Team SALTY

Phosphor Trailer (Jona's Intro)

"And what have we learned?" a man asked, leaning over the hospital bed.

"Is this really the time, Turq?" a woman asked testily. "Malachite is still recovering after surgery."

Turq Seolfor shrugged. "He lost his arm while in a restricted section of the factory. It'd be a shame if he hadn't learned anything, even if they did give him a new one suspiciously quickly." He turned to look back at his son. "Well?"

"Make sure you ask if you'll be awake for any trauma before signing," Malachite dutifully replied. He paused for a moment before adding, "What do they have me on? I mean, I feel great, but I didn't mean to say that."

"Nothing that should make you delusional," Turq noted. "Tell me, son, what do you remember of what happened?"

Malachite sighed, knowing lying to his father would be useless. His Semblance ensured that. "I thought I was being clever and decided losing an arm would be worth the extra points I'd get from it, especially after the others pointed out I could make the weapon I wanted on my own time. I wasn't expecting to actually remember losing my arm, though."

"What are you talking about?" Malachite's mother, Parian, asked.

"I think I just got the memories of a past life," Malachite admitted. "When I was expecting to wake up with this life as vague memories instead. I remember filling out a form to help in this life. It's a bit garbled, but I think I'm supposed to become a Hunter. I'm still your son, I just have a… few extra memories."

"That can't be right," Parian insisted. Turning to her husband, she pleaded, "Right?"

"Malachite certainly believes it to be true," Turq stated. "Either he is delusional, in which case he needs psychiatric help, or he really is remembering a previous life, and we should support him to the best of our ability."

Parian stared into Malachite's silver eyes and asked, "Is that why you have your grandmother's eyes? No one else in the family has them."

Malachite shrugged. "Probably. Either that or recessive genes. I can't remember if I knew how they worked, though I know they're important somehow. I think they also mean we're probably related to someone… which I just realized is a really stupid thing to say. Of course we're related to people." He paused before adding, "On a completely different topic, I've got a bunch of ideas that should help both of our companies."

Turq blinked before asking a very pertinent question. "Exactly what sort of memories do you have?"

Malachite smirked and said, "About thirty years worth in a world with a completely different tech base and a lot of different ideas in stories and games. I'm sure we can find something to do with it." He would have continued, but he was caught by a sudden yawn.

"We'll talk about this later," Parian decided. "For now, get your rest."

"That's right," Turq agreed. "We'll have a lot to talk about when you're recovered."

"Get some rest," Parian said soothingly, again. She ruined the effect by adding,"Your sister still wants to have a word with you about running off like that."

"Shit, I forgot about Sabah," Malachite groaned, rising slightly from the bed for the sole purpose of flopping back down forlornly. "She's going to kill me." A moment later, after reflecting on the names of his mother and sister, he added, "and the universe is a troll," before refusing to explain.

It had only been a few days since Malachite had gotten out of the hospital with his prosthetic arm when he decided it was time for another conversation with his parents. "Mother, Father," he began, speaking formally to show that this was to be a serious discussion, "we need to talk to General Ironwood."

Turq cocked his head as he studied his son. "I can see you think you're telling the truth, but whatever for? Is this about the new ideas you were mentioning earlier?"

"Not exactly," Malachite admitted with a wince. "We probably should still bring those up at some point, but this is a bit more critical." He paused for a moment to figure out how to best make his case. "I was a bit overwhelmed before, what with the traumatic amputation and all, but there was another drawback I took that we should probably deal with."

Parian's hand flew to her face in shock. "Something worse than losing an arm?" she demanded in concern.

Malachite shook his head. "Not immediately, no, which is why I didn't think about it before. Those designs I showed you made me think of it." He took a moment to clear his throat before continuing, "No, the drawback I took is called 'Clapped in Irons.' Basically, it means that General Ironwood is going to grow concerned about the changes I'm causing in his world and about what my intentions are."

"That's really none of his business," Parian asserted.

"It really is, though," Malachite insisted. "He's the General of the Atlesian military. It's his job to be professionally paranoid."

"That's… not how I would have put it," Turq commented, "but it is not an inaccurate description." Looking at Malachite closely, he asked, "What were you thinking?"

"He doesn't like unknowns," Malachite began, "it's that whole 'knowing is half the battle' thing, so I was thinking I should just tell him some of what is going on, convince him I'm not going to be a threat to Atlas and the world at large." With a wince, he added, "Warn him about some other people who might show up eventually."

