The jumpsuit hugs my body like a second skin as I stretch my arms overhead, testing the fabric's flexibility. Surprisingly comfortable for something that looks like a rejected Power Rangers costume. The material breathes better than expected, with reinforced padding at the knees and elbows. Practical. Tactical. Almost like it was designed for people who might occasionally get beaten up.
"Alright, everyone find a partner to spar with," Ms. Summers announces from the center of the training room, her voice carrying effortlessly across the polished floor. She's traded her leather jacket for a form-fitting training uniform that highlights muscles I didn't even know existed on a human body.
I scan the room, counting at least fifteen other students, all female, all looking anywhere but at me. The awkward silence stretches as everyone pairs up with practiced efficiency, leaving me standing alone like the last kid picked for dodgeball.
A cluster of girls near the water cooler keep stealing glances in my direction, their whispers just loud enough to reach my ears.
"You go with him," one says, nudging her friend.
"No way. What if I hurt him? I don't want him to hate me if I beat up on him."
"He's so... delicate-looking."
I clench my jaw, heat rising to my cheeks. Delicate? These girls have no idea who they're dealing with.
But of course, they don't. In this world, men are the fragile ones, the ones who need protection. The thought makes my stomach turn.
Ms. Summers notices my isolation and starts walking toward me, probably to assign me a partner, when a girl with shoulder-length brown hair steps into my path. She moves with a dancer's grace, her hazel eyes assessing me with open curiosity rather than the pity I've seen from everyone else.
"Having trouble finding a partner?" she asks, one eyebrow quirked.
I shrug, trying to appear casual. "I guess so."
"I'm Kitty Pryde," she says, extending her hand. "One of the X-Women's finest. I'll spar with you." Her smile spreads wide across her face.
I take her hand, noticing the calluses on her palm. "Jack Crackwell."
"I know who you are," she replies, dropping my hand and stepping back into a fighting stance. "Everyone does. You're the new boy with the healing factor."
"Has Jubilee been talking about me?" I ask, eyeing Kitty with a mix of curiosity and suspicion.
"Yup," she replies, bouncing lightly on her toes. "And don't worry, I'll go easy on you. Wouldn't want to damage our newest recruit on his first day."
That familiar spark of frustration ignites in my chest. "No powers, right?" I confirm, rolling my shoulders back.
"Yeah, just hand-to-hand." Kitty nods, her posture casual, almost lazy.
I drop into the my fighting stance I've practiced thousands of times, muscle memory taking over as my weight shifts to the balls of my feet. My hands come up to protect my face, elbows tucked tight against my ribs. "I'm ready whenever you are."
Kitty approaches with exaggerated slowness, telegraphing her moves like she's fighting in slow motion. Her first punch comes floating toward me like a lazy butterfly, and I easily slip under it, pivot my hips, and execute a perfect takedown. She hits the mat with a surprised "oof," blinking up at me in shock.
I release her immediately, stepping back to give her space. "My parents are both MMA champions," I explain, the words coming out flatter than I intended. "I grew up getting beaten every day and then training. This is pretty much the only thing in the world I'm confident in."
The room has gone silent. I glance around to find every pair has stopped sparring to stare at us, at me.
Kitty springs back to her feet with a fluid grace that's almost supernatural. "Okay then," she says, a new respect glimmering in her eyes. "Let's try that again. For real this time."
She comes at me faster now, her movements precise and controlled. She's good, really good, but I can read her body language like an open book. When she feints left, I'm already countering. When she tries to sweep my legs, I'm jumping over her foot.
After I take her down a third time, she stays on the mat, laughing. "Damn, Jack. You weren't kidding."
"I don't kid about fighting," I reply, offering my hand to help her up.
She takes it, but instead of pulling herself up, she yanks me down and flips me over in one smooth motion. Suddenly I'm the one on my back, staring up at her triumphant smile.
I spring back to my feet in a flash, dusting myself off with a quick swipe of my hands. "You're lucky I wasn't going for a grapple," I tell her with a hint of my own smile. "On the ground, there's a whole different rulebook."
Kitty's eyes spark with interest, but before she can respond, Ms. Summers approaches us, her stride purposeful and commanding. The other sparring pairs gradually resume their own matches, though I can still feel occasional glances thrown our way.
"Jack," Ms. Summers says, stopping beside us. "That was really something."
Her smile is unexpectedly warm, transforming her usually stern features into something almost soft. It catches me off guard, makes my chest tighten in a way I'm not prepared for.
"Thank you, Ms. Summers," I manage, suddenly feeling awkward under her approving gaze.
"Please," she says, "just call me Scotty. Ms. Summers makes me feel ancient."
"Scotty," I repeat, the name feeling strange on my tongue. Too familiar for someone who radiates such authority.
Kitty shoots me a curious look, her eyes darting between Scotty and me. "I underestimated our new recruit," she admits, straightening her uniform. "He's got some serious skills."
Scotty lets out a warm laugh, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "I imagine a lot of us did."
Her gaze settles on me, studying my stance with an appraising look that makes me stand a little taller. "You're lucky Wolverine wasn't here watching today. If she was, she'd have wanted to knock you down a peg or two."
Without thinking, I straighten my shoulders and meet her eyes directly. "She can try."
"Oh Jesus," Kitty mutters beside me, running a hand through her hair. Her expression shifts from amused to concerned in an instant. "I'd be careful what you wish for, Jack."
Scotty's expression shifts, her amused smile fading into something more serious. "I wouldn't be so quick to challenge her if I were you," she says, her voice dropping lower. "Wolverine sometimes has... trouble holding back during training sessions. Even with new students."
The way she emphasizes "trouble" sends a small chill down my spine, but I refuse to let it show. Instead, I meet her gaze steadily, letting a hint of a smile play at the corner of my lips.
"That's good to know."