Shards of Reminisce Ch. 52

Of course the world keeps moving even when you want it to stop.

And I'm not pathetic enough to lock myself in my room, sulking and wallowing in self-pity forever. I just needed one night to sleep it off before returning to my new established routine. Besides, Jeanne left me a message the next day, apologizing for what happened and promising to work things out.

I'll believe her. She's probably planning some meeting between me and that blonde bitch to make amends or whatever. I want to punch Yang's face, so if she lets me get one good hit in, I can call it even. It's the only thing I can get back from her, after all. One solid punch to that smug face of hers—that should be enough compensation, at least in my eyes since the other things I lost is pretty much pointless since I got better things after that clusterfuck.

But that's probably still a week away, and what matters right now is the present.

And the present has me moving crates again. Fucking fantastic.

However!

This time, I'm not hauling shit for that sassy prick Roman, loading those damn shipping containers all the way back in his warehouse. Instead, I'm moving crates and boxes in Junior's club, working the back storage room rather than standing up front mixing overpriced drinks for the masses.

The big man finally decided to put my "semblance" to work, though it was already part of the deal when I first got hired. Plus, the workload is significantly lighter than Roman's operation, so I can't really complain. 

Well, except for the fact that one of Junior's henchmen is keeping a close eye on me. Though he's more focused on the tablet in his hands, counting everything and muttering under his breath like some kind of demented accountant.

Junior decided to reorganize the storage room since it was gathering dust, and he wanted things more organized than they used to be. With my inventory, the whole process became infinitely easier than it should have been. 

I would've preferred if he'd sent one of the twins to keep me company during the inventory process. Eye candy makes any job better, right? But no, I get stuck with Mr. Mumbles and his tablet.

It takes a while to rearrange everything, then store the new shipment of whatever they ordered into the spots I created with the new organized layout. After that, the supervisor gives everything a closer look and nods before signing off on the tablet. With that, I'm free to return to my original post.

I slip on my sleeveless tuxedo and adjust the bowtie, so my collar isn't visible, before heading back to the counter, taking over so the replacement guy can go do whatever else needs doing. Time to start mixing and serving drinks again. Back to playing bartender for Vale's finest drunks.

It's pretty normal and uneventful—just the usual crowd coming in, taking seats, ordering beer while others want elaborate cocktails before heading to the dance floor. Occasionally, one of the staff shows up with a tray for me to fill with drinks, probably for the tables. Standard club stuff really.

Normal, until I spot a girl heading straight for the bar counter. I can easily tell she's a huntress—or huntress-in-training, to be more specific. She stands out from the rest of the crowd like a neon sign in a dark street. Her clothes, mostly that show some sort of strong fashion expression. She's wearing sunglasses and a black beret despite being indoors at night, which is either really stupid or really confident.

Plus, the way she walks—full of that swagger that says she could kick everyone's ass in here without breaking a sweat.

And it's impossible not to notice that the twins are keeping a direct watch on her from their corners. Their posture has shifted from relaxed to tense, ready to act.

I take a better look at the newcomer as she approaches. She's got fair skin and short dark-brown hair with some kind of gradient thing going on—brown fading to what looks like lighter streaks at the tips.

Her outfit screams money and style. Long brown shirt with some fancy layered collar, cinched at the waist with black leather. Black trousers with golden trim and ribbons, paired with calf-high boots. And she's got this whole bandolier thing going on with a black shoulder bag covered in gold studs.

But it's all the accessories that really sell the huntress vibe—black gloves, multiple beaded necklaces, a black scarf, and that beret with cocoa trim. Plus, she's got what looks like gun cartridges on her belt, displayed like fucking jewelry. Yeah, definitely a huntress or a huntress-in-training to be more specific. 

And definitely someone who wants everyone to know it.

She slides onto the stool directly in front of me with a fluidity, and I can feel the twins' eyes boring into us from across the room. This girl's got their attention, which means she's either trouble or someone important. Maybe both.

Then she leans forward, just enough to lower those large sunglasses and give me a direct look at those brown eyes of hers.

So she could wink at me?

My ears twitch involuntarily as I blink once, caught off guard by that.

