Marvel: Pay to Win Gambling 17

Chapter 17: Mission X

I woke up with a throbbing headache and an expression that could curdle milk—and neither had anything to do with alcohol. Staying out late, chatting with Spider-Man of all people, and somehow making him an actual acquaintance had taken more of a toll than I expected.

I barely got an hour and a half of sleep before someone started pounding on my door like they were trying to break in.

Still half-asleep, I yanked on some clothes and stumbled over to open it—only to find Ororo standing there, frown locked in place.

Great.

A frowning Ororo meant one thing: an incoming lecture. And me? I wasn’t exactly in the mood for passive-aggressive wisdom this early in the day.

“It’s twelve,” she said flatly, turning on her heel.

Okay, not technically morning. But in my defense, I only got back sometime after ten in the morning.

“The professor wants everyone in the main hall. Ten minutes.” She paused. “Everyone’s come to an agreement.”

Oh?

That was promising. Maybe this teaching idea hadn’t been killed in committee after all. Hopefully.

Which was good. I needed the paycheck. The bar tab alone had crossed a thousand, and now I was hovering somewhere above eight grand. The girls sure didn’t hold back on top-shelf liquor.

Total contrast from Peter, who’d spent less than ten bucks on a shawarma and a Coke. Kid’s got budgeting down to a science.

“So, what’s your choice?” I asked, finally managing to blink away some of the drowsiness. “You didn’t have an opinion yesterday.”

I’d assumed she’d open up a little after our moment—guess not. Either she didn’t remember, or she’d filed it under temporary lapse in judgment.

Shame.

“There isn’t much of a reason to say no,” she said, shrugging. “As X-Men, we already help people. Helping kids learn isn’t much different.”

Maybe the same mission. Just with less blood.

I tried to keep the conversation going, maybe stretch the morning haze out a little longer—but before I could say anything else—

“Daniel!”

Jean’s voice cut in from the left. She was walking toward us, dressed in red. Red suited her.

And judging by the fact that I was still in last night’s clothes, I probably looked like hell. I gave myself a discreet sniff.

Not awful. I’ve smelled worse.

“Didn’t get much sleep?” she asked, raising an eyebrow with a teasing grin.

Yeah, yeah—the eye bags gave it away.

“What about you?” I shot back. “When’d you get back?”

I doubted she came home right after dropping Susan off. The blonde had looked way too close to drowning in a martini glass to be left alone.

“This morning,” Jean said, rubbing her temple. “Had to crash at Susan’s. She was a mess. Wouldn’t stop crying about her ‘miserable life’ or whatever. Got back around eight.”

So at least one of us managed a bit of shut-eye.

“But what kept you so long?” she asked. “You didn’t say anything about staying back.”

I shrugged. “Ran into an old acquaintance or so he called himself. Turns out, people don't know about my amnesia.”

A lie, sure. But they didn’t need to know everything about me. Hell, they already knew too much.

By the time we finished our casual interrogation, we were already at the hall.

Most of the group was gathered. Though Wolverine, Cyclops, and Magik were notably missing.

I figured we’d have to wait for them.

“Looks like everyone’s here,” Xavier said with a smile.

Guess not.

“Illyana, Scott, and Logan had to handle something,” he continued, hands folded neatly in his lap. “But I already have their answers.”

One thing about the professor—he rarely overshares. Unless absolutely necessary, he lets people speak for themselves. That, or he keeps just enough cards close to the chest to make sure he’s the smartest guy in the room. Which, to be fair, he usually is.

“They all said yes,” he added. “They believe teaching might be a good way to ground themselves after violent missions. To use their skills constructively.”

That made me want to laugh.

Dealing with a horde of hormonal kids after nearly getting eviscerated in the field didn’t sound like de-stressing. None of them had actually taught before—so the optimism was understandable. Naive. But funny.

The real shocker was Logan. He agreed?

“So,” Xavier looked around the room. “What are the rest of your answers?”

Then his eyes landed on me, his smile softening.

