American comics: I am full of martial virtues and I love to be kind to others.

See you in New York.

Lynn hung up the phone and told Little Rascal what had happened.

"So they're alright," Little Rascal breathed a sigh of relief. "I thought..."

“They’re professionals,” Lynn said. “And with Logan and the others around, ordinary enemies have a hard time getting away with it.”

“But Jason was rescued,” the mischievous boy said, his expression turning worried. “What does that mean?”

“That means we need to be more careful,” Lynn said. “Jason knows too much about us—our fighting style, our weaknesses, and you. They rescued him, probably to extract intelligence from him.”

“I absorbed his memories,” said the little rascal, “but he also knows what I absorbed. If they interrogate him…”

“They’ll know how dangerous you are,” Lynn finished her sentence. “For them, this might make them even more eager to have you, or even more eager to get rid of you.”

The little rascal fell silent, her hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, her knuckles turning white.

“Regardless,” Lynn said, “our top priority now is to get to Xavier’s School. Once we’re there, we’ll have more resources and support.”

"Do you think Xavier's School can protect me?" Rogue asked. "If that organization is really as powerful as Victor remembers—"

“Xavier’s School has its own defense system,” Lynn said, “and Professor X. He’s one of the most powerful telepaths in the world, isn’t he? If there’s anywhere that can make you safe, this is it.”

Little Rascal nodded, but her expression remained worried.

They continued their journey, crossing the mountains of Virginia and entering the New York State border. The scenery gradually changed from wilderness to countryside, then to suburbs and towns. The roads became increasingly busy with vehicles, and the traces of human civilization became more and more apparent.

Around noon, they finally saw the gates of Xavier's School.

It was a large wrought-iron gate, embedded in the middle of a tall stone wall, with the words "Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters" written on it. Behind the gate was a tree-lined path leading to a majestic Victorian building in the distance—the main building of Xavier's School of Geriatrics.

Lynn stopped the car and pressed a button on the walkie-talkie in front of the gate.

“This is Lynn Ashford,” he said. “I’m with Anna Mary. We’ve arrived.”

After a few seconds of silence, the door slowly opened, welcoming them in.

Little Mischief looked at the open door, his eyes flashing with complex emotions—fear, anticipation, and uncertainty.

"Are you ready?" Lynn asked.

The little rascal took a deep breath and then nodded.

“Ready.”

Lynn started the car and drove into the gates of Xavier's School.

The avenues of Xavier's School were greener and more lush than Lynn remembered.

Summer sunlight filtered through the intertwined canopies of oak and maple trees, casting dappled shadows on the gravel path. The air was filled with the scent of neatly manicured lawns and blooming roses, occasionally punctuated by the distant laughter and chatter of students. It looked like an ordinary elite private school, unless you knew that it housed mutants with extraordinary abilities.

Lynn parked his weathered Honda Accord on the driveway in front of the main building. The car, still covered in the dust of its journey, stood in stark contrast to the refined surroundings.

“We’re here,” he said, turning off the engine.

Little Rascal didn't get off the bus immediately. She looked out the window at the magnificent Victorian building—red brick walls, white window frames, towering towers, and the school motto inscribed above the main entrance.

“It’s bigger than I thought,” she said softly.

“This used to be a wealthy family estate,” Lynn explained, “Professor X’s family. He converted it into a school specifically to help young mutants like you.”

“Like me,” the little rascal repeated, a hint of bitterness in his voice, “the dangerous kind?”

“The special kind,” Lynn corrected her, “every mutant has their own challenges. The instructors here are experienced and can help them.”

The main building doors opened, and Professor X's wheelchair appeared on the porch. His expression was gentle and concerned; his gaze first fell on Little Rascal, then shifted to Lynn.

“Agent Lynn, Anna Mary,” he said, his wheelchair sliding down the ramp to the car, “welcome to Xavier’s School. I’ve been waiting for you.”

The little rascal slowly opened the car door and stepped out. She instinctively pulled her sleeves up to make sure her arms were completely covered, then took a step back, maintaining a safe distance from the professor.

“You don’t need to be afraid,” the professor said gently, seemingly understanding her thoughts—perhaps he truly did. “Here, no one will reject you because of your abilities.”

"Can you hear what I'm thinking?" Little Rascal's voice sounded a little nervous.

“Only surface-level thoughts,” the professor said, “and only with your permission. I will not delve into anyone’s deep thoughts without consent. That’s my principle.”

Lynn noticed that the little rascal's shoulders relaxed slightly. This was a good start.

“I brought her,” Lynn said. “We didn’t run into any trouble on the way. But the FBI convoy…”

“I know,” the professor nodded. “I’m on telepathic contact with One-Eyed. They’re out of danger and on their way. Agent Sarah’s condition has stabilized as well.”

"Thank God," Lynn breathed a sigh of relief.

“You both need to rest,” the professor said. “Agent Lynn, I’ve already arranged rooms for you. Anna Mary, I’d like to personally show you around the college, if you don’t mind.”

Little Rascal hesitated for a moment, glanced at Lynn, as if seeking some kind of confirmation.

“Go,” Lynn said. “The professor will take good care of you. I’ll be nearby if you need me.”

The little rascal nodded, then followed the professor's wheelchair toward the main building. Lynn watched her back and noticed her gait—carefully avoiding any people or objects she might come into contact with, like a habitual defensive posture.

It's been three years, she said. Three years without hugging anyone.

Lynn sighed, took their meager luggage from the trunk, and followed them into the main building.

