Chapter 38 – The Table
The clatter of forks and plates echoed through the mansion's dining hall. Sunlight poured through the tall windows, cutting across a table packed with mismatched heroes who were still figuring out how to breathe the same air without killing each other.
Logan sat near the end, tearing into a steak like it had insulted him personally. Beside him, Kurt was already on his third plate, piling sausages with the shameless grin of a man who knew metabolism was on his side. Storm ate with the calm grace of a queen. Colossus sat straight-backed, napkin folded neat in his lap, every bite polite as if manners could hide that he was built like a tank.
Banshee muttered between sips of tea, "This mansion's cookin' could raise the dead. Not that I'd wish that on anyone after last week."
"That's because you haven't tasted German sausage properly prepared," Kurt chimed in, waving a fork like a conductor's baton.
Sunfire scoffed, setting his glass down with sharp precision. "German, Irish, Canadian… food is food. We should be sharpening our blades, not our stomachs."
Logan glanced at him, smirk curling under his moustache. "Relax, flame-boy. You'll get your chance to burn off the calories."
Sunfire bristled but before he could snap back, a quiet cough cut through the chatter.
Professor Xavier rolled forward at the head of the table, hands folded, gaze steady. The room quieted, though not out of fear — out of that odd respect Charles always managed to summon, even when delivering bad news.
"I've been reflecting," Xavier began, voice calm, "on our recent battle with Count Nefaria. You were all brave, and you saved the world. But bravery alone won't win the next fight. What I saw was strength… but also hesitation. Coordination lacking. Too much reliance on powers, too little on yourselves."
Storm inclined her head thoughtfully. "You mean… without our gifts, we are less than we should be."
"Not less," Xavier corrected gently, "but untested." He gestured toward Logan. "So, we begin a new training regimen. From tomorrow forward, you will spar without your powers. Pure combat. Body, mind, discipline."
A groan rolled around the table. Banshee nearly dropped his cup. "Without powers? Charles, ye may as well tie one hand behind our backs!"
"Exactly," Xavier said, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "Because when one hand is tied, you learn what the other is truly capable of."
Kurt leaned back, tail swishing lazily. "Ja, I like this. Acrobatics, finesse, no lightning bolts or laser beams to scorch my tail. Sounds wunderbar." He turned to Logan with a wicked grin. "But… you will go easy on us, ja, Uncle? No shredding your poor family?"
That broke the tension — Storm chuckled softly, even Colossus let out a reluctant smile.
Logan stabbed another piece of steak, chewed slow, then finally grunted, "Don't worry, Elf. I'll only break what grows back."
Kurt's eyes widened in mock horror. "Mein Gott, I knew it!"
Banshee chuckled into his tea. "Grand. I'll be facin' the Canadian butcher instead of a sparrin' partner."
Thunderbird snorted, arms crossed, muscles flexing under his shirt. "Good. About damn time someone tested me properly. Don't hold back, short stuff. I can take whatever you throw."
Logan's eyes flicked to him, steady, unimpressed. "Kid, you can't even take your own ego. But we'll see."
Sunfire slammed his fork down. "This is insulting. To strip us of our gifts is to strip us of our identities. What's next? Shall we train in blindfolds?"
Cyclops, who had been silent until now, finally spoke — voice clipped, precise. "That's the point, Shiro. If your identity crumbles without your powers, then you never had strength to begin with."
The table tensed at that. Sunfire looked ready to bite back, but Storm cut in smoothly. "Perhaps it is wise to test ourselves in ways we do not expect. The storm learns from stillness as well as fury."
Colossus nodded solemnly. "Da. If it makes us stronger, I will do it. Logan… I will try not to crush you by accident."
Logan smirked. "Don't worry, big guy. Gravity'll do the work for me."
Kurt raised his glass with a dramatic flourish. "To our funeral, then. May Logan at least let us keep our limbs for the wake."
Everyone chuckled — even Xavier, quietly amused.
"Tomorrow," Xavier said firmly, voice carrying finality. "Scott will oversee. Logan will spar with each of you. Learn. Adapt. Become more than your gifts. That is the only way forward."
The group fell into murmurs again, some joking, some grumbling, but all restless with the same nervous anticipation.
Logan leaned back in his chair, watching them with half-lidded eyes. He already knew how tomorrow would go. They were strong, sure. Brave. But they didn't know yet what it meant to fight with nothing but your body, your instincts, and the will to survive.
He smirked to himself, low and wolfish. Tomorrow, they'll learn.