Chapter 1032: Astonishing Mortals (Nine) (Patreon)

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"This matter, we need to analyze it in two parts..." Schiller placed the two beer cans on the table, one on each side.

"The previous era and this era, your personality and your mission." Schiller intended to finish the light beer first, so he set the liquor aside, organized his thoughts for a moment, then continued:

"You're from the previous era, right?"

Steve, with his head bowed, nodded, then tilted his head back to take a sip of the alcohol. Schiller used his fingertip to trace the spilled alcohol on the table, forming a pattern, then said, "So now, we need to determine whether you adhere more to your personality or to your mission?"

Schiller's body language became more pronounced. While expressing the two aspects, his hands waved constantly in the air, but this actually made it easier for Steve to understand. He asked, "Are you asking whether I think of myself as Steve or as Captain America?"

Schiller also nodded. Steve looked ahead somewhat blankly, as if alcohol had clouded his thoughts. After a while, he spoke, "For a long time, people called me Captain America, and I also felt like I was Captain America, so at that time, I was Captain America."

"But when I woke up, I felt like myself again, Steve. I don't know what happened to me. Maybe I have a split personality."

"No, you don't. You need to listen to a professional psychologist..." Schiller repeated, emphasizing, "You don't have dissociative identity disorder; this is very normal..."

"Human self-awareness partly comes from society's perception of their needs." Schiller first proposed a theory, then, fearing Steve wouldn't understand, he continued:

"Society needs Captain America more. The identity of Captain America gives you a sense of being needed, it allows you to prove your worth, so you feel like you are Captain America."

"At that time, the U.S. needed recruits, recruiting needed propaganda figures. You were aware that you were contributing to the country. So, you willingly became Captain America."

"But when you woke up, Captain America was already dead. No one had any expectations of him, no one needed you anymore. You couldn't be Captain America, so naturally, you could only be Steve."

Schiller took two sips of beer, threw the empty beer can aside, then brought over the bottle of liquor that Steve had opened earlier. With his head hanging down, he said, "In this light, you are more inclined to be Captain America, but perhaps this is also a product of societal and environmental conditioning."

"Let's not discuss the causes for now, just look at the result. Choosing to be Steve is just a forced choice because you can't be Captain America. Deep down, you still want to be Captain America."

"But now, it's a time of peace after all. Occasionally, a few bad guys emerge, but their abilities don't match yours, dealing with them is easy. Just when Hydra gave you a challenge, but lately, they haven't caused trouble, so you don't feel needed anymore."

"Without this imminent sense of mission, you start to overthink, pondering philosophy, pondering the meaning of life. This is the root of your anxiety. You want to feel needed."

Steve remained silent for a moment, but nodded and said, "Am I like a war monger? A violent person, longing for fighting every day..."

Schiller vigorously shook his head, saying, "I've said it before, don't easily label yourself. You should listen to professional psychologists..."

"The highest human need is to fulfill one's self-worth. This is a normal emotion that everyone experiences. Look at Spider-Man, why did he transition from a street hero to a scientific researcher? It's because he feels more needed in the laboratory."

"Although the work in the laboratory is more tiring and mundane, scientific research is also very boring, with no pleasure whatsoever, completely incomparable to swinging around New York. Yet he's willing to do it because he feels needed."

"This desire to be needed, to realize one's self-worth, often overwhelms reason. For example, you know this work is hard and doesn't pay well, but sometimes you continue because without you, the project won't progress."

"If we see Captain America as a project, you are indeed the core of that project. Without Captain America, all their propaganda plans would be in vain."

Schiller took two more sips of alcohol, his speech becoming more unclear, but his thoughts far clearer. Or rather, the psychologist's analysis had become instinctual for him, even when his brain was numbed by alcohol, he could still pinpoint the problem accurately.

"The cause of your illness lies in falling from an environment where you were highly needed to one where you're not needed at all. The disparity in the realization of self-worth makes you feel very sad."

Schiller took a deep breath, made an effort to open his eyes wide, then said, "Returning to what we discussed earlier, the problem of the two parts..."

"You are Captain America from the previous era, and Steve from this era. From your previous attitude, it's evident that you still prefer the identity of Captain America from the previous era, feeling lost about the identity of Steve in this era."

"You've always been tense, wanting to restore the identity of Captain America from the previous era, that perfect person from the Golden Age, understanding everything, having everything under control... You dream of having that state."

"But reality is, partly because you're unwilling to adapt to the current restless era, partly because the times have indeed progressed too quickly, gradually slipping out of your control."

"I guess you would feel anxious about Spider-Man's combat suit and be stimulated to lose control, not just because the scene of his death left a shadow in your heart, but also because of the attitudes of the people towards several generations of Spider-Man."

"In your eyes, it's absurd and laughable that a hero who saves people would be universally condemned. You know the truth of the matter, that the first generation Spider-Man and the third generation Spider-Man are actually the same person, yet they receive vastly different treatments, and it feels absurd to you."

"One, now soaring high, at some point, even surpassing Iron Man and Captain America in popularity. The other, currently caught in the crossfire of public opinion, universally condemned as a clueless rich second generation..."

"But they're both Peter Parker, and you know this, which further proves your bias, that the people of this era are far inferior to the previous era, just a bunch of hypocritical and superficial kids..."

"Such biases continually reinforced, give you more reasons to evade the lifestyle of this era. After all, they're all a bunch of rotten people. Why should I adopt their way of life? Why should I integrate into their society?"

