Old Relic and New Generation

"So you decided to intern at Stark Industries?" Schiller asked.

Peter took a big gulp of porridge and bit into a sausage. Chewing as he spoke, he said, "Yeah. That way, I can explain where all the money I have came from. I told Uncle Ben that Stark Industries wanted to buy out my future employment rights. Not only would they give me a large sum of money in advance, they'd also cover my college tuition."

"Did your uncle believe you?"

Peter said, "Uncle Ben has always known I get good grades and that I have a bit of a genius mind. Now that I've finally gotten an opportunity, he's really happy for me."

"But..." Peter set down his bowl and said somewhat embarrassedly, "Mr. Schiller, I'd like to stay here for a few days. Our house has been in disrepair for a while. After Uncle Ben and Aunt May got the money, they wanted to renovate it a little. The rain a few days ago even made the paint peel off the outer walls. They'll be staying with some old classmates, but I'm almost an adult now, so it'd be a little inconvenient for me."

"You're very welcome to stay here," Schiller said. "But doesn't an internship at Stark Industries provide housing? It's quite a distance from here to Stark Industries."

Peter sighed. "But Stark Industries is even farther from Gwen's house."

Schiller smiled. "I'd bet you only came here because you failed to convince Gwen to let you stay at her place."

Peter's face instantly turned red. "How could I make such an unreasonable request? I'd never say something like that to Gwen."

"You're remarkably conservative for an American," Schiller said, taking another sip of porridge.

Before the two had even finished breakfast, Steve came jogging in. There was a light sheen of sweat on his forehead; he had clearly run all the way here. The moment he entered, he caught the aroma of Schiller's porridge. Rubbing his stomach, he said, "I'll tell you what, pal, this is miles better than the S.H.I.E.L.D. cafeteria."

Schiller pointed toward the kitchen, and Steve served himself some porridge. Peter kept glancing back and forth. With his cheeks stuffed like a hamster's as he chewed away, he leaned out and whispered to Schiller:

"Who's that? He looks really cool—way more muscular than the captain of my high school Football Team."

"Obviously, he's the one who beat Stark up," Schiller said. "Though he was originally planning to beat you up, since you keep swinging around over New York all day."

Peter choked. When Steve came over carrying his bowl, Peter subtly scooted his chair farther away.

The current Spider-Man stood no chance against Captain America, and Peter clearly knew his own limits. He also knew that his high-profile behavior had upset plenty of people. There were definitely more than one or two people who wanted to beat him up.

Stark was one person capable of doing it, and now this muscular man seemed to be another. After all, anyone who could beat Stark up had to be a Master.

The moment Steve's gaze landed on Peter, Peter sprang up as if electrocuted. "I'm going to pack the porridge into a lunchbox and bring it to Matt at the hospital."

"I'd advise against going right now," Schiller said. "Did you forget how awkward it was when you went in the morning last time and saw Matt and his girlfriend lying in the same bed?"

Peter's face turned red again. Muttering, he said, "That's a hospital, and Matt still isn't recovered. They're really kind of crazy..."

Steve silently took two sips of porridge, then asked Schiller, "Is this Matt one of the good people you mentioned?"

Schiller nodded. "I can't even describe him as merely a good person. He's a hero. A real hero."

Schiller briefly told Steve about Matt's life. Steve sighed and said, "Maybe I don't measure up to him. Back when I was still an ordinary person, there were plenty of things I couldn't stand, but I never had the courage to stop them. I knew I couldn't beat those people, and getting hurt would definitely hurt."

"Seeking gain and avoiding harm is human nature," Schiller said. "That's why those who press forward against the wind deserve even more respect."

After Peter went to pack up his things, Steve asked, "That kid doesn't look like he has any superpowers at all. Even in my day, nobody would blush like a pizza just from talking about his girlfriend."

Once Peter was out of earshot, Schiller lowered his voice. "A girlfriend alone isn't enough to put him in such a difficult spot. His father-in-law is the Director of the New York City Police Department."

Steve bared his teeth. "Didn't you say he was a lucky kid? I don't think he can handle a father-in-law like that."

By the time Peter returned from bringing Matt his meal, Schiller was no longer at the clinic. Steve sat alone at the bar, fiddling with an old-fashioned record player.

Though it was an old-fashioned record player by modern standards, it had still been a novelty in Steve's era. He was having some trouble figuring out how to insert the disc.

"You can't pull that tray like that. You'll break it," Peter said. "Give me the disc. I'll put it in for you."

Steve handed him the disc player. "The Doctor went to give that damned Stark some therapy. How old are you this year? About to graduate high school?"

Peter shook his head while working on the record player. "Not yet. I'm only in my second year."

