Chương 120: Chapter 113: The Hotpot Clash

The guest bedroom of the Schnee-sponsored luxury penthouse was remarkably understated compared to the sprawling opulence of the living room, but to the heavily armed teenagers currently crowded inside it, it felt like the most secure vault on the face of Remnant. Ruby Rose, Weiss Schnee, Blake Belladonna, Yang Xiao Long, Jaune Arc, Pyrrha Nikos, Nora Valkyrie, Lie Ren, and Oscar Pine were all huddled together, staring intently into the depths of a mundane, wooden wardrobe.

Resting innocuously between a stack of freshly laundered spare blankets and a pair of folded winter slacks was the Relic of Knowledge. The divine, golden lamp, encrusted with flawless blue gemstones, pulsed with a faint, ethereal mist that barely illuminated the dark closet.

"I still can't quite wrap my head around this," Weiss whispered, crossing her arms as her pale blue eyes scrutinized the ancient artifact.

"We are leaving a sacred relic, a divine construct crafted by the Brother Gods themselves, sitting next to a pile of extra linens."

"It's absolute brilliance, is what it is!" Nora declared, puffing out her chest and resting her hands proudly on her hips.

"Salem's creepy agents are probably tearing Atlas Academy apart right now, or looking in top-secret military vaults, subterranean research facilities, and heavily guarded bases! Who in their right mind would ever think to check the guest room closet of our bald guy who complains about grocery prices?" Ren let out a long, heavy sigh, bringing a hand up to drag it down his face.

"Nora, please. While your logic is sound, stating that you have a 'secret genius-level intellect' every five minutes is beginning to test the limits of my patience."

"She's not wrong, though," Yang chuckled, leaning casually against the doorframe.

"It's absurd, but it's completely off the radar. And let's be real... even if someone did manage to break in here, they'd have to get past Saitama. The Relic is beyond safe." Blake's feline ears twitched nervously beneath her sleek new haircut.

"I just hope he doesn't recognize it. He was the one who shattered the Haven Vault door and actually picked the Lamp up, after all."

"I doubt it," Jaune offered a reassuring, albeit highly awkward grin, rubbing the back of his spiky blonde hair.

"To Saitama, it probably just looks like a really tacky, oversized piece of penthouse furniture. He'll probably just dust it once a week and complain that it clashes with the wallpaper." Ruby giggled, gently closing the wardrobe doors until they clicked shut, plunging the Relic back into darkness. She turned toward Oscar, her silver eyes shining with sudden curiosity.

"Hey, Oscar," Ruby asked, tilting her head.

"How did Ozpin, Qrow, and Winter even know to put it in this room? Why didn't they hide it in the master bedroom with the giant king-sized bed?" Oscar stiffened slightly, a deeply awkward, sheepish laugh escaping his lips as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Well... Professor Ozpin sort of deduced it," Oscar explained, his voice wavering with secondhand embarrassment.

"He remembered Neo's cunningness, and he knew Mr. Saitama's... accommodating nature. Ozpin figured it was a mathematical certainty that the master thief would simply hijack the luxurious master suite for herself, leaving the invincible hero stranded in the smaller guest room." A chorus of sympathetic winces and pitying chuckles rippled through the teenagers.

"Poor guy," Pyrrha murmured, offering a soft, empathetic smile.

"He can shatter mountains, but he can't win a territorial dispute over a mattress."

"What are you kids doing in my bedroom?" The flat, completely deadpan, nasal voice drifted from the hallway, instantly shattering the conspiratorial atmosphere. The entire group jumped, spinning around in synchronized panic. Standing in the doorway, clad in his sharp black suit trousers and a simple, slightly wrinkled white short-sleeved undershirt, having discarded his heavy trench coat and bowler hat for the evening, was Saitama.

His incredibly smooth, shiny bald head reflected the hallway lights, and his dotted eyes stared at them with a look of profound, exhausted suspicion.

"S-Saitama! Hi!" Ruby squeaked, waving her hands frantically as her face flushed bright red.

