The room Professor Charles Xavier utilized for sensitive meetings was a study in controlled elegance—a generous guest suite on the second floor of the Xavier Mansion, converted into an office that managed to feel both vast and intensely personal. At this moment, the only inhabitant was Ororo Munroe (Storm), seated at a large, antique writing desk.
She was engrossed in a stack of student records, her striking silver hair contrasting sharply with the mahogany desktop. Her occasional, deeply furrowed brow spoke volumes: she was engaged in the grim task of grading report cards, a chore that clearly indicated a coming reckoning for several gifted, but academically underperforming, young mutants.
Zhou Yi approached her with the quiet stealth of a predator, his suit seemingly absorbing the ambient sound. He moved behind her, the intoxicating scent of the crimson roses momentarily masking his entrance.
"If those little anarchists knew you were distributing Ds like party favors, I'm afraid they'd brand you a hateful, old Weather Witch," he whispered, his arm wrapping securely around her waist. His hand found the soft silk of her dress, the touch firm and familiar.
Ororo sighed, leaning back against his chest with a weariness that momentarily eclipsed the power she commanded. "They already do, you know. And out of all the volatile children who resort to name-calling, your little sister is the most imaginative. She calls me the 'Goddess of Bureaucracy' now."
"Wow, then I can only say that Sharice and I have a great deal in common," Zhou Yi responded, shrugging playfully as he forced her to turn fully to face him. "We are both completely outmatched by calculus and conventional schooling."
Now facing him, Ororo was breathtaking. She was dressed not in her usual Spartan uniform, but in a fitted cheongsam—a masterpiece of tailoring. It was rendered in a deep, sapphire blue and white, adorned with intricate Su embroidery patterns that mimicked classic Chinese porcelain.
The fabric perfectly accentuated her powerful, voluptuous figure and the mesmerizing, black-pearl luster of her skin. Her silver hair, usually wild, was intricately pinned, a crown of pure white against the noble blue.
The dress, however, featured a thigh-high slit that was strategically positioned to reveal a generous curve of her muscular leg, drawing the eye down to a slender ankle and impossibly elegant white stiletto heels. The entire ensemble radiated a unique, noble, and deeply sensual feminine allure.
"Unbelievable. Truly spectacular," Zhou Yi murmured, his admiration raw and unconcealed. "That dress... it's an absolute act of defiance against the mundane."
Ororo pursed her lips in a slow, triumphant smile, a flash of smug satisfaction crossing her features. She adjusted her sitting position slightly, a deliberate movement that allowed the light to catch the exquisite pattern on her exposed thigh.
"You find Mr. Zhou Yi's aesthetic judgment to be sound?" she asked, her voice laced with a playful, testing irony.
"Impeccable, madam," Zhou Yi responded, straightening his own Italian silk tie with an exaggerated flourish of masculine pride.
"Mr. Zhou Yi possesses the most discerning taste in all matters of art and architecture, especially concerning beautiful women. Ororo, you are stunning, and I can only offer these Crimson Roses as a minor accent to your inherent brilliance."
Ororo took the bouquet, her hands brushing his. She inhaled the deep, velvety scent of the petals, her expression turning thoughtful. "It's always me, isn't it?" she asked, a genuine question breaking through the flirtatious banter.
"Ororo, it has always, irrevocably, been you," Zhou Yi insisted, his voice dropping to a serious tone that cut through the levity. But Ororo simply rolled her eyes, placing the roses on a nearby side table.
"Save the declarations for later, Mister Grand Strategist. We have a significant operational failure to address now," she said, her voice instantly reverting to her professional, almost commanding, teacher's cadence.
"I agree entirely. I find the nighttime hours are far more conducive to discussing intensely personal matters," Zhou Yi concurred, smiling broadly, his teeth flashing white.
"We'll discuss that when the time comes," Ororo replied dismissively, pulling a thick stack of papers and folders toward her, then sliding them across the table to him.
Zhou Yi flipped through them. The initial pile consisted of various subject report cards. The grades were abysmal: the best were scattered Cs, but the vast majority were Ds, all stamped with the signature block of 'Ms. Sharice Ferguson.'
"What is this, the end-of-year award nominations?" Zhou Yi rubbed his temples, a sigh escaping him. He tried to muster a shred of paternal pride. "Look, third and fourth quartile finishes. That's still better than last year, isn't it?"
"Those are merely distractions, Yi," Ororo said, her tone cutting through his self-consolation. "I wouldn't have bothered you with these. These are just the preamble—the acceptable, predictable chaos of teenage intellect."
"And a rather compelling preamble it is," Zhou Yi muttered, rolling his eyes. "I thought I was prepared for the standard level of my sister's delinquency."
Ororo leaned forward, her composure hardening. The flirtation vanished entirely, replaced by the grave authority of a woman who understands both the elements and the nature of consequence. "Your attitude is appreciated, but I must warn you: the breaches Sharice committed this term were serious. They represented a failure of control that nearly resulted in tragedy."
"Tell me, Ororo. I need the full, unvarnished truth," Zhou Yi said, his own posture straightening. Sharice was his anchor, his single greatest vulnerability, and the only person he would completely expose himself to protect.
