Chapter 112 – After the Quake

The sleek black Quinjet touched down on the tarmac of Narita Airport with a whisper-quiet hiss, its advanced stealth technology making it little more than an added shadow against the night sky. The hatch lowered, and Agent Phil Coulson descended, his sharp suit immaculate despite the long flight. A convoy of black, unassuming SHIELD SUVs was already waiting for him, a sign of the Japanese branch's quiet efficiency.

As Phil slid into the back of the lead vehicle, an operative seated across from him—a young, sharp-eyed agent—handed him a tablet. "Agent Coulson," he said with a respectful nod.

Phil took the tablet, his gaze already scanning the preliminary report. "Walk me through it."

"The situation at the three temples is still chaotic, sir," the agent began. "The Japanese government has locked down the sites, but they're overwhelmed. We were lucky that Japan got immediate help from South Korea's Tiger Division."

Coulson looked up from the tablet, a brow raised in surprise. "The newly formed Tiger Division is here already?"

The operative scratched his cheek, a hint of awkwardness in his posture. "Well, sir, it wasn't their intention. Or an official deployment."

"Expound," Phil said, his tone even.

"It was just one of the members, actually. Seol Hee," the operative explained. He swiped the screen on the tablet, and the report was replaced by a vibrant, high-energy music video. A K-Pop group, 4L1TE, danced in perfect synchronization. "She's a member of the group."

Phil glanced at the video, then noticed the small heart icon and a comment bubble at the bottom of the screen. The comment read: "Queen Seol Hee saving the world again! Saranghae!" He looked up at the agent, his expression flat. "Use your personal account if you want to comment and like things like this, Agent."

The agent was caught red-handed. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir. I forgot."

Phil sighed, a sound of long-suffering patience, and swiped back to the report. He read through the information on the casualties and the detailed analysis of the earthquake's unusual seismic patterns. "Any suspects?"

"We still don't have any solid leads on the attackers, sir," the agent replied, his professionalism snapping back into place. "But my operative on the ground says the crown prince knows something.

…

The sleek, high-tech interior of the 4L1TE tour trailer buzzed with an anxious energy that no amount of soundproofing could contain. The earthquake—and the terrifying battle that followed—had shaken more than just the city.

The trailer door slid open, and a blur of motion and panicked voices filled the space.

"Unnie!"

Min Jee, Jin Soo, and Hae Won rushed toward Seol Hee, their perfectly styled stage outfits now slightly disheveled, their faces etched with genuine fear. They crashed into her, a tangle of limbs and worried sobs.

"Unnie, are you safe? We saw the news, the building collapsing—" Min Jee cried, her voice muffled against Seol Hee's shoulder.

Seol Hee, known to the world as the crystalline superhero Luna Snow, simply chuckled, her voice a calm, reassuring melody. She wrapped her arms around her girls, holding them tight. "I'm okay," she said softly. "I'm okay. Have you guys had dinner yet?"

The question was so mundane, so out of place, that it instantly broke the tension. The girls pulled back, wiping tears from their eyes.

"Dinner?" Jin Soo sniffled, her wide eyes still full of worry.

Hae Won pouted. "Manager-nim said we had to wait for you."

Just then, their manager poked his head in, his usual stern expression softened with relief. "Alright, alright," he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Go ahead. Eat the greasy food. You've all had a rough day."

Like a switch had been flipped, the girls' faces lit up. "Yeayyy! Tteokbokki!" Hae Won cheered.

A few minutes later, the four of them were huddled together on the plush couch, the rich, spicy scent of instant tteokbokki and fried mandu filling the trailer. Seol Hee watched her friends eat, a quiet smile on her face.

"So, unnie," Min Jee began, her mouth half-full. "What really happened? Was it true? The forums are saying it was an omega-level mutant attack."

Seol Hee knew it was more than that. She had felt the ground cry out, had seen the shadows move with an unnatural purpose. But looking at the trusting faces of her friends, she gave a simple, reassuring answer. "It was just an ordinary earthquake. A bit stronger than usual, but it was just nature."

Hae Won, the group's resident conspiracy theorist, leaned forward, her eyes gleaming. "Or maybe," she whispered dramatically, "it was aliens trying to kidnap us for an intergalactic music festival!"

Jin Soo, who was easily scared, yelped and hid behind a pillow. "Ahhh, don't say things like that!"

Seol Hee just laughed, the sound bright and clear, chasing away the last of the lingering fear. Just then, the microwave pinged, signaling that their second course—a collection of convenience store cheese corn dogs—was ready.

