"I've never met such an insufferable guy in my life! I swear, if he'd been on the battlefield, his commanding officer would've had him shot a hundred times over by now!"
Steve paced furiously around the living room of Schiller's clinic, fists clenched at his waist as he roared out his opinion. He looked every bit the angry lion, his soldier's aura impossible to ignore.
"I should've slammed him with a bear hug takedown—see if that damn tin can of his shatters like glass!" Steve growled.
But why was Steve so angry? To explain, we have to go back to last night…
That night, Peter had just finished his final exams. He was itching to get out and swing across New York again. Weeks of cramming had left him suffocating; he missed the cool wind whipping past as he leapt between skyscrapers.
But recently, his relationship with Gwen had been heating up fast. Naturally, after finals, Gwen invited him to a party. She thought Peter was too much of a shut-in and insisted he come along to socialize and celebrate.
Peter really wanted to go be a superhero—but he liked Gwen too much to say no. Gentle warmth, or heroic duty? In the end, Peter chose Gwen, happily accompanying her to the party.
Of course, Schiller wasn't the only one who was expecting Spider-Man to show up after finals. The genius Tony Stark was also looking for him.
Tony's interest wasn't romantic—he had business. Peter's homemade web-shooters had caught his eye, proof of serious creative scientific talent. Tony wanted to invite him to intern at Stark Industries during the break—and maybe even build him a proper spider-suit.
Cocky though he was, Tony knew enough not to show up at Peter's school in the Iron Man armor. That would've caused chaos. So he waited for Peter to come out after exams, planning to meet him in the skies over Manhattan.
The plan was solid—except Peter chose romance over heroics. So while Peter partied with Gwen, Iron Man circled the skies for nothing, never catching sight of the swinging figure he sought.
But while Tony missed Spider-Man, he did bump into someone else searching for him.
Captain America.
Unlike Peter, Steve didn't need webs—he vaulted between rooftops with sheer strength and precision, his body honed through endless battle. His mastery of himself was absolute.
Just as he was closing in on Schiller's so-called "swinging kid," a flash of red-and-gold armor appeared beside him.
Steve stopped on a rooftop. The flamboyant suit hovered in the air. A voice crackled from within:
"Well, well, another wannabe hero? One wall-crawling kid isn't enough for New York? What's your codename—Aryan Superman?"
"I thought modern men would have better manners," Steve shot back. "And you are? Some kind of turtle-shelled tin soldier?"
"You don't recognize Iron Man? What rock did you crawl out from, old-timer? Don't tell me my dazzling armor's blinded you already, hahaha!"
By now, Iron Man had some fame in New York. Crude though his rescues often were, the armor's flash and power had earned him plenty of admirers. Videos of him in action circulated widely; he even had fan sites. He was becoming a national name.
"Yes, I'm old-fashioned," Steve admitted. "But at least I know how to show respect. Shouldn't you introduce yourself before running your mouth?"
Tony didn't care much about hiding his identity—after all, the guy in front of him clearly wasn't normal. No civilian could leap ten meters in a single bound.
So, with swagger, he said, "As you can see, I'm Tony Stark. Who else but me could build armor like this?"
Steve froze. His expression shifted.
"You're… Stark? You mean you bear that name?"
"And what's your relation to Howard Stark?"
The armor lowered. Tony's voice sharpened: "Don't mention that name to me, freak. What's it to you?"
"You mean you've no relation to him, yet inherited Stark Industries?" Steve's expression darkened further.
Before Tony could toss back another barb, Steve struck—hurling him across the rooftop with overwhelming force.
Unlike the fledgling Spider-Man, Captain America was no rookie. In the comics, he'd shattered Stark's armor more than once. Tony's current suit, still early in its development, wasn't ready for a fight at this level. Steve, however, had never fallen from his peak.
The Mark V sparked violently. JARVIS sounded alarms as Tony struggled—he'd never faced raw power like this. Steve's strength made the advanced alloy hull feel as fragile as a cracker.
Steve pinned him by the waist, then rained blows onto the helmet, smashing it apart with ease. JARVIS screamed warnings.
"Activate shock discharge!" Tony shouted.
"Warning: this will critically damage the suit."
"I said, do it!"
With a thunderous crack, the Mark V discharged electricity in all directions. Steve was blasted back, Tony ejected forcefully, both of them smoking, hair standing on end.
"You damn thief!" Steve roared.
"You lunatic!" Tony barked. "Why attack me out of nowhere? I don't even know you!"
"But I knew old Stark—we were friends!" Steve shot back, grabbing Tony by the collar. "Tell me—how did you get control of Stark Industries? What happened to Howard's heirs? What did you do to them?"
JARVIS whispered in Tony's ear: "Based on Dr. Schiller's microexpression analysis, this may be a massive misunderstanding."
Tony snapped, "You think I need microexpression analysis right now?!"
Glaring at Steve, still held by the collar, Tony sneered. "Are you deaf? When did I say I wasn't related to Howard—"
Steve gave him the look you'd give a senile old man.
"Damn it! I did say it—but that's not what I meant!"
Tony glanced aside, unwillingly muttering: "He's my father. But my genius has nothing to do with him…"
Steve flung him to the ground. Tony yelped.
"You're nothing like him. Your father was a brave soldier. And you—you're insufferable."
Indeed, Tony's arrogance was bone-deep. Few ever found him easy company.
Tony sat up, snapping: "Are you delusional? How could you possibly know my father? What is this, a past-life connection?"
Steve didn't bother explaining. He'd gone out seeking Schiller's "swinging kid," and instead found Howard's son—a son who'd grown crooked. Frustration and guilt boiled in him.
Then came a rush of air. Before he could react, another suit grabbed him and hurled him off from the rooftop.
The fall didn't kill him, of course—Cap rolled to his feet. Looking up, he saw Stark on the roof, sneering, clad in fresh armor.
The faceplate lifted. "Maybe you were my dad's friend. But my friends don't move that slow."
And with that, Iron Man blasted away.
Furious, Steve slammed his fist into the pavement.
Which brings us back to now: Steve, pacing and fuming in Schiller's clinic, railing against Tony Stark.
If Tony were just some stranger, Steve wouldn't care. But Tony was Howard's son—and Howard had fought shoulder to shoulder with him. To see his comrade's heir turn out like this filled Steve with anger, and a hint of shame—like he'd failed in his duty.
After Steve left, Coulson called Schiller.
"Doctor, I admit my earlier praise was polite courtesy. But now? It's absolutely true."
"The Captain came back energized, tore through ten trainers in the gym, and when Director Fury spoke about forming a special task force, he agreed immediately—and even demanded a dedicated training facility."
"My God, Doctor. Captain America's been reborn!"
Schiller smiled. "The drive to act doesn't always come from duty or ideals. Sometimes, it comes from anger."
Coulson was puzzled. "He does seem angry… What happened? Did he run into trouble?"
"Just a little problem," Schiller said. "But not the one you can solve."
He hung up.
Just then, the clinic's doorbell chimed. Peter walked in wearing his school jacket, bag slung over one shoulder, waving.
"Hey, Doc! You won't believe what an awesome party I just went to…"
Schiller gave him a look. Peter reeked of booze, clearly fresh from the party. Too nervous to go home drunk, he'd come here instead.
"You really ought to thank Stark," Schiller said dryly. "He took a beating in your place…"
Peter blinked, baffled. "Huh?"