[ Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, Westchester, New York ]
Enveloped in a vortex of vibration energy, Daisy's body glowed faintly with power, her slender fingers curled into fists. Gravity enhanced her acceleration, warping the air around her as she screamed through the hurricane of ice and snow. Locked onto the heart of Storm's cyclone, she drove forward like a missile.
"Hnh—AH??..."
Just as she committed every ounce of force to her strike, the training room's main computer flatlined.
The entire simulation blinked out.
The world of snow, magma, and chaos vanished—replaced by sterile metal walls. But Daisy's reflexes, now juiced with gravity's unnatural pull, were a second ahead of her thoughts. The simulation was gone.
Her momentum wasn't.
One moment she was seated calmly in a sci-fi chair; the next, she was catapulted across the room like a cannonball.
Jean Grey flinched and threw out a hand, attempting to catch her with telekinesis. But Daisy was moving too fast—faster than Jean could react. A thunderous bang echoed across the room as Daisy slammed into the far wall headfirst, a blur of blonde hair and bad luck.
Then… silence.
Two whole seconds passed before she peeled off the wall like a sticker and slid down to the floor, landing in a crumpled heap.
Storm's eyes widened. "Are you okay?... I—I might've overdone it. I've been… a little stressed lately."
Daisy lay groaning. Her forehead throbbed where it kissed metal. Her vision scattered briefly, stars dancing behind her eyes.
She sat there, breath shallow, groaning softly as clarity began to return.
Storm looked at the super-hard alloy wall, then at Daisy slumped against it. No doubt—this had hurt.
Daisy rubbed her aching forehead and shot Storm an irritated glance. "What do you think happened? Ugh, forget it. I've got a good healing factor… But seriously—what's going on with your equipment? Why did the power cut out like that?"
Only she could walk away from a hit like that. Anyone else would've woken up in a hospital bed—two months minimum.
Jean Grey looked flustered and quickly apologized, explaining that their fight had pushed the simulation beyond its limits. The system had shut down automatically to prevent a total failure.
There wasn't much Daisy could say in response. She grumbled a little under her breath, then let the matter drop.
But just as she turned to leave, something strange tugged at her senses. Her frequency had done more than echo—it had resonated with the entire training room. Especially during that last impact. Something in the space had shifted.
Storm noticed the change in her expression and stepped closer. "What's wrong? Still not feeling well?"
"I'm fine," Daisy said, brushing it off quickly. "Just a little lightheaded. Probably burned more energy than I thought." The excuse came easily.
In truth, Storm wasn't in great shape either. Daisy was a soldier—her body built for punishment. Storm, on the other hand, fought with mind and magic. She'd burned through her reserves, but pride had a grip on her now. She saw herself as the victor and intended to carry that image to the end.
Professor Charles, satisfied they hadn't killed each other, returned to his earlier conversation with Nick Fury about global threats. Later, he summoned T'Challa for a private discussion, the two vanishing into quiet strategy talks until dinner.
Daisy stayed for the evening meal at Xavier's. Afterward, she teleported Nick Fury back to S.H.I.E.L.D., marking Wakanda's request as officially completed.
...
[ Daisy's House, Washington D.C. ]
Daisy returned home, opened the door—and before she could utter a word, the sharp whisper of steel sliced through the air, aiming straight for her throat.
The technique was solid, but the speed fell short—far too short. Even in her drained state, Daisy didn't register the strike as a threat.
She shifted sideways with ease, countering with a controlled kick. But when she saw the attacker's face, her breath caught. It was Maki who was doing very questionable finger practice in front of her photo earlier.
Mind control? That was her immediate thought.
She'd pulled back most of her strength mid-kick, but even so, the blow sent the Maki flying over two meters.
"Maki, are you out of your mind?" Daisy called out sharply. The woman was still holding a katana, flipping midair, and upon landing, lunged forward again without hesitation.
Daisy's irritation snapped. She moved at full speed, knocked the katana aside with a punch to the wrist, then seized Maki by the throat, lifting her off the ground. Her gaze locked onto the Maki's—clear, alert… unpossessed. What the hell was this?
"Miss… let me go… I'm fine…" Maki choked, but her face lit up with something disturbingly joyful. Her eyes shimmered, suspiciously close to tears.
"What's going on?" Daisy let her drop. Most people would've been dead after that second sword attempt, but Maki hadn't aimed to kill. No real hostility, just… persistence. It didn't add up.
As the memory from earlier flickered through her mind, Daisy added coolly, "If this is about what happened before—I don't mind. That's your business."
"I wanted to test the difference between us." Maki's voice was calm now—deferential, even warm. Her posture softened. Respectful… but also strangely adoring.
Daisy nodded, saying nothing. Truthfully, she didn't quite grasp the intricacies of Japanese thinking, but from the maid's tone, one thing was clear—this wasn't admiration. It was worship. The kind of reverence projected onto a fictional ideal, not a living, breathing person.
It was strange. But then again, modern society was a patchwork of mild neuroses. Maki's fantasy version of her was just one more harmless delusion in a world full of them.
After the brief clash, Simba Jr. snuck out, nuzzling against her thigh with a low, affectionate rumble.
She spent a few quiet minutes with the lion cub, fingers ruffling its fur. The apartment felt even smaller now, too cramped for her growing collection of chaos. A bigger house was the logical next step. Real estate was at rock bottom—perfect timing for a power move.
After dinner, shared between two people and one lion, Daisy headed to the garage to check on the rhino. The massive creature lay obediently in its corner. A deep metal bowl full of carrots sat beside it—half-eaten.
She frowned slightly. "Heavy eater," she muttered. There wasn't a better place for it yet, so the garage would remain its temporary domain.
She tossed the Wakandan cloak to the maid. "Do what you want with it." It was standard-issue gear—basic, but serviceable. A slight edge in defense was still better than nothing.
Later, in pajamas and wrapped in silence, Daisy lay in bed, reviewing the day's battle with clinical detachment.
The confined space had hindered Storm's full potential. If she'd had more room, higher altitude, and sustained weather manipulation… Daisy wouldn't have had many counters left. Objectively, Storm had held the advantage.
Then her mind circled back—to that moment of dissonance in the Danger Room.
Her fingers tapped absently on her thigh. She couldn't fully articulate it, but the sensation had been clear. Not a feeling—an imprint. Like receiving a fragment of code. Something the shockwave had carried back to her.
She had the fundamentals—and she had never let them dull. While she wasn't the best hacker in the world anymore, the number of people who could surpass her in raw skill was minimal.
After poring over the sensation again, she realized she was approaching it wrong. Acting on instinct, she pulled out her laptop and, in half an hour, wrote a block of code that mirrored what she'd felt.
Then came the real work: decryption. She always relished the thrill of intrusion. As her fingers danced across the keys, Daisy felt an inexplicable rush. There was something waiting on the other side of that code. And she intended to find it.
To Be Continued...
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[REVIEW, OR MYSTERIOUS JAPANESE MAIDS MAY APPEAR IN YOUR BEDROOM WITH A KATANA]