At 5:45, Beacon Tower transitioned from 'Rest' to 'Active' mode. The superstructure had to prepare for the large inflow of people each morning. Precise calibration procedures had to be followed to ensure a smooth operation.

Executing these routines required high-level cognition. Background logic gates and simple sorting algorithms would not suffice. Resources were thus freed-up for the Beacon CCT Artificial Intelligence (CAI) to awaken.

CAI's first operation was to verify the connection to the other CCT towers across Remnant. Any of the three being offline would impact communication. Finding no errors, she checked each substation within the Vale region. Again, no problems were found.

Next, she examined the tower itself for anomalies. Zero physical faults were detected. Structural integrity was confirmed through internal sensors. Neither the perimeter cameras nor seismograph had caught any approaching threats from the surrounding forests.

Last to be checked were the hardware and application layer connections. Each server, processor, and Scroll connected to the internal network contributed computational power. While the main control terminal was air-gapped, it was important to periodically scan peripheral systems for performance issues.

This produced the most interesting warnings.

Five flags were raised for random errors, fifteen for runtime generated bugs, and ninety-one for user introduced viruses. For that last category, CAI issued factory reset orders to all quarantined electronics. Multiple explicit websites were also added to the internal filter for all guest accounts.

All totaled, the calibration process took seven minutes, sixteen seconds, and four hundred and thirty-nine milliseconds to complete. Comparing this value to the monthly average showed a seven percent decrease in time spent. This also marked a year-over-year efficiency gain of fifteen percent.

These results were compiled into a maintenance log. The file was compressed, encrypted, and sent to the Argus Corps of Engineers. A carbon copy was also delivered to superuser -P_Polendina- in Mantle.

After the transmission checks, the distributed intelligence prepped the habitational areas. Air and ventilation systems returned to normal levels, lobby lights were switched from 'power-saving' to 'on,' and the break rooms began brewing beverages. The security alarms for the underground facilities were also reset from a 'Critical' to 'Moderate' alert.

Tower now ready, the front doors unlocked at 6:00 am.

The first to arrive, as was true of most days, was Headmaster Ozpin. His first stop was to the breakroom to pour a cup of hot chocolate. Then he took the main elevator to his office.

Throughout his movements, CAI analyzed the presenting physiology. Customer service programming compelled her to monitor and manage visitor mood. With as much data as she had on the headmaster, she could be roughly ninety-five percent accurate in guessing his psychological state.

Ozpin's gait was within normal parameters. There were no obvious changes in his breathing patterns or iris size. Data from his Scroll showed that his Aura levels were close to full. All in all, she assessed him as 'content.'

Maintenance staff were the next to enter her zone of awareness. Their dispositions ranged from 'sluggish' to 'tired.' She adjusted the ambiance to promote alertness. This included playing music below 500 Hz and balancing the artificial lighting as the sun rose.

Her first true guest, a student, arrived at 6:43. They were a brunette with long rabbit ears. Consulting the current student roster identified her as incoming-second year Velvet Scarlatina.

Using a hard-light projector, CAI began constructing her avatar in the comms room. The generated form was optimized for non-threatening features. Human, petite, green-haired, and wearing a uniformed blazer.

To be more inclusive, she used to incorporate animal traits into her appearance. Both humans and faunus had adverse reactions to this design choice. And so, CAI no longer did so.

"Welcome Ms. Scarlatina." CAI greeted as she materialized beside the girl among the long rows of communication terminals. "How may I assist you?"

The faunus' eyes widened in surprise. She nearly dropped the rucksack she was carrying over her shoulder. The AI filed away this reaction as a note to adjust pop-in for future interactions.

"H-hey." She swallowed. "Is my father awake? I'd like to speak with him, if that is okay?"

Father: User -W_Scarlatina-; Role: Atlas R&D Principal Technologist; Status: Undetermined.

Accessing his personal calendar showed that he was not in a meeting. A message was sent to his workstation informing him of his child's request. His quick keystrokes and response time in the chat window indicated great enthusiasm.

"He is available. Please have a seat at any of the available booths."

The Beacon student sat at the screen furthest to the right. Connection was established at 63 megabits up and down per second. Video latency was at 52 milliseconds. While within acceptable ranges, these were not optimal.

Further reviews would be required.

