Rogerster's Troubles

New York doesn't rain as often as Gotham. The weather here is usually quite clear, but there are always a few exceptions each year.

On this day, before dawn, a fine drizzle began to fall over New York.

This wasn't good news for the residents of Hell's Kitchen. As Manhattan's largest slum, it received no 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'd have to wear heavy rain boots.

The smell of garbage and dust became more noticeable in this weather. Schiller closed the windows on the first floor; there were always a few drunks vomiting in his back alley, and the smell was unbearable.

Suddenly. The doorbell rang with a clear chime. Schiller glanced at his watch. It was 6:30 AM. Even in fast-paced New York, this was too early.

Schiller went downstairs. He saw a tall man with blond hair and blue eyes staring at the calendar on his bar.

Schiller said, "It seems Natasha has booked me quite a remarkable client. Not many people are awake before 7 AM these days."

The man replied, "That's why I'm glad I found a kindred spirit here."

Schiller took out the file Natasha had given him last night. He looked at the photo on the file, then sized up the man, saying, "Steve Rogers. S.H.I.E.L.D. has given you an unlimited appointment time. They're being so generous, it looks like your problem must be quite serious."

Steve shrugged. "They think every problem is serious, including me running out here without eating breakfast."

Schiller tapped the table, gesturing for him to sit down. He said, "Then you've made the right decision. Perhaps the S.H.I.E.L.D. people didn't tell you, but if you happen to come during mealtime, I don't mind treating you to a meal."

Steve smiled. His handsome face looked both charming and cheerful.

Schiller made an American breakfast: toast, 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 enticing. He picked up a slice of toast and asked, "Do you have any butter?"

Schiller looked at him with some surprise and said, "Oh, I only have strawberry jam."

Then he looked Steve up and down and said, "You seem like an old-fashioned person. Not many people put butter on their toast these days."

Steve said, "It's okay, I'm just not used to such sweet jam for breakfast."

"Then how about 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 about the size of a bottle cap, and the rich espresso inside. He said, "I'm very sorry, but could I have an Americano?"

"Americano? You might as well ask for my rinse water," Schiller said.

On the other side, Natasha, who was monitoring, said into the intercom, "The monitored subject is calling Americano 'dirty water.' I suspect he might have Italian ancestry..."

Steve wasn't angry. He just waved his hand and said, "Hey, don't say that. I just think espresso is bad for the heart."

Before he could finish speaking, Schiller downed two shots of espresso, then took a large bite of chocolate. The symbiote hummed happily in his mind.

Schiller sat down opposite Steve, and they began to eat breakfast together.

"Initially, Nick told me to find a psychologist in the slums myself. I didn't understand. Weren'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 consultation rooms at S.H.I.E.L.D."

"Compared to a consultation room, those places are more like courtrooms."

"Who can judge you?" Schiller asked. "Judge Captain America?"

Steve smiled a little helplessly and said, "That's ancient history, including myself."

"I think S.H.I.E.L.D. would also really want you to go to their own psychological consultation rooms, but I'm afraid they themselves know that those places can't solve your problems."

Schiller put down his fork and said, "Did you walk here from the street outside? What do you think of this place? I mean, this slum."

Steve pursed his lips. "I don't know how to describe it. It's terrible because nothing has changed at all."

"In the era I lived in, slums were like this too. Dirty, smelly drainage ditches, full of drunkards' vomit, dead drunk alcoholics leaning against building corners, gangsters who couldn't find a dime in pockets, even children habitually pickpocketing, never learning to be good."

"Many years have passed, and it's still like this, with no changes."

"What kind of changes do you think should have happened after decades?" Schiller asked, taking a bite of bread.

Steve spread his hands. "Even if we can't eradicate slums, we should at least reduce their size or improve people's lives."

Schiller shook his head. "You won the war, Captain America. You truly defeated those fascists. We won. The righteous war ended many years ago."

"You thought victory should bring many benefits, such as a more prosperous society and better lives for people. For those who suffered, you were willing to fight to the last moment, and you did."

Schiller gently shook his head. "Decades later, when you woke up again, you found that the world was not like that. It hadn't become what you envisioned before you died. The world, freed from black, did not turn white, but turned gray, a color you couldn'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 for too long and being out of touch with society are not small 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 tool of modern society he can't learn."

