Chapter 14

"This is preposterous!" the principal exclaimed, his brow furrowing as he and the other teachers reviewed Charles' test papers. Each one had been completed in a matter of minutes, and every single answer was correct—100% accuracy across the board.

Charles, sitting across from them, gave a casual shrug. "I told you I was a genius. You didn't believe me." He leaned forward slightly, his voice confident. "So, can you help me graduate faster? I need to get into university as soon as possible."

The principal sighed, still taken aback by the boy's performance. "We can help you, but the process could take up to a year, at most, to arrange an early graduation."

"That works," Charles replied, unfazed. He stood up, smoothing down his uniform. "I'll head back to class now. Thanks."

Without waiting for a response, Charles left the office, returning to his classroom. As he took his seat, he stared out the window, his mind already racing through his next plans.

His classmates, curious about why the new student had been called to the principal's office on his first day, whispered amongst themselves, but Charles paid them no mind.

When the final bell rang, Charles stepped out of the building and into the waiting black luxury car. He leaned forward, speaking to the driver. "Drive around to some nearby martial arts schools."

"Yes, sir," the driver replied, starting the engine and pulling away.

Charles spent the next few hours visiting various training centers. Each time they stopped, he absorbed the techniques and knowledge of different martial arts.

By the end of the day, he had collected information on Muay Thai, Judo, Systema, Krav Maga, and more. Along the way, he picked up negotiation skills, persuasion tactics, deception techniques, weapon control, and close-quarters combat proficiency.

It had been a productive day.

"Take me home," Charles instructed, satisfied with his haul.

When they arrived back at the mansion, Charles wasted no time. After a quick meal, he began his evening training routine, pushing his body to its limits.

Once he was done, he headed to his room and focused on the project that had consumed much of his time lately—his version of Cerebro. Sparks flew as he welded the final pieces of the helmet together, his mind racing with the possibilities it would unlock.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. "Come in," Charles said without looking up.

Edward, the butler, entered, carrying a stack of papers. "Here are the financial documents, Master Charles," Edward said, handing them over.

Charles took a glance at the files, flipping through them at lightning speed. Within seconds, he spotted irregularities—embezzlement. He grabbed a pen and marked up the papers, indicating exactly how much money had been stolen and by whom.

"Here, Edward," Charles said, handing the marked documents back. "Take care of it."

Edward's eyes widened as he looked at the papers, astonished by how quickly Charles had uncovered the fraud. A small smile played on the butler's lips. "Understood, Master Charles."

Before Edward could leave, Charles passed him another list—a detailed inventory of the components he needed to build his own computer.

"With this, I can stay ahead of the curve," Charles said, half to himself. 'Social media, tech innovations—none of it will be out of my reach. I need the money, and the information, to keep building my future team.'

Edward gave a nod and exited the room.

Alone again, Charles turned his attention back to his project, his fingers itching to finish what he had started. He muttered to himself, "Come on, brain, let's overwork."

Soon, Cerebro would be complete. And with it, the world would be his to shape.

The Next Day,

At 5 a.m., a sweaty Charles wiped the perspiration from his face, having just finished his morning training routine.

Edward approached, offering a water bottle. "Master Charles, here's some water."

"Thanks." Charles drank it down in one go. "Is breakfast ready?"

"Soon. Take a bath first, I'll inform you when it is," Edward replied.

"Okay." Charles headed to the bathroom and sank into the bathtub, staring up at the ceiling.

"This still feels unreal," he muttered, a small smile forming. "I haven't had time to think about all of this since the experiments. Without them, I might never have unlocked my mutant abilities."

Closing his eyes, Charles entered his mindscape, a vast space that had evolved significantly. A floating blue telephone box hovered in the distance, and he floated toward it, stepping inside to reveal an expansive command center, much larger than its outer appearance suggested.

"Hmm, my mind is expanding at an extreme rate. Soon, this entire place will be infinite in size," Charles remarked, glancing at the progress shown on a holographic display.

An idea struck him. "Can't I make my body regenerate like Wolverine? I have full control over my body through my mind."

"That's definitely worth researching," he mused. "And perhaps Mystique's abilities hold the key to breaking through to something even greater."

"Well, I blew my chance," Charles muttered to himself, "but I'll get another opportunity in the future." His thoughts drifted toward the looming threat of Mr. Sinister. "I need to sharpen my telepathy, just in case I cross paths with him again. Testing my luck isn't an option."

He paused for a moment, already mapping out his next steps. "Once I've gathered what I need, it's time to explore the world—learn and adapt, just like Batman did." Charles knew that preparation was key, and only by expanding his knowledge and abilities could he face whatever was coming.

As he thought about the future, a more pressing realization hit him. "World War II will begin soon. Many will be drafted... and Captain America will be born."

In another part of New York, Brooklyn,

Later that morning, a skinny blonde-haired young man took a punch to the stomach, doubling over as saliva spilled from his mouth.

"Give us your money, Steve," the thugs demanded, grabbing the boy's shirt.

"I don't have any more, you already took it," Steve muttered, then headbutted the thug. The blow landed with a satisfying crunch, causing the thug to let go and recoil, blood dripping from his nose.

"You're really testing me, Steve," the thug growled, delivering a sharp kick to Steve's chest, sending him crashing into the wall.

"If you don't get me my money, I'll be back with more friends," the thug spat before leaving him in the alley.

Struggling for breath, Steve slowly calmed himself, managing to stand up despite the pain. He limped his way home, battered and bruised.

One day, this same young man would carry the shield of America.