"Peter spoke while eating, "Things don't look too good. Yesterday, when I went to the lab to see Mr. Stark, Colonel Rhodes seemed to be trying to persuade him."
Peter added, "I don't really understand all of this, but I do know that if Mr. Stark's suits end up in the hands of the military, that might not be a good thing."
"As Stark's friend, Colonel Rhodes is probably torn, since he also represents the interests of a whole group of people."
"You're sharper than I thought. I figured you wouldn't really grasp the situation."
Peter shook his head. "I don't understand the details, but I do know one thing—everyone wants those suits, because they're powerful."
"No," came the reply. "It's because they're weapons. If it were just a cleaning robot, even one that could scrub New York spotless in a single instant, the military wouldn't care at all."
Peter fell silent for a moment. "I don't think the suits should be handed over, but I also know Mr. Stark is under immense pressure. Should I… I mean, should I try to comfort him? Or should I warn him? I can't just sit back and do nothing, right?"
"I think you should focus on yourself first. If you can fully control your powers, then maybe all of this will feel small in comparison."
As Peter predicted, the very next day Schiller's clinic welcomed an expected guest—James Rhodes, better known as Colonel Rhodes.
He got straight to the point: "The military needs Stark's suit technology. But he keeps stalling. I just want to know—what's he planning? And is S.H.I.E.L.D. playing a role in this?"
"You don't even want to be here," Schiller said. "I can tell."
Rhodes tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Seems Stark's been paying you a high retainer for a reason."
"Your superiors know better than to ask Stark directly—S.H.I.E.L.D. would beat you to the answer. But asking me won't help either."
"The military needs Stark's suits. They'd give us an edge in many places… they could save lives."
"And yet the hesitation in your heart makes your words sound flat. Colonel Rhodes, I know you're conflicted. The military is pressuring Stark, but he's also your friend. So you tell yourself these suits might do some good—just so you can live with the guilt of betraying him."
"Obeying orders is a soldier's duty," Rhodes said firmly.
"That's true. But what about Stark? Your friend? You'd pressure him, again and again, into betraying himself—using friendship as a leash."
"You know how much he values you. Stark doesn't have many friends, but you're one of them… maybe the most important one. You know he'd compromise for you. He'd do the one thing he hates most—yield."
"You know Stark will give in eventually. If you were cornered by your superiors, he'd save you."
"Enough." Rhodes pressed his lips into a thin line.
Schiller clicked his pen, the sharp sound snapping Rhodes back to attention. "Maybe it's because you have something he doesn't—that's why he'd do this for you. My advice? Hold onto that. Stark's friendship is worth more than the military's demands. Not because he's rich—"
"But because of the qualities he sees in you. Things even he lacks. Qualities worth more than hollow honors. Qualities worth clinging to with pride."
Rhodes said nothing.
The next day, when Schiller visited Stark Tower, he crossed paths with Rhodes on his way out. An aide walked beside him, visibly pleased, as if they'd gotten what they came for. But Rhodes' expression hadn't lightened. His face was taut, grim, and he didn't so much as glance at Schiller as he walked past.
Upstairs, Stark stood before his suits, silently studying them.
"Looks like you've decided. They got what they wanted, didn't they?" Schiller asked.
"Yeah." Stark turned, his shoulders tensing before dropping in resignation. He exhaled heavily. "I know I should've stuck with your advice—it was the right thing to do. But I didn't. I knew it was right, it wouldn't have cost me anything, and still I didn't do it…"
"I knew it would end this way," Schiller sighed as he jotted notes into his file. "People will pay any price to soothe their guilt, especially someone like you who's never lacked for material things. You gave up the optimal outcome just so Rhodes wouldn't feel torn. You paid a price to buy back a temporary friendship."
"Yes, you both call it friendship, and you mean it. But if both sides aren't equally willing, how long can it last? You keep paying, and one day the price will be too high. Maybe Rhodes will understand—but the world won't."
"When you feed someone's appetite like that, the cost of friendship becomes endless."
Stark's voice was low. "I've thought about that. I know. The moment I gave ground, I set myself on a path of loss. Today it's a slice of my tech; tomorrow they'll want all of it—and more weapons besides. From the day I realized how many civilians my weapons had killed, I understood: genius doesn't just create wealth. It breeds disaster."
His hand pressed against his eyes. "I've only recently grasped this fully. A genius's fate is always the same—cornered, with nowhere left to retreat. Once the world knows your mind can save it, they'll dream of using it to destroy it too."
Schiller walked to the floor-to-ceiling window. Outside, the New York sunset bathed everything in golden haze. Stark followed his gaze. The brilliant light blurred his vision until the world seemed painted in color. Schiller asked quietly, "When you're left with no retreat… what will you do?"
"This is my home," Stark said. "For Pepper, for J.A.R.V.I.S., for every Stark. No one can take that from me. If they want more…"
His eyes—brimming with layers of emotion—locked with Schiller's. His tone was steady, resolute:
"…Iron Man never retreats."
Schiller studied him. "Then have you ever considered flipping this ridiculous negotiation table instead?"
"You sound like the devil, tempting me."
"And that's far more effective than praying to God."
"I never pray. I don't believe in gods, or tricks, or myths…"
And then—everything in Stark's lab began to tremble.
One by one, objects rose into the air as if gravity had vanished—mugs, notebooks, laptops, wrenches.
The sunlight struck them from angles they'd never been meant to catch. Schiller stood in the middle of the levitating objects, his silhouette long and sharp in the glow.
The overlapping shadows formed a vast web. Stark stood inside it, and a single drop of water from a floating glass landed on his fingertip. He looked up at the suspended chaos, the everyday clutter hanging weightless beneath the ceiling—
And in that moment, he saw it:
The doorway to a new world."