Why be a hero… when you can be a god?

According to the plot, the Black King—Sebastian Shaw—would soon be alerted by the White Queen, Emma Frost, that Professor X and Erik were gathering allies to oppose him.

And in response, he would launch a surprise attack tonight.

But there was still some time.

"What about you? What's your name?" Mystique—Raven—noticed that everyone else had already introduced themselves, while Ron remained seated alone at the bar. Her curiosity got the better of her, and she asked.

Around the room, Alex, Hank, and the others turned to look.

"Ron."

He gave them a quick glance and answered casually.

Sensing that Ron didn't seem particularly eager to socialize, the others didn't press him. Instead, they returned to their own conversations, enthusiastically exchanging names and powers like teenagers at summer camp.

Raven laughed and chatted with them, but her eyes occasionally drifted back toward Ron.

It wasn't because he was handsome.

Rather, it was the same instinct that would later draw her to Magneto, someone she hadn't known for long. Something about Ron felt… familiar.

Lonely.

Unable to connect deeply with anyone.

Starved of affection.

Out of place in the world.

Like a ghost or monster, wandering without a home, wearing the face of society but never belonging to it.

"Hmm?"

Ron noticed her gaze and looked over. Raven quickly looked away, pretending not to notice.

In the room, the others were beginning to choose codenames and demonstrate their abilities one by one.

The first to step forward was Darwin.

"Actually, Darwin is just a nickname. Survival of the fittest, you know?"

The tall, lean, and muscular Black man gave a soft chuckle as he walked over to the transparent fish tank in the room. Without hesitation, he dunked his head into the water to demonstrate his power.

Almost instantly, three rows of gills sprouted along his cheeks, allowing him to breathe underwater with ease.

He turned his head inside the tank, showing off a little so everyone could see clearly.

"Oh, that's amazing!"

The others exclaimed in surprise, clapping and cheering like they were at a party.

Darwin lifted his head from the water, gave it a shake to flick the droplets off, and the gills quickly vanished. He calmly returned to his seat.

"Nice ability," Ron thought, expressionless as he set down his whiskey glass. "But ultimately… too weak."

He evaluated silently.

Considering other factors, I suppose it's barely acceptable.

With enough Ability Points, he could easily acquire any of their powers. But that didn't mean he should.

Not all abilities were worth the investment—just like spending money, Ability Points had to be used wisely.

Still, Darwin's power—his body's instinctive self-preservation and environment-based evolution—inevitably reminded Ron of a far more dangerous being in the DC Universe:

Doomsday.

A living weapon born from endless evolution and adaptation.

But the two were worlds apart.

Darwin's ability, while impressive on the surface, came with serious limitations. Once the dangerous environment disappeared, any evolved traits would immediately regress. He couldn't accumulate adaptations over time, and each evolution wasn't particularly powerful.

In the original plot, when Sebastian Shaw shoved the energy from Alex's plasma attack directly into Darwin's mouth, he couldn't handle it—and exploded on the spot.

Still, judging by how his body evolved—like growing those rather unsightly gills—his ability's tendency to devolve afterward might actually be a blessing. Otherwise, he would quickly end up looking like a full-blown monster.

This power can help deal with many unexpected situations—vacuum exposure, toxins, that sort of thing. So… it's acceptable.

Ron mentally noted it down as a potential acquisition target.

Just then, a sharp screech echoed through the room.

It was the next round of demonstrations.

Banshee let out a piercing cry that generated a powerful sonic wave, instantly shattering the thick glass of the floor-to-ceiling window.

Angel, a former stripper who had chosen that codename for herself, spread the insect-like wings on her back, flew into the air, and spat a stream of acid. The corrosive fluid hit the bronze statue outside the window, melting through its top with a hiss.

Buzz!

Finally, it was Alex's turn.

He twisted his body, channeling a dark red, high-energy plasma disc from his chest. The arc-like blade tore through the bronze statue like a hot knife through butter.

The sheer force of it left the others gasping in awe.

"Good ability, just poorly applied."

Ron's eyes narrowed slightly. After Darwin, he had finally seen another ability worth considering.

Havok—Alex Summers—could absorb cosmic energy from his surroundings, including radiation, electromagnetic waves, and heat. His body then converted that energy into high-energy plasma, which he could release in powerful, destructive blasts.

In Star Wars, the so-called indestructible lightsabers were also based on plasma energy, their shape maintained by magnetic containment fields.

Alex's ability allowed him to project plasma from any part of his body. However, his current level of control was crude and undeveloped. He could only channel the energy through his chest using awkward auxiliary movements—twisting his torso like he was spinning a hula hoop—to launch arc-shaped plasma blades.

If he develops it properly, Ron thought, he could eventually fire plasma beams directly from his eyes—like Cyclops.

His eyes darkened with a hint of meaning.

That was the signature move of his biological father—Homelander. In this world, the closest parallel was Cyclops.

"Ron, everyone's shown their abilities now. What about you?"

Raven looked over, prompting him again after the others had finished their demonstrations.

Ron stared at the empty whiskey glass in his hand. Without a word, he extended a sharp claw-like nail from his index finger and gently traced a circle around the rim of the glass.

Sizzle.

The faint sound was like a diamond-tipped cutter etching through the glass.

With a light flick, the ring of glass separated cleanly from the top, as smooth as a precision cut.

"Oh wow, that's so cool! Like a tiger—or a leopard!"

Someone in the room gasped in amazement.

The group gathered closer, expressions filled with surprise—especially the boys, whose eyes lit up with excitement as they clapped enthusiastically.

"Look at those claws," one of them said. "I wouldn't doubt for a second they could rip someone's throat out."

