Reborn with Steve Stand

The Next Morning, Inside a Library at Xavier’s School

Charles looked at Logan, standing before him, and the alluring woman next to Logan.

The expression on Charles’s face was somewhat indescribable.

“So, you’re telling me…”

After a long silence, Charles finally spoke, “…that Fang Mo somehow ‘brought your cigar to life?’”

“Pretty much,”

Logan answered, his face full of exasperation. He rubbed his temples hard.

“And not just my cigar. In his room, there are two other women; one’s probably that purple weapon of his, while the other’s unclear—but she seems a bit mentally slow…”

“His abilities are getting more outlandish by the day.”

Charles took a deep breath. “If he really is some kind of deity, I’m not sure if having a god like him around is a blessing or a curse…”

Because of Logan’s specific request, Charles had already used his telepathy a few days ago to read Logan’s memories. Such is the unfairness (or potency) of psionic powers: Logan, nearly 200 years old, had his entire recollection read in just a matter of moments. Of course, Charles focused primarily on the events that took place after 1973, the future.

So, to be precise, Charles was no longer just his “younger” self. He knew many things about the future: his decades-long disputes and reconciliations with the older Magneto; what Xavier’s School would look like years later, filled with students’ laughter; and, of course, one of the most crucial elements—Fang Mo, the off-kilter “celestial being”…

As early as 1962, when they all worked together against Sebastian Shaw, Fang Mo had displayed near-absurd, terrifying power—beating Shaw to a pulp and ultimately blowing up the “Absorbs All Energy” Black King. Even so, at the time, his abilities were at least somewhat comprehensible. Basically controlling natural elements—wind, fire, lightning, ice, gravity, plants, etc.—plus conjuring gold out of thin air. Impressive, yes, but not utterly incomprehensible.

But as time passed, his “style” began to shift drastically:

Resurrection, world destruction, precognitive powers, bestowals of blessings, summoning asteroids, granting inanimate objects consciousness…

Each of these alone would be beyond reason. Especially the resurrection—hard to imagine someone truly breaking the absolute boundary between life and death.

And now it was getting even more ridiculous. He could turn anything into a person.

So Charles wasn’t wrong; at least by his own reckoning, that was how things stood. Every time Fang Mo showed up, he seemed one step closer to being an actual deity—possessing ever more terrifying powers and using them to pull off the most outlandish stunts.

“If you think about it, it’s not so bad.”

As Charles pondered this, Logan spoke up. “Sure, he’s fond of messing with people, but maybe that’s just how he connects with friends.”

“That might be true.”

Charles nodded instinctively.

“He always uses some out-there method to chase away our despair, like distracting us from our worries,”

Logan said, reflexively patting his pockets for a cigar—only to find nothing. Taking a deep breath, he continued, “Eventually, when you do blow up at him in anger, you realize your anxiety is gone. Honestly, sometimes I’d rather put up with his torment than face that suffocating future of complete hopelessness.” 𝘳𝙖Ｎ𝐨₿ЕＳ

“He’s closed off his own mind too much.”

Charles sighed. “Sometimes I just want to help him, but he’s always carrying around that blood-stained stick… Even decades later, he won’t toss away that damned thing.”

“For him, maybe just a moment has passed; his sense of time—”

Logan started to speak, only to be silenced by a slender finger pressed against his lips.

“?”

Logan blinked. Turning his head, he found the “cigar lady” beside him pressing a finger to his mouth with a natural, unaffected expression, as though nothing were unusual.

“?”

Seeing Logan’s puzzled look, the woman blinked in confusion.

“Smoke it. Why are you staring at me?”

“Smoke… what?”

Logan asked blankly.

Were it a man doing this, Logan would have unsheathed his claws immediately, but since it was a woman, he held back.

“Smoke me, obviously.”

The cigar lady raised her other hand, forcibly prying open Logan’s mouth and sliding her index finger inside.

“Mmmph—!”

Logan instinctively resisted. Then, a second later, smoke started to billow from his nose and mouth.

“?”

It was a flavor he knew very well: sweet grass, honey, oak, nuts, mixed with a hint of leathery aroma, a sort of cream-and-fruit complexity, plus a trace of bitterness and char.

No doubt about it—that was the taste of his Infinite Cigar.

Because the cigar had been given self-awareness, it could now adjust its own flavor. After all Logan’s years of smoking, they’d settled on this taste—exactly Logan’s favorite.

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“You…”

Feeling that smooth yet smoky taste swirling in his mouth, Logan froze. This woman was indeed his cigar. For a moment, he had no words.

“Feels good, right? Kinda ‘scratches that itch’ immediately, doesn’t it?”

The woman smiled—a pleasant smile, but as soon as she opened her mouth, the atmosphere changed. “From now on, if you want a smoke, just call Old Eight. But remember, buddy, don’t squat while smoking. Squatting there is just undignified, and people will rag on you forever—”

“This…”

Charles stood by, absolutely floored by the scene.

“Hold on a second.”

Logan finally snapped, yanking the woman’s hand away and staring at her smoking fingertip. “Wh-why are you smoking?”

“What do you mean, why?”

she snapped back. “A cigar that doesn’t smoke isn’t much of a cigar, is it?”

“But… aren’t you a human being now?”

Logan pressed.

“I—”

“They only look human.”

Before she could respond, Fang Mo’s teasing voice came from the doorway. He walked straight in. “No matter how normal they seem, they’re still just…well, items at heart. And as items, they retain their original functions…”

“So that’s why she can smoke?”

Logan’s headache started creeping in again.

“Exactly.”