The interior of Xavier's House was as impressive as its exterior. A spacious foyer with dark hardwood floors and walls adorned with exquisite paintings and historical photographs. A grand staircase led to the upper floors, its railings intricately carved oak. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, illuminating the fine dust motes floating in the air. Several students passed by at the other end of the corridor, glancing at them curiously. A blue-skinned boy with a pointed tail—Lynn recognized him as Kurt Nightcrawler—waved at them and then vanished into the wall, literally vanished.

The little rascal's eyes widened slightly when he saw this.

“That’s Kurt Wagner,” the professor explained. “He has the ability to teleport. You’ll get used to it; everyone here has their own special abilities.”

"He...he just passed right through the wall?"

“Strictly speaking, it’s short-distance teleportation through another dimension,” the professor smiled, “but ‘through walls’ is a simpler description. Come, let me show you your room.”

They walked down the corridor, passing classrooms and activity rooms one after another. Lynn noticed that each room served a different purpose—some were ordinary classrooms, some were equipped with various scientific devices, and one looked like a meditation room with soothing blue walls.

“We offer a comprehensive education here,” the professor said, explaining as he led the way. “In addition to regular academic courses, we also teach the control and application of mutant abilities. Each student has a personalized training plan, tailored to their abilities and needs.”

“Control,” Little Rascal whispered, “can you really teach me to control my abilities?”

The professor stopped his wheelchair and turned to face her. His eyes were sincere and gentle.

“I won’t make any promises to you that I can’t keep,” he said. “Every mutant’s abilities are different, and some are harder to control than others. But I can assure you that we will do everything we can to help you. And whatever the outcome, you are safe and accepted here.”

The little rascal lowered her head, and Lynn saw tears glistening in her eyes.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

They continued on and arrived at the student dormitory area. The corridors here were much warmer, with student artwork and photos on the walls, and the occasional sounds of music and conversation could be heard coming from the rooms.

“This is the girls’ dormitory area,” the professor said, stopping in front of a door. “This is your room.”

He pushed open the door, revealing a bright and tidy room. The room wasn't large, but it was comfortably furnished—a single bed, a desk, a wardrobe, and a window facing the garden. A small cactus sat on the windowsill, and a simple landscape painting hung on the wall.

"This is for me?" The little rascal walked into the room, looked around, and looked somewhat incredulous.

“Yes,” the professor said, “you can decorate it however you like. If you need anything, just tell the dorm supervisor.”

The little rascal walked to the window and looked out at the garden. Sunlight shone on her face, outlining her features.

“It’s bigger than my aunt’s room,” she said softly, “and it has a window.”

Lynn and the professor exchanged a glance. They both understood the meaning behind those words—the little rascal's previous living conditions had not been good.

“I’ll give you some time alone,” the professor said. “Agent Lynn, your room is in the guest area, on the second floor of the east wing. Dinner is at six o’clock; you can eat with the others in the dining room if you wish.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Lynn said.

The professor nodded, and his wheelchair slid silently out of the room.

Lynn placed Little Rascal's backpack on the bedside table and then sat down in the chair at his desk. His body was still aching; the long drive had exacerbated the discomfort in his ribs, but he wanted to make sure Little Rascal was alright before he left.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

The little rascal turned to face him, her expression complex—surprise, unease, but also something Lynn had never seen before. Hope?
“I don’t know,” she said. “This all…it’s too unreal. This time yesterday, I was in that beat-up pickup truck, being chased. Now I’m in a palace-like place, with my own room, and someone is offering to help me control my abilities.”

“This is Xavier’s School,” Lynn said. “I had the same feeling when I first came here.”

"You? You don't have mutant abilities."

“But I was seriously injured,” Lynn said. “Three months ago, I almost died at the hands of those mutants. It was the people here who saved me and helped me recover. They didn’t care if I was a mutant or not; they only cared that I needed help.”

The little rascal sat down on the edge of the bed, her hands on her knees. She was still wearing her gloves, and Lynn noticed that she never seemed to take them off except in the heat of battle.

“I always thought mutants were lonely,” she said. “I mean, of all the mutants I know, not one is happy. Not myself. But here…”

“This place is different,” Lynn said. “The professor built this place so that mutants would have a sense of belonging. A place where they don’t need to hide.”

The little rascal was silent for a moment, then asked, "Are you leaving?"

“Not for now,” Lynn said. “I need to wait for Logan and the others to arrive, and I have some briefings to do. I might be here for a few days.”

“A few days,” the little rascal repeated, “and then?”

“Then I’ll go back to New York and continue my work,” Lynn said. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll disappear. Feel free to contact me if you need me.”

Little Rascal nodded, but her expression was somewhat forlorn.

“Go and rest,” Lynn stood up. “You’re tired enough. I’ll come find you for dinner.”

“Okay,” said the little rascal, “Lynn, thank you. For everything.”

“You’re welcome,” Lynn said. “It’s what I should do.”

He walked out of the room and gently closed the door. Standing in the hallway, he took a deep breath, feeling as if some of the burden on his shoulders had finally been lifted.

Little Rascal is safe. At least, for now.

Lynn rested for a few hours in the guest room and slept soundly. When he woke up, the sunlight outside the window had turned into a warm golden hue, and the sun was setting in the west.

He took a shower and changed into the clean clothes provided by the academy—a simple white shirt and dark trousers. He looked much better in the mirror than he had a few days ago; although there were still traces of fatigue on his face, he no longer looked like a fugitive.

Dinner time arrived, and Lynn walked down the corridor toward the dining hall. The college's dining hall was located on the east side of the main building; it was a spacious and bright hall with high ceilings and large floor-to-ceiling windows. Dozens of round tables were neatly arranged, with three to five students sitting around each table, and the air was filled with the aroma of food and lively conversation.

Lynn stopped at the door, her eyes searching for the little rascal.

He found her—but not alone. (End of Chapter)