"I'm not sure this is a good idea," Parian said. "Once you tell him everything, what's to stop him from imprisoning you anyway? For your own safety, if nothing else."

"Well, first, I don't plan on telling him everything," Malachite replied. "Hell, I don't even know everything. One of my drawbacks made sure of that. It's just a good thing you're my parents, or I probably wouldn't even know about Ironwood… which would have been bad."

Turq nodded his understanding before asking, "Then what do you plan on telling him?"

"Mostly that I'm here, I know some things I probably shouldn't, that there are others coming to help out, and that we have the best intentions for people in mind," Malachite listed off on his fingers. "Oh, and if you could activate my Aura, a demonstration of my Semblance should convince him that trying to keep me prisoner is a bad idea."

"You already know what your Semblance will be?" Turq asked in surprise. "Was that another thing you came up with?"

"Yeah…" Malachite trailed off, thinking about how to best put it. "It's a bit weird and situationally really powerful."

"And it'll help keep you out of prison?" Parian pushed.

"It should. It's a bit hard to keep someone in a jail where the bars are made out of wrapping paper tubes."

"You'll be able to do that?!" Turq burst out, incredulously.

Malachite shrugged. "No idea, but it really wouldn't surprise me. Like I said, it's a bit weird."

It had taken another week to set up an appointment with General Ironwood. He was a rather busy man, understandably, and Turq had suggested timing the appointment for early in the morning. Hopefully, that would place the meeting before too many terrible and stressful things happened, leaving the man in a better mood for the discussion. They were hoping to keep it from becoming an actual interrogation, after all.

Turq and Malachite were waiting outside Ironwood's office, having gotten there early just in case the general decided to see them early. It wouldn't do to make the man wait if they could help it, after all. Turq was wearing his usual, bright blue suit, a lump of turquoise at his throat holding his bolo tie in place. Malachite was wearing his best suit, a dark green that went well with his dark green, nearly black, hair.

Finally, the secretary called, "Mr. Seolfor, the General will see you now."

"Thank you," Turq said, standing. Malachite stood and followed his father into the office. The office was spartan, showing the efficiency the Atlesian army prided itself for. The walls were shades of white and the desk appeared to be stainless steel. The only bits of color were the books set neatly in shelves against one wall. The General was equally immaculate, wearing a white uniform, the only nod toward color coming from his grey vest and red tie.

"Ah, Seolfor, good to see you again," Ironwood greeted them. Gesturing toward Malachite, he added, "And who is this?"

"General," Malachite's father returned. "It is good to see you as well. I believe you've met my son, Malachite?"

"Yes, in passing," Ironwood agreed. "At the last party Jacques Schnee held, I believe."

"It is nice to meet you, Sir," Malachite replied politely. He remembered that party. The only mildly interesting part had been when Weiss Schnee had sung. The girl was pretty and had a great voice, but he couldn't really speak for her personality. That would have required her to actually display one. The real question there was, is she really that cold, or is she hiding her true self due to politics? He rather assumed the latter, but, based on what he'd seen of the elder Schnee, he could be wrong.

Malachite was broken out of his thoughts by Ironwood asking, "What brings you here today? I wasn't expecting another update on any developments for another three months."

"I'm not here about that, actually," Turq began. "First, you know what my Semblance is, correct?"

Ironwood nodded. "As best as we've been able to determine, you are capable of telling when someone is lying to you."

"That is, essentially, correct," Turq agreed. "At least in so far as it applies to what we need to discuss." He looked toward Malachite for a moment before continuing, "I bring it up because I need to stress this to you. No matter how outlandish it may sound, my son is not lying."

"As you say," Ironwood allowed. "Now," he turned to Malachite, "what did you have to say?"

"Sir," Malachite began, finding himself suddenly nervous. He took a second to wet his lips and swallow a few times, trying to bring moisture to his suddenly dry mouth. This course of action had made so much sense when he came up with it, even before he had chosen to take the drawback that made this meeting a necessity, but, now that he was sitting before the man in real life, all he could think about was how easily Ironwood could disappear him at the moment. Sure, his Semblance might be able to get him out of a cell, but he hadn't even had Aura a week ago, and he wasn't confident he could do anything if Ironwood decided it'd be best to put a bullet between his eyes.

"Speak up, lad," Ironwood prodded, not unkindly. "I'm not going to bite your head off."