"We were just... uh... looking at the closet space! Very spacious! Excellent wood grain!"

"Yeah!" Jaune quickly chimed in, sweating profusely as he blocked the wardrobe doors with his broad shoulders.

"We were just wondering why you didn't take the master bedroom! You know, with the king-sized bed!" Saitama's face instantly darkened. A prominent, throbbing blue vein appeared on his temple, and his shoulders slumped heavily in a mixture of comical annoyance and deeply rooted misery.

"Don't remind me," Saitama groaned, crossing his arms with a deep, frustrated pout.

"That umbrella brat completely locked me out last night. I was the one who negotiated the free rent! Why am I the one sleeping on a mattress that doesn't even have memory foam?!" He let out a long, tragic sigh, simply shrugging his shoulders as he accepted his fate.

"Whatever. It's fine. I don't want to fight a teenager over blankets anyway," Saitama muttered, turning his back to the room.

"Dinner is ready. Come on, before the broth boils over." As Saitama shuffled down the hallway, Team RWBY, Team JNPR, and Oscar exchanged massive, collective sighs of relief, wiping the nervous sweat from their foreheads before eagerly following him out.

The opulent, expansive living room of the penthouse had been transformed into a culinary haven. The air was thick and heavy with the incredibly rich, savory, and mouth-watering aroma of spiced Mistralian broth, simmering imported meats, and fresh vegetables. In the center of the room, seated around a low, elegant glass coffee table, the rest of the dinner party was already waiting. Neopolitan sat perfectly poised on a plush cushion, her legs crossed elegantly.

She had already claimed her chopsticks, resting them delicately against a pristine porcelain bowl. Across from her sat Ciel Soleil, her posture completely rigid, her dark blue beret perfectly aligned, periodically checking the ticking pocket watch on her wrist. Beside Ciel, Penny Polendina hovered just inches off the floor, her glowing green eyes wide with vibrant, synthetic curiosity as she studied the bubbling metal pot resting on the portable induction burner.

Saitama took his seat at the head of the table, letting out a satisfied grunt as he grabbed a pair of wooden chopsticks. Oscar, Team RWBY, and Team JNPR quickly crowded around the remaining spaces, sitting cross-legged on the heated hardwood floor.

"Wow..." Yang breathed, her violet eyes locked onto the bubbling feast.

"This looks incredible!" The hot pot was a masterpiece of premium, high-society Atlesian indulgence. The rich, dark broth simmered perfectly, filled to the brim with thinly sliced, exquisitely marbled Solitas Wagyu beef that practically melted upon contact with the liquid. Massive, crisp leaves of fresh napa cabbage, delicate clusters of enoki mushrooms, perfect cubes of silky tofu, and thick, hearty udon noodles swirled together in a tantalizing, culinary vortex.

Eleven extremely hungry teenagers, and one highly observant android, stared at the bubbling pot. The tension in the room rapidly escalated from cozy domesticity to a razor-sharp, hyper-focused, lethal combat scenario. Spoons, forks, and chopsticks were gripped with white-knuckled intensity. Eyes narrowed. Breathing slowed.

"It appears the internal temperature of the bovine proteins has reached the optimal consumption threshold of 145 degrees Fahrenheit," Ciel announced, her voice a rapid, clinical monotone.

"The meat is done," Ren translated quietly, his magenta eyes narrowing into predatory slits. Saitama, completely oblivious to the terrifying, bloodthirsty auras radiating from the heavily armed Huntsmen and Huntresses surrounding his coffee table, simply smiled.

"Awesome," Saitama mumbled, reaching his chopsticks forward to casually pluck a beautiful, perfectly cooked slice of Wagyu beef from the center of the pot.

"Time to eat--" CLACK. The sound of chopsticks colliding echoed like a gunshot. Before Saitama's chopsticks could even touch the broth, the living room completely exploded into a chaotic, high-speed, utterly ruthless culinary battlefield. Ruby Rose triggered her Semblance. In a micro-burst of rose petals, her hand became a crimson blur, her chopsticks snatching three slices of beef in a fraction of a millisecond.

