Chapter 61. Bad Days
The day began with rain.
Forecasted as a light drizzle, it had grown in strength to a steady, pounding rhythm since before Jaune woke up, set to continue on with no end in sight.
Along with it came an unseasonal cold front that chilled those caught under the downpour to the bones, and brought overcast skies. The Vytal Festival fairgrounds turned into a muddy swamp under the deluge, and the most anyone was inclined to do that morning was stay inside, so the world seemed to have just decided to take a pause for a while. Everything was quiet here. Quiet, but for the sound of rain.
On that day, Jaune counted among those who saw the poor weather, and went outside anyway. Some had work as their reason, others an emergency. He wanted to spend time with Melanie and Miltia, and for him that was cause enough.
Shivering in his soaked clothes as he sheltered beneath the Bullhead station overhang, he comforted himself with the thought that he'd get to see them soon.
The Bullhead arrived a few minutes late, which he supposed was better than not arriving at all. It's that kind of morning where he could see little delays and slip-ups stacking on top of one another until somebody quit their job in a rage. As it was, the aircraft touched down a bit too hard, speaking volumes of the pilot's personal troubles. The ramp also extended without its typical welcome message, drawing a slight laugh out of Jaune as he always assumed that was an automatic thing. Even inanimate objects were so done with the weather.
He hurried to board the Bullhead, running out into the rain and up the ramp at record speed. Unfortunately, a few brief seconds in the open still managed to plaster his hair to his head, and he entered the passenger cabin resembling a drowned rat. The one silver lining was that every seat was his for the choosing, and he dropped into one by the windows that'd give him a stellar view—not that there would be much to gaze at. Just rain and more rain.
Already, a puddle was forming under his feet. Going outside without an umbrella sure was a mistake.
Jaune leaned back and closed his eyes, waiting the ten minutes or so that the Bullhead would be sitting at the station.
A passing daydream of the hours ahead brought a smile to his lips. As much as he complained, it's the perfect occasion for a date at a cafe somewhere, and he was willing to put in effort for a chance to laze around. And hey, him being cold made a good case for holding Melanie and Miltia close. For warmth! Warmth!
Time passed faster than he expected in his reverie, and after what felt like five minutes instead of ten, the smooth hum of the flight engine powering up alerted him of imminent takeoff.
He opened his eyes to an almost empty cabin, with the one other passenger onboard coming down the aisle. Their eyes met. Jaune gave the man a polite nod as he passed by, and had already forgotten everything about him but the fact that he was crazy tall by the time the man settled into a bench a few rows back.
And that was that for the passengers. Two, to fill a craft that could sit dozens. The ramp withdrew, and with a lurch, they were on their way.
You know, it's kind of nice to just have all this space for himself.
The view outside warranted nothing to speak of, various shades of gray and a forest obscured by the downpour. Inside, though, felt akin to a palace. The heating system ran at full blast to create a cozy atmosphere that helped his suit dry. He could stretch out, acting in a sloven manner he'd refrain from when a lot of people were nearby. Nobody was there to shoot him a dirty look as he laughed at the texts the twins sent.
The two sisters were hanging around on Fashion Street at the moment, a favorite haunt for their little trio. Little surprise, for spring was the season of new trends.
…Well, so were summer, autumn, and winter. Fashion never sleeps.
In any case, they had fun with it, and in between showing him pictures of them in the outfits they were considering, the twins would on occasion choose something silly or gaudy they thought he might find amusing. Which he did, although he also had to admit that it all still looked good on them to one degree or another. They knew how to wear things well.
His suggestion that he'd join them on Fashion Street for a stint of shopping received ready acknowledgement from the pair, as the location slotted quite nicely into everyone's plans. They got as much enjoyment out of seeing him try on new outfits as he did. Meanwhile, a few of his favorite cafes were right around the corner, tucked away in the many charming cobblestone roads that branched off the bigger avenue. He was thinking of visiting the one on King's Avenue in particular. The mood there suited rainy days.
"Girlfriends?"
Jaune twisted around at the voice, meeting the amused, thinly-smiling visage of the only other passenger in the cabin. The man had left his seat, and was traveling up the aisle to where Jaune sat. Once there, he settled into the opposite bench, towering height folding up in almost comical fashion. The man leaned forward in a show of interest, one arm on the back of his seat.
"You seemed happy, so I'm guessing it's a girlfriend you're talking to. Or is it a boyfriend?"
"The first one," Jaune said. He scratched his head. "Sorry, can I help you with something?"
He would assume so, even if he hoped otherwise. People didn't often make conversation on the Bullheads with total strangers for the fun of it.
