Chapter 7

Ethan stood in the cool basement, the deal with the Professor still hanging in the air. His mind, however, was already leaping ahead, running a cost-benefit analysis with the cold precision of a supercomputer. The school wasn't just a destination; it was a resource, a treasure trove that could unlock his true potential.

He could feel the gnawing, cavernous hunger that was a constant companion, a reminder of the Saiyan furnace within him that demanded fuel. Here in Sokovia, he ate just enough to not arouse suspicion, always holding back, always stunting his own growth. At Xavier's, he could eat his fill at every meal, transforming mountains of food into raw power without a single questioning glance. He could push his body past every conceivable limit in their advanced training facilities, the legendary Danger Room he'd only read about, and no one would see it as abnormal. Here, being superhuman was the baseline.

His fists clenched at the thought of it. He could fight. He could test his strength against other powered individuals, feel the satisfying thud of a well-landed blow, and maybe, just maybe, tap into that fabled Saiyan ability to grow exponentially stronger after recovering from near-death. Combat was the key to unlocking his bloodline's true power.

Then there was the technology. He imagined using their resources to build a gravity chamber, to practice the Kame-style energy control with sensors that could give him real-time feedback. In Sokovia, his power would grow like a tree in barren soil, slow and starved. At Xavier's, it would be a hothouse flower, nurtured under perfect conditions. He'd estimated it would take a grueling decade here to match the full power of his thirteen-year-old Goku template. At the school? He could cut that time down to two or three years. Maybe less.

And Justice Points. The school was a magnet for trouble. Trouble meant opportunities for just acts. Justice Points meant more templates, more power, more options. It was a perfect feedback loop.

Strength was king. In a world of gods and monsters, it was the only currency that truly mattered. But even as his ambition soared, a quieter, more stubborn thought remained. He had to protect the family. Oleg and Alina had taken him in, given him a home when he had nothing. Leaving them behind in this volatile, war-torn nation felt like a betrayal. They were his anchor, and he would not cut the rope.

Professor Xavier watched the boy, his internal landscape a sea of calm admiration. He had seen the memories in the parents' minds: the boy on the balcony, a child wreathed in impossible blue light, standing between their family and a missile. Now, that same child stood before him, not begging for his own sake, but negotiating for the safety of the people who had shown him kindness. The amnesia was a transparently false shield, one the boy had clearly erected to protect himself from a past that must have been painful. To emerge from such hardship not bitter, but with a fierce, protective loyalty… that was true character. It was the raw material from which heroes—or the most tragic of villains—were forged.

Charles felt the impulse to agree immediately, to grant the boy's wish without hesitation. But decades of experience had taught him a valuable lesson. A gift given freely is often valued lightly. Let us see the full measure of his character.

"Ethan," the Professor began, his voice gentle but firm, a test hidden within the words. "You are a kind and mature young man. You must also understand, if every student who came to my school made such a request for their family, the burden would be immense."

Ethan didn't flinch. He had anticipated this.

"I know, Professor. And I am not asking for a gift," he stated, his voice ringing with a confidence that was startling in a twelve-year-old. "I am proposing a trade. Your school's purpose is to guide and protect mutants. To do that, you need protectors. You need soldiers. You give my family a new, safe life, and you give my siblings and me an education. In return, you will have my loyalty. When I am strong enough, I will be that protector."

Charles's eyebrows rose. The boy wasn't just courageous; he was a natural negotiator. He saw the board, understood the value of his own pieces, and was making a calculated move.

"At your age, to possess such judgment is remarkable," Xavier said, the admiration in his voice now completely genuine. He let a smile touch his lips. "Very well, Ethan. I agree to your terms. I will see to it that your parents are given passage to New York and are settled with good work. However, becoming a protector of the school—an X-Man—is not so simple. It requires years of training, and you must pass a rigorous assessment upon reaching adulthood."

A brilliant, relieved smile broke across Ethan's face, chasing away the solemnity. "Professor," he said, "you will not regret this decision."

I'm not sure if he's a good man or a hypocrite, Ethan thought, but he's a man who keeps his deals. That's enough for me.

"Hahaha," Professor X chuckled, his eyes twinkling as if sharing a private joke. "I believe you are right."

When they returned to the living room and Charles explained the full scope of the offer—immigration, housing, and jobs in New York—Oleg and Alina simply stared, speechless. For ordinary people in a nation collapsing under the weight of its own internal strife, legal immigration to America was a fantasy. To have it offered on a silver platter felt like a dream. Who would choose to stay in a place where the sky could rain fire at any moment? This wasn't a noble war of defense; it was a pointless, bloody squabble between politicians, and they were tired of being the pawns.

Any other man making such a promise would have been laughed out of the house. But the Professor's words carried an inexplicable weight, a gentle psychic pressure that smoothed away all doubt, leaving only a profound sense of trust.

And so, with little to pack and no relatives left to say goodbye to, the family of five left their small, damaged home. They walked away from the war-torn streets of Sokovia and embarked on a journey to a new life.

They arrived in the Bronx, the overwhelming sensory assault of New York a stark contrast to Sokovia's gray rubble. In the plush, quiet interior of a large black car, Professor Xavier turned to them.

"Your parents have positions waiting for them at a logistics company in the city," he explained. "Now, we will go to the school. Don't be afraid," he added, looking at Wanda and Pietro, who were pressed against the windows, their eyes wide. "The school is full of children just like you. You will make many new friends."

Ethan put his arms around his younger siblings, pulling them close. "It's okay," he murmured, patting their backs. He looked at the Professor in the rearview mirror. "Thank you, Professor."

A logistics company owned by a shell corporation that traces back to you, I'm sure, Ethan thought. He didn't care if the kindness was a mask or a manipulation. A mask that fed his family and protected them was more real and valuable than any empty sentiment. The man had delivered on his end of the bargain. Ethan would, in time, deliver on his.

The car drove for forty-five minutes, leaving the dense urban landscape for the lush green of suburban Westchester County. It turned onto a long, private drive, and an immense, sprawling manor of stone and ivy came into view.

"Wow," Ethan breathed, genuinely impressed. "Professor, you're really rich!"

The car crunched to a halt on the gravel before a set of grand, castle-like doors. As they stepped out, a bell chimed, and the doors burst open. A river of students, laughing and shouting, poured out into the afternoon sun. It was a kaleidoscope of humanity—a girl with iridescent blue skin, a boy with small, feathered wings, another who seemed to shimmer out of focus at the edges. They all paused to offer respectful greetings as the Professor passed.

A woman with a regal bearing and a stunning mane of pure white hair strode towards them, her dark eyes filled with urgency. A faint, clean scent of ozone and rain seemed to cling to her.

"Professor, you're back," she said, her voice a low, melodic hum. "Something has happened. We need your decision."

"I am aware, Ororo," Charles replied calmly. "Gather the teachers in my office." He then gestured towards the white-haired woman. "Ethan, Wanda, Pietro, this is Professor Ororo Munroe. She will be your mathematics and physics teacher, and she will also be one of the guides who will help you control your abilities."