"Ah, right, sorry about that," Malachite babbled before marshalling his will. "I apologize, Sir. It only just registered how badly this meeting could go for me if I mess it up." He took a deep breath, continuing before Ironwood or his father could say anything. "I am here because you don't trust easily, and what I can do and what I know could easily make me a threat."

Ironwood leaned back in his seat, raising an eyebrow skeptically. "Please excuse me if I don't take that at face value. You are, what, thirteen?"

"Twelve, Sir," Malachite corrected. "Or over thirty, or over forty. It depends on how you want to look at it."

Ironwood leaned forward. "Explain."

'Here goes nothing,' Malachite thought to himself. "Roughly two weeks ago, I woke up in the hospital, having just had my arm amputated. That isn't important, though. What is important is that I woke up with the memories of my past life. Part of those memories involved me filling out a form, determining what this life would be like."

"That seems… unlikely," Ironwood stated.

"And, yet, my Semblance tells me my son is not lying," Turq asserted.

"So you say," Ironwood allowed. "Assuming what you say is accurate, why bring this to me?"

"Part of the form was about drawbacks, which could be used to purchase additional benefits," Malachite explained. "Benefits like a stronger Semblance, a better weapon, or, for instance, a very particular eye color." He leaned forward slightly and gestured toward his eyes.

"You have silver eyes," Ironwood muttered. "I suppose you think that old fairy tale is true, then?"

Malachite shrugged. "I don't really know," he admitted. "I took another drawback that means I don't know as much about this world as the others. That said, my eyes have to be important, somehow, just based off of how expensive they were."

Ironwood's eyes narrowed again. "Others? There are more of you coming?"

The boy nodded. "Yes, I think four others got caught up in this, though I don't remember all the details, and I don't know when they're going to be getting to Remnant. Some of them could be here already."

"Hmph, I'll have to see about tracking them down later. Now, what was this about another world?"

"My previous life was on a different world," Malachite explained. "It worked on completely different principles. For instance, Dust didn't exist there, so they had to find other ways to do things."

The eyebrow rose again. "Such as?"

"Off the top of my head?" Malachite began. "Multiple ways to generate power, better communications technology, and arguably better aeronautics."

There was a moment of silence as the general thought through what he had been told. "I see," he finally said. "Yes, you could easily be quite the threat with just that knowledge, though you also claimed to have taken multiple drawbacks to increase your abilities." He stood, clasping his hands behind his back while looking down at Malachite. "Now, tell me why I shouldn't lock you up for the safety of the world."

This was about what Malachite had been expecting, so he took a deep breath and made his case. "I really do want to make the world a better place. What I know could be used to lessen our dependence on Dust, and the aeronautic designs could help with reaction times when Grimm attack outposts. Look, back on my world we had a group called DARPA. It was basically a research arm for the military, and they came up with some really impressive ideas, like a system to instantly know where you are, anywhere on the planet, or an information communication system that made the world smaller than ever. If you've got anything similar, I could toss ideas to them."

"Congratulations, you have convinced me to not have you killed," Ironwood bluntly stated as he sat back down. "Now, why shouldn't I keep you imprisoned? Even if comfortably?"

"Right… carrot didn't work," Malachite muttered. "Well, I am supposed to meet up with the others at some point, and… we're not really sure which of us wins in a contest of strength, but we're probably all up there in the kiloton range… which I just realized is a reference you probably won't understand. Simply put, you probably don't want to fight them. Even if you win, the collateral damage would be… impressive."

Before Ironwood could say anything, Malachite continued, "And despite all of that, I would much rather work with you than against you. The Grimm need to be defeated, and I want to protect people. I won't be able to do any of that if I'm stuck in a cell."

"And I cannot let someone who claims to be as much of a threat as you go without supervision," Ironwood stated.

"I'm not actually against supervision," Malachite offered. "At least, to a reasonable degree."

"And what do you consider reasonable?" Ironwood asked, in a tone that showed he was humouring the question, not seriously considering the idea.

Malachite understood where the man was coming from. He wouldn't take someone who looked like him that seriously, either. Some of the perks he had taken probably weren't helping matters, either. "I'll leave figuring that out to you and my father. I'm sure he'll do a better job of negotiating than I would. About the only thing I have to insist on is that I'll be going to Beacon when the time comes."

"I should insist on you attending Atlas Academy."

