For What It's Worth
2.3
I.
The grand chamber of the Atlesian Tribunal was packed. Its towering marble pillars and pristine banners created a heavy atmosphere befitting the gravity of the case at hand. The air was thick with tension, a palpable current running through the rows of military officers, corporate executives, and political representatives seated in attendance.
At the center of it all, standing before the high bench where the ruling Council of Atlas presided, was Whitley Schnee.
A full week had passed since his initial arrest, and the case had devolved into something far larger than the initial charges against him. What began as a military court case had escalated into a Kingdom-wide debate over civil liberties, rights, and the ethical implications of technological advancement.
The Council had been forced to step in and mediate between the kingdom's two most powerful factions: the Atlesian Military, led by General James Ironwood, and the Schnee Dust Company, represented by Jacques Schnee and his formidable legal team.
The presiding judge, Councilwoman Camilla Sterling, was a stern woman who wore her gray hair in a curly style. Wearing blue mascara that complimented her sharp brown eyes. She cleared her throat before addressing the room.
"We will now hear the final arguments before this tribunal renders its verdict. General Ironwood, you may proceed."
Ironwood rose from his seat, adjusting the cuff of his right hand before stepping forward. His expression was unreadable as ever, but the steel of his voice left no doubt of his conviction.
"Members of the Council, distinguished representatives, and esteemed legal counsel," Ironwood began, his hands clasped behind his back. "The Atlesian Military is tasked with ensuring the safety and security of our Kingdom and its people. What we have witnessed in the past week is nothing short of extraordinary. Young Whitley Schnee has developed technology beyond our current understanding, technology that could revolutionize the battlefield, bolster our defenses against the Grimm, and secure the lives of countless civilians."
He turned slightly, locking eyes with Whitley, who wore a blank expression in his seat.
"But let us not forget that this same technology, if left unchecked, could present an unregulated problem. A problem if ignored could become a threat in the future. It is in the interest of the people that we, the military, have oversight and jurisdiction over its application. We are not here to rob a young man of his genius, far from it. We are here to ensure that his innovations serve the greater good, not private interests or reckless ambition."
Jacques scoffed, shaking his head slightly. His lead attorney, an older man who looked just as heartless as his employer, adjusted his glasses before rising to present the counterargument. The judge gave him a nod, giving him the floor.
"Your Honors, while we acknowledge General Ironwood's concerns, we must also remind the court that my client, Whitley Schnee, is a private citizen of Atlas," the lawyer stated, his voice coarse yet measured. "His inventions are his intellectual property, and by law, neither the military nor any governing body has the right to seize his work without due compensation or explicit consent."
The lawyer gestured toward Whitley, who remained silent, his expression carefully neutral.
"Furthermore, my client is not a soldier. He is not under military jurisdiction, nor is he beholden to their mandates. This is not a case of national security but rather an overreach of authority under the guise of protection. The Schnee Dust Company, as well as Mr. Schnee himself, demands his immediate release and recognition of his rights as an independent inventor."
Murmurs filled the chamber as both sides presented compelling arguments. The ruling council sat in contemplation, exchanging hushed words among themselves. After a moment, Councilwoman Sterling raised her hand, silencing the room.
"We have heard both sides," she said, her voice authoritative. "And while we acknowledge the military's concerns for security and the well-being of our citizens, we also recognize that Whitley Schnee is neither a criminal nor a soldier. His technology remains his own. However, we cannot ignore the potential impact his work has on our kingdom, nor can we allow such advancements to go unchecked."
She turned to Whitley directly, meeting his gaze.
"Whitley Schnee, by order of the Council of Atlas, you are no longer a prisoner of the Atlesian Military," she declared, her voice echoing through the chamber. "That said, given the extraordinary nature of your work, you will be placed under the direct oversight of Atlas Academy as an Apprentice, where you will have access to resources to continue your research under careful supervision. Your inventions will remain your own, and the military will not have the authority to seize them unless granted explicit permission by you, not the Schnee Dust Company, but you alone. This ruling ensures that your innovations do not fall into reckless hands, while also preserving your rights as a citizen."
The chamber erupted into a mix of reactions. Ironwood visibly tensed but said nothing. Jacques' expression was a storm of frustration and protest, though he kept his composure. Whitley, for his part, released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"This is outrageous," Jacques finally spoke, standing abruptly. "My son is not a soldier. You have no right to conscript him into your Academy!"