"Hey!" Yang roared, her lilac eyes flashing red as she unleashed a lightning-fast, heavy-handed flurry of fork strikes, parrying Blake's stealthy, silent attempt to hook a cluster of enoki mushrooms. Weiss Schnee moved with elegant, fencing-level precision.

She utilized microscopic, rapid-fire thrusts of her chopsticks to expertly extract the delicate tofu cubes, only for Nora Valkyrie to aggressively sweep her spoon through the broth like a miniature war hammer, scooping up a massive tidal wave of noodles and broth.

"Out of the way, Ice Queen! The Valkyrie needs carbs!" Nora cackled manically.

"You absolute barbarian!" Weiss shrieked, desperately defending her porcelain bowl. Ciel Soleil calculated the exact, optimal trajectory of the splashing broth, her hands moving in precise, geometric angles to secure vegetables with robotic efficiency. Penny Polendina's internal targeting sensors whirred, allowing her to flawlessly pluck a piece of cabbage from the chaos without disturbing the surface tension of the soup. Neo didn't even use speed.

She simply offered a smug, distracting smirk toward Oscar, causing the farm boy to flinch, before her chopstick snaked out from his blind spot, mercilessly stealing the piece of beef he was about to grab.

"H-Hey!" Oscar stammered, entirely outmaneuvered. But the absolute, undisputed king of the hot pot battlefield was Jaune Arc. Channeling the microscopic, hyper-dense kinetic reflexes he had forged through Saitama's torturous daily regimen, Jaune's arm moved with terrifying, concussive speed. He didn't just grab food. He dominated the airspace above the pot.

His chopsticks blurred, perfectly intercepting Ruby's petal-bursts, casually deflecting Yang's aggressive strikes, and securing a staggering mountain of premium beef, cabbage, and noodles into his bowl in less than three seconds. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Whoa!" Pyrrha gasped, her emerald eyes wide with awe as she barely managed to snag a piece of tofu before Jaune cleared the quadrant.

"Your reaction time is incredible, Jaune!"

"Sorry!" Jaune laughed, his blue eyes wide as he shoveled a massive bite of beef into his mouth.

"Muscle memory! If you didn't eat fast in a house with seven sisters, you starved!" Ruby pouted fiercely, her cheeks puffing out as she accelerated her speed to match the blonde knight, engaging Jaune in a blinding, high-speed chopstick duel over the final cluster of mushrooms. In the span of exactly five and a half seconds, the massive, overflowing hot pot was completely, utterly decimated. The dust settled. The teenagers pulled back, their bowls overflowing with steaming, delicious food.

Saitama sat frozen at the head of the table. His chopsticks were still extended, hovering over a pot that now contained absolutely nothing but boiling, empty broth and a single, sad piece of floating scallion. His dotted eyes shrank into tiny, vibrating pinpricks. The color completely drained from his face, leaving a heavily shaded, horrific portrait of pure, unadulterated trauma. How... how did it come to this?

Saitama's mind screamed, violently flashing back to the exact same nightmarish scenario he had endured in his old apartment with Genos, King, Bang, Bomb, Fubuki, and Doctor Kuseno.

"M-My beef..." Saitama whimpered, his voice cracking with profound, existential tragedy.

"My premium, free Wagyu beef... it's all gone..." Penny, observing the intense, comedic devastation on Saitama's face, tilted her head. Her synthetic empathy protocols immediately engaged.

"Mr. Saitama! You appear to be experiencing severe caloric deprivation!" Penny announced cheerfully. She gracefully slid her pristine, untouched, overflowing bowl of meat and vegetables directly across the glass table until it rested in front of him.

"Please, take my portion! As a synthetic being, I do not require biological sustenance to function! I merely participate for the communal experience!" Saitama's head snapped up. A brilliant, heavenly light seemed to shine down upon the orange-haired android.

"Really?!" Saitama gasped, tears of absolute joy springing to his eyes. He grabbed the bowl, looking at Penny as if she were an angel sent from the heavens.

