Chapter 46 School Days 09


He got in.

As the clock ticked closer to zero hour without a response from Beacon, Jaune had been terrified that his application was submitted too late or, worse, discovered as a complete sham. He barely ate anything. He couldn't sleep. The Club's endless shenanigans failed to garner a single smile. A stretch of the main chamber's floor became his in all but name as he paced to and fro. He'd caused a lot of worries for everyone, none more so than his teachers who fretted over him for days on end.

But that was yesterday's news. The mail had arrived this morning with a letter bearing his name mixed among it, and he'd torn open the envelope in record time. The moment he finished reading aloud the first line, he was interrupted by Melanie and Miltia jumping on him while shouting their joy in his ears.

Because he got in. Jaune Arc was going to Beacon.

The Club had flipped on a dime, breaking out in a day-long celebration. Uncle Hei pulled out all the stops. In time, their party spilled into the streets, sweeping passersby into its festive mood. There was much rejoicing, and fine wine flowed like water from morning to night.

Maybe that's why Miltia got so drunk.

Him, Melanie, and the others did too, but they at least could still walk. The short-haired twin had to be propped up by her sister and Jaune as they helped her ascend the stairs to the living quarters. Oh, the mockery that awaited her tomorrow will be merciless.

The trio stepped off on the third floor. A short walk down the hall placed them in front of the twins' room.

"I've got her. Open the door for me?"

"Sure thing, Mel."

Jaune slipped out of Miltia's grasp, gently as to make sure Melanie had her in a secured embrace, and moved ahead of the pair. Turning the knob, he stepped inside to hold the door for the other two. Once they've entered, and seeing that Melanie had things handled, he made to leave. Melanie stopped him with a nudge of her hip as he passed.

"Hey. Like, I'm happy for you." Was it him, or were there tears at the corners of her eyes? His suspicion was confirmed when she tried, and failed, to suppress a sniffle. For all her tough acts, she always had been the sappier one between the sisters. "You're gonna get the chance to show the world what you're capable of. I know you'll do well."

"Of course I would!" Jaune said, chest puffed out. The false bravado lasted barely a second before he turned his head, scratching his reddening cheek. "I have some really great teachers, after all. They made sure that I was ready."

A little smile played on Melanie's lips. "Oh, did they? Those girls sound like amazing people."

The two of them shared a glance, then broke into fits of giggles loud enough that it caused Miltia to stir at the commotion. She didn't awake fully, instead snaking her arms around her sister to cling on like a koala, happily murmuring her own congratulations to Jaune in her half-asleep state. He almost cooed at the sight.

Rolling her eyes, Melanie shifted to better support her sister.

"I'll get this girl to bed. You should probaBLY—!?"

For a few seconds, they stood stock-still without saying a word. Melanie's eyes slowly moved downward, and Jaune's own followed suit. Her attention was on the drunken koala's hand, which had grabbed the bodice of Melanie's dress and pulled it to around the level of her belly. Jaune's attention landed a fair bit higher, where he received an eyeful of two handfuls. His gaze inevitably drew towards the two pink nubs.

Wooow…

He should turn around, shouldn't he? It was both the gentlemanly thing to do, and the most prudent course of action if he wanted to remain alive. Were he in a better state of mind—a better, yet infinitely sadder state of mind—he would have done so.

But, breasts. Defense rests their case.

Yes, he has seen tits before. He owned a scroll. But none of those could compare to hers, because none of those were hers!

His face crumpled in disappointment when Melanie placed a hand in front of her breasts. Yet, before he fell into complete despair, she splayed out her fingers in a way that covered nothing. What that was about, he had not a clue. Jaune chalked it down to the boundless generosity of a goddess, and rejoiced.

A finger dropped.

Ah. Nevermind. It was a countdown to his death.

Another finger vanished, leaving three.

Three seconds. Was it not said that time was relative? A second can be an eternity, which meant he had plenty of time. An eternity of staring at boobs, before one walked into the next great adventure. Would that not be a life well spent? He posited yes.

The logic was flawless. Like her breasts. Thus, he chose to burn this sight into his memory forevermore.

