Chapter 39. Beacon Days 21
Beacon docks, second-to-last day of break
Jaune stepped out in the brisk air of a Valean January. After disembarking from the Bullhead ramp, he placed down his bags and took a deep, bracing breath.
"HELLO BEACON! HELLO PEOPLE! I COME BEARING THE MOST MOMENTOUS OF NEWS! WE ARE TRULY LIVING IN THE BRIGHTEST TIMELINE FOR I, JAUNE ARC, HAVE FOUND ROMANCE WITH THE TWO LOVELIEST—*Bomf!*— pft, bleh, bleh!"
Jaune spat and hacked the snowball, which had been thrown with an unerring accuracy, from his mouth. Using his left hand, he wiped the last of it off his face then looked around for the perpetrator of this unwarranted attack.
The search ended a small distance ahead, where his team and Team RWBY stood waiting. Their faces showed various shades of annoyance. Ruby, still in a pitcher's follow-through stance, spoke through gritted teeth.
"Hello, Jaune." She spat out his name like a curse. "It's a nice morning. The best we've had in weeks. Let's not ruin it with your shouting." Jaune threw back his head, laughing.
"Sorry, Ruby! I'm just so happy to share the news. See, on the trip I asked Mel and Mil out, and—" Yang cut in.
"We know the story."
"Oh…did they tell you already?"
He would still like the chance to recount the tale, though. His version put him in the best light.
"They did!" Yang's face brightened for a second, before dropping to a scowl. "Then they did it again. And again. And again... And again."
Ruby growled, and said, "Your girlfriends wouldn't stop sending pictures to brag about your trip! About how nice the weather was in Vacuo! And about you sucking face every five minutes WHILE WE WERE STUCK HERE IN A BLIZZARD!"
Like some sort of horror movie monster, Ruby punctuated each sentence by zipping closer and closer with her Semblance until her manic expression was mere inches from his face. His shirt was bunched up in her little fists and she had climbed on him, bracing her legs on his hips, so as to glare down with her teeth bared.
"Where's my magical holiday vacation, Jaune? My youth romantic comedy?" She was shouting at the sky now. "Is it because I skipped grades? Because I like weapons? Smart, quirky girls are in, people!"
He suspected she'd have better luck on that front if she stopped accepting food so happily when offered. Judging by the number of people who would feed her snacks and ruffle her hair on a regular basis, Ruby has pigeonholed herself into the role of Beacon's little sister. Or housepet.
Saying that right now will likely earn him a bullet from Crescent Rose, though. Instead, he settled for gentle pats on the girl's back and looked to his other friends for help.
There was no help to be had. Weiss grumbled about missed flights and private islands, arms cross in petulance. Yang appeared to be bragging about the dates she's been on, at first; a closer listen and it became clear she was, in fact, lamenting how not a single one led anywhere. Blake was Blake.
He next turned to his team, hoping for a better reaction. To his surprise, he found scant sympathy among his most loyal. The NPR of JNPR formed a united bloc, Nora and Pyrrha pouting while Ren remained stone-faced. A quizzical raise of an eyebrow and Pyrrha, voice tinged by a bitterness so unlike herself, grumbled an explanation.
"Congratulations on your relationship, Jaune. Sincerely. Forgive us if we seem...cold. The heating in the dorms broke down during the worst of the blizzard last Saturday and we're just starting to get feelings back in our limbs."
Ahhhh, Saturday. That was the day he, Melanie, and Miltia had their beachside barbeque, after which they danced the night away at a party on the sands. Good times.
Naturally, Miltia took lots of pictures. His team's seething made perfect sense, now.
"The power went out." Pyrrha continued. "The Bullheads were grounded, so nobody could leave campus. We had to dig a path whenever we want to go to another building." Yang paused in the middle of her dissertation on the relationship desert that was Beacon to follow up.
"Have you seen those post-apocalypse movies? It was pretty much that." Nora began counting on her fingers.