More visitors arrived throughout the early morning. The majority were off-campus guests. Without an established user profile, CAI had to use more power to individualize and process the requests.

Two additional versions of her avatar were activated to handle the growing demand. Intake proceeded smoothly from there. None of the guests displayed an adverse mood.

This changed at 9:13 when her heuristics diagnosed a severe negative mood near the center of the tower. Glynda Goodwitch approached the elevator with short and quick steps. Her breathing was clipped. Eyes dilated.

After a floor was selected, the artificial assistant slowed the lift's ascent. She then created a fourth projection at the intended destination. Her directive was to warn the occupants of the location. There was only one.

"Headmaster?" The Beacon administrator peered up from his paperwork. "Professor Goodwitch will be arriving shortly for an impromptu meeting. She appears to be agitated. Shall I divert her?"

"I expected as much. Allow her up."

As instructed, the elevator resumed its usual speed. He continued writing, affixing his signature to several documents. CAI remained present to serve as a visible deterrent.

When the sliding doors opened, Ozpin greeted his colleague. "Glyn-"

"Have you seen the news!"

"I have." He replied with no fluctuation to his voice. "The Council summoned me to an emergency meeting yesterday. They assured me that they-"

"-are completely out of their depth? Clearly." She strode toward him with purpose, face stern and uncompromising. "What are we going to do about this?"

"The Commissioner of Police would prefer us to steer clear of VPD business."

"Their preferences have long ceased to concern me. What are we going to do, Ozpin?"

"Our direct involvement is inadvisable." The headmaster repeated.

She did not agree. Dress shoes clicked with each step forward. At his desk, she pressed her palms down on the top and leaned forward.

"The city is spiraling. White Fang, robberies, murders, and who knows what else." They shared a long look. "If we have the ability to stop this chaos, only to choose to do nothing, then why are we here? Why bother preparing for the future when we cannot preserve the present?"

Such sustained eye contact was generally regarded as a challenge. The headmaster was unflinching in his returned gaze. Goodwitch ultimately looked away, yielding and dissatisfied.

"I understand and agree wholeheartedly. But we cannot involve ourselves without permission. To do so would open Beacon to oversight, criticism, and litigation. The end of which would be our outright removal from our posts by the Council. We serve at their pleasure, after all."

"Sir-"

"Which is why we will not interfere. Not… directly." He breathed deeply and stood. "While we as an institution cannot investigate, that does not stop an unaffiliated party from involving themselves. For instance, a huntsman who is notorious for being unconcerned with such rules."

"Do you mean…?" As Ozpin nodded, Goodwitch's stance eased. "Is he not already on an assignment for you?"

"A small one. More of a vacation, really, after everything with Amb-" His eyes flicked to CAI's form. "Before that though, activate privacy protocols."

"Authorization confirmed." Projection four chimed before fading away.

Per the protocols, all nearby microphones and security cameras were switched off. The elevator was similarly disabled from reaching their floor. This lockdown would persist until the headmaster manually lifted the order.

As she withdrew, a query she had been running finished. The phrases 'news' and 'White Fang' had triggered an automatic web crawl. Numerous hits were returned.

Scanning the text returned more trigger words such as 'Dust,' and 'explosion.' An image of a burnt-out car with a broken mask beside the remains clenched the relationship. CAI was compelled to inform user -J_Ironwood- at Atlas military command.


XV. Protected


In a long checkout line, a girl fidgeted with a button on her beige long coat. Cradled in her arms were a number of toiletries. Her grip on a stick of deodorant increased the closer she drew to the front.

She did not want to be in this department store but had little choice. Part of her luggage had been lost on the flight to Vale. Although the Bullhead service assured her that the missing clothing bags would be returned, the young woman was left without some basic necessities.

One of her handlers could have been sent out on her behalf, but she had refrained from giving that order. Deeming it a waste of their time, she had snuck out. This would be easy, she convinced herself. She was an iron-forged champion, not some porcelain doll.

Surrounded on all sides now, she questioned that assumption. Borderline claustrophobia set in. Her mind yearned for an escape.

Green eyes, hidden by sunglasses, wandered to a glass display. Inside was a tableau of cardboard people roasting polystyrene marshmallows around a simulated fire. Although obviously created to sell camping equipment — namely a pair of tents and a heating unit — she got lost in the fantasy.

