I was busy with exams and graduation. Other than that, I have no real excuse.
Eh…Sorry….
Acceleration
He stirs from his sleep as golden light seeps through the transparent surface of glass windows and illuminates his visage.
His eyebrows twitch momentarily from the intrusion, but quickly cease as the comfortable warmth of the sunlight lure him back into the soft embrace of his slumber.
Groaning softly, he turns in his bed, lying on his back and settles his head into the comfy valley of his pillow.
He proceeds to breathe deeply.
Once
Twice.
Midway through his third inhalation, his breath hitch suddenly.
Wait a second...
Tiredness flushes from his mind as quick as air to vacuum, and he abruptly remembers that the cheap inn he has been living in for the last few days does not have beds this cozy nor bedsheets this clean.
The fact that his pillow does not smell like literal shit is a dead giveaway.
Shit.
He remains unmoving on his spot, not even daring to move his pinkie in an inconspicuous way, but instead opts to stay as still as tense muscles allow him.
In the frame of a few short seconds, he shoves everything distracting thoughts behind the steel façade of professionalism and gathers his entire attention and focus.
Shoulders hunched, he tensed like a predating cobra under covers of the bedsheets, preparing for any situation that awaits him on the other side of his eyelids.
Eventually, when anxiousness proves to be too much, crimson eyes soundlessly open.
Hmm.
That's... a very familiar ceiling.
And that black burnt spot on that tile... where had he seen it before?
There is a moment of bated stillness as he blinks at the stark white surface, inner thoughts rapidly churning as he tries to connect the dots.
The pause expires as his brain clicks in recognition. Sweet relief floods his being as the intense flames in his eyes fade and return to their bleary state.
"…This place looks somewhat disgustingly familiar."
Indeed, it does. He should've noticed the familiarity earlier.
White tiles, white ceilings, white bedsheets, ticking medical equipment, the scent of cleaning agents and chloroform. Too much morbid whiteness contained in one place, too sterile for one to truly relax in.
It is hard not to recognize this place, not when he had been here so many times as a youth.
Sheets rustle as Qrow Branwen sits up. The bed shifts and creaks as he readjusts to lie his back against the bed frame, a position he finds significantly more agreeable, but he does not account for the piercing pain that ignited in his head due to the shift of his head.
"Aw shit." He curses and squeezes his eyes shut, leaning the side of his head against the cool metal frame of the bed. "Ow ow ow."
Damn, a hungover this bad? Jesus, he doesn't think he's had one this bad since like...ever.
The only time he thinks is marginally as painful is the night his team celebrated when they graduated from Beacon, but even then it wasn't as bad.
For all the years he has spent traveling, he's had countless terrible mornings hungover, but this takes the cake.
Normally, they shouldn't hurt this much, merely a dull throbbing knock that only poses as a small annoyance. Irritating, but tolerable.
But this... it's unbearable, like being repeatedly smashed in the head by a sledgehammer. A sharper, merciless type of pain. The urge to spew guts is larger than ever.
It's flat-out torture.
"If there's a God, kill me."
It hurts, a lot. Man, it hurts. A hell lot more than any hangover could, he'd know. Whereas a headache from a usual hangover can kill moods, this can literally murder brain cells.
Qrow groans and raises his right hand to nurse his forehead, but rather than to find his appendage obeying his command, it doesn't.
He frowns. He shakes it. The entire arm is tightly bounded, hardly budging from the spot when he tries to move it.
Annoyed and bothered, Qrow has half the mind to wrench it from its confine.
"What. The. Hell?" Needless to say, his splitting headache does not help with his mood.
This is already shaping out to be a shitty day...
Frustrated, the Branwen looks down to said arm in a cast and wrapped tightly around his chest.
And of course, his semblance guarantees that it would get even shittier.
He stares owlishly at the sight.
"What... the actual fuck?"
Nope. Nothing. It's empty. He can't remember a damn thing for his life.
Oum, since when did he have his arm broken and it cast? And why on Remnant can't he remember a single bit of it?
What's with this situation?