"Haven went tribal and hoarded everything from the vending machines to avoid going outside. Wukong actually buttoned up his shirt, so that was a sign of the end times for sure. The Shade bunch almost cried, and did start a fire to keep warm—*whisper* which we helped with *whisper*. Atlas Academy just laughed at everybody, and they wouldn't stop laughing."
"That is, until we bombarded them with your vacation pictures," Ren contributed, "they became very quiet from then on."
Jaune wondered where the faculty was in all this. Survival scenarios, resource scarcity, no outside contact; it had all the elements of a social experiment. Were they Ozpin's lab rats?
Shaking his head at the silly notion—really, as if Ozpin could be some sort of master manipulator. Ha!—Jaune brushed it off to deal with his friends' ire. Upon reflection, he and the twins had their parts in what took place. If he put aside their likely harmless intentions and his petty vengeance, Melanie and Miltia sharing their photos were not much different from him sending vacation pictures to Team BRNZ. Both actions elicited the same sense of envy. An apology was due, at least for the innocent souls here. May deserved her suffering.
"I am so sorry, guys." Jaune ducked his head. "Mil and Mel were just excited to share the news, you know? Had we any idea of how bad it got here, we would have toned it down."
Pyrrha and Ruby broke out in rueful smiles, all too willing to forgive an honest mistake. For those unsure, Jaune sweetened the deal. Bribery always works, right?
"I almost forgot. I've brought back gifts for everybody!" Many eyes and ears perked up, and he hid a sly grin. "Let me get settled in, and I can start handing them out. Sounds good? Great!"
Seeking to escape, Jaune didn't wait for their reply. He grabbed his luggage by the handles and marched straight ahead.
Arms hooked around his elbows, holding on tight. Looking to either side of him, he saw Nora and Yang standing solid as stone, bearing identical grins.
"No, no, no. You're not getting away that easily."
"We were going to get those souvenirs anyway, Boss Jaune. It doesn't make up for what you put us through."
"And those puppy dog eyes you're making? Pitiful."
"*gasp*, you take that back!"
He honed that face to work against seven sisters plus a pair of twins. It was a masterpiece.
"Nope. Ruby does it better, and she still fail more than succeed nowadays because I've built up immunity. You can earn forgiveness the honest way, by treating us to a meal in Vale." They began dragging him up the ramp.
Jaune flailed helplessly in their grasps. He dialed the pleading expression up a notch and aimed it at the softer-hearted among his friends. Ren and Weiss avoided his gaze and, traitors that they were, they intercepted Pyrrha to prevent her coming to his aid. He turned his teary eyes to Ruby, who judged his face with clinical professionalism. Then, she scoffed.
"Amateur!"
Her look of smug superiority followed him on the ramp, and into the depths of the Bullhead. He felt its relentless presence behind him as he sat sandwiched between his jailors.
The rumble of the craft's engine sealed his fate.
Five minutes after arriving back in Beacon, Jaune was leaving it once more.
A restaurant in Vale
Jaune shook his empty wallet, hoping for Lien to drop out of some hidden dimensional fold, heretofore unnoticed. No luck.
The disappointment did not last long. Lien came easy when one had dubious moneymaking ventures to fall back on. A few weeks of profits from his bar, and he should be back to living the high life of overpriced coffee and gacha rolls. The future was bright for one Jaune Arc.
"What do you mean, we're making less money!?"
Ren placed his hamburger down on his plate. He gently dabbed at his lips with a napkin, making classiness look so effortless. Putting the napkin down, he gave a sigh, and explained to Jaune.
"The convenience store's doing fine, especially since Weiss implemented her reforms. Unfortunately, the back room's our real earner and recent sales aren't meeting our—"
"Ahem." Weiss cleared her throat. Ren continued without missing a beat.
"—Weiss' projection for where it should be."
"How can that be? It's the holidays. I expected everyone to get wasted to celebrate, especially with them stranded on campus. We were the only option!" Ren stabbed a finger in his direction.
