Marvel: Pay to Win Gambling 30

Chapter 30: Way to Wealth

[Moolah: 204745]

Devouring the spaghetti from a newly opened neighborhood restaurant, I found myself staring down the barrel of a familiar problem: money.

I’d just gotten my joining bonus—one-fifth of the annual X-Men salary. It was more than enough to go wild with the rolls, maybe even hit an item pull. But I held back.

Emergency rolls always gave better rewards. And for once, I might actually have enough saved to afford an item draw when it really mattered.

So many days, so many fights, so many rolls
 and not a single item.

That was going to change. Just not yet.

Right now, I had to figure out how to grow this money.

“May I sit here?” asked an older man in a top hat and beard, like he’d just stepped out of a Dickens novel.

“Sure,” I said without looking up. No familiar face, no reason to care. I was focused on something else.

Investment.

I knew the drill: long-term plays, real estate, stocks. Buy low, wait it out, cash in.

Real estate was a solid bet. Prices would keep inflating, and yeah, the bubble might burst eventually, but not for another decade and a half. I had time.

Then there were the bigger factors. Wars. Global viruses. If one of those popped off in this version of the world, the market would wobble hard. But did that change anything?

Not really.

Why? Because I didn’t know stocks. Not the way real investors did. I wasn’t some Wall Street wolf watching candlestick charts. All I knew were the big names that would hit eventually.

The problem?

None of them were short-term.

It was 2010, and I didn’t know of a single company that was going to moon tomorrow.

But I did know what would pop in the next decade.

I pulled out my phone and started searching. A few names popped up instantly—Tesla, Microsoft, Apple, Alphabet.

Safe, long-term. Some wouldn’t grow much, but Tesla? Tesla would print money. Even better, the IPO was just around the corner. If I timed it right, I could get in cheap.

But the biggest gold mine wasn’t a stock.

It was Bitcoin. 

2010, dirt cheap. Practically free.

If I dumped everything I had into it today, I’d be sitting on over $200 billion by 2025.

Smart? Absolutely not.

I didn’t trust the butterfly effect. One hiccup in the timeline, one unexpected shift, and Bitcoin might tank before it ever lifts off. I wasn’t about to throw all my eggs into a single digital basket.

So I’d diversify. Crypto, Tesla, Nvidia, some blue-chip tech companies. Spread the risk, hedge the bets.

“Here is your pizza, sir,” the waiter said, placing a massive, cheesy slab in front of me. “And your salad, sir.”

Salad. Bold choice for a guy in a top hat at midnight. But I wasn’t judging. Not really.

Back to the stocks.

Were those the only options?

Not even close. In a world crawling with capes and lunatics, the market would be a rollercoaster. But that also meant sky-high peaks.

Stark Industries? That was the jackpot.

I looked it up—currently $110 a share. I could see a 5x return easy. A $10,000 investment could flip into $50,000 without breaking a sweat.

But Stark wasn’t alone.

There was Hank Pym. Angel’s Worthington Industries. Shaw Industries. Oscorp. Rand Enterprises. Hammer Tech. The whole gang.

If I played this smart—bought early, pulled out before the inevitable villain-fueled implosions—I could get disgustingly rich.

Basically, I had a roadmap. And I was seriously considering throwing my entire X-Men and teaching salaries into the game. Not all at once, but enough to grow it while keeping a chunk reserved for emergencies
 or the occasional gambling itch.

The spaghetti was long gone, and I was already halfway through the pizza. I made my decision: $100,000 toward investments, and $100,000 held back for rolls.

A responsible gamble. The best kind.

Next time the System offered a draw, maybe I’d finally get my first item.

And with a working plan, a shot at a billion—or hell, maybe even a trillion—I decided it was time to head back.

The future was waiting.

It was time I actually did something instead of just thinking about it.

“Thank you for the tip, sir.”

I gave the waiter a smile as I stepped out into the cool night. Shouldn’t have tipped fifty percent, but hey—I was in a really good mood.

So good, in fact, I almost ignored the guy following me. Almost.

I tried to pretend I didn’t notice, but the dude just wouldn’t quit.

“So how long are you gonna follow me?” I finally asked.

It was the same guy from the restaurant—the one with the salad.

