Chapter 2

If Schiller were to create a psychological profile of Batman in the comics, Batman's greatest trait would not be caution, wisdom, or strategic planning, but rather suspicion.

Batman never fully trusts anyone.

This tendency towards skepticism has become a defining feature of his personality, and his doubts and conspiracy theories have become deeply ingrained in his being. The more intelligent he becomes, the more suspicious he grows.

Naturally, Schiller's response left the young Batman deeply unsettled, plunging him into a sea of doubt.

Bruce never believed that anyone could penetrate his innermost thoughts. He had unwavering faith in his disguise. He believed even Alfred, his childhood guardian, only knew a fraction of who he really was.

But this unassuming psychology professor had given him the most improbable answer, yet the most precise and penetrating one.

Until this moment, the burning and intense emotion in Bruce's heart had confirmed his yearning for this answer - it was time to commence his revenge.

The individual who provided him with the answer extinguished Bruce's desire for revenge, which had just been ignited. He found it difficult to accept that someone could perceive the devilish nature concealed within him.

Before departing for class, Schiller's parting words were, "Our consultation has ended. Goodbye, Mr. Wayne." Schiller was aware that Bruce would face ongoing challenges. He couldn't comprehend why Bruce was attending classes when he should be evolving into Batman, the champion of justice. Why must he have a hard time getting along with these conscientious educators?

Schiller had a thoughtful look on his face as he watched Bruce leave the consultation room. The young man was clueless, but Schiller had no doubt that he would soon realize the truth. Once he did, the gangs and criminal organizations of Gotham City would give him a headache.

If only Batman could triumph over Gotham's malevolence, Schiller could finally breathe a sigh of relief. However, despite the absence of notorious criminals like the Joker, the city was infested with countless gangsters, rendering it still perilous.

Maybe he ought to mentor this new Batman to guarantee that Gotham ultimately attains a day without wickedness.

Despite his reputation, Schiller knew that his success was largely due to the previous owner's record. He followed the principle of "you get what you pay for" and began teaching as soon as he sat down in class. However, the moment the class was over, he vanished into thin air, leaving no room for after-class queries. He knew that the students in this city were a lazy lot who lacked any real zeal for learning.

If he pushed them too hard, they might even resort to violence, descending upon his doorstep in the dead of night to teach him a lesson. Schiller bided his time, waiting for the opportune moment when he could gain their obedience

Schiller had been behaving like this for the past five days, but luckily, the original Schiller had been quite introverted with few friends. His appointment as a professor at Gotham University had only happened a few months ago, so he wasn't very familiar with the faculty.

During lunch, Peter sent a message: "Mr. Schiller, everything is going terribly," accompanied by a sad emoji. Schiller knew that this chatting system wasn't a brain-to-brain communication. It only worked as a telepathy-like communication on his side, while Peter happened to be talking to a friend online, and Charles received the message while browsing educational forums in his free time.

The system converted chats with different characters into a format that they could understand. Peter used social networking software, while Charles preferred knowledge-based forums. If it were Thanos, it might be some sort of cosmic network signal. The system made sure that Schiller's questions didn't come across as sudden to the other person and only promised a reply to Schiller's first question. After that, it was up to Schiller to keep the conversation going.

Spider-Man was his primary chat partner now, and Schiller found the young hero to be naive but well-meaning. As he read Peter's message, he couldn't help but wonder what kind of trouble the teenager had gotten himself into this time.

Schiller raised an eyebrow as he read Peter's message. For someone like Charles, who was a sly old fox, Schiller didn't have complete confidence and wouldn't easily probe him. He knew he had to tread carefully. Though, Peter was a different case.

"What's wrong, Peter? Are things not going well with Gwen?" Schiller typed back.

"Oh, it's really not going well, but that's not what's terrible," Peter replied.

Schiller leaned back in his chair, wondering what could be worse than relationship troubles. "What's the matter then? Did you mess up an experiment?" he asked.

"Sort of. I knocked over a piece of experimental equipment that looked dangerous, and a... spider inside ran out and bit me," Peter said.

Schiller stared at the message from Spider-Man, feeling a sense of unease. He knew that every interaction he had with the young hero could have a profound impact on his fate.

As they chatted, Schiller learned that this version of Spider-Man came from the Earth-616 universe. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt as he remembered how he had influenced Peter's path in life.

It all started with Gwen. Peter would often gush to Schiller about how charming and lovely she was. But Schiller, annoyed by Peter's chatterbox tendencies, had given him advice on how to pursue her. And it had worked.

Gwen had landed an internship at Osborn Industries, and Schiller had encouraged Peter to apply as well. It wasn't long before Peter was accepted, and it was there, not at a science exhibition, that he was bitten by a spider from an experimental device.

Schiller couldn't help but wonder if he had set Peter on a different path. But then again, he knew that as the weaver of the spider totem had chosen Peter, he would have been bitten one way or another.

Schiller comforted the poor little spider and went back to sleep, hoping that he hadn't altered Spider-Man's destiny too much.

The city of Gotham lay shrouded in a thick blanket of darkness that seemed almost palpable. The only source of light was the dim glow of the streetlights that flickered weakly in the distance. The night was so still that the sound of a pin dropping would have echoed like a gunshot. Bruce sat in his chair, his eyes fixed on the moon that hung low in the sky, barely visible through the dense fog that surrounded the city.

He clutched a stack of papers in his hand, his grip tight and unwavering. The name printed on the top page was Schiller Anders Rodriguez. Bruce's mind raced as he pored over the contents of the file, his thoughts consumed by the man whose name he held. The darkness of the night seemed to seep into his soul, as he sat alone, lost in contemplation.

