main universe. Originally, this high school student should have been bitten at an exhibition. However, because Peter had developed a crush on Gwen and constantly confided in Schiller about how charming and lovely his classmate Gwen was, Schiller, annoyed by the chatterbox, gave him advice on how to pursue Gwen.

Gwen came from a well-off family and secured an internship at the Osborn Group during the summer. This wouldn't have involved Peter, but Schiller advised him to be a bit more persistent and apply for the same internship. Peter's grades were excellent, and he actually got accepted. As a result, instead of being bitten by a spider at an exhibition, he was bitten by a spider from an experimental device at the Osborn Group...

In any case, he was bound to be bitten. Since Spider-Man was chosen by the Master Weaver of the spider totem, if he wasn't bitten today, he would be bitten tomorrow. One way or another, he had to endure that bite. Schiller comforted the poor Spider-Man and went back to sleep.

Gotham's night was deep and thick, perfect for sleeping. Bruce stayed up all night, looking at the moon, which had almost lost its shape in the dense fog. In his hand, he held a stack of files, the first page bearing the name: Schiller Andel Rodriguez.

Schiller, completely unaware that Batman had dug up all his information, heard a system alert in his deep sleep. But he was sleeping too soundly. In his unconscious state, a blue light scanned across him—

The system's alarm became more frequent. Schiller still didn't wake up, as if something was hindering the system. Finally, after a burst of distorted sound, Schiller's figure vanished.

"Emergency protection system activated. Locating universe... Locating universe... Receiving universe confirmed. Identity information being written... Writing... Write failed... Writing... Write successful."

When he woke up again, Schiller rubbed his eyes, momentarily blinded by the sunlight. What the hell, Gotham City actually had a sunny day?

He pulled back the curtains—outside was a bright and sunny... New York City.

Unlike Gotham's wretched weather, New York was clear and sunny, intensely hot even in the early morning. Schiller glanced out the window and realized he was likely in a high-end apartment in downtown New York. He turned his head and saw a messy pile of things on his desk, along with a wine bottle. Underneath the bottle lay an ID badge.

"Schiller, Psychiatrist at New York Presbyterian Hospital... Attending physician? I've transmigrated again?"

Damn it, Schiller thought. Before he could even curse, his phone rang. He answered, and the voice on the other end said loudly, "Dr. Schiller! Where have you been! You absolutely cannot miss the joint consultation today! Did you get drunk again!! Please come over immediately!"

Schiller's ears hurt from the volume, but he thought that since he was now a doctor, there might be a patient in critical condition in such an urgent situation. Since he was here, he had to do the job.

Schiller immediately grabbed his credentials and went downstairs to find a car. Living in such a luxurious apartment, there should be a car. He found a relatively new Mercedes in the underground garage. It matched the model of his car key. He pressed the unlock button, and it actually opened.

Grateful for his previous academic exchange trip to New York, Schiller used the car's navigation to reach the Presbyterian Hospital, New York's premier hospital, as quickly as possible.

As soon as he entered, the receptionist rushed over and said, "Dr. Schiller, please hurry. The joint consultation has already begun."

Schiller didn't know what his persona was this time, but he nodded indifferently and headed upstairs.

Fortunately, someone guided him, and Schiller arrived at the conference room. The room quieted for a moment when he entered, then resumed its discussion. Schiller sat in the seat specially reserved for him, observing calmly.

It seemed he was quite a renowned doctor, ranking among the top in his department. The people opposite him were clearly not from psychiatry. One doctor, looking arrogant, said, "Indeed, it's reasonable to let those charlatans go first, to prevent him from feigning madness and trying to make advances on nurses during surgery."

Schiller looked at his name tag: Stephen, Stephen Strange, Doctor Strange. Well, he had transmigrated to Marvel again.

Schiller couldn't be bothered. Judging by Strange's appearance, he was still a long way from his car accident. At this point, he was just an extremely selfish jerk, disliked by everyone.

Schiller silently read the patient records. Strange, however, found him displeasing. For no other reason than Schiller clearly looked like he had been drinking the day before and was late for the day's consultation. Strange was a bit of a germaphobe and couldn't stand Schiller's unprofessional attitude. Moreover, he had always believed that all psychologists were frauds. In short, he intensely disliked Schiller.

During the meeting, he nitpicked at Schiller constantly. Schiller simply read from the script, ignoring him completely. After the meeting, Strange deliberately bumped into him.

Schiller was greatly annoyed by him, but he thought that Strange would eventually learn his lesson, and it probably wouldn't be many years before his accident. If Strange weren't so obnoxious, Schiller might have even reminded him. But for now, Strange should just go through his own miserable storyline.

As soon as the consultation ended, Schiller opened his phone and received a call. The voice on the other end was a pleasant female voice, but it sounded somewhat anxious. She asked, "Dr. Schiller, has your consultation finished? Could you please come to Stark Tower now? Tony is not doing well..."

Tony Stark?

What time was it now? Had Iron Man been kidnapped? Or had he already returned?

Schiller didn't even have time to go online to search for information because a car from Stark Industries was already waiting downstairs at the hospital. He had to get in quickly. A beautiful woman with a business-like demeanor sat in the passenger seat. She said, "Ever since Tony came back, you know, during his last diagnosis, he started having tantrums for no reason, doing those crazy things. Last night, I heard him crying..."

"Miss Pepper? Are you alright?" Schiller asked tentatively. Pepper covered her eyes and said, "I'm sorry, but please take this treatment seriously."

Schiller understood. It must be after Iron Man's return from captivity. He had learned that his company's weapons were being used in an unjust war, and he was likely the psychologist Pepper had hired out of concern during Stark's psychological struggle.