"Well, well," she purrs, her voice carrying that confidence I spotted in her walk. "What's a guy like you doing in a place like this?"

Oh, this is the kind of girl Miltia warned me about. Flirty, forward, and probably used to getting whatever she wants with a bat of her eyelashes and a smile. The type who treats flirting like a sport.

I grab a menu card and slide it across the counter, trying to play it cool.

"Same thing as everyone else. Working for a living," I reply, keeping my tone neutral.

She glances at the menu for maybe half a second before pushing it back toward me with one finger, that confident smile never wavering. "You know what? I'm feeling adventurous tonight. Why don't you surprise me instead? I like a man who knows what he's doing."

The corner of my mouth twitches upward. Well, if she's feeling adventurous and clearly has money to burn, who am I to disappoint? Besides, something tells me this girl appreciates quality.

"One Mistral Sunset coming right up," I announce, already reaching for the top-shelf bottles. Most expensive thing on the menu—a colorful concoction with exotic fruits and a mix of alcohols that should cost as much as a month's rent.

Yeah, I can be a little petty. But she asked for it so my consciousness is clean.

As I grab the knife to start prepping the fruit garnish, something rather strange happens as I suddenlñy space out for a moment. My hands just... flow. Like they know exactly what to do without me thinking about it. Starting by flipping the knife, catching it mid-air before slicing through an orange in one smooth motion. The blade spins between my fingers as I work, cutting precise wheels that land perfectly in the mixing glass.

The academy student leans forward, and I can feel her attention completely focused on my hands as I work, those eyes tracking my every move from behind her sunglasses. So I change to start, tossing bottles, catching them behind my back, spinning the shaker like a performer. And just, everything keeps flowing together like I've been doing this shit for years instead of weeks.

Where the hell is this coming from?

My movements are fluid, almost dance-like as I muddle fruits, measure spirits, and build the drink layer by layer. Ice flies through the air, landing perfectly in the shaker. The whole thing feels natural, almost like breathing.

"Damn," she whistles, clearly impressed. "You really do know what you're doing."

I finish with a final flourish, straining the colorful mixture into a glass and adding the garnish with a spin of my wrist for the extra dramatic effect. 

The end result is a drink that is more like a piece of art—deep purples fading to fiery oranges, topped with pale blue foam and a rainbow of fruits.

I slide the glass across the counter with just enough force that it stops right in front of her, the liquid barely rippling. "One Mistral Sunset, served with a side of style."

She grins as she reaches for the drink. "Well, aren't you full of surprises. I'm Coco, by the way. Coco Adel."

Coco Adel. The name doesn't ring any bells, but something about the way she says it—like it should mean something—suggests she's important enough or at least she believes she is important enough.

Coco takes a sip, and I watch her eyebrows shoot up in genuine surprise, her confident facade cracking just enough to show real appreciation. 

"Holy shit," she breathes, staring at the glass. "This is... this is actually incredible. Like, seriously incredible."

The familiar rush of pride and confidence floods through me, and I can't help but grin. "What can I say? I'm just that special."

Damn right I am.

Coco takes another sip, slower this time, savoring it like fine wine. She licks her lips—and fuck if that isn't distracting—before setting the glass down with a satisfied smirk.

"You know," she says, leaning back slightly but keeping those eyes on me, "I've had drinks before in other clubs. This? This is better than anything those pretentious assholes ever served me."

"High praise coming from someone who clearly knows quality," I reply, unable to keep the smugness out of my voice.

She chuckles, adjusting a strand of her hair. "Oh, I definitely know quality when I see it." 

Coco drains the rest of her glass in one smooth motion, then slides off the stool. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a small stack of lien which seems to be more than what the drink actually cost, placing it on the counter.

"Well, sugar," she purrs, adjusting her sunglasses with one finger, "that was definitely worth the trip. Thanks for the show and the best damn drink I've had in months." She gives me another wink, this one accompanied by another confident smirk. "Maybe I'll see you around with friends. And trust me, handsome—I always remember quality when I find it."

With that, she turns and saunters toward the dance floor, her hips swaying which only make me roll my eyes because that was unnecessary.The twins are still watching, their expressions unreadable, but at least they're not moving to intercept.

