The medical wing of Xavier's School was immersed in a heavy silence. Cyclops lay motionless on a hospital bed, surrounded by flickering monitor screens. The red-haired telepath stood nearby, her gaze fixed on her lover's pale face. The blue-skinned scientist frowned, studying the data on the screen, while the shinobi silently observed what was happening.
"What's wrong with him, Hank?" Jean finally broke the silence, barely concealing the concern in her voice.
Beast removed his glasses and tiredly rubbed his eyes.
"Frankly, I've been studying the interaction of various energies with mutant organisms for a long time, but I've never seen anything like this. The patient's cells seem to be... fighting themselves."
"It's an energy conflict," said the Sharingan wielder, looking at Scott's body with his crimson eyes. "I can see it clearly."
Cyclops's body had become a battlefield for two opposing forces. The bluish glow of chakra, resembling intertwining threads, was forming new channels. They appeared uneven, fragmented in places—the work remained unfinished when the soul returned to the body.
At the points where the chakra had taken hold, crimson flashes of the mutant's natural energy erupted, fiercely attacking the foreign channels, like an immune system fighting an infection. At the collision points of these energies, vortices formed, tearing apart cellular structures and leaving microscopic wounds in the tissues.
In some areas of the body, chakra persistently tried to complete the channels, sending impulses of bluish energy. Each such impulse was met with an aggressive burst of aura, literally burning out the forming chakra circulation pathways. It seemed like an endless cycle of construction and destruction at the cellular level.
"What exactly is happening?" asked the worried girl, turning to Uchiha.
"When Scott died, the mutant aura extinguished," he replied, struggling to find the right words. "The Rinne Tensei chakra penetrated the body, restoring torn tissues and preparing it for the soul's return." Sasuke fell silent, gathering his thoughts. "Chakra isn't just energy. It becomes part of a person, merges with them."
Doctor McCoy leaned forward, his amber eyes gleaming in the laboratory light.
"Like in those studies... A parallel energy circulation system..."
The Sharingan bearer nodded slowly.
"Upon returning to life, Cyclops's organism restored the mutant aura. This is where the problem lies. Chakra and mutant aura are incompatible. They reject each other."
"Two forces fighting for control over one body." The blue-skinned scientist hurriedly made notes in his notebook. "Chakra is trying to maintain the created channels..."
"And the mutant aura is trying to expel it as a foreign element," Sasuke finished. "Hence the damage to the organism."
"God..." Jean exhaled, squeezing her lover's hand. "What should we do then?"
The Jinchuriki slowly approached the bed, stepping carefully as if afraid to disturb the silence that reigned in the room. Stopping at the headboard, he took a deep breath and resolutely extended his hand over the wounded man's body.
"I'll try."
Uchiha watched his actions carefully.
The shinobi's palm became enveloped in a soft golden glow. Those present held their breath, watching what was happening. The telepath involuntarily clenched her fists, her gaze darting between Scott's face and Naruto's glowing hand.
Gradually, the golden glow enveloped the patient's body like a gentle blanket, slowly exploring new territory. The Jinchuriki concentrated on controlling the energy flow, his face tense, but his hand remained steady.
Immersed in deep concentration, the Sage Mode wielder could sense every cell, every energy flow in the body. Thanks to the power of the Six Paths, he could see the conflict between the two energies at a fundamental level—the reddish flicker of the X-gene and the residual resurrection chakra, which opposed each other like two warring elements.
"What are you trying to do?" asked the red-haired mutant.
"There's a way to help." The young shinobi looked around at those present. "We can infuse more chakra to suppress his own energy. But..." he paused, "the mutant aura will likely be suppressed."
The words shocked everyone. The professor leaned forward in his wheelchair, expressing deep concern. Jean covered her mouth with her hand, and the doctor froze, staring at the instrument readings.
"Are you sure?" The telepath's voice trembled. "Is there no other way?"
He shook his head.
"If we leave things as they are, the energy conflict will intensify, which could eventually lead to..." He didn't finish, but everyone understood the unspoken.
Charles folded his hands under his chin.
"Jean," the mentor said softly, "the decision is yours. You know Scott better than anyone."
The girl shifted her gaze from her lover's face to Naruto and back. Tears glistened in her eyes, but her voice sounded firm:
"Do what you must. The main thing is to save his life."
Everyone understood that they were witnessing a historic moment: for the first time, a mutation could be suppressed by another force, and this could lead to a fundamental transformation of the very nature of the organism.
The golden glow intensified as the Jinchuriki sank into deep concentration. The red aura pulsed as if defending itself against invasion, and the barely visible chakra channels seemed fragile and unstable.
"As Uchiha said, the chakra is trying to circulate in the channels, but this red energy is hindering it," thought the shinobi.
He increased the chakra flow. Kurama's golden energy slowly penetrated deeper, clashing with the mutant aura. At the points of their contact, light vortices formed, like miniature energy storms.