But then, a thought struck his mind with the force of a thunderbolt.
"Hang on." Qrow shuts his eyes, pressing a palm to his forehead, mortified.
Did he perhaps... got into a bar fight?
...No, there's just got to be no way.
Sure, he might be very, very drunk last night if judging from the splitting pain in his head, but surely he can't be that intoxicated to start some dick measuring contest with civilians and drunkards. He just ain't that immature.
...Right?
"Crap...Where's Ozpin when you need him?"
For the next minute, he tries his absolute best in recalling the missing blanks with a look of extreme constipation on his face, but soon enough, he relents without much a fight.
Trying to recall his memories that refuse to surface is just like digging up a mountain of garbage. Sincr everything is just useless trash, there's no point tormenting his groaning brain any further by overworking it this early in the morning.
They'll come around when the time comes. There's no good rushing amnesia.
"What's the time anyway?" He looks around for a clock, and he finds one hanging on the wall by the door.
It reads 2:30. That means Ozpin is still half-buried in paperwork and headmaster duties in his office. It will be another hour until the man can free himself from the pile and spare some time to visit him.
An hour at least. That's 3600 seconds. That's less than half the time he spent teaching classes in Signal.
Three thousand six hundred seconds. Alright, he can wait that long...he thinks.
Not even five minutes later, he sits in his bed with the look of a dying man on his face.
Only three hundred seconds passed, and already he's bored out of his mind. He finds that time runs slower when there's nothing to do.
He had naively hoped that fidgeting with the material of his cast will help. But it did not, and he is still very bored. There's no curing this severe case of ADHD, not even the games he downloaded in his scroll can help much.
"Would it kill Ozpin to install a television?" Qrow whines.
Seeing that there's nothing any better to do, he gazes out the window, searching forlornly for anything on Beacon's courtyard that may intrigue him.
Hey, maybe if he's lucky, he'd spot some scantily-clad eye candy that shows way too much skin than they should be allowed to or some fourth-year with killer bodies he knows he'll kill to have a thorough grope.
He gazes out the window with the eyes of a hawk. Eager and excited, acting every part like the horndog he is.
Five minutes passed.
...Maybe, just maybe.
Ten minutes passed.
...Please? Anything for poor, bored Qrow? Getting a bit desperate here.
At the fifteen minutes mark, Qrow sighs heavily.
He gives up.
Yep, no thanks to his shitty semblance, aside from decently dressed Beacon students translocating from one lesson to another, mutely chatting. All in all, nothing's worthy quipping his interest, one way or another.
Muttering something about stuck-up Glynda Goodwitch and stupid mandatory dress code under his breath, Qrow turns back into the room with dull eyes. "C'mon, at least give me my flask."
Getting drunk can help alleviate his boredom, if only slightly.
He looks around and eyes for anything that looks metal and shapes like a square, but nope, he sees nothing that remotely fits the description.
Snorting, Qrow leans back against the bed. He doesn't know why he expects so much. "Figures."
Of course, out of all the things he carries on himself, classified files and confidential notes and all that sorts of invaluable stuff, the nurses see fit to confiscate his hip flask instead.
How logic makes sense in their head eludes Qrow.
He rubs his face with his free hand as Qrow once again settles his head back onto the pillow. He closes his eyes and tries his best to ignore the storm of pain and nausea brewing in his head.
The Branwen disregards the resounding pounding of his heartbeat that echoes in his temples as he quietly ponders about unanswered questions.
Important questions that demands answers.
Like... what is today's date?
Is Ruby's birthday's next month or next week?
Does Tai's still remember to feed Zwei regularly back at home?
How long has he not bathed?
...What's his scroll password again?
He let his thoughts drift aimlessly, anything to get his mind off the combined assault of his headache and boredom.
And for a moment, it worked. He is constantly zoning in and out from reality, and time flies while he is in the middle of the aforementioned process.
And then, eventually, a powerful third party comes and join the party.
"Ha…Haaaaaaaa~"
Without any warning, Qrow yawns massively, his jaw stretches and widens until it produces a satisfyingly pop.