I take the price of the drink and then pocket the generous tip before watching her disappear into the crowd, already wondering if I'll actually see her again or if she just wanted to have fun and show off something.

Either way, at least the place won't be getting wrecked tonight.

I quickly check my surroundings once more—the twins have disappeared somewhere, probably to keep their watch from a better position, the crowd's doing their usual thing, and nobody's paying attention to the bartender. Perfect.

I grab a glass and work fast, mixing myself something simple but effective. Just a quick shot of whiskey with a splash of lime juice—nothing fancy, but it'll do the job. Sometimes you need something to take the edge off.

[Adept Culinarian increased by 1, 10/50]

Nice.

I smirk as I bring the glass closer, taking in the pleasant scent before downing it in one smooth motion. The burn feels good going down—I still hate alcohol unless it's prepared by me—and I let my eyes drift closed for a moment, savoring how the taste lingers on my tongue as pleasant warmth spreads through my chest.

But my mood sours the instant I open my eyes and spot that familiar flash of green hair coming down the stairs.

Fucking hell.

Emerald's already locked her gaze on me, and there's nowhere to hide behind this damn counter. Her red eyes are burning with barely contained resentment.

I grab the nearest glass and start polishing it, pretending to be busy with work. Maybe if I look occupied enough, she'll fuck off and bother someone else.

No such luck.

The bitch saunters over with that insufferable confidence, but instead of taking a seat like a normal person, she just leans against the counter with her arms crossed, a scowl twisting her features. I can practically feel the hatred radiating off her.

"Stop pretending," she calls out, her voice carrying that familiar condescending tone laced with barely suppressed anger. "I'm here for business. Nothing more." The way she spits the words makes it clear she'd rather be anywhere else.

I'm already annoyed, and I could drag this down as long as possible to piss her even more but I force myself to listen instead. Better to get this shit over with quickly before a vein burst.

"Make it fast," I mutter, still polishing the same glass and refusing to give her the satisfaction of my full attention.

She slides a small package across the counter without any fanfare, her red eyes never leaving mine, burning with resentment. "Cinder has a new job for you." Then she leans forward slightly, showing a smug smile that doesn't quite hide the hatred beneath. "And you can't refuse."

Before I can even respond, she's already turning away, heading back toward the stairs with quick, angry steps. Clearly eager to get away from me before her temper gets the better of her again.

Honestly, I prefer that. No dealing with her bullshit longer than necessary. Seems Cinder finally beat some obedience into her lapdog.

I grab the package and duck it under the counter, tearing it open. Inside, there's a decent sum of lien—not as much as Cinder's initial "gift," but enough to make me pay attention—and a small letter with an address in the industrial district. Another warehouse, but this one's apparently larger than the others I've seen.

The letter's brief and to the point: find something and destroy it. No details about what I'm supposed to be looking for, because of course there aren't.

Cinder's just trying to fuck with me, as usual.

I want to burn the damn letter right here, but instead, I fold it and shove it into my pocket. Might need it later. The money disappears into my inventory with a thought—at least there's that.

"That greenie had a stick up her ass worse than an Atlesian," comes a familiar, amused voice.

I look up to see Miltia sliding onto a stool, her usual playful smirk firmly in place. At least she's welcome company, especially after dealing with Cinder’s lapdog.

"She's just a bitch," I reply, grabbing a clean glass. "Bootlicker for that woman called Cinder." I pause, an idea forming. "Hey, can Junior dig up more info about Cinder, or is he already looking into her?"

Miltia's expression grows more serious, her playful demeanor shifting as she leans forward slightly. "He's been trying to dig up some dirt, but she's a rather mysterious woman. And very strong." She drums her fingers on the counter thoughtfully. "He's being careful with his investigation because he doesn't want that woman throwing a tantrum in his club." Her lips curve into a wry smile. "For obvious reasons. A burnt down place is really hard to replace, you know?"

I sigh, already knowing this conversation isn't going anywhere useful. "Right, I can see how that could turn really messy."

"Exactly." Miltia stretches her arms, looking around the club. "Besides, mysterious women are usually the most dangerous ones. Trust me on that." She turns back to me with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "So, you gonna work, or are we going to chat all night? Both are fine by me, kitten."