"I need to be careful," thought the young ninja, feeling sweat streaming down his forehead. "If I push too abruptly, I could cause harm." Gradually, chakra began to dominate. The red aura retreated like a tide ebbing from the shore. In its place, new channels formed—strong and stable.
Damaged tissues that had suffered in the energy conflict began to heal under the influence of the Six Paths chakra. Tears closed up, inflammation subsided, and exhausted cells filled with new life force.
"Looks like it's working," the thought flashed, "the main thing is not to rush."
The blue-skinned scientist, observing the instrument readings, noted remarkable changes. The patient's vital signs stabilized, some even exceeding normal values. Cellular regeneration was occurring at an incredible speed, and brain activity showed new patterns. The wounded man's complexion was returning to normal, his breathing becoming even and deep. The telepath was the first to notice the barely perceptible movement of his fingers.
The recovery process was nearing completion. Chakra flowed freely through the newly formed channels, but the Jinchuriki understood this was just the beginning. The energy infusion required prolonged maintenance to prevent the mutant aura from interfering with the final formation of the channels. This required continuous concentration and complete control over the chakra flow.
"This will take a long time," said the shinobi, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Perhaps several hours, maybe longer. Everything needs to be done very carefully."
The professor looked around at those gathered. Fatigue from the difficult day was evident on their faces—the battle and rescue operation had exhausted everyone.
"In that case," the mentor said softly, "everyone should rest. We'll need our strength tomorrow." He turned to Logan and the others. "Many of the freed mutants will need help adjusting."
Wolverine grunted but didn't argue. He understood that Xavier was right.
"Fine," he grumbled, moving away from the wall. "But if something happens..."
"We'll let you know immediately," assured Doctor McCoy, not taking his eyes off the monitors.
Kurt placed his hand on Bobby's shoulder.
"Let's go, friend. We have a lot of work ahead tomorrow."
Colossus looked at the wounded man.
"Hang in there, comrade," he said quietly, heading for the exit.
The red-haired girl sitting by the bed didn't move.
"Jean..." the professor began.
"I'm staying," she said firmly, squeezing her lover's hand.
The mentor nodded understandingly.
"Of course," he replied softly. Then, turning to Beast, he added: "Hank, keep an eye on them."
Rogue lingered at the door, glancing at Uzumaki. His concentrated face, illuminated by the golden glow of chakra, made her heart clench. She stood for a few more moments, as if reluctant to leave, then quietly exited.
The girl with the white streak's footsteps echoed hollowly in the empty corridor, mixing with the erratic beating of her heart. The elevator call button yielded with a soft click. She leaned against the wall, feeling the coolness of the metal even through her jacket. Somewhere above, mechanisms hummed, but the sound seemed distant and muffled.
The thought of possibly getting rid of her mutation flashed like a spark on dry kindling. No, it was still too early. She needed to wait for the results of Scott's treatment.
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and she stepped into the cabin and pressed the first-floor button.
Memory helpfully conjured the image of her touching the shinobi that night. No pain, no absorption of powers—just human warmth. A treacherous lump formed in her throat. The girl shook her head sharply, driving away the unwanted memories. The elevator crawled slowly upward, counting floors and minutes until the return to the familiar world of barriers and limitations.
She closed her eyes, allowing herself for a moment to imagine a life without the constant fear of touch. Just for a moment. The elevator doors slid open, and the mutant froze. In the dimly lit corridor stood a blue-skinned woman, casually leaning against the wall. Yellow eyes gleamed in the subdued light.
The former mentor gracefully moved away from the wall, her gaze flashing in the half-darkness.
"I was just looking for an opportunity to thank our saviors. Won't you help arrange a meeting?"
The girl with the white streak stepped out of the elevator.
"Let me pass."
"How rude." The blue-skinned mutant feigned offense. "And I just want to express... gratitude. After all, they freed us from that terrible prison." She paused. "Amazing young men, don't you think? Such incredible power..."
"They don't need your gratitude," the former pupil cut her off.
"Oh?" Mystique raised an eyebrow. "So cold? Yet once you ran to me for protection."
"I've long outgrown fairy tales about a savior." Rogue tried to walk around her.
The blue-skinned woman smoothly blocked her path, her voice sounding soft yet prickly:
"Funny to hear that from someone now playing the savior herself." Yellow eyes carefully studied the former pupil's face. "They remind me of someone... The same urge to change the world. The same unbridled power."
The girl tensed:
"Don't compare them to yourself."
"To myself?" The former mentor laughed. "Oh no, dear. I'm comparing them to you. The same thirst for justice, the same desire to save everyone..." She paused. "Only justice often turns into disappointment."
"You're wrong."
"Am I?" Mystique leaned forward. "Then why are you here, alone, in an empty corridor? Why aren't you celebrating victory with the heroes?"
Rogue clenched her fists:
"Don't try to get inside my head."