In the end, drowsiness always triumphs boredom and headaches.
If there's nothing else to do, he may as well take another nap, maybe the next time he wakes Ozpin will be around to humor him with his usual antics. He might even get his nieces to visit.
His eyelids grow heavy, but he barely notices it himself. His head falls to his chest, breathing comes out deep and slow as rhythmic beeps sound from the linked heart monitor.
As sleep begins to take over, the ache that has been nonstop hammering his head is reduced to an insignificant numbness. Thank Monty for little mercies.
"Well, guess everything'll 'ave to wait 'till Oz comes over ta visit…"
With a final yawn, thoughts flee his mind. And before he knows it, Qrow is once again deep asleep, snoring with enough loudness to wake up slumbering elephants.
Acceleration
Ruby Rose does not know her uncle is just a couple hundred feet away from her location.
In fact, she remains unaware of her uncle being up in one of Beacon's many towers, passed out from exhaustion and aggravating nearby staffs with his obnoxious snores.
Instead, she is down on ground level, in the middle of her last period, a combat lesson held by one Professor Glynda Goodwitch that will take over the rest of the Tuesday school day.
Though, even if Ruby knows her uncle Qrow is at the infirmary at the present, she probably wouldn't care much, since she's got her hands rather full right now.
She is watching a battle with her other two teammates, a spar between two extraordinary individuals who claim two top spots in their combat class.
Two combatants are a whirlwind of movement, graceful slides and beautiful footwork. No one wants to remove their eyes away from the arena down below, not when it's getting even more heated with every passing second.
Yang Xiao-Long versus Lie Ren, the second-ranked against fourth-ranked of their grade, one of the rarer matchups right now.
Ruby's sister is no doubt one of the strongest freshmen in Beacon Academy. Apart from Pyrrha, the four-time Mistral Champion who's so crazy strong that it is a wonder how she hasn't skipped a grade yet, she's positive no one in their year can defeat Yang in close combat.
Agile enough to complete a 100-meter run in under six seconds, strong enough to put people through a wall or two with a single hook, and although Yang may be lacking in some department, Ruby never really doubts her sister's prowess. Especially when she's given enough reason to get angry, Ruby don't think any first-years can hold a candle to the ferocious brawler when she's semblance is active and going.
It's like an unspoken rule for their year. If you happen to see Yang Xiao-Long walking down the other way with her eyes red and hair glowing, you turn tail and walk the other direction and pray that she won't find you inconspicuous.
Because if you don't, then you're probably in for a hard time.
"Hah!" Her sister's whoops are drowned by the thunderous clang of gauntlets against pistols, sending those students watching in the front row reeling from the harsh scraping sound of alloyed steel and its deafening shockwave.
Ruby barely flinches. Her eyes are molten silver as she continues to watch the ongoing battle.
Yang may not look like it, but she's a hard worker.
Back their home in Patch, Ruby had seen her sister train, fists pounding away at a wooden log for hours on end, bleeding knuckles cracking against hardened wood and smearing rough bark with crimson long after her aura expires.
With immense speed that Ruby's eyes can only see blurring fists, with a formidable strength that makes soil shudder with every blow she lands on the log, Yang Xiao-Long's training routine is nothing short of brutal.
Ruby usually doesn't have the patience to watch the whole process, because there seems no end to her sister's training regime. every time she smashes a log of hardwood to splinters and bits, she replaces it with another one; and whenever she runs out of wood, she heads into the forest with an axe over her shoulder to resupply the dwindling stock.
Nothing comes without cost, that's one of the first things their father taught them. Ruby knows it, Yang can recite it backward in less than a second.
No pain, no gain. Yang told her once when Ruby was bandaging her busted hands after six-hours of breaking her knuckles on the wooden log, and it stays in her head ever since.
Through countless hours of borderline self-tormenting training, sacrificing lake-fulls of blood and sweat, Yang achieves the level she is currently on.
