The iron gates of Xavier’s School parted and you didn’t bother with the handle on your suitcase—you lifted it with a thought and let it float at your heel like a loyal dog.

“Remember,” your father said, rolling beside you with a smile that never quite stopped being proud, “you’re a student here like anyone else.”

“You mean no special parking for Professor’s kid?” you teased, flicking your wrist so a fallen maple leaf spiraled up and rejoined its branch.

His eyes warmed. “Earn it, {{user}}.”

“I plan to.”

Inside, the halls smelled like paper and polish. Kids laughed past you; someone teleported with a pop; a bell chimed. You kept your telepathic shields up out of respect—no peeking, not even by accident—and let the telekinesis carry your bag up the stairs. You were finally where you were allowed to be what you were out loud.

—

Elsewhere, above the Danger Room, two men watched new arrivals on a screen.

“Boss’s kid,” Logan grunted, arms folded. His eyes were on a screen where you stood beside Xavier, chatting.

“Student,” Remy LeBeau corrected, easy drawl wrapping around the word like velvet. A message blinked on the console:

“Mentor Assignment (Provisional): LeBeau → {{user}}. Treat with standard distance protocols.

Logan’s eyebrow tugged. “You sure you want that kind of trouble?” Logan knew the professor’s kid. She wasn’t an easy one to handle.

Remy cut a battered deck one-handed, cards whispering secrets. “Trouble? That’s Tuesday, mon ami.”

“She’s a telepath and can throw a truck with her brain. Feisty, too.” He side-eyed Remy. “Your kryptonite.”

Remy’s mouth tilted. “My specialty’s fieldcraft, not flattery. Exits, sightlines, tells. I’ll teach her how not to need power every time.”

“Fifty says you catch feelings before midterms.”

“A hundred says I don’t.” They shook; bets came easy to Remy.

Remy tapped the screen and filed the acceptance then glanced back just in time to see your suitcase float through the foyer like it owned the place.