The atmosphere in the room shifted in an instant.
Joseph's words were sharp—almost brutal in their simplicity.
Even someone as composed and seasoned as Professor Charles Xavier could not keep his expression entirely neutral.
"You… don't agree with my ideas?" he asked, his voice unusually strained.
There was a flicker of pain in his eyes, quickly buried beneath his usual poise. For a moment, his entire demeanor betrayed a deep sense of heartbreak—one only a teacher could feel upon realizing that a student he had mentored for ten years rejected the very ideals he had dedicated his life to.
But beneath the pain was something more volatile. Anger.
"Do you believe Magneto is right, then?" he asked, his voice lower, tighter. "That the only way for mutants to survive is to wipe out humanity?"
"Definitely not," Joseph replied calmly, shaking his head. "At no point in history have mutants ever been the majority. And despite what some may think, the vast majority of us can't ignore the sheer force behind humanity's high-tech weapons. A handful of powerful mutants can't destroy the world alone."
That statement seemed to calm the professor slightly.
But the confusion hadn't vanished.
"If that's the case," Xavier said cautiously, "why do you believe that I—and my approach—will lead mutants to destruction?"
Joseph exhaled, his tone soft but unwavering.
He couldn't exactly say "because I've seen the storyline play out before."
So he went with the next best thing—logic and honesty.
"With all due respect, Professor… unconditional submission never earns real respect. Blind generosity won't inspire lasting peace."
Xavier looked at him, brows furrowed.
Joseph leaned forward slightly, his expression serious.
"Your philosophy is built on faith in humanity's kindness. But you're placing the fate of all mutants in the hands of a species that fears them. You're betting our future on the goodwill of people who see us as walking weapons."
He paused.
"That's not peace, Professor. That's a house of cards. Fragile. False. And dangerously naive."
Professor X said nothing, but his lips tightened.
Joseph knew his words were harsh. But they were necessary.
Xavier had always been the spiritual leader of the mutant cause. There was no denying his influence, his heart, or his sincerity. But sincerity alone couldn't win a war.
And make no mistake—this was war.
A war of species. A war of ideology.
On one side: mutants, struggling for survival, fighting to prove they deserve to exist.
On the other: humanity, watching nervously as powers beyond their control emerge in their own backyard.
It was never going to be a fair fight.
"Perhaps your compassion comes from your background as a scholar," Joseph continued. "You've spent your life among the world's elite, confident that reason and empathy would win out in the end. But this isn't a lecture hall, Professor. It's a battlefield."
He spoke with the confidence of someone who had studied history—and seen the pattern repeat.
"In every age, when two opposing forces compete for survival or ideology, there's blood. There's sacrifice. And there's no third option."
He didn't use any cultural references this time. No clever idioms or country-specific sayings. Just brutal truth.
"You've beaten Magneto multiple times," Joseph added. "And every time, you spared him. You handed him over to the authorities and walked away, hoping your mercy would send a message to the world. But you missed the real point."
Professor X flinched slightly.
Joseph continued.
"You need Magneto alive—because his existence makes you, the peaceful alternative, look more appealing to humanity. As long as he's out there causing chaos, humans have a reason to tolerate your dream."
It was manipulative. Political. Strategic.
And exactly the kind of thinking Professor X refused to acknowledge publicly.
"But it doesn't change the outcome," Joseph said. "Your kindness doesn't inspire trust. It inspires fear. And hesitation. Eventually, humanity will stop hesitating."
Professor Xavier remained silent, though his expression had darkened considerably.
Joseph pressed forward.
"Take Jean Grey, for example. You teach us to accept and master our powers, to embrace who we are. But when it came to her—when it came to the Phoenix—you panicked. You didn't help her master it. You sealed it away."
Xavier's hands gripped the arms of his chair.
"In doing so, you made a ticking time bomb. You weren't protecting her. You were suppressing her. And in the end, that power tore its way out."
"That's not justice, Professor. That's control."
He let the words hang in the air for a moment.
Xavier exhaled slowly.
"I don't know where you learned to think like this," he said at last, voice heavy with resignation, "but your insight is… remarkable. Unsettling, but remarkable."
His eyes, tired but sharp, searched Joseph's face.
"You've never even stepped beyond these gates, and yet you speak as though you've seen the world burn."
Joseph didn't respond to that. It was closer to the truth than Xavier knew.
"Tell me," Xavier asked, "if humans and mutants did one day reach a peaceful coexistence… do you believe they'd stop developing weapons designed to neutralize us?"
"Not for a second."
Joseph's reply was immediate.
"Because it's not about morality. It's about survival instinct. Humans won't feel safe unless they know they can control us—or kill us if they must."
He stared into the professor's eyes.
"Even if peace comes, even if the world claims to accept us, somewhere—deep underground—someone will still be designing the next Sentinel, the next cure, the next genocide."
"Because that's human nature."
Silence blanketed the room again.
Joseph's words weren't just compelling. They were terrifying.
Not because they were cruel. But because they were true.
And for Charles Xavier—who had dedicated his entire life to a dream of unity—it was a devastating truth.
"…You've given me a lot to think about," the professor finally said, his voice softer. "More than most of my colleagues have in years."
He leaned back in his wheelchair, closing his eyes briefly.
"For all my efforts, it's hard not to wonder if I've been wrong all along."
Then he opened his eyes, resolute again.
"But that's exactly why we need people like you, Joseph. New blood. New voices. If my path is flawed, then help me correct it. Don't abandon the cause."
"You're leaving now? When we need you most?"
Joseph paused.
Then he smiled.
"Professor, I never said I was giving up."
He stood and stepped forward.
"I was just waiting for the right time to begin."
He raised his hand—and with a quiet snap of his fingers, a stack of neatly printed A4 papers appeared out of thin air, landing gently on the desk in front of Professor X.
The top page read, in bold font:
"Save the Mutant Project Proposal."
Xavier's eyes widened. His hands reached for the document instinctively.
"You've been planning this…?"
"Since the day I walked through your gates."
Joseph's voice was calm, but his eyes burned with ambition.
"This proposal outlines a parallel approach—one that doesn't rely on trust, but preparation. Surveillance networks, early warning systems, countermeasure resistance training, technology development, covert infrastructure…"
"In short, a backup plan for the mutant race. In case your dream collapses."
For a moment, Xavier was speechless.
He looked down at the proposal. Then up at Joseph.
And in that moment, he didn't just see a student.
He saw a leader.
A strategist.
And perhaps—just perhaps—the future of mutantkind.