"Mr. Harry, I understand there's been… some misunderstanding about mutants," Charles said gently, as if he were trying to sell me insurance instead of a whole destiny. "They're not as dangerous as the media portrays them. Our academy would be the perfect place for you to learn how to control your ability."
I stared at him while he kept talking—calm smile, kind eyes, full Professor X starter pack energy.
Honestly? If I didn't already know how this world worked, I might've fallen for it. A school for superpowered kids, a wise bald mentor, free trauma with enrollment—tempting. Very tempting.
But I shook my head.
"Sorry, Mr. Charles. I've already got my own path. And trust me… it's not one with a school uniform."
My situation was kind of weird anyway. It had only been a week since my past-life memories came back online like a corrupted save file finally loading properly.
And suddenly, everything made sense.
Why Tony Stark always made me feel off when I saw him on TV.
Why the word Latveria gave me goosebumps.
Why I'd always felt weirdly protective toward mutants,even when the news painted them like walking disasters.
Turns out, those feelings weren't random. They were leftovers from my previous life.
It all started last week—right after my first book got published. I was riding that dopamine high when, boom, memories unlocked, powers activated, tutorial skipped.
I gained abilities I could only describe as… mutant-like. Though honestly, I wasn't even sure if I counted as one before Charles showed up at my doorstep.
My power itself was pretty simple—in the same way a nuke is just "a bomb." No cool name yet and no dramatic glow-up either. It's mirror-related.
That's all I've got so far.
But one of its perks? I can look at Charles right now without worrying about him rummaging through my brain like it's an open Google Drive folder.
Easily my favorite feature so far.
"Ah… I see," he said, clearly not shocked by my refusal. "Still, you should be careful. Mutants face a lot of prejudice. Some people even hunt them. It would be safer not to reveal your abilities."
I nodded politely.
"Yeah, I get that. I'm a writer—I kinda specialize in human behavior. People are… predictable. In the worst ways."
Yeah, maybe that sounded arrogant coming from a nineteen-year-old.
But considering I was mentally twenty-six, from 2026, and had already seen humanity speedrun self-destruction once?
I think I'd earned the confidence.
Sure enough, he just shook his head.
"That's good then. If you ever need anything, you can contact me again," he said, handing me his card before turning toward the red-haired girl whose stare was so intense I swear it had a heat stat. "Jean, we're leaving."
Only then did she snap out of whatever mental buffering she was doing. She blinked once, twice—probably realized she'd been staring way too long.
But honestly? I don't blame her.
I mean, when you're born with this much unspoken aura, even a certain sword-eyebrow young master would feel ashamed, obviously.
Though to be fair, it had nothing to do with her not being able to read my thoughts. Totally unrelated.
Definitely.
And yeah, I'll admit it—I appreciate beauty. I might've even tried flirting a little… but this was Jean.
Now, if it were Dark Phoenix? I'd 100% throw myself into the fire—purely for the culture, of course. A noble sacrifice for the men of my past life.
Definitely not because I have issues.
After they left, I finally let out the breath I didn't realize I was holding. Not gonna lie, that could've gone wrong in about a thousand different timelines.
And sure, I was pretty confident Charles couldn't peek into my mind… but "pretty confident" isn't the same as "sleeping peacefully at night."
Which brings me to my biggest comfort right now: my mirror armor. Or glass armor.
Yeah, that sounds insane. Something that should shatter if you sneeze too hard.
But here's the thing—it doesn't.
Right now, I've figured out a few fun tricks with my ability. For example: I can store objects inside any reflective surface.
A normal TV screen? That's basically a small bedroom now. I can also step inside these spaces myself—and exit through another reflective surface somewhere else. Minor spatial movement.
Casual. Nothing crazy.
Once I'm inside, though? Nothing from the outside world can touch me. It's like stepping into a private dimension where reality gets a "no entry" sign.
I can even control reflection—turn it off completely or make the mirror display what's stored inside.
Which is exactly how I pulled this off. I bought a 2.5-square-meter mirror and molded it around my body like armor. Full-body coverage, smooth and flexible. Felt like wearing nothing at all.
And the best part? I can make it absorb physical attacks entirely, redirecting them into that separate space.
Physical, energy, whatever—you name it, it gets politely deleted. Technically, I'm semi-immune to almost everything. Because while you're hitting me… I'm not even in the same dimension.
