30. School Days 07
Late summer, Topaz's Pizzeria, interior
Every neighborhood's got a meeting place, somewhere that people just gravitated to. Around here, that place is Topaz's Pizzeria.
It had a stack of newspapers for the old fogies, a holo-screen instead of the old TVs, a pool table, and thick greasy slices of pizza at cheap prices. What's not to love?
Well, what's not to love besides the gangsters who have also made it their hangout, not that anyone who might have cause to complain actually dared to do so.
Sitting at a booth along the grimy windows, the blond teen/budding criminal decided that the moment he made it big, he will never come back. The pizza shop lacked the sense of seriousness, of gravitas, that suited someone of his status. A hangout for a man of respect and reputation should be more exclusive, with a butler or something. For now, though, he had to bear with it.
The waiter came around, metal tray in hand, probably to badger him about putting in an order.
"More water?" The waiter lifted the water pitcher for emphasis.
Huh, guess this one understood proper courtesy…or maybe he was too scared to insist. Ha!
"Yeah, keep them coming," He drawled. "Don't skimp on the ice, either. It's hot as balls today."
"Yes, here you are."
The glass came back filled to the top with ice. Hell, there might be more ice than water in that cup. He shot a suspicious glare at the waiter's back as the employee walked away, but the guy didn't seem brave enough to play games. Not with those lame glasses. Not if he knew what's good for him.
Fishing out an ice cube, he crunched down on it as he returned to looking out the window. His Uncle should arrive soon, and it paid to have an early warning so he could present a good image.
A commotion at the far end of the room caught his attention. The crowd around the pool table had erupted in whoops and hollers at the mounted holo-screen. One of the young men there called his name, pointing up at the totally amazing thing that happened which he surely had not missed. On his part, he resisted the urge to avoid eye contact and to pretend he did not know them, instead waving back with a faux friendly smile on his face.
It was a sports game, so a ball must have gone in the goal, right? End zone? Hoop? Whatever, it didn't really matter. The buffoonery just proved the difference between them and him.
See, they thought he was one of them. Their good friend, they called him. He's not.
They're the minions, the schmucks. He barely remembered their names on a good day. Their lot in life was to do the grunt work while people like him, who's going places, make the big Lien. So even as his crew hooted like monkeys in their ill-fitted suits, he sat apart in a crisp three-piece ensemble of a custom design.
That was one of the first lesson he learned. The suit made the man. And this man was on his way up.
-o-
The waiter walked away from the sharply-dressed customer, a small frown on his face. This has been the third time he passed that table, with almost a whole pitcher of iced water gone. The blond man (boy, really) said he was waiting for someone, but the waiter wondered if that had been an excuse to drink free water.
Still, he remained patient on the off chance that the 'someone' actually showed up. By the intensity with which the boy stared out the window, it could very well be a bigshot. Kicking up a fuss now might turn them away before they reached the door, so he closed his eyes and drew on the lessons taught to his kind.
The essence of service hinged on a tranquil mind immersed in one's role as a server. More than a smile, more than a go-getter attitude, it was a waiter's ability to let all the idiosyncrasies of his guests wash off without lingering rancor that allowed him to perform at his best. With this mindset as a base, a server would then craft a smile to display for others. Fake it may be, such a smile would not so easily break under pressure. Protected by that two-layered set of armor, he can withstand a thousand battles (customers) with utmost courtesy.
Anger from without would find no purchase, anger from within never rose above a simmer. In his heart, peace resided. In the restaurant, serenity reigned.
Thus in his pockets, the tips overflowed. -Service Lesson #01
Walking by the counter, he snatched up a rag and proceeded to wipe down the tables one by one. With each sparkling surface, a sense of accomplishment welled up in him, and the mild pangs of irritation faded away before they could take root in his thoughts. At the center of that state of calm, he reminded himself that putting up with the terrible customers will be worth it in the end. He breathed in, he breathed out, and a smile snapped to his face. Once more, he became the perfect waiter, glad to serve.
After the tables have been cleaned, he allowed himself a moment to look over his work with pride, then took up position near the counter. He straightened his black vest and tie, then checked his white shirt for any errant stains. Apart from fixing a few strands of hair, his unruly mop was left free. Satisfied with his appearance, he picked up his metal tray and faded to the background, becoming part of the fixtures. Eyes idly scanned the room for anyone who needed his assistance, and lips moved in sync with the song on the radio.
