I have a very important announcement for you all!
I have launched a new version of the novel on the same website, Webnovel, to participate in the Fanfic Fiesta competition
You will find the novel there with the same title but with a different cover, and you can easily access it through the More by this Author section.
I am currently competing for 1st place, and I will not reach that position without your support
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Chapter Twenty: The School for the Mutated (9)
The closer they drew to the heart of the building, the more the noise faded until it became a steady electric hum, as if they were approaching some enormous creature breathing in silence.
The final door opened before them like a curtain drawn aside to reveal the last scene: a circular hall with a high ceiling, ringed by vast panoramic screens, and at its center — atop a raised platform — stood the device.
The moment they entered the room, Daniel felt as if he had stepped into a living mind.
The air here was different — colder, purer.
The metal walls shone, their curves crafted with astonishing geometric precision, reflecting light in intersecting circles until the space seemed endless. No corners, no shadows — only a silver glow stretching into the unseen. Each step they took produced a light, measured echo, like footsteps inside a dream.
At the heart of this perfect void rose Cerebro.
A round metal platform branched into fine wires that resembled nerves, stretching across the floor and walls like strings connected to a giant brain. In the very center sat the professor's chair — simple in form, yet majestic in presence. Above it loomed a gleaming hemispherical structure from which thin tubes and wires dangled, connecting to a massive helmet that resembled a crown of light.
The helmet was, truly, an engineering masterpiece: interlocking rings engraved with nanoscopic precision, glinting with blue threads whenever Charles's fingers touched them. It was clear that it had not been built merely as a device, but as an extension of his mind — as if designed to breathe his thoughts and turn them into images and mental maps of the whole world.
The circular lights surrounding the room flared, and the walls began to glow smoothly from within until the entire surface became a translucent screen displaying rippling light — energy maps, mental patterns, points of light moving like stars in a distant galaxy.
The room felt like a window opened onto human minds.
Charles stepped toward the center, ran his hand over a small metal panel and the device emitted a soft sound; its interface opened to reveal the main seat. He sat calmly, and the lights began to respond to his vital rhythms.
He spoke in a low voice threaded with pride and awe:
"This is Cerebro, a tool that helps me amplify my mental abilities — it allows me to see, hear, and feel every mutant mind on this planet."
Daniel stood astonished, staring at the metal helmet as though it were a piece of the future — or perhaps from his own world. As he watched, the light around Charles intensified until the device slowly began to operate — strands of light circling him as if twisting to a silent tune.
Then, in a fleeting instant, the room filled with a luminous map of the world, three-dimensional, occupying the space with shifting spectra — millions of glowing points moved slowly, each one representing a beating human mind.
Scott said with quiet admiration:
"Every time I see it I feel like I'm facing a living being, not just a machine."
Charles then turned to Daniel and asked calmly:
"So, who do we start searching for?"
...
From that moment, the whole day seemed to change for Daniel and Matt — they had entered the school for mutants, seen what is usually unseen, and left carrying something heavier than words between their ribs.
They climbed into the car they had rented — an old vehicle with velour seats and a dashboard that reflected the streetlights in a faint pattern — and sat in silence for a moment. Darkness was beginning to crystallize the city outside, and neon lights shimmered on the sidewalks like wakeful eyes.
Charles told Daniel before they left that he had made a slight alteration to Matt's memory during the conversation inside the chamber, a modification that sweetened some details and blurred what might endanger the school. He did not divulge everything — he would not leave a crack through which the mutants' secrets could leak to the outside — his work was precise, a quiet dissection of memories that destroyed only what must be erased. When he said that, a moment of understanding and mystery passed over their faces together: a great responsibility rested in the calm hand that wiped a memory.
Matt sighed softly and said in a voice shaded with sorrow and acceptance:
"Unfortunately… we couldn't get their help."
Daniel smiled a short smile, one that carried a little bitterness in its folds.
"Yes, unfortunately."
Charles's words echoed in his mind: he had edited Matt's memory slightly to remove what must be forgotten.
The idea that a person could play with the threads of memories planted in Daniel a love for that power, and he began to think: which characters in the world of Rontira possess such an ability?
As the two walked the streets of New York, the need for something simple — warm food — insisted upon itself.
Matt chuckled lightly, as if shaking a weight from his chest, and joked:
"At least we should make use of this trip… and go to a restaurant to eat some food."
Daniel laughed in reply, and together they felt an irrepressible human urge:
"All right, I am hungry indeed."
They headed into one of the alleys of Hell's Kitchen, the neighborhood carrying in its folds the smell of the sea mingled with stove smoke.
Matt stopped in front of a small Italian restaurant, lazy in its façade with a pale name barely visible under a cracked awning.
Inside, the lights were dim, the wooden benches scarred from long sittings, and the walls adorned with old photos of a city that seemed to keep people's memories.
They sat at a small table by the window. The waiter approached with a delicate smile, his features those of someone long in service: his hand movements practiced, his voice soft as he explained the day's menu.
Daniel ran his hand across the wooden table and asked in a curious tone:
"What is Daredevil's favorite food?"
Matt answered while watching the waiter hand menus to a table beside them:
"Probably pasta with marinara and meat — a thick sauce, ripe tomatoes, fresh basil… something that reminds you of home."
Daniel smiled and said:
"Not bad."
Then he turned to the waiter and called clearly:
"I want a very large pizza, filled with meat and cheese — smoked sausage, pepperoni, seasoned beef slices, and a thick layer of cheese. I want it described like this: melt-in-your-mouth."
After a few minutes, the food arrived steaming.
Matt's pasta was a rich red, flavored with olive oil and garlic, and the meatballs were large and carefully cooked.
Daniel's pizza was a picture of culinary color: its crust crisp with softness, the base thin yet holding the weight of the toppings, and the cheese stretching in sticky ribbons whenever a slice was pulled.
Daniel lifted the first slice slowly, steam fragrant like the smoke of a fleeting joy rose from it.
The first bite was a perfected explosion: the warmth of the meat, spices teasing the palate, the cheese wrapping with a pliancy that gave the mouth an extended moment of small happiness, and the tangy sauce balancing it all.
He felt a warmth flow in his chest to soothe some of the constant tension; it was a purely human sensation, familiar, not born of skills or lists, but of a mouth eating and struggling to reclaim a moment.
He closed his eyes for a moment and erased all the clamor: no screens, no fights, no system — just taste.
He seemed like someone returning to a home forgotten for years.
Matt watched him with a half-mocking, half-tender smile:
"You look like someone who discovered something sacred."
Daniel answered, smiling with his mouth full:
"It's perfect… I haven't tasted anything like this since I came here. It seems I've found my favorite restaurant."
When they finished, the remainder was enough for them to pay, and they moved slowly.
As they left, night had draped the city in its cloak, and the alleys of Hell's Kitchen rose with mixed sounds: laughter among passersby, the clink of bottles, distant sirens.
They paused by the car for a moment and exchanged a look that said more than many words.
Daniel patted Matt on the shoulder, saying:
"I'll part ways and go somewhere else from now."
Matt replied:
"I can give you a ride, it's easy for me."
Daniel answered:
"No, the place I want is actually close to here."
Daniel looked at Matt's car that he had rented from behind, and when the car vanished from before his eyes, he clapped his hands and said:
"It's time for the article on Frank Castle — The Punisher."