Ororo gathered her thoughts, detailing the severity of the incidents. "Sharice's ability to open two-way portals in three-dimensional space at will is, as you know, incredibly rare and frighteningly potent. The Professor and I view it not just as a power, but as a severe existential risk. The problem isn't the power; it's the profound, almost casual disregard she has for its consequences."
"Two months ago, she and two other students used their portals to bypass the school's security late one night. They intended to pull a simple prank—but her spatial judgment failed. They accidentally dropped a violently drunk man from a bar directly onto the Brooklyn Bridge roadway."
"What?"
"They used a succession of portals, one opening above the next, to keep the poor man suspended in a controlled, five-minute free-fall loop before dropping him safely onto a police car. He swore off drinking forever, but the collateral risk was catastrophic."
Zhou Yi absorbed the information, his face grim. That wasn't a prank; that was a terrifying display of uncontrolled, physics-bending power.
"And two weeks ago, the incident with Kitty. The accidental derailment," Ororo continued, her voice low.
"They used their combined powers—Sharice's portals and Kitty's phasing—to get into an amusement park. Sharice's portal manipulation flickered, creating a spatial distortion that caused an antique wooden roller coaster to violently jump the track. It was Jean who had to exert herself fully, using every ounce of her telekinesis to prevent the cars from plunging into the crowd. She had to then erase the memories of every civilian and rescue worker present."
"This is terrible," Zhou Yi whispered, his mind already calculating the internal metrics of Sharice's power fluctuation. "What was her reaction?"
"She was initially contrite, yes. But the remorse evaporated quickly. She adopted a façade of nonchalant confidence, claiming that such a minor miscalculation would never, could never, happen again. She mirrored your own arrogance, Yi."
"The confidence of an idiot, or a genius," Zhou Yi admitted, meeting Ororo's steady gaze. "So, you and Jean need to place her under continuous, direct surveillance now?"
"Yes," Ororo affirmed, her voice heavy. "Jean and I will be personally monitoring her and Kitty every hour during their free time. She is now under special supervision."
Zhou Yi reached across the table, taking Ororo's hands and holding them firmly. This was the moment of truth.
"Then I need you to promise me something, Ororo. This is not a request; it's a non-negotiable term. If she makes even a minor mistake, if she shows the slightest instability or attempts to use her powers to leave—you must tell me immediately. Let me handle the consequence."
He spoke not as a brother, but as a man of vast, hidden power, asking another powerful entity to respect his ultimate territorial rights. He knew his sister's cycle: repression led to a greater need to rebel and test her limits, which would inevitably lead to a catastrophic failure. He needed to manage the pressure, not the school.
Ororo stared at his hands holding hers. She recognized the fierce, protective instinct, the raw core of responsibility. She knew this man was more than just a rich playboy—he was a force.
"I… I will speak with Jean," Ororo conceded, her refusal dissolving under the sheer, controlled intensity of his demand. "But know this, Yi: if you fail to contain her, the consequences will be yours, and they will be final."
Leaning against the window of the girls' dormitory, Sharice watched the silhouette of Zhou Yi's unique sports car disappear down the drive with Ororo in the passenger seat. She folded her arms, her face a mask of furious sibling jealousy.
"That man is nauseating," she muttered, kicking the wall gently, a shimmering, purple distortion forming and dissipating harmlessly on the plaster.
"He spends an hour lecturing me on stability, then runs off to flirt with the 'Goddess of Bureaucracy'. He has absolutely no sense of sisterly loyalty."
Kitty Pryde materialized in a shimmer of dust and light, popping through the thick wooden floorboards. She looked at her friend with wide, incredulous eyes.
"Sharice, you are genuinely not capable of being a brother-scammer, are you?"
"Katie, you are courting absolute disaster!" Sharice shrieked, instantly manifesting a crystal portal right beneath Kitty's feet. Kitty, startled, instinctively phased into the wall, turning into a cloud of smoke only to have the wall itself ripple with a purple biotic field that forced her back out, directly into Sharice's waiting grasp.
"You're finished, Katie," Sharice grinned, all five fingers twitching in anticipation. She began to administer a rapid-fire series of aggressive, non-lethal, electrostatic tickles generated by her biotic field, causing the poor girl to convulse with painful laughter.
"Stop it… Sharice! I was wrong! You don't have a Brother complex! It's all just normal sibling rivalry! I promise!" Kitty gasped, desperately trying to phase away.
"Not possible!" Sharice countered, not stopping the barrage. "Not until you agree to our terms. We're throwing a rebellion party tonight. A real one."
Hearing the word party, Kitty instantly phased through Sharice's torso, appearing behind her with a gasp. "Sharice, are you insane? Did you forget last time? Jean and Ororo nearly decommissioned the Danger Room. You were locked up for forty-eight hours under behavioral observation!"
"I know!" Sharice stomped her foot, a tiny spatial ripple shaking the floor. "But this time, it's different. We're going off-campus. We're going to a real place, and we're taking Vivian Leigh with us."