The world sharpened to focus a minute later when the waiter saw a hand rising high in the air. It belonged to the blond customer, who waited a beat to make sure the attention was on him. The waiter narrowed his eyes in suspicion, a suspicion confirmed when the boy snapped his fingers.
It was a 'come here' gesture, a dated affectation nevertheless still used by...people of a certain class, let's call them. Otherwise, he would have to call them pretentious snobs, which would ruin his good vibes. Suppressing a sigh, he marched over at a brisk pace. In a practiced motion, his hand dipped into his pocket, pulling out a notepad and pen. The moment he arrived, the customer rattled off his order.
"Get me a chocolate milkshake, and I want one with chocolate whipped cream, chocolate pirouette wafers, and chocolate drizzle on top. Oh! And a heap of crushed chocolate chunks. I want a milkshake with some crunch to it."
Guy's got good taste, at least.
"Cinnamon in the shake?"
The customer rubbed his chin in thought, but shook his head after a long internal debate.
"Nah. Nah, that'll throw the whole thing off-balance, ya know what I mean?"
He did not, but the waiter nodded and pretended he did.
Entering the kitchen, he took stock of the inventory, though he already knew the answer. This store was missing pretty much everything the customer ordered. It's a greasy pizza joint, for Oum's sake.
The milkshake machine was sitting to his left, at least, so he placed a tall glass under the spigot labeled chocolate and pressed the start button. It sputtered for a few seconds, sparking his worry that the thing was broken, before dispensing the sweet beverage. Step one, complete. Now, the add-ons.
A rummage through the cabinets yielded a hammer and a bag of Oreo cookies. Thirty seconds later the milkshake had its crunch, even if not actual chocolate chunks. As for pirouette wafers...the waiter snapped his fingers as a metaphorical lightbulb appeared above his head.
He walked over to his jacket, which hung on a hook near the back exit. A hand reached in a pocket, returning with a half-filled box of Pocky. Three of the chocolate-covered biscuit sticks made their way into the milkshake, with a fourth hanging off the corner of the waiter's mouth like a long cigarette. Regular whipped cream topped the milkshake, and a dusting of coffee ground covered the cream in an even spread to suggest the possibility of it being chocolate.
Lastly, the waiter pondered on a good substitute for chocolate drizzle. He eyed a bottle of barbecue sauce for its brown hue for a while. Concluding that the addition of the condiment might give the game away, he shook his head and instead crushed a few more of the cookies to a fine dust before sprinkling them in a zig-zag pattern on the whipped cream.
The waiter stepped back, and admired his handiwork.
Voila!...Eh, close enough.
-o-
His Uncle arrived with his usual fanfare. In other words, he complained the whole way.
"Why is it always these kinds of places with you? Pizzas go straight to my arteries, you know that."
"Pffft, don't pretend you hate it, Uncle. I'm giving you the excuse to eat some real food. Or do you prefer the diet your quack of a doctor is making you do?"
The older man huffed, but picked up the menu with an eagerness that belied his true opinion. Before either could continue, a shadow fell over their table. They looked up to the tall figure of the waiter carrying a tray. He lowered it to reveal a glass, which he placed on the table.
It...It was beautiful. Rich, dark chocolate from the very bottom of the glass to the work of art overflowing from the top. He pulled it close and greedily slurped up the fancy treat.
"Damn, this place is moving on up in the world. First time they gave me anything other than plain chocolate."
"...We aim to please. Are you ready to order?"
"Three slices, extra cheese and pepperoni-"
"Just get the whole pie, we can finish it."
"And anything to drink?"
"A glass of water is fine. I'm on a diet."
"Very good. I'll be back shortly." Serving tray clasped with both hands, the waiter nodded his head and spun on his heels.
His Uncle, ever in a rush, got down to business before the waiter even left earshot. Leaning forward, he pushed over a stack of Lien.
"Your cut of the proceeds, kid. My customers liked what you bring me. Some of my associates are actually starting to remember your name."
That bit of news was music to his ears.
See, one might think that being related to the boss meant that he got a free ride to the top. Truth was, he stood barely higher than the newest recruit. To actually advance up the ranks, he had to prove his worth. To contribute to the coffers and show that he can be trusted to handle bigger responsibilities. By the sound of it, he was chugging along on the right track.
"Now, you said you've got a good haul this time, too?"
