Strange Sightings in the White House

"Dear Mr. Howlett, this is the first private letter I have written since taking office. Yes, as I mentioned in our previous correspondence, you and I need to speak face-to-face and be formally introduced. As my largest campaign contributor and the most important capital partner since the founding of the Republican Party, you have the right, and indeed the obligation, to put forward your political inclinations and demands. I look forward to our meeting. Your friend, Abraham Lincoln."

It has been nearly three years since the passing of old Mr. Howlett. It is another cold winter, and the snow in Canada has never disappointed. The sound seems to have been confiscated by the snowdrifts; a few faint snorts drift from the stables, while beneath the snow, nearly twenty meters down through the earth, the sounds of shouting and roaring grow increasingly intense.

A massive figure over two meters and twenty centimeters tall heaves with ragged breaths. His arms, longer than his knees and knotted with muscles like the roots of an ancient tree, hang at his sides with a slight bend, the sharp claws at his fingertips stained with a hint of blood.

"Hmm... not bad, Victor, really not bad. You've made great progress; you actually managed to hurt me." James Howlett says with a hint of surprise.

Looking at the three shallow, cat-scratch-like marks on his shoulder, he turns slightly to keep Victor from seeing the wounds instantly heal. James continues, "It seems the Tiger Form Fist really suits you."

Victor Creed does not show any joy upon hearing these words; instead, he throws his head back and lets out a roar of humiliation. Four canine teeth protrude, and a cloud of dust rises where he stands. He vanishes, silent and shadowless.

"That same old habit..." James shakes his head, plants his feet, twists his hips, turns, and swings his fist. The punch cracks through the air, slamming into the cheek of the charging Victor, accompanied by two flying teeth and a slightly twisted head.

BOOM!

Victor crashes heavily to the ground, his lower body kicked high into the air. This horizontal punch has pinned the giant to the floor.

"That's enough for today."

James puts on the robe hanging nearby and gestures for Victor to come up. The latter ignores him, scrambling up to spit out a mouthful of blood mixed with broken teeth and other debris. He twists his slightly dislocated neck with a crack, strides over to the giant iron-stake wolf-tooth pillar, and begins to attack it frantically.

Watching Victor skillfully and obsessively use the Tiger Form Fist techniques to strike sparks off the iron stake, not even caring that his fingers are splitting and bleeding, James shakes his head helplessly and slowly walks up the stairs.

About two years ago, on a night when James found Victor "relaxing" in the woods, he suggested a good place for him to vent, and thus brought him to the Underground Palace.

That day they formally met each other. James confessed that he had a similar "atavistic" condition, and Victor showed no surprise at all. He simply remained quiet, saying nothing, and silently extended the claws from his fingertips.

James did not reveal his own claws; he simply raised his fists.

That night, he shattered almost all of Victor's bones and internal organs. Facing Sabretooth, who possessed a super-regeneration ability second only to his own, he did not need to hold back at all, and he thoroughly exercised his limbs.

Victor never said a word from start to finish, save for roars and more roars. He kept relying on his beastly instincts to climb up, pounce, get knocked down, and recover, until he was exhausted and could no longer stand. The two seemed to have a special tacit understanding; neither explained anything, they simply agreed to meet in the Training Room of the Underground Palace every few days to fight.

No, to be precise, Victor Creed was merely being one-sidedly abused.

In the days that followed, Victor trained with James in the Underground Palace every day. James did not deliberately teach Victor boxing, but for a long time, he fought him using the [Xingyi Tiger Form Fist] that he deemed most suitable for him. Victor quickly learned the form and spirit in battle, fitting it perfectly; Sabretooth had an indescribable adaptability to this set of lethal martial arts.

Not long after James returned to the study from the secret passage, the butler knocked gently on the door. Vane the butler knew very well which times of day he must never disturb his young master in the study, so his arrival time was exceptionally appropriate.

"Young Master, a letter from Washington." Vane the butler was still accustomed to calling James "Young Master."

Taking the letter and glancing over it, he teased Vane the butler with a smile: "Someone is losing their patience. Get ready; I need to go to Washington tomorrow."

"Yes, Young Master. Who should I arrange to accompany you? With the American Civil War imminent, let Victor go with you." Vane the butler suggested with a hint of worry. James waved his hand: "He doesn't have the heart for that right now. Send a telegram and have our family's people in Washington pick me up; I'll go by myself."

