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"T-This is… unbelievable."
Colossus stared at Mark, frozen mid-bite, his fork suspended halfway to his mouth.
In his eyes, every single portion of food Mark had consumed was substantial enough to fill a grown adult. And yet, this child had returned for his thirtieth helping and had just casually declared he was only halfway full.
"Mark is super strong, even stronger than Daddy,"
Pietro said smugly, catching Colossus's astonished expression.
"I've suspected for a while now that his real mutant power is super-eating. That's why he has so much strength!"
Colossus chuckled and shook his head in disbelief.
"Well, Chef Jorg is going to have his hands full today."
True to that prediction, back in the kitchen, the rotund chef Jorg rubbed his forehead in distress as Mark reappeared once more, tray in hand.
"Kid," Jorg muttered, half-joking and half-panicked, "do you realize you've nearly eaten an entire day's supply of food for the school?"
Xavier's school housed fewer than fifty people, many of whom were children. Adults, particularly the female staff, often followed strict dietary regimens. That meant thirty full portions of food, each the size of a standard meal for an adult male, were rapidly depleting their reserves.
Mark flashed an innocent smile.
"That just proves how delicious your cooking is, sir. By the way, is your mutant ability telekinesis?"
he asked, watching as ingredients levitated, self-cleaned, chopped, and cooked themselves behind the counter while serving utensils spooned food without any physical contact.
Jorg's face softened under the compliment.
"Correct. Telekinesis. But I'm nothing compared to Professor Grey. My power caps out at lifting a few kilograms."
"Thank you, Chef. I'll probably need another thirty servings or so to be full. I really appreciate your effort."
Mark accepted his tray of food with polite sincerity and turned to leave, leaving Jorg momentarily dazed, clutching his head in alarm.
This boy really came to Xavier's School just so he could finally eat his fill.
Mutant abilities often repeated across individuals, differing only in scope and scale. Telepathy and telekinesis were not rare, but few could rival the mastery of someone like Professor X or Jean Grey. Jorg, a humble Level 1 mutant, had maximized his gift for culinary efficiency. Jean, a Level 5, could float an entire street full of vehicles on a whim.
"I'll need to go on a major supply run first thing tomorrow,"
Jorg sighed, calculating that their remaining ingredients might barely suffice for Mark alone.
Thirty minutes later, as the cafeteria emptied and the last tray was cleared, Mark finally leaned back in satisfaction. For the first time since his transmigration into this world, he had felt truly, utterly full.
As the group strolled back toward their rooms, Mark asked curiously
"Do professors usually not eat in the cafeteria?"
Not once during the meal had he seen any of the senior staff, no Professor X, no Storm, not even Cyclops. He recalled Storm's serious expression from earlier that afternoon and felt a vague sense of unease.
"Usually, they do" said Colossus thoughtfully.
"Now that you mention it… it is a little strange."
Mark froze in place.
'Don't tell me… we're already dealing with trouble on our very first day.'
He shook his head. Maybe he was overthinking it. Still, caution was wise.
From his earlier conversation, he'd learned that Wolverine hadn't been spotted around campus lately. That was a notable absence. Every major crisis in the X-Men timeline, as he remembered from the films, had involved Logan in some form.
Until he knew more, Mark decided to hold off on extreme physical training. Instead, he would spend the next few days simply observing and familiarizing himself with the school.
Meanwhile, not long after Mark and the others left the cafeteria, a burly, wild-looking man with thick sideburns and a cigar between his lips stormed into the kitchen.
"Hey, Jorg! Gimme a plate of dinner, would ya?"
Jorg turned with a wide grin.
"Logan! When did you get back? Mission went well?"
Logan snorted, taking cigar and lighting it.
"Back less than three hours. And no, the mission was a bust. That address Chuck gave me? Absolutely nothing there. I was hoping to get the Professor to do another deep dive into my memories… but guess what? He's off on business again. Left me here to babysit the kids."
Jorg clapped him on the back.
"Explains why we didn't see any of the faculty at dinner."
Then he winced.
"Ah, you might've come a bit late. We've got a new student today, a real bottomless pit. He just ate every last scrap I had prepared for two days."
Logan sighed, eyeing the spotless kitchen.
"Well, guess I'm raiding the second-floor pantry for snacks again."
Even though he could go without food indefinitely, the hunger sensation never really disappeared. The pain remained.
Back in his room, after completing several hundred light calisthenics as his bedtime warm-up, Mark showered, changed into sleepwear, and sat cross-legged on his bed.
"Since I won't be doing intense physical training these next few days, I might as well focus more on gathering and controlling my Qi."
He extended his middle finger and concentrated. A faint white energy began to form at the tip, small, delicate, and unstable. It flickered out after a few seconds.
Qi was the essence of all life, present even in plants. The Kamehameha technique of the Turtle School channeled this internal life force into focused, destructive blasts.
While Mark's current body lacked the strength to unleash a full Kamehameha like thirteen-year-old Goku, he possessed Goku's memories and had already begun to sense the presence of Qi inside him. With steady training, he could gradually build up that control.
If he couldn't use the Kamehameha yet, a simple energy ball would suffice for now.
In the future, once his physique improved and his Qi control matured, he could even experiment with original techniques. From Yamcha's Spirit Ball to Tien's Solar Flare and Krillin's Destructo Disc, there were endless possibilities, all achievable, given time and effort.
Suddenly
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The moment he had stabilized a small marble-sized energy sphere at his fingertip, the door sounded.
He opened it to find Wanda and Pietro standing there in pajamas, pillows clutched to their chests.
"Mark… we can't sleep," Wanda whispered. "Can we stay with you?"
They were clearly uneasy, having just arrived in a completely unfamiliar environment. Mark smiled, patted their heads gently, and stepped aside.
"Come on in."
They were only ten years old, third or fourth grade by normal standards. It was no surprise they felt uneasy.
With time, they would adjust.
And until then, he would be their shield.