Fang Mo nodded, pulling out an apple from who-knows-where. “Look at me—I’m the same. Hey, Saber Bro, come over and show everyone how you peel an apple.”

“But, Boss, I wanted to do that ‘bite the lighter’ trick…” a girlish voice whined from behind Fang Mo. A short-haired teenage girl appeared, looking about high-school age.

Although she was complaining about it, she still took the apple from Fang Mo. Then, with a deft flick of her fingertip, she peeled the apple in two quick loops. Her smooth fingerpads glided over the surface, slicing off the peel in a long spiral—cleaner than any paring knife.

“Nice. Very neat peel.”

Fang Mo took back the apple and took a bite. “Next time you can help Ah Xue peel potatoes.”

“Let friggin’ Laevatein do that!”

the short-haired girl yelled back.

“Then next time, you can go help Lia Thomas at the White Da-2 Men’s Clinic,”

Fang Mo said nonchalantly. “The White Dimension is missing someone who can handle circumcisions.”

“Boss, I was wrong, I’m just a natural-born kitchen helper…”

she muttered, lowering her head immediately.

“Both of you—hang on.”

Not far away, Logan frowned. “Stop messing around. Did you come looking for us for something?”

“Ah, right.”

Fang Mo nodded. “Xavier’s School is pretty empty at the moment. I’m planning to add some ‘population’ around here, because before long, things are going to get lively. Once our political correctness plan is up and running, reporters will swarm this place.”

“Add people?”

Logan echoed, confused. “Add… what people?”

“They’re basically my ‘creations,’ though I’d prefer if you saw them as regular humans.”

Fang Mo’s tone turned unusually serious, looking at Charles as he spoke. “As humans, they might have a lot of flaws, but Charles, I’d like you—the Professor—to teach them, okay?”

“Uh… sure,”

Charles hesitated, clearly taken aback.

He rarely saw Fang Mo so earnest.

“Good.”

Seeing Charles agree, Fang Mo grinned. “As you’ve seen, they each have unique abilities, so just treat them as mutants. No big deal.”

“I see.”

Charles nodded. He’d just watched the “cigar woman” demonstrate her powers a moment ago. “Don’t worry. I’ve taught plenty of young mutants over the years, so I have some experience.”

“Oh, right, one more thing…”

It was as if Fang Mo had suddenly remembered something important. He snapped his fingers. “Teach them anything you want, but please don’t interfere with their self-identity. Some of them were originally objects. Absolutely do not force them into a certain sense of identity…”

“Huh?”

Charles was a bit lost. “What do you mean?”

“Let me ask you,”

Fang Mo said, placing one hand atop the short-haired saber-girl’s head. “Do you think she’s a ‘girl?’”

“Well, obviously—”

Charles started to nod instinctively, when Fang Mo suddenly grabbed the back of the girl’s neck, lifted her up, and swung her forward.

Boom!

He slammed the girl onto a desk, smashing the furniture apart in an instant. The polished edges looked like they’d been sliced by something razor-sharp.

But it didn’t stop there. Fang Mo then pulled out a few cobblestones, laid them on the floor, and swung the short-haired girl again. Swish-swish-swish. The floor, the concrete beneath, and even the stones were split neatly in two, leaving several deep gouges behind.

Only then did Fang Mo finally set the girl down.

“Now, do you still think she’s just a girl?”

“Uh…”

Charles was, quite frankly, stunned.

“…I get your point.”

After a long while, he pressed a hand to his forehead. “So, I’ll just treat them as mutants with… ‘identity disorders.’ Right?”

“Uh-huh, pretty much,”

Fang Mo said with a grin, nodding. “I’ve already released some of them. You can start organizing class schedules as soon as you like. Oh, by the way, there’s one named ‘Ji Yan’ in my room—she’s, well… not very bright. You’ll need a tiny bit of extra patience teaching her…”

“Wait… what do you mean you’ve already let some of them out?”

A sense of dread welled up in Logan.

“I mean it literally.”

Fang Mo shrugged, gesturing toward the window. “They’re now part of the school.”

“Hmm?”

Logan and Charles both looked out the window.

What they saw shocked them to the core.

Xavier’s School was originally a manor converted into an academy, with extensive grounds. Usually, it was tranquil and picturesque. But now the place was bustling, in a bizarre sort of way.

To the South was a wooded area.

It was morning, and sunlight streamed through the trees onto the grass, making for a lovely scene. But there, in the peaceful forest, stood a massive, musclebound man doing warm-up exercises. The golden sunlight gleamed on his bulging muscles.

“…”

The spectacle was a bit too much for the eyes, so the two men took a deep breath and looked in another direction.

To the North, there was a large open area with some shade, renovated into a basketball court for student activities.

At this moment, a tall African-American man was playing basketball there with another young man in overalls and a parted haircut. They seemed evenly matched until, out of nowhere, the Black man elbowed the other guy, sending him flying.

“Ow!”

The one knocked to the ground landed on his backside, complaining bitterly. “What was that for?!”

Meanwhile, near the basketball court, a giant pigeon the size of a Jeep was perched, grooming its feathers. Seeing the young man fall, it flapped its wings in disapproval. “Hey, Blackie! Stop elbowing my bro!”

If that wasn’t surreal enough, it got even weirder.

Out of nowhere, a swirl of white smoke drifted across the scene. Not cigar smoke—on closer inspection, there were four street vendors by the school gates, each with a little cart selling different foods: fried rice, chicken soup, watermelon, grilled gluten snacks. This was supposed to be a fancy estate on the outskirts of New York, yet it now resembled a snack street by some campus entrance.

“Th-this…”

Never mind Logan—even Charles’s face had gone dark at the sight.