Marvel: Father of Superheroes

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Las Vegas, a world-renowned resort city centered around gambling, tourism, shopping, and vacationing, is famously known as the "gambling capital of the world." It is a city that presents both a hellish and a heavenly side.

Logan's old friend is here.

Inside a boxing gym.

Mike, with Clark in tow, followed Logan up to the office on the second floor.

Clark excitedly leaned against the floor-to-ceiling window, watching the boxers below. His little fists mimicked their movements as he tried to throw punches.

Mike chuckled and gently tapped Clark's nose, playfully teasing the little guy.

Logan watched the father and son with a hint of envy in his eyes, until his teammate, Phantasm, nudged him with his elbow, bringing him back to reality. Logan took the beer from Phantasm and gave him a glance.

Phantasm, whose real name is John, is a black man with teleportation abilities. He used to be a teammate of Logan's in the X-Squad under Strick's command.

"Who's this?"

John nodded toward Mike and asked Logan in a quiet voice.

Logan took a sip of his beer and replied, "A friend."

Phantasm hesitated for a moment before cautiously asking, "One of your kind?"

Logan was about to nod when Mike turned to him, smiled, and firmly said, "No!"

Logan shrugged and took another drink, while Phantasm chuckled, raising his beer. "Interesting guy."

He waved the bottle toward Mike. "Hey! Buddy! Have a drink!"

He tossed the beer toward Mike.

Mike caught it, thanked him, and returned his attention to watching the training session with Clark.

Logan raised his beer and clinked it with Phantasm's. "Victor. Do you know where he is?"

"Sorry, Logan. I haven't been in touch with him for a long time." Phantasm shrugged. "A few months after you left, I quit because I didn't want to be part of their hunting missions."

"Hunting missions? Who?"

Logan's expression turned serious, a bad feeling creeping into his gut.

Phantasm lowered his head, rubbing the bottle in his hands. His voice grew somber. "Mutants."

"Fuck!"

Logan muttered under his breath.

After a brief silence, Phantasm attempted to change the subject. "So, what do you need Victor for? Are you two getting back together?"

Years ago, because of their differences, Logan and Victor (Sabretooth) had split—one leaving the squad and the other staying with Strick.

"I'm going to kill him."

Logan's voice was cold, devoid of any emotion.

Phantasm looked awkward. He had hoped to discuss something lighter…

"Cough!" Phantasm cleared his throat, trying to divert the conversation. "What did he do?"

"Don't ask."

Logan, clearly agitated, slammed his beer back in one go.

At that moment, Mike turned toward him and reminded, "Logan, that marksman."

Logan slapped his forehead and looked at Phantasm. "Agent Zero. Do you know anything about him?"

Phantasm shook his head. "But maybe Foley knows. He and Zero are close."

"Is he here?"

"Yeah, right here!"

"I'm going to find him."

Phantasm instantly teleported next to Logan, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Hold on. He won't be here until four."

Logan paused, glanced at the clock on the wall, saw it was getting close to the time, and then turned to sit at the desk. "Then I'll wait until four."

"What about you guys?"

Mike and Clark walked downstairs, hand in hand, as they left the office.

Clark, with his big blue eyes wide open, eagerly looked around at everything in the training area.

"Hey, little guy!"

A muscular man, his body bulging with strength, greeted Clark with a smile. "You like boxing?"

As he spoke, he quickly jabbed the air with both fists, demonstrating his moves.

Clark nodded enthusiastically. "I like it!"

Mike smiled softly and ruffled Clark's hair.

"Heh!"

The boxer suddenly sneered, a condescending smile on his face. "Well, you better work hard, kid! Don't end up looking like your dad, all soft and girly!"

Mike's expression turned cold at the comment.

People who talk bad about others' parents in front of their children are the worst.

Before Mike could say anything, Clark raised his tiny voice, loud and clear, "My dad is handsome, you're the girly one! I can knock you over with one hand!"

Hearing Clark call him handsome, Mike nodded in approval, a satisfied smile on his face.

"Haha!" The burly man took a step forward and pointed to his own face. "Come on, kid, give it a try! I'll show you what it means to be a real man!"

Clark looked up at Mike. "Dad, can I hit him?"

Mike was about to stop him, concerned that Clark might hurt the man, but then he remembered how strong Clark was.

"Heh!" Mike chuckled softly, picked Clark up, and whispered in his ear, "Don't use all your strength. Just use half of half of half."

Given Clark's strength—able to lift a small car—hitting the man with full force would likely smash his skull.

As Clark approached the boxer, Mike stood still, watching the man's challenging gaze. Clark, with his chubby little hand, threw a punch at the man's face.

"Bang!"

The punch echoed through the air.

The boxer's face instantly twisted in pain as two of his teeth, mixed with blood, shot out of his mouth. His body flew backward, slamming into the ground.

Mike froze, stunned by the sight. But Clark cheered, delighted by the result.

The man on the ground was knocked unconscious, and the others in the training area looked over, curious about the commotion.

Mike, holding Clark, called out loudly, "Someone come here! Check out what happened to this guy—how did he suddenly fly away?"

The onlookers approached, their expressions puzzled, but they didn't seem to connect the soft-looking father and son with the boxer on the ground.

Mike breathed a sigh of relief and turned to leave with Clark, whispering, "I told you to use less strength."

Clark looked up at Mike with a hint of guilt. "But I only used half of half of half, like you said."

Mike gave him a strange look. "Has your strength been growing lately?"

Clark nodded eagerly. "Maybe. I accidentally crushed my toy Captain America."

Remembering how he had crushed his toy, Clark's eyes grew red as he thought about all the other toys that had "died" in the fire. His lip trembled, and tears started to well up in his eyes.

Mike cleared his throat softly and said, "It's not your fault, Clark."

"That man had it coming. He's the one who made you hit him."

"I'll take you to buy some new toys."

Clark's tears disappeared instantly, and his face lit up with joy. He nodded excitedly.

(End of Chapter)