"Oh, I don't need to." The blue-skinned woman shook her head. "I know you too well. Still seeking redemption, trying to drown out the pain with noble goals."
"And you're still manipulating other people's feelings," the girl parried.
"Manipulating?" The former mentor laughed bitterly. "I just see history repeating itself. New faces, old mistakes."
"This time it's different."
"Of course." The blue-skinned woman's voice softened. "Now you have those who can touch without dying." She paused, watching her interlocutor closely.
The girl froze, her heart skipping a beat:
"How did you..."
Mystique smiled enigmatically, yellow eyes flashing in the half-darkness. And suddenly she understood—Emma. Apparently, the telepath had penetrated her thoughts when Hank removed the collar. A wave of anger and helplessness washed over her.
"I wonder how long this miracle will last?" the former mentor continued, as if not noticing the reaction.
Something inside the girl snapped. Years of restrained fury broke free. In an instant, she pinned the blue-skinned woman against the wall, pressing her arm into her shoulder. With her other hand, she removed her glove, holding her bare palm dangerously close to her opponent's face.
"Don't you dare," she hissed through clenched teeth. "Don't you dare play with this."
Mystique's yellow eyes widened in surprise but quickly changed to a knowing smirk:
"There she is, the real you. The one hiding behind a mask of righteousness."
"Shut up!" the girl growled. "Don't pretend you know me. You lost that right long ago."
"Know who?" The blue-skinned mutant didn't even try to free herself. "The girl I once took in?" She laughed quietly. "Look at yourself. Threatening me with your power? The very one you once ran from?"
Rogue recoiled as if burned. The former mentor straightened her crumpled clothes:
"Still the same frightened girl. Only now with new toys."
The girl with the white streak turned sharply and strode away down the corridor. Anger pulsed in her temples, drowning out all other thoughts. Each step echoed hollowly in the empty space. She didn't look back, but she could feel the studying gaze of yellow eyes on her back.
At her room door, the mutant stopped and closed her eyes. Slow inhale, slow exhale—a technique Professor Xavier had taught her many years ago. Another inhale, another exhale. Her pulse gradually slowed, returning to its normal rhythm.
Opening her eyes, she calmly took out her key and unlocked the door. The coolness of the room welcomed her with familiar comfort. The girl methodically removed her gloves, placing them on the nightstand—each movement deliberate, honed by years of practice in returning to equilibrium.
She sat on the edge of the bed, allowing the last echoes of tension to dissolve in the silence. Thoughts about the conversation with her former mentor still swirled in her head but no longer stung—they simply floated by, like clouds in the evening sky.
"Just rest," she thought, lying down on top of the bedspread. "Everything else can wait."
Her eyelids grew heavy, and her last coherent thought was the feeling that tomorrow could change everything. But even this thought dissolved into the peaceful darkness of sleep.
The professor sat in his office, looking through the panoramic window at the school's nighttime garden. His fingers absently slid along the wheelchair's armrest—a gesture involuntarily betraying deep thoughtfulness.
His gaze fell on an old photograph on the desk—the school's first graduating class. Scott stood there, still very young, with his invariable ruby glasses. Back then, he feared his power, couldn't control it. But over time, he learned to live with it, accepting it as part of himself.
"And now... now everything will change." Xavier closed his eyes, feeling the weight of this thought. It would change not just for Scott—for everyone.
The telepath turned his wheelchair to the desk and activated a secure terminal. His gaze lingered on a photograph in a silver frame—Brian Xavier, his father, stood surrounded by scientists from the nuclear project. This marked the beginning of the family's rise to wealth.
Brian Xavier wasn't just a scientist—he was one of the pioneers of nuclear research, whose patents formed the basis for numerous technologies. The breakthrough came when he founded a company for developing experimental energy sources. Government contracts, technological successes, wise investments—by the time of his death, Brian had built an industrial empire. After his death, his mother, Sharon Xavier, married Kurt Marko. The marriage brought not only financial stability but also expanded the family's business connections.
Before the school's founder unfolded a complex network of financial flows—the result of years of efforts to preserve the educational institution's resources. After the government destroyed the first school, he realized that everything couldn't be kept in one place. Now assets were distributed among dozens of front companies, formally belonging to allies of the mutant rights movement. Moira MacTaggert managed a medical company supplying equipment for Hank's laboratory. A network of construction firms financing the school's reconstruction belonged to an old friend of his father. Even the supply system was built through a chain of family businesses, whose owners either secretly supported mutants or had mutant children.
"Irony of fate," thought the mutant mentor, reviewing the figures. "I had to become an expert in financial machinations to protect what remained of the legacy."
Building a new school after the destruction of the first one consumed almost half of the fortune. Underground levels, security systems, medical equipment—all this cost a fortune. And now, looking at the numbers, Charles understood that he would have to spend even more.
The initial school evacuation plan seemed naive. Moving several dozen students and teachers was one thing, but organizing the safe transportation of hundreds of mutants under current conditions... It would be tantamount to suicide.