"Exactly. That is how I—"
"A-hem!"
"—we noticed the discrepancy." Ren performed a second smooth save, though since this interruption came from Nora, Jaune was more inclined to believe Ren's original version. "Taking a look back, it's clearly been happening since before the break, albeit at such a small level that it skirted by us. This time, our profits missed the mark by too much."
Jaune stroked his chin in thoughtful silence.
People were drinking less, huh?
No. No, that did not sound right at all. Trust not in the self-control of the masses. He would know, guided as he so often was by base impulses. People were drinking as much as they ever did.
An unwelcome conclusion reared its head, and his eyes narrowed to slits.
They just drank elsewhere, now. Someone else has gotten in the game.
"Ren. I've got an assignment for you. It's going to require a subtle touch."
-o-
A lean, mostly-dark-haired young man dressed in a nondescript hoodie and sunglasses leaned against one of the pillars surrounding the Beacon Fountain. In his hand, a bottle containing an amber liquid. He lifted it by the neck and took a large gulp.
Then, he immediately spat it out.
"Blehhh, this is just awful!" He glanced at a few passing students, and gave an exaggerated groan. "It was so overpriced, too." Glance, glance.
Not any of them either, then. He had hoped to see keen interest, perhaps a desire to either share a secret or advertise. Greed would be a telltale sign of his culprit(s).
Here, he saw amusement and some mild curiosity, but most people reacted with indifference. These students had little to no connection with the new purveyors of bacchanalian libation.
Alcoholic beverages, in common parlance.
Giving up this spot as a loss, Lie Ren prepared his exit by stilling all movements. As the seconds passed, the eyes of passerby began filtering out his weak presence, uninteresting as it was. He waited for a moment when not one person paid him attention to push off the pillar. The bottle of whiskey vanished under his hoodie. He passed unnoticed right by Glynda Goodwitch, who had just entered the square.
Taking a corner, he burst into a sprint heading for the next high traffic location with the reassurance that Beacon's Vice Headmistress would be far, far away. Among the faculty, the risk of attention (and detention) was highest with her.
He skidded to a stop behind a tree. Quick hands straightened his clothes, and he took a few deep breaths to recover his composure. Out of cover walked an unruffled young man, bottle at the ready for his repeat act.
A gulp, a grimace. "What I would give for something sweeter. Ugh, but Vale is soooo far."
He raised the bottle a second time, using the motion to hide his scan of the surroundings.
Aside from the unusually high concentration of twins in the area, he failed to find anything of note. Well within expectation, this being his third stop. His method of canvassing the student body hinged on making contact with as many people as possible, 99.9% of whom will turn out uninvolved in the matter. It was the last 0.1% he sought under the guise of a potential customer. He needed just one fish to bite and he can follow the thread to blow this enterprise wide open.
Ren's face twisted into an actual grimace this time. Much as he hate to admit it, Jaune proved a capable leader. The Yakuza understood how to choose the person for the job. Pyrrha or Nora would have accosted one student after another, sending the rats scurrying to their crevices. With Ren, the discovery of the people they seek was an inevitability.
And Jaune will likely give him the 'honor' of dealing with the smugglers, as he did with Cardin so long ago.
The thought of sabotaging the investigation crossed his mind, but Ren nixed that idea before it can shake his resolve. There were too many ways for that to trace back to him, as Jaune knew his capabilities well by now. It would also mean betraying Nora.
Sighing, he shoved his mutinous ideas to the back of his mind. The time to turn on Jaune has not yet come. Until he can get Nora out, he'd play the good soldier.
A fruitless once-over and he concluded he would not find his targets here. He did spot a few groups of triplets. Weren't those supposed to be rare? Never mind.
Onwards.
His next destination took him over a particularly rough pathway. He stumbled over the uneven surface, nearly falling flat on his face more than once, and arrived at one of the courtyards minutes later than he intended. Winded, he dropped himself on a bench.