"Ah, it's nothing that serious. No need to be so wary." The man chuckled at Jaune's sheepish expression. "I'm just looking for someone to chat with, if you don't mind? Could never stand a silent room for long."
Apparently, some people do walk up to total strangers looking for small talk.
"I…guess that's fine?" Jaune grimaced at how unenthusiastic he sounded, and tried to inject more cheer into his voice. "I mean, yeah, sure! Give me a bit." He sent off a text to Melanie and Miltia, then closed his scroll. Holding out a hand, he said, "Jaune Arc, Nice to meet you."
The man returned the grip, shaking his hand. "Blank."
"Blanc?" Jaune asked, emphasizing the end.
The man shook his head. "With a 'K'." He shrugged. "I didn't choose it."
"No, no, it's a nice name. Really, it is." He looked Blank up and down. The man wore a suit, the cheap kind that a person with a tight budget would rent for a job interview, the fabric coarse and colors drab. Judging by the five-o'clock shadow and bags under his eyes, he either didn't get the job, or he did and was now stuck on perpetual unpaid overtime. "So, what brought you to Beacon on such a fine day?" Lightning crackled. "The festival?"
Blank gave a rueful shake of his head. "Business, actually."
"This early? Sounds rough."
"Heh. You don't know the half of it. This is, in fact, late," said Blank as he slumped in his seat, the action exaggerated to convey his utter exhaustion. He brought a hand to his face, rubbing at his eyes. "I pulled an all-nighter putting everything together. The past couple weeks have been rather hectic for me. Days of living on instant ramen, sleeping in the same clothes. Hell, I haven't seen my house in a week. Story of my life."
Jaune nodded along in sympathy, and searched for a response that wouldn't drop the mood any lower. "Did the…project? Is that the word? Did it work out okay for you, at least?"
At that, the man grinned and straightened up again, puffing out his chest. "Oh yeah, that's going swimmingly. If it shakes out the way I planned, I'd be home in another week. Then it's going to be sunny beaches and margaritas for a good, long while."
"Glad to hear it. Hang tough, Blank." Jaune scooted over, and reached across the aisle to pat Blank on the back. The guy seemed like he needed that.
"Thank you." The man then chuckled. "But I think you've heard enough of my troubles. Ha! I've heard enough of my troubles. Let's talk about you. What's your story, my friend?"
A chance to boast? As a Yakuza, how could he resist?
"I'm a Beacon student, in training to become a Huntsman," Jaune said, and shifted in his seat to better lounge on it. "Somewhat of a businessman, too." He ran a hand over his jacket. "Hence the suit." Yup, just a law-abiding entrepreneur. Nothing to worry about here, kindly normal citizens. I am one of you.
"It's a good one."
"Thanks. It looks best when dry, of course." Again, he was more 'drowned rat' than 'smooth criminal' at the moment. That said, he liked to think that an aura of dignity shone through in his every action no matter what state he was in. Gravitas, was the term. He had oodles of that stuff, probably.
"Man, you have it together, huh?" said Blank, sounding impressed. "A bright future. A good job. Someone to meet. And here's me, whose only plan is to hit up a strip club tonight." He sighed. "Sure makes me wonder what could have been…"
"Aha. Ha. Um." Jaune scratched his cheek, and glanced out the Bullhead window to avoid answering. What did one even say to that? This guy had baggage to spare.
Wait a minute…
Jaune cocked his head, and peered closer at the scene beyond the window.
"Hey, you want to go?"
Jaune snapped around. Blank was grinning. "Hah? Go where?"
"To the club! It'd be great. Good drinks. Hot girls. I know the owner, and they can give us a good deal. What do you think?"
"Yeeeah, how about no?" Jaune stared oddly at the other man, and held up his scroll. "I have plans, remember? And no offense, but that's not really my scene, and we're not close enough to hang out together. I just met you, dude." It needed saying. There's being forward, then there's this. The man had gone from zero to five to a hundred, jumping several steps past Jaune's boundaries given the littlest encouragement.
Undeterred, Blank pressed, "What? It's no big deal!"
Yes. yes, it was.
"Literally the first thing you said to me was 'Girlfriends?' and now you're trying to drag me to a strip club. Call me crazy, but something doesn't—" Jaune froze.
Girlfriends, plural?
"Something doesn't make sense here."
From one moment to the next, the air around Blank…changed. The man grew sharper, alert. He didn't look so tired anymore.
The grin took on an edge.
"Ah, shit. Knew I shoulda used a different excuse to distract you. Granted, I had about five seconds before you figured out we weren't headed for Vale."
Jaune leapt from the bench, one hand plunging inside his jacket.