Two fingers left.

Within his heart was the serenity of a lake. His mind soared amidst the realm of higher thoughts. He could almost feel himself reaching some sort of breakthrough.

One.

Okay, now was the time to panic. Should he go or should he stay? Will he face death like a rat or a man? In the end, he fell back on the lessons learned from his teachers. They taught him to own up to his choices. So, he stayed rooted in place, eyes unwavering.

Jaune knew what he must do.

The last finger curled, and her hand formed a fist.

In an instant, his knees hit the floor. He slammed his forehead into the carpet.

"I'm sorry! It was an accident!"

He stayed in that position, not daring to look up. Instead, he relied on sound to discern Melanie's mood. Currently, her foot was tapping a curt, insistent rhythm to convey her displeasure.

In a voice like ice, she pressed, "And the staring?"

"A happy accident."

Sorrys aside, he wasn't about to lie. What would he even say, that it was a terrible sight to behold? That he wanted to forget it? Ha! The image had been seared onto his very soul at the highest resolution. It shall be his treasure.

The continued tapping of Melanie's foot expressed a different opinion. A cold atmosphere pervaded the room, and the honed instinct of a hundred battles blared a warning to him. It sensed a prelude to violence. Jaune gulped.

Uncle Hei, thank you for everything you've done, but I might not make it to Beacon, after all.

He scrunched his eyes shut and braced for an attack.

It never came. Rather than a sharp heel dropping on him like a guillotine, he heard a sudden, indignant squawk.

"Mil! You're pulling—wake your drunk ass up!" A smack, a panicked cry. "Nonono, it's tearing, it's tearing!"

It sounded like Melanie was in trouble. Perhaps he should take a look? Out of concern—yes, concern—he lifted his head an inch off the ground. Melanie noticed.

"Jaaaaaune," she growled in caution.

"...I could help?"

"Five…Four…"

"Or maybe I'll leave you two to it. Goodnight, Melon-ie!" He paled in fear. "Wait, I meant—"

One of Melanie's boots struck the ground next to him. A warning shot. He took that as his cue to retreat at speed.

-o-

The next morning

*click…click…click*

It has always amazed Jaune that the Red Axes, from Uncle Hei to the DJ to the lowly nameless mooks, possessed an uncanny ability to read the mood. He envied them for the skill. They somehow knew to keep their distance from the moment Jaune stepped into The Club's main chamber, leaving the sound of Melanie's fingernail striking the bar counter as the one audible thing in the vicinity. He tried his best to pretend he didn't hear it, but if anything that seemed to incense her all the more, with the taps becoming akin to a pounding fist. Yet, whenever he looked over, she would turn away with a "Hmph!" and steadfastly ignore his attempts to broach casual topics.

He noted that the tips of her ears were colored cherry-red, a tell shared between the sisters for when they were embarrassed beyond belief, so there's little hope that she will get over what happened yesterday soon.

Feeling a poke on his shoulder, he flicked his gaze to the other side, where Miltia lounged on the adjacent bar stool.

Leaning closer, she whispered, "What did you do?"

No, it's what you did. Drunk Miltia is clingy Miltia.

Ah well, he saw little point in arguing over who bore how much of the responsibility for this affair. The real question was what he would do about it. They only have a short amount of time left together, and he wasn't going to let it pass by in this awkward silence.

The time has come to employ…that.


The usual ramen shop, lunchtime

Sym-bi-o-sis

It means getting along

We fight their battles

They pay their dues

-MM's Yakuza lesson #51, to a patrolling Jaune Arc

The bowl of ramen had barely touched the table before Jaune dove for it. Ravenous, he snatched up a fish ball with his chopsticks and popped it in his mouth, followed by a massive clump of noodles. With his head over the bowl, he practically inhaled the long strands. To the outside observer, it would look like he had a beard.

"Sluuuuuurp— ahhhh, I needed that! You make good ramen, old man."

"You eat like a barbarian," The cook said, shaking his head in disgust. "Hours I spent preparing my food, with painstaking effort I balanced the ingredients to compose a masterpiece, and you finished half the bowl in five seconds. Did you even taste anything?"

