Reborn with Steve Stand-Chapter 838: It’s been a long time… Lucky Block!

“What was the point of burning her backpack?”

Standing nearby, Logan frowned in confusion. “Didn’t it occur to you that it might’ve held something important to her?”

“It’s just a kid’s stuff,”

Fang Mo waved dismissively. “When I was that age, I fantasized every day about someone setting my homework on fire. Now that I finally have the power, I’m going to help others fulfill that dream…”

“The problem is, you burned more than just her homework.”

Logan’s face darkened.

“I keep telling you: kids’ things aren’t worth much.”

Fang Mo shrugged nonchalantly. “Back in my day, I didn’t have anything in my school bag except homework and a cheap pencil case. Two pens—that’s pocket change. At most, maybe an MP3 player for music, like 18 or 20 bucks.”

“That’s not what I meant—”

Logan shook his head.

“All right, so maybe it’s an MP4, fine,”

Fang Mo went on, spreading his hands again. “It’s just the same device with a small screen for watching some…um…cartoons. A hundred bucks, tops.”

“Still not what I’m saying.”

Logan cut him off once again.

“Hm?”

Fang Mo paused, then smacked his forehead as if a realization had struck. “Oh, right, I forgot—this is the U.S. So you’re referring to an MP5, I guess?”

“Which elementary school kid puts an MP5 submachine gun in their backpack?!”

Unable to hold back, Logan roared, “I’m just telling you to only burn homework. Stop destroying other stuff—especially don’t burn the planet we’re standing on!”

“Hey, hey, American kids bringing MP5s to school is practically a thing, you know?”

Fang Mo retorted confidently, then asked, “Do you know why most magazines hold only 30 rounds?”

“Because adding more ammunition makes the gun heavier and harder to hold for a prolonged time,”

Logan replied instinctively. He’d lived through WWI and WWII, so he knew his firearms well. “On the other hand, carrying fewer rounds than that reduces suppressive fire—” ℟𝙖Ɲ𝘰BĘś

“Wrong!”

Fang Mo cut him off with a dramatic wave of his hand. “It’s because an American classroom typically has thirty students!”

Saying so, Fang Mo didn’t give Logan a chance to retort. He simply lowered his gaze to the little girl. “Kid, what’s your name?”

“M-my name is Anna…”

The girl answered timidly.

“If your friend ever warns you not to go to school the next day, you listen. All right?”

As he spoke, Fang Mo pulled a small ring from his pocket, slipping it onto her finger. “Or you can tell your friend they shouldn’t go to school.”

“Huh?”

Anna stared blankly at the ring on her hand.

“What’d you give her?”

Logan asked, frowning.

“Nothing special—think of it as a bulletproof vest for kids.”

Fang Mo brushed it off. In truth, it was just a “toy” ring made from Nether Venom Crystal (or some similarly bizarre material) with max projectile-protection enchantments. It wasn’t very practical overall, but it’d guard her from stray bullets in a pinch.

“A…bulletproof vest?”

Logan repeated, stunned.

“Yep, U.S.-exclusive. Only in America do they sell children’s sizes.”

Fang Mo reached out and gently pinched Anna’s cheek. Her dazed expression reminded him of his own younger sister. “Sorry for burning your backpack. Here’s a little gift—now you can ride around in a convertible without worry. It’ll keep you safe.”

“Could you tone down the dark humor?”

Logan pressed a hand to his forehead in exasperation. “At least don’t act so callous in front of a kid…”

“How am I being callous?”

Fang Mo spread his hands in defense. “It shows how much I like kids, you know? I used to dream of opening a school—like a place where you’d have twin students, tsundere students, ones that felt like my daughter, hyperactive ones, lazy ones, little devils… and they’d all be calling me ‘Sensei.’”

“God, why can’t Heaven have an FBI?”

Logan groaned, gripping his forehead.

Even so, he gently pulled Anna to his side and brushed off Fang Mo’s hand. “Come on, sweetie… let’s get you out of here.”

“…”

Anna, already frightened out of her wits, followed Logan numbly.

Meanwhile, Beast (Hank) was heroically saving civilians. He cleared debris from the blocked exit with brute force. His blue fur had been burned black in places by the flames.

Licked by fire, his skin was peeling in bloody patches, causing him to bare his teeth in pain. His beastly appearance had already been scary enough; now he looked downright fearsome. Yet the people he was saving didn’t seem afraid at all—because it was clear he was risking his life to rescue them. A large chunk of the ceiling had fallen just moments before, and he rushed in to save an elderly couple, getting himself crushed and coughing up blood.

After a massive effort, he managed to clear the blocked exit, ignoring his own burns to help usher people out. He stayed behind to be sure everyone had escaped safely.

Logan watched with sympathy, but mindful of the plan, he took Anna and left with the crowd. Fang Mo likewise slipped away, acting as if nothing had happened.

By the time the fire department and the police arrived—quite late—everyone else had already gotten out safely.

“W-wait!”

A voice shouted from among the evacuees, “Someone’s still in there! He saved us all!”

“Yes, that’s right,”

the elderly couple chimed in, trembling. “He looked…kind of strange, with blue fur. But he’s a good kid.”