He fished out the whiskey, raising it high and tipping it towards his mouth. In his exhaustion, he missed the mark. Whiskey splashed over his shoulder, and a bit of it stained his hoodie. He tried to brush it off. No dice.
That was fine. He can do his laundry after he completed this task.
As the heavy weight of the bottle might throw off his aim again, Ren grabbed on with both hands. One held the bottle's neck in a gentle grip, the other slid down the length of the glass to cup the bottom, ensuring that it cannot slip away. He lifted the bottle, bringing the lip of the glass to his own much softer lips. A hesitant touch, and he pulled back. Aligning himself correctly, he pressed forward with greater confidence.
His chin tilted up. He tasted whiskey on his tongue. A fiery warmth suffused his chest, quelling the winter chill.
When Ren finally drew away, a satisfied sigh escaped him. That was good whiskey.
...
... Right! The investigation. Time waits for no one.
With a spring in his step, Ren bounced to his feet—why was he still moving? Was the ground getting closer?
*Crash*
Lying flat on his belly, Ren at last noticed a flaw in the plan.
What he saw were probably not twins and triplets. The uneven road that tripped him up could well have been built to exacting standards. They were not the problems.
Rather, he might be—just might be—drunk as a skunk.
Note to self: Tell Jaune to substitute the alcohol with tea next time.
Second note to self: Try to remember the first note.
Having exhausted his mental acuity—what was left of it, anyway—Ren's eyes fluttered shut, and he passed out on the grass, hugging a near-empty bottle.
-o-
Lie Ren is a drunkard, drowning in alcohol to forget his mysterious, tragic past. He's probably an assassin. They killed his dog.
That was the new rumor Ren woke up to two hours later. It has spread like wildfire in the intervening time. A smattering of details that can be considered the truth (it did not get any more tragic than losing your home to Grimm) plus a copious heaping of lies without basis, summed up to quite a backstory. To the campus at large, he was now one of the most dangerous men on Remnant, but one who supposedly followed an ironclad code of conduct. By the time afternoon rolled around, eyes followed him wherever he went.
With that kind of attention on him, the previous plan went down the drain. Hence, the need for a new approach.
Plenty of water and a last swig of the whiskey took the edge off the impending hangover as Ren hit the books. Well, book. The Book, where they recorded the names of those who patronized the hidden bar, along with their preferences, incriminating information, and other interesting tidbits that would have them break out in cold sweat had they known. Relevant to his purposes were the frequency at which a customer visited. The pages did not contain dates, which Ren will rectify going forward, but he made do with the sales figure jotted down next to each name. Pair that with what they've ordered, and he figured out roughly what he needed.
The latest pages denoted newcomers, and he disregarded those. He remembered most of them, and they've been around in the last week. Some of the patrons named in the earlier pages, however, have not shown their faces in a while.
One in particular, significant for how loyal a customer he used to be, was sitting at his dorm room desk set against the window. The sun was going down, turning day to night, yet the room's light remained off. Music floated out the half-open window, while a cool breeze entered the room, its bracing chill keeping the studious boy awake. The songs, on the other hand, kept Ren engaged as he sat on the ledge next to the window. Legs crossed, hands on knees, he waited in a meditate silence.
Past the initial paper trail and change in habits, the former regular has not exhibited any suspicious behaviors. The glass on his desk contained iced tea. Ren detected no scent of alcohol wafting from the gap. A peek at the boy's face when he did not pay attention showed a countenance devoid of hangover or drunken symptoms (which cannot be said for Ren himself).
As far as Ren could tell, this guy was an uninvolved bystander. That was what made this style of pursuing leads so unappealing. He can spend hours and hours on a stakeout to end up with junk. With his luck, either the target would be innocent from the start, or they won't reveal any usable information until after he has crossed them off the list and went elsewhere.
