Schiller could feel Stark's chaos before he even opened the door. With telepathy now in his toolkit, Tony's tangled storm of thoughts slammed into him through the walls, giving him a migraine.
He took a deep breath and stepped inside. Tony looked up, rolled his eyes so hard they almost hit the ceiling, and went back to sulking.
He wasn't in tatters—Tony Stark would never allow that—but Schiller could tell he was on the edge. Pride alone was keeping him from falling apart in front of Pepper.
Schiller cleared his throat. Pepper gave Tony one last worried glance before slipping out, leaving them alone. Schiller sat down opposite and asked, "Mr. Stark, may I ask you a question?"
Tony sneered. "What, you gonna mystify me with philosophy? Or bore me with useless psychobabble?"
"No," Schiller said. "I just want to know—what's my hourly rate?"
Tony blinked. "What?"
"I said I'd like to confirm my consultation fee. Miss Potts discussed it with me while I was drunk, and I've since forgotten."
Tony stared, speechless, then flailed his hands. "You're supposed to start with one of those abstract shrink things! Like, 'what's the meaning of life?' or 'who hurt you?' or 'you are allowed to feel how you feel' That crap."
"Yes, that comes later. But first, I need to know if you can actually afford me."
Tony gaped. "Do you have any idea who I am?! You don't recognize me? Don't recognize this tower?!"
"Oh, I know you're rich, Mr. Stark. But having money and being willing to spend it are two very different things."
"…How much?"
"One million dollars an hour. Non-negotiable."
Tony shot to his feet. "You're insane! A million?! I could have a yacht with a dozen models—"
"Funny," Schiller interrupted mildly, "I seem to recall someone saying they were very rich."
Tony actually sputtered. "Pepper sent you to mess with me, didn't she?! Fine! Tell her she's won! I've already explained that last party was just to say goodbye to old flames, not to start anything new—why won't she believe me?!"
"Because," Schiller said evenly, "a yacht full of models doesn't help when you think you're dying."
That shut Tony up. He froze, stiffened, then slowly turned back, suspicion flashing in his eyes.
Schiller stayed calm. "What you fear isn't death itself. It's dying before you can fix your mistakes."
Tony's expression twisted. "Bullshit. Who are you? Did Pepper tell you something—no, even she doesn't know—" He glared. "Don't pull this psychic crap on me. I don't believe in mind-reading."
"There's no such thing as mind-reading," Schiller said smoothly. "Only psychology."
He stood up, adjusted his glasses. "Feel free to keep stalling. Every extra minute adds more than 100k to my paycheck. I'll have a new car by lunch."
Tony growled, "How did you figure it out? That joke of a science you call psychology?"
"That's not important. What matters is this: my advice is simple. Fix the death problem first. Of course, you'll think I'm oversimplifying."
Tony's eyes narrowed. "And how do I do that?"
Schiller shrugged. "Pay half up front, and I'll tell you."
Tony nearly exploded. "You—! You're out of your mind!" He snatched his phone and barked into it: "Pepper, darling? Where the hell did you find this bloodsucker of a doctor? He's charging me a million an hour!"
Schiller plucked the phone from his hand. "Miss Potts, just so you know—Mr. Stark measures one million dollars in units of 'a yacht full of models.'"
He hung up, waved the phone, and said, "Funds should hit in five minutes."
Tony glowered, arms crossed. "…Fine. Talk. Let's see what you've got."
"You're running from something," Schiller said.
"What? I don't run from anything."
"Ask yourself. The answer's right there. And I don't mean Pepper's calls or flirty texts from exes. I mean the real thing."
Schiller leaned back, arms folded, pushing his glasses higher. "I've never seen such a peculiar case. Unique. Rare."
Tony shuddered. "Hey, back off. I'm not into men."
"You're not as ridiculous as you pretend to be. I know someone just like you—a man who played the fool, hid behind the mask of a playboy, acting like he didn't care about tomorrow."
"But he was brilliant. Too brilliant. And he spent his whole life waiting for one answer. An answer buried in his past."
Tony stared. Quietly, he said, "Two million. You leave now. I'll tell Pepper you did wonders."
"If I'm not mistaken," Schiller replied, "Pepper's listening right now."
Tony froze.
"Two million," Schiller said, "and I'll give you something real."
"…Deal."
"The answer you're dodging lies in your past. I've read the news, Mr. Stark. The founder of Stark Industries—your father—"
"Enough." Tony's voice cracked. He turned away, shoulders rigid.
"You'll find he's willing to give you a second life," Schiller said quietly. "God bless."
"Get out."
Schiller left. Moments later, glass shattered behind him.
Across town, in an S.H.I.E.L.D. office, Nick Fury pressed a hand to his earpiece. "Get everything on the psychiatrist named Schiller. I want a full report. Now."
Meanwhile, Schiller checked his account, saw the hefty deposit, and grinned. Rich people were a headache, but at least they paid premium rates for therapy.
And then—another surprise. He discovered the system now let him copy Spider-Man's powers.
It wasn't a bug before—Peter just hadn't been bitten yet. Now that he had, Schiller could claim them.
One click, and—[Spider-Sense (Basic) acquired].
No overwhelming flood this time. Just sharper senses—seeing farther, hearing clearer. His instincts, though, didn't feel much different yet.
Shame he didn't get Peter's physique. But it was only the watered-down version. At best, a modest athletic boost, nowhere near wall-crawling or skyscraper-hopping.
Still, Spider-Man had started small as well. Powers grew with time. For now, it was just "a bit above human."
Which meant his story was officially rolling. Uncle Ben might soon be in danger.
So Schiller sent Peter a message: How are you feeling? Do you want a checkup? I'm a doctor. I can set you up with someone good.
Peter's reply came fast: "Whoa! You're a doctor? That's so cool. Which hospital? What kind of doctor? Orthopedics? But honestly, I don't think I need it. I feel amazing! I think Gwen's gonna say yes soon—"
Kid… Schiller sighed. Hormones over health.
He wrote back: Bites from experimental animals are no joke. Come for a full exam. We could even meet up.
Peter hesitated. Meeting an "online friend" in real life didn't sound smart. And with new powers, he was too hyped to sit in a waiting room.
So Schiller added: Bring Gwen too. Presbyterian Hospital. I'll get you both free full checkups. Afterward, there's a nice café nearby.
That got Peter thinking. Free exams at NewYork–Presbyterian weren't easy to come by, even for Gwen's family.
Finally, Peter said: "Thanks! But… could I bring my uncle and aunt instead? They're older. Maybe that's asking too much. Forget it if it's trouble."
Schiller smirked. Perfect.
"Of course. I'll book you all for this weekend. And invite Gwen's family if you'd like. I have plenty of slots."
Peter lit up, racing to call Gwen. For once, he could do something for her. She was always the one slipping him snacks and yogurt, helping him because of his rough home life.
Now he had a chance to return the favor. A full checkup at Presbyterian was worth its weight in gold—even Captain Stacy couldn't skip the line for one.
Peter thought his luck had never been better. New powers, a doctor friend at a top hospital, and soon his uncle and aunt would see that chatting online wasn't a waste of time.