Drawing on his experience as a transmigrator, Peter kept his expression neutral. To the naked eye, and even to the psychic probe of Professor X, he appeared completely normal.
But internally, a storm was raging.
The Wolverine mark above his wrist, initially transparent as soap foam, began to pulse. Specks of light—like fireflies—drifted from behind Scott Summers, and from above the heads of Logan and Laura.
They moved with impossible speed, drawn like moths to a flame, merging instantly into the mark on Peter's wrist. As it absorbed the light, the symbol solidified, swelling in size before sinking deep into his skin.
BOOM!
A scorching, powerful energy detonated in his chest. It surged from his heart, flooding his limbs and saturating his bones. Every cell in his body seemed to cheer and groan simultaneously. His skin toughened. His muscle fibers felt like they were being rewoven steel.
He felt an unprecedented surge of vitality—a raw, primal vigor that eclipsed even the radioactive spider bite.
Unconsciously clenching his fists, Peter felt explosive power coiling in his muscles.
'Is this Wolverine's healing factor?'
The sensation was incredible. It felt as if his own enhanced metabolism had just been supercharged.
Combined with Charles's confirmation that he was a Mutant, and the earlier absorption of Magneto's powers, a theory formed in Peter's mind.
'Is my X-Gene ability... Replication?'
Charles, observing Peter closely, sensed the sudden shift in the boy's bio-electric aura. He paused, his eyes widening slightly, but he said nothing.
The old man rubbed his temples wearily.
The massive expenditure of psychic energy required to wipe the mercenaries' memories had taken a toll.
He remembered the Doctor's advice: rest more, use less power.
Nearby, Logan Howlett was stomping his foot impatiently. The Adamantium skeleton within his body seemed to hum with suppressed aggression.
"How long is Charles going to yap with the spandex kid and the tin can?" he grumbled, rolling his unlit cigar between his teeth. "I hate this place. The transports are ready. We need to go."
Storm placed a calming hand on his shoulder. "Give the Professor a moment, Logan. The heroes who saved these children deserve our patience."
Logan exhaled a puff of invisible smoke. His gaze drifted to the main building—those cold white walls and narrow windows triggered memories of Alkali Lake.
Of William Stryker's smile. His claws unconsciously extended an inch, snikt, before he forced them back.
"Professor! The transports are loaded! We're burning daylight!" Logan shouted.
Storm shook her head.
Silent Scott turned to answer. "Logan, we'll be right there."
"It seems someone is eager to go home," Charles said, his voice retaining its gentle humor despite his fatigue. "Child, I am sorry. I just discovered another potential danger you face, but it is one you must solve yourself."
Charles leaned forward slightly. "Dr. Rice knows you are a Mutant. While I handled the mercenaries here, I cannot reach Rice from this distance. You will face trouble from him in the future."
Having fought for coexistence for decades, Charles knew the prejudice of the world. He couldn't wipe the minds of everyone on Earth.
Peter Parker stood tall, his suit rippling in the breeze. "You've done enough, Professor," he said, his voice devoid of complaint.
"I'm grateful for your help. I can handle the rest. After all, I'm New York City's Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man."
"Hmm," Charles nodded, smiling. "I hope one day you are not just New York's neighbor, but the world's."
"That's a tall order. Let's see... French, Latin, Arabic, Russian... by the time I learn all those languages, I'll be white-haired. An old man as a superhero neighbor? Sounds about right."
Nearby, Captain Lister was nervously wringing his hands. He kept glancing at the sky, terrified that a man in a cape and helmet might descend to finish the job.
"God, please let them leave," he prayed. "If Magneto shows up, we're all dead."
He didn't know that Magneto wasn't coming, because Peter hadn't invited him.
Peter moved to help the last of the children board the two large transport vehicles provided by the X-Men.
A little girl shyly tugged on his sleeve. "Spider-Man, will you come visit us?"
Peter knelt down to eye level. "I promise. If I get the chance, I'll be there. You're going to the best school in the world. Xavier's has the best teachers."
He winked in the Professor's direction.
Charles smiled and turned his gaze upward. "Mr. Stark, I extend an open invitation to you as well. Dr. Hank McCoy is fascinated by your latest research on nanotechnology. I believe you would have much to discuss."
Tony Stark's faceplate slid up, revealing his signature smirk. "I'll consider it, Professor. But I hope your academy stocks good whiskey. Essential for academic exchange, you know."
Charles chuckled. "We'll prepare a case, Mr. Stark."
Just then, Logan, about to climb into the driver's seat of the lead transport, glared back at the mercenaries. "Fuck. Leaving like this feels wrong. I should leave them a few scars to remember us by."
"Control your emotions, Logan," Charles said, his voice firm. "These children need a role model, not a beast."
Wolverine clenched his jaw, forcibly suppressing the rage. "Fine, Charles. Have it your way."
Peter walked over to the gruff mutant. He extended a hand. "Peter Parker. I've read your file, Mr. Logan. Your story... it's impressive."
Logan raised an eyebrow, ignoring the hand. "Save it, kid. I don't need your pity."
"Not pity," Peter said, withdrawing his hand calmly. "Respect. I know what you've endured to protect your kind. Our methods might differ, but we're fighting the same war."
Logan paused. He studied the young hero for a moment, then grunted. He turned and climbed into the cab without a word.
Peter didn't take offense. Before Charles boarded the jet, Peter hesitated, then stepped forward again.
"Professor, can I have a quick word? It's... a hypothetical story. More like a health issue."
Charles signaled Scott to wait. "Of course, child."
Peter took a deep breath.
He recounted a vague "story": a story about an old man with telepathic abilities, suffering from a degenerative brain disease, gradually lost control of his vast abilities and unintentionally destroyed the people he loved most.
He didn't use names. He didn't mention Westchester. But Charles's eyes darkened with understanding.
"An interesting allegory," the Professor said softly. A shadow of deep contemplation passed over his face. "I will remember it, child. Thank you for your concern."
As the Blackbird's engines roared to life, kicking up dust and leaves, the X-Men and the children began their journey home. Peter stood still, watching the sleek jet cut through the sky and vanish into the horizon.
"Let's go, Pajama Boy," Tony's voice boomed from the speakers. "Have you finished your summer homework yet?"
Peter couldn't help but laugh. He fired a web line, swinging into the air.
"Please call me Spider-Man, Mr. Stark. And yes, my homework is done!"