Perhaps they were all friends. Huntsmen-in-training, just like her. Camping outside the walls would be dangerous for anyone else.

Or maybe they were civilians that hired someone to look after their campsite. Maybe their protector was convinced to take a break with them. Maybe they bonded around sweet treats and learned they were not so different from each other.

"Next!" A cheery voice brought her back to reality.

A spot at the check-out counter was available. Admonishing herself for being caught up in a dream, she tugged on the azure shawl atop her head. Red ponytailed hair was pulled further downward. Shield up, Pyrrha Nikos approached the register.

Another girl was behind the counter. They seemed to be on the young side. Thirteen at most. A small name tag introduced them as 'Yori.'

"Hello! Did you find everything you need?"

"Yes. The selection was grand."

Yori showed off her braces. After the items were dropped onto the tabletop, the child went about scanning barcodes. There was a beep with each one.

Chocolate brown eyes looked up questioningly. "Have we met before? You look familiar. Like someone I should know."

"Could be." Pyrrha imitated a laugh. "But, most likely not. I have been told I have one of those faces. Everyone thinks they know me."

There was a hum of agreement. As Yori's head ducked once more, Pyrrha could not help but notice how the cashier's dark hair was braided similarly to her own. In fact, the clip she used was identical.

"Your total is on the screen." She said while placing the purchases into a paper sack.

Pyrrha pulled out her wallet. Having had no time to convert her carried currency into card form, she presented Mistral-themed paper lien. If there was an issue with this, Yori did not bring it up.

While converting the leftover amount into the Vale standard, Yori once again looked at her customer. She leaned in. Tilting her head to the side and squinting, the moment the incognito champion had been dreading finally arrived.

There was a spark of recognition. "Aren't you-"

"K-keep the change."

Snatching up the bag, Pyrrha made a hasty retreat. This sadly called more attention to herself. The other patrons were beginning to catch on to her identity. Making matters more difficult was that their shopping trolleys blocked the path out.

Flustered, her right hand flashed black. Wheels squeaked as the carts were pushed by an invisible force away from her. She not-so-gracefully slipped through the created hole. Before any cameras could come out, she had blown through the exit.

Having escaped onto the city street, she did not dare stop. Her feet carried her further and further away from the store. A few blocks away, she slowed down thinking she was finally alone.

A definitively incorrect assumption.

While rounding a corner, she intercepted someone else's path. Her stance widened on instinct. This allowed her to stay standing through the impact. The person who had run into her was not as in-control of their body.

"Oof!" Was the sound they made while bouncing off her torso.

A boy in a turtleneck landed on his butt. The parasol he had been carrying launched upward before plummeting back to Remnant and bonking him on the head. Rubbing his shaggy yellow hair, his sapphire blues looked up at her in confusion.

"Sorry!" She shrieked in mortification as her sunglasses fell off her nose and into the shopping bag.

"No, no. My bad." He popped up, revealing they were of a similar height. He may have been taller if she were not in heels. "Wasn't paying attention. I was too busy with my Scroll."

To his point, a red device had fallen to the concrete beside her. "You must have found something rather interesting to be so absorbed."

"Yeah, I was messaging a… friend?"

"You don't sound so sure."

Pyrrha winced, realizing how her phrasing might be interpreted. She had to be careful with words. Her sponsorship agent had drilled that lesson into her head for years. Thankfully, he took no offense as he bent down to gather his personal effects.

"It's complicated." He sighed while tapping the small parasol against his knee. "She is kind of rude, and we've only known each other a few days, but she has saved my bacon more than a few times. Balances things out, y'know?"

"...kind of?"

"Exactly!"

They shared a laugh. A real one, too. Comfortable conversation must have come easy to him. That would have changed if he knew who he was speaking to.

"Anyway," The boy continued. "I'll let you get on with it. Have a nice day!"

"You too." And she felt she meant that.

He was about to step around her before stopping. "Oh, you will probably want this back."

Held out to her was some sort of sky-blue fabric. She stared blankly at the item before recognizing her shawl. Reaching up to her head led to the discovery that the accessory was indeed no longer attached.

"T-thank you."