My ears twitch at that comment but I will let it slide.

"Maybe you want a drink?" I ask, already reaching for the bottles, grateful for the distraction from thoughts of Cinder's latest bullshit.

"Something simple," she says with a shrug, though her eyes are tracking my movements with interest. "Still got a long night ahead of us, and I don't want to be stumbling around if things get… interesting."

I whip up another quick margarita, nothing fancy but perfectly balanced. As I slide it across to her, she raises her glass with a smile.

"Cheers to another wonderful evening." she says with heavy sarcasm.

I grab an empty glass and clink it against hers, since I already downed my drink earlier. "Cheers."

Miltia takes a sip and hums appreciatively. 

Just need to enjoy the small things.

---------------------------------------------

I arrive at Neo's place and lock the door behind me, the familiar weight of exhaustion settling over my shoulders. I guess the day could have gone much better.

The lights are turned off, but before I move to flip the switch, I notice the TV is on, its glow casting flickering shadows across the room. I can hear the speakers playing something, and the silhouette on the couch quickly reveals it's Neo sitting in front of it, wearing nothing but her white underwear, her hair totally loose as she scoops spoonfuls of ice cream from a container balanced on her bare thigh.

Of course she is. Because apparently, this is just how Neo exists in her natural habitat—half-naked and eating dessert. Not like I’m not enjoying the view.

I approach quietly, curious about what exactly she's watching, then stop dead in my tracks as I instantly recognize the movie.

"Juno, the Last Angel of Remnant," I mutter, already feeling my mood sour further. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

Neo turns her head at the sound of my voice, those mismatched eyes sparkling with amusement in the TV's glow. She pats the spot next to her on the couch with her free hand, and a mischievous smile plastered on her face.

"I already watched this piece of garbage," I complain, crossing my arms and glaring at the screen. "And I fucking hated the ending. The whole thing was a waste of two hours of my life that I'll never get back."

Neo's expression immediately shifts into an exaggerated pout, her lower lip jutting out in that way that's both adorable and infuriating. She points at the screen with her spoon, then at me, then back at the empty spot on the couch.

I stare at her for a long moment, giving me those exaggerated puppy dog eyes that somehow manage to look both innocent and dangerous at the same time.

Fuck my life.

I sigh in defeat, my shoulders slumping as I feel my resolve crumble under her silent assault. "Fine. I promised to watch a movie with you after all."

Technically, it was supposed to be a movie date promise after surviving that abnormal Grimm, but this should count as well. A promise is a promise, even if the movie choice is questionable.

Neo's pout transforms into a triumphant smug grin as she practically bounces on the couch. The moment my ass hits the cushions, she quickly snuggles up against my side, grabbing my arm and pulling it around her shoulders as she settles back in to continue watching. She offers me a spoonful of ice cream—vanilla with chocolate chips—which I accept because why the hell not.

This isn't so bad, I guess. Even if the movie is still so fucking trash.

After a few minutes of watching her get absorbed in the movie, occasionally making small gestures of excitement or annoyance at the screen, I decide to make myself more comfortable. I grab Neo by the waist—she's surprisingly warm against my hands, her skin soft and smooth—and pull her into my lap. She leans back against my chest without any resistance, fitting perfectly against me like she was designed for it.

We keep watching the movie, Neo occasionally feeding me spoonfuls of ice cream while making silent commentary through facial expressions and gestures. Her body is warm and soft, and that familiar scent of strawberries and vanilla that always seems to cling to her is oddly soothing.

I even got the idea to grope her a little, pull up her bras and panties and nudge her to fool around with me but I restrained myself, as I just wanted to keep this simple.

As the movie reaches its final act—the part where everything goes to shit and the director decided to personally insult every viewer—I find my eyelids growing heavy. The combination of everything that I went through and Neo's warmth pressed against me proves too much for my tired brain to handle.

My eyes drift closed, and the last thing I remember is the sound of explosions from the TV, Neo's quiet breathing, and the feeling of her fingers absently tracing patterns on my arm.

….

When I open my eyes, I'm lying on my side on the couch with a soft blanket draped over me. I rub my eyes and let out a long yawn, my body protesting as I feel some knots in my back and shoulders.