“Blue fur? The heck’s that about?”

Some of the officers looked confused.

But they listened, and once the flames were under control, a rescue crew rushed in and dragged out an unconscious Beast.

“W-What is that thing?”

“An alien?”

“A monster?”

It was the first time any of them had seen someone like him. Onlookers were stunned by the sight of a giant, blue-furred humanoid. But since he was unconscious, their fear quickly turned into curiosity, and they crowded around, snapping pictures with heavy, old-fashioned cameras.

“Go find your family, kid,”

Logan said, gently nudging Anna. Then, lowering his voice, he turned to Fang Mo: “Looks like Hank’s out cold. What now?”

“Nothing,”

Fang Mo said, unconcerned. “We head back to the school. We can hear about Charles giving lectures to my ‘guichu all-stars’ or whatever.”

“You’re just… leaving him? Aren’t you worried he’ll get in trouble?”

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Logan frowned.

“What could happen?”

Fang Mo rolled his eyes. “The President’s surely issued orders. Cops in America might be trigger-happy when it comes to black people, but Hank is blue. There’s no protocol for that. They’ll have to check in with their higher-ups, find out what to do, and that’s that.”

“I guess so…”

Logan still looked uneasy.

Sure enough, events played out as Fang Mo predicted. Some officer used his radio to call HQ for instructions, received some response, then informed his teammates:

“Yeah, he’s a ‘mutant.’ This is out of our jurisdiction. Let the medics deal with him.”

“Mutant? What’s that even mean?”

his colleague asked, confused.

“Beats me,”

the first officer said, scratching his head. “Not our problem. Orders are orders.”

“…Fair enough.”

Their conversation ended, and soon an ambulance arrived. The crowd, fortunately, was largely unhurt—just shaken. Beast was the only one needing treatment. The emergency team was terrified at first, but seeing he was unconscious, they grudgingly dressed his wounds and loaded him onto a stretcher.

“Doesn’t look like there’s an issue.”

Watching the ambulance drive off with Beast, Logan breathed a sigh of relief.

“Told you,”

Fang Mo chuckled. “Let’s go home and wait for the news to air.”

Logan didn’t argue. He gave a curt nod, and the two made their way back to Xavier’s School.

As soon as they arrived, Fang Mo headed straight for the library to see how Charles was getting on with that rambunctious bunch he’d introduced.

Surprisingly, they were all behaving quite well. Charles sat in the center, and the “guichu all-stars” formed a ring of small chairs around him, listening intently to his lecture. It wasn’t anything complicated—just the history of mutants. Fang Mo peered at Wang Jingze’s notebook. Among weird scribbles about stir-fried rice recipes, there were indeed notes about the origins of mutants, how the X-gene caused individual variation, classifications of mutant abilities, and so forth.

“You’re back?”

Seeing Fang Mo arrive, Charles paused.

“…Where’s Hank?”

“In the hospital.”

Fang Mo didn’t hide it. “Things went pretty well. He got himself burned pretty badly saving people. I expect he’ll be on the news tonight or tomorrow.”

“I see.”

Charles nodded, his voice tinged with sympathy. “Is it…serious?”

“Nah, just burns. He’s alive,”

Fang Mo waved dismissively.

“That’s good.”

Charles sighed in relief.

“But as for you…”

Fang Mo continued. “Once Hank’s stable, reporters are bound to interview him. That means Xavier’s School will be in the spotlight. Got your speech ready?”

“I don’t need one.”

Charles was surprisingly confident. “I’ve been waiting for this day all along. Those words for mutant equality—I’ve memorized them by heart.”

“Your resolve is admirable.”

Fang Mo shrugged, then glanced at the “guichu all-stars” around them. “But what about them? Got any idea how to handle their public image?”

“Uh…”

Charles froze. He could already imagine how the press would react to such a chaotic cast if they showed up on camera. Mutants’ reputation might plummet in an instant.

“Looks like we’ll be working overtime tonight…”

Charles murmured, rubbing his temples in exhaustion. “Any objections?”

“None,”

responded a tall, broad-shouldered African-American fellow promptly.

“I’ll be off then,”

Fang Mo said, waving a hand at Charles. “I’ve done what I needed to do today, so I’m heading out. If you need anything, just let me know.”

“Okay.”

Charles’s voice followed him as he left.

Fang Mo didn’t reply. He strode to his bedroom, intending to rest after all the day’s antics—he had considered conjuring up a few more “all-stars,” but having already created quite a large crew, he found the thought mentally draining. Simply lying down felt boring, though, so after a moment’s thought, he sat up.

“Maybe I’ll test my luck with some draws…”

He realized he hadn’t done any “lucky blocks” in a while and figured he had a bunch stockpiled, so it might be fun to give them a spin. His luck in the X-Men universe hadn’t been bad, after all.

Thus decided, he accessed “Steve” in his mind and took out a Lucky Block, right-clicking to open it.

A brilliant golden light flashed, and suddenly “Steve” was holding a strange-looking spawn egg. Fang Mo raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Huh? A spawn egg? That’s not common. Let’s see… Holy crap…?!

‘The Ten-Tails’?!?”