Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters – Westchester, New York | Afternoon
A sharp sonic boom tears across the blue horizon, followed by the golden shimmer of sunlight glinting off a figure descending like a meteor.
President Stephen Lance Carter lands gracefully on the open lawn of Xavier's School, his custom white-gold suit fluttering with authority — Regal, minimalist, and bold. Like him.
Children on the lawn freeze mid-training, jaws slack with awe.
A small boy with spindly limbs gasps. "It's him!"
Another mutant girl with lavender skin whispers reverently, "Super-President...!"
"I saw him punch a tornado!"
A fourth student stammers, "He... he caught a whole airplane. My dad said no one's done that since Superman — and he's not even real!"
Lance chuckles, crouching as they rush over.
"Well, if he's not real, then you better tell me who I keep getting mistaken for at comic cons."
A teen with dragonfly wings laughs. "Do you have a secret fortress?"
"I do," Lance smirks. "It's just more of a very secure Air Force base with a solar chamber and... weekly pizza nights."
The kids burst into laughter. One mutant offers him a daisy made of ice.
He accepts it.
"Thank you, soldier. I'll put it on my desk next to my nuclear football."
Behind the students, a familiar voice cuts through the crowd like sunlight.
It's professor jean!!
"Dad!"
Jean Grey, now twenty-four, comes jogging across the lawn in slim-fitting jeans and a maroon top, her long red hair catching the breeze. Her smile is radiant. Unfiltered.
Lance opens his arms without hesitation.
She jumps into his embrace, and for a second — she's ten again, safe in the arms of the man who found her when the world had abandoned her.
"You didn't say you were coming," she mumbles against his chest.
"Surprise inspection," Lance says, voice warm. "Gotta keep the next generation on their toes."
XAVIER'S OFFICE – LATER
Charles Xavier, in his late 50s, sits at his desk. Clean-shaven, wise, and radiating the calm of someone who's seen civilizations rise and fall. The windows behind him bathe the room in golden light.
Lance enters, Jean beside him. They share a small nod, something deeper than politics — mutual respect.
"Charles."
"Stephen," Xavier smiles. "I wasn't expecting the President of the United States to fly down without a security detail."
Lance waves a hand. "Who needs one when you can bench press a tank and hear nuclear heartbeats from orbit?"
Charles chuckles. "Touché."
Jean excuses herself. "I'll be at the observation deck."
She touches Lance's arm as she passes. He squeezes her hand briefly, silently.
XAVIER'S OFFICE
Charles: "Is this about politics, Stephen? Or the future?"
Lance: (sits slowly, eyes thoughtful) "Both. I've been fighting shadows ever since I woke up in this world. Political ones. Even Mystical ones. But now that I'm here — really here — I've seen the truth."
Charles leans forward. "And what is that truth?"
Lance's voice lowers.
"That humanity isn't ready. Not for gods. Not for monsters. And definitely not for their children growing wings and reading thoughts."
"They fear what they can't control."
"And that's why I'm here. To give them — and us — structure."
Lance exhales, eyes glowing faintly red.
"I want to build a superhero school. Not like Xavier's. Bigger. Global. A place where kids don't just learn to hide — but to rise. With curriculum. Ethics. Real teachers. Battle instructors. Political mentors. Purpose."
"And you want my help?"
"I want you to be its founding partner. I'll fund it. Protect it. Give it legal immunity. But it needs your heart, Charles. Your wisdom."
Xavier's eyes narrow slightly.
"And when these children grow up?"
"They'll join the Hero Agency I plan to build. A regulated body. Pro Hero system. Licensed, public, supported — inspired. No more masked vigilantes. No more government puppets. Just heroes."
Charles is silent for a long time.
Then—
"You've thought this through."
"I had to. After what happened in D.C., after what Magneto did... the world's watching. I'd rather give them hope than fear."
A smile finally curls on Xavier's lips.
"Then I will help you, Stephen. For them."
They clasp hands.
"And for the world they'll build after us."
HALLWAY OUTSIDE
Jean is leaning against the wall, pretending to be on her phone.
Lance exits. She lights up instantly.
"Still spying?"
"Strategically loitering," she quips.
He smirks. "C'mon. Iet get ice cream like the old days ."
SKY – FLIGHT
Jean holds onto him as they fly above Westchester.
She leans her head on his shoulder, eyes closed.
"Remember when you used to carry me like this and I'd pretend I was flying?"
"You weren't pretending."
ICE CREAM PARLOR – MANHATTAN
They land near a vintage shop.
Jean giggles as they sit at a table with Sunday
Owner (bald man in apron): "Hey! It's America's flying tax reform!"
Lance: "Hey, Lou. You still sell root beer floats that make you question your life choices?"
Lou: "You bet your red-white-and-gold ass I do."
Jean giggles as they sit at a table with ice cream sundays and her eyes soft.
As they sit, chatting like old friends, a little girl dashes across the street—just as a delivery truck turns the corner.
ACROSS THE STREET
A child wanders into traffic.
A truck rounds the corner.
Lance disappears in a blur of motion.
WHOOSH.
He's holding the girl in his arms, her terrified sobs buried in his suit.
A young mother collapses in relief.
"Thank you," she cries. "God — thank you!"
He kneels, gently handing her the child. "She's okay. She's safe."
A crowd forms. Phones flash.
Teen boy: "He's real. He's our Superman."
JEAN'S POV FROM A DISTANCE
She watches quietly, heart tight.
He doesn't just save the world. He saves lives. Little lives. One at a time.
FLASHBACK – 1995, UPSTATE ORPHANAGE
Young Jean Grey, age 10, sits alone on rusted swing. The sky is gray. Her parents died two weeks ago in a car crash… one she caused.
Her thoughts are screaming. She clutches her head. A thousand thoughts. None her own.
Then—silence.
She looks up.
A man in military uniform stands there.
"You're... quiet," she says.
He kneels. "Yeah. That's why I came."
"I can't make the voices stop."
"You don't have to. You just have to find the one voice that matters. Yours."
He offers his hand.
"You hungry?"
"...ice cream?"
"Best cure I know."
That day, they sat on a bench. She spoke for the first time in a week. And he just listened.
BACK TO PRESENT – SUNSET ON THE GOLDEN GATE BRIDGE
They land atop the iconic bridge, suspended above the bay.
The sun is melting into the horizon. The sky is blood-orange.
Jean sits beside him, her voice soft.
"When I was younger, I thought I loved you because you saved me. Because you were strong. But it's not that."
He turns to her.
"It's because no matter how powerful you became... you never stopped being him. The man who sat with me on that bench and just let me be."
Lance nods.
And in the silence, Jean leans her head on his shoulder.
A long pause.
Then she whispers:
"I think I've always loved you."