Seol Hee hopped up and pulled them out, the smell of melted cheese filling the air. "Want to watch a drama while we eat?" she asked, her eyes twinkling.

A chorus of cheerful shouts answered her.

"Let's go!"

"Yeayyy!"

"You're the best, unnie!"

As they settled in to watch the latest romance drama, the chaos of the outside world—the stolen treasures, the shadowy attackers, the very weight of her secret life—seemed to melt away. For now, she was not Luna Snow, the hero. She was just Seol Hee, the unnie, safe with her family.

…

The last Hand ninja fell with a heavy thud, his body slumping to the concrete floor of the ruined warehouse. Cheng Wudao stood in the center of the carnage, his saffron robes soaked in blood—both his and his enemies'. His breathing was a ragged, desperate gasp for air. It had been a tough battle. The Hand ninjas moved like shadows, their Qi a silent, cutting force, while his own was a raw, untamed storm of pure power. They were defeated, but so was he. His consciousness was fading, his muscles screaming in protest.

From the gaping hole in the roof, Jack Hou looked down, an expression of profound disappointment on his face. "Tsk tsk," he clicked his tongue. "It's so sad. To think you're only at this level with all that muscle and anger of yours."

He stepped casually off Zephyr, landing lightly on the floor below. With a soft whistle, the cloud drifted down and gently caught Wudao's collapsing body just before he hit the ground. Jack walked over, slapped his new disciple on his bald head, and said, "Sleep for now."

His golden gaze then swept over the scattered bodies of the Hand ninjas. Most were unconscious, their limbs bent at unnatural angles. A few, however, were still stirring. Jack strolled over to one that was trying to crawl away and picked him up by the collar like a stray cat.

"Where is Bakuto?" Jack asked, his voice deceptively pleasant.

The ninja glared at him with pure, fanatical hatred. Instead of answering, his jaw clenched, and with a sickening gurgle, he swallowed his own tongue, his body convulsing before going limp.

Jack dropped the corpse with a sigh. "Welp, that was anti-climactic."

He moved to the next conscious ninja, hoisting him up. This time, he didn't bother asking. "Let's try this again," he said, and his golden eyes ignited. He pierced through the ninja's mind, his gaze a psychic drill that tore through layers of discipline and devotion. In the ninja's frantic, terrified thoughts, Jack saw it all: Bakuto, the ruthless leader of this Hand faction, fleeing to Japan. He was using his own loyal subordinates as bait, a trail of breadcrumbs to distract and delay Madam Gao's pursuing forces while he made his escape.

Jack pulled his gaze back, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "Kekekeke, well, maybe you can outmaneuver Gao with that dimwitted brain of yours." He then pressed a single finger to the ninja's forehead. A small pulse of energy, and the man's eyes went vacant, his body slumping to the floor, dead.

Jack stood in the center of the silent warehouse, his voice echoing in the gloom as he addressed the remaining, terrified ninjas.

"Use those brains of yours! Use them to 100%! Scheme, plot, strategize!" His grin turned manic, his laughter a sharp, terrifying sound. "For no strategy can rival my absolute power! Kekekekeke!"

…

The Hidden Headband Temple was a chaotic construction site. Several of Jack's clones, stripped to the waist, were buzzing around the ruins, gathering building materials with an efficiency that defied physics. One clone was using a miniature Zephyr cloud as a forklift to hoist massive stone pillars. Another was meticulously sorting through splintered wood, whistling an off-key pop song.

A monk with thin, wire-rimmed glasses approached the scene, his steps slow and deliberate. It was the second brother of the late Abbot, his expression a mixture of gratitude and weary resignation. He stopped before a clone who was currently attempting to balance a large boulder on his head.

The clone noticed him and grinned. "Yo."

"Amitābha, benefactor," the monk said with a respectful bow.

The clone hopped down from the boulder, which landed with a soft thud. "Didn't a monk suppose to let go of all earthly possessions?" he asked, pointing at the monk's glasses.

The second brother calmly adjusted them on his nose. "Yes, that is the path."

"Then why are you still wearing glasses?" the clone pressed, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Well," the monk replied, his voice even, "this humble one needs these to see, Sage."

"Hah! You and your twisted words," the clone said with a dismissive wave.

The monk simply smiled faintly. "Amitābha. This one came to thank you, benefactor, for your help in rebuilding our temple."