Sensing his chance to add a dramatic flair, he used a napkin to quickly wipe his mouth of the chocolate. Tossing it aside, he grabbed the lapels of his suit and-
"Please, do not litter. Pieces of trash accumulate into a mountain with time, you know."
The waiter had the gall to interrupt him, bending down and swiping the napkin off the floor as he walked by. The blond sent a scathing glare at the waiter's back as he moved further down the aisle. At any other time, he would have pushed the issue. With his Uncle tapping a finger impatiently on the table, he let it go for the time being. He could avenge the slight later.
Gripping his jacket, he lifted both sides to reveal the inner lining. There, a small fortune had been artistically strung.
Jewelry. Jewelry for women, in particular. Pearl necklaces, rings and earrings sparkling with gemstones, a delicate chain of gold decorated with opals here, a bracelet made of silver and sapphires there, and more.
His Uncle was not the only person blinded by the display of wealth. A few of the minions were sneaking glances his way, until they noticed him looking back and made themselves scarce. The waiter had halted in his tracks, eyes roaming over a sight he could never have imagined. His gaze lingered on a jade bangle, and he looked about ready to dive for it. The young criminal tensed, ready for a fight, but relaxed when the waiter's eyes flickered and returned to their placid stare.
"Not bad." His Uncle concluded. "I see some quality pieces there. All from the usual source?"
"Where else, Uncle? I told you it's a good gig. Granted, it's me and I'm amazing, but my method can be passed on to others."
His Uncle scrutinized the jewelry for a while longer, before snorting in amusement.
"You know, when I taught you to flirt with girls, I figured you'd be stealing their hearts."
"There'll be a time for that, but this is way too lucrative to pass up. Can you really complain?"
"Nope. It's decent Lien for your level of operations. Just remember that I'll only take the real stuff. I use some of these as gifts for important people, and the last thing I want is some city official getting glass instead of diamond by accident."
As if he would forget. The ones that get sold were one thing, but the ones that end up with the wives and daughters of his Uncle's associates would be connected to his name. His reputation depended on maintaining their trust.
Really, though, he had scant cause for worry. He picked his targets well.
It was a simple enough game. Join up with a circle of rich clubbers. Act like he cares about what they say, and they let him stick around. Get them all used to the idea of drinking harder, to the idea of partying until they drop. Then, a few weeks in when he can call himself one of them, expensive things started to disappear here and there. And the linchpin? He would always come back playing the part of the consummate friend full of sympathy, his fearlessness thus allaying suspicions. The con had worked for a month now, and so far not one piece of jewelry turned out fake. It has set him up quite nicely in terms of tributes for his Uncle.
"These prissy rich girls got the Lien to go for the real deal, and can afford to never learn their lesson. Nothing's gonna go wrong, trust me."
*clack*
"...Pizza's here. Water. Enjoy."
Uncle and nephew dug into their meal with gusto. Between bites, one listened while the other made his pitch.
"Look, Uncle, I don't need a bigger cut. This is me proving my worth. You saw how much I can bring in alone, now imagine what I can do with proper people under my command instead of these clowns." He waved a hand at the group playing pool. "I've got a hundred ideas that can work. All of them are different from what we already do, so it's new money. More money."
The slow, thoughtful nods of the older man's head boded well. Encouraged, he played into the type of theatrics his Uncle appreciated, bowing low over the table.
"You've seen that I have the drive. You know that I can go further. I'm ready for the serious stuff. Please Uncle, give me a chance." His Uncle wiped his mouth clean of pizza sauce, and folded his hands together.
"What you've brought in was impressive, I'll admit. And I can see the potential in the ideas you prefer. Easy money for an easy night's work."
His heart sank lower and lower as his Uncle spoke. Those words were a perfect setup for a...
"But-" There it is, he thought as his Uncle continued. "-there's more to this business than just how much Lien you can make. It's about trust. From the people above you, and the people below you. So, how do you think we can trust you?"
"Uh, well..." His mind drew a blank, and he tried for bravado. "Whatever you need me to do, I won't disappoint, Uncle. I swear."
As if he had been waiting for those words, the man grinned like a shark.
"The Royal Taste teahouse on 25th Street, they refused to pay their dues and said they had the protection of another group now." Eagerly, the blond leaned forward.
"You want me to get them to start paying again?"
"I want that place to be ashes by next Monday." Seeing his shocked face, his Uncle barked out a laugh. "You want trust? This is how. You have to be willing to risk prison for the family. Still want in?"