Blood-related or not, Yang's her sister, and Ruby knows her the best. When she says Yang's strong, then she is. When she states that Yang's headstrong, then that's without a doubt the immutable truth.
"Oomph!" Grunts the Yang's opponent when the blonde's fist snakes around pistols and finds itself buried in his stomach. He stumbles back as Yang leaps to follow.
On the contrary, the receiving end of Yang's wrath though… Ruby can't really figure Ren out.
Well okay, that's not entirely true. There are a quite a few things she knows about him from the times they've talked.
She can even make a list of it!
For starters, Ren's a nice guy with hair longer and better-cared than half the girls in their school. He is also a proud member of her sister Team Juniper, JNIR. He does good enough at studies and equally well in tests, so he's very reliable and can write some good tidy notes for her to copy what she missed in Professor Oobleck's class.
Also, Ren can cook some amazing pancakes, it's so good that she even caught Weiss publicly drooling over the smell this one time in the dining hall. Apparently, he uses this secret sauce that is passed down by his family, but for some private reasons, he refuses to share it with them.
He doesn't talk much unless he needs to, much like Blake. He has the presence of a ninja. He dresses like a ninja. He fights like a ninja. He behaves like a ninja.
He also takes care of his team stealthily in the background like the ninja he is. The way he routinely washes his own team's clothes and smoothens their bedsheets every morning makes Ruby wonder why he's trying to become a huntsman-in-training than a certified nanny.
Basically, Ren is a bit of a blend between Blake and Wiess, but has a less haughty character than the heiress and more a conscientious attitude than their resident cat faunus.
They are enough of a reason for Ruby to like Ren. She has friends less likable back in Signal. And Yang always says that she needs to make some mature friend to balance out her viridity, whatever that means.
But still, friend or not, it doesn't change that Ren is the polar opposite of talkative. It is so hard to talk to him even when he's one of the nicest guys Ruby's ever met.
Whenever she talks to Ren… she can't help it! She often imagines herself talking to a brick wall than an actual person, words just bouncing off the wall and echoing back to herself. She can rant for hours and Ren will just stand there, nodding and providing bare minimum responses just enough to let her know that he is paying attention to her words.
Boy, it's downright frustrating! She swears the most facial expression she caught on Ren's face when their teams were chatting was merely a twitch on his lips, and even then she can't tell if he's trying to smile or frown.
While Ruby won't call Ren an impassive person, he's coming quite darn close. He's the very definition of unreadable. He seals up any outward expressions and his tone has always been even.
Here, even Blake admits that it's very difficult for her to get a read on Ren's mood through his poker face.
Sure enough, she's not alone in this. Yang probably feels the same way. Apart from being a hopeless pun maker, her sister is a master of teasing people with her…blessed parts. But recently, with how desperate she tries to get a rise from the boy with dirty teases but to get no more of a reaction than the raise of his eyebrows, Ruby figures her sister is nearing the point where she'll tear her fabulous hair out in exasperation.
Ruby won't pretend she understands Ren, because frankly, she does not. They are distant friends at best, acquaintances at worse. And from the handful of times they have interacted, she hardly scraps the surface of his personality, much less unraveling his being.
But if there's one thing Ruby is sure, it's that Ren is strong.
Like, crazy strong! She does not need to watch him train, just from observing the first three minutes of the spar, she has already deduced that much.
She doesn't know. Ren's fast, but not as fast as herself. He's flexible and acrobatic but cannot perform eye-bulging flips, unlike Blake. His kicks hurt, but when compared to Yang's rib-cracking ones, they aren't much. His aura level is above average and his control over it is nothing to scoff at.
He's not so much the best at anything than being decent at everything.
Ren's good, but not good enough to raise some eyebrows.
There are no glaring weaknesses he has, but that's about it all.
There's nothing really outstanding about him. There's nothing particularly extraordinary about Ren. And there's nothing especially iconic about him.
But regardless, Ruby still can feel it, an air that trails after her only male friend wherever he goes like a phantom.
It hovers and wisps around his body like a cloud of dense, domineering mist, draped over his shoulders like the proud cape of a paladin.