The silence was overwhelming, broken only by the occasional sound of a car engine or the distant wail of a siren. The moon, a mere sliver in the sky, struggled to cast even a glimmer of light through the thick haze. Yet Bruce sat there, his eyes fixed on the pages before him, as if searching for some hidden answer that lay buried within.

Schiller lay in a deep slumber, oblivious to the fact that the Dark Knight had delved into his past. The system beeped with warnings, but the sound barely registered in his subconscious. He was lost in the embrace of a deep and dreamless sleep.

Suddenly, a brilliant blue light traversed his body, causing him to stir. The system's alarms grew more insistent, but Schiller remained unfazed, impervious to its attempts to rouse him from his slumber. It was as if something was blocking the warning signals, preventing them from reaching their intended target.

Then, as if from nowhere, a discordant burst of noise shattered the stillness of the night. Schiller's form vanished into thin air, leaving no trace of his existence behind.

A metallic voice filled the void left by his sudden disappearance. "Emergency protection system activated. Locating universe... locating universe... universe received and identity information being written... writing... writing failed... writing... writing successful."

When Schiller awoke, he rubbed his eyes, momentarily disoriented. The brilliant sunlight streaming in through the window was almost blinding, and he wondered if he was still dreaming. After all, was it even possible for the dark and foreboding Gotham City to bask in the warmth of the sun's rays?

Schiller groggily pulled back the curtains, his eyes adjusting to the bright sunshine that flooded the room. The warm light poured through the window, illuminating the luxurious apartment where he found himself. It was a stark contrast to the dreary Gotham weather he was used to.

He turned away from the window and caught sight of a mess on his desk, bottles of alcohol scattered among papers and a work badge carelessly strewn to the side. As he read the name on the badge, "Schiller, a psychiatrist at the Presbyterian Hospital in New York," he couldn't help but wonder if he had time traveled again.

Before he could dwell on his confusion, his phone erupted into a shrill ring, jolting him back to reality. He answered to hear someone frantically yelling on the other end, "Dr. Schiller! Where are you? You can't miss today's joint consultation! Are you drunk again?! Please come over right now!"

With a sense of urgency, Schiller quickly gathered his credentials and made his way downstairs in search of a car. He didn't know much about the situation he was in, so he just followed his gut.

In the garage, he spotted a gleaming Mercedes that looked similar to his own car. Without hesitation, he pressed the key and the engine roared to life.

Thanks to Schiller's previous academic exchange in New York and his keen sense of direction, he managed to arrive at the massive Presbyterian Hospital in record time. As he strode through the entrance, the receptionist hurried over to him, breathless with urgency. "Dr. Schiller, please hurry. The joint consultation has already started."

Schiller nodded curtly, his mind focused on the task at hand. Following the receptionist's lead, he quickly made his way to the conference room.

Upon entering, the room fell silent momentarily before resuming their discussion. Schiller quietly took his seat, which had been specifically reserved for him.

It was clear that he had a reputation among the psychiatrists in his department, as he was one of the top-ranked doctors. Across from him sat someone who was not a psychiatrist, and one of the other doctors appeared to be quite conceited. " It would be prudent to have the novices examine the patient initially to prevent any impulsive behavior that could result in surgical mishaps," he said.

As Schiller gazed at his name badge, he couldn't help but feel a sense of déjà vu wash over him. Stephen. Stephen Strange. Doctor Strange! It all suddenly clicked into place. He had transmigrated to the world of Marvel.

He couldn't shake off the absurd thought. Was he dead again? Did he become the inciting incident for Batman's next adventure while snoring away in his bed? Boy, if that's the case, he better ask for some royalties from DC Comics!

He shook his thoughts to rid the useless thoughts and focused on the meeting.

Schiller had little interest in the man before him. Based on Strange's demeanor, he was likely still far from the car accident that transformed him into the renowned sorcerer. Instead, he came across as a self-absorbed and contemptuous person who held both people and animals in low regard.

Strange seemed to have taken an instant dislike to him. It was no secret that Schiller had been drinking heavily the night before and was tardy for the consultation the following day. Strange, being something of a neat freak, found Schiller's unprofessional conduct intolerable. He held a low opinion of psychiatrists in general and was thoroughly disgusted by Schiller.

Throughout the meeting, Strange persisted in finding fault with Schiller, but the latter refused to be ruffled by his jibes. He stuck to the script and disregarded Strange entirely. Yet even after the meeting had adjourned, Strange made a point of bumping into him, a clear act of aggression.

The man's imbecility had grated on his nerves, but he knew that one day he would learn his lesson, likely after some trouble. Schiller would have reminded him of this fact, but the man was just too annoying.

Just as Schiller was about to leave, his phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. A woman's voice, both pleasant and anxious, spoke on the other end. "Dr. Schiller, has your consultation ended? Can you come to Stark Building now? Tony is not doing well..."

Tony Stark? Schiller wondered when he was supposed to see him. Was Iron Man yet to be kidnapped, or had he already returned?

Before he had a chance to search for information online, Stark's car pulled up in front of the hospital. Schiller quickly climbed in and found a beautiful woman with a businesslike appearance sitting in the passenger seat. "Since Tony came back, as you know, he was like that during the last diagnosis," she explained. "He started throwing tantrums for no reason and doing crazy things. I heard him crying last night..."

"Miss Potts, are you okay?" Schiller asked with concern.

Pepper, as she introduced herself, covered her eyes and replied, "I'm sorry, but please be diligent in your treatment this time."

Schiller understood. Iron Man had returned after being kidnapped, and he had discovered that his company's weapons were being used in unjust wars. Schiller was likely brought in as a psychologist during Stark's period of psychological struggle, and Pepper was too worried to wait any longer.