A massive palm grabbed him by the shoulder and slammed him back in his seat. Blank hadn't even moved from his spot, the long arm reaching across the aisle with ease.
"Sit down, kid."
Jaune relaxed his body, seeming to comply, then launched a kick at the same time that he pulled his long knife. The first, Blank blocked simply turning his knee, but the follow-up attack was too fast for him to evade. The blade of the knife chopped down on his forearm with all the strength Jaune could muster.
It failed to go through. A golden hue had turned what should have been a lopped-off limb into the slightest of cuts.
Aura.
Jaune turned his gaze from the arm to the man. "Who are you?" he growled.
"Just a businessman. Here for business, like I said."
He saw it for the lie it was. The same one he used earlier. One word sprang to his lips.
"Yakuza."
Blank smirked. "In the flesh. Now, I have a proposal for you."
"Not interested," Jaune said with no small amount of venom. "You think you're the first to come around with an offer to me? I can guess what it's about. Answer's no." He twisted away, thinking to pull Blank off-balance, but the man moved with the motion to put himself in a standing position, now pressing the weight of his body down on Jaune's shoulder. Blank winded back an arm—
BAM!
—and Jaune saw stars.
The punch had felt like it weighed a ton.
No, that's not quite right. It felt solid. Aura met Aura, and one was steel, the other clay.
"Settle down, Jaune," Blank said, and the amusement in his voice contrasted the fist he brandished. "A Yakuza knows when to listen to his betters."
Woozy as he was, utter bewilderment prompted Jaune to reply. "What…what are you on about?"
That did not at all sound right. He knew the teachings of the twins by heart, and they never said anything like that.
It was a lesson he had never learned.
"Look at your situation," Blank continued, ignoring the question. "You're trapped in a room with a man who has just demonstrated years of training and experience over you. A man stronger than you. You're on an airship in the sky over the Grimmlands, alone and without any help coming. That's the time that a wise man shut the fuck up, and listen. When someone has them by the balls."
Gone was the friendly, casual tone of Blank the overworked salaryman. A cruel malice took its place. Blank the Yakuza delighted in the power he held over another.
Jaune scoffed, though behind the gesture laid only empty bravado. "You landed one punch."
A fist filled his vision.
"And I can land another, and another, and another, and another until you are dead. Or"—Blank opened his fist, making the hand motion for Lien—"I can make you a rich man. You see, I despise pointless effort. Violence is just a tool in our line of work, not its purpose. No matter what the bottom-rung thugs on the street may claim, it's no more honorable than, for example, throwing money at a problem." He leaned closer, looking Jaune in the eye. "In some ways, the latter is superior, because with the deep pockets I have access to, money can be the answer to violence. Thirty thousand Lien if you call it a loss, and walk away from Vale."
"Go jump in a lake," was Jaune's response.
"Fifty, then." Blank waited for a beat. "Seventy five? Come now, Jaune. Boxers throw fights all the time. There's no shame in it."
"Like hell there isn't," Jaune snapped back. "It's not a fight you're asking me to give up. You think I'm stupid? You're here for my uncle's territory. Another upstart hoping to seize control from the Red Axes. Me walking away means betraying Family. So you can take that money and shove it. Some things aren't for sale."
"My, how principled. Do you know my answer to those kinds of men?" Blank chuckled and, with clear relish, said, "One hundred thousand. One hundred fifty. Two hundred. Two fifty. Three. Four." He didn't even wait for Jaune, ratting off higher and higher amounts without batting an eye. The man seemed to find it funny as Jaune continued to glare. Finally, he reached the end. "One million, final offer. Going once, going twiiiice." Here, he paused, cocking an eyebrow. A note of, not respect, but scorn emerged, turning his grin to a sneer. "Nash did say that you were loyal, doggie."
Cold gripped Jaune's heart.
Nash? Nash!?
The traitor. The spy. The piece of shit that tried to set in motion the Malachites' demise. By his own mouth, he hailed from the Shion Clan of Mistral, a pawn sent by the Yomi Alliance!
"Aha," said Blank. "There's the recognition. You know who stands before you." He spoke not of the man, but the organization. What he represented.
Not an upstart. Not an upstart at all.
In a flash, Jaune pushed Aura to his foot, and kicked out. This would have killed a normal man—it was a move that allowed him to seemingly teleport, such was the speed of it—but Blank wasn't that, was he? Golden Aura flickered as it tanked the blow, the momentum blasting the man to the other side of the cabin to hit the bench and crushing it beneath his frame.
Jaune scrambled out of his seat, launching himself after Blank. He entertained no delusion that the other man would get back up.