The presence of someone strong.
It is really strange. People often point out his mundaneness and questions the validity of him claiming top spot despite not havinc shown anything significant in his matches, but Ruby wholeheartedly disagrees.
Ren gives her chills. He is the only one that gives her this impression of unwavering calmness out of all the first-year students she has come in contact with.
The first-years she has met are attention hogs. All they do is list out their skills and expertise, mention their achievements and comment how big of a deal they are, as though it would help them prove their worth.
But no, it does the exact opposite.
But Ren? He does not boast or brag, simply because he does not have the need to.
Just by standing next to him, she can feel his swelling presence overflowing in the air. He has this inexplicable aura of quiet confidence, a form of strength that is spoken louder through actions than words. A type of silent charisma that makes people feel a sense of reassurance.
It is subtle, so people who don't pay attention to her male friend will miss it for sure.
But even so, they should be convinced of Ren's standing in their year should they take a look at his combat records. They are fine testimonies to his proficiency.
Yes, it is exactly as ridiculous as it sounds, as unbelievable as it seems.
Even if Ren's weapons are average, his base abilities average, showing no flashy moves nor semblance in his matches.
...He's never lost a fight, ever.
That's an amazing feat in itself!
Sure, some may argue he's never been paired against the likes of Pyrrha or Weiss.
And yes, some other may state that his battles against other students lasted for dozens of minutes while Ruby's end in only a couple seconds.
But still, in these three long, competitive months, Ren has never lost a single battle.
Every time Professor Goodwitch calls out Ren's name, she can practically see the stern professor declaring him the winner at the same time. It's like the battle is won before it even started. And Ruby won't lie, in so some way, that's kinda awesome.
Though this time, it'll be different. He's fighting Yang after all!
There must be an extent to Ren's coolness.
The harsh collision between metal and metal brings Ruby back into the match, her eardrums ring clamourously as the continuous chain of clashing weapons make their way into her ears.
Ruby shakes her head and slaps her own face to clear her inner thoughts.
Oh, she didn't miss anything, did she? Weiss' not gonna let her hear the end of it if she finds her spacing out in the middle of a lesson.
One look towards the arena tells her the general state of the ongoing spar.
As of now, it looks pretty equal. While Ren's aura is current seven percent lower than Yang's, both their aura levels are still well above yellow.
But it won't last long, because from what it appears, the pace of the match is still escalating.
Down below, her sister clearly has the upper ground, putting forth punches with the intensity of a blazing inferno. Her fists flicking out and back thirteen times under the frame of six seconds, and still it does not feel like Yang is at her limit yet. Together assisted by the firing mechanics of Ember Celica, the power behind her punches are no joke.
On the other hand, Ren is trying his best to weave through the onslaught but is losing ground steadily. His arms blur green as he bats away Yang's raining blow. Stormflower buckles under the weight of her every punch, nearly tearing the pistols away from his vise grip.
Despite his best effort, Ren is steadily backed up against the edge of the arena lest to receive a splintered arm.
"Who da you think's gonna win?" Ruby whispers to her partner, who is watching the match with an analytical eye.
Wiess, the smarter one between them two, spars a glance at Ruby before returning to the arena with an appraising look.
"Yang, that is without a doubt," she says with an air of certainty, "unless Ren can put some distance between them to utilize the advantage of his greater weapon range, he may be able to turn the tides. But even Yang's not stupid enough to let him go when she's this up close."
"Oh, yeah," Ruby nods slowly at Wiess' words, she's the smarter between them two after all. "You're probably right..."
"Probably?" Weiss sounds offended.
There is a sharp ring of metal, and Ren's right pistol is wrenched away from his hand by a spin kick from Yang. Ren jerks, the sudden attack robbing him of his balance briefly.
An opening Yang exploits without delay.
"Ha! Your winning streak's over now, champ!" His sister gleefully yelps, carelessly throwing her self-control to the wind as concentrated aura kissing her fist. It glows golden she sends it forward in a violent punch.
