Ryuuto was incandescent.
Before Natasha could finish a sentence, he exploded: "Those idiots! I don't care how much red tape they have—if that pompous asshole in the White House doesn't own up, I'll march into his lawn and beat him senseless myself!"
Natasha raised an eyebrow. "Focus. The military isn't thinking rationally here. Bullets don't fix powers that bend reality. Diplomacy's the sane play."
Ryuuto snorted. "Sane? I know what they're thinking. They're terrified of losing face. They think showing weakness to mutants will make them look powerless. So they'd rather declare war to prove a point. This 'annihilation' isn't just an attack—it's a message: bow or die. If we lose, every other mutant will keep their heads down or be wiped out. We can't let that happen."
Natasha nodded once, hard. "Contact Tony. Ask him what the hell is going on. If he handed over Second-Gen armor to the military, he'll be on our list the next time we meet."
"On it." Ryuuto stalked off toward Professor Xavier's office; Natasha pulled out her comm and called Stark as she followed.
Tony's voice answered, lazy and rumpled even over the line. "I'm sleeping. This had better be worth waking me."
"Did you provide Second-Gen armor to the military?" Natasha asked without preamble. "There's an order to level the school in an hour. Bombers, tanks, a thousand armored troops—and three soldiers in Second-Gen suits. Steve said the tech came from you. Ryuuto just… he's ready to flip."
There was a beat. Then Tony barked, "What? No. Natasha—I didn't provide anything. Colonel James Roddy stole one of my prototypes. He stole it and ran. Whoever leaked it to the military mass-produced it. Not my call. Not my fault. Don't look at me like that."
Natasha exhaled, half relief, half fury. "I told Ryuuto you'd be careful. He almost lost it."
Tony's voice softened, then went back to flippant. "Trouble, yeah. I'm conflicted—promised Ryuuto support, but if he goes full-on enemy of humanity, that's messy. I'll keep working on Gen-3 and see if Gen-4 can remove the 'stealability' factor. Say sorry to him for me—this slipped by me, negligence on my end."
"Fine. Stay on standby." Natasha cut the call and moved faster. She hauled a black leather kit from under the bed—grenades, pistols, spare mags—the Widow's little church of tools.
Susan Storm hovered in the doorway, alarm written across her face. "What's happening?"
Natasha briefed her in five words: evacuation order, military strike, Second-Gen suits, one hour.
Susan's expression collapsed into righteous fury. "What a bastard! I want to—" She stopped, forced herself deep breath. "We can't just explode right now. We have to help Ryuuto."
"Exactly." Natasha loaded a magazine with crisp, efficient motions. "Ryuuto can handle one-on-one, but this is a coordinated annihilation. If stealth bombers drop warheads from multiple vectors, the school becomes rubble in minutes. Susan, you can envelope objects in forcefields and redirect them—use that. Teamwork, no pride. We've been silly and petty; now we have to be clever."
"We stop the infighting and unite," Susan said, steadier. "We fight the ones who would kill mutants, not every human."
Natasha's eyes hardened. "Right. Not every civilian—just the hostile command. Once the politicians and warmongers are out, the rest can breathe."
"And Magneto?" Susan asked quietly. "He won't hesitate to strike if innocents are threatened."
"Magneto's a problem we deal with later," Natasha said. "Right now, we keep people alive. Ryuuto's home is under threat. That's all that matters."
They were still exchanging plans when Ryuuto pushed into Xavier's office. Professor Xavier stood looking out the window, hands clasped behind him—calm on the surface, stormed below.
"I'm not evacuating," Ryuuto said, voice flat with resolve. "This school is my home. We won't leave it to be wiped off the map."
Charles turned, a deep sadness in his eyes. "Ryuuto, I don't want to abandon this place either, but there is real danger. If we stay, we could be buried with the rubble."
Ryuuto's jaw tightened. "Then we don't run. We fight smart. We use the refuge as bait if we have to. We draw them into traps, separate air and ground, use Susan to redirect ordnance, Natasha to lead tactical strikes, and—" he glanced to the door where others were gathering, "—everyone who'll stand. We buy time and send a message: you don't terrorize a home and get away with it."
Professor Xavier's face showed the weight of command. "The priority is survival, but I cannot—"
"Stop giving speeches," Ryuuto snapped, surprisingly gentle. "Give orders. Make the plan. I don't want to beg for mercy. I want them to regret they picked on us."
Charles closed his eyes. The room went quiet long enough for everyone to hear a pin drop. Outside, the sky was serene. Inside, the calm was a powder keg.
Ryuuto tapped his comm. "Shion—system, run threat analysis and load defense protocols. I want flank routes and EMP vectors. Give me anything that turns Second-Gen suits into scrap."
A dry note responded, Shion's voice half-bored, half-trollish: "[Ding! System Activated] Threat matrix online. Subroutines primed. Prepare to be dramatic."
Ryuuto smirked. "Dramatic is the plan."
He looked at the team—Natasha steely, Susan a fortress of resolve, Charles the reluctant commander—and felt the old, familiar hunger: protect what's yours, no matter the cost.
Outside, the engines of war drew nearer. Inside, the school braced—and Ryuuto's grin turned dangerous.