"Sorry, Sir, this comes down to that form, again. I selected Beacon, and I'm not sure I would do well in a military academy. My Semblance might be impressive, but I'm sure it doesn't look it, and I must admit, I'm not sure how well I'd do with that level of discipline."

"And I think that is where I'll step in," Turq cut in smoothly before Ironwood had a chance. "I fully support my son in this. I am sure he will grow much more as a person away from the politics of Atlas. And don't try to tell me political games aren't played there."

Ironwood sighed. "I wish I could deny that, but I've had to sit through too many meetings to do so." The two men began discussing what level of surveillance would be acceptable. Malachite watched, knowing this would greatly affect his future. Hopefully his father would ask for input before accepting anything too burdensome.

"Son, I think we need to have another talk," Turq began, watching as his son looked through a surprisingly large stack of paperwork.

Malachite looked up from the reports the professors at Seolfor College for Annihilating Monsters had submitted and sighed. "It's about the school, isn't it?" He had greatly underestimated how much work running a school would be. Why had he decided on making it large enough to essentially envelope the settlement, again? Oh, that's right… because it'd be fun later on, when all of the drawbacks he had used to pay for everything wore off.

"It is," Turq confirmed. "You have to admit, being the headmaster of a huntsman academy at your age is a bit strange." He paused a moment before adding, "Especially when you're also a student there. Didn't you also say you were going to be going to Beacon in a few years?"

"I will be," Malachite agreed. "One of the advantages to running my own school is that it's really easy to falsify the transcripts to say I haven't graduated and become a full-fledged huntsman yet."

"That's true," Turq agreed. "But I still don't see why your grandfather stipulated you'd be made headmaster at thirteen."

Malachite rubbed his temples before replying. "I blame Jump-chan."

"Jump-chan?"

"It's the generic name given to the entities that make the kinds of deals I made to get here," Malachite explained. "The other name for them is Random Omnipotent Being, or ROB, though ROBs tend to be less helpful… which is why they're also called Random Omnipotent Bastards."

"I'll take your word for it. Just don't let your mother hear you using language like that. Now, how is that an explanation," Turq asked again.

"One of the options I took makes me the headmaster of a huntsman academy," Malachite explained. "So, much like my eyes, the world had to provide one for me." He sighed and added, "I wasn't given a choice of what it'd be called. Honestly, I'm just glad we have our own hedge school, rather than suddenly running Haven or something."

"I see," Turq lied rather badly before hurriedly changing the subject. "What are you working on there, then?"

"Applications," Malachite replied. "Since we're something of a combination combat school and huntsman academy, we need more instructors, since a large portion of our students haven't had training before. Luckily, there's a lot of former military and retired huntsmen looking for work. Unfortunately, I need to weed out the ones who are obvious bigots."

"I take it you'd like me to help with the interviews?" Turq offered, raising one eyebrow.

"Yes, please," Malachite all but begged. "I mean, some shouldn't be too bad," he held up a folder to demonstrate. "Take Colonel Mustard, here. Great service record in the Atlesian army until he was dishonorably discharged last year. Apparently, refusing to use force to disperse a peaceful protest gets you kicked out of the military."

"I have a hard time seeing General Ironwood doing that."

"He didn't," Malachite continued. "Apparently, he'd been quietly campaigning to allow faunus to become commissioned officers. Some politicians didn't approve, so out he went."

"If he made it to colonel with those views, he must be extremely competent," Turq noted.

"That's what I was thinking," Malachite agreed. Gesturing to another pile he added, "I'd also like it if you could sit in on some of the student interviews. There's a lot of Faunus in there with criminal records. A lot of it looks like trumped up charges, but… I'd rather we not train people who want to be terrorists."

Turq nodded. "Especially with how often you've been getting kidnapped recently."

"That's not my fault!" Malachite exclaimed indignantly. He thought for a moment before adding, "Alright, it might be my fault. Stupid drawbacks..."

"Still, I do wonder why the White Fang keeps sending their green recruits after you."

"I have to assume it's some weird mix of the different perks I have. Considering how many of them will turn into upstanding citizens with a good job, it's probably for the best, though."

Turq considered that for a moment before adding, "You know that isn't going to help the school's reputation, correct?"

"Oh, I know," Malachite agreed. "One of the drawbacks I took to make the school better later on causes it to have a bad reputation no matter what we do, so I might as well do what I want, anyway."