"I'll have to liquidate almost all foreign assets," Charles began calculating. "European investments, shares in Asia... Everything we've been saving for a shelter contingency."
On another screen, Charles studied the analysis results of the Sentinel debris destroyed by Naruto and Sasuke. Hank began the investigation immediately, and the obtained data caused serious concern. The new prototypes, apparently, possessed much more advanced sensors.
"Naruto and Sasuke..." Charles remembered their incredible power in battle. "Their presence gives us a respite. The government won't risk attacking while they're here. But they won't stay forever."
He opened an encrypted communication channel—a network for contacts with the few allies left in the military-industrial complex. People who still believed in the righteous cause, despite all the risks. Through them, he could gain access to technologies for creating defensive systems.
Recent events showed that peaceful coexistence was no longer an option. At least, not now. First, they needed to survive.
Charles began compiling a list of priorities: expanding underground facilities, strengthening defensive systems, creating weapons capable of withstanding X Sentinels, organizing a supply system for a thousand people. Each item meant enormous costs, but all were necessary for survival.
At the edge of his consciousness, he sensed the sleeping minds of the school's inhabitants. Hundreds of new ones had been added to the familiar minds—exhausted, frightened, but feeling hope for the first time in a long time. Charles couldn't let them down.
The cabinet's silence was broken by the barely audible creak of the door. In the doorway appeared Magneto's tall figure, casting a long shadow on the floor, illuminated only by the dim light of the desk lamp. His dark suit merged with the surrounding darkness, and his light hair seemed ghostly gray in the weak lighting of the deep night.
Without waiting for an invitation, the master of metal sat down in the leather chair opposite. The steely gaze of blue eyes carefully studied his old friend's face, noting new wrinkles that had appeared in recent years. A barely noticeable smirk flickered on his lips.
"Glad to see you've finally grown some balls, Charles," said the Brotherhood leader in a velvety baritone. The words sounded like a strange mixture of mockery and approval.
The school's founder leaned back in his chair, fingers rhythmically tapping on the armrest. A slight smile appeared on his face—not the polite mask he wore before students, but a sincere one, with a hint of bitterness, intended only for an old friend.
"Let's be honest, my friend," said Charles, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening, "without Naruto and Sasuke, we wouldn't have managed."
Magneto leaned forward, interlocking his fingers. Metal objects in the office barely noticeably vibrated—a sure sign of excitement that he didn't even try to hide.
"That's exactly what I wanted to discuss," said the old friend, his gaze sharp as a knife blade.
The mutant mentor shared everything he had learned about Naruto and Sasuke: their world, incredible abilities, how they ended up here. The master of metal listened with unusual attention for him, and when the story ended, a thoughtful smile appeared on his face.
The Brotherhood leader leaned back in his chair, considering what he had heard. He perfectly understood what opportunities the appearance of these two presented. This was the very moment his former friend had been waiting for years—proof that his path was right.
"You made the right decision." Magneto leaned forward, notes of triumph sounding in his voice. "Peaceful coexistence was just a beautiful dream, Charles. They will never accept us."
Charles looked away from the screens. His face remained calm, but steel flashed in his eyes:
"Don't confuse necessity with your ideology, old friend. I don't intend to orchestrate genocide or proclaim mutant superiority."
"But you're ready to fight." Erik nodded at the defensive system diagrams; metal objects in the room trembled again. "Ready to kill. Admit it, Charles, the line between us is getting thinner."
"The distinction between protecting the innocent and mass terrorism remains as wide as ever." Charles turned his wheelchair toward the window. "I won't become another you, Erik. Even if I have to fight."
Magneto stood up and approached the window, his figure casting a long shadow on the floor.
"What about your precious morality? Your ideals of peaceful coexistence?" Bitterness seeped through his voice. "How many more must die before you understand: they will never leave us in peace?"
"It's precisely morality," Charles turned to the desk, his voice becoming harder, "that prevents me from turning into a monster. I will act, Erik. But on my own terms."
Erik returned to the chair, studying his old friend carefully.
"Speaking of actions... How is the search for this woman, Ulyana, progressing?" He paused, choosing his words. "Perhaps we should admit that the search has reached a dead end?"
Charles looked intently at Erik.
"Are you suggesting we lie to them?"
"I'm suggesting being... pragmatic." Erik leaned forward. "Such allies are necessary. Especially now."
"That's precisely why I won't lie," Charles replied firmly. "They trusted us, Erik. If they find out we lied to them, imagine what would happen if such allies became enemies."
Erik leaned back in his chair, his gaze becoming thoughtful.
"You've seen their power. Especially this Sasuke. There's so much darkness in him... He reminds me of..."
"You?" Charles smiled weakly. "That's precisely why I can't allow deception. We can't risk having their power turned against us."
"And if they leave when they learn about Ulyana?"
"Then we'll manage on our own," Charles replied firmly. "As always. But I won't keep them here with lies."