"And he is not your property," Councilwoman Sterling replied coldly. "Consider this the compromise that prevents further conflict between the SDC and the military. The decision is final."
Ironwood nodded stiffly. "I accept the ruling."
Jacques scowled but knew better than to argue further in this setting.
The judge slammed the gavel. "This tribunal is now adjourned."
As the court began to disperse, Whitley remained in his seat, letting the weight of the decision settle over him. He hadn't won outright, but neither had the military or his father. He was no longer a prisoner, but he also wasn't a student.
"Apprentice, pfft." Whitley muttered to himself, the exhaustion from the past week creeping in, "Is that even a thing?"
II.
During the entire legal proceedings over Whitley's fate, an unexpected occurrence had occurred that neither side could have predicted. While attorneys from both the Atlesian military and the Schnee Dust Company had spent days locked in heated debate, neither willing to give ground. Every word spoken in those legal meetings had rippled outward, and before long, this sole case had become a Kingdom-wide spectacle.
Worse yet, somehow the media was able to get bits of information from the proceedings and latched onto it. Over speculating every development about the 'Boy Genius' with fervor. The public also speculated endlessly, and whether he liked it or not, Whitley had gotten the Kingdom's entire attention on him.
Footage of his Mark II captured on personal scrolls had been uploaded on the internet. Discussions inevitably followed and soon rumors began to spread the net like wildfire. Topics such as the entire thing being a sham and that both the military and SDC were in on it to distract the public from a political scandal. To as far as aliens being the actual cause and the whole thing was a cover-up. Even notable figures gave their own thoughts about the issue on whether they believed the whole thing or not.
In an ironic twist, the most adamant supporter of Whitley's abilities was a politician by the name of Robyn Hill. Although, not because of her support for the young Schnee. The day he was arrested by the military, Whitley had flown close to a rally held by Hill's political party with Hill herself being interrupted by the Mark II's flight mid-speech. Accompanied by footage taken by the attendees, Hill was quick to use the event to vilify the SDC and the Schnees even more. Claiming that resources that could be used for the betterment of Mantle were instead being wasted by the ruling elite of Atlas. Declaring that valuable resources were being wasted as a child's personal plaything.
On an unrelated note, Whitley seemed to disagree with all of the Happy Huntresses' policies.
In the end, in a move that signified just how far-reaching the case had become, the Council of Atlas itself had intervened. After a week of back and forth, an agreement was reached. One that left neither side entirely satisfied.
Whitley Schnee was no longer a prisoner of the Atlesian military. Instead, he was to be pseudo-enrolled in Atlas Academy, where he would be given the resources necessary to continue his work. It was a compromise. An uneasy one, but a compromise nonetheless. It did not satisfy both parties but it did quiet down the noise from the public, which was a success to the Council's eyes.
During this time, Whitley's accommodations had drastically improved. Gone was the sterile miniscule holding cell, despite being technically enrolled he wasn't assigned the usual dormitory room to students. Instead he was given lodging in a guest room reserved for diplomats from the other three Kingdoms.
The room was modest compared to the luxuries he had once known at Schnee Manor, but it was leagues better than his previous confinement. At the very least, he had a proper bed, a desk with a computer on it, and a personal bathroom. It was a setup he had grown to like over the past few weeks.
Despite everything, Whitley wasn't sure how to feel. He had spent the past week in limbo, caught between the crushing weight of military scrutiny and the legal machinations of his father's company. And now, he was neither a prisoner nor a student. He was something in-between, watched but not controlled, free but only in name.
He even found the official title of apprentice kind of ironic albeit amusing. It left an odd, unsettling taste in his mouth.
"Still brooding, are we?" came a familiar voice.
Whitley turned to the computer on his desk, where a soft blue glow pulsed. Tess had been silent during much of the legal proceedings, mostly giving words of advice or encouragement. Adopting a pseudo-maternal persona throughout the whole proceeding. Now that things had settled, however, she had returned to her usual self. Or at least the usual persona one could come up with being only alive for barely two weeks.
"I'm not brooding," Whitley said, rubbing his temple. "I'm contemplating. There's a difference."
"Mhm. And what, exactly, are you contemplating about?"
He exhaled, leaning back in his chair. "That no one truly won here. The military didn't get my tech, my father didn't get me out entirely, and I certainly didn't get the freedom I wanted. I'm stuck playing student while they all watch, waiting for me to slip up. They're not even being discreet about it."
