[Life is Good] Chapter 48

We finally got back.

You know, I really like Xavier’s school. I like my home too. But I’ve also realized something—I want… freedom. Yeah, that’s probably the best way to put it. When I was a kid, I couldn’t do anything without my parents. Even as a teenager, there was always some kind of leash. Then came the kidnappings, the life with mutants, their protection. I’m endlessly grateful to everyone who helped me. But suddenly, I just want my own place. My own apartment. A real space that’s mine, where I can come and go as I please.

Not that anyone’s restricting me right now, but there’s something about having a home of your own. Is this my rebellious phase kicking in? No idea. Maybe I’ve already been going through it, and this is just the latest symptom. I mulled it over while we got Penny settled into the room next to mine, where she unpacked, and I changed into fresh clothes and made a very necessary trip to the bathroom.

Yeah, I want to live separately. Visit my parents, drop by the school to see my friends from time to time… but—here’s the kicker—I still got school. Classes, training, tactical drills, learning to control my powers in the lab… The more I think about it, the more I realize that I’m nowhere near independence. Not unless I cut back even more of my so-called “free time.” Scratch that—I’d have to cut down on sleep, because I barely have free time as it is.

I already worked out a deal with Yuriko—two hours a day where I can do whatever, as long as I train after lunch while Penny’s here. One free day per week for personal business. But if I get my own place in the city, that’s extra travel time on top. Even if Ouyama moves in with me—what then? No training grounds. No lab access. And I’m not stopping my training. If I want to be an actual fighter, I need to train every single day. And that’s before factoring in my plans to study Qi, find magic users, learn to do magic, and finish college.

So yeah. I got myself all hyped up about the idea and then immediately depressed myself with reality. And to think—I used to dream of being a hedonist. A lazy life, lounging around with beautiful women, chilling at some cushy job that paid me for doing nothing. And look at me now. Training like a lunatic, studying like an overachieving nerd, preparing for a high-risk career as a certified superhero.

Where the hell did it all go so wrong? Or so right? I don’t even know anymore. If I’d never gotten powers, Penny and I would already be engaged, and I’d be packing for Europe, planning a normal-ass future with a normal-ass girlfriend. We’d be having normal, amazing sex with zero world-ending bullshit. She’d be setting me up with cute friends she liked, life would be good.

And yet, back then, I dreamed of superpowers. Even before I thought about hero work, I wanted to be a powerhouse. A lazy powerhouse, sure—just chilling on my couch, but if shit hit the fan, I’d walk out, kick ass, then go back to my snacks. Be careful what you wish for, kids. Ugh. Enough reflection. I can mope, but not for long—no time for existential crises. And honestly, who actually lives alone at fifteen, other than anime protagonists?

That said, getting my own place when I hit eighteen? That sounds fantastic.

I stepped out of my room and walked straight into a hilarious sight—a group of mutant girls and Penny, locked in what could only be described as a silent showdown.

It looked like I’d caught the scene right at the beginning because both sides were just standing there, staring each other down. There’s no better way to put it.

The only one smiling was Kristi—probably because she already knew Penelope.

“Hey, girls,” I said, deciding to take control before things got weird. A new guy at school? That gets a warm welcome. A new girl? That can start a territorial pissing contest if you’re not careful. “Let me introduce you. This is Penelope Black—my fiancee. I’ve mentioned her before. Her mom’s in town for work, so she’s staying at the school until they leave.”

The tension visibly eased. Their expressions softened. Even their stares became more welcoming. Well, except for Jubilee. That one was just radiating happiness. Pure, unfiltered joy. The kind that spreads like radioactive fallout—I could already tell she was about to go spread the news to every corner of the mansion.

I introduced Penny to the rest of them—everyone except Wolfsbane, who hung out with a different crowd, and the guys, who weren’t around. Surprisingly, it went well. No hostility. In fact, they warmed up to her almost immediately. Within five minutes, they were deep in conversation—asking about Europe, how we met, what I was like as a kid.

Oh. Oh no.

Emperor above, give me strength.

And then, without warning, they stole her. Just scooped Penny up, encircled her, and whisked her off for a grand tour of the school. Not even a glance in my direction.

Uh. Okay. Thanks, I guess?

So… what now?

Since I wasn’t about to stand there like an idiot, I shot Penny a text: “Heading to the lab for a bit. Call me when you’re free.” A tiny, irrational part of me worried for her, but I pushed it down. She’s not an idiot, and neither are they. Besides, Raisa was with them—probably the most level-headed person here. And Windy was basically the voice of reason in our little friend group.

With that settled, I made my way to Beast’s lab, where McCoy and Banner were—as usual—buried in research. They stood in front of a monitor, deep in discussion, spitting out complex nerdy terms at a speed that made my head spin. I understood about one in every five words.