She hastily took the covering back to hide behind once more. But it was too late. He had seen. The champion was too visually distinctive for her own good. Her life was an exercise in brand identity.

So she waited for him to make a big deal out of meeting the Pyrrha Nikos. They always did.

"No problem!"

Soon after, he was jogging away. Evidently, he had somewhere else to be. Little did he know of the total shock and disarray he had left the major celebrity in. Or of the radiant smile she would sport for the rest of the day.

/ / /

Adjacent to a back lot was a tiny cube of a building made of gray painted wood. It would have blended in with the surrounding concrete were it not for two medium-sized green glass windows on either side of a black metal door. Large antennas poked out from the roof beside a chimney to bend at angles towards the sky.

Other than a passing resemblance to a cartoon robot face, the structure was wholly unremarkable. A pile of rubbish stacked on the sides gave off the vibe of an abandoned storage shed. The only hint otherwise was a sign in a window.

It read Ferrous Works: Armament by Commission.

"Is this the weapon's shop? Seems rather-" A garbage can toppled over as a red tabby cat dashed away. "Lowkey."

"The owner would take that as a complement. As the primary weapon's provider for the Underground, he would prefer to go unnoticed."

Jaune nervously looked around. "Maybe I should have worn a disguise."

"Relax. His business is mostly legal." Roman said, as though that 'mostly' qualifier solved everything. "But he knows that the coppers could make up a reason to shut him down. His play is to fly under the radar. The results speak for themselves."

"Results?"

"He has never seen the inside of a jail cell."

That actually did seem like a good measure for a successful criminal. "How do you know him? Did he build your weapon?"

"Nah, that was a different guy back in Mistral. When I moved here full time, I needed someone who could handle the maintenance. Neither Neo nor I are gearheads."

"Makes sense." Jaune was not either. He had settled on using a sword and shield because it was a) readily available and b) easier to upkeep. "So, you are from Mistral?"

"Stop stalling and get in there."

Having been caught, the teen sighed and approached the shop. The door was somehow heavier than it appeared. He had to pull on the handle with both hands.

The interior was just as messy as the exterior. Shelves, packed to the gills with boxes, bottlenecked the entrance. Jaune was forced to inch along sideways to reach the center of the room. Once there, he was relieved to find a much more accessible area.

There were still tables with equipment and wires strewn about, but it was far less claustrophobic. In the middle of the space was a stall. A man with slicked back gray hair and blue-rimmed glasses watched the blond from behind the stand with suspicion.

"Mr. Ferrous? Hi, I represent a client of yours who-"

The man set a finger against his lips. Then he pointed to a box on the counter beside him. A yellow note on top said, 'Deposit All Electronics Here.'

Befuddled, Jaune lifted the box's lid. The inside was lined with mesh and foil. As soon as his Scroll was locked in, the owner's arm came out from around his station holding a thin paddle. The teen flinched but did not pull away as the odd machine was waved over his body.

The store owner stared at a display on the tool. "You seem clean. Alright, what does this client of mine need?"

"Repair job." Jaune placed Neo's parasol on the table. "The shield component no longer contracts and extends. She said, er, indicated, that you would know what to do."

"Hush!" Ferrous exclaimed.

Jaune was not sure if that was in reference to the weapon or a command to be quiet again. Probably both. Either way, he tried not to interrupt the examination. The weaponsmith carefully expanded and peeled back the canopy to view the inner workings.

"Poor thing. What did that psychopathic mime do to you…" He then glanced towards the shadows in alarm. "She's not secretly around here somewhere, is she?"

"Still got both your lungs, don't you?" Roman could not help but add using Jaune's voice.

The teen would not have phrased it that way. Neo was out securing supplies for their trip. Regardless, this did seem to alleviate concerns of a reprisal.

"True enough." Ferrous lowered his guard ever so slightly. "Strange. I've only ever known the she-devil to work with that dandy companion of hers. What are you to them? The new intern?"

"That's not… inaccurate, sir." Better than being the messenger boy.

"Look at that. Much more polite than either of those ne'er-do-wells, no offense."

"Some taken, you nazzy dedoochka."

Assuming that Roman's comment was derogatory, Jaune did not repeat it. He simply smiled and nodded. Ferrous dove back into diligently cataloging the damage sustained by Neo's weapon.

