Reborn with Steve Stand-Chapter 859: wtf is happening (4)

Fang Mo sighed, shutting his eyes.

His vision went black, but the endless chatter and racket droned on in his ears.

Without even realizing it, his consciousness started hazing over. Strangely enough, for the first time since his rebirth, Fang Mo dozed off in a place so cacophonous and full of commotion.

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He slept through the night without incident.

When Fang Mo woke again, he found himself back in the bedroom, lying in bed.

“Huh? Did I… fall asleep?”

Only now did Fang Mo realize. He blinked, glancing around.

It was quite a scene:

He was smack in the middle of a huge bed. On his left lay a high-school–age girl with pale-purple cat ears; on his right, a short-haired black cat-eared girl. Both were curled up like kittens, sleeping peacefully while resting their heads on his arms.

Meanwhile, on Fang Mo’s chest…

…an ashen-gray, short-haired little loli was sprawled face-down, with a small black cat lying on top of her head—Shoggoth in feline form, apparently.

Looking a bit farther, a pale-pink–haired girl and the Light Sword were dozing side by side, leaning on each other’s shoulders. Laevatein and Planet-Eater Shovel had ended up sprawling on the floor, arms and legs splayed out, as though seconds from snoring out bubbles.

At the bed’s foot lay Tethys, flopped sideways. Her hair-turned-tentacles were firmly suctioned onto someone’s legs, apparently staking her territory.

So yeah, that was weird enough, right?

But the real kicker:

Shizhenxiang was still perched on the golden toilet. Possibly defecating. And yet she wore a deadly serious look—eyes slightly downcast, expressionless as if dozing in that regal posture. She seemed as dignified as an Emperor on his throne.

“Uhhh…”

For a while, Fang Mo just stared, silent.

He had a fleeting suspicion that last night might have been some big party. But a quick check of his clothes assured him everything was still on. He silently thanked heaven for small mercies.

“…Mmm.”

Noticing Fang Mo stirring, the weapon-girls also began waking up.

“You’re awake, Master?”

The first to react was Longbow of the Heaven. She rubbed her bleary eyes, then explained: “You dozed off in the living room, so everyone carried you to bed.”

“And… you didn’t do anything else, right?”

Fang Mo couldn’t resist asking.

“Something else?”

Longbow of the Heaven blinked. “Such as…?”

“Surely someone wanted to cause trouble.”

Because they’d been sleeping side by side, the Light Sword lazily yawned: “But with all of us here together, certain… ‘weapons’ were too embarrassed to try anything. So you’re safe, Master. Still pure, yep.”

“Well, that’s good…”

Fang Mo breathed more easily. He had no wish to end up like his clueless partner back home—bricked unconscious, only to find he’d been “turned on” in his sleep…

“Alright, everyone up.”

Rubbing his forehead, Fang Mo carefully sat up in bed. He had a lot to do today. Indeed, last night, he’d promised Logan he’d try to leave soon. Usually, Fang Mo was a man of his word when it came to big stuff, so it was time to accelerate his tasks—particularly founding that company to handle X-Gene research. Once that was done, he could depart with Logan.

Frankly, there wasn’t much reason to stay. Even though he’d “modded” this world, he couldn’t fix everything overnight. If he really wanted to see it changed, time needed to do the rest. Fang Mo certainly liked a good spectacle, but he couldn’t just wait around decades in 1973 for progress to unfold. So the logical approach was to leave, then come back in the future for a quick peek, see how far the place had come.

So in short:

He hopped up, freshened himself, and strolled out of the bedroom, ready to finalize the business details.

“Hey, Fang Mo.”

Upon stepping into the corridor, he ran into Beast (Hank), sporting blue fur and an odd expression. “Morning.”

“Oh, morning.”

Fang Mo greeted casually and was about to continue on.

“W-wait!”

Hank called after him: “I wanted to talk.”

“Eh?”

Fang Mo gave him a curious look.

“Er, so,”

Hank hesitated. “Fang Mo, last night—did you do something behind our backs?”

“Don’t spout nonsense, no party or anything!”

Fang Mo shot back reflexively, “They just climbed into bed with me!”

“...???”

That statement confused Hank more. After a moment, he forced himself to continue: “I’m not sure what you did, but this isn’t about that. It’s about Charles and the others.”

“What about them?”

Fang Mo relaxed.

“Well, they were acting sort of…strange at breakfast.”

Hank frowned, perplexed. “It’s as though they all aged decades overnight—but not physically, more of an aura or temperament. Even Raven’s like a different person.”

“Oh, so you really just care about Raven, huh?”