"Greetings, oh brilliant minds!" I called out, grabbing their attention as I made my way to the couch.

The scene was a familiar one—just like always, the women gave me a quick wave and went right back to their conversation. They wouldn’t pay me any real attention until they were done.

Honestly, I’d tested this before. Once, I even put on headphones and started dancing right here. They barely spared me a glance before forgetting I existed.

That time, I actually considered taking it a step further—a full-on striptease on the table.
Thankfully, I caught myself in time. I do not have the moves for that.

Five minutes later, McCoy finally acknowledged me. “And what, dear boy, brings you here at this hour?” she asked, arching an amused brow.

For context—I usually show up after training. But today? Early. Without a word, I struck a dramatic pose, arms spread wide, palms to the ceiling, head tilted back in divine revelation—and ignited my hands in Flame.

With everything that had been happening, I hadn’t really had time to stop and analyze things. But now, in this quiet moment, I felt it—a rush of energy, raw excitement, a hungry sort of anticipation. There was something in me, stirring like a sleeping beast—slowly waking up, stretching, sniffing the air, wondering who it could sink its teeth into.

And that… worried me a little.

My energy manipulation? That was just a tool. That was fine. But the Flame… The ability to project absurdly high temperatures was one thing, but if I recall what happened with Scorpia—how my gun transformed into a hellish weapon—it wasn’t just fire. It altered things. My will reshaped my weapon into something deadlier. And that wasn’t skill. That was instinct.

And now? I really wanted to talk to the Ghost Rider.

McCoy and Banner, meanwhile, had launched into another rapid-fire debate—glancing between me and their notes, throwing around scientific terms I did not understand.

Why. Why did I have the brain of an orc instead of a Parker?

What followed was a whirlwind of questions, tests, and enough scientific swearing to make a sailor blush. Turns out, the Flame is way more versatile than my usual heat. Wrapping myself in fire? Easy. Shooting out a stream of flames? Child’s play. Whipping up a fiery tornado? Why the hell not. But the real kicker? Clothes.

When I manifested the flame away from my body, my underwear remained completely intact—thank God. But when I mentioned the whole weapon transformation thing, McCoy handed me a pair of plain rubber gloves and told me to concentrate on not burning them while igniting my hands. Have you ever seen rubber gloves covered in infernal runes? It was absurd, pure, unfiltered chaos. For one wild moment, my brain suggested testing this on a condom, but I shoved that thought out of my head before it could take root.

Then came the clothing and armor tests. 

Turns out, the Flame doesn’t destroy my battle suit—it alters it. The colors shift into a red-black palette, the design turns sleeker and more predatory, and when I don’t actively force the fire, it lazily licks along the edges like a living thing. The emblem of the Angels of Vengeance moves to my chest, getting larger and more vibrant. McCoy and Banner had very mixed reactions. On one hand, they were practically giddy at all the new data. On the other, they kept muttering stuff like “This should be impossible.”

Then came the weapons tests. The three of us headed to the shooting range—after evacuating Logan and a group of girls, Penny included, who’d been enthusiastically blasting at targets. The scientists took cover behind full-body riot shields they somehow had lying around and made me fire off different guns. Verdict? Ridiculously OP. A small-caliber pistol suddenly hit with the force of an elephant gun. Zero added recoil. Every single bullet? Armor-piercing with an explosive payload. Standard targets? Reduced to confetti.

Then we tried my Colt. We promptly decided to move all future tests to the desert because my simple ‘Valera’ had just evolved into ‘Valeriy Satanovich’. The thing was already terrifying before—now? Now it was the Colt from Hell. First shot? Left a crater in a concrete wall. A big crater. Like, 15 inches wide, 10 deep. The sonic boom alone nearly deafened both women. Banner turned green—not in a Hulk way, more in an I-just-watched-my-life-flash-before-my-eyes way. McCoy and I had to calm her down. And the muzzle flash? A full-ass yard of infernal fire.

McCoy was absolutely losing her shit by this point, practically growling with excitement. Every effect of the Flame got meticulously scribbled down into her notebook, accompanied by occasional muttering and restrained cursing. And, according to her logic, if I could do this with my hands and weapons, I should be able to do the same with vehicles. She was technically right but not completely. When I tried to “demonize” a car? Nothing. Just drained my reserves to zero. After recharging, they handed me a tricycle. Because, and I quote, "Start small." That idea came from Logan. His expression was completely serious. McCoy, bless her heart, took him entirely at face value and backed him up.

And so… I created the Tricycle of the Antichrist. This was worse than the hell-rune gloves. It was a tricycle. From hell. And then McCoy made me ride it. The thing didn’t break, but the whole "pedal to move" mechanic still applied, which meant I had to actually pedal the damned thing. Everybody laughed. I suffered.

