Chapter 3

Bakugo woke with a start.

His eyes shot open to a blinding white ceiling, sterile and humming with faint electricity. Beeping monitors pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat. Cold wires clung to his chest and arms, sticking like cobwebs. He scowled, yanked them off, and flung himself out of bed with a low growl.

The room around him looked like a hospital from some sci-fi movie white, sleek, unnaturally clean. No windows. No doors that weren't automatic. A folded black hoodie sat on a nearby chair. He didn't question it so he just pulled it on.

"What the hell is this place…?" he muttered.

His boots echoed sharply against the tile as he stepped into the corridor. The hallway was impossibly modern, with blue lighting lining the floor and large silver Xs stamped on every door he passed.

"X's everywhere," he sneered, stomping toward the elevator. "Like a brand. What is this, a cult?"

He jabbed the "Top Floor" button. The elevator shot upward, smooth and silent, like it floated on air. When the doors slid open, the scene on the other side hit him like a truck.

A massive mansion foyer buzzed with activity. Teenagers some with wings, others with glowing eyes, claws, scales, or antlers walked around like it was just another Tuesday. One kid passed by with moss growing from his shoulders. Another looked like he belonged in an aquarium.

Bakugo's eyes twitched. "I'm dreaming. This is a coma nightmare. I hit my head too hard, and now I'm trapped in a damn mutant cosplay convention."

His brain spun, too many questions crashing all at once. Where was he? How did he get here? Who brought him?

Then he bumped into something solid. No someone.

He staggered back and immediately went on the offensive. "Watch it, dumbass!"

The girl he'd bumped into didn't flinch. Short, lean, dressed in black, with dark hair and striking green eyes, she stared him down like a wolf sizing up prey.

"You weren't watching where you were going," she said coolly.

Bakugo's brow furrowed. "Excuse me? You got a death wish, emo Barbie?"

Her eyes narrowed, almost daring him. "I said watch it."

He stepped forward, palms twitching with sparks. "I don't take orders from anyone, got it?"

She didn't step back. Didn't blink. Instead—

SNIKT.

Two adamantium claws extended from each fist, gleaming under the light.

Bakugo blinked. "The actual fuck?!"

"I don't do apologies," she said. Voice low. Dangerous.

Bakugo grinned.

Wrong move.

"Oh, now we're talkin', freakshow."

He raised his hand and blasted her point-blank.

BOOM.

The explosion lit the hallway like a firecracker factory. The force launched the girl backward but instead of crashing, she twisted midair, landing in a perfect crouch. Her hoodie smoked. Her claws were still out.

"You're fast," Bakugo admitted. "Let's see if you're durable."

She charged without a word, claws slicing through air.

Bakugo barely braced before she slammed into him like a bullet. They crashed through a hallway window together, an explosion of glass and fury trailing behind them.

CRASH!

They plummeted to the grassy courtyard, bodies twisting mid-fall. Bakugo hit first, hard. His lungs emptied on impact. The girl landed atop him, knee pressing into his chest.

She raised her claw.

Bakugo roared.

BOOM!

A burst of fire and pressure flung her back across the lawn. She rolled once, twice, then rose like a predator silent and steady.

"I've had worse," she muttered.

Bakugo staggered to his feet, hoodie torn, side bleeding. He grinned through grit teeth.

"Yeah? Ever been blasted into next week?!"

She sprinted again.

Bakugo launched himself skyward with a blast, flipped, and dropped toward her with a ground-shattering detonation. The explosion carved a crater into the lawn. Smoke choked the air.

But she was already behind him.

A flash of silver.

Shhk!

Claws sliced into his side. Blood sprayed.

"DAMMIT!" Bakugo roared, stumbling back. His hand came up instinctively.

BOOM!

She flew backward again, tumbling through a row of hedges. But she didn't stay down. She leapt out of the greenery with a laugh dry, amused, a little feral.

"This all you got, bomb boy?"

Bakugo was about to scream something obscene when—

"ENOUGH!"

The voice didn't echo.

It was in their heads.

Bakugo and the girl froze. A pulse of psychic power surged through the space around them.

From the back steps of the mansion, a bald man in a suit approached calmly in a wheelchair. His presence was composed. Commanding.