Ren contemplated just that, peering in the records book for the next candidate. He dithered, though, on whether he should employ the direct approach in a final attempt at gaining a lead. Worst case, they cause an uproar before Ren can subdue them, thereby alerting the whole dorm and beyond of Team JNPR+W's hunt for someone or someones. It would not be hard for the illegal smugglers—as opposed to the mysteriously-endorsed (though technically still illegal) smugglers based in Juniper Berries—to connect the dots from there.
Decisions, decisions.
The choice was taken out of his hands as his ears pricked up at the sound of a chair scraping on a wooden floor. The suspect was moving.
The textbooks slammed shut, and Ren heard their owner groaning as he stretched in his seat. Chancing a peek, Ren watched as the boy dusted off the last of his sandwiches, then snatched up his scroll that rested on the desk and tucked it in a pocket. Dormitory doors were keyed to those devices.
Ren tried not to get his hopes up. The boy could also be one of those people who can't have their scroll more than three feet away at any moment. A visit to the bathroom was not out of the question.
Hope became certainty, when the suspected put on a jacket, and rummaged through the desk for a Lien clip. He intended to leave the building, then, and had purchases on his mind.
Evening after dinner, no contact with anyone the whole afternoon, what could he have planned for the night?
The instant the door clicked shut, Ren shifted from sitting to standing in one smooth movement. A leap carried him from the ledge to a tree branch located a few yards away and one story below. Climbing down the tree trunk, he dashed along the side of the building. Peering around the corner, he scoped out the entrance to the Beacon dorms.
A few minutes later, and his target appeared. He checked his surroundings, an action that set Ren's mind whirring. It was a behavior typical for people up to no good. The boy walked off in the opposite direction of Ren, who waited a beat before following.
Ren pulled his hood low over his face, and kept a respectable distance to obscure his features in the dimming light. He hummed in surprise when the target headed straight instead of turning onto the path towards the Main Building. Down this way laid...
The International Students Dorm.
Of course! The pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. There had been a surge of new customers when the three schools first arrived, he recalled. That's why they believed business was booming, and they clung on to that idea even when they should have seen through the misconception. The number of regulars at their bar only started to go down a few weeks later. Whoever was selling alcohol needed the time to set up shop.
The target entered the building. Ren shadowed him, a ghost to the senses as he caused no sounds. He stood below the staircase as the other boy ascended.
The footsteps turned onto the next flight of stairs. Ren climbed to the first landing and stood still, waiting. Always waiting.
They continued this game of starts and stops until reaching the third floor, where the Haven students resided. The Mistralians haven't acted as hostile as Atlas, but neither have they broken through the tension in the way Shade had done. Friendships between Haven and Beacon students were few and far in between.
As Ren looked on, the other boy walked down the hallway with a sure gait, likely due to repeated trips. He halted before a room, and knocked. After announcing himself, the door opened and he was allowed in. The door shut.
Ren was there at the next second, an ear pressed to the wooden surface. From what he can hear, the mood inside was jovial.
"—a fifty got me two bottles last week!"
"Things change. We had more in stock back then. Forty per, that's the best we can do."
More grumbles and complaints followed, but the deal was struck in the end. After the sale concluded, the boy was shoved out the door with ill grace. What sounded like an argument ensued on the other side.
With one last glare, the boy turned back the way he came, and stared straight into Ren's eyes. Recognizing who it was, whose team Ren belonged to, the student paled as white as a sheet.
Ren ignored him, and reached out a hand to turn the ceramic bottle in the boy's arms until the he can read the label.
Sake. Rice wine. Nice.
Jaune's selection was always lacking in regards to non-Valean drinks. Ren put it down to unfamiliarity. Most brands never made it outside the borders of Mistral. Those that did were either very expensive or of low quality, both of which could be found in team JNPR's hidden bar despite their relatively low sales count.
Curiosity sated, Ren looked up at the other boy and held a finger over his mouth to motion for quiet.
Nod, nod, nod.
Ren took one step to the side, and pointed over his shoulder with a thumb.
Nod, nod, nod. The student ran away at speed.