The shock faded, and a cocky smile crept up his face. His Uncle thought he was afraid of the consequences. He's not. The surprise had more to do with him expecting a much harder trial.
"Oh, I want in."
For his ambition, he had been willing to do a whole lot more.
-o-
Life as a waiter carried its own danger. Sometimes, they would hear or see things they were not meant to know, spoken by people to whom it would be very unwise to cross.
It came down to a few daunting choices. Do they call the authorities, maybe leave an anonymous tip? Do they confront the customers? So often, the answer a waiter arrived at was to keep providing service with a smile, because even hinting that they want to do something could start trouble then and there. Best to grin and bear it for now, they would convince themselves. Whether they would do what is right and good afterwards, one can only hope.
The waiter watched out of the corner of his eyes as the younger man adjusted his jacket. His hand twitched before he clamped down on the impulse to act. Instead, he behaved as if oblivious, clearing the table of plates and cups. All the while, the customers talked as if he was invisible.
"No need to rush on the job. It's better to do it right, than do it fast. Take the night off and enjoy yourself, kid. You've earned it. Remember to give me the jacket before you go, though."
"Yeah, yeah, no need to tell me. Man, it was a dumb idea to sew everything into that jacket."
"Really? I honestly thought this was a good bit of showmanship."
"It was! I know! But now I gotta go home to pick up another one."
"Ah ha ha, someone's looking to impress tonight. A date?"
"Not exactly. I'm heading to a club later."
"Don't tell me you're already going back to that con job of yours."
"Eh, probably not. I won't be a footsoldier much longer, so it might be better to take a step back from that game. Once you get me better subordinates, I can train them up for it then focus on better-paying jobs." His plan earned an approving nod from the uncle.
Hmm. How interesting. The younger man intended to give up his thieving ways. Of course, he would be moving on to bigger and worse things, but the thought of this boy burning down a teahouse felt less personal to the waiter than innocent girls being robbed. On that note, his plan to pass the scam on to others sounded rather concerning. If he replicated his feat, just how many people would end their night of revelry with missing valuables?
Even as he ruminated on what he had overheard, the waiter tapped the keys on the register to sum up the order. The machine spat out a piece of paper, and he tore it off. Facing the customers, the waiter drew on his sense of professional courtesy to maintain impeccable form as he carried the bill, placed on his metal tray, over to the pair. After all, it would not do to reveal his opinion in a room full of thugs and toughs. He placed the bill on the table, and stepped back to wait.
"-I'm saying that once you've poisoned the well, the best move is to never go back. There's every reason not to."
"You haven't seen those girls, Uncle, especially the queen bees of that little group. They've got better uses now that I don't have to worry about them catching me with their earrings in my pockets. I'm just going to flash some cash, show them I'm a man and not one of the usual hanger-on they think I am. That should finally get them to look at me."
"What that is, is an unnecessary risk. More attention means more chances of discovery. Drop them, kid, and find company elsewhere."
"What's life without risks, eh? Tell me you wouldn't want to get it on with a pair of hot twins."
As guests, the important thing is to make sure they pay the bill. Conclude the transaction, and the customer became a random nobody on the street again.
Then, he can firmly grip the serving tray with both hands and raise it high...
"Bill is 38 Lien, so tip is…tip...hang on, why am I tipping at Topaz's?"
"…Huh. Now that you mention it, since when did this place get a-"
*Clang!*
...And bring it down onto the head of the unforgivable trash who has deeply offended him so, his original plan be damned.
The blond gangster's face met the table, the sharp *crunch* telling the story of a broken nose. The head snapped up, nostrils gushing blood like a fountain, and the boy shouted in angry disbelief.
"What the fuck!?"
In response, the waiter's knee drove into the underside of the table. With the sound of concrete crumbling, the metal bolts attaching the table leg to the floor ripped away, and the entire thing lifted to slam into the gangster's chin. A mouth's worth of teeth flew every which way, leaving behind another mess of blood on his face. Anger wilted as pain bloomed. He scrambled away on the bench. His back met the wall.
The room fell silent in shock and no small amount of horror. Within that frozen scene, one person spoke.
"You know..." The waiter removed his thick-rimmed glasses and placed them on the table. "Melanie and Miltia really are sweet girls. When their things go missing, they blamed their own carelessness first. Then, they suspected a stranger. A burglar, perhaps, or one of the new hires who could not help their greed." He ran a hand through his unruly mop of blond hair, sweeping them into a messy resemblance of its normal slicked-back look. "But not their friends. Not you."