The crowd prepares for the inevitable harsh sound of metal against flesh, courtesy of Yang's viciousness.
Weiss is positively horrified and even the normally stoic Blake grimaced.
Their professor looks tense, her grip on her crop tightens but makes no action to call off the match.
Sadly, it seems that Ren is on his own.
"Ah yikes," whispers Ruby under her breath, already feeling bad for Ren's poor face.
She'll make sure to visit him in the medical bay later today and reminds herself to bring him some of her own strawberry cookies as an apology.
At least then she'll feel better about herself.
Acceleration
He watches as the fist closes in in an intimidating fashion.
But the shroud of calmness does not flicker. The air of absolute victory remains resolute.
A foot stomps on the arena floor and the green-clad boy recovers his footing in the blink of an eye.
And subtly, unnoticed by anyone, Lie Ren's eyes glints. Magenta eyes burn with a ferocity that belies the serene impression the owner of said eyes gives to his fellow classmates.
"Ren!" Joan Arc cries warningly, visibly distressed and worried. But even then, Ren does not move from his position.
Though, he thanks her for the concern.
The glowing gauntlet of unyielding steel zooms in on his defenseless face, parting his silky black hair and reveals a pair of calculative eyes to the open world.
And then, alas, it connected.
There is the unmistakable dull smack when Yang's gauntlet crashes into Ren's cheek. Many people winced, Ruby being one of them as they watch Ren's head snap to the side, a trail of saliva suspended in the air.
Now.
But that's all they will be discern then. No one is quite able to see what happened in the next split second.
A twirl of movement, the shrilling screeching sound shoe soles grinding against the arena floor, and a colossal thump that utterly drowns out every sympathetic 'ohh's and 'ow's in the training hall.
It sounds cliché, but for a moment, the world holds still.
A wet cough shatters the silence like a hammer to the window.
"Oh my." Someone from the stand said, and Ren has to hold back a snort.
Down the arena, Yang wheezes and wobbles unsteadily as he calmly removes his fist from her solar plexus and steps back. The blonde gasps out unintelligible words as she stumbles to a knee.
Her head is bowed from pain, her thick layer of hair covers the majority of her face, but it is unable to conceal her ashen face nor the sheer disbelief written on it.
The crowd is a mass of hushed whispers. Ren cannot blame them for their shock.
A single punch, that's all it took for Lie Ren to put Yang Xiao-Long out of commission.
Or to put it in more detail; with the aid of keen eyes, dead-on precision, and incredible explosive force, Ren has placed a well-placed uppercut to her gut that shattered a thick armor of aura and effectively knocked Yang, a literal tank that can take as much as she dishes, out of the fight.
Someone stands up enthusiastically from the watching audience.
"I don't know what the hell just happened…" says a certain, loud blonde amid of silence. "But that's awesome!"
Ren ignores his teammate as easy as he does the nasty bruise growing on his right cheek. Instead, he focuses his attention on his fallen opponent.
The sheer degree of shock on Yang's face is enough to make Ren's lips twitch, mostly out of amusement. But again, he resists the urge, for it is considered a highly disrespectful gesture to his adversary.
He takes a glimpse at her aura meter and notes that she still has a good proportion of aura left in her body to stay in the fight. So wasting no time, Ren reaches out and grabs Yang's arm. With nimbleness that belongs only to professionals, Ren easily performs a textbook judo throw and tosses the vulnerable blonde over his shoulders and out the arena.
Yang slides out the ring and remains prone on the floor, looking nothing like the proud and smug woman she was just ten minutes earlier.
Of all the people spectating the fight, only Glynda Goodwitch is unfazed by the outcome of the battle. Glasses gleams as she regards Lie Ren in a new light. and from the way she smiles, Ren can guess that she is pleasantly surprised by his unorthodox manner of handling the fight.
That is good.
Professor Goodwitch clears her throat and silenced the mass of students. She taps on her scroll a few times before she announces in a loud, clear voice.
"Winner by ring out, Lie Ren!"
Ren's team, with the exception of the winner himself, cheers loudly.