Mr. Abraham Lincoln was elected the sixteenth president of the United States of America last November and just took office this year. He is a man of great charisma and leadership. Although he came from the lower civilian class, he swept through American politics like a storm and was pushed into the presidential chair. In addition to his personal political acumen and ability, his extremely deep campaign funding was also one of the reasons for his election.

What makes the President uneasy is that this Mr. James Howlett from Canada has supported him for nearly three years without ever showing his face, and without even hinting at any of his own interests or demands.

According to the investigations he received, the Howlett family has spanned three generations, rising rapidly in the industrial and real estate sectors of the northern United States in recent years. Their origins, however, were those of an out-and-out plantation owner and landlord. The President has never been afraid of knowing how much desire a person has; more often than not, the things that are free are the most expensive.

The White House is hosting a small banquet for an unknown number of guests tonight. Several maids in standard black dresses, white headpieces, and white aprons are busy moving about. Mrs. Mary, the President's wife, glances at a tall, thin maid she doesn't recognize who is carrying a tray, walks through the hall, and gently pushes open Lincoln's door.

"Is someone coming to eat today?"

Mrs. Mary is a virtuous and simple good woman; her background is much higher than Lincoln's.

Her suitor in her youth was a city councilor, while President Lincoln at that time was still teaching himself law while working as a clerk in a grocery store. It is unknown what transpired between the two that made this wealthy young lady fall in love with the tall, shy, yet inwardly brilliant Mr. Lincoln. Even now that they have moved into the White House and she is the "First Lady," Mary still speaks as if she were a commoner hosting a dinner.

"Ah, yes, that Mr. Howlett I mentioned to you."

President Lincoln says, looking up at his wife while pushing up his spectacles and reading the documents on the table.

"It's that young man, I remember, though I've never been able to meet him."

"Yes, just him. The three of us will have a meal together."

Mary nods and leaves the room, wondering to herself who that maid was, muttering that her own memory is getting a bit poor.

Evening.

When James stands in front of the White House, he still feels a bit dazed. This is the White House, and it is the White House during the time of Abraham Lincoln.

He smiles inexplicably and strides inside, following the guidance of the reception official.

"Mr. President, I must say, I never imagined you would be so... tall and heroic." During the pleasantries after sitting down, James's first sentence is truly a bit rude, but it is indeed because he is so surprised.

President Lincoln is 193 centimeters tall, only slightly shorter than James is now, with broad shoulders and a back as wide as two large fans. When shaking hands, one can feel the thickness and toughness of his palms, which must have been covered in calluses in his early years. Aside from his iconic deep features and thick beard, the President's image truly surprises James.

"Hahahaha! I also didn't expect the legendary 'Mr. Howlett' to be so impossibly young!" President Lincoln is as humorous and magnanimous as the rumors suggest. Mrs. Mary also laughs and echoes the sentiment, asking if Mr. Howlett has a wife and what kind of young lady he likes.

The host and guests are all delighted.

"Try this dessert. My aide once sighed after eating it, 'I would run for president just to be able to eat this cake often!'" A tall, thin maid with a narrow face enters and places the final dessert on the table. James twitches his nostrils, a look of disgust flashing across his brow, as if he smelled something nauseating. Regaining his composure, he quickly adjusts his state and responds to the President's words, though he is thinking about something else from time to time.

After dinner, James is invited to accompany Lincoln to the Oval Office to enjoy a cigar. Just as they sit down, the President mentions as if in casual conversation: "Mr. Howlett, what is your view on the American—"

"Apologies! Mr. President, allow me to be rude once more. May I ask what room is about ten meters away next door?"

Lincoln is a bit stunned, looking at the direction the young and handsome Mr. Howlett is pointing, and says hesitantly: "It is my young son's playroom." The President thinks to himself, perhaps he wants to find the restroom?

"Excuse me, Mr. President!"

James flashes out the door, sprints over ten meters in one step, and kicks open the door.

The tall, thin maid from earlier is crouching on the ground, her face turned a sickly green-black, veins bulging, as she bares fangs covered in sticky liquid, about to bite a fair-skinned, cute little boy.