Kingdom of Vale, near Junior's Nightclub
The night sky is more beautiful, anyway, he thought, pulling his hood back. His shaggy black hair faded to an otherworldly white as it neared the tips, with a portion of it pulled into a messy half-ponytail, the rest brushing his shoulders. He scratched his unshaved jawline and looked to the stars, blocking out the chaos of the messy streets around him. It was hard to see anything, the light pollution from the city and the filth of modern industry obstructing his view. He was so engrossed in the sky that he didn't realize the puddle of puke underneath his boots until it was too late.
"...shit." he cursed as he lifted his foot up. "Dammit! Just what I needed right now!" he shouted. He snapped his attention back to the streets and heard retching from behind him. A woman in a wrinkled business suit staggered away, apparently drunk judging from the way she swayed and stumbled. The boy grunted and dragged his feet a bit, and, when he had sufficiently scraped the gunk off his shoes, continued walking. He loved the city at night, but it was not without its drawbacks, like this. He smoothed out his vest, draped over his bare chest, and took out a pair of round sunglasses. He put them on and swatted some dust off his shoulder pads.
He took in the street: only a few people around, but almost all were engaged in some… less than satisfactory activity. An unkempt man in his twenties was frantically digging through his pockets, standing across from a well-dressed man with a small plastic bag of powder. There were sounds of a fight coming from a nearby alleyway. Near a pile of filled trash bags, a grizzled old man slept covered by a blanket of newspaper. Another man lay curled into a ball on his side, groaning in pain with several empty bottles nearby.
The boy looked back to the night sky, leaving that street behind. He turned a corner, and then, stopped. Was that… a scream? He strained his ears and listened. He heard a different voice shout something, then silence, then some more muffled noise. He identified where it came from: a nearby alleyway, one with a precariously-built set of scaffolding further down. He walked over, careful not to make a noise, and hugged the wall outside the alley. Listening closely, he heard the sources of the sounds: Two men and a boy, maybe in his early teens, at most. He peeked around the corner and saw them. The young boy had his back to the wall, the two men towering menacingly above him, one carrying a bat and the other a switchblade.
"Please! Just don't tell the police!" the boy pleaded. Police? the eavesdropper thought. He listened more.
"Heh. We won't, long as you shut the fuck up and do what we say. Five thousand lien from the wallet you took, and twenty percent of all the money you pinch from here on out. Otherwise…" The man holding the switchblade said. "We tell the police, and they hand you your fuckin' spine, brat."
"B-but that's- that's too much! I need the money! I-if I give you five thousand, there won't be any left to buy food…" the boy said.
"Aww, well that's too fuckin' bad, pipsqueak. But if you really need food, I bet they serve up some real goddamn nice meals in prison…" the one with the bat said, holding out the 'i' in 'nice.'
These bastards… the eavesdropping boy grimaced. He stood up straight, adjusted his glasses, and stepped into the alleyway, obscured by shadows.
"Hey, fellas! Why don't you pick on someone your own size!?" He shouted. Wow, great job. That'll teach 'em, he thought.
"Who the hell are you?" The one with the bat yelled back.
"Name's Wren! Maybe you've heard of me?" He smirked, stepping into the moonlight.
"Eh? Wren? Hey, wait! You're the guy from Hei's cage fighting ring!" the one with the blade said, taking a step away from Wren.
"Good to see one of you idiots knows me. Now," Wren dropped into a fighting stance, one hand curled into a fist protecting his face, the other held open in front, ready to catch his opponent's attacks. "We gonna do this the easy way or the hard way, guys?"
"Word is you've never lost, right? But you've never fought two of us at once!" the bat-wielder yelled, stepping forward.
"Hard way, then. Hey, kid! Run!" Wren shouted to the boy, who took off before either of his assailants could stop him.
Wren turned his head and spit, before dashing forward, towards the bat-wielding thug. The thug tried to raise his weapon, but before he could, he was hit by the toe of Wren's boots as he flipped over backwards. Wren landed in a crouch, springing into the air and towards the knife-wielding man. He dove away as Wren brought his foot down in a devastating axe kick that left cracks in the pavement.
"Good one." Wren grunted, whirling around to face his opponents. He glanced around, and noticed that his opponents were underneath the scaffolding that stood in the alleyway. Perfect.
