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*****
"Superheroes protected us and our city—they are our guardians!"
"Why did the aliens invade? Professor Smet reveals the truth behind their arrival!"
"New York amidst the flames of war—a different kind of beauty."
"Who should take responsibility for the damaged buildings and injured civilians during the Battle of New York?"
"Alien invasion? Nonsense! It's a government conspiracy!"
"Stay strong, New York!"
"Mutants—our saviors!"
The next day, news outlets were flooded with reports of the Battle of New York.
Some offered calm, rational analysis. Others chased sensational headlines or offered comforting platitudes.
The variety of reports was dizzying—each with its own style and purpose.
Though the tone varied, thanks to the guidance of the federal government, the general narrative trended toward a positive outlook.
As for the destroyed streets and buildings and the property damage suffered by civilians, both the federal government and the Mayor of New York promised to begin immediate reconstruction and compensation efforts. Some of the battle-scarred areas and structures, however, would be preserved and displayed as attractions.
In fact, battlefield tourism routes had already launched that very day, offering visitors a firsthand experience of the lingering echoes of war.
Surprisingly, the tours became wildly popular almost immediately.
Talk about business savvy—they wasted no time finding a way to profit from the aftermath.
While the general public was preoccupied with news and tourism, behind the scenes, the spoils of war—Chitauri weapons and corpses—began to be divided up.
Even Tony Stark wasted no time, founding Stark Damage Control Inc. to take charge of cleanup operations and claim his share of the pie.
Post-war cleanup and reconstruction would bring massive profits to many people for a long time to come.
Aside from that, the biggest focus in the media was on superheroes and mutants.
Superheroes' reputations soared. Each one gained countless new fans, and the numbers continued to grow.
Thanks to the actions of the X-Men and even the Brotherhood, public perception of mutants began to shift.
People were beginning to see that mutant powers could be used for good—that they could protect the world. Not all mutants were villains.
More and more people were shedding their prejudice and beginning to view the mutant community with greater acceptance.
Especially those who had temporarily gained powers during the battle—they had experienced what it felt like to wield such strength and found themselves envying, even empathizing with, mutants.
But none of this mattered much to Mike.
As for the spoils of war? He couldn't care less.
The most valuable prize from this battle was already tucked away safely inside his dimensional pocket.
Still, he had his own troubles.
His restaurant had been destroyed, leaving him with nothing to do.
Rebuilding?
What a hassle.
Besides, he had already experienced life as a chef. For now, he wasn't particularly interested in doing it again.
Mike lounged on a chair by the window, soaking in the sunlight. His whole body practically radiated the aura of a lazy man.
Clark was at work as usual. Gwen had gone to school as usual. And he… was lazing about as usual.
I should find something to do, Mike thought.
After a moment of consideration, he decided to visit Erik.
Before leaving, he cooked some of Erik's favorite dishes and packed a few bottles of wine.
To pass the time, he decided to fly there slowly.
As he left the house, he noticed new neighbors moving in nearby.
It was Natasha.
"Hey!" she greeted Mike with a wave.
Mike blinked. "You're…?"
Natasha smiled faintly and pointed to the house next to Bruce's. "I live here now."
"Oh!" Mike scratched his head and replied, "Welcome."
Natasha nodded, then added, "It's a great feeling—moving into the safest neighborhood in the world."
With that, she waved goodbye and gestured toward the workers unloading furniture in front of her new home. "See you."
"See you," Mike nodded back, watching her walk away. Rubbing his chin, he muttered, "Looks like I need Tony to save me two more houses…"
Before his voice faded, Mike vanished from the spot.
Brotherhood's Hidden Base
It was a remote island in the ocean, undetectable by satellite thanks to Erik's abilities.
Mike flew leisurely through the sky, hands behind his head, eyes closed, enjoying the breeze as he drifted through thin clouds. It was so relaxing, he nearly dozed off…
Suddenly, he jolted and stopped midair, looking down.
Whoops.
He had flown past the island.
Awkwardly clearing his throat, he reoriented himself and quickly flew back.
Moments later, he arrived above the remote island.
Activating his super vision, he scanned the area, focusing directly on Erik's room.
Inside, Erik was watching the news with a cheerful expression on his face.
Mike smiled, materialized a portal, and stepped through just as Erik sensed a presence behind him.
"Dad!"
Erik turned around, surprised and delighted to see Mike.
Mike waved his hand, dismissing the portal, and said with a smile, "So? Feel like having some takeout?"
Erik's eyes lit up and he nodded.
A card materialized in Mike's hand. As it dissolved into sparkles, the space around them bent like a mirror folding in on itself, rippling outward.
Mirror Dimension.
It was the safest place for a father and son to talk.
With a casual wave, Erik summoned two metallic chairs behind them. Then, with a clench of his hand, the metal floor beneath them rose slowly, shaping itself into a table under his control.
Mike raised an eyebrow. "Impressive. Your abilities are getting sharper."
Erik smiled with pride.
Mike sat down and laid out four dishes:
Spicy diced chicken, braised beef, stir-fried water spinach, and… blue cheese baked Icelandic pickled shark herring pie?
Mike froze.
He'd completely forgotten that monstrosity was still in his dimensional pocket.
His face darkened as he hurriedly shoved it back into the pocket, replacing it with a more normal dish—braised fish.
Erik pinched his nose and fanned the air.
Even just two or three seconds of that smell was enough to make him gag.
Choking back laughter, he said, "Let me guess—Uncle Hank?"
Mike sighed and nodded, then handed Erik a pair of chopsticks.
Thanks to the preservation of the dimensional pocket, the dishes were still in perfect condition.
Mike also pulled out a bottle of wine and two glasses. As he poured, he said, "Everyone came to the house yesterday to celebrate. You were the only one missing."
A hint of sorrow flashed in Erik's eyes, but he smiled and replied, "Well, now you've made it up to me, Dad."
"Let's eat first. After that, we'll have a good talk."
Mike raised his glass. The father and son clinked glasses gently.
Clink.
(End of Chapter)