Homeless Bunny 40
Tianyu Yue
Amber opened the door to our dorm, then promptly shut it again. She whirled around and gave me her best disappointed frown.
“You knew,” she accused.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I smiled like butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth.
“Tianyu, I know for a fact that you can hear a bird flapping its wings from across the castle. You knew.”
“Sure I can, but that doesn’t mean I’m paying attention. It’s like how you don’t notice your clothes against your skin. Eventually, you stop thinking about it.”
“You really didn’t know that CRDL would be waiting outside?” she asked, still skeptical.
I laughed and handed Miltia her favorite comic books to fill her backpack. Those, and little puff pastries filled with minced meat. We had class with Port today, which the twins treated as more or less an indoor picnic. “Oh, those guys. I totally knew.”
“I knew it! Make them stop!” she whined. Amber was the most mature of my teammates, so seeing her pout like this was a novel experience.
“They’re not doing any harm, for once.”
“I wish they were! Then I’d have a reason to throw them out the window!”
Melanie got up and cracked open the door. She closed it again and came back, grinning like a loon. “They’re still outside~”
“I know! I can feel them with the air currents!”
“I don’t see what the issue is. As far as fanclubs go, they’re pretty unobtrusive.”
“They’re standing there. Like butlers.”
“Exactly. Free minions, right?” the sassy twin shrugged ambivalently. “Besides, you were the one who said you wished they’d stop bullying faunus. Sure, it’s not like they stopped out of the goodness of their hearts, but ‘fear of bunny’ just proves they have common sense.”
“You three are having way too much fun with this,” Amber grumbled. Miltia gasped, before wordlessly pointing at herself. “Yes, you too. You don’t have to say anything. I can tell you’re mocking me in your head.”
“Guilty~” the red twin said, sniggering.
I stood and pulled my partner to her feet. “Come on, you lot. Enough goofing off, we have class to get to.”
I opened the door. There was CRDL, looking dapper in their Beacon uniforms. Sure, we all wore it, but they’d ironed their shirts and pressed their collars. For maybe the first time since the start of term, their uniforms were truly immaculate. It was a stark contrast to their usually haphazard appearances.
Two stood on either side of the door. They, mostly, managed to hide the way they flinched at my presence. Good. If they didn’t feel any fear towards me, that’d be proof that they truly were too dumb to live. Wordlessly, I took Miltia by the hand and stood aside.
Melanie, always the shit-stirrer, also took Amber by the hand. But rather than lead our fair Maiden to safety, she stopped in front of our door and bowed at the waist.
The twins had gone to a finishing school for young ladies. It was an assassin finishing school, but a finishing school nonetheless. Melanie’s bow was impeccable. She gestured towards her partner with an elegant flourish that even Weiss would have been impressed with.
“Good morning, gentlemen. Here is Lady Amber Gale, Fall Maiden and mistress of the elements,” she said, somehow managing to hide her shit-eating grin. “You may stand in awe of her presence.”
The hall echoed loudly with the sound of Amber’s palm meeting her forehead. “I fucking hate you right now…”
“Good morning, Amber,” Cardin began. He bowed ever so slightly, more of a lean really, with one hand over his heart. “Did you sleep well? Have you eaten yet?”
“Amber, can I carry your bag?” Russel asked.
“I have drinks for you. Would you like water? Orange juice? Coffee?” Dove added. He’d even brought a tray, laden with the three drinks.
“We have Port first thing. I have a pillow,” Sky finished. In his hands was one of those donut pillows for airplane seats. “After that is Obleck, so I have a recorder, too. You can slow down his rambling to something you can understand.”
“Fuck me,” Amber groaned. She slammed their mouths shut with audible clacks. An ominous hiss left her lips, “No, that was not an invitation!”
I couldn’t help it. I giggled. CRDL, the biggest group of losers in our year, was behaving. No, more than that, they were being helpful.
Of course, this was their plan. And to their credit, I could admit that it was a good one. Had I not been privy to their entire conversation, I might have been caught off guard as well. Alas, I was the Jade Rabbit, the embodiment of the platonic ideal of bunny.
Much like every other team in the school, they wanted to make a name for themselves. The Vytal Festival was just around the corner, their big chance to shine. They talked, and came to the logical conclusion that someone of my caliber had zero business competing.
The festival’s tournament was divided into three rounds.
In the first round, teams from across Remnant were divided into brackets. Four-on-four matches would commence. The winning team of each bracket could then nominate a pair to send to the second round.
The second round was a pairs tournament with the same rules. The winner of each bracket sent forth a single teammate to compete in the third round.