Fuck, my back.

I sit up slowly, stretching my limbs and rolling my shoulders. The TV is off now, and pale morning light is filtering through the windows, casting everything in a soft sunlight.

Neo's nowhere to be seen, probably already up and getting ready for whatever chaos she has planned for today. I can hear the faint sound of running water from the bathroom, confirming my suspicion.

I stand and stretch my back properly, letting out a satisfied groan as many bones pop back into place. My tail flicks in annoyance at the lingering stiffness, but at least I don’t feel tired.

The couch really isn't a good spot for sleeping, but at least I managed to get through the night without any weird dreams. And despite my complaints about the movie, falling asleep with Neo in my arms wasn't the worst way to end the night.

Even if I still think that ending was complete bullshit, and I regrettably didn't get to see Neo's reaction to that shitty twist. Knowing her, she probably would've thrown something at the screen.

My ears perk up when I hear the shower stopping, followed by the soft click of the bathroom door opening. I turn to see Neo walking out with wet hair clinging to her shoulders and a fluffy white towel wrapped around her body, droplets of water still beading on her pale skin.

Can't say I mind the view.

I smirk and move toward her, greeting her with a quick kiss on the lips. She responds by pinching my cheek with her damp fingers, that familiar mischievous glint in her mismatched eyes, before she uses my shirt to wipe her hands dry.

"Morning."

When she pulls away, it's the moment I remember why I kept that stupid letter, and the mood shift is immediate. My expression darkens as reality crashes back down. "Neo, I need your help. Cinder gave me a job yesterday."

Her expression immediately sours, a frown creasing her brow as she crosses her arms over the towel. Pink words materialize above her head.

'Way to ruin the mood, kitten.'

"Yeah, I know," I say, rubbing the back of my neck. "But I really need your help with this one. I want to get it done as fast as possible, and I don't trust that woman in the slightest. I'm smelling foul play all over this thing."

She even paid me upfront, which means she definitely wants me there for a reason. And knowing Cinder, that reason probably involves me getting hurt or worse.

Neo's frown deepens, but she gestures impatiently for me to continue, tapping her foot in a way that makes the towel dip lower. I pull out the crumpled letter from my pocket and hand it to her.

She snatches the paper, her mismatched eyes scanning the brief contents quickly. After a moment, she crumples it up and tosses it aside with obvious disgust, then looks back at me with a cruel smile that doesn't reach her eyes.

'That bitch thinks she's clever.'

Then another line follows.

'Sure, I'm game. Beats sitting around here, and someone needs to watch my kitten's back.'

I can't help but smirk at her response. Having Neo watch my back makes this whole thing feel a lot less like walking into a trap. 

"Thanks, Neo. I owe you one."

She steps closer, that wicked smile widening as she reaches up to trace a finger along my jawline. 

'Oh, you'll definitely owe me. I'll think of something... fun.'

The way she looks at me while those words hang in the air makes my ears twitch involuntarily and my tail wagging. 

Yeah, I'm definitely going to regret asking for her help. But in the best possible way.

--------------------------------

I skipped my training time at the forge, but I already called Master Tusk and told him I wouldn't be coming today, so that won't raise any concerns. 

Now I'm crouched on top of the big warehouse with Neo next to me, studying our entry point.

The doors below are heavily locked with chains and electronic security, and there's nobody around to conveniently steal a key from. Also no windows, besides the skylights at the top. Breaking in through the front would be loud and messy, and there's definitely an alarm system waiting to scream bloody murder.

Neo leads me to a loose tile on the roof, pulling it up easily to reveal a hole big enough for either of us to slip through.

She drops through first, landing silently on the floor below like the deadly little assassin she is. I follow suit, my boots hitting the concrete with barely a whisper. It wasn't that big of a jump, anyway.

The place isn't dark like I expected a closed building to be. Instead, sunlight streaming through the skylights reveals... a lot of fucking crates. Seriously, there are massive shipping containers and wooden boxes piled up everywhere, stacked on top of each other with no apparent organization. It looks like someone just dumped everything here and called it a day.