Eyes widened in recognition, quickly turning to fear.
"A-Ar-"
"But that's where I came in. A look from the outside, and -voila! - a pattern emerges." Jaune Arc grabbed the older teen by his shirt and lifted him into the air. "Any night you show up, the party gets wild. Each round is a hard liquor shot. Everyone goes home drunk out of their minds. Mel and Mil crash before midnight and suffer the most awful hangovers...And always, at least one person loses a piece of jewelry."
His other hand reached into the gangster's jacket and fished out the jade bangle. He slipped it in a secure pocket, then searched again for a pair of teardrop earrings. The rest, he left for later.
"My investigation reached one answer. The culprit can only be you. Yet, that is just the first part of the puzzle. The real question remained. How do I get the stolen jewelry back?"
The sound of chair legs scraping on the floor and footsteps spreading out behind Jaune interrupted the deductive exposition he had crafted with so much care. A glance to the rest of the room confirmed that they have surrounded him, albeit at a distance. Rare were the ones without a weapon. From pockets came knives and brass knuckles. Pool cues were snapped in half, their splintered ends pointed at him. One boy in particular, proving himself smarter than the others, had a scroll to his ear to call for reinforcements.
So much for keeping a low profile.
Then again, he had gone in quiet for the purpose of finding the next link in the chain without spooking them. Now that he had what he wanted…
Jaune hurled his former target, now his victim, at the gangster's companions. His aim proved true, knocking three men to the ground when they tried to catch the body. He turned his attention to the other side of the table, to see his new target attempting to sneak out of the booth. Picking up the dining knives from the table, he slammed one deep into the seat cushion and the other into the backrest, pinning the man's pant leg and jacket to the bench.
"Ah ah ah, you stay right there." In one smooth motion, he opened his scroll to a picture of a delicate silver hair brooch. The older man flinched, then tried to play it off, but Jaune had his answer. "Heh, sorry to say but Miltia's way better at playing innocent. I'm not letting you get away after everything I did to find you. After I'm done here, you're going to help me get that brooch back."
"But I don't have it anymore-" The blade of a wakizashi impaled the space next to his head.
"Then you better hope you can give me a lead. That was a gift from their father, you see. One of the only things they have left of home."
The older man mustered a bit of bravery, or bravado more like, and spat out in what he must have thought was an intimidating growl.
"Do you know who my family is? They'll-"
"-do nothing, because you are nothing. Someone important wouldn't personally run around to pick up stolen goods. Allow me to guess, you are something like a third cousin twice-removed who asked a favor, and the best they gave you was a job as a fence."
"...it's not third..."
"Oh, not a total stranger, then. Just nearly." Jaune rolled his eyes, then pulled the man close to hiss in his ear. "Be good and stay there. If you make me pick up the knife, I don't know what I'd do."
Truth. Against people, blades tended to be a bit too lethal for any of his purposes beyond intimidation. However, so long as they do not call his bluff, he was golden.
Taking the terrified whimpers as agreement, Jaune pivoted on his heels to face the room at large. The gang was inching closer step by step, but from the look of it, nobody wanted to be the first to engage. He could not say that was a surprise. Between the twenty or so thugs, not one showed a spark of aura, or even a single gun. Poor them.
The blond gangster had regained his footing, and glared at Jaune with hatred. In his expression, Jaune saw defiance. A gleeful expectation of vengeance. A will unbroken.
It was early yet. He'll learn.
Jaune ignored them for a moment more, tapping out a message to arrange a clean-up crew, then slipped the scroll back in a pocket. Once done, he calmly rolled up one sleeve, then the other. Bringing his hands together, he cracked his knuckles, then rolled his neck to limber up. Aura poured off him in wisps, and a faint smirk appeared on his lips.
He took a step forward, and that smirk widened to a smile. What little confidence the thugs managed to rally faltered, and unsure eyes glanced towards the exits.
Another step, and his smile became a grin. His foes shuffled back.
On the third step, the grin gave way to a howl of vicious laughter, as Jaune charged into their midst.
The first punch blasted a thug ten feet back into the wall.
Two dozen faces paled in unison as they came to a realization of how this fight will go down.
-o-
"Well, I feel better."
At the center of the restaurant, one blond held another blond up by the hair.
Jaune sported a few light bruises, already disappearing under Aura's healing. His waiter uniform was ruffled, with a few tears here and there. The gang has given the best they could, and have succeeded in making him look less than impeccable.