Lastly, the third round was a single elimination tournament made up of winners from the second round’s brackets. It tended to be the most anticipated part of the tournament. Students who made it to this round, especially as first years, became the talk of the kingdoms.
Logically, my team was guaranteed to pass to the second round. Assuming the tournament organizers weren’t idiots, they’d place TAMM in a bracket of fodder and washouts. That way, the most promising students would make it through to the second round without having to fight either myself or Amber.
And, also logically, I’d recuse myself from the tournament after that. Why would I compete? Never mind the tournament, I was the bunny who found it too troublesome to even attend combat class.
That left CRDL with a bit of a conundrum: Who would TAMM send for the pairs tournament?
Traditionally, the pairs sent to the second round were partners. Assuming I stepped down, that left Amber and Melanie as the only possible pair.
On the other hand, they were well aware of Amber’s kind heart. She’d never take the spotlight from others. The odds of Amber joining me ringside were quite high. In which case, the twins would move forward.
That was their best case scenario. The twins had improved over the semester, but not that much. Cardin figured he and his partner could beat them.
All told, TAMM was the team to watch. Amber was simply that dangerous in their eyes. They wanted to know if Amber planned on competing. And, if so, they wanted every bit of information they could get about her elemental bullshit.
Hence this farce. They had no hope of fighting Amber, so they didn’t even try. They figured that if they played the dutiful butlers, they could overhear something, and Amber, being the kind soul she was, wouldn’t be able to bring herself to kick their asses for lurking.
Of course, they also genuinely respected her now. She wasn’t just the girl with an overpowered Semblance to them. She was a stone-cold killer, the huntress who could do what needed to be done. By putting down Cinder like a rabid dog, she’d proven that she had the mettle alongside the power. It wouldn’t be wrong to say they’d developed a bit of a crush.
It was a brilliant plan, though not for the reasons they were thinking. Amber was a simple person. Not that she was stupid, but she was a self-professed farm girl. She had no idea what to do with her newfound fanclub. CRDL had managed to get into her head, and completely by accident.
I loved it. It was a hilarious way to start my day, made only better by Port’s storytelling. He really was a treasure trove of fun ideas; I didn’t know a taijitu was smart enough to untangle itself if you tied one into a monkey’s fist.
X
I dipped out of combat class to make lunch for my many minions. They’d need it if they wanted to keep up with Obleck’s projectile word vomit. Today, I decided to go with something none of them had ever tasted before.
First came the sauce. It was easily the best part of the dish, and the most controversial. It seemed every grandmother had her unique take, which naturally meant all others were inauthentic copycats. I threw together garlic, shallots, onion, dried chili flakes, Thai chilis, bird’s-eye chilis, and a pinch of dried anchovies into a mortar and began to grind it all down.
Setting that aside, I heated another pan and took out a jar of belacan, fermented shrimp and krill paste. It sizzled merrily in the pan for a minute before the chili paste went in. Two minutes later, I added in some salt, sugar, and tamarind pulp, a sweet and tangy fruit native to the region. This had to simmer for twenty minutes at minimum under a watchful eye. If it wasn’t stirred frequently, the sugar in the mix would burn.
This was sambal, arguably the most iconic condiment in Malay cuisine. When made right, it had a deep, red color and a rich aroma that was savory, garlicky, and a little funky from the belacan. It was known for having a spice level that most other people in the world considered… excessive.
I kept one eye on the saucepan as I made the main dish. I began by washing the rice until the water ran mostly clear. This was done to wash away the starch and keep the individual grains from sticking too much. It was a texture thing; less starch led to a fluffier bowl of rice.
Not all rice strains needed to be washed, but the one in Beacon’s pantry reminded me of jasmine rice, common to East and Southeast Asia. It was a nice middle ground between basmati rice and short-grain rice in terms of starch content. Though it had a lot of starch, about eighty percent, its starch was amylose, a less sticky variant. This meant I didn’t need to wash it quite so thoroughly for the same, fluffy texture.
To the pot of rice, I added water, coconut milk, pandan leaves, lemongrass, ginger, and a bit of salt. I gave it a quick stir before bringing the mixture to a gentle simmer, lid on. This would steam the rice over twenty minutes, imparting a lovely, coconut aroma as the base of the dish.
While that steamed, I heated some oil in the pan, just until it began to smoke, and tossed in three handfuls of peanuts. Ren, I’d found, liked them so I could put some extra in his lunch. Thankfully, none of them were allergic so I could give them the authentic experience. I took the peanuts out of the pan and set them aside.
Next came the anchovies. They were not a popular ingredient with most, but absolutely critical in this dish. I pan-fried them in the same oil until they were golden brown before setting these aside as well on a paper towel. They had to be drained of oil for a nice, crispy finish.