"Maybe. But you're also no longer a prisoner," she pointed out. "You have tools, resources, and a place to work. Sure you're stuck here for the foreseeable future, but have a way forward. That's better than nothing."
Whitley folded his arms, she wasn't wrong. He had expected worse, truly. And given the military's track record, they could have forced his hand, and taken his tech by force. Instead, they had settled for observation. Even with their supervision, could still create, still innovate, he could still be himself. But it didn't mean he liked it.
"I suppose I'll just have to make do," he muttered.
Tess let out a chuckle. "That's the spirit! Besides, if anyone can turn a less-than-ideal situation into something great, it's you."
Whitley allowed himself a small smile. He could make this work.
He had to.
III.
The first few days of his new arrangement were strange, to say the least. Atlas Academy wasn't quite sure how to handle him. The students, at least those who knew who he was, whispered as he walked past. Some saw him as an arrogant Schnee who had overstepped his bounds. While the videos on the internet had convinced some of the other students, viewing him as some sort of reckless genius. Regardless of the student population's opinions, they still openly whispered about him negatively.
The faculty treated him with the same mix of curiosity and suspicion. Some of the staff were still unconvinced of his abilities, sending request forms of him building something to prove it. Others merely waited for him to prove his instability.
Even the military officers stationed on campus seemed conflicted. With some keeping their distance, uninterested in babysitting a kid. Others monitored him closely, likely under orders from Ironwood himself. If nothing else, it made for an interesting dynamic. Had it not been directed at him.
In the end, Atlas Academy decided to have Whitley take a series of comprehensive exams after witnessing him roam the academy like a lost tourist for the past few days.
He had been given a month to prepare for the exam. The Council's ruling had been vague at best, with no official instruction on what an apprentice was or how they were to be treated within academy premises. Legally, with Whitley being fifteen he was too young to be enrolled officially. At the same time, the Academy didn't offer any form of educational program to civilians. In truth, the academy was at a loss on what to do with the boy. Hoping that this exam would at least point them in the right way of action.
The exam covered an extensive range of subjects: mathematics, science, history, and literature.
In the following weeks, Whitley devoted himself to studying, poring over textbooks, research papers, and digital archives that were provided to him. It didn't take long for his new room to be just as messy as the one back at the manor. He had kept his tinkering at a minimum during his study period, mostly breaking and remaking the same equipment just to keep him sane.
Despite the autonomy given to him, whenever he entered the academy's armory to tinker the unashamed stares from everyone had instantly become suffocating. Soon enough the stares had become too unbearable to do anything, let alone tinker. So he had drowned himself in studying as an excuse not to leave his room and to occupy his concentration in an effort to prevent a tinker headache.
Had it not been for Tess' company he would've definitely gone insane from the pressure.
It was during one mundane afternoon when it had happened, with the lunch rush over and most students were outside training or engaging in social activities. Whitley occupied a corner table in the empty cafeteria as he absentmindedly picked at his meal while scanning over chemical equations on his scroll.
The sound of metal softly clinking against the floor broke his concentration. He looked up, startled, to find a girl with unnaturally bright orange hair and emerald green eyes standing before him. Her grin went over ear-to-ear.
"Salutations!" she greeted enthusiastically, sliding into the seat directly across from him without invitation. "I noticed you were sitting alone! May I join you?"
Whitley blinked at her in disbelief. It wasn't a question. She had already sat down.
"You already have," he muttered, placing his scroll down with a sigh. "Do as you like."
If the sarcasm in his tone registered, the girl didn't seem to mind. "Thank you! My name is Penny Polendina! What's yours?"
Whitley glanced at her warily, the empty cafeteria making her already loud voice even louder. "Whitley Schnee."
Penny's eyes widened in recognition. "Oh! You're the genius inventor who made the power armor that flew all over Atlas without clearance! You've been the talk of the entire kingdom!"
Whitley groaned, rubbing his temples. "Yes, I am painfully aware. Thank you for reminding me."
"You're welcome!" Penny beamed, entirely oblivious to his sarcasm. "I think what you did was very impressive! I haven't met anyone outside of my father who is so knowledgeable about robotics and engineering. Maybe you're just as smart as him!"
Whitley scoffed. "As flattering as that is, I highly doubt I compare to Pietro Polendina. Assuming that he is your father."