After a few minutes of standing in place, the teen decided to walk around the shop. There were a number of interesting items. Bins of empty shell casings. Stacks of serrated edges. A carton filled with 'lower receivers,' if the label was to be believed.

What really intrigued him was a cylinder on a table. The sleek object was the only thing in the store that looked complete. Its body was long and gray with odd red bands around the circumference. He pressed his face closer to figure out what the thing was.

"Hey, what's with the bazooka?" Roman said loudly, both identifying it and sending Jaune scrambling away.

Ferrous did not look up. "Mr. Xiong's personal weapon. Not for sale, if that was what you were about to ask."

"Darn. And here I was hankering for some heavy artillery."

Jaune sincerely hoped Roman was joking.

After a little more rummaging about, the boy grew bored and wandered back over to the repairman. By that point, Ferrous had seemingly finished. He was scribbling away in a little booklet. Eventually he turned the pad around for them to see the bill.

"Here is what I'll need to do to get her up and running again. Should only take a few days, assuming you are good for it."

On the paper were a long list of mechanical tasks. Some of the terms were recognizable, such as 'soldering.' Others, like a 'F.A.O. estimate,' Jaune could only guess at the meaning. What he did understand was the grand total at the bottom. He almost gagged.

Roman was not as phased. "Charge it to the company business account."

This was the first time Jaune had heard anything about a business account. Or a company, for that matter. He used his body language to pretend like he knew.

"Very well." Ferrous ripped out the ticket before attaching it to Hush and storing the weapon in a clear bin on his right. "I'll have everything in tip-top shape in a few days. Come back around then, unless there is anything else you need?"

Jaune almost said 'no.' Then he imagined the kind of place where Roman might be taking him. If this was going to be a faux-initiation test with huntsman-level fighting, there was some equipment he would need.

"Actually, yeah. Do you happen to sell any armor? Anything that might protect my upper body?"

Although Neo had retrieved Crocea Mors, his protective equipment had been lost. While he understood that Aura would shield him, he still wanted the extra padding. To go without seemed wrong.

"I'm not an armorer. Completely different skillset. But I might have some pre-made stuff you can use." There was another shifty look around by the older man. "Be honest. How do you feel about Atlas tech?"

"Uh, fine?" As long as the equipment worked, Jaune did not see an issue.

"Just checking. You won't believe how picky some people are."

The weaponsmith reached below his waist. There was a click. Part of the booth opened to reveal a hidden compartment.

Standing in the nook was a mannequin wearing a white and gray chest piece with violet accents on the collar. This color scheme ran seamlessly to shoulder, arm, and finger guards. What looked like a thick and black long-sleeve shirt connected the pieces together.

On the head was an all-encompassing helmet, hiding most of the face except for the mouth. More purple ran along the sides like a pair of fins. The narrow eye slits reminded Jaune of the large White Fang member who had fought Neo.

That was to say, intimidating.

"Wow."

"Like it? A defunct group out of Argus — Tide or Wade or something — stole this prototype a few years ago. You are looking at genuine, military grade Atlas armor not seen anywhere else."

"Careful." Roman warned. "Military grade is not a special designation. It only means that minimum-set guidelines were met."

Jaune was in full agreement. Ferrous came across as what his grandfather would have kindly referred to as a 'huckster.' While this armor appeared to be an improvement over the piecemeal set he had arrived in Vale with, the future huntsman did not want to be fooled.

Luckily, he had bargained with tricky salesmen before. Or rather, he had watched his mother do so. Ever the dutiful son, he had learned a few tricks.

"Looks normal enough to me." He had seen similar armor on soldiers in photos of Atlas parades.

"Nothing normal about this bad girl. A special blend of boron carbide and aramid fibers makes it resistant to fire, cutting, and impact. There is an internal heating and cooling system to supplement Aura for extreme weather. It also mech-shifts for easy deployment."

To demonstrate this ability, the would-be-seller reached over to the left-hand gauntlet. He lifted a black panel on the back of the fist, rotated it three times, and then pressed down. Both gloves popped off and began retracting with the rest of the armor into the torso.

The chest piece split down the middle. As the bulk of the heavy material migrated behind the mannequin, the vest thinned into straps. Ferrous reached up to slip the now back-pack off the inanimate model.