He paused, taking a moment to think of a plan. That'll do, as long as my Semblance can pull through this time.
"Hey, you. Stabby! Might wanna move a bit to the left." He called out.
"Huh?" the thug with the blade grunted. What was this kid talking about?
He looked at his partner, then back at Wren, who had begun to faintly glow green, the most noticeable being the white of his hair, now flickering with a pale green light. He raised his arms, then dropped them suddenly, the scaffolding above the goons buckled, painfully landing on the pair.
"Ooh, that's gonna leave a mark! Buuu~t, if you were standing a little to the left, you might've been able to avoid that little… construction accident. Man, the shitty contractors around here really worked in my favor tonight!" Wren chuckled to himself, sunglasses reflecting the shattered moon for a split second as he adjusted them with his index finger.
As he stepped out of the alleyway, he paused when he heard a clicking from behind him. Damn, they had a gun, he thought. He turned around and raised his arms.
"Haaahh, haaah… You're fuckin' dead, kid! You're a fistfighter, but how do you fair against a guy with a gun!?" the thug who formerly held a bat panted.
"Oh, no, whatever shall I do, you have a gun, my only weakness…" Wren deadpanned. "Look, I've had a bit of an unpleasant night already, thanks to you douchebags, so this is your only warning. Run, now."
"What the hell do you mean? What can you do? I'll shoot you full of holes before you can punch me!" As if to prove a point, the thug fired off a shot at his leg. Wren sidestepped the bullet, taking a step towards the thug. "Wh-what?"
The thug fired off more shots, as Wren continued walking towards him. One bullet hit his chest, which merely fizzled as Wren continued on his path.
"Oh… aura…" the thug said as Wren hit him in the cheek with a right hook. The brawler continued to beat the thug into submission, before kicking him up into the air and jumping back. As if to show off to nobody at all, Wren adjusted his gauntlets and pulled his fist back, his body faintly glowing green once more. He threw his left hand forward as tendrils of green energy erupted from his arm, grabbing onto the thug and yanking him towards the brawler.
"Shit! Is that your Sembla-!" The thug was cut off as Wren knocked him out with an uppercut to the jaw.
Wren leaned over, catching his breath after the fight. Shit, I think I overdid that, he thought to himself. At least they're still breathing. He was snapped out of his current train of thought by the sound of clapping from outside the alleyway.
"Very impressive." The clapping stopped, and Wren heard a faint tapping along with the sound of slow footsteps.
"Who're you supposed to be?" Wren said, looking over his shoulder at the source of the voice.
Wren turned around to see a man around his height, wearing a green trench coat, with tanned skin and shaggy dark hair. The man held an ornate cane with a silver handle and gears, similar to the hilt of a sword.
"My name is Oscar Pine. I'm the-"
"Headmaster of Beacon Academy, right? Dad talked about you a bit. Lemme guess. You want me to go to your school? I'm gonna pass on that one, chief. I'm not exactly a 'model student,' if you catch my drift." Wren said as he walked past the headmaster.
Oscar chuckled. "I haven't even said anything yet. Awfully bold to assume."
Wren turned around and glared at him from behind darkened discs of glass.
"But, yes, that was my proposition." Oscar stated, unfazed.
"Yeah, no. Thanks, but I'm good. You've heard about me, right? If you really are the headmaster of Beacon."
"Of course. I've gathered as much from your transcripts from Signal…" Oscar said wryly. "Troublemaker, juvenile delinquent, unmotivated…"
"Yeah, well, you forgot 'strongest damn student in class,' professor." Wren half-boasted.
"Egotistical… yet incredibly gifted. You're wasting your talent out here, fighting in nightclubs. At Beacon, you can grow, get even stronger, learn to control your Semblance better."
"Still not interested." Wren said, walking away.
"Maybe even find yourself a worthy opponent." Oscar called out to Wren. The brawler stopped.
"Fine."
"Pardon?" The headmaster asked.
"I said I'll take you up on your offer. When do we get started?" Wren asked as he turned around.
"Two months."
"See you in two months, then, professor." Wren started to walk away again.
"See you then, Mister Branwen." Oscar said as he turned and walked the other way.