Fang Mo shot him a side-eye.

“N-no, I don’t!”

Hank said hastily, eyes dodging. He had liked her for years, though. “I only felt—”

“No need to explain,”

Fang Mo cut him off. “It was me. The ‘Days of Future Past’ plan’s basically done, so I returned everyone’s memories.”

“Memories?”

Hank blinked. “Meaning…?”

“Their future memories,”

Fang Mo explained. “Your timeline is weird—changing the past doesn’t create a separate parallel universe, it literally rewrites the future. But I didn’t want them to just vanish, so I sealed the memories, and now that the crisis is averted, I gave them back.”

“That…”

Hank was stunned speechless.

“So basically, they each gained decades’ worth of life experience overnight,”

Fang Mo shrugged. “So yeah, your sense was correct. They’re basically a lifetime older in the head. Don’t be surprised if their conversation or worldview changed.”

“So…my memories?”

Hank asked quickly, “Why didn’t I get any?”

“You got whacked.”

Fang Mo said matter-of-factly.

“Huh?”

Hank gaped. True, he vaguely knew about the Days of Future Past plan, but not that he personally was dead in that timeline. This was jolting news.

“You’re not alone. Pietro apparently died too.”

Fang Mo patted Hank’s shoulder in consolation: “But oh well. You can ask Charles about it. He might have memories of you. By the way, you’re well-versed in biology and genetics, right?”

“You mean mutant genetics?”

Hank was disoriented, but his mind remained sharp. “Yes, I studied that area in-depth for the X-Gene suppression serum.”

“So basically you’re an expert.”

Fang Mo nodded contentedly: “All right, hand over that knowledge. In exchange, I can do something about you and Raven.”

“What? Wait—No, I mean…”

Hank reflexively started to object, but quickly changed tack: “By the way, how do I…hand you memory? That’s possible?”

“I just copy the academic knowledge from your head.”

Fang Mo clarified. “I’m founding a company, but I can’t trust random scientists. I plan on forging some employees from scratch. I already have the candidates, but they’re lacking expertise.”

“Won’t that hurt me somehow?”

Hank asked.

“Nah, totally safe.”

Fang Mo patted his chest in assurance: “At worst, your body might be drained. You do look a bit ‘kidney-deficient.’ But if you want Raven—”

“I’ll cease injecting all X-suppressants!”

Hank blurted: “My beast form is definitely physically stronger than hers!”

“All right, cool.”

Fang Mo said, amused. He’d known Hank since the Cold War days, so helping him and Raven was a small favor. “Stand still while I back up your memory.”

“Ready!”

Hank straightened his posture.

Fang Mo didn’t fuss—lifting the Holy Grail to Hank’s forehead, he made a quick wish, copying Hank’s memory into it.

After finishing, Fang Mo didn’t linger. He left Xavier’s School at once, found a remote spot, and began “conjuring employees.”

At the same time, he called the U.S. President again about forming the new company—and also mentioned one extra matter.

“Oh, right, Mr. President,”

Fang Mo said plainly over the phone, “I need a death row inmate. Could you arrange that?”

“A death row inmate? For experiments?”

The president sounded surprised: “Sure. Any special requirements?”

“Nothing major. Just a man, presumably,

Fang Mo mused, “…and ideally, I’d prefer him to be an extreme pedophile.”

“Uh, what?”

The president blanked. “Your experiment requires that kind of orientation?”

“Don’t freak out.”

Fang Mo said. “I just need a standard pedo criminal, and I guess the FBI has plenty. Don’t bother handing me any of your fellow politicians.”

Yes, Fang Mo did indeed need that death row convict. From earlier mental sketches about how he’d reforge his dimension, he’d grown to see new possibilities.

Because while his White Expanse might be vast, it still had no afterlife system. No Eastern underworld, no Western Hell or Elysium. Admittedly, there was a “Nether,” but that was just another dimension, not an end for all living beings.

So Fang Mo was pondering how to create a brand-new “world after death,” so that once any creature from his domain died, it would go there. He wanted to design a place that would truly shock or amuse people: an underworld where it’s possible to come back if you fight your way out, so that nobody would fear that final parting called death.

He planned an underworld dimension with an elevator and an arena stage. Anyone who died could challenge the gatekeeper; if they won, they’d take an escalator back to life. And since some people might be too weak to beat any real opponents—like if “Kobe” had to fight the “World Trade Center” or something—Fang Mo, kind as he was, decided to create a “tutorial mini-boss,” a comedic caretaker to do the job.

Hence the reason for a death row convict.

He’d transform that convict into a wholly new cameo—Hawking.