The air in the office grew still. A tension lingered like an invisible fog.
For a long moment, Professor Xavier said nothing. Then, slowly, he exhaled and fixed his sharp gaze on Joseph.
"If my memory serves me correctly," the professor began carefully, his voice laced with confusion, "you're registered as a Delta-level mutant. No notable powers beyond slightly elevated brain function compared to the average person."
He pointed to the stack of papers that had just materialized out of thin air, then rubbed his temples with his other hand.
"So explain this. What exactly is going on here?"
A dull throb settled in Xavier's head, not from fatigue, but from realization.
This conversation had never been spontaneous.
The student in front of him hadn't come here on a whim. Joseph had been orchestrating this from the start, guiding every word, every turn, every response—controlling the tempo like a seasoned conductor.
"Magic, Professor."
Joseph didn't hide it anymore. There was no point. Ten years of strategic concealment—gone in a single breath.
"This is my real ability."
For a moment, Xavier simply stared.
And then, like puzzle pieces falling into place, the truth came crashing down in his mind.
From the day Joseph arrived at Xavier's School at just eight years old, he had been playing a role—disguising his potential, suppressing any display of real power, staying quiet, obedient, invisible.
And somehow, he had fooled everyone.
The teachers. The staff. Even Charles Xavier himself.
"Magic…" Xavier echoed, resisting the urge to unleash his telepathy to verify the truth. But something in Joseph's eyes told him it wasn't necessary.
"Why hide it for so long?" he asked. "And why reveal it now? Is it tied to this… proposal of yours?"
Joseph nodded. "It is."
"You planned this from the beginning," Xavier said, leaning back in his chair, a strange smile tugging at his lips. "Very deliberate, very methodical. Well then—tell me, Joseph. How exactly do you plan to save mutants?"
Joseph's own lips curved into a smile. This was the moment. The real pitch.
"To begin with, I think both you and Magneto made a fundamental mistake," he said.
That caught Xavier's attention instantly.
"You both insist on treating mutants as a separate race. You define them in opposition to humanity. In doing so, you've created a wall where there could have been a bridge."
Xavier's expression darkened slightly, but he said nothing, letting the young man speak.
"I believe mutants and humans don't have to be separate. They can be one and the same—if approached correctly."
Joseph's voice was steady, unwavering.
"Decades ago, a philosopher from the East once said: the key to victory is not to make enemies, but to make more friends. And right now, the mutant race has no friends. The entire world sees us as enemies."
"You think it's just fear of our powers? Fear of what happens when a mutant loses control?" He shook his head. "That's just surface-level reasoning."
"The real reason?" His eyes narrowed. "We mutants… have no voice in the world."
That struck Xavier like a thunderclap.
He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out.
Joseph pressed forward.
"Because we have no voice, we are labeled as freaks, and we can't even argue. Because we have no voice, mutants can be hunted, experimented on, imprisoned—and no one says a word in protest."
"Because we have no voice, politicians can pass laws like the Mutant Registration Act with impunity, and the media spins it as protection rather than persecution."
His voice rose, not in anger, but in conviction.
"This silence has become normalized. It's accepted. Expected. Mutants are not just hated—we're dehumanized."
"And the worst part?" Joseph's fists clenched. "Even mutants themselves begin to believe it. That they're monsters. That they don't belong. And they give up on themselves."
The room fell into stunned silence.
Xavier stared at him, stunned. He had spent decades advocating for coexistence, thinking he understood the social landscape. But Joseph had just exposed a blind spot he hadn't even realized he had.
The war, it seemed, was being lost not with violence—but in silence.
"But," Joseph continued, "what if we had a voice? A real one."
He stepped forward, eyes gleaming.
"Mutants wield extraordinary abilities. Why not frame that as genetic evolution? A divine gift? A leap forward for mankind?"
"What if the world believed that mutants weren't threats—but icons? Aspirations?"
"Wouldn't the fear fade? Wouldn't the hatred shrink?"
Professor X remained silent, soaking in the vision Joseph was painting.
"And if someone still insisted on persecuting mutants then," Joseph added, "they'd be the outlier. The heretic. The villain in the world's eyes."
It was a reversal of the narrative.
A new propaganda.
One Xavier had never dared to imagine.
After a long pause, the professor finally whispered, "Where did you even get these ideas, Joseph? What have you been reading?"
Joseph blinked, thrown by the question. "I… have a list if you're interested?"
He snapped his fingers again, and in a swirl of energy, a tall stack of books appeared midair and landed gently on the desk. The titles ranged from historical war strategies to social reform manifestos.
At the top of the pile was "The Doctrine of Progress: A Mutant's Renaissance."
Xavier picked it up, stunned.
"The cultural depth behind this… is staggering."
Still in awe, he looked back at Joseph. "Then tell me—how do we gain that voice?"
Joseph didn't hesitate.
"In the world of humans, only two things matter: money and power."
He spread his arms wide.
"When we become a global consortium—when we own media empires, technological patents, energy monopolies, and have influential politicians under our banner—when the narrative of evolution and empowerment becomes mainstream…"
"…then we won't need to beg for peace. Peace will come to us. Because the world will need us."
He gently pushed the proposal across the desk once more.
"That's why I came to you today, Professor. Because peace that we build ourselves—that we own—is the only kind that lasts."
Xavier looked down at the proposal again, then slowly opened the cover.
His eyes fell on the title.
"Establishing the Mutant Consortium."
For a moment, his face froze.
"…You came here to pitch a startup?"
His voice was disbelieving.
Joseph grinned. "Technically, yes."
"So… let me get this straight," Xavier said, rubbing his forehead again. "You graduated early, revealed you've been hiding magic, delivered a socio-political revolution in one conversation, and now you want me to invest in a company?"
Joseph nodded. "Precisely."
Xavier blinked several times, then chuckled under his breath. "God help me…"
"Professor," Joseph said sincerely, "this isn't just a company. It's a movement. A system. A shield. And a sword. Something that can change the course of history—not just for mutants, but for humanity."
The professor let out a long, tired sigh.
"…Alright. You said this wasn't an ordinary project. Show me."
Joseph's eyes gleamed. He raised his hand once more.
With a dramatic snap of his fingers, a golden glow filled the room.
Runes shimmered in the air. Arcane symbols danced above the desk. A swirling portal of magical energy appeared, revealing glimpses of a different realm—one of knowledge, power, and endless potential.
"Welcome to the world of magic, Professor."