“Oh, but I wasn’t following you, young man.” He chuckled. “Just happen to be heading the same way.”

Cute.

“Never seen you in this alley before, have I?” I asked, catching the flicker of confusion on his face.

“Oh, but I live just a few blocks away.”

Right. Sure you do.

“Then you’d also know this alley leads nowhere, wouldn’t you?” I said, leading him right into it. “Dead end’s up ahead.”

I was bored and curious enough to see how he’d play it. The salad wasn’t what tipped me off—it just made me interested. What gave it away was the look. One good look.

[Name: Raven Darkhölme]

[Age: 118 Years]

[Nickname: Mystique]

[Race: Mutant]

[Ability: Shapeshifting]

Took her less than three seconds to drop the disguise and press a knife to my throat. Blue skin, yellow eyes, deadly calm.

“What are you?” she asked, frowning. “And how did you know it was me?”

I smiled, let a subtle wave of magnetism twist the knife into scrap right in her hand. The look on her face? Priceless.

“Just one of my many abilities.”

She already knew I had powers—tentacles, electricity—but this was new. And it threw her off.

She backed up fast, eyes narrowed, fists clenched. Ready for war.

I still had no idea why she was so pissed. But one thing was clear—I needed to work on a passive defense mechanism. Because if she’d really wanted to kill me, I’d be bleeding out right now.

Note to self: Build a protective barrier. ASAP.

Then, she hit me with a curveball.

“What do you plan to do with the kids you just got?”

I raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean? Don’t tell me you’re about to stage another Brotherhood drama over the international student exchange.”

Seiko was from Japan. Megan had UK roots. And then there was—

Oh. Oh shit.

My mind went into overdrive. My gaze shot back to her, and I immediately understood her sudden interest.

Kurt.

Fuck! In the original story, Mystique was the mother of Kurt —or father. Depends on which version of the comic or timeline we’re rolling with.

“Don’t worry,” I said, trying to sound calm. “I only know what their powers are. The professor’s the one who wants to teach them to live without being hunted. He wants to protect them.”

I needed her to believe Kurt was in good hands. The best hands.

“You know Xavier better than I do,” I said. “You know he doesn’t hurt his people. He protects them.”

She hesitated. The conflict was all over her face. I had to double down.

Because, yeah. She’s Kurt’s parent.

One day she was his mom. Next, she was his dad. The whole family tree is like a Tumblr post written during a fever dream. Either way, she’s connected.

“Magneto won’t like this,” she muttered. “If he finds out Xavier has three new mutants, he’ll lose it.”

“They’re safe,” I told her. “And happy. Trust me—I’ve got no reason to lie.”

Which was a lie, but a good one.

Funny thing is, didn’t she abandon Kurt? He would’ve died if I hadn’t intervened. I was pretty sure she didn’t even know that. So how did she know he was at the mansion?

“We don’t want another incident, Mystique,” I said with a sigh. “They’re in safe hands. Let it go.”

She frowned. “How can you speak for Xavier?”

“I can,” I replied, not even knowing where the hell that confidence came from. “And if I can’t, I’ll take accountability. Just
 don’t escalate this.”

It was a weak, desperate move. But it worked.

“For now,” she said, still bristling. “I’ll keep an eye on things. But if you’re wrong, if I see even a hint of danger, I’m taking the kids.”

I nodded. I didn’t even argue.

“So let’s leave it at that—for now,” I said, raising my hands in a show of peace.

I could overpower her. But why start a mutant war when words worked just fine?

She cooled off a little, then shifted back into the old man’s disguise.

“I’ll see you again, Daniel Hayes. Hopefully not as enemies,” she said in his gravelly voice. “Until then
 don’t start fires you can’t put out.”

And with that, she walked away, vanishing into the night like a damn ghost in a top hat.

I stood there for a long minute, trying to process everything. Mystique. Kurt. The knife. The fact that I almost forgot a massively important plot point from real life.

Fuck.

And just when I thought I could breathe, I heard it.

“N-No! Don’t do this!”

That voice.

Angel.

Of course. Because apparently, one world-ending headache a night just wasn’t enough.

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[A/N: Mystique is around 50-60 in the movies.]