"You are officially my favorite kid in this entire city. Thank you!" Jaune, looking down at the absolute mountain of food he had reflexively hoarded, suddenly felt a massive wave of guilt. His face flushed bright pink.

"Oh, man. I am so sorry, Saitama," Jaune laughed awkwardly, quickly using his chopsticks to transfer a large, generous portion of his premium beef and noodles into Saitama's new bowl.

"I completely lost control for a second there. Here, take some of mine, too." Saitama's dopey, blissful smile widened.

"Kid, your posture might still be terrible, but your heart is in the right place."

"Thank you, master!" Jaune grinned, feeling honored.

"Geez, you're still calling me that?" Saitama sighed. With the crisis averted, the dinner settled into a warm, chaotic, and deeply wholesome rhythm. The luxurious penthouse echoed with the sounds of laughter, clinking porcelain, and the happy chatter of exhausted Huntsmen finally allowed to act like teenagers. Penny hummed happily, reaching into her pocket to produce a small, sleek Atlesian power bank.

With a bright smile, she plugged a small, retractable cable from the device directly into a port on her hip, her green eyes glowing a little brighter as she "dined" alongside her friends. Saitama sat cross-legged, happily slurping a massive mouthful of noodles. He glanced to his left, his dotted eyes narrowing into a strict, paternal scowl as he watched Neo expertly picking every single piece of beef out of her bowl, completely ignoring the boiled cabbage and mushrooms.

"Hey," Saitama scolded lightly, poking her shoulder with the back of his chopstick.

"Stop picking out just the meat. Eat your vegetables, or you're not getting any of the ice cream tomorrow." Neo froze. She slowly turned her head, fixing him with a lethal, deeply offended glare. She aggressively dragged her lower eyelid down, sticking her tongue out at him defiantly, before stubbornly popping another piece of beef into her mouth.

"You absolute brat," Saitama sighed, shaking his head.

"If you get scurvy, don't come crying to me."

"It really is lovely up here," Weiss murmured, dabbing her mouth gracefully with a napkin as she looked out the panoramic windows at the glittering Atlas skyline.

"I already sent a quick, encrypted message to Winter, letting her know we were dining here before returning to the Academy dormitories for the night. She sends her regards, Saitama." Saitama swallowed his food, pointing a red-gloved finger at the heiress.

"That's great, but you guys better help me clean this mess up before you leave. I am not doing all these dishes by myself." Before Weiss could offer a dignified retort, the massive flat-screen television mounted on the wall behind them suddenly cut away from its scheduled broadcast, blaring a sharp, dramatic news sting.

"We interrupt this broadcast for a breaking international update regarding the Kingdom of Vale," a stern, polished news anchor for the Atlas Broadcast Network announced, his face appearing on the screen. The entire group went completely silent, their attention snapping toward the screen.

"While our global communications network remains temporarily severed, our news crew returning today from a long-term official assignment in Sanus has brought back physical footage of an extraordinary event," the ABN anchor continued.

"It appears the legendary 'Hero of Vale' has once again engaged in a highly unorthodox display of public vigilantism." The screen cut to shaky, zoomed-in Scroll footage. It showed a man in a bright yellow suit, dark sunglasses and a medical mask, Darwin, sprinting down the street in absolute, screaming terror. Chasing closely behind him were Toby, Marcus, Chloe, and Lyra, desperately trying to form a human shield.

Suddenly, a massive, runaway automated Dust-cart careened out of an alleyway, barreling straight toward a group of civilians. In the footage, Darwin turned his head, saw the cart, and completely panicked. He tripped violently over a discarded banana peel on the sidewalk. As he fell backward, his flailing, stiff leg shot up into the air, completely by accident, and perfectly kicked the emergency shut-off valve on the side of the speeding Dust-cart.

The cart sparked, hissed, and ground to an immediate, safe halt just inches from the screaming pedestrians. The footage ended with Darwin lying flat on his back, sobbing hysterically, while the civilians around him erupted into wild, adoring cheers, completely misinterpreting his clumsy fall as a masterclass in tactical evasion. Team RWBY, Team JNPR, and Oscar stared at the television screen in profound, suffocating silence.