"Even if it means losing their help?" Erik shook his head. "Honesty will be the death of us all someday, Charles."
"Honesty is what still distinguishes us from our enemies," Charles said firmly, opening a new file on the screen. "But since you're here... I have a proposal that might interest you, old friend."
Magneto raised an eyebrow, and an interested expression appeared on his face.
That night in the office of the gifted youngsters' school headmaster, the light burned late. Two long-standing rivals, two old friends who had gone different ways, for the first time in many years discussed not their disagreements, but a plan of joint action. A plan that could give hope to hundreds of rescued mutants and protect those who found refuge within the school walls thanks to two unexpected guests from another world.
The young shinobi stood by the wounded man's bed, drops of sweat running down his face—continuous energy infusion over several hours required colossal concentration.
Now, looking through half-closed eyelids, the healer saw a completely different picture. The chakra channels had finally formed completely, pulsing inside the patient's body like a fine network of glowing threads, entwining every cell. But what really interested the Jinchuriki was the cardinal change in the mutation's behavior.
The reddish aura, which until recently had aggressively fought against chakra, now acted completely differently. It no longer attacked the new energy but methodically retreated, concentrating in the deep tissues of the organism. Like an intelligent opponent who realized the futility of direct conflict and chose a different strategy.
"It's adapting," thought Naruto, tracing the movement of the red energy. "Not trying to defeat chakra, but learning to coexist with it."
The blue-skinned scientist, noticing the changed expression on the healer's face, looked up from the monitors:
"Is something wrong?" asked the doctor, adjusting his glasses and carefully watching the instrument readings.
"It's... more interesting than we thought," the blond shinobi slowly replied, not interrupting the chakra transfer process. "Now the mutation isn't fighting the chakra—it's retreating, concentrating. It seems," he paused, choosing his words, "it has found a way to preserve itself without directly conflicting with the new energy."
The red-haired telepath, hearing the last words, sharply raised her head. Her green eyes, reddened from lack of sleep and anxiety, bored into the young ninja's face.
"Will he be alright?" The girl's voice trembled with a mixture of fear and hope, and the hand squeezing her lover's palm shook slightly.
Naruto met her gaze, understanding how much pain hid behind this simple question. Jean had just brought her beloved back from the dead, and the thought of possibly losing him again was unbearable.
"I won't give up until I help him, dattebayo!" the healer firmly replied, focusing again on the chakra flows. "Cyclops is strong, I can feel how he's fighting."
The telepath was about to ask something, but suddenly felt the wounded man's hand twitch. The patient took a deep breath, and his eyelids fluttered. On his face, half-hidden behind quartz glasses, signs of awakening appeared.
"Scott?" whispered Jean, leaning forward; her heart froze in anticipation.
The young shinobi lowered his hands, the golden glow slowly faded. He smiled tiredly, watching as the X-Men leader regained consciousness.
"Where... am I?" the awakened man said hoarsely, trying to focus his gaze.
"In the medical wing." His lover squeezed his hand tighter, tears of relief flowing down her cheeks. "You scared us."
Doctor McCoy quickly approached the bed, his massive figure looming over the patient. Carefully studying the indicators on the monitors, the blue-skinned scientist asked with notes of concern:
"How do you feel, friend?"
The awakened man slowly turned his head, his movements careful as if he feared disturbing some internal balance.
"Seems fine..." replied the X-Men leader, trying to prop himself up on his elbows. The red-haired telepath gently but firmly placed her hand on his shoulder, keeping him in place.
The patient's gaze moved to the young shinobi standing a little distance away. Cyclops's eyes narrowed behind the quartz glasses as he asked the question that weighed on him most:
"And the rescue operation... Did we succeed?"
The healer, despite his fatigue, broke into a wide smile. Blue eyes lit up with enthusiasm, contrasting with the tense atmosphere in the room.
"Everything's great! We saved everyone, they're resting in the school now." The blond shinobi gave a thumbs up, demonstrating his signature gesture.
The team commander noticeably relaxed, the tension eased.
"That's good," he said with relief, falling back on the pillow. Suddenly his brows furrowed, his hand reaching for his temple. The wounded man froze, as if listening to something inside, and said with surprise: "Strange... Something's changed. I feel... different."
The Jinchuriki smiled even wider:
"That's normal! Your body is getting used to chakra, dattebayo!"
The mutant leader propped himself up on his elbows, his face expressing confusion. The words "chakra" and "mutation change" echoed in his consciousness, evoking conflicting emotions. As the team commander, he was accustomed to relying on his mutation, despite its limitations—it was part of his essence, both strength and burden.
Uzumaki, noticing the anxiety on the patient's face, leaned forward; his blue eyes shone with genuine concern. The young ninja began explaining the healing process: how he directed flows of healing chakra through the wounded man's body, how new energy channels formed, how the mutant organism adapted to the unfamiliar force. Despite the healer's simple speech, his words conveyed a deep understanding of the changes.