I'm confused by the sheer volume of stuff, and something about this whole setup feels wrong. Too convenient, too obvious. So after some thinking I quickly summon my mask—I'd almost forgotten about the proto allagan mask, but now seems like the perfect time to use it. Better late than never I guess.

With the helmet in place, I activate the thermal vision with a soft click and start looking for heat signatures, but I don't find anything out of place—no hidden people, no unusual heat sources. Just cold crates and the faint warmth of Neo beside me. 

I keep it for a bit longer before I deactivate it with a frown.

"Alright," I say, turning to my partner. "Let's try to find whatever that bitch wanted us to look for."

She nods before flashing me that usual grin of hers.

'Let's see what surprises await us, kitten.'

We split up to cover more ground, each taking a different side of the building.

I summon a crowbar and pry open the nearest crate lid, revealing a mass of foam beans. I shove my hand inside, fishing around for anything hidden beneath the filling, and my fingers close around something metallic and smooth.

I pull it out, revealing a small flying bot—basically a camera with rotors, sleek and definitely Atlas tech. Without hesitation, I crush it between my hands, the metal crumpling with a satisfying crunch before I drop the pieces back into the crate.

It feels good to destroy stuff, honestly.

Moving to another container, I find more of the same. More flying bots but this time with rotor blades, the kind I remember seeing months ago and the same model I stole for myself. Still, I destroy each one methodically before dropping them back in place, but confusion is starting to gnaw at me.

Why am I finding these things? Isn't Roman already the top dog in smuggling Atlas tech? And why was Cinder so interested in me specifically coming to this place? Her minions would have been better suited for something this simple.

This feels like a setup. But for what?

I keep opening more crates, finding more mini-bots which I systematically destroy before moving to the next one. And the repetitive nature of it all is starting to piss me off.

After a while, I move to a large vertical crate and easily open it by cutting through the tape with my crowbar. A cascade of packing material spills to my feet, and I freeze at what's revealed inside.

A full robot. Not scrap, not just a head or arm—a complete, intact black Atlas Knight standing perfectly preserved in the container, its optical sensors dark but somehow still giving that menacing vibes.

"What the fuck?" I breathe, staring at the mechanical soldier that's at least one head taller than me.

I quickly activate my visor and switch to the communication system, sending an audio message to my partner. "Neo. You need to see this. Now."

Moments later, she appears at my side with her usual silent grace, and I can see her mismatched eyes widening in genuine surprise—which doesn't set a good precedent.

Pink text materializes. 

'That's an Atlas Knight, an outdated model. But...'

She scratches her head, looking genuinely puzzled as more words appear.

'These should be scrap by now. Why is it intact?'

"I've been finding flying bots too," I tell her quickly. "What about you?"

Neo nods, her expression growing more serious. 

'Found them on my side too. This whole place is full of Atlas military hardware.'

So is Atlas hiding this shit? Or did somebody manage to smuggle this much military equipment without anyone noticing? That's a fucking terrifying amount of firepower just sitting here.

Was this what Cinder was hoping I'd discover? Some kind of illegal weapons cache?

And now I have to destroy it?

Before we can even begin to understand what we're looking at, the whole warehouse suddenly lights up with a harsh snap of fluorescent white light that makes both of us flinch and look around frantically.

The only sound we hear is the metallic slam of a door somewhere in the building, echoing through the space.

That's the moment when the outdated Knight in front of us suddenly shudders to life, its optical visor glowing an ominous red as systems come online with mechanical whirs and clicks.

"Shit!" I react instantly, lunging forward and tearing its head clean off before it can fully activate, sparks flying as circuits fry.

But that means fuck all. 

All around us, crates and containers start exploding outward as more old Atlas Knights emerge, followed by swarms of those flying bots filling the air with their eerie, high-pitched whining.

And that’s when every single mechanical eye locks onto us with deadly precision, red targeting lasers painting dots across our bodies.

"CRIMINAL ACTIVITY DETECTED. INITIATING NEUTRALIZATION PROTOCOLS."

The robotic voices echo through the warehouse in perfect unison.

"That manipulative bitch..." I snarl, summoning my claws as Neo's expression shifts into a frown.

She pulls out her blade from her umbrella; the blade gleaming under the light.

I'm going to punch Cinder so hard once I find her, fuck that woman.