And up the stands, next to her two frozen teammates, Ruby Rose puffs out her cheek as she lazily slumps in her seat.
"Uwah…I can't believe it," she mumbles slowly. "Yang actually lost."
Acceleration
Contrary to her fellow classmates, as much as she sympathizes with Ren's much-undesired position, Blake did not turn and look away from that crucial instant when it determined the outcome of the spar.
Instead, she tries to understand it.
It is her nature to analyze everything that will be useful to her in the future. A huntress can never have too little at her deposit, right?
Every day, she pays close attention to Goodwitch's class, picking up every detail she deems practical and useful. Listening to specified dos and don'ts, absorbing bits of advice offered by their professor and memorizing assorted moves of her classmates, so she can add them all into her ever-growing arsenal and take several steps closer to her goal.
Which, in her case, is putting an end to White Fang's aggression and revoke human's negative views on the faunus race.
Her classmates might not appreciate her stealing their personal techniques, but it is the most effective and efficient method to refine her style that she can think of. Adam will surely approve.
And hence, the moment she saw Yang and Ren's name pop up on the screen, Blake thought it would be a perfect opportunity to learn a thing or two from Yang's spinning kicks; she never seems to understand how Yang gets her legs and waist to work cohesively to add extra force in the kick.
Sure, she may be able to get Yang to teach her herself if she asks nicely, but she doubts her sanity will survive with Yang's lewd jokes about hips and waist and correct positioning accompanying her all the way through the session.
It is a risk she will not take.
Before the match began, she had intended to learn a thing or two from the spar between her partner and the only male friend of her leader...
But instead, she got something else out of it. It was staggering and has unreservedly blown Blake's expectations out of the water.
Even with the superior eyesight of a cat faunus, it has been blurry, the movement has been so quick that she swore it left afterimages. Furthermore, most of the maneuver had been substantially obscured by Ren's curtain-like hair, she was just able to catch a glimpse of what happened.
It began obvious enough, everyone saw when Yang threw out a punch that could dent steel walls. No one doubted that the aura-enhanced fist would not reach its intended location given how it sliced through the air with the speed of a bullet.
And just like everyone else, Blake had thought the powerful punch would be what Yang needed to knock Ren out of the fight, potentially punching his lights out as well considering Yang's infamous reputation of her lack of restraints.
Except, it did not.
Instead, he executed a maneuver with so much smoothness, so much swiftness, that Blake wonders if her eyes were deceiving her.
Earlier, Weiss had recorded the entire fight with her scroll like she always does with all matches her teammates take part in. Straight after the bell rang, Blake had cornered the Schnee and asked a copy of the video she had recorded, which Weiss had mutely complied with only a raised eyebrow at her strange behavior.
So here she is now, alone in the dorm room with the other three members of her team gone to do whatever they are doing.
Well-earned privacy at long last. She so deserves it.
Sitting cross-legged on her bed, Blake takes out her scroll from under her pillow. The screen blinks to life and she opens the file that contains the video of Yang's and Ren's match.
Colors flash on the transparent surface of her scroll as Blake plays the fight in slow motion, her eyes dilated from the focus she exerts on the movements.
Blake spends the next three minutes in silence. The only noise that can be heard is the soft ticking of Weiss' alarm clock.
The video ended, and Blake replays it once again. Only this time, she further slows of the video, watching it one-fourth its original speed.
Time passed, the room is quiet for six minutes this time around.
When the video ended the second time, Blake tosses her scroll aside and purses her lips in deep thought.
It appears she had underestimated Ren's ability, assuming he is an ordinary huntsman-in-training like the rest of them when in fact, he is not.
He carries qualities that others don't.
Yang's final punch had connected. Oh, it did connect, resoundingly too if she may add. The metal gauntlet has smashed into Ren's face, his cheek rippled like water as the force of the blow snapped Ren's head to the side.
But he did not go down.