Last of the main components was the humble boiled egg. I did have jammy, Korean-style eggs marinated in soy sauce, but made a few plain eggs for authenticity’s sake. They could choose if they wanted the marinated eggs with sambal.
I plated it all together, a mound of rice at the center and the components arranged artfully around it. Fresh cucumbers, thinly sliced lengthwise, finished the dish’s dry ingredients.
Each plate had a small cup of sambal next to it. My little group had wildly different tolerances when it came to spice. Contrary to their beliefs, I did not derive pleasure from making them suffer. At least, not with food. Training? That was fair game.
This was nasi lemak, perhaps the most basic Malaysian comfort food. It was a dish served all across Southeast Asia, in humble homes and elite restaurants. Alongside North African harissa, Malay sambal was one of my favorite spice pastes.
I placed the last of the dishes under a stasis charm, because nasi lemak was best served warm. Just then, I saw a piccioto enter my kitchen. The little guy, barely bigger than my palm, blended perfectly with the shadows. Enchantments woven into his fur during his creation made the eyes glide over him. He hopped onto my shoulder and delivered his report.
The Valean branch of the White Fang was no more. Capo Cuddles had overstepped his authority again, eliminating the entirety of their leadership via a nighttime assault. Though this time, I couldn’t find it in me to scold him.
Kidnap my little sister, would they? It was a ridiculous plan, proving that Adam Taurus was incapable of seeking anything beyond vengeance and immediate gratification.
Even if it worked, they surely knew that I ruled Vale’s underworld by now. Where could they hide Weiss that I wouldn’t find and rescue her? What retribution would I mete out if they, by some miracle, managed to hurt her?
And that was ignoring the political suicide of kidnapping the darling of worker’s rights. Who also happened to be a Beacon student. And tied to the Atlas military through her elder sister. Success would have meant turning Vale against the faunus, setting their social justice agenda back by decades. Really, even ignoring my presence, it was a stupid plan.
“Fine, tell him that he did well,” I told the little shadow-bunny. I fed him a stick of apple wrapped in basil leaves, one of Don Fluffles’ favorites. “Take the survivors to Junior. I’m sure he’ll find some use for them.”
Thus dismissed, my familiar hopped away, just in time for me to welcome my minions. Lunch was a delicious experience, a medley of foreign flavors absent on Remnant. Ren, my brother in tea, found a new favorite dish.
Unfortunately, Nora and Yang found their least favorite. They decided that sambal should be dumped wholesale onto the coconut rice so the crimson would flow down like lava down snowcapped peaks. And, as if they’d swallowed lava, their mouths knew fire.
Everyone else enjoyed the condiment in moderation. After all, wisdom was learning from the mistakes of others.
X
I slipped Pyrrha’s spear thrust before dipping into her guard. Her shield rose, its sharpened edge poised to carve into my eyes. It was impressive precision, and more importantly, a much-needed viciousness that hadn’t been there until recently.
Behind me, I heard two pairs of footsteps. They knew I could hear them coming so didn’t bother trying to hide.
Melanie sank to one knee, balancing herself on one hand as she transitioned into a low flip. Her heel, and the dagger of lunar cold iron, spun in a scything arc aimed for my kidney.
It was a slightly altered version of gouquan, or “dog kung fu,” a style originally developed by the female ascetics of the White Lotus Temple during the Qing dynasty. Back then, women still practiced foot binding so the all female temple was especially vulnerable to both wild animals and bandits. To protect themselves, they developed a style of martial art designed to strike from unfavorable positions.
A nun by the name of Si Yue left the White Lotus Temple. The imperial family at the time destroyed many temples for political reasons and she had planned to advocate for the preservation of their heritage. It was an event that predated Luo Hao, a tragedy of imperial folly that still enraged her centuries after the fact.
By chance, Si Yue fell ill and was nursed back to health by the Chen family of a small village near Fuzhou in the Yongtai region. Out of gratitude, she taught the son of the family. He then went on to become a local legend, a minor hero who fought to defend his small village in an especially tumultuous portion of the dynasty’s reign.
As expected of a style developed by desperate women trying to survive by any means, the style had few high-minded rules. In essence, it was the krav maga of animal styles, in philosophy if not in aesthetics. Like a cornered, wild dog, it demanded the user be relentless, to strike with aggression even from disadvantageous positions. The goal was to end the conflict as swiftly as possible, as directly as possible.
And if Melanie was striking low, that meant her twin was aiming high, this time for the back of my neck. My partner had taken well to ying zhao, the eagle’s claw, though she only began learning it because the name reminded her of her own wrist-mounted talons.