Penny tilted her head curiously. "Oh, yes! He is my father, how do you know of him?"
"I'd be an imbecile if I didn't," Whitley said flatly. "His advancements in cybernetics and programming are renowned throughout the scientific community, even outside of Atlas."
Penny's grin widened. "Then that means we have something in common!"
Whitley arched his brow. "Do we?"
"Yes! We are both very smart!" Penny declared proudly. "And we both appreciate my father's work! That means we can be friends!"
Whitley almost choked. He coughed into his fist, staring at her incredulously. He knew he wasn't well versed in the social practices of the regular folk, but even he knew that those prerequisites for friendship were too low. "Excuse me?"
"Friends!" Penny repeated. "Companions! Acquaintances who enjoy each other's company!"
Whitley stared at her, then let out a tired sigh. "You're… an odd one."
Penny giggled. "I get that a lot!"
There was something so disarmingly sincere about her that Whitley found himself at a loss for words. He wasn't sure what to make of her. Most people he encountered either avoided him due to his name or sought to use him for their gain. Penny, on the other hand, seemed to have no ulterior motive—just an honest, boundless enthusiasm that he wasn't sure how to handle.
Before he could come up with a response, a voice called out from across the cafeteria.
"Penny!"
A tall girl with dark skin and sharp blue eyes approached their table, her posture stiff and professional. She wore an Atlas Academy uniform with an officer's insignia, indicating her position as a specialist-in-training. Whitley sort of recognized her, looking like a younger version of one of the officers during his trial.
"Penny, what are you doing here?" the cadet asked, eyes flickering between her and Whitley with suspicion.
"I made a new friend!" Penny declared cheerfully, gesturing toward Whitley.
The cadet's gaze settled on him, assessing. Whitley met her eyes with an unimpressed look.
"I see," she said slowly. "And does this friend appreciate being interrupted while studying?"
Whitley sighed. "Not particularly…and you are?"
"Officer cadet Ciel Soleil, leader of team CPPR."
"That's my team!" Penny beamed, then looked at him curiously. "Oh! Was I bothering you? I did not intend to be disruptive!"
Whitley hesitated to comment. He had been irritated, yes, but he wasn't going to outright say he disliked her company. If ever it had felt like he was talking to a child, which was rather alarming given the situation.
"…It's fine," he admitted. "I needed a break anyway."
Penny clapped her hands together happily. "Then we should talk again sometime! I will be very busy with my team, but I will make sure to say hello whenever I see you!"
Ciel sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Penny, we need to go. Training starts in five minutes."
"Oh! Right! I will see you later, friend Whitley!" Penny chirped before following Ciel toward the exit.
Ciel cast Whitley one last glance before shaking her head and walking away.
Whitley watched them leave, then turned back to his meal, exhaling deeply. 'Is this my life now? From one circus to another.'
He finished his meal, and then went back to studying.
IV.
After a grueling month of studying in isolation, with only the occasional interaction with the faculty, Tess, and the socially inept Penny, the day had finally arrived. Whitley found himself sitting in an empty and seemingly, vast, sterile examination hall. The stark white walls, the overhead fluorescent lights, and the sound of his pens scratching against paper were his only companions. This was the culmination of weeks of relentless preparation, and he would be damned if he didn't ace every single subject thrown at him.
Day one had been a breeze. Math and Science, are the subjects where Whitley's brilliance shone the brightest even before triggering. Admittedly the exams were ruthless, packed with difficult calculations and equations, there were even a few questions that Whitley considered collegiate-level. It was obvious these were meant to trick him, but he only felt complimented at their inclusion. Hours passed like minutes as he went through the tests, finishing well ahead of the allotted time. The proctors eyed him suspiciously but looked as if they couldn't care less to do anything. Whitley was simply that good.
Day two focused on History and Literature. Both subjects required less raw knowledge in the hard sciences and more memorization, interpretation, and analysis. These weren't as entertaining as finding the answer to a complex solution or figuring out chemical reactions to Whitley, but he still went above and beyond by giving his best effort. He recounted historical battles, cultural significance, and the rise and fall of kingdoms like any good student. His literature essays were written with nuanced elegance, presenting arguments that would make even the most hardened critics reconsider.