"Hank," Alex said, nudging the boy beside him with his shoulder, "I think he deserves the codename Beast more than you do. All you've got is a pair of oversized feet."

Pfft~!

It was a light jab, but it stung.

In terms of raw power, Alex might have seemed the strongest, but these were the days when everyone was fascinated with fictional werewolf characters. So, when it came to style and presence, Ron clearly stole the spotlight.

To these young recruits, he was like an elegant predator—flicking his fingers, extending claws like blades, reaping lives with graceful lethality.

"Yeah…" Hank muttered, his face a little strained.

All he had were a pair of mutated, oversized feet that vaguely resembled an animal's. The only real enhancement they offered was the ability to run a bit faster than the average person.

Abilities like that shouldn't exist…

His gaze flicked toward Mystique—the girl he admired deeply—and his expression dimmed with sadness.

He had to develop the serum as soon as possible. The one that could return him to a "normal" human appearance.

Meanwhile, Ron's abilities didn't stop at his claws. His true strength lay in his powerful regenerative healing factor.

But unlike these immature kids putting on a show to earn gasps and applause, he wasn't about to start slashing himself open just to prove a point.

After seeing Ron's ability, the atmosphere in the room shifted completely. Someone turned on loud music, and the group erupted into a full-blown party—right there inside the CIA's secret base.

They danced, played around with their abilities, and made a mess of everything. The noise and chaos escalated quickly.

Ten minutes later, the door swung open.

A woman in a trench coat marched in, followed closely by Erik and Charles. Their eyes widened in disbelief at the scene unfolding before them.

"What the hell is going on in here?!" she shouted."What happened to the window glass? And who destroyed the bronze statue in the courtyard?!"

Startled by the barrage of questions, the rowdy group finally snapped out of their frenzy. The music was turned off, and silence fell. They stood frozen in place, suddenly aware of just how much trouble they were in.

Fingers started pointing.

"Banshee did the window," someone muttered."And Alex—Alex's energy blast hit the statue!"

Ron sat at the counter, watching it all unfold with cold indifference.

The woman in the trench coat was Moira MacTaggert, a senior CIA agent. It was she who had infiltrated the Hellfire Club and uncovered the Black King's conspiracy.

She had sought out Professor X, and through accessing her memories, Charles had become involved—setting everything in motion.

She was also Charles's lover during his younger years.

But Raven and the others had picked the worst possible time to cause a scene. The three—Charles, Erik, and Moira—had just returned from a high-level meeting.

And now, the CIA leadership was bound to question what kind of threat they had brought into their facility.

A bunch of untrained young mutants? What could they possibly do?

The three scrambled to explain, trying to calm the situation.

Charles, his tone serious, declared firmly, "They're not ordinary kids. They'll surprise you."

However, the moment they turned the corner and saw the chaos in the lounge, it felt like a slap in the face.

"So much for extraordinary," Erik muttered, glancing at Charles. He shook his head and walked off coldly. Moira's face was flushed with anger as she followed him out.

"Except for Ron, you've all let me down."

Charles gave one last look toward Ron, who had remained quietly seated at the bar the entire time, not participating in the recklessness. Then he turned to the others—Mystique and the rest—and spoke with restrained disappointment.

Without another word, he turned and left, following Erik and Moira.

The rest of the young mutants stood there in silence, confused and embarrassed.

On the road leading to the nearby airport, the three walked briskly.

"At least Ron didn't get involved," Charles said grimly. "Not everyone we've recruited is just a rowdy kid who thinks this is some kind of party."

"He's as composed as someone our age," Erik added, recalling Ron's calm demeanor and the way he'd carried himself from the start.

"Should we take him with us?" Moira asked, raising an eyebrow.

The upcoming mission was a serious one. The CIA had received intel on the current whereabouts of the White Queen. She was believed to be in the Soviet Union. The plan was to infiltrate enemy territory, capture her, and extract critical intelligence.

The plane bound for the Soviet Union was preparing for takeoff.

Originally, Charles had intended to bring Mystique and the others on the mission—but after what had just happened, that clearly wasn't an option anymore.

"Forget it," Charles said with a sigh, shaking his head. "No matter how mature he seems, Ron is still just a child."

"It was a mistake to involve a group of kids in something like this."

There was genuine regret in his voice.

He had acted too hastily. Matters concerning the safety of the world should be entrusted to capable, experienced adults—not thrown onto the shoulders of teenagers. It was too dangerous… and too unfair.

"Let's go," he said, and they boarded the plane.

Back at the CIA base, cleanup crews had already replaced the shattered glass and removed the damaged bronze statue.

Mystique and the others sat quietly on the sofa, subdued after the scolding. Charles's look of disappointment as he left lingered heavily in their minds.

No one was drinking anymore.

Ron sat quietly at the bar, waiting with a calm expression.

By now, he thought, Charles and the others should be on their way to capture the White Queen.

And soon… the Black King will make his move too.

Tonight, both sides were set to act—each unaware of the other's plans.

As a result, the main forces of both sides would miss each other… and both would walk away thinking they'd gained the upper hand.

Bang!

Suddenly, a faint, eerie thud echoed from outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, their view blocked by the closed electric curtains.

The group exchanged confused glances.

"What was that sound?"

Earlier, after their incident, a few agency officials had passed by outside, sneering and mocking them—treating them like circus acts. Frustrated and embarrassed, they had shut the curtains to avoid further humiliation.

Now, curiosity got the better of them.

They pulled the curtains open and cautiously approached the glass, peering out into the vast night beyond.

Then—without warning—a body dropped from the sky, slamming into the ground right in front of them with a sickening crunch.

A corpse.

"Ahhh!"

They all staggered back in horror, screaming in fright.

Ron, however, rose slowly from his seat.

"They're here…" he murmured.