Jaune thought about it.

"Hmmm. It's a tad too salty?"

A gasp. The cook clutched his heart, and he regarded Jaune with an expression of bewildered affront.

"You! You! Give that ramen back right now!" The cook tried to dive over the counter…

Bam!*

…but recoiled a moment later as the door to the shop crashed open, and a young man strolled inside. The cook and Jaune regarded this newcomer. He, in surprise. Jaune, in absolute horror.

All that red! Ewww!

The jacket, the shirt, the wristbands, the multiple bandanas wrapped around various places, sneakers, and baseball cap all shared a bright red hue to sear the eyeballs of anyone who had the misfortune to look at the swaggering youth. Jaune could almost forgive him, recognizing it as an attempt to show ties with a gang, but the pride on that face spoke of a person who thought himself badass.

"I'm baaaack! Ya ready to pay the, eheh, security tax we mentioned last week?"

The cook blinked thrice in quick succession. His jaw dropped in disbelief.

"I– what– that wasn't a joke?" He glanced from the gangster to Jaune and back again. "You cannot be serious. You must realize who owns this street."

That appeared to be the wrong answer, because the gangster bared his teeth in a dangerous grin. Maintaining eye contact, he stalked through the small shop until he stood in front of the cook, with only the counter between them.

"Yeah!" He jabbed a thumb at himself. "It belongs to the Bloody Demons, that's who! Now, are you gonna be a good boy? Like I told you before, this is a nice shop you got here…"

Jaune rolled his eyes, and spoke in sync with the gangster.

"It'd be a shame if anything happens to it." / "It'd be a shame if anything happens to it what the hell!?"

The gangster gawked for a couple of seconds, taken aback, then turned red with anger. Unperturbed, Jaune took another mouthful of ramen, chewing as he watched the other guy storm up to loom over him.

"Funny guy, eh? Ya got a lot of nerve mocking me. Do you know who I am?"

Jaune scoffed. "Not the usual collector, that's for sure. This shop already paid for the month. Awfully bold of you to muscle in on Xiong territory."

"Pffft. Like they scare me. Those idiots are just a bunch of posers!"

They?

Jaune looked down at himself, partly out of self-consciousness for the poser comment, but also to make sure he had the proper suit on. Perhaps it was the blue tie and sunglasses he's wearing. He did tell Melanie and Miltia that strangers might have trouble connecting his personal colors with the Red Axes.

Still, this guy must be new. The entire gang, possibly. According to his Uncle, the last major conflict among Vale's underworld took place last year, which could be considered a lifetime ago with how fast things move. Gangs can rise and fall in a matter of months, and those that formed in recent days would have only seen the Red Axes walking about, smiling and accepting little snacks from shop vendors as they enjoyed the peace they've built. Easy pickings, or so it seemed. The Blue Zee gang also suffered from that misunderstanding.

The grating voice of the gangster woke Jaune from his reverie.

"Yeah, it's a new dawn for Vale. Those Song fucks might let people take them for a ride, but you are gonna learn today that this street's under new management. This is the age of the Bloody-urk!" The gangster slumped over, clutching his stomach.

"Be back in a bit," Jaune said, shaking out his fist. Getting up, he grabbed the back of the gangster's collar and dragged him over to the door. The cook just gave a wave. He didn't bat an eye upon hearing sounds of a beating, or the thump! as the gangster was tossed out on the street.

Walking back in, Jaune retook his seat. A moment later, a plate of fried dumplings was set next to his bowl of ramen.

"On the house."

"Sweet."

"This doesn't excuse your slanderous comments. I know my regulars and, unfortunate as it is, you are one of them so I couldn't have made a mistake on the order."

A dumpling, heat roiling off its golden skin, was dipped in the accompanying sauce. Jaune blew air on the morsel to cool it off, before scarfing it down. Mm, tasty thing. He plucked another piece as he thought about how to answer the cook. In the meantime, the old man busied himself with the pots of broth cooking along the back wall.