By the time he handed in his last test, exhaustion weighed heavily on his shoulders. There was no denying that the two days of nonstop exams and a month of isolation from studying had drained him. But beneath that fatigue, there was a deep sense of accomplishment. Arrogant as it may sound but Whitley already knew he had passed all of it with flying colors. The only real question was to see just how well he had performed.
The following morning, Whitley found himself sitting in a chair across from a panel of Academy staff. A holographic display flickered to life, projecting his test results before him. His eyes darted across the screen, taking in the scores.
Mathematics: Perfect. Science: Perfect. History: A single mistake. Literature: Barely a flaw.
Whitley tried but failed to stop the smug grin from spreading across his face. Perfect scores in Math and Science. Flawless, as he had expected. The minor blemishes on his History and Literature exams were negligible, and frankly, he could argue his way to a perfect score if he wanted to waste the energy. But his ego had been stroked and that wouldn't be necessary. The faculty were already murmuring amongst themselves, clearly annoyed yet impressed by his performance.
After a moment, the head examiner turned to him. "Whitley Schnee, your results are extraordinary. It is rare for a student to score so highly across all subjects, particularly in a field above your current grade level."
'Ah, so those questions were collegiate.'
The faculty staff adjusted his glasses before continuing. "Due to your unique situation and the remarkable capabilities you have demonstrated, the Academy has decided on your official placement."
Whitley straightened his posture, eyes narrowing slightly. "And what exactly would that be?"
The examiner smiled. "Effective immediately under the approval of General Ironwood, you will serve as a direct assistant to Dr. Pietro Polendina in the field of advanced technological research and development."
For a moment, Whitley was pleased. Pietro Polendina was one of the greatest minds in Atlas, a man whose work in robotics and cybernetics had changed the field entirely. The opportunity to work under him was not something just handed to anyone. It was an honor.
Then, the memory struck him.
Orange hair. An absurdly cheerful demeanor. And a girl who was practically unaware of social cues.
Whitley inwardly sighed. "I am thrilled to hear that." he said, sounding anything but.
The examiner gave him a look of mild confusion but did not comment on it. "Given your aptitude for technology, it was only logical that he be in charge of your…stay in our great institute."
Whitley barely contained his groan. On the one hand, working alongside someone like Pietro Polendina meant that he would be working with someone who could somewhat keep up with him in tinkering. On the other hand... Penny.
A handful of times, he only interacted with her only a handful of times during the last month but by Oum had she efficiently played with his nerves. That girl was the embodiment of relentless energy and curious optimism, just thinking about it exhausted him. Whitley was also under the impression that the Ciel girl was just as exhausted from her teammate's antics. Based on Ciel's words it seemed like most if not all of their interactions suggested Penny willingly wandered off before something important. The fact he hadn't met the other two members of team CPPR was rather telling.
And now there was a very real possibility that he would have to interact with her on a regular basis.
The faculty dismissed him, but Whitley barely paid attention as he walked out of the room. His fortune seems to be doubled-edged these days.
His phone rang in his pocket, and he answered it. "Well, boss, it seems you've made quite the impression. Congratulations. As for the celebration I've made reservations at the cafeteria and booked you a luxurious night in your room."
Whitley sighed. "Shut up, Tess."
A soft chuckle. "You sound more tired than usual. Have you started brooding already?"
"For the last time, Tess. I don't brood."
Tess hummed in amusement. "Oh yeah, apologies boss. You don't brood, you...contemplate. And judging by your demeanor you were just contemplating."
Whitley rolled his eyes as he stepped into the hall leading to the cafeteria. A bite did sound good on her end. "Yes...I was just contemplating." Continuing to the cafeteria in silence, as he tried to end the call and put the phone back in his pocket. Keyword being tried.
"Well don't keep me waiting, come on and out with it!"
"Ughh, fine. The good news, I'm not part of the regular curriculum. Great news, I'm assigned to be Pietro Polendina's direct assistant during my stay here."
"Both sound like the best outcome to your situation. So naturally you'd find something to be negative about it."
"Gee, Tess. Very astute of you." He gritted out.
"Thank you, boss." Was the reply.
Whitley sighed, Tess was right. He did find himself in an ideal situation and the only reason he wasn't so optimistic about it was purely due to personal reasons. It wasn't even Penny's fault if he was being honest to himself. "It's because of Polendina's daughter, Penny, that I'm not too excited about it."
"You mean the orange-haired girl you talk with at the cafeteria? The only other individual that willingly talks to you without so much as a side eye?"
