A thick, impenetrable fog blanketed the surface of the Hudson River.
Even at the river's mouth—where strong winds blew year-round—the mist refused to disperse, as if it were being controlled by an unseen hand.
In fact—
It was.
From within the fog, several figures emerged onto the shore.
They wore tight, high-performance combat suits designed to withstand extreme stress.
Leading them was a man with a peculiar visor covering his eyes.
Behind him stood a shorter, stockier man with a muscular build, his expression carrying a hint of wild ferocity.
And then—
Two striking women.
Their figures were nothing short of stunning—curves accentuated by their suits, radiating confidence and danger.
The difference between them was clear.
The woman closer to the visor-wearing man had long, wine-red hair, her eyes brimming with an alluring depth, as if she held countless untold stories.
The other—
Dark, chocolate-toned skin.
A sharp, elegant nose.
And flowing silver-white hair that shimmered even in the night.
She was impossible to ignore.
"Wait—someone's here."
Suddenly, the stocky man reached out, stopping the leader.
The visor-wearing man froze for a moment before glancing at the red-haired woman beside him.
She gave a subtle nod.
Instantly—
The group tensed, alert and ready.
The fog parted.
A tall, slender figure stepped into view.
A schoolbag hung casually over his shoulder.
Blocking their path.
"Hey there, X-Men. I've heard a lot about you."
Peter waved cheerfully.
His gaze lingered slightly longer on Jean Grey—the Phoenix and Ororo Munroe—Storm.
Of course, what caught his attention the most…
Was Wolverine.
But after a closer look, Peter couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed.
"Yeah… figures. The real Wolverine isn't Hugh Jackman. Guess I liked Logan more than Wolverine himself."
This Wolverine was completely different from the one in his imagination.
Not just in height—
But in presence.
Hugh Jackman's Wolverine carried a certain rugged elegance—a balance between savagery and restraint.
But this Logan?
Even at first glance, Peter could sense it—
Raw brutality.
Untamed, animalistic instincts lurking beneath the surface.
"…A kid?"
Cyclops—Scott Summers—looked Peter up and down.
Even though Peter was close to graduating high school, his youthful face made him look much younger.
To them, he was just a teenager.
"What are you doing here?"
As the team's field leader—and the successor personally trained by Professor Charles Xavier—Scott was nothing like the incompetent version some might expect.
Among mutants, abilities came in all forms.
He couldn't assume this "kid" was harmless.
After all—
Mystique alone could perfectly mimic anyone.
"Oh, me?"
Peter grinned.
"I'm here to save the world."
A brief pause.
"And, while I'm at it… save you guys too."
His smile widened.
If he wanted to fish in troubled waters—
He had to make the waters more troubled.
Because without intervention—
Peter knew exactly how this would go.
Magneto could wipe the floor with these guys in seconds.
And that worried him.
What if things didn't follow the familiar storyline?
What if Magneto actually succeeded?
What if the X-Men really were just… this useless—and got completely crushed?
If that happened—
Not only would Peter's plan to steal the Statue of Liberty fall apart—
It could trigger something far worse.
World War III.
Leaders from twenty nations, gathered in one place—
All transformed into mutants with unstable, collapsing genes.
If they survived, maybe there'd still be room for negotiation.
But if they died?
Then things would spiral out of control.
Even if every country united and shifted their hatred toward Magneto—
Could they actually stop him?
A man who could rival a god?
Even if the world's five most powerful nations joined forces—
The best-case scenario would likely be mutual destruction.
And Peter?
He had plans.
Big ones.
He had just sworn he wouldn't live as some broke, miserable Spider-Man.
If humanity wiped itself out now—
Sure, he might survive.
But what about everything else?
His future.
His ambitions.
His rise to the top.
What was the point of standing at the "peak" if there was no one left beneath you?
If everyone else was dead, reduced to dust—
Was that even a peak anymore?
"I don't sense any hostility from him."
Suddenly—
Wolverine spoke.
Scott frowned.
"How can you tell?"
"Instinct."
Logan sniffed the air slightly.
Like Peter, he possessed heightened senses—though not nearly as refined.
But when it came to distinguishing friend from foe—
It worked.
Still—
His posture shifted.
Tension filled his body.
But this time—
It wasn't directed at Peter.
It was aimed behind him.
Toward the Statue of Liberty.
In the darkness—
Several figures slowly emerged.
The real battle…
Had arrived.
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T/N:
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