"I heard Schiller say that you were lucky enough to gain some special abilities."

Peter pursed his lips. "Lucky? Maybe that's what I thought before, but now... not entirely."

"You're a little more mature than I expected. I thought you'd brag endlessly or be eager to show off something."

"I would have a month ago. All right, here you go. Now you just need to press that button on top, and it'll play. Not many people know how to use these anymore. My uncle happens to have one too, so that's why I know."

Steve pressed the button and smiled. "Do you know how to use a phonograph? I'm more familiar with those."

Peter shook his head. "Those things are way too ancient. I saw one once at my uncle's coworker's house, but the record always got stuck when they put it on. Nobody could fix it."

"Then you should ask for it. I can fix it. I'm very good at that sort of work. In the army, things like that were treasures. If one broke, you'd hear everyone crying out in despair."

"You were a soldier? I could tell, though. You're really strong. You must have at least been a sergeant major," Peter said.

"Sergeant major? More or less. I had a special operations squad under my command, and I led them on missions."

That finally caught Peter's interest. "You were Special Forces? Which unit were you with? SEALs? Or some elite strike team?"

Steve smiled. "We liked to call ourselves the Patriot Squad, but you've probably heard a more famous name."

Peter looked curious. "What was it?"

"Captain America and His Friends."

Peter's mouth fell open, his eyes widening. "You were in Captain America's squad? Oh my God! That was nearly a hundred years ago. You..."

"Oh, right, of course. Captain America wasn't an ordinary person. Some of them must have survived until now. So you know Captain America? Oh my God..."

Peter dashed into the back room, pulled out his backpack, rummaged through it, and produced a figurine. He said:

"Look, this is the latest bottle-cap figurine from their collaboration with a soda company. I drank two whole cases of soda to get this one. It's the only one in the entire collection with a shield. At the party a few days ago, everyone was so jealous of me. This was way more attention-grabbing than doing some breakdancing or whatever."

Steve narrowed his eyes at the tiny figurine. He took it and turned it over, discovering that its head seemed to move. He gently wiggled it with a finger, but apparently used too much force. With a snap, the little figure's head broke off. Peter cried out and rushed over to snatch it back.

"Oh no, it's broken!! Glue! I need glue! It took me two whole months to collect this!!"

"I'm sorry, uh..." Steve said. "I've never played with one of these. I thought it was supposed to move."

"Oh, it's fine. If you really are from seventy or eighty years ago, then toys back then really were sturdier than they are now. Like LEGO and stuff. They had LEGO back then too, right?"

Seeing that Peter was not angry, Steve felt Schiller's description of the kid had not been entirely accurate. Peter was a little excitable and somewhat childish, but he really could shoulder great responsibility.

"I think you should take a closer look," he said. "At that little thing's head. Doesn't it seem familiar?"

Peter picked up the figurine's head in confusion. The quality might not have been much, but the sculpting was quite detailed.

Steve watched the young man across from him. He looked down at the figurine, then up at him, then down at the figurine again, then up at him again. His eyes slowly widened into circles, and his mouth dropped so far open that his jaw looked ready to dislocate.

When Schiller returned carrying Pikachu, he found this exact scene before him. Pikachu waved his little stubby arms from Schiller's embrace. "Looks like we came back at the wrong time. We interrupted Jack and Rose's long-awaited reunion..."

Schiller rubbed its cheeks. "I told you to watch fewer romance movies."

Peter turned to Schiller again, stammering as he sought confirmation. "He's... I mean... he, that..."

Schiller pressed the button on the record player, and a mellow old song began to play. Patting Steve on the shoulder, he said, "Captain, it looks like he really wants to ask you for proof. Yes, I can tell what he means."

The Captain knocked on the bar counter. "Where's my proof?"

Natasha's pleasant voice came from inside. "Coming."

Before Peter could react, there was a rush of wind. A shining red-and-blue shield with a star in its center flew in. Steve caught it one-handed, and Peter stared without blinking. "That is so cool!"

Outside the door, Natasha leaned against the frame, looking somewhat lazy. "Welcome back, Captain."

Steve patted the shield. "Looks like you were prepared."

Schiller said to Natasha, "All right, save the sentimental old stories for later. Two days of consultation fees, five million dollars total. When will it arrive?"

Steve glanced at him. "You really intend to charge that much?"

"What else? You put bugs in this place and mooch meals here. Did I let you do that just because you're Captain America?"

"I thought we were friends," Steve said.

"Of course. If we weren't friends, five million dollars would only buy you one breakfast here."

"You charged Stark the same rate?" Steve asked.

"Next time, I'll charge him double."

Steve immediately turned to Natasha. "Pay him. And add an extra ten percent tip for me."