"Yes…that one."
"Okay, then I'm not following you. Why is she a bad thing here?" Tess said, her voice carrying a curious yet amused tone.
He sighed. "It's just that I find Penny absolutely unbearable," Whitley muttered. "Her voice is grating, she doesn't respect boundaries, and she has no social awareness whatsoever. Every time she talks to me I have to actively keep an eye on her or else she'll pop up inches away from my face without even making a sound."
There was a pause. Then, to Whitley's horror, Tess snickered. Snickered.
"Oh, this is priceless," Tess said with a chuckle. "You've got a crush."
Whitley's face immediately burned red. "Excuse me?!"
"I mean, it's classic, really. You complain about her too much for it to be anything but a crush."
Whitley crossed his arms, scowling as he walked. "Don't be absurd. I simply don't enjoy being around people who behave like hyperactive puppies."
Tess hummed, clearly unconvinced. "Or maybe you don't like how she makes you feel. She's unpredictable, genuine, and doesn't play the fake social games you're used to."
Whitley's lips pressed into a thin line.
"…You're enjoying this, aren't you?" he accused.
"Immensely," Tess admitted cheerfully. Then, shifting to a more serious tone, she added, "But Whitley, you're being unfair to her."
Whitley frowned. "Oh yeah? How so?"
"You're judging her character based on a handful of interactions. So she's loud—so what? That doesn't make her a bad person. You, of all people, should know how frustrating it is to be misjudged."
Whitley inhaled sharply at that. He did know. By Oum, did he know. The people of Atlas wanted to be heard, and thankfully he had a natural aversion to social media, or else his phone would've blown up this past month just from the notifications.
But Penny…
He had misjudged her, hadn't he? She was annoying, yes, obnoxious even. But she was also kind. She greeted him in the cafeteria without fail, even when he barely acknowledged her. She never snapped at him, even when he was clearly rude to her. And she had no ulterior motives—no expectations, no hidden barbs. Just genuine enthusiasm.
Whitley sighed, rubbing his temples. "Fine. Maybe I've been… unnecessarily harsh."
"That's progress." Tess said, her smirk visible through her tone.
"Don't push your luck." Whitley warned before ending the call and putting his phone in his pocket.
Did he need friends? Probably. Was he desperate for friends? 'Let's put that at maybe.'
V.
Even before triggering, Whitley was many things. Easily being impressed, however, was not one of them.
And yet, as he stepped into the sterile, polished laboratory of Pietro Polendina, he allowed himself a moment to appreciate the work of a man who had genuinely advanced scientific innovation. Not just in Atlas, but in the whole of Remnant. The achievements of Dr. Polendina were indisputable. His contributions to cybernetics, medical science, and programming were nothing short of revolutionary.
But Whitley Schnee was no slouch either.
After all, it was he who had built the first fully functional power armor capable of flight. Something even the esteemed Dr. Polendina had not accomplished. Most of all, he was the first one to have found multiple—not singular—alternatives to Dust. Theories, yes, but something is better than nothing. So, while Whitley was prepared to acknowledge Pietro's brilliance, he remained firmly convinced that he was the superior inventor. Not in experience perhaps, but certainly in potential.
"Ah, you must be Whitley Schnee!"
The voice that greeted him was warm and welcoming, carrying none of the arrogance or annoyance that Whitley was accustomed to from the staff of the academy. He turned to face Pietro Polendina himself, a man well past his prime but still brimming with enthusiasm. The doctor's aged face was creased with small blemishes, and his eyes, although aged, still had a bit of curious wonder. He sat in a high-tech mobility chair, its design a first of its kind yet Whitley could see that it was a perfect balance of comfortability and efficiency.
"I've been looking forward to meeting you," Pietro continued, moving closer with a wide grin. "It's not every day that I get a personal assistant who's already making waves in the field of the sciences!"
Whitley straightened his posture slightly, schooling his expression into one of polite professionalism. "Doctor Polendina," he greeted with a small nod. "It's an honor to work under you."
The words were formal and practiced yet hollow. Pietro didn't seem to mind. If anything, his grin widened. "Oh, we'll see how you feel after a few weeks of working with me," he chuckled. "Come, let me introduce you to the team!"