The other boy fared worse, even when discounting the two attacks from the beginning. He was missing a jacket, for one, the article rolled up and held under Jaune's other arm. Jaune had also taken every free chance during the fight to add to the gangster's woes. His eyes resembled that of a panda, with more bruises forming throughout his body. The fingers of both hands had been broken, an attempt by Jaune to exact a suitable punishment for his thievery. The outfit, which he had seemed so proud of, was left in tatters after the boy had been thrown, punched, kicked, and on one occasion used as a club to beat his companions.
Said companions lay scattered across the room, unconscious for the most part. He spotted two thugs who have woken up, but they wisely continued to play dead. They had not stood a chance against someone trained in combat and Aura by the Malachite twins. So used to getting their way with just a wave of a knife, they fell to pieces when attacks that landed on him inflicted mere scratches. It did more damage to their psyches than to him. These gangsters, so green, have finally seen an inkling of what they will face down this path.
Now, looking into the other boy's eyes, he no longer saw defiance or bravado. The gangster blubbered and pleaded for mercy. Jaune shook him to make him stop then, anger subsided, spoke in a light tone.
"Let's keep this between us, yes? Melanie and Miltia don't need to know what you've done, only that you've moved far, far away. To Mistral, or instance. I'll break the news to them. And I'm sure that they will never be bothered by you again, isn't that right?" It was embarrassing how fast the other boy agreed.
Jaune let go of his hair, allowing the gangster to flop back to the ground, and made his way back to the middleman. The criminal tried to scurry back on the bench, but was still trapped by the dining knives. His sickly-pale face crumbled into outright terror. Jaune ignored his pleas, and grabbed him by an ankle with a vise grip. Plucking away the two knives, he dragged the man off the bench and across the floor.
"Let's go pay your store a visit. It's a store you operate out of, yes?" He deciphered the sniveling sounds to get an affirmative.
Course set, he marched to the front door. Kicking it open, he took a step then stopped short.
Red Axe gangsters, the clean-up crew he called, lined the entrance of Topaz's Pizzeria. They took a quick look at the interior, and what they found there made them snap to attention. As one, they bowed.
"Thank you for your hard work!"
That was… altogether more deference than they have shown him the entire summer.
A thought popped into his head, and Jaune stopped for the barest of an instant as he proceeded down the middle of the path.
In his hours as a waiter, he had observed the blond gangster. His appearance, his mannerisms, his words; they appeared as a mirror to his own at times. They were so similar in some ways, yet so different in the end.
That petty thief had waxed on about how he would move on up in the world, how he would become a man of respect and reputation. Racking his brain, the method he arrived at was to make innocent girls cry. They were strangers to him, the boy must have thought.
He, on the other hand, swung his fists with hardly a thought. All so that those same girls would smile. These thugs were strangers to him, he thought.
The choices they've made set them on a course to meet each other with violence. One's dream reached new heights, and the other's dream lied shattered. One continued on his way, and the other became a stepping stone. The respect the other boy hoped to attain, ended up in Jaune's hand.
With how many more of such people will he clash, he wondered. How many more ambitions will be swept away in his wake?
He then asked himself: Despite it all, how willing was he to sacrifice them for his selfishness?
His mind recalled the expressions on the Red Axes when they looked at him. He thought of how his Uncle would beam with pride if he heard the story. How two young women would jump for joy when he returned to them their memento.
Jaune Arc barked out a laugh at the answer he arrived to. Then, humming a carefree tune, he went on his merry way…dragging along the next of the many lives he would ruin that night.
Ooh, I wanna be rich and powerful.
Ooh, I wanna take over the city.
Pffft. This life is your story, not theirs.
Stomp on a rival with both feet. Understood?
-M&M's Yakuza lesson #30, to an enlightened Jaune Arc
Author's Notes: Man, Jaune's being so awful in this chapter, that waiter would be so much better as the main chara- Ah.
Jaune Arc, Yakuza in Disguise.
…without context, it looked like Jaune just disappeared a guy who was hanging around Melanie and Miltia, and planned to tell them that nothing was wrong. Y-yandere?
A new idea has its chapter, the first of the many times Beacon Students are Skipping Class!
My intention for that story is that there will be as few fight scenes as possible, so it is quite a departure from Yakuza Arc. It also might not be visible due to glitches, and can be read on AO3 under the same name.