That left Ren in the hallway, alone with a door keeping him from his destination. He moved to the opposite wall. A few exercises to limber up, and he was ready. Eyes trained on the doorknob, Ren swung his leg straight at the ceiling, the heel ready to drop like an axe. He paused, then, and quirked his head.
The leg lowered to the floor. Ren advanced on the door. One hand grabbed the handle, and turned. It was unlocked. Sloppy of them.
The argument grounded to a halt as Ren entered the room. Surprise gave way to irritation, shifting to realization, and thus settled on a telltale fear that let Ren know these were no doe-eyed innocents; they understood the ramifications of the venture they've embarked on, who it would anger. And they did it anyway.
"Greetings. How are you boys and girls doing?"
One of the room's inhabitants (blond, tall build, confident, reminds me of Arc) bunched his fists, appearing ready for a fight. Ren gazed at him with dispassionate eyes.
"You wish for a fight? Are you sure? An injury on me will be repaid tenfold by Beacon's Yakuza."
The name drop did the trick, and any delusion of invincibility they've garnered from weeks of anonymity disappeared in a flash. The blond, no doubt familiar with the reputation of Yakuza in Mistral, backed down with a whimper. The others stayed where they were, afraid to move as it may draw his attention.
Slowly, he checked over the interior of the space. On the whole, it resembled other dorm rooms; personal effects, school assignments, bits and pieces unexplainable to anyone but themselves. A spread of burgers, fries, and soda cups covered a desk. Ordinary, and of no interest to him.
What did stand out were the boxes. Piled haphazardly along one wall, they blocked the way the bathroom. Ren opened one to confirm the contents. As expected, it contained sake.
He had his culprits.
"Tell me," he spoke to the room, "How did you think this would end?"
Silence reigned. Ren pivoted on his heels, and leaned back on the boxes. His voice remained flat.
"Did you think him an idiot?"
Who 'him' referred to need not be said.
A boy (red hair, slim build, nervous, I think he might puke) who had been sitting on a bed stammered, "We, uh, we-"
"Stop." The boy stopped. Ren pointed at him. "You the leader of this team?" A headshake. "Then kindly stay silent. Who's running this operations?"
A hand raised. It was the blond.
"Again, did you think Jaune an idiot?"
"No! A-and I'm sorry! When we entered into this thing, we just intended to make a bit of pocket—" A bottle whizzed by his head, shattering on the wall. Ren pulled back his arm, a bit proud of how fast he was able to move. They probably hadn't even seen him twitch.
"I didn't ask for excuses, and I didn't ask for lies. If you tried to pull this stunt, then you must have thought Jaune some kind of fool. What gave you that impression? Because now he's sent me to deal with your mess."
Ren crossed his arms. His lip curled in a sneer of distaste, the subtext clear. He did not like being here. He did not want this dropped on his shoulders.
The end of this road held nothing but violence and regret. And the cause stood before him.
A movement in his periphery drew his attention. He turned his head, and his stare pinned the girl (red hair, slim build, nervous, possibly related to the other redhead?) in place. She raised her hands in a placating gesture.
"H-hey, how about a deal? A h-hundred Lien for you to forget about us?" She took his silence for disapproval, and upped the offer. "Two—no, three hundred!"
His face barely moved, and she wilted.
Behind his placid stare, Ren's mind raced. The money meant little; Jaune paid him more than that. Moreover, Team JNPR's payment scheme took the form of a profit-share, which had suffered due to these Haven students. This bribe, in essence, was a return of what belonged to Ren and Nora in the first place.
The willingness to deal, however, held promise. It indicated that this team currently valued their survival more than their Lien. Therein laid the chance for Ren to keep his hands clean. This needn't come to violence.
With that thought in mind, Ren looked at the smugglers with new eyes. How well can he spin this tale?
"You offered me a pittance. Let me retort."
A flick of a hand, and a stack of Lien fanned out across his fingers. A glance and anyone could tell it held more than L300. He had their attention.
"Team JNPR owns the market here. Our coffers overflow with Lien. We have supply lines running from city to campus for any manner of goods. We do not need you."