The wounded man paled, realizing the scale of the changes that had occurred. Years of training and struggling for control over his power—all this could now change. Fear of losing part of himself fought with hope for new possibilities, and this struggle was clearly readable on the commander's face.
"Don't worry, the mutation hasn't disappeared," the young shinobi calmly said.
The X-Men leader froze, becoming aware of strange changes in his perception. Throughout his conscious life, from the moment his mutation manifested, the world beyond protective lenses was tinted red—a constant reminder of his power. Even quartz glasses couldn't completely contain this effect, and his peripheral vision constantly caught a reddish glow.
But now everything was different. The patient's gaze slid to the edge of his glasses, and instead of the familiar crimson hue, he saw... normal colors. The soft white light of the lamps, the bluish reflection of the monitors, the pale green walls of the medical wing—everything appeared in natural tones.
Realization washed over the mutant like a wave—that constant pulsation of energy behind his eyes, like a compressed spring, had disappeared. For the first time in many years, he didn't feel the heavy power that had become an integral part of his being.
"Jean... back me up, please," Cyclops said quietly, his voice trembling slightly with excitement. "I want to check something."
"What are you..." the telepath began, but then understood his intention. Her eyes widened with concern, but the girl nodded, ready to create a telekinetic shield.
The blue-skinned scientist tensed, taking a step back, and the healer watched carefully, ready to react if necessary.
The team commander slowly brought his hands to the temples of his glasses. For a moment, his fingers froze—years of living with destructive power had taught extreme caution. Taking a deep breath, he removed his glasses.
The world didn't turn red. Instead, the awakened man saw everything as he remembered from distant childhood—bright, vivid colors, shades and half-tones that seemed like a forgotten dream.
The red-haired beauty gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. Her gaze met her lover's eyes—not ruby, but bright green, like spring foliage.
"They're... green," she whispered.
The healed man blinked, and his face reflected a range of emotions—disbelief, joy, confusion. But mainly—amazement: for the first time, he could simply look into his beloved woman's eyes without fearing to harm her.
Doctor McCoy moved to the panel, and massive fingers ran over the buttons.
"I'll send a message to the others," said the blue-skinned scientist without turning around. "Although, perhaps they should get some sleep, and I'll tell them everything in the morning."
But the X-Men leader barely heard his friend's words. His entire world had now narrowed to Jean's face, which he was, in a sense, seeing for the first time. Her eyes, red hair, the blush on her cheeks—all of this was perceived as a discovery.
The young shinobi observed this scene with a gentle smile. Even in his exhausted state, the healer felt his heart fill with warmth, reminding him of what he fought for—for such moments of pure happiness.
Beast, having finished with the message, set the timer to send it in the morning. His scientific mind was already working on new questions: how does chakra interact with the X-gene? And could this discovery help others who suffer from their abilities, like Rogue?
Morning
Rogue woke up from her own ragged breathing. Sheets crumpled, her t-shirt clinging to damp skin. Dreams melted in the morning light, leaving behind phantom warmth of touches and a dull pulsation of unsatisfied desire.
Cold water didn't help. In the foggy bathroom mirror reflected pale skin, untouched by others' hands, unkissed lips, a covered body. The girl ran her finger across the misty glass, leaving a wet trail. Water drops trickled down her neck, her back, and each felt like a teasing touch.
The phone on the nightstand quietly vibrated. Logan's message was brief: "7:30. Garage." Rogue rubbed her temples, mentally mapping out today's routes. After the school's discovery, they couldn't operate as before—every movement required careful planning. Meggi was waiting for an answer about medical supplies, some shelters had almost depleted their stocks.
In the kitchen, the mutant moved mechanically—get a cup, pour coffee. Her body still remembered the warmth of his skin from that night—an innocent touch that still made her fingertips burn. Rogue gripped the cup handle too tightly. Crack.
Fragments dug into her glove, leaving red dots on the black fabric. Xavier's pupil looked at them, feeling no pain, only a dull pulsation somewhere inside. News about Scott and his treatment had awakened something in her that she had long tried to bury. Of course, she had heard talk about how Naruto worked with his chakra, how he changed something in the mutant's body. But Rogue wouldn't allow herself to hope—too many times her hopes had been shattered by reality. Too many "cures" and "healings" had turned out to be empty promises.
But it was no longer about treatment. Each time their hands accidentally touched, when she felt the warmth of his skin and didn't cause pain... These moments were real, tangible. Not another unfulfillable promise of healing, but something palpable, alive. With him, for the first time in many years, she felt not like a mutant, but simply a woman capable of touch.
"No, I won't miss this chance. While he's here, I must try, attempt to..." the thought shot through like an electric current, making her straighten her back.
The girl slowly pulled off the torn glove. Her fingers trembled—not from fear, but from anticipation. She ran her hand along her neck, collarbone, lingering where her pulse beat wildly. Her own touch responded with an electric shock down her spine.