"Thanks for letting me go," Malachite said as the foppish criminal began loosening his bonds from where he had been securely tied on a surprisingly comfortable bed.

He and his mother had travelled to Vale for the opening of a new toy store, and he'd gotten kidnapped again. Over all, other than restraining him, the fop and his young sidekick had treated him surprisingly well. Other than the initial blow, that had come out of nowhere and had knocked him out, they hadn't roughed him up at all, and they had even supplied him food. Granted, it was fairly basic, out of the can soup, but it was better than he was used to during these situations.

"Well, little man," his kidnapper began, "it's like this. Somebody offered me a lot of money to take you hostage. And, since my partner and I like to eat, we took the job." He moved to the next tie and continued. "They stupidly got themselves caught, so they're not going to be paying us. No pay, no reason to keep you."

"You could try ransoming me yourselves," Malachite pointed out, perhaps unwisely.

The redheaded criminal paused from his untying to pull out a cigar, gesturing with it as he replied, "We could," he admitted, "but I like to think of myself as something of a gentleman thief. Will I kidnap someone when hired to do so? Obviously, the answer is yes, or you wouldn't be here right now. Would I try to kill someone fighting me? If you want to play with the big boys, you need to be ready for real world consequences. But kidnapping just to ransom a kid? That's pretty low class." He flicked out a lighter with his other hand, igniting the cigar before continuing. "When you're hired to do a job, it's just business, and not following through with a deal hurts your reputation. So does kidnapping kids off the street. It's a low class con, and I'm far too classy for that."

Malachite nodded. "I get it," he agreed. "The White Fang try to kidnap me all the time, and they usually have no idea what to do afterward. They definitely aren't sending their best and brightest, that's for sure, even if most of them do make great students."

"Right," the criminal agreed. "If they were better trained, they would be leading the gang or doing more skilled missions, like sabotage. Instead, they waste what meager talents they have going after the lowest of low hanging bees nests. Nothing gets the cops in an uproar like an obvious kidnapping."

"Exactly," Malachite said companionably as he sat up, untying the last of the bindings. "Though, I've got to say, as far as kidnappings go, yours was one of the most pleasant. I'll be sure to recommend your services to any kidnappees I come across."

The white clad villain chuckled. "You know what, you're all right, kid. If you didn't have a stupidly rich and powerful family that's bound to be looking for you, I'd be tempted to keep you."

"Just like your partner is trying to keep my flask?" the green haired youth asked with some amusement, looking across the room to where the two-toned hench girl was happily watching a milkshake - somehow with distinct stripes of strawberry, vanilla, and chocolate - flow into a large glass.

The girl looked back and glared, clutching the flask to her chest, clearly indicating that it was hers, now. Over the course of his stay, Malachite had never once heard her speak, though she did manage to get her meaning across through gestures and expressions quite well.

"She's… not going to give that back, is she?" Malachite asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"No, no she isn't," the criminal agreed.

Malachite shrugged. It wasn't any real loss, after all. "Fine. She can keep it," he paused as the girl shot him a surprisingly happy smile before continuing, "for as long as it takes for her to lose it. You're giving me back the rest of my stuff, right?"

"Of course!" the criminal protested. "What do you take me for? Some two bit thug? I've got your scroll, wallet, and weapon stashed in a locker. I'll give you the key and directions once you're on your way." Reaching over and grabbing onto one of Malachite's arms, he hoisted the younger male to his feet. "Now, come along, we wouldn't want you to be late for supper, now would we?" Guiding the youth to the door, he handed him a folded piece of paper. "There's the location and key for your locker. Now, get out of here. We've got to get moving before you have a chance to alert the police, after all."

Malachite chuckled, taking the paper as he did so. "You know, for a criminal, you're alright." Holding out his hand to shake the surprised criminal's hand, he added, "If things ever get to be too much and you want to go legit, look me up. We could always use some more competent teachers." With that said, Malachite left, leaving a business card with the acronym SCAM across the top in the surprised villain's hand.

"Hey, Pyrrha," Malachite called as he walked down the slope toward where the redhead was sitting, her arm crossed on top of her knees as she looked over part of the countryside.

"Hello again," Pyrrha replied with her signature trill. Malachite would admit that 'trill' probably wasn't the right term for the lilting tone Pyrrha used with her greetings, but he definitely couldn't think of a better term for the musical quality she added to it. "What brings you here?"

