"Disappointed?"
Lying in bed, Schiller picked up an orange segment and tossed it into his mouth. As he chewed, he said, "Stark and Bruce are the same kind of person. Do you think I don't know what they're like?"
On the table, Pikachu struggled to peel another orange with his tiny paws, only to get orange juice splashed into his eyes. He rubbed his big black eyes and asked, "So you're just staying here? Seriously, even if you really do have a mental illness, being hospitalized here probably won't solve anything, right?"
Schiller did not answer. Instead, he opened the bedside drawer and rummaged through it. "Where's the remote? I remember the nurse saying this TV works..."
There was a television on the wall facing Schiller's bed, which was quite rare. Generally, psychiatric wards did not have TVs, since television programs could be unpredictable, and certain images, sounds, and lights might stimulate patients. But perhaps Stark had spoken to the hospital in advance. Schiller's room was more like a convalescent suite, and an outrageously expensive one at that, with every conceivable piece of equipment.
After raising the bed, taking hold of the fruit plate, and turning on the television with the remote, Schiller began eating oranges while watching TV.
Just then, his phone rang. He picked it up, glanced at the number, and answered. "Yes... You're coming over? All right, I happen to be free right now. Last time, you told me you'd been on a TV show. I was just about to watch it..."
As Schiller listened to Peter's somewhat helpless voice on the phone, he changed channels with the remote. Just as he finally found the variety show, there was a dull thud from the balcony window.
With a clatter, the balcony door was pulled open. Peter, dressed