What followed was a blur of names, faces, and job descriptions that Whitley barely retained nor cared about. Engineers, technicians, programmers—dozens of skilled minds, each playing a role in Polendina's laboratory. But for all their expertise, Whitley had little interest in them. They were not the ones pushing the boundaries of science.
Still, he made the appropriate gestures to keep up his image. Polite nods, brief handshakes, and the occasional remark when prompted. Social pleasantries were a tiresome but necessary part of his life.
Eventually, Pietro led him away from the bustling lab and into his personal office. Unlike the clean laboratory, this space felt lived-in. Papers were stacked in organized chaos, blueprints were pinned haphazardly on the walls, and small mechanical parts were scattered across the desk. A steaming mug of coffee sat on the edge of a cluttered workbench, half-forgotten amidst the controlled chaos.
"Have a seat, son," Pietro said, gesturing to a chair opposite his desk. Whitley obeyed, watching as the old scientist settled in comfortably in his place.
Then, the air shifted.
Pietro's genial expression softened into something more serious—not harsh, not stern, but thoughtful. Whitley straightened slightly, sensing that this was no longer idle small talk.
"I won't beat around the bush," Pietro began, lacing his fingers together. "You're brilliant, Whitley. The things you've already accomplished at your age? Astonishing. Even after reviewing the information packet you handed to us a month ago, I still struggle to understand the science behind it. I genuinely believe you might be one of the greatest minds of our time. If not The greatest."
Whitley arched an eyebrow, intrigued. "But?"
Pietro chuckled at the perceptiveness. "But," he echoed, "brilliance alone isn't enough. You've got talent, but you lack guidance. More than that—you lack discipline."
Whitley's expression twitched slightly, though he quickly masked it. "I've accomplished what I have because of my discipline, Doctor."
Pietro nodded. "I don't mean discipline in work ethic—clearly, you have plenty of that. I mean discipline in character. You're used to working alone, aren't you?"
Whitley hesitated, his mind went to Tess for a moment. Still, despite the major improvements she had made for the Dragonflight, her existence was purely accidental. For what felt like forever, he was convinced he would be working alone before the Dragonflight. After a few moments, he then admitted, "Yes."
"You don't trust others to keep up with you."
"…No."
Pietro smiled knowingly. "I understand that. When you're operating at a level above everyone else, it's easy to believe you don't need anyone. But science—true science—is a collaborative effort. It's about building on each other's knowledge, working together, challenging each other's ideas."
Whitley pursed his lips. "And you think I'm incapable of that?"
Pietro shook his head. "Not incapable. Just… inexperienced. I don't know you, but based on my interactions with your sister, I'd guess you've spent your life proving yourself. But you don't need to prove anything here. The test we made you take was nothing more than a formality that would look good on our report to the Council. Everybody you've met here today is already convinced of your intellectual greatness. You just need to learn. To grow. To listen."
Whitley exhaled slowly, crossing his arms. "And if I don't?"
"Then you'll be a brilliant inventor," Pietro said simply. "But you won't be a great one."
Whitley remained silent at that. He hated to admit it, but there was truth in Pietro's words. Winter and Weiss were skilled fighters, he could admit at least that much. But even he could see the merit of them both leaving him to master their craft at the huntsman academies. Had he, in his pursuit of exploiting the excellence of his trigger event, overlooked the value of collaboration?
Pietro's voice softened. "You don't have to take my word for it, Whitley. Just… give it a chance. Give us a chance, give yourself a chance. Work with me. Work with the team. And if, after some time, you still think you're better off alone—well, at least you'll know for sure."
There was something oddly comforting about the man's approach. He wasn't demanding change. He was encouraging it. Offering Whitley the opportunity to prove himself—to himself, more than anyone else.
After a long pause, Whitley finally sighed and gave a small, reluctant nod. "Fine. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to try."
Pietro grinned. "That's all I ask."
As they left the office, Whitley still wasn't entirely convinced.
But… maybe, just maybe, this path might have some use for him.
AN: I don't own RWBY or Worm. With that said thank you for giving your time to read this fic.
With the final month before summer nearing, I've been busier lately. Regardless I still plan to write in between my free time since I really enjoy writing this. Story wise, with the legal plot thingies technically over Whitley can go back to tinkering. At least before the next set of bureaucracies force his hand. Also the cast is about to get bigger in the coming chapters, so hopefully Whitley learns to not be a misanthrope.
Other than that, I got nothing else to say other than thank you and I hope you have a nice day!