"Ryuuto! Big problem—Mutant Brotherhood launched a full-scale raid on X-Mansion overnight! They're hitting us with elites. Bobby and the others are getting overwhelmed. Come—now!"
Charles's voice cut into Ryuuto's mind, tight with urgency. Not the casual "hey, wake up" that meant "grab coffee." This was the kind of urgent that made you sprint barefoot across broken glass. Ryuuto's stomach dropped. If Charles was rattled, things had gone to hell already.
"Is Magneto leading them?" Ryuuto snapped back, already gathering himself.
"No—Magneto isn't here. Quicksilver and Mystique are inside, and they brought heavy hitters. Tony and Wolverine are holding the line, but even they're strained." Charles' telepathy trembled like a bell.
Ryuuto didn't waste breath. "Hold on. I'm coming." He glanced at the kids beside him—Katie Dee practically vibrating with excitement; Susan's face was a mixture of pride and worry—and something warm and almost childish tightened in his chest. He was Japanese-born, yes, and broke as usual, but when his people called, he moved.
[Ding! New S-Rank Mission: Repel Mutant Brotherhood assault on X-Mansion — massive rewards unlocked.]
Shion's lazy voice chimed in his ear, half-trolling, half-helpful. "You sure you don't want me to beam you there with fireworks, Host? Kidding. Go, blow stuff up responsibly."
Ryuuto snorted. "Try not to salt the invoice, Shion." He launched into motion.
The X-Mansion was a warzone by the time he hit atmosphere: torn gardens, fires licking the sky, and a swarm of aggressive mutants pressing every breach. Tony Stark zipped between skirmishes, repulsors painting trails across the smoke, while Wolverine slashed with motion that was all efficiency and fury.
"Quicksilver, you showed up late to the party," a dozen of Ryuuto's shadow clones yelled in unison as he hit the ground like a meteor. He didn't waste theatrics—just movement. Hand seals blurred into the Shadow Clone Technique and dozens of him flooded forward, a human tide.
Quicksilver smirked, the speedster's grin all flash and contempt. "Ryuuto. Took you long enough. Catch me if you can—alive. I want him to suffer." He pointed. "Take every clone down. Capture him."
Five elite mutants peeled off to hunt; their powers kept air tight and teeth sharp. The X-Team called out—Bobby, Scott, Colossus (Steel?—the armored friend), Arlo—everyone pushed their limits. Tony's voice boomed on tactical channels: "Ryuuto, coordinate with the team—don't solo the boss."
Ryuuto shot a look at Charles' mental presence—gruff, controlled. "Got it. Watch my back."
He flowed through the battlefield like a storm and a grin. The clones didn't just distract; they baited openings and overloaded enemy focus. Quicksilver dashed through the chaos, faster than any eye could track, but Ryuuto's real trick was rhythm—he moved in beats, in pauses, in the accidental silence between heartbeats where people make mistakes.
"Shadow Dance: Leaf Step!" Ryuuto's main body folded into a hurricane of motion. The clones were bait and blade; in the space Quicksilver thought empty, Ryuuto swung. Even the speedster's reflexes flickered; not every movement could be read.
Mystique shifted and lunged, but a pair of clones pinned her long enough for Scott and Bobby to land heavy hits. Tony's repulsors corralling a cluster of mutants. Wolverine—well, Wolverine was Wolverine, and that was more comforting than any tactical advantage.
"Keep the pressure on!" Ryuuto barked. He felt every knock, every bruise—he'd been in worse shape before—but the system's S-rank adrenaline and a few carefully timed life vials did wonders. He was the underdog who'd been training in the rain his whole life, and tonight that rain wanted blood.
Quicksilver's face tightened. "Stop moving like a mirage!" he spat. That was the problem with Ryuuto—he didn't present a single target. He was a rumor, a shadow, a series of choices bad guys made too late.
One of the Brotherhood elites—a brute with seismic palms—smashed a clone into splinters and charged. Ryuuto met him with a clean, efficient strike that used the enemy's mass against them. The mansion rang with impact; the psychic pressure from Charles steadied the team like an anchor.
Then, on the edge of it all, Ryuuto felt it: a subtle shift in the battlefield's cadence. Charles' mind tapped him. "Ryuuto—hold. I sense someone moving beyond them." Not a telepathic shout, but a note—sharp and careful.
Ryuuto tightened his jaw. "Copy," he muttered. He had a split second to decide whether to press the assault or follow the thread Charles felt pull. The team needed his teeth in this fight, but something hinted at a larger game—someone else playing pieces on the chessboard.
He kept fighting, but like a hunter hearing a new prey stir, his senses widened. Whatever—or whoever—was coming, they wanted to make an entrance.
And Ryuuto? He loved nothing more than a dramatic entrance. Especially when it served his sense of timing.