"Xavier's School needs both elites and warriors?"
Magneto was momentarily stunned.
Joseph's sincerity struck a chord deep within him—clearing away the fog of suspicion and pride that had clouded his thoughts.
Perhaps… there was no hidden agenda.
No manipulative scheme against Charles.
No political maneuver or trap.
Perhaps Joseph was simply doing what he believed in—trying to build a future where Xavier's School and the Mutant race could survive, thrive, and shape their destiny.
That was all.
For the first time since the conversation had begun, Magneto's internal storm began to settle. The fire in his eyes dimmed, replaced with clarity. He understood something important now.
The young man before him—Joseph—was not a manipulator.
He was a revolutionary.
Someone cut from the same cloth as himself and Charles, but with a mind all his own.
"You want me to join your plan?" Magneto asked slowly, studying Joseph with a renewed sense of respect.
The change in his tone was subtle, but Joseph noticed immediately. His eyes lit up with a flicker of satisfaction.
Yes, he thought. That's the Magneto I was looking for.
The powerful, sharp-eyed revolutionary—not the confused prisoner numbed by years of isolation.
Joseph met his gaze, unwavering.
"Xavier's School needs talents like you," he repeated, voice calm but firm.
Then, with a casual wave of his hand, the magical flames in the space vanished into thin air. The earth locks that had held Mystique were released. The sun vines binding Magneto dissipated into sparks and dust.
Rumble—!
Without the magical canopy of vines holding up the damaged structure, the ruined ceiling groaned and collapsed. Splintered wood and stone crashed downward in a deafening roar.
But just before the debris could touch them, it transformed midair—melting into water like rain from a broken dam.
Thousands of droplets cascaded toward the ground, gentle as mist, avoiding the three figures standing beneath the wreckage.
Not a single drop landed on them.
Magneto and Mystique instinctively raised their arms to shield themselves, only to realize they didn't need to.
The entire downpour flowed around them as if obeying a silent command.
The sight was surreal—breathtaking in its quiet beauty.
Mystique turned her head, staring at Magneto. This man she had followed for decades… yet at that moment, she saw something strange. He wasn't preparing to retaliate. He wasn't trying to flee or even challenge Joseph.
He was just standing there, still.
Eyes focused.
No longer a prisoner.
Just a man listening.
"Are you not going to use force?" Magneto asked slowly.
Joseph gave him a wry smile.
"I never intended to force anyone," he said. "Just like you never struck to kill when fighting the X-Men."
He folded his arms and looked directly at the veteran leader.
"Because deep down, we both know that unless there's true hatred among mutants, there's no reason to fight to the death."
The words were spoken simply, without arrogance, yet they struck Magneto with the force of a hammer.
Coming from such a young man, they should have sounded presumptuous.
But they didn't.
They carried the weight of a leader's vision—one who had thought long and hard about the future.
Mystique, too, was taken aback. She glanced at Joseph with eyes that held something she hadn't felt in years.
Respect.
This aura… she'd only seen it in two men before—Charles and Magneto himself.
But now, this youth possessed it as well.
And strangely enough… it didn't feel out of place.
"You want Xavier's School to open enrollment and stand openly before the world," Mystique suddenly said, breaking her long silence. "And then what?"
Her tone was not mocking or confrontational. It was genuinely curious.
"Do you plan to breed more X-Men—fight mutant crime to win human approval? Or…" Her eyes narrowed. "Do you want to use the school as a front to raise a mutant army to challenge humanity?"
The question hit hard.
Even Magneto looked at her, mildly surprised.
He had worked with Mystique for years—no one understood her better than he did. For her to speak up like this…
It meant she was truly interested.
Maybe it was Joseph's power that impressed her.
Or maybe it was the fact that his vision, within just a few short years, had made more progress than all their decades of revolution combined.
Either way, Mystique was considering the offer seriously.
Magneto turned back to Joseph.
"Yes, young man. I'd like to know too. Suppose you make Xavier's School famous—suppose the world accepts it. Then what? It's still just a school, isn't it?"
Joseph's expression sharpened instantly.
"You're wrong, Mr. Magneto," he said, voice rising with conviction. "Xavier's School is more than just a school. It always has been. And the problem is—you and Charles never realized it."
Both Magneto and Mystique blinked, their attention caught.
Joseph took a step forward, eyes gleaming.
"You both made the same fatal mistake," he continued, tone fierce and passionate. "You believed that the greatest value of mutants lies in their superpowers. You focused entirely on strength—on Alpha-level, Beta-level, Gamma-level classifications."
He pointed at both of them, unafraid.
"Charles built the X-Men from Alpha and Beta-level mutants. You formed the Brotherhood with mostly Gammas and higher. But what about the rest?"
He paused.
"The majority?"
They didn't respond. Joseph's words were shaking the very foundations of their ideologies.
"You've been measuring our value by power alone," he said, quieter now. "But Alpha, Beta, Gamma-level mutants have always been the minority."
Joseph straightened, letting that idea sink in.
"And the truth is, we don't have the numbers. There are too few of us with high-tier abilities to fight a war or shape public opinion. We can't rely on just them to change the world."
He looked Magneto dead in the eye.
"We've been ignoring the real wealth of the mutant race."
"…What do you mean?" Mystique asked, her voice almost a whisper.
Joseph turned to her.
"I mean the Delta-class mutants," he declared. "They make up over 50% of the mutant population. Their powers are weak—often useless in combat—but they have superior physiology, heightened cognitive abilities, or enhanced senses."
He held up a hand and snapped his fingers.
"They may not be warriors—but they're brilliant. Scientists, engineers, strategists. Many of them have awakened with superior intellect, faster learning, or creative enhancements."
"Do you know what such people are in human society?"
Joseph paused.
Then he said the word like a thunderclap:
"Elites."
It hit Magneto and Mystique like an explosion.
"You don't understand…" Joseph continued, "human society has always been an elite society. The few control the many. Elites hold the keys to government, business, media, technology—everything."
"And mutants? We've been wasting our true elite population!"
He raised his hand again, this time in emphasis.
"Instead of building armies, we should be building infrastructure. Education. Commerce. Media. Law."
"Delta-class mutants can walk into human society unnoticed, and rise to the top."
"They are our bridge to peace—or our advantage in war."
Joseph's voice lowered now, heavy with purpose.
"And that is why Xavier's School is opening enrollment."
"We're not just training X-Men. We're cultivating influence. Delta-level mutants will be the backbone of mutant survival—not by fighting humans, but by joining them and climbing higher."
"And when they graduate, when they disperse into every corner of human society…"
He let the implication hang.
"Imagine what happens next."
Magneto didn't speak.
Neither did Mystique.
They simply stood there, haunted by the image Joseph had painted.
A thousand small seeds—graduates from Xavier's School—spreading through the world. CEOs. Politicians. Journalists. Scientists.
Mutants shaping the world silently.
Peacefully.
Irrevocably.
The weight of the future hung in the air.
And it was more powerful than any war they had ever dreamed of.
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