Neo lowered her chopsticks, pressing a hand over her mouth to muffle a stream of silent, absolutely hysterical giggles, her shoulders shaking violently at the absurdity of the body-double. Ciel Soleil adjusted her beret, her dark eyes analyzing the footage with cold, mechanical precision.

"Fascinating," Ciel stated, her voice a perfect monotone.

"His evasive maneuvers are highly unorthodox, completely lacking traditional martial foundations. However, the statistical probability of executing a localized shutdown sequence via an accidental trip falls within a margin of 0. 0001 percent. It is statistically flawless."

"Indeed!" Penny chimed in, her synthetic eyes whirring as she processed the physics of the video.

"His chaotic, unpredictable center of gravity perfectly mirrors the raw, kinetic displacement we have observed in Mr. Saitama! He is a perfect stand-in!" Ruby and Jaune exchanged deeply exhausted, incredibly sympathetic glances.

"It's... not like that, guys," Ruby muttered, resting her forehead against the glass table with a heavy groan.

"He's just incredibly lucky... and incredibly unlucky at the exact same time."

"That poor, poor man," Jaune whispered, wincing as he imagined the sheer, paralyzing terror Darwin must be enduring every single day.

"I hope Headmistress Goodwitch is paying him enough." Saitama slurped the last of his broth, completely unbothered by the news broadcast of his imposter. He leaned back, patting his stomach with a satisfied burp, finding peace in the warmth of the penthouse, the chaos of the teenagers, and the lingering taste of premium beef.

Miles away from the chaotic, bustling warmth of the luxury penthouse, a profoundly different atmosphere suffocated the halls of Schnee Manor. The sprawling, palatial estate was a monument to the absolute peak of Atlesian wealth and power, but tonight, it felt like an icy tomb. Inside his expansive, dimly lit private office, Jacques Schnee sat alone in the dark. He was slouched deeply into a plush, high-backed leather armchair, staring blankly at the flickering embers of a dying fire in the grand hearth.

In his right hand, he loosely held a heavy crystal tumbler, gently swirling a generous pour of aged Mistralian whiskey over a single, perfectly spherical ice cube. Clink. Clink. The soft sound of the ice hitting the glass was the only noise in the oppressive silence. Jacques took a slow, bitter sip of the burning liquid, his jaw clenching so tightly his teeth ground together. He was absolutely seething. The humiliation he had endured on the freezing tarmac that afternoon replayed in his mind on a loop.

General James Ironwood, a man who was supposed to be beneath him in the grand hierarchy of Atlas, had looked down at him with utter, immovable indifference. But worse than the General's military overreach was the betrayal of his own flesh and blood. Weiss's pale, unbreakable eyes flashed in his memory.

'Not friends. Family.' Jacques' grip on the glass tightened until his knuckles turned bone-white. The sheer, unadulterated disrespect of his daughter defending that bald, uncultured peasant anomaly over her own father made his blood boil. He wanted nothing more than to crush Ironwood's embargo, reclaim his absolute authority, and brutally remind his daughter exactly who held the power in this Kingdom. Suddenly, the heavy mahogany door to his office clicked, creaking open just a fraction of an inch.

A sliver of warm light from the hallway spilled across the Persian rug. Jacques's eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. Whitley Schnee's pale, narrow face appeared in the gap. The teenage boy looked incredibly tense, his eyes darting nervously around the dark office. He swallowed hard, adjusting the collar of his pristine vest.

"Father," Whitley stammered softly, his voice wavering with rare, undisguised anxiety.

"You, um... have a visitor." Jacques's face contorted into a scowl of pure, aristocratic fury. He violently slammed the heavy crystal glass down onto the wooden armrest of his chair, the whiskey sloshing dangerously over the rim.

"I told you I didn't want to be disturbed!" Jacques barked, his voice echoing sharply off the high ceiling.

