Fisher Golf Course looked as if a hurricane had swept through it—or as if it had been bombed by missiles.
The turf and trees, the rubble from the collapsed buildings—everything within sight had been churned into chaos, like a mess of oil paint smeared by a mischievous child.
The phone had slipped from Secretary Michael Halse's hand and fallen to the ground. He stared blankly at the four figures who had appeared among the ruins, especially the one with blood-red skin and a tail whipping freely behind him. A devil?
James calmly watched Professor Xavier, whose expression was uneasy. He was young, not particularly tall, but full of energy. He wore a finely tailored suit and an Oxford College checkered scarf.
Well, the scarf's style was just the same as it had been half a century ago.
"Look at him. He's so young, and he's already a professor."
James broke the ice by making small talk. He praised Charles a couple of times, then gave Erik a proper talking-to about how little effort he was putting into his own career.
"What a coincidence, Charles. What are you doing here? Playing golf?"
Erik Lehnsherr tried to laugh it off with James, quickly steering the conversation elsewhere so his father wouldn't keep harping on about his chances of becoming a lecturer next year. With a playful tone, he looked at his "colleague," who had yet to say anything serious, and asked again.
"Phew."
Charles let out a long breath, then reached out and shook James's hand. He spoke with a hint of deference.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir. This is my cousin, Raven, and these are... ordinary friends. We just happened to—"
"First time? Professor Xavier, I'm afraid this isn't our first meeting."
James smiled openly, rubbing his temple with