The clone appointed as the de-facto construction foreman strutted over, dusting off his hands. "Ah, it's no big deal," he said with a grand gesture. "In fact, I have some great ideas for the new layout. I think I'm going to build a red-light district on that side." He pointed toward a serene, untouched grove of bamboo. "What about it? It'll attract tourists. Good for the economy."

The Abbot, who had been overseeing the cleanup from a distance, overheard this and nearly had a spiritual stroke. He shuffled over, his face pale. "Ahh, please tell me you're just joking, benefactor! This old monk's heart can't handle another piece of bad news."

The clone cackled. "Kekekeke, don't worry! I'll make a good design, with very tasteful, aesthetically pleasing lanterns." He waved them away. "Now, shoo! I need to concentrate to make sure the new main hall aligns perfectly with the sunrise. It will be better than Manhattanhenge. Kekekeke."

The second brother was about to ask about Tenzin, to plead for a chance to see him, but he held his tongue. He looked at the chaos, at the ridiculously efficient clones, at the memory of Jack's overwhelming power, and realized something. Tenzin was probably happier now, truly happier, than he ever could have been here, living under the shadow of a title he never asked for.

He simply bowed his head. "We will take our leave then. Goodbye, benefactor."

He turned to walk away.

"Hey," the foreman clone called out. The second brother stopped, looking back over his shoulder.

The clone's usually manic grin had softened into something more serious. "Prove yourself to be a better brother for Tenzin," he said, his voice surprisingly quiet. "Maybe I'll reconsider and bring him here for a visit."

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, a genuine, hopeful smile touched the second brother's lips. He bowed deeply, his heart lighter than it had been in years.

"Thank you."

…

The air in Japan was thick with the dust of collapsed buildings and the sharp, metallic scent of ruptured gas lines. In the heart of the disaster zone, the X-Men worked alongside local rescue teams with a quiet, focused intensity. 

Hisako Ichiki, her psionic armor glowing a fierce crimson, lifted a massive concrete slab that had crushed a city bus, allowing emergency workers to pull survivors from the wreckage. Nearby, Jubilation Lee shot bright, harmless bursts of her pyrotechnic energy into the darkened interiors of collapsed office buildings, her plasmoids lighting the way for search teams. In the distance, Colossus could be seen clearing debris from a blocked highway, while Ororo commanded gentle, steady winds to keep the dust from overwhelming the rescue sites.

At a makeshift command post, Dr. Hank McCoy's large, blue-furred fingers flew across a holographic keyboard, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. He rerouted power grids, bypassed fried circuits, and hacked into the national energy infrastructure with a genius that bordered on magic.

"Almost there…" he muttered to himself, his eyes darting across lines of code. With a final, triumphant tap, he hit enter.

Across the horizon, a miracle happened. A wave of light spread across the city, then the next, and the next. The dark, powerless districts of Japan lit up one by one, a cascade of brilliance that pushed back the night.

From a nearby triage tent, Shiro Yoshida—Sunfire—watched as the city was bathed in light once more. He walked over to Hank, his usual fiery arrogance replaced by a quiet, sincere gratitude.

"Thank you, Hank-san," Shiro said with a respectful bow. "I owe you a great deal."

Hank scratched his cheek, looking slightly embarrassed. "Ah, don't mention it," he said. "You came to our aid when we were on Krakoa. It's only right we repay your kind favor."

Just then, a man in a crisp, black suit approached them, his steps silent and purposeful. He bowed to Shiro.

Shiro turned back to Hank. "Ah, it seems there is a matter I must attend to. Please, say my gratitude to the Professor. Thank you once again." He bowed one last time and left.

The name hit Hank like a physical blow. Professor. Shiro said it with such reverence, such admiration, as if he were speaking of a saint. A bitter, tired feeling coiled in Hank's gut. Why is it so easy for them? he thought. He, Charles's oldest friend, couldn't even bring himself to forgive the man, yet the rest of the world still saw him as a flawless messiah. Goddamn it, Charles… why is this so hard?

Shiro walked toward the suited man. "Yes? What do you need me for?"

The man flashed a badge, the silver eagle of SHIELD gleaming in the emergency lights. "We are to escort you to the Crown Prince. He is waiting for you in the Imperial House."

Shiro's eyes widened slightly. "The Crown Prince?" He nodded. "Okay. But I think it's faster if I fly on my own."

Before the agent could protest, Shiro was engulfed in a torrent of brilliant, white-hot flames. With a roar that sounded like a miniature sun, he shot into the sky, a fiery comet streaking toward the heart of Tokyo, leaving the stunned SHIELD agent staring up at the empty space where a hero had just been.

**A/N**

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**A/N**