“Daniel’s already agreed—unless you’ve had second thoughts?”

I opened my mouth to respond—

But what he said next made me pause.

“You don’t have to return the advance,” Xavier said. “Consider it a patronage. We’re glad to have you with us.”

I did think about walking away. Briefly. But then I caught the scowl from a certain cocoa-skinned storm goddess and the hopeful gleam in Jean’s eyes—and yeah, maybe now wasn’t the time to test karma.

“My answer stands,” I said. Not like I had better options. It’s not every day someone with no résumé gets offered a hundred and twenty grand.

Though... maybe I did have one other option.

‘Why don’t you use your healing powers to open a hospital or something?’

That was Peter’s big idea. And sure, I could probably rake in millions.

But I could also see myself being sued into oblivion, chased down by lawyers, medical lobbyists, and possibly a hitman named Rico from Jersey who didn’t like how fast I patched people up.

So yeah—this gig wins for now.

“Then we have four votes in favor,” Xavier said, turning to the rest. “I trust it won’t stop at four?”

Jean, Ororo, Hank, and Colossus (no, I’m not calling him by his name) all raised their hands. Seemed like teaching was getting popular.

Only one hand stayed down.

“Bobby?” Xavier asked, eyebrow raised. “You don’t like the idea?”

The youngest guy in the room immediately waved his hands. “No, no! I love the idea, Professor!”

“But?” Xavier prompted, calm and patient as ever.

“But I don’t have anything to teach,” Bobby admitted. “I’ve never been much of a student. No real specialty like the rest of you. And I’m definitely not what you’d call a ‘good influence.’”

Low self-esteem or brutal honesty? Hard to tell.

“That’s not true,” Jean said with a soft frown. “You’re great at sculpting. That’s art. That’s something worth teaching.”

“Jean’s right,” Ororo added. “Art matters just as much as science.”

That sparked a quote in my head—one of the few things I remembered from a Robin Williams movie, back when movies still had something to say.

‘Medicine, law, business, engineering, these are all noble pursuits, and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for.’

“Physical education’s a subject, and kids learn that just by running around,” Colossus said, flashing a rare smile. “Logan’s teaching P.E. Sculpting makes just as much sense.”

Not sure I buy the logic, but the vibe was there.

“Kids love art,” Hank said, nodding. “You’d be surprised how eager they are to get their hands messy.”

“Every kid tries to build something with clay—or mud, if that’s all they’ve got,” I added. “Sculpting class won’t disappoint, trust me.”

Hell, I still remember building sandcastles that looked more like kaiju than castles. Good times.

And just like that, Bobby cracked a smile.

“If you think I can be useful, then yeah—I’d love to teach, Professor.”

Bright smile. Whole room seemed to soften just a little.

“Then it’s decided,” Xavier said, the corners of his mouth curling into something that felt just shy of a scheme. “Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters will begin operations soon.”

The rest of the group looked surprised. Except Beast. Of course.

“I’ve just finished tuning Cerebro to detect X-Gene awakenings and power surges across the entire globe,” Hank said, practically vibrating with pride. “And it works flawlessly.”

...Great. Global mutant radar. What could go wrong?

“As a matter of fact,” Xavier continued, “Cerebro picked up a signal from Japan this morning. That’s why Logan, Illyana, and Scott aren’t with us.”

Well, that answered that.

“We’ve also picked up another signal. This one, much closer.”

Brotherhood’s gonna love that.

“I’d like Ororo and Bobby to investigate. And while you’re not officially part of the X-Men yet, Daniel… I’d like you to go with them.”

Wait—what?

“I hope that’s not a problem.”

Problem? Oh, no. Just a minor chance of running into homicidal mutants, ideological terrorists, and the occasional Omega-level freakshow.

“It’s not,” I said with a straight face. Because truthfully? There was a chance this turned into a quest.

And if there’s even a whiff of a quest—extra rolls—then hell, I’m in.

Let’s just hope I get one.