Kind of like a certain Rin's simpboy—but with way better survivability.
Anyway, now that they are finally gone, I can actually think.
For the past week, my brain's been running on panic mode. Memories crashing back, powers waking up, that tiny little fear of getting hunted down or politely erased from existence.
Fun times.
Anyway. Let's get serious.
First problem: race.
Turns out I'm a mutant.Which basically means whether I like it or not, I've been auto-enrolled in the "get harassed by normal humans for the rest of your life" subscription plan with no refunds.
And before Apocalypse wakes up and chooses violence, there are four main options if you are a Mutant.
First: Charles Xavier and his little "peace, love, and let's all hold hands while humans fear us" academy.
Second: Magneto and the Brotherhood—aka "we're right, but also let's commit a few war crimes."
Third: The Hellfire Club. Rich, powerful, elegant, and morally questionable in a very expensive way.
Lastly: The leftovers. Wild mutants, sewer dwellers, emotional support Morlocks, and general chaos gremlins.
Now, Charles? Yeah, no.
Joining him means signing up for the "be the bigger person" lifestyle. Respectfully, I am tired.
Magneto? Tempting. I won't lie—I could adapt to killing if I had to. But his whole "collateral damage is character development" mindset? Hard pass.
Innocent people catching strays isn't my aesthetic.
Then there's the Hellfire Club.
Honestly?Not bad. Power, influence, drip levels through the roof. With my abilities, I could probably climb to the top real fast.
But… shady deals, mutant trafficking, political nonsense, constant backstabbing—yeah, no thanks.
I like my chaos organized.
What I actually want is simple:
A place where I can grow stronger in peace,without ten conspiracies per hour.
A team that helps me do things I can't do alone.
You know—healthy cooperation,mutual benefit, good vibes.
…Wait.
Why does that sound like I want to be a capitalist with emotional support workers?
Nah.
That's gotta be the trauma talking.
~~~
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While Harry was busy planning his next life move like a morally questionable chess grandmaster, Charles Xavier was already on the Quinjet, looking way too serious for someone whose whole job was basically "Welcome to Mutant Hogwarts."
Normally, Charles didn't show up in person for recruitment. He had a system. A vibe. A whole psychic HR department.
First, detect a newly awakened mutant. Then, give them time to panic, cry, scream, or dramatically question their existence. Then—and only then—step in with the calm voice and inspirational speech.
But this time? The signal just… vanished. Not weakened, not distorted, but straight up deleted. And that didn't sit right with him.
Even when mutants died, their psychic signature didn't just blink out. So naturally, Charles assumed the obvious: the kid did something insane.
Which he confirmed after borrowing the senses of a nearby civilian and seeing Harry with his own eyes—while still being completely unable to feel his presence. Nothing. Like trying to sense a ghost that didn't even believe in haunting.
That alone was terrifying.
Most mutants took years to even slightly control their powers. This kid? He casually used his to hide his mind entirely—no panic, no emotional backlash.
And when Charles was seeing him up close, it was even worse. Harry didn't look confused. Didn't look scared. Didn't look like someone who'd just discovered he was on the mutant hit list.
He looked… confident. Calm. Like he already knew how this story usually went—and was bored of it.
That's what unsettled Charles the most. That look in his eyes wasn't fear. It was ambition. And in Charles' experience, ambitious mutants were rarely stable. In fact, he couldn't name one who didn't eventually go off the rails.
Then Jean spoke, her voice low.
"I… can't hear him. At all." She hesitated, clearly confused. "It's like he's not even here. Like he doesn't exist."
That confirmed it. Charles frowned slightly. "Perhaps his power is spatial in nature. Maybe he's partially existing in another dimension."
Jean nodded. It made sense.
Still… she couldn't help feeling disappointed. For once, she wanted to talk to someone without accidentally hearing their childhood trauma on loop.
And yet, somehow, when she looked at Harry—when she saw how distant his eyes were—she felt a strange ache. Like he wasn't interested in her.
Charles felt the emotional shift immediately. He considered comforting her… then decided against it. Someone like Harry—someone with that much ambition—would be dangerous for Jean. If he ever learned about her power, he wouldn't hesitate to use it. It was for her own good she forgot about him.
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If you have enjoyed this chapter and have some expectations for the story, I would be happy if you could let a power stone or a comment.