"The more you look down on the people of this era, the more you want to prove that the spiritual beacon of the previous era was a perfect individual. So, the more you dare not make mistakes, the more nervous and anxious you become..."

"So, what wisdom does the most professional psychologist have?" Steve hiccupped again, leaning back on the sofa, revealing his chest and neck that he had been covering up. Clearly, he was already a bit drunk.

However, to Steve's surprise, Schiller didn't launch into a lengthy discourse. Instead, he fell silent until Steve called out to him, "Schiller?... Schiller?"

Schiller seemed to suddenly awaken, after a moment, he closed his eyes, shook his head, then said, "What do you think I can do? If I had a solution, would I still be a U.S. psychologist?"

Upon hearing this, amidst his haze, Steve suddenly remembered Schiller's background; he was also a relic from the former Soviet Union.

"Oh, right, I forgot, you're Soviet Union." Steve slumped sideways, curling up at the edge of the sofa, taking another two sips of alcohol, completely ignoring the spilled liquid soaking his shirt.

"Well, this time, the Soviet Union won." Steve covered his face, chuckling, "After all these years, we meet again, you're a doctor, and I'm the patient."

"Wasn't it like this before?" Schiller leaned forward, staring at Steve, his words slurred, "Only the Soviet Union can cure the U.S.'s hypocrisy, superficiality, and lack of practicality..."

Steve suddenly burst into laughter, but the alcohol he hadn't fully swallowed made him cough. He leaned forward again, continuously nodding his head, "Yes... Yes... It's always been like this... We... we have a doctor-patient relationship..."

"Steve, listen..." Schiller extended a hand, and Steve focused his eye contact on it. Schiller wagged a finger, like those who start bragging when drunk, saying:

"I deceived the military, threatened Congress, even blew up a bunch of important figures. They were all fooled by me..."

"I'm a fraud, a bad guy, with no moral boundaries. If I want to do something, no one can stop me..."

"But... but..." Schiller took another sip of alcohol, as if he was forcing himself to stay focused, "Through my unscrupulous practices, I realized... the previous era can't come back. Stop dreaming, Captain America, the Red Giant, and the Golden Beacon can't come back..."

"So, am I still considered lucky?" Steve coughed twice, then said, "The U.S. spirit is gone, the Golden Age is gone, but at least, the nation still stands..."

"That's right... that's right... You U.S. folks, are you satisfied now?" Schiller slammed the bottle heavily on the table, then said, "I can never go back to my country, never... never..."

"She's still there, but she's not the same. They're different..." Schiller kept mumbling incoherently. Steve felt equally saddened by the profound sorrow in his tone and emotion. So, he tremblingly reached out and placed his hand on Schiller's shoulder, saying:

"You can stay here. This is also your home because you have friends here. We are all your friends..." Steve retched a little, covering his chest, then wiped his mouth, saying:

"Everything your country has sacrificed will be remembered by history. Everything you've sacrificed will be remembered by your friends..."

"This should apply to yourself as well." Schiller locked eyes with Steve, somewhat dazed, saying, "If you can console yourself like this, you won't need a professional psychologist like me..."

"I realize, you really care about whether you're professional or not..." Steve began to laugh foolishly, his deep laughter echoing in the room, causing even the air to vibrate continuously. He chuckled, "You're so drunk, yet you still emphasize that you're a professional psychologist..."

"I'm not drunk." Schiller vigorously shook his head, muttering, "I can write you a pathological analysis right now, with precise wording, elegant sentences, not a single punctuation error..."

Steve laughed even harder, the anxiety and suppression, along with the chaos and madness brought by alcohol, completely dissipating.

The two sat on opposite sides of the table, like a doctor and patient separated by the table, speaking freely and without restraint, like comrades and friends, also like waving to each other across the Pacific Ocean, greeting the previous era.

Steve covered his face, unable to contain his laughter. After a while, he calmed down and said, "You know what? You're really like Howard."

"After he got drunk, he wrote a twenty-thousand-word essay on anti-gravity automotive transmission systems... something, something, possibility research, then dragged me in, insisting I listen to his paper presentation, and blamed me for not asking him questions..."

"He's so unprofessional. Does he still consider himself a big student?" Schiller also started laughing, then said, "I'm always the one pointing out others' problems. In this world... there's no one... more professional than me..."

The bottle in Schiller's hand loosened, and he leaned against the side of the sofa, as if he had collapsed from drunkenness.

Seeing him completely drunk, Steve took a few deep breaths, making his modified heart beat faster. After accelerating blood circulation, alcohol would be metabolized more quickly.

Slightly regaining some awareness, Steve helped Schiller up. This time, he was sure Schiller was truly drunk because a drunk person being helped up felt dead weight.

The next morning, when Schiller woke up from bed, holding his throbbing head, he said to Grey Mist, "I told you not to filter the alcohol, but you didn't have to make the hangover feel so real, did you?"

Grey Mist whimpered plaintively a couple of times, just as Schiller heard the telephone at the head of the bed ringing. Enduring the discomfort, he answered the phone, then said, "Hello?... What? Stark's anxiety disorder has flared up again? What happened?"

"He had a fight with Peter?? How could they fight???... It seems things are complicated. Alright, I'll be right over."

[Read at www.patreon.com/shanefreak, and thanks for the invaluable support!]

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