Her body was starved for touches. Starved so much that even momentary contact made her skin burn. And he could touch. Could give what she had forbidden herself even to dream about.
The mutant crumpled the second glove and stuffed both in her jacket pocket. She quickly texted Meggi about the medical supplies delivery time, mapped a route accounting for new Sentinel patrols. With one motion, she gathered her hair into a high ponytail, exposing her neck. She got a new cup and started preparing coffee—with milk and three spoonfuls of sugar. Her fingers no longer trembled.
She remembered how once Naruto had mentioned hot chocolate—the only thing he missed in this world after ramen. Rogue took a tin of cocoa from the top shelf, milk, cinnamon. Her fingers no longer trembled, mixing ingredients in perfect proportions.
Carrying two cups of steaming chocolate down the corridor to the medical wing, she felt every step, every movement of air on the bare skin of her arms.
The medical wing doors slid open. Rogue froze momentarily at the threshold, holding two steaming cups. The southerner's gaze immediately found Naruto—the Jinchuriki stood by Cyclops's bed, and despite obvious fatigue after the night's healing, the shinobi's face was lit by his usual smile. Shadows under his eyes and slightly trembling hands revealed how exhausting the procedure had been.
"Thought you could use a recharge," Rogue said quietly, offering him a cup of hot chocolate. Their fingers touched momentarily, and Rogue felt goosebumps run across her skin, her heart skipping a beat. Even such fleeting contact made her breathing falter.
The blond accepted the cup, and his eyes widened when Naruto caught the familiar aroma.
"Hot chocolate?" the ninja's face brightened, fatigue wrinkles smoothed out. "Thank you, Rogue-chan!"
Konoha's native took a sip and contentedly closed his eyes, allowing the warmth and sweetness to spread through his body. She allowed herself a slight smile, watching his reaction, absorbing every detail of this moment.
The others froze at the threshold—Scott sat on the bed without his usual glasses, and the team leader's green eyes, open to the world for the first time, looked at those who entered with a mixture of uncertainty and joy. Jean didn't leave his side, her fingers nervously squeezing his palm, knuckles white with tension.
Sasuke leaned against the wall, curious to know what results this had yielded. He activated his Sharingan and carefully examined the patient.
"So, how's the colorful world treating you, Summers?" Wolverine was the first to break the silence, but in the veteran's gruff voice there was an uncharacteristic softness.
Iceman and Kitty exchanged glances—for them, like for the others, seeing their mentor completely exposed seemed almost unreal. This was still the same Scott, but simultaneously like a completely different person. Kitty unconsciously reached out to Iceman, seeking support.
Doctor McCoy quickly shifted his gaze between the instrument readings and the patient, Beast's massive fingers flying over the keyboard, recording every change. In the scientist's movements, barely contained scientific excitement could be read.
"Unfamiliar, Logan," Scott replied with a smirk, blinking and squinting, getting used to the brightness of the world without a red filter. "You know, I never thought you were so... gray."
This exchange of barbs, so familiar and customary, made everyone relax—some even let out a nervous laugh. The tension hanging in the air began to dissipate.
Taking a chance, Rogue asked:
"So, you succeeded then? Curing... the mutation?"
The room plunged into heavy silence. Everyone understood the true meaning of the question. The telepath squeezed her lover's hand tighter, and the phaser held her breath.
"Not exactly," the shinobi put down his cup and met her gaze, sincere regret evident in Naruto's blue eyes. "I only allowed the chakra channels to fully form in Scott's body, and the mutant aura was suppressed." The Jinchuriki hesitated, choosing his words. "How strongly and for how long—is unknown for now."
Rogue barely noticeably nodded. She hadn't expected any other answer. And yet somewhere deep inside burned another feeling—not hope for healing, but something simpler and more important.
The last of the clan, silent until now, stepped forward. Sasuke's Sharingan activated, studying the energy flows.
"The chakra circulation system is stable," said the Rinnegan wielder with unexpected interest. "The coil channels are fully formed. The potential..." the dark-haired shinobi fell silent, as if surprised by his own conclusion, "significant."
"So I'll be able to use these... techniques?" the X-Men commander leaned forward, a spark igniting in Cyclops's green eyes, reminiscent of his former laser beams.
"It will be a very difficult path," Naruto answered seriously, but a slight smile touched the Konoha native's lips. "Training might take years. But, judging by how much chakra you have..." the shinobi exchanged a quick glance with Uchiha, "I think you'll manage."
"The main thing is that you don't have to change your costume for something... more traditional," Logan smirked, surveying his colleague's familiar leather suit.
A light chuckle rolled through the room. Even Rogue allowed herself a weak smile. She caught Naruto's attentive gaze and quickly averted her eyes, focusing on her untouched cup of cooling chocolate.
"Before we continue discussing Scott's wardrobe," the telepath's voice cut through the general merriment, making everyone turn to him, "I must announce an important decision." Pausing, Professor Xavier surveyed those gathered. "The school evacuation plan is canceled."