He turned it around and opened a top latch. There was a hollow space for carrying items. Most likely for the helmet.

"If it's so good, why is this the prototype and not the standard?"

"Costs. They deemed it impractical for mass production."

That made sense. The temperature regulation system alone would have been absurdly expensive in terms of Dust. Tactical strategy games had taught Jaune that sometimes armies were better off with lesser equipped units when trying to conserve a vital resource.

This also explained why the armor had not sold yet. Most people could not afford the continuing costs. He, on the other hand, was flush with both money and Dust. That did not mean they were unlimited in funding for this, however.

The thief got to the heart of the matter. "Speaking of costs, how much is this going to set me back?"

A new ticket was written out, the presentation of which was also shocking. Not for being too expensive. Rather the opposite. About a third as much as the repair costs for Hush.

"Not a bad price, if this really does all that he says."

Roman was correct. The amount was low. Comically low. Ferrous was trying to get rid of the armor. It was almost certainly costly to store, given the limited amount of space in the shop. That knowledge came with advantages.

"I like it." The teen let slip, before wistfully adding. "Though I'm not sure if I like the idea of running around in stolen equipment. What if someone recognizes it?"

Fearful of losing the deal, the salesman spoke quickly. "Ah. Well, I am more than happy to make some modifications to help disguise the illegitimate origins of this piece."

"Like?"

"New paint job. Change around the plating configuration. Fake serial numbers from the legal secondhand market. Basically, anything that doesn't require me to build from scratch."

"Hmm." Jaune bit a knuckle.

"And I'll do so free of charge!"

Exactly what he wanted to hear. "How long would you need?"

"One-to-three days, depending on how much you want to change."

That was less than ideal. They were leaving the city soon and Jaune needed something now. He was about to walk away when Roman decided to speak.

"Any chance I could take her out for a test spin? That would help me figure out what all needs to change." He then said internally for only Jaune. "You don't have to worry about getting caught where we are going. Not by the authorities, at least."

The information was good to know. And also, quite foreboding.

"I'll need some collateral or a down payment."

"Charge my employer." Roman requested. "It'll be fine. They owe me a signing bonus."

"Your funeral. Just let it be known that I am merely the vendor. If they wonder where their money went, my hands are clean."

Piece said, Ferrous lifted the helmet off the mannequin. Its naked form was re-hidden behind the false wall. He then went about scribbling more into the booklet. Possibly making plans for what else could now go into that hidden compartment.

"Thanks." Jaune took a chance to whisper.

"Don't sweat it. This is nothing more than an investment. You seem to think this is what you need to fit in at Beacon. Who am I to disagree? Make me a promise though."

"Sure." He was not in a position to refuse.

"Run whatever cosmetic changes you decide on past me first. I will be damned if you do not at least look stylish while running around in that tin can."

As always, Roman was more concerned with optics. Since the teen cared more about function, he decided to let the spirit have this one. It was then that Ferrous spoke up again.

"By the way, what's the name I should put on this ticket?"

"Torchwick."

"Yeah, that would go over well. What if I get audited? How will I explain the name of a notorious thief in my ledger? C'mon, tell me yours. I don't want to work with anyone who won't give me that much anyway."

A disquiet cloud oozed through Jaune's being. He really did not want to give away his identity. But he did not exactly have a fake name to rattle off. Instead, he gave an old nickname.

"Put down 'Jay' as the name."

His younger sisters used to call him that as little kids. They had a hard time pronouncing 'Jaune,' always getting stuck on the first syllable and calling him 'Geai.' Their elder sister Saphron brokered a middle ground. They started referring to him by the first letter only.

"Surname?"

"Don't have one. Don't need one." Jaune recycled some dialogue from an action movie he had seen once. "I make my own destiny."

Ferrous' pencil writing stilled, making the boy uneasy. "Of course. My apologies, Jay. Please stand still for a moment."

The weapon maker pulled out a rope of measuring tape. After some sizing of Jaune's shoulders, waist, and height, he hurried away with the backpack in tow. In the rear of the store was a workbench with some complicated machines that soon started up.

Since he had not been asked to follow, Jaune stayed back. Done for the moment, the teen let himself slump a little in relief. Negotiating had been more stressful than he had imagined. Roman saw fit to speak up.