"You know…" Jaune finally said, munching on the next dumpling. "I don't think it's on you. it could be due to me not getting enough water." He snatched up one more. "I went pretty hard all morning." And another.

"Oh? Doing what? Don't tell me those Bleeding Whatevers are really trying to encroach on your bunch. And slow down, kid. You're already on the sixth one."

Jaune looked at the plate of dumplings. As the man said, it was mostly empty, having vanished in record time.

"Whoops. I'm also kinda hungry, if you haven't noticed." He finished off the plate, and returned to his ramen. "And it's nothing like that. I was just practicing—"

With a loud slam, the door burst inward. In walked three men decked out in a very familiar motif. The one in the front scanned the dinghy shop, and sneered as his gaze alighted on its two occupants. In an exaggerated manner reminiscent of a peacock, he strutted towards them. His followers, possessing a certain 'brick wall' quality to their builds, remained at the threshold to block the exit.

"So. What's this I hear about a shop refusing its due?" The gangster leaned down to put his face an inch from Jaune's, and smirked when the blond pulled his head back. He didn't have the heart to tell the man it was not due to intimidation, but because of his breath. "And mayhap you're the no-name punk that suckerpunched one of my boys, hm?"

It's the tie for sure. I should get a name tag.

"Fortunately for you, I can be convinced to-ergh!"

The gangster tried to say more, but could not on account of Jaune palming his face, fingers digging in and unmovable. Leaving his seat, Jaune marched over to the other two toughs, still gripping the man's face which forced him to crabwalk backwards.

"I'll be back, old man." He received an acknowledging wave.

With a heave, the leader of the trio flew into his companions, sending the three out on the sidewalk. Jaune followed after, shutting the door behind him.

A minute later, he reentered and sat back down. A small bowl of fried rice was waiting for him.

"Thanks for that. On the house."

"Nice!" Jaune dug in. Between bites, he said, "Right, so I was just practicing this, uh, this routine the past few days."

"For a dance?"

"For an apology. There's a lot of flips and rolls, and so on." Seeing the cook's utter confusion, he shrugged helplessly. "Look, it's a Mistralian thing."

"I'm Mistralian, and I've never heard of this."

"Alright, then it's a Yakuza thing. The person I'm apologizing to is the person who taught me about it, so she would know. Anyway, I skipped breakfast to rehearse. No food, no water, no wonder that the ramen shocked my tastebuds."

"I suppose that's plausible..." the cook grudgingly allowed. "Fine then, you can get a free pass this time. As for your apology, back in my days we would just say sorry and bow our heads. Have you tried that?"

"Yup. It didn't go too well, so I'm upping the ante to show my sincerity. My teachers said that's how it works where they grew up." The cook still appeared skeptical, but left it there due to the creaking of the door's hinges.

The person that came in gave them a smile, but neither let their guard down. Saying he was subtler in showing his allegiance than the others would be true, but that was on a relative scale. Jaune saw only one piece of red clothing. It just so happened to be an oversized bomber jacket. His hair bore an outline of a hastily-removed cap, possibly also red. This was a man incognito.

He made a show of picking where to sit. Surprise, surprise, he chose the seat adjacent to Jaune. As he pulled out the chair, though, the man cast a furtive glance at the exit, as if to make certain there were no witnesses, and reached into his jacket. Out came a cleaver, wickedly sharp, and the now-revealed gangster brandished it at him.

Jaune watched the blade as he continued his meal. The ramen was losing its heat, and he wasn't about to wait for it to become a bowl of cold, soggy noodles.

"Listen, and listen good. You fools had your chance to pay for safety, but now you've disrespected the Bloody Demons. That disrespect carries a price: Me, the Bloody Enforcer. If you get on your knees and beg, I might be merciful enough to just take one finger each."

Pushing back the empty bowl, Jaune dabbed at his mouth with a napkin.

"Well."

"Huh?"

"It's 'listen well'. Ruined your whole spiel, that did."

"...I'm going to take your whole fucking arm." He raised the cleaver high.