"Laura," he said softly, "go to class."

The girl named Laura snorted and popped her claws back with a sharp snikt. She gave Bakugo a lingering glare.

"This ain't over, Pomeranian."

Bakugo's jaw dropped. "WHAT THE HELL DID YOU JUST CALL ME?!"

But she was already walking off with a smirk.

Bakugo seethed. Smoke curled from his hands.

The man in the chair rolled closer, speaking evenly.

"Hello, Mr. Bakugo. I'm Charles Xavier. And welcome… to my school for gifted youngsters."

Bakugo scoffed. "I don't care what your name is, baldy. Where's the exit?"

Xavier didn't flinch. "Perhaps before you decide, you'd allow me to give you a tour?"

Bakugo hesitated. Not because he was interested but because he wanted answers.

"…Whatever."

The tour began with long, sunlit hallways and impossibly high ceilings. Wooden floors. Ancient books. Polished glass.

"This isn't a prison," Xavier said, wheeling forward smoothly. "It's a haven for mutants. For people like you."

"People like me?" Bakugo snorted. "You mean freaks with ticking time bombs for hands?"

Xavier smiled, unfazed. "No. I mean individuals with extraordinary potential. And difficult burdens."

They stopped outside a classroom. Inside, a woman with striking white hair taught students while chalk floated in the air, held aloft by a breeze that didn't exist.

"Storm," Xavier said. "She once ruled the skies of Africa. Now she teaches weather control… and empathy."

Bakugo raised an eyebrow. "She floats chalk with wind. Cool party trick."

Xavier said nothing but just kept rolling.

Next was a vast chamber with floating platforms. Students teleported from spot to spot, guided by a blue-skinned man with a tail and a kind smile.

"Nightcrawler," Xavier said. "He trains students in agility and teleportation."

Bakugo watched one student miss a jump and vanish in a puff of smoke, reappearing upside down in a tree.

"…Okay, that's kinda badass."

Then came the Danger Room.

Behind thick glass, Bakugo saw controlled chaos. Metal walls shifted. Holographic enemies attacked. Cyclops barked orders. And at the center of it—

"Hey," Bakugo muttered. "That's the grumpy bastard I saved from Blondie."

"Logan," Xavier confirmed. "Wolverine. He's one of our best. A little rough."

"I already want to punch him again."

Xavier smiled faintly. "Many do."

They passed a library where a blue-furred man in spectacles lectured students about Plato. Down another hallway, the noise of mutant mischief echoed from a kitchen.

Bakugo finally asked, "So you… train freaks like me here because I'm not some lost puppy looking for a new home," he said, his voice low but firm. "You talk like this is some kind of safe haven, but it's just another cage. Fancy walls, happy little mutants playing school but it doesn't change what we are."

Xavier's voice remained calm. "And what do you believe you are, Mr. Bakugo?"

"A weapon," he said without hesitation. "Something that gets pointed at a problem and told to blow it up."

Xavier let the silence settle for a moment, his expression thoughtful, almost sad.

"You're not wrong. The world has tried to make you into that. It's what they often try to make of those with power. But what you choose to become that's still up to you."

Bakugo didn't answer.

"You don't have to trust me. Or anyone else here," Xavier continued. "But I believe you're more than just what you've been taught to be. I believe you can become someone you respect. Not just someone others fear."

That made Bakugo scoff, but something about the words hit harder than he wanted to admit.

"You think giving me a room and classes will change anything? That I'll suddenly start holding hands with your little band of misfits?"

Xavier smiled gently. "No. I expect you to explode a few things. Maybe yell at half the staff. But if you give this place a chance even for a short time I think you might find something you didn't know you were looking for."

Bakugo turned, hands clenched. "Tch. Fine. One month. I'll stay. But if I don't like it ,if it starts to feel like you're trying to fix me then I'm gone."

"Fair enough," Xavier nodded. "One month."

Bakugo looked around the hall once more. He still hated the perfect floors and clean walls. Still hated how quiet it was. But the idea of pushing himself in the Danger Room, of testing his limits with others who might actually keep up with him…

Maybe that didn't sound so bad.

"Do I at least get my own room?" he grumbled.

"You do," Xavier said. "Though I can't promise it'll stay intact for long."