"Good going. I thought for sure you would give him some impractical name. Jay is both plausible and should be easy to remember."

"Ha. Yeah. That would have been bad..." Jaune decided to keep his other knee jerk idea of 'Boris Borison' to himself.

"Next stop is a clothing shop. Don't worry, we will go simple. Just a shirt, pants, and shoes to pair with the Atlas armor. Should not take too long. Then we'll meet up with Neopolitan at the hotel when she is done with her end of things."

Jaune nodded. As they waited, he thought about his sort-of-friend. Being mute had to make communicating with retailers difficult. He wondered how she was managing.

/ / /

Yori hummed while stocking a shelf. While usually her least favorite task, today she found the activity enjoyable. The associate cashier was in a good mood.

And why should she not be? She had just met Pyrrha Nikos!

Everyone had told her that part-time retail jobs were terrible. Friends had mocked her mercilessly for bringing up the idea. Teachers told her to reconsider while writing recommendations. Even her parents had questioned the wisdom of doing so while signing the age-restriction waiver.

Regardless, Yori had been determined. While making money was nice, she wanted excitement. The prospect of spending another school break about the house was so dull.

In comparison, staying in the city seemed fantastic. The first few days in Vale bore fruit. It was over a weekend, allowing her to hit all the touristy spots. Even the beginning of the workweek at Delphi Supply was a fresh experience. Viewed as a means to afford lodging, it was more than tolerable.

Then the grind got to her. Wake. Work. Sleep. Repeat.

Each day ran together. She began counting down to when she could go home again, almost pleading with the calendar to speed up. Not even an upcoming visit to the future Vytal Festival fair grounds could shake her funk.

Acting like a grown-up sucked, but that was what Yori had to do. Fake the cheer. Put a smile on her face for both the rude and the indifferent. Pretend like she was not counting the minutes until the next designated break period.

Oddly, it was one of those customers that broke the mundanity. The buying ritual had gone like any other. Items were presented, scanned, and charged for. Small talk was attempted. Money exchanged hands.

The main outlier was that this lady chatted back to the cashier. Almost no one in the city did that. They all liked to pretend that Yori did not exist. Anything beyond indifference was memorable.

That was what got her to pay more attention. To look more closely at who she was serving. Now she was on cloud nine.

The Invincible Girl had been shopping! In her store! Like she was not a goddess in human form!

Yori's room at home was practically a shrine to the Pride of Mistral. The walls were lined with posters depicting the champion throughout her undefeated career as a tournament fighter. The part timer had even taken sword fighting as an elective just to be more like her idol.

Getting to talk to Pyrrha Nikos, if only briefly, made everything seem worth it. The pep in Yori's step was no longer fake. Even individually stocking one hundred bars of soap would not rain on her parade.

"Best. Day. Ever!" She gushed.

This feeling did not last long. A smashing sound, like glass hitting the floor, filled the air. Loud gasps and shouting followed. Worst of all, these noises were coming from near her checkout counter.

She raced down the aisle to the origin. A crowd had gathered around a display case, obscuring what was going on. Thinking that someone had crashed through, Yori grabbed an emergency first aid kit hanging from a wall.

Pulling the crowd back was difficult. With none of the other workers around, the task fell to her alone. Getting through the mass of people was nearly impossible. They only parted to let Yori through once they saw her uniform.

Along the way, there were whispers and laughter. This was confusing to the girl. She certainly hoped no one was making fun of whoever had fallen through. Glass cuts were potentially life threatening.

Once in front, she could see what they were discussing. No one was injured, thankfully. The crystal divider was still intact. Instead, there was a different problem.

The camping display case was empty. Each of the advertised items were gone. All that was left were the cutouts, whose faces had been drawn on in black marker to make silly expressions.

Somehow, in the short time Yori had been away from the register, someone had gone behind the display and taken everything. And without any of these same gawking people noticing. Unless, of course, they had been in on the stealing as well.

She knew one thing for certain. The blame was going to be assigned to her. Even if the line managers did not come out and say so to her face, they would heap the blame on the young person. It had occurred during her shift, and she would be leaving soon anyway.

Still, the girl did her due diligence. She called security and gave a statement. When this was over, she felt drained of every ounce of happiness.

With little else to do, Yori decided on an early lunch.