"Why did you let them in?!" Whitley flinched visibly, taking a small step backward into the hall.

"I didn't. He... let himself in." Before Jacques could demand an explanation, a gloved hand suddenly appeared, grabbing the edge of the heavy mahogany door. With a smooth, almost theatrical pull, the door was swung the rest of the way open. Whitley quickly shuffled out of the way, his eyes wide as a tall, impeccably dressed man confidently strode into the private office as if he owned the estate. Arthur Watts wore an elegant, tailored brown suit, a crisp yellow vest, and a neat, stylized mustache.

His hands were clasped casually behind his back, and a deeply arrogant, highly amused smirk played across his sharp features.

"A spitting image of you, this lad, Jacques," Watts commented smoothly, his refined Atlesian accent dripping with condescension as he paused to look back at the trembling teenager.

"Creepily so, I might add." Whitley stood frozen in the hallway, holding the heavy door open, his pale blue eyes watching suspiciously as the strange man casually strolled around Jacques' highly restricted office, admiring the expensive artwork on the walls.

"He's definitely inherited your... affect," Watts chuckled darkly, turning his gaze back toward the desk. Sitting in the leather chair, Jacques Schnee froze. The anger entirely vanished from his face, instantly replaced by a mask of sheer, unadulterated shock. He stared at the man's face, his mind struggling to process the impossible reality standing in his office.

"Arthur...?!" Jacques gasped, his voice barely a whisper. For a few agonizing seconds, the CEO of the Schnee Dust Company simply stared. He took a slow, shuddering breath, violently forcing his aristocratic composure back into place. His eyes darted to the doorway.

"Whitley, leave us," Jacques commanded sharply, his tone leaving absolutely no room for argument.

"And shut the door." Whitley looked highly confused, his gaze shifting from his father's tense posture to the smirking, dangerous stranger standing in the shadows. He hesitated, his hand lingering on the brass doorknob.

"I said shut the door!" Jacques roared, slamming his glass down onto the armrest a second time with a terrifying, echoing crack. Whitley flinched violently, his posture snapping rigid. He immediately stepped back and pulled the heavy mahogany door shut, the latch clicking securely into place, plunging the office back into its dim, intimate gloom. Jacques slowly stood up from his chair. He didn't take his eyes off the disgraced scientist for a single microsecond.

"I--" Jacques stammered, smoothing the front of his vest to hide the trembling of his hands.

"You're supposed to be dead." Watts chuckled, a low, smooth sound that vibrated with sinister confidence. He casually walked over to a nearby leather armchair, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from the upholstery.

"That is what I wanted people to think," Watts smiled, his eyes glinting maliciously in the dim light.

"You're right." Watts turned to face the CEO, resting a hand on the back of the chair.

"However, I've heard things about you too, Jacques. Namely... that you have an Ironwood problem." At the mention of the General's name, the lingering shock in Jacques's chest was instantly incinerated by a fresh, blinding wave of hatred. The mere thought of Ironwood's smug face on the tarmac brought the CEO's fury rushing back to the surface.

"That bastard is costing me more money every day with this embargo!" Jacques hissed, pacing behind his desk, completely dropping his refined facade as he vented his frustrations.

"I'd lay off every single ungrateful employee in Mantle right now if I wasn't trying to get their damn votes for this Council seat!" Jacques stopped pacing, breathing heavily, his hands resting flat against his polished desk as he glared at the disgraced scientist. Ironwood was strangling his empire, and Jacques was entirely out of legal maneuvers. Watts watched the desperate, furious man with the calculating, predatory gaze of a spider watching a fly become entangled in its web.

With a smooth, effortless motion, Watts sat down comfortably in the plush leather chair directly across from Jacques's desk. He crossed one leg over the other, resting his elbows on the armrests, and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. A slow, terrifyingly sinister smile spread across Arthur Watts's face. Watts offered, his voice a silken, venomous whisper that seemed to echo from the darkest corners of the room.

"What if I said, you can have your cake... and eat it, too?"