"If he can't learn, it can only be because he doesn't want to learn."

"You are resisting this era, unwilling to accept it, unwilling to accept the fact that the results of your hard fight are not as beautiful as you hoped."

Steve said with some bitterness, "I've done my best. Even if the results aren't perfect, I'm trying to accept it. But what saddens me most is that during the war, if people weren't living well, I would strike at my enemies, defeat them no matter the cost. But now, people aren't living well, and I don't even know who the enemy is."

"Perhaps have you ever 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 at least do something, right?"

Schiller said, "Captain America, you are so compassionate that even if I suggested you pursue your hobbies, like drawing comics or exercising, you wouldn't abandon the suffering of these people to 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 the same thing, right? Is there anyone in this world who doesn't enjoy life? They think that from the bottom of their hearts. They think if they were like you, they'd definitely fly to Hawaii for vacation, with S.H.I.E.L.D. footing the bill anyway."

"Ordinary people cannot understand your somewhat excessive compassion and sense of responsibility. You certainly don't need to worry about their lack of understanding."

Steve wholeheartedly agreed, feeling like someone finally understood him. He said with a hint of complaint, "They think I have a lot of free time, like for working out, watching movies, or playing video games. But that's not what I need to do. When I show resistance, they just think I'm out of touch and don't know how to enjoy these things."

"But perhaps you could change your perspective and stop seeking understanding from ordinary people. The world is vast. You may not be the good guy of this era, but every era has its good people. You might as well find them – people like you who have saved the world, or are currently saving it, will be the ones who understand you."

Schiller said, "Furthermore, the good people of this era don't exactly go through life without trouble. They haven't lived as long as you, nor are they as experienced. They might have the power but not know how to use it, or possess passion but lack skill, or perhaps they're scattered and lack unity."

"You can definitely go find these people. Your era may have 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 old soldier who's out of date but unwilling to leave the front lines. You're right, Doctor. It's time for these new recruits to go to battle."

"But I have some doubts. Can I really help? After all, the rules governing this world seem completely different from wartime."

"I do have someone I must recommend to you. He's a lucky kid, and his experience is quite similar to yours. He was just a bullied shut-in at school, and then one day, he suddenly gained immense power. He started leaping around the city, not doing anything serious."

"You know how dangerous it can be to suddenly gain such great power. It's no exaggeration to say his strength is still growing; a few dozen well-trained special forces soldiers might not even be a match for him."

Steve immediately became restless. He said, "Indeed, right after I finished my augmentation, I couldn't control my strength. I even 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 for them."

"My goodness, why is he still in school?"

He slammed his fist on the table, a little angry, and spoke into the listening device on the table, "Hey, Nick, what's going on? How could you let an augmented soldier stay in school? If he loses control of his strength, how many people will get hurt?"

Steve stood up. Schiller waved him off and said, "I told you, he's a lucky kid. He's different from you; he's not a product of drug augmentation, but a special mutation. His power will grow gradually, not all at once to the point of being uncontrollable."

"I mean, this guy in his adolescence, you know, arrogant and sensitive, impulsive and timid. He needs someone to guide him properly, preferably someone who can show him the harsh realities of society."

Steve clenched his fists and said, "Indeed, I've seen plenty of these green recruits. They want to rush onto the battlefield with just their passion, but then they cry out in fear when they see bombings and grenades. They're still a long way off."

Schiller said, "He'll likely finish his exams tomorrow night and will definitely be out and about. You can intercept him and give him a beating. Don't worry, his mutation ability is very strong; taking a beating won't be a big deal."

Steve was even rubbing his hands together in anticipation. It reminded him of his days on the battlefield, how the young recruits would yell and scream under the captain's discipline. Seeing new recruits get flustered was one of the few moments in his military career that felt relaxing and enjoyable.

Author's Mini-Theater:

Schiller: "I only drink espresso." Natasha: "He's definitely not American!"

Schiller: "I only dip my dumplings in strawberry jam." Natasha: "He's definitely not Chinese!"

Schiller: "I only drink Fukushima mineral water." Natasha: "He's definitely not from Earth!"