The morning sun filtered through the windows as I sat at the breakfast table, swirling my coffee absently. Talking to Logan hadn't been some grand revelation—he wasn't the type for heartfelt speeches or moral grandstanding. But in a strange way, it had helped. Not because I'd poured my soul out to him, but because he listened without judgment. And more importantly, he didn't ask questions I wasn't ready to answer.
'Unless he opens his mouth, nothing big would happen.' I smirked into my cup. Logan wasn't a talker. That was one thing I could count on.
My thoughts drifted back to the X-Men. After observing them—their movements, their so-called "missions"—I'd pieced together their pattern. And it wasn't the saintly, altruistic image the world had been fed.
'One. They weren't as magnanimous as they pretended to be.' The X-Mansion was a fortress, but its inhabitants rarely left unless it was 'convenient'. A few outings a month, always calculated, always 'safe'. They didn't patrol the streets looking for Meta-Humans in need. They didn't intervene until the situation was dire—or until it involved someone powerful.
'How convenient and selective those actions were.'
'Two. They didn't truly understand Meta-Humans.' They took in kids, yes. But then what? No real training. No guidance on controlling their powers. Just a school with fancy gadgets and the vague hope that these kids would figure it out on their own. It was negligence disguised as charity. They hailed themselves as the led expert of Mutants, but their research was as flimsy and as clumsy as it can be, to the point that HYDRA knows more than them.
'Three. Their priorities were self-serving.' Magneto showed up? Immediate response. One of their own in trouble? They moved heaven and earth. But the hundreds of Meta-Humans suffering in the shadows? Silence.
'They preached about a safe future for Meta-Humans, but only acted when it was too late.' I don't really care if they wanted to do and have something for themselves, but don't preach their intention as a something that they did for the goodness of humankind.
And then there was Cerebro. The most powerful mutant-detecting system on the planet, and yet—somehow—90% of Meta-Humans never saw their help. The excuse? "We can't risk exposing ourselves."
Bullshit.
They worked with the CIA. SHIELD. Governments worldwide. They had resources, connections. But they chose to stay in their ivory tower, playing schoolteachers while the world burned.
And the worst part?
Charles Xavier knew.
He was a telepath. He had to know what happened to the students who left his care—how many were snatched off the streets, experimented on, killed. And yet, he did nothing. That was why I had no interest in meeting him. I didn't trust a man who saw everything and still looked away. In short, although slightly different, they do act the same their comics and movies counterparts.
"Sir, are you really a real-life prince?"
Clarice's voice snapped me out of my thoughts. She was staring at me with wide eyes, her fork hovering mid-air.
I blinked. "Yes, I am, Clarice."
The entire table went quiet. Even Melancon, usually so composed, nearly choked on his toast.
"So… should we call you 'Your Highness' now?" Melancon managed after a cough.
I smirked. "Not really. I don't care about titles. Just call me what you always do."
The kids exchanged glances. The news had broken worldwide—"Sai Morvayne, Genosha's Surviving Prince"—and thanks to Shadow Magina Investment Firm's media empire, it was everywhere. Hundreds of news outlets. Mwitter trending tags. The world was buzzing.
Clarice leaned forward, curiosity burning in her eyes. "But… you're royalty. Doesn't that mean you have, like, a kingdom?"
"Not anymore… Hmm, I kinda do?" I said simply. "It's Genosha…"
A heavy silence settled over the table. The kids knew better than to pry—they'd all lost something too. One internet search can reveal what or where Genosha is, and they knew that, that nation is in chaos all the time.
Melancon cleared his throat. "So… what now?"
I took a slow sip of coffee. "Now, we make sure the world remembers what happened. And we make sure it doesn't happen again."
The unspoken weight of my words hung in the air. The kids didn't know the full plan. Not yet. But they trusted me. And that was enough. As breakfast wrapped up, my phone buzzed. A notification from Shadow Magina—"Phase One complete. Media saturation at 98%."
I slid the phone back into my pocket, staring out the window. The world was waking up to a new reality—one where Genosha's prince wasn't just a ghost of the past, but a player in the present.
The world was on fire—and I had lit the match. My face was everywhere. Front-page newspapers. Mwitter trends. Eight o'clock prime-time news. The Daily Bugle even ran a three-page spread on Genosha's history, complete with an exclusive interview about the "lost prince."
The reaction? Explosive.
Suddenly, the entire planet had its eyes locked on Genosha. News drones buzzed over Hammer Bay, broadcasting the crumbling streets, the starving people, the armed enforcers brutalizing civilians. The world watched as protests erupted, as the truth of Genosha's tyrannical regime spilled into the open.
And the Republic of Genosha? They panicked.
"This is an internal Genoshan matter! We will resolve it ourselves! Our borders remain closed!"
Foreign Minister Michael Rider's statement echoed across every major network. What was hilarious was what he didn't say. He never denied my existence.
Not once did the government refute that I was Prince Sai Morvayne. That told me everything I needed to know—they were incompetent, scrambling, and utterly unprepared for this. Their silence only made me more legitimate. And thanks to my media empire, I had the world eating out of our hands.
But, despite the media world were under my prerogative, the vultures were circling. CIA. KGB. MI6. SHIELD. Every intelligence agency saw Genosha as a playground—a lawless island ripe for exploitation. A perfect place to hide black sites, funnel illegal funds, and experiment on Meta-Humans. Genosha is the perfect place to do anything shady, as all they need to do is just bribe the officials there. And naturally with me suddenly appearing and making the waters in Genosha muddy, they were not happy at all, and clearly, they wanted me to back away, fast.
So, I made them back off. Magina and I released their dirt, the secrets that they confident no one would ever know about. And now? We unleashed it.
"Pull out of Genosha, or the world sees your files."
The CIA folded first. Then MI6. SHIELD hesitated—until we leaked proof of their last three coups in Genosha. Turns out, they'd been propping up puppet governments for decades, all to keep the island as their personal black-ops sandbox.
Now? They had no choice but to retreat.
And in the shadows, whispers had already begun.
"The Last Prince is the true ruler."
Governments were shifting. Recognizing me. Because power wasn't just about armies—it was about perception. And right now? The world saw me as Genosha's rightful heir.
"Alright, kids. Are you all ready?"
Melancon, Clarice, and Psylocke stood in the garage, geared up and waiting.
"Yes, sir!" they answered in unison.
I turned toward the control room. "Forge! Check the feed—everything good?"
His voice crackled in my earpiece. "All systems green. We're live when you are."
I nodded. Today was the day. After months of preparation, I was finally reclaiming my last locked skill—[Inventory]. The final piece of my power.
"Then let's move."
We piled into the Ford Bronco—no flashy vehicles, nothing to draw attention. Just a humble ride for a mission that would change everything. As the engine roared to life, Psylocke glanced at me. "You think it'll work?"
I smirked. "It already is."
The world was watching. Governments were scrambling. And soon? Genosha would be mine. The Bronco pulled onto the road, heading toward the coordinates Forge had marked. Because for today, it was time for the kids to experienced their first field day, a time to assess their potentials.