Then came Logan’s motorcycle. Demonization drained a third of my reserves—compared to the tricycle, which had taken almost nothing. McCoy theorized that the energy cost scaled with size and complexity. I didn’t ride it. Logan didn’t let me. That was one reason. The other? I don’t know how to ride a goddamn motorcycle. Not in this life. Not in my last one. Never had the chance.

Instead, they gave me an electric scooter. Which ate up a fifth of my reserves. And actually let me ride it. Bad idea. The little bastard shot forward like a goddamn missile. I immediately ate pavement. The scooter? It kept going. Hit second cosmic velocity. And rammed straight into Storm’s car.

So. Turns out, demonized vehicles are viable projectiles. Good to know. Bad to use in practice. I stared at the ruined rear door of Ororo Munroe’s beloved Chevy. A single phrase popped into my head: "Nous sommes dans la merde." Logan, standing next to me, came to the same conclusion.

"We’re fucked," he muttered. Then, without another word, he turned to the girls. "Let’s go, ladies. If anything happens—blame McCoy." And just like that, he left, girls in tow, all throwing me very sympathetic looks. That left me, McCoy, and Banner—now forced to figure out how the hell we were gonna explain this.

Then Oyama found us. She had the unmistakable expression of a woman who had zero patience left. She gave me a long look, jabbed a finger in my direction, and said flatly, ‘I’m taking him.’ Then she turned and headed for the door. I sighed dramatically, cast a mournful glance at McCoy, and shrugged with exaggerated helplessness. "I’d stay, but my boss says no." Head down, shoulders slumped in fake resignation, I followed my strict sensei.

"Thanks, Sensei," I muttered. She raised an eyebrow. I elaborated. "I… uh. May have lightly rammed Miss Munroe’s car. With a scooter." Silence. Then, just for a split second— a hint of a smug little smile. Ah. Right. She and Ororo weren’t exactly friends. Not enemies, but definitely mutually ignoring each other in a very pointed way. Don’t know why. Maybe Ororo couldn’t stand Yuriko’s bluntness. Maybe Yuriko found Ororo’s holier-than-thou energy grating.

Either way, Toby? Devious little bastard. Managed to dodge Storm’s wrath. Probably made Sensei’s day a tiny bit better. McCoy and Banner? Well. They’d take the hit. How tragic.

Yuriko led me to a small classroom, arms crossed, expecting a full report. So I told her—mostly everything. How I found out about Mom’s situation. My run-in with the Ghost Rider. The hostage rescue. The fight with Scorpia. The meeting with SHIELD. The only thing I left out? Deadpool. And our deal. Family business. No need to share that with my teacher. Then, Yuriko asked one very simple question.

"Did you test the harpoons?"

…Ah. Damn.

As Yuriko walked me through a few more recommendations, she casually dropped another one that actually made me pause—testing the lethality of air guns.

“If a pneumatic pistol in your hands hits like a firearm, you’ll be taking it on missions,” she said, dead serious. “But I highly recommend not showing off these abilities. You need a hidden ace, something you can pull out at the right moment. Your Flame fits that role perfectly. The power level you've already displayed is more than enough to make people take you seriously—SHIELD’s interest in you proves that. Showing off even more? Unnecessary.”

I just nodded. Hard to argue with logic like that.

As I was stepping out of the classroom, my phone vibrated—Penny. She was done with her tour and was unpacking in her room, waiting for me. I turned to my merciless sensei, giving her my best "Have pity on my soul" look.

“Go,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Tomorrow we train as scheduled. And you better catch up on your academic work.”

See? My sensei was an angel.

“You got it, Boss!” I grinned. “Everything will be perfect, Boss!”

Oyama watched the boy walk away and felt… pride? Yeah, probably. Onryo was improving. She had definitely made the right call with him. The thought of taking him under her wing no longer seemed like some irrational impulse—it was satisfying. His growth was her accomplishment, after all. She had always loved achieving her own success, but pride in a student? That was something new. And for someone who intended to live forever, discovering something new was everything.

It only reinforced what she already knew—humans performed best under pressure. When his mother was in danger, Tobias had found a way to the city in record time, coordinated with the police, rescued hostages, fought a supervillain, and won. Yeah. She’d chosen well.

Still, she had been in a foul mood all morning because of his fight with Scorpia—specifically, because she hadn’t seen it happen. But her student had managed to make up for it in the most unexpected way.

A scooter.

She needed the security footage from the garage. Maybe even grab a beer and watch Toby’s glorious act of vengeance against that insufferable woman.

As she strolled down the hallway, maintaining her usual mask of indifference, Jean Grey passed her in the opposite direction. The telepath barely acknowledged her—until, just for a fraction of a second, she swore she saw Oyama flash a wicked, sharp-toothed grin.