Surprised whispers spread through the room. Wolverine frowned, shoulders tensed:
"Charles, what are you..."
He was interrupted by the sound of opening doors. Those whom no one expected to see here entered the medical wing—the Brotherhood of Mutants, led by the master of magnetism.
"What the hell?!" the immortal extended his claws, taking a position between the newcomers and the others.
"Put away your claws, Logan," the school's founder said calmly. "I let them in here."
"What are you planning?" the veteran growled, not retracting his claws but not attacking either.
Charles moved closer to the center of the room, his gaze heavy and determined:
"We will no longer run away. Not now, when we finally have a chance." The telepath looked around at everyone present. "Trask is creating new Sentinels, more deadly than before. We cannot afford the luxury of internal strife."
"And you suggest uniting with them?" the X-Men commander raised himself on the bed, Cyclops's green eyes boring into Magneto's figure.
"I suggest surviving," the professor firmly replied. "Naruto and Sasuke..." he nodded toward the shinobi, "have given us a respite."
"And what have you decided?" asked the telepath, squeezing her lover's hand tighter.
"We'll fortify the school. Turn it into a real fortress." The school's founder turned to his old friend. "Erik has agreed to help with defense systems. His abilities combined with Hank's technologies can create a defense capable of withstanding even new Sentinel models."
"And in exchange?" Wolverine narrowed his eyes.
"In exchange, we'll get a refuge for our people," Magneto replied, stepping forward. His voice sounded unusually sincere. "And a chance to fight back against those who want to destroy us."
"We'll also begin training everyone who's ready to fight," Charles added. "Create a real army. Not for attack," he raised his hand, forestalling objections, "for defense. So that no one can ever cage us or destroy us again."
Team members silently left the medical wing, each immersed in their own thoughts. Young mutants stayed in pairs, quietly conversing; tension was evident in their gestures and glances. Even the usually imperturbable senior team members looked concerned, exchanging heavy glances.
The Jinchuriki, barely keeping his eyes open after a sleepless night of healing, trudged to his room to catch up on sleep. Uchiha walked beside him, maintaining his usual silence, but not taking his watchful gaze off the shinobi who was staggering from fatigue.
Wolverine and Rogue left the section last. They walked down the corridor, maintaining silence until the footsteps of the others faded in different directions. The weight of the decision made seemed to physically press on their shoulders.
"Time to distribute supplies," Logan broke the silence.
Rogue nodded, and they separated to prepare for the trip.
All day they had to zigzag through the city, twice changing cars to throw off possible surveillance. Logan kept sniffing, looking for signs of being followed—perhaps paranoia after the school incident had intensified, but risking the shelters' safety was unacceptable.
At the last stop, among half-empty shelves of medications, a little girl with scaly skin handed the Mississippi native a homemade drawing. "Thank you," whispered the little one, hiding behind her mother's skirt. Rogue carefully folded the paper and put it in her jacket pocket. In such moments, everything made sense.
By evening, fatigue from constant vigilance began to take its toll. When they returned to the school, the sun had already set. Turning on the light in the kitchen, the former Brotherhood member felt the room fill with a soft yellowish glow.
Having made an important decision, the mutant took spices from the cabinet. Anna-Marie decided to take the first step toward getting closer to the shinobi, the main thing was not to scare him off. She remembered the words of her late grandmother, who loved to repeat while cooking in the old Mississippi kitchen: "Child, if you want to win a man's heart, start with his stomach." The girl never thought she would use this advice—until today.
At this thought, Xavier's pupil smirked, recalling Aunt Rosie's old curry recipe. It surfaced in her memory on its own—a dish from the time before mutation, before gloves, before endless "can'ts." The last time she had cooked curry was still before... well, before those nightmarish days.
The knife rhythmically tapped against the cutting board. Ginger, garlic, cumin—the deadly gift's owner minced each ingredient with methodical precision, habitually hiding her own thoughts behind the movements. For eight years, she had turned necessity into virtue, built armor from fear, convinced herself that solitude was a choice, not capitulation. "Safety," "caution," "prudence"—beautiful words for simple cowardice.
The oil in the pan hissed, accepting the spices, and the kitchen filled with a rich, spicy aroma. The girl caught her reflection in the window—a person who had learned to live with armor instead of skin. It wasn't mutation that had driven her into this cage. She herself had forged these chains, day after day convincing herself that she was protecting others, when in fact she was simply afraid to take risks.
His eyes lit up at the sight of spicy dishes, his smile was open, sincere—without a shadow of fear for her touch. She knew she was attractive—years of training had kept her body in excellent shape, and her natural grace hadn't gone anywhere. She caught the ninja's glances, noticed how they lingered a bit longer than necessary.
Arranging the finished curry in a container, Anna watched how the golden sauce enveloped pieces of chicken and vegetables. The inscription read "For Naruto."
She carefully closed the refrigerator door.