Bakugo cracked the smallest smirk. "Good."

He followed Xavier toward the dorm wing, boots heavy against the floor, sparks trailing from his fingertips.

The hallway leading to the student dorms was quieter now, lined with wooden doors marked with names, a few with stickers, scribbles, or mutant graffiti. The air smelled faintly of ozone and teenage chaos.

Bakugo followed Xavier in silence, hands in his pockets, gaze sharp.

"Remy," Xavier called gently. "Would you show Mr. Bakugo to his room?"

From around the corner strolled a tall, lean man with tousled brown hair and a trench coat that swayed as he walked like he was constantly in a breeze only he could feel. A playing card flipped between his fingers with casual precision.

"Ah, the new firecracker," Gambit said with a smirk, his voice smooth and thick with his New Orleans drawl. "Name's Remy LeBeau. Most folks call me Gambit. You can call me whatever don't make you explode."

Bakugo's eyes narrowed. "What the hell did you just say?"

Gambit grinned wider, clearly entertained. "I said you can call me what you like, mon ami. You know friend. Unless you prefer 'handsome devil', but I charge extra for compliments."

Bakugo stopped walking. "Tch. Are you messing with me right now?"

"Nah," Gambit said, gesturing for him to follow. "C'mon, homme, I got just the room for you. Corner spot. No neighbors close enough to cry about booms in the night."

Bakugo muttered under his breath. "Speak English, damn it."

"This is English," Gambit laughed. "You just got city ears, non? Gotta loosen up, let it roll smooth."

Bakugo's palms sparked.

"Stop talking like that! What the hell is a 'mon ami' or a 'non' because I ain't here for French lessons!"

Gambit raised both hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. No need to blow the hallway to pieces, homme."

"That's another one! What the hell is 'homme'!?"

"It means man, hot stuff."

Bakugo exploded.

Not literally but very close. He marched straight to the room Gambit had stopped in front of, shoved the door open, and spun back around, finger pointed like a detonator.

"If you say one more weird-ass word, I swear I'm blowing your coat off your back!"

Gambit chuckled, card still dancing between his fingers. "You'll warm up to me, petit feu."

Bakugo slammed the door hard enough to rattle the frame.

Inside, Bakugo let out a primal yell into the ceiling.

"WHAT IS THIS PLACE?!"

The room was simple. Wooden floor. Twin bed with crisp white sheets. Desk against the wall. Dresser. Closet. Bare bones just the way he liked it. Still smelled like fresh paint and pine, which annoyed him for some reason.

Bakugo paced back and forth, fists clenched, sparks still crackling off his palms. His voice echoed in the small space.

"'Mon ami', 'petit feu' what is this, a damn poetry club? Just speak like a normal person!"

He threw his jacket onto the bed, spinning around again like the act of pacing might burn off his frustration.

"Who the hell talks like that anyway?! Freakin' swamp magician or something 'loosen up', my ass!"

He stopped.

Breathed in through his nose. Out through gritted teeth.

"God… this place is insane."

Silence settled into the corners of the room, wrapping around the faint buzzing of his powers.

Bakugo let himself collapse backward onto the bed, arms spread wide, staring at the ceiling.

The quiet was almost worse than the noise.

He reached into the inner pocket of his vest, fingertips brushing against the edges of a small plastic sleeve. He pulled it out gently, as if it might break.

Inside: a worn trading card, creased from being handled too often. The unmistakable shield. The chin. The eyes.

Captain America.

He stared at it for a long moment. The card wasn't worth much but maybe a few bucks to a collector. But to him?

It was everything.

A reminder of what greatness looked like.

Bakugo whispered, voice soft now, more to the card than to himself.

"I don't know if this place is full of freaks or the future…"

His thumb brushed the corner of the card.

"…but I'll give it a shot. A month. No promises."

He sat up, turning the card over in his hands, his voice tightening but not with anger now, but something deeper. Determination.

"Maybe this is the path."

His eyes burned not with rage this time, but fire all the same.

"To becoming the strongest. The greatest hero…"

He glanced at the card one last time, then tucked it gently under his pillow.

"…like you."

He laid back again, arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling.

And for the first time since arriving, Bakugo allowed himself to breathe.