The Lien cards vanished up a sleeve. He sniffed disdainfully at the greed present in their avid gazes.
"Your situation, on the other hand, is far more tenuous. You are in JNPR territory. You are known to us. And…you are running out of inventory. Trouble with your shipments?"
A flinch. A gasp. They haven't realized he overheard their conversation.
"You cannot afford me. At least, not if I come back on Monday for the next bribe. So, I suggest you listen to my counteroffer…"
Unbidden, they leaned forward to do just that.
In the end, despite much griping and whining, the Haven smugglers saw it his way. Any lingering defiance ended with Ren placing a call to Jaune, whose skepticism of the negotiations set the Haven team in a panic. That clinched the deal.
It was a satisfied Ren that left the transfer students' dorm, a suitcase swinging from a hand. In one fell swoop, Nora's funds was assured, he'd advanced further in Jaune's good graces, and the students in that room remained safe from harm by his hands. He had gotten all that he wanted.
Though, he was quite puzzled by the rush of unfamiliar emotions in his chest, and the odd little smile playing on his lips that refused to go away.
It probably meant nothing, right?
-o-
Had he acted fairly?
As Jaune stood behind his bar, wiping clean a wineglass, he pondered the question.
He concluded that, yes, he had. More than fair, even.
The smugglers of Haven may bemoan that they now make less profit going forward. Jaune would counter that some would be better than none.
Within a territory existed a finite amount of wealth, of which the many gangs vied for a slice. Whosoever maintained the greatest control of the territory, will enjoy the lion's share of the bounty. Oftentimes, that share would be the entirety, because the rival groups would have been pushed out altogether.
And all the gangs agreed that this was fair. They knew the score going in.
It therefore followed that the decision to bring a rival into the fold instead of stamping them out, to allow them a place at the feast, was an act of generosity that went beyond the accepted norms. He had chosen to curb the benefits he received and passed it along to another.
If they decried him a tyrant for his action, then the mistake existed not with the world, but with his conduct. His recourse was not to act further outside convention, but to default back to it.
In other words, they could play ball or get eliminated. He owed them nothing more.
With that knot of guilt settled, Jaune moved on to cleaning the bar counter, then the shelves. By the time the hidden entrance opened, his seat of power was polished to a shine.
Jaune greeted Ren as he walked in at a brisk pace, receiving a nod in return. The large suitcase held by the other boy caught Jaune's eye.
"Is that—?"
"The tribute, yes. They've agreed to become subordinated to us, at least when it comes to this matter. They refused point blank to provide information on Haven for the tournament."
Jaune waved a dismissive hand. That was more of a test for them than anything. Had they eagerly squealed on their school and their friends, he would trust them far less.
Ren placed the suitcase on the counter, spinning the thing around so it faced Jaune. After, he leaned on the bar with an elbow on the walnut surface.
Pulling the suitcase close, Jaune released the two clasps and lifted the lid. A soft, golden glow brightened the dim room.
Ren, noticing Jaune's grin, gave a small smile of his own.
"We happy?"
"*whistles*—We're happy." Jaune recognized some of those labels. Uncle Hei would certainly appreciate them on the top shelf. "Bring them by. I want to meet them. For now, though…take the rest of the night for yourself, Ren. You've had a hard day. I'll handle your shift."
Ren nodded, grateful for the rest. Pushing off the counter, he stretched his back before shuffling off.
"And Ren?"
The other boy paused and looked back, eyebrow quirked.
"Good job. I knew I can count on you."
Author's Notes: Ruby's youth romantic comedy was nonexistent, as she lamented.
Hard-boiled detectives and booze seem to go hand in hand. In practice, it's a bad idea.
It's for Nora, he says. He's doing what he can from the inside, he says. Even as he thinks himself a good guy, Ren's falling deeper into the abyss.
A new idea from the list had its first chapter in Cat, Bunny, and the Good Ship Honey Starbright.