Malachite sat down next to the arena fighter and shrugged before replying, "My mom is talking with your parents and manager again."

"She is?" Pyrrha asked apprehensively, looking over toward Malachite.

Malachite nodded. "Yeah. She's probably trying to convince them that you need to be taking a larger percentage of your toy sales." Pyrrha groaned and dropped her head into her crossed arms. "You know, you're the only person Mom has ever needed to try to convinceto take more money before."

"Can't you just give it to charity?" Pyrrha didn't whine, but the plaintive note was definitely still there. "It'd do more good that way."

Malachite shrugged again. "Mom can only do so much with it without you needing to be the one organizing things, and you blew past that point more than a year ago. As it is, I'm pretty sure Mom's set up an account for you that she's piling money in until you agree to take it." At Pyrrha's repeated groan, Malachite gave another shrug before adding, "At least, I assume she is. She might be turning it into stocks or something instead. Or just pocketing it, though I doubt that. She doesn't really keep me abreast of all the business dealings. That's more Sabah's thing."

"Can't I just be normal for once?" the redhead asked, quietly enough that Malachite was sure she hadn't meant for him to hear her.

"Normal is overrated," Remnant's favorite kidnapping victim joked. Standing up, he offered a hand to the Invincible Girl. "Come on, I know what'll make you feel better. A nice, friendly spar."

Pyrrha took the hand up while shooting Malachite a friendly, but not quite joking glare, "Maybe if you actually fought in the tournaments, people would see that I'm not some idol to set on a pedestal."

"Sorry, Pyrr, not gonna happen," Malachite replied, shooting down the often made suggestion. "I just don't have time to go through the tournament circuit with all of my family obligations. Besides, we both know that my Semblance would have pretty much everyone trying to smear me outside of the fights. Yours, at least, can be worked around, if they know about it." With a grumble, he added, "Unless they have a prosthetic, of course." At this, Pyrrha gave him a cheeky smile, more playful than most usually saw. Public life as a tournament champion definitely wasn't doing the friendly, if shy, girl any favors.

"And that brings us to the bigger issue," Malachite continued. "When the chips are down and the fight is on the line, you instinctively use anything available to get an advantage." Pyrrha made to protest, but Malachite kept going, cutting her off before she could really start. "Sure, you can keep it down during training and sparring, but you've got one hell of a competitive streak under all of your niceness. If we ever fought against each other in a tournament, I'd either have to reveal a hell of a lot more than I'd want to or you would win. Simple as that."

Pyrrha pouted adorably, even if it did clash with her normal resting haughty face. Malachite blamed the paparazzi for how hard it seemed for her to show what she was really feeling. They were usually to blame for such things, as far as he could tell. "Maybe I should tell my manager to make it a condition for me taking a higher percentage?" she asked.

Malachite grinned. "That might have worked a year ago, but I'm going to be heading to a combat school, so I wouldn't be able to fight in any of the tournaments besides the Vytal Festival, even if I wanted to."

Pyrrha slumped slightly. "Oh, right. I forgot that students at the main Academies can't participate in the normal tournaments." She paused for a moment before asking, "You aren't going to your family school?"

"I decided getting away from the politics of Atlas would be a good thing. Get a chance to make some more real friends while I still have the free time to enjoy having them. What about you? Are you staying in the tournament scene or did you decide on a combat school?"

Pyrrha flushed as she looked away. "I decided to go to Beacon. Mother wanted me to go to Haven, but…" she trailed off, rubbing one of her arms uncertainly.

"You want to have a chance to get away from your fame," Malachite finished knowingly. "I'm actually going to be going to Beacon for the same reason. I considered looking into Haven, myself," though it was more out of passing interest than any real desire to go there; his place had been set at Beacon for years, after all, but Pyrrha didn't need to know that. "There was just something… off-putting… about Headmaster Lionheart, though I can't really place what, exactly, it is."

"You noticed it, too, then," Pyrrha said, sounding relieved that she hadn't imagined it. Malachite had to admit that he couldn't place what exactly bothered him about the Faunus, but he was more willing to put his trust in many of his kidnappers over the Headmaster.

"It's not just you," Malachite confirmed. "Now, come on, the adults will be busy rehashing the same old arguments for at least another hour. We might as well get in a spar, right?"

Pyrrha smiled. "I would enjoy that." The two teens made their way to one of the nearby private training rooms, eager to beat the stuffing out of each other in the name of friendship.