Flowery name aside, it was a style developed for practical use by a Song Dynasty general named Yue Fei. Originally, it emphasized pressure point strikes, joint locks, and grapples meant to assist soldiers in unarmed combat. The Shaolin monks who picked it up added the fancy aerial stuff later.
I ducked below Miltia's strike and gently slid my hand along Melanie's extended leg. With the delicate touch of a lover, I guided her kick towards Pyrrha. After all, the redhead had already raised her shield to hit me in the face.
Suddenly, Pyrrha found herself taking a dagger to her thigh, the tip jabbing unerringly into her femoral artery. She gasped in pain and only just managed to avoid taking Miltia’s attack as well.
I used this gap in her defense to slip behind her. But rather than deliver a killing blow, I kicked a pebble into the air, just in time to deflect Lightning Lash from stabbing her in the back. A second pebble caught a camouflaged Ilia, right on the thumb of her right hand.
“Gah, fuck you,” the chameleon faunus swore as she faded from view.
“Hmm? Did you say something?” I grinned smugly as I danced between two of Blake’s clones.
Those clones were my favorite Semblance because popping them was like popping a pinata. As the new “ethics advisor” and board member of the BDC, she could easily afford whichever dust she wanted. I could easily keep track of which dust she used of course, but where was the fun in that?
As I passed, I grabbed one by her collar and the waistband of her pants. She was promptly flung ass over teakettle into Nora before the pancake connoisseur could reload her grenade launcher. The clone popped on impact, but not before knocking the ginger to the ground. Judging by the impromptu lightning storm, Blake was feeling experimental today.
Mad cackling filled the air. So did more than one groan of protest. By now, Nora’s Semblance was a known quantity.
“Free for alls are great, aren’t they?” I asked, voice chipper.
“They’re not! Everyone teams up anyway!” Weiss complained. She used her Semblance to dodge the rain of grenades from Nora. “And I don’t have my partner!”
“Neither does Melanie. You don’t see her complaining.”
“She’s just teaming up with her twin!”
“Would you like to team up with your big brother, Weiss?”
“Yes!”
“Hmm… Nah.”
“Tianyu!”
I laughed. Of course, she was right. Ilia backed up Blake. The twins were obviously a pair. As were Nora and Ren. That left Yang, Pyrrha, and Weiss to do whatever they could to avoid being ganged up on too much. They could team up too, but it wasn’t in their nature. Yang loved the chaos and Pyrrha had a competitive streak and liked to challenge herself, and so poor Weiss was left alone. The battle ended when everyone’s auras shattered.
As for me, I was a free agent. I switched targets at random, testing their defenses or purposely foiling combinations. Anyone trying to work with me immediately got stabbed in the back. Anyone who got too comfortable got grabbed by the ankle and used as a club. If asked, I’d claim that this exercise taught them to maintain battlefield awareness, apply tactics to a chaotic environment, and improvise when said tactics inevitably broke down.
The real reason was that the twins needed this. They needed to be thrown into the chaos of battle. Not only was this kind of competition good for their budding combat styles, they were close to discovering their Semblances.
I wasn’t sure how I knew. The nature of souls was always an iffy subject. Aisha or Voban were far better at this sort of thing than me, but I could feel it. Ever since the Forever Fall Incident, something was stirring. I hoped that by forcing them into another chaotic environment, I could give them the final nudge they needed.
Well, that, and because it was fun. Being a teacher didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy myself. Something about using Blake’s dust clones as hand grenades in a massive free for all made me happy. It was probably that “chaos gremlin energy” that the young’uns said I had.
I shrugged and caught a grenade mid-air. It left my hand in the next half-second, following an underhand arc to bounce against Weiss’ knee.
The litany of expletives that followed most definitely wasn’t ladylike, but it was music to my ears.
Author’s Note
A “monkey’s fist” is a pocket-sized hidden weapon. It is made by tying some sturdy rope in a box pattern around a hard, spherical object, usually grapeshot. It was used by sailors in the 1800s, both as a way to add weight to lines and as a melee weapon.
That actually is the recipe for nasi lemak and sambal. I’m not too thrilled about the rice personally, but for someone growing up on it? I’ve been told it’s like grandma’s love on a spoon.
The sambal though, that’s more my jam. Haven’t been able to find one around here outside of specialty shops.
Animal Fact: Butterflies are kinkier than you are.
Some butterfly males will mate with a female, then excrete an anti-aphrodisiac, making the female unattractive to other males.
The funny part about this is that wasps that prey on butterfly larvae have cottoned on. Some have been seen hitching a ride on a female that recently mated, identifying her by this anti-aphrodisiac. When the female lays her egg, so does the wasp. You know how that goes.