It was lightning-fast reflex that allowed Ren to tilt his head in the last second, enough to soften Yang's tremendous blow from depleting his aura capacity to red; the benefits of spectacular body coordination that enabled him to keep himself up straight even as he was helpless flung to the side from the outrageous force of her teammate's jab.
It was the credit of well-drilled muscle memory that permitted him to transform a formless flail to an impeccable spin through the works of brilliant footwork; the perfect awareness of his own mass that let him convert a great deal of the punch's weight into the momentum of his swirl.
It was the immense aptitude as an exceptional fighter that allowed him to transfer all the built-up momentum into his fist and into Yang's abdomen, a devastating punch that was all it took to put down the blonde juggernaut.
It was astounding. He did not flinch from the like anyone would have, he did not let the blow disorient him when it should. He didn't even blink. Alternatively, he took the hit face fault, just like how he took the weight behind the punch and added it to his own.
His high tolerance towards pain. His extremely quick reaction to sudden threat and almost automatic counteraction to said threat. His cool and poised composure during battles. His nonchalant negligence towards wounds and injuries.
They are attributes that Blake concluded no amount of training can yield.
He had improvised, not with his mind but his body. For in that instance, the latter had moved nanoseconds before the former does.
It has become clear. It had been nothing but pure experience that allowed Ren to pull that move off.
She was White Fang before she was a huntress, the terrorist group that attacks both human and faunus citizens in plain sight. And in those years being a part of it, she had seen grunts without prior combat training fight and spar barehanded, building up their own set of style by directly battling each other.
She personally supervised them herself, so naturally, she could recognize the similarity in Ren's maneuver against Yang when she saw it.
It was given shape through actual combat than routine training.
After engaged in brawls and street fights numerous times, after being struck in different areas countless times, bones being broken and flesh being torn, you ought to develop some sort of auto-counter mechanism that will help you soften hits and turn them to your advantages.
Formless stances with the fluidity of flowing water, allowing the person to dissolve fatal attacks and minimize lethal harm with the slightest shifts with their body.
She knows this because White Fang grunts had been perfect punching bags to Adam. Too often the bull faunus has taken over their training, giving Blake enough chances to familiarize herself with the manner grunts roll with Adam's blows to avoid suffering injuries, the way they spin with punches to add strength to their own attacks.
It makes Blake wonder: how many times had Ren been hit, how hard had he been struck, how many times had he been beat into a pulp, for him to take a full-strength, aura-enhanced punch from Yang no less and stay standing, cool as a cucumber, as though it is nothing more than a glancing blow?
Was it intentional? Did he take the punch head on intentionally? Honestly, with what she has seen, she thinks it might be possible.
Which also leads to her next question: Why would Ren pull off such a barbaric, absurd move that is unfit for a huntsman against Yang?
What kind of huntsman would allow himself to be hit just so to deal a deadlier blow to take out a single grimm?
Unless...Ren has a masochistic semblance like Yang.
Or maybe...
She's just saying, maybe...
He's just a plain masochist.
Hmm... so many questions that she has yet had an answer to.
"Intriguing…" Blake mutters lowly, rubbing her chin with a free hand.
Ten minutes later, when Yang Xiao-Long returns, only to see Blake Belladonna head-deep in her unfinished volume of Ninjas in Love, cheeks a light tone of pink as she indulges herself in a world of wild and erotic imaginations.
Acceleration
AN: Ren is a bit stronger here than the version in Rooster Teeth. You'll see why. ;)
AN (The next day the story is posted): So, um, apparently someone in the reviews mentions the sentence 'Which also leads to her next question: Why would Ren pull off such a barbaric, absurd move that is unfit for a huntsman against Yang?' and pointed out the irony about Yang doing the exact same thing.
It took me ten seconds to realize where the irony is, becuz... you know, brain lag.
To be fair, I just woke up. But it got a very loud laugh out of me, so that's that. Thanks for pointing that out!
Anyways, thanks to him, or her, I was able to come up with something from my sleep-deprived brain, so I added in the joke at the end so that the chapter finishes on a somewhat smoother and funnier note.
Well, it is kinda funny in my opinion.
Next update: I have no idea