Which left him wide open. Jaune immediately punched him below the belt to end the battle then and there. As the gangster crumpled to the floor, the cleaver slipped from his grasp and Jaune plucked it out of the air before it could render the man a Bloodied Demon, or maybe even a dead one. A once-over revealed it as a tool of high quality, so he proffered it to the cook.

"No thanks, I don't know where that's been."

"Good point." Thinking that one of the mooks might want it, he left the knife on the counter to bring back later, then seized the whimpering enforcer by an ankle. Jaune called out over his shoulder, "Be back soon."

The remains of his meal had been cleared away by the time he returned. Placed in front of his spot was the next show of gratitude, a cup of tea; the best that the old man had in his shop. Jaune sipped it in silence as he mulled over a new conundrum.

"Am I a complete nobody?"

The old man, nursing his own cup, shook his head.

"These guys are just idiots."

"Yeah…yeah, that has to be it. I worked hard for my reputation. People know me." Jaune said, though his tone held a touch of uncertainty. The cook poured him more tea.

The old man and the young man both took a sip from their cups, and sighed. No more was said. They were content to enjoy this quiet period of peace, certain in the knowledge that it won't last.

Time passed by, and sure enough, a commotion started from outside. Jaune got up to approach the front of the shop. Peeking out there through the small glass window, he saw a field of red.

"Well, damn."

"This is getting ridiculous," remarked the cook from next to him. "I don't think I have a freebie for you that's worth more than the tea." Jaune waved away the offer.

"That's alright, I'll be heading out anyway. Can you settle my bill while I make a call?"

His patience wasn't infinite. Or anywhere close. Chance after chance, he gave them, and they refused to take the hint. This problem required a different solution.

They brought their backup. He'll bring his.

The Bloody Demons disbanded after that day.


The Club, Dance Floor

How odd, to see The Club so devoid of people. It was the hub of Xiong operations, his Uncle's seat of power. For as long as he had lived in this place, something was always happening here.

But not today. Not yet. This was his show. He'd reserved the venue for just three. Him, and…

Them.

In a mirror of their first meeting three months and a lifetime ago, Melanie and Miltia languidly strutted down the staircase from the VIP Lounge. Back then, the innocent him had likened them to angels descending a road made of clouds, so light and ethereal their steps. And he wasn't wrong, not really. On countless occasions, they've shown him a kindness far beyond what he'd earned, or deserved. But they could also be cruel as devils, these two. How he had suffered, how he had learned, life with the Malachite sisters was never peaceful for long.

Certainly, never this long. The past few days have been too quiet. Quiet, and stressful. Melanie's embarrassment lasted for days on end, despite the twins' teasing nature suggesting ample experience and self-assuredness. In hindsight, it had been just another layer they wore like a cloak, a face to show the world.

Whose fault was this mood, ultimately? That's the wrong question to ask. He did not care who did what, simply that things went back to normal. So, the better question was this:

How sorry was he?

Today, he will show them.

His teachers, on a signal known only between them, stopped at the other end of the dance floor. In tandem, they each placed one hand on a cocked hip. Haughtily, the twins flipped their hair as they gazed at him across the intervening space. Melanie sported a tinge of red to her cheeks as she scowled. Going by Miltia's expression, she has no idea what was happening, but will happily join in nevertheless.

They were waiting. He was ready.

Jaune burst into motion, taking three rapid strides. On the third step he pushed off from the ground and threw his hips forward. His arms swung back, his legs tucked in, he backflipped as he flung himself through the air. An act without caution, he abandoned his own safety for sincerity's sake, to prove to the two girls that he would risk his very being for the performance.

Coming down, he untucked his legs. The soles of his shoes touched the floor, sliding on the smooth tile. That momentum allowed him to hurl his body into a series of wild cartwheels. When it would end he scarcely knew, for in giving himself to this maneuver he had chosen to relinquish all control.

Right on cue, the thing he feared surfaced. Motion sickness, that most fatal of his weaknesses. Hours of practice had prepared for the possibility, though it offered no solution. Common sense dictated he modify the routine. The path he instead found was to power on through, letting it serve as a test of the willingness to suffer for his art. His pride would not allow anything less.