His knife stabbed down, and was slapped aside. Blank surged forward, arms guarding, leaving him no space to maneuver his weapon. A sharp jab struck Jaune on the nose. His head snapped back. Before he could recover, an impact against his stomach sent him doubling over. His face slammed into a rising knee. Jaune crashed to the floor.
"You know, doggie," Blank said, cracking his knuckles, "I almost felt that. You're not too shabby." The smirk came back on. "For a fresh-faced Academy firstie."
Jaune grabbed onto a bench, using it to climb to his feet. His head spun, the aircraft cabin tilting back and forth to his blurry vision. The taunting smile was the one thing he saw clearly.
"Don't…" Jaune retreated a step, letting loose a series of frantic knife swings to keep the approaching man at bay. "Don't act tough. Nobody's convinced."
That kick had to have done something.
"Heh. Think what you like. Just know that I'm a little disappointed. Nash said you were strong, but me? All I see is another poser who thinks he can be Yakuza."
This time, Jaune went low, dropping to a slide as he slashed at ankle height. That transitioned to a quick flip that planted his shoulder solidly on the floor, both feet kicking up towards the man's chin.
They met what felt like stone. Blank refused to move an inch.
A pivot of his form, and Jaune landed a heel against Blank's hip. Except for a slight lurch, the man weathered the blow.
Seeing Blank reach for him, Jaune tucked into a ball and rolled out of range, hopping to his feet with the knife pointed at his opponent.
"Flashy, but unimpressive," the man judged. "As your sort always are." He sneered at an incoming knife swing, slow and wildly telegraphed, and did not even bother dodging, instead grabbing it with his bare hand. "Pathe—"
Jaune thumbed the switch on the hilt, activating the Lightning Dust.
"—aaargh!"
Blank let go of the knife, his hand spasming from the coursing electricity. The distraction rendered him too slow to react as a blur sped by. He turned to follow the trail of blue wisps to the front of the cabin, where Jaune now stood, having employed his special move to cross the distance.
He could have pressed the advantage when the Dust ignited. Perhaps he should have. The opportunity was there. But Jaune had a thought he could not shake.
What if it doesn't work?
Hence, his new course of action.
The man called over to him, tone mocking, "What? Are we playing tag now, doggie?"
"No," Jaune denied, gathering Aura in the leg not throbbing with pain, "I'm invoking M&M's Yakuza lesson number sixteen."
The expression on Blank's face, brows furrowed and mouth half-twisted in a sneer, said he had no inkling of what that meant. To help enlighten him, Jaune spoke up again.
"Oh hey, I think I left the stove on."
Then he aligned his body with the exit, and slammed his foot against the floor. The resulting impact of him ramming the door shook the entire Bullhead. The sound of rending steel followed as the locks and hinges gave way. Powerful winds ripped through the interior.
And Jaune fell out into the open sky.
The last thing he saw was his foe watching him from the Bullhead, before he plunged into the forest below.
-o-
Lying in the mud, soaked by the falling rain, a boy placed a call to a pair of twins.
In a devastated fashion boutique, two sisters escaped to the rooftops amidst gunfire, their pursuers hot on their heels.
Their journey brought them to the edge of the building, where they shared a look. Barely slowing down, they nodded in tandem, and leapt across the wide gap to the next roof over. Under the sheer noise of the bullets flying by, a scroll call went unanswered.
The boy tried to reach those he worked alongside.
A ringing scroll was ignored as the nameless mooks ran for their lives through the alleys of Mistraltown. Chasing them were a veritable army of men in suits, wielding an assortment of baseball bats, knives, and guns.
Near a certain rooftop café, a man, no, a Bear broke past an ambush, exploding out of the alleyway's mouth at such a breakneck speed that it almost fell in the river on the other side of the road before managing to skid to a stop.
Abruptly, it froze. In its periphery, the waiting firing lines on either side of the mascot took aim. The Bear's shoulders slumped.
Gunfire ripped into it, tearing Aura away in seconds. The slim, tall figure stumbled forward a step, then another, before falling into the river.
Upon their approach, the ambushers peered at the water, and the shattered glass eyes of a mascot stared back, sinking deeper with the passing seconds as the heavy metal helmet dragged the Bear down to the murky river bottom. Only a pool of red remained.
Even that soon washed away.
Hands now shaking, the boy called his Uncle.
A hush consumed the grounds of the Night Market, as the vendors who were setting up shop that morning peeked out from behind the stalls where they hid.
Within that silence there came the sound of a scroll's ringtone, playing an old song from Mistral.
On the paved stone path, blood ran in rivulets.
In the spring, Yomi came to Vale, seeking the end of Xiong.
Author's Notes: A bad, bad day.