Kitty gasped, her eyes forming perfect 'O' shapes. Vivian Leigh was a student with powerful, yet volatile, pyrokinetic abilities whom Ororo kept on a very tight behavioral leash.
"Oh, you're certifiably insane! We're sixteen! Ororo will ground you for the rest of your natural life if she finds out about a trip to a bar!" Kitty whispered, horrified.
"Hey, my stupid older brother was doing significantly worse things than this when he was sixteen, and he turned out perfectly fine and obscenely rich! If he gets to be a playboy, why do I have to be a good baby and a Barbie doll forever?" Sharice demanded, channeling her anger at Zhou Yi's sudden moralizing into fuel for her rebellion.
Kitty paused, her rational thought momentarily short-circuited by the logic of teenage defiance. Then she composed herself. "I'm not helping you convince Vivian Leigh. And Sharice, you absolutely, definitely have a sister complex. I guarantee it!"
The world's most renowned three-Michelin-star restaurant, ES, was nestled in a privileged, trendsetting corner of Manhattan. It was less a dining establishment and more a cultural institution—a definitive indicator of status and power in New York society.
Its clientele belonged to two distinct, yet intersecting, orbits: Hollywood royalty (the Denzel Washingtons and the Sarah Jessica Parkers) and the ultra-wealthy business elite.
A widely circulated, utterly boring, but socially crucial criterion stated: The way a man proves his status in New York is to see if he needs an appointment to dine at ES. Tony Stark was the kind of man who would make a spectacle of this. Zhou Yi, however, simply considered it his due.
Holding Ororo's hand, Zhou Yi led her into the famed restaurant. The Maître D', a man whose face was a mask of practiced diplomacy, instantly abandoned the couple he was speaking to and glided toward them.
"Dear Mr. Zhou Yi, I am honored. I hope you and this magnificent lady have a truly exceptional evening with us."
Ororo squeezed Zhou Yi's hand, a flicker of awkwardness crossing her face. As a teacher and a powerful mutant, she rarely frequented establishments of this rarefied air, and certainly not places where the currency was measured in pedigree, not power.
She knew the unspoken truth: While mutants weren't subject to open discrimination in America, they were subtly and effectively excluded from the highest echelons of old wealth and social power.
If Zhou Yi, a powerful shareholder and a man who commanded the elite's attention, hadn't brought her, she would likely have been turned away politely but firmly at the door. It was a harsh, yet undeniable, facet of American freedom.
The attendant led them not to a quiet corner, but to a prime table—the most visible, most coveted seat in the house, a testament to Zhou Yi's status. As they walked through the room, glasses were subtly raised, heads nodded, and names were whispered.
To Zhou Yi, these figures were merely background noise—minor shareholders, fading celebrities, and Wall Street mercenaries. But to Ororo, they were the glittering, unattainable symbols of the world that feared her.
"Oh my God, Yi. That is Nicole Kidman. I just saw the real person," Ororo whispered, her composure momentarily fractured by the sheer novelty of the celebrity presence.
Zhou Yi smiled, squeezing her hand reassuringly. "Relax, dear. By the end of this evening, you will be the most envied woman in this room, not her."
Ororo took a deep, steadying breath, her eyes returning to their normal, tranquil state. "Okay, okay. I know I'm acting like a farm girl. I just… I didn't expect you to bring me to a place this exclusive. It's overwhelming."
Zhou Yi raised his crystal glass, the champagne catching the soft light. He looked at her, his eyes warm but challenging.
"My dear, you must understand something fundamental," he said, his voice quiet, drawing her gaze away from the surrounding opulence. "All of this—the silk, the crystal, the status—these are merely props. They are the currency of the world's elite. And if you are to be a part of my life, you must learn to demand them, not merely appreciate them."
He gently took her free hand and leaned across the table, his words low and sincere.
"You are not a Cinderella here. You are a Goddess. I did not bring you here to impress you, Ororo. I brought you here to sanctify our union in the eyes of the world I control. I brought you here to show this entire, suffocatingly exclusive class that you are mine, and they will respect you as such."
Ororo's eyes widened, her cheeks flushing with a deep, dark blush that stood out against her black skin. She didn't look at the crowd; she only saw him. The raw, possessive sincerity of his statement was more intoxicating than the finest champagne.
"That's… that's only your opinion," she whispered, her voice husky. Her rolling eyes, a familiar sign of her playful exasperation, were utterly disarming.
Zhou Yi responded by gently taking her hand and bringing it to his lips, kissing her knuckles slowly and deliberately. Then, he raised his gaze, his gentlest smile transforming into something deeper, more significant.
"My dear Miss Ororo," he murmured, "I don't believe it's productive for you and me to continue making such a clear distinction between my life and ours, do you?"
The fine wine, the exotic food, and the intoxicating, sensual display of power and status were potent intoxicants. For two people who shared a complex history and a deep, escalating attraction, the night was less a dinner and more a declaration.
As Zhou Yi guided the slightly drunk, utterly captivated Ororo from the restaurant and into the car, he knew their path had diverged completely from the school's control. Tonight would not just be an unforgettable night, but a magical beginning.