Mid-cartwheel, he caught a glimpse of his teachers' colorful dresses, and the sight became his benchmark for the distance between them. He pulled off another rotation, and when his feet next met the floor he coiled his body in preparation. Then, he unleashed the penultimate move.

Like a rabbit, he leapt.

Diving into the sky, his arms extended straight up. He held both legs ramrod straight, standing on air. Prior preparations came into play. Soulful music poured from speakers. A preset spotlight activated to shine on a spot just before Melanie and Miltia. As gravity took hold, he aimed for the bright circle.

His knees crashed against the floor, followed by both hands slapping down with resounding smacks. Bracing himself, Jaune banged his head on the tile below, cracking the material.

"Please accept—" He raised his head to peer into their eyes. "—my most sincere apologies."

From shadows, a cat made its appearance, the same one he rescued from a tree many months ago. The pitter-patter of its four little feet stopped next to Jaune, where it curled up in what looked like a mirror pose. Honestly, he didn't know what the feline was supposed to symbolize, but cuteness can win awards, especially with Melanie and Miltia who adored this particular furball. With all those cans of Gold Tuna he bought for the greedy cat, the gambit had paid off.

And so it was done, the dogeza that cannot be denied.

How sorry was he? Enough to pull out all the stops. Enough to act the fool.

He waited for their response.

"B-barely adequate!" Exclaimed Melanie.

"We're not impressed," Miltia asserted.

Yeah, uh huh. The giggles they were trying to stifle said otherwise.

-o-

To show you're sorry,

Get down on your knees!

Words are cheap,

So grovel hard!

-MM's Yakuza lesson #01, to a clueless Jaune Arc

-o-

The Club, Jaune's quarters

What a week.

Standing before a mirror, Jaune tightened his tie while mulling over the hectic past few days. A party, art appreciation, a minor gang war, one good grovel, and a cat; nobody warned him that Yakuza led such eventful lives. Worth it, though.

He'd need to do something nice for the cat; that creature sold the performance. And something for Melanie, too. Her apology for her attitude eked out a win over his apology for seeing her breasts by just a hair on the complicated scale of humility between gangsters, and that can't be abided. No dogeza, but maybe he'd spot her a meal.

However! That was tomorrow-Jaune's problem. For the moment, he'd found a few stress-free hours to decompress. Uncle Hei's off practicing bartending tricks, and won't need much help. The twins, having regained their liveliness, were down in the Club partying with their friends. They should be preoccupied for a while. That left him to his own devices.

Turning this way and that, he performed one last check. The man in the mirror stood ramrod straight, with slicked-back golden locks and blue eyes glaring with purpose. His suit was impeccable, made of a higher quality than the norm and perfect for looking great while lounging.

Hmm. He could commandeer a booth. Maybe read a comic, enjoy a quiet drink, and just be seen until Melanie and Miltia inevitably pull him onto the dance floor. He won't protest much when they do. With a week left until Beacon, it'd be nice to spend as much time as possible with them.

As he admired the impressive figure he cut, so close to the real thing, Jaune felt a deep sense of contentment beating within his heart.

It was a good day. It's going to be a good night.


Author's Notes: How wrong he turned out to be. Heheheh.

A year since this story began, forty three chapters past the original three that was intended, and it's come back around to the night that everything truly kicked off. What a natural stopping point for this Jaune Arc's tale. Too bad it's not stopping. Next chapter in a week or two.

Meanwhile, another Jaune is Sneaking His Way into the Multiverse. Chapter 1 is out, and we'll add it to the rotation of stories to be updated.

Did the Malachites troll Jaune on the first Lesson? Yes. For the next few Lessons after that, too, before Junior charged them with training him.

Extreme dogeza Yakuza Like a Dragon Level 3 dogeza = The ultimate in apology-craft.

A story with a bit of foul language, some violence, and smattering of suggestive lines would, apparently, be rated T at most on this site. It would take nudity to warrant an M rating. Easy solution is to downgrade. Lesson #03 says no, we earn that rating.

Where to go from here? Well, again, Lesson #03. I'll probably strip Jaune on the next occasion. Fair's fair.