Chương 97: Chapter 90: The Hometown Blessings

The bitter, biting coastal wind of Argus swept through the cobblestone streets, carrying a flurry of fresh snowfall. In the bustling commercial district, citizens hurried past one another, bundled in thick woolen scarves and heavy coats. Standing perfectly still on the sidewalk, completely ignoring the freezing temperature, was Saitama. He was clad in his sharply tailored black suit and a heavy white trench coat, the iconic pristine bowler hat resting squarely on his head to conceal his baldness from the world.

However, the impeccable, mob-boss aesthetic was entirely ruined by the massive, dark, oily stains of potato chips grease marring his lapels. Saitama stared blankly ahead. His dotted eyes were fixed upon a piece of white cardboard taped to the glass door of Argus Express Cleaners. Closed for Maintenance - Open Tomorrow For three agonizing seconds, the street around him seemed to fall into a dead, absolute silence.

Then, the color entirely drained from Saitama's face, leaving him in a stark, heavily shaded monochrome of pure, unadulterated devastation. His knees buckled. He dropped dramatically to the frozen sidewalk, his gloved hands clutching the sides of his bowler hat as he stared up at the mocking sign.

"Noooooo!" Saitama wailed, his voice echoing with profound, comedic despair.

"The grease is setting! It's embedding itself into the microscopic fibers of the cashmere! By tomorrow, this stain is going to be a permanent, oily shadow! Do you know how much this coat costs?! I don't, but it feels expensive!" Standing a few feet away, Neopolitan simply rolled her eyes, letting out a long, silent sigh of exasperation. To ensure her identity remained entirely concealed from the Atlesian military and the public, Neo was utilizing her Overactive Imagination Semblance.

Her vibrant, dual-colored hair had shifted to a mundane, solid brown, and her usual tailored combat attire was masked by a standard, unassuming beige winter coat. She looked like any other Argus civilian. She reached into her pocket, pulling out her Scroll. Her thumbs tapped rapidly across the glass screen before she aggressively shoved the glowing device directly into Saitama's wailing face. [It's just a coat, cue-ball.]"It's not just a coat!"

Saitama argued furiously, pointing a shaking red glove at the grease mark.

"It's dry-clean only! I can't just throw this in a washing machine! What if it shrinks?! I'll look like a giant toddler!" Neo simply shrugged, offering a highly theatrical, mocking gesture that clearly communicated her utter lack of sympathy. She typed one final note. [Buy a new one.]"I don't have Atlesian Lien!" Saitama groaned, pushing himself up from the snowy sidewalk and dusting off his knees.

"I have supermarket coupons! And they definitely don't work at high-end tailors!" Saitama let out a heavy, defeated sigh, his shoulders slumping as he adjusted his bowler hat. The tragedy of his laundry had completely drained his heroic spirit.

"Whatever," Saitama muttered lazily, stuffing his hands deep into the pockets of his stained trench coat.

"I'm going to find a discount grocery store. I need to buy a cheap head of cabbage to cope with this emotional damage. Come on." Neo smiled triumphantly, twirling her concealed parasol as she followed the invincible anomaly down the street, entirely content to watch him suffer the mundane inconveniences of civilian life.

Miles away from the commercial district, in the quieter, upscale residential tiers of Argus, the atmosphere was drastically different. Jaune Arc and Pyrrha Nikos walked shoulder-to-shoulder along the snow-dusted pathways. They had just parted ways with Team RWBY and the rest of JNPR after returning from yet another infuriating, unsuccessful attempt to reason with Special Operative Cordovin at the military base.

But out here, away from the bureaucracy and the looming shadow war, the tension in their shoulders had finally melted away. Pyrrha walked close to Jaune, her arm looped gently and securely through his. She wasn't wearing her Spartan armor, having opted for a warm, crimson winter jacket that perfectly complimented her emerald eyes. She looked incredibly happy, a soft, radiant smile gracing her lips as she watched the snow fall around them. Jaune, on the other hand, was a flustered, stuttering mess.

Despite the immense, hyper-dense physical power he now possessed, and the confident leadership he displayed on the battlefield, holding Pyrrha's arm in public still made his heart hammer against his ribs like a trapped bird. A bright, perpetual blush dusted his cheeks.

"It really is beautiful here," Pyrrha murmured, her melodic voice cutting through the quiet crunch of their boots on the snow.

"Argus has always been so peaceful. It reminds me a little bit of that evening back in Vale." Jaune swallowed hard, a nervous chuckle escaping him.

"You mean our first date? Yeah... minus the part where our friends crashed our dinner plan at the hospital." Pyrrha let out a beautiful, musical laugh that made Jaune's chest flutter.

"But even with the interruption... it was perfect to me." She squeezed his arm slightly, leaning her head against his shoulder.

"I'm just so glad you're here with me, Jaune."

"I... I wouldn't want to be anywhere else," Jaune stammered, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. He looked down at her, his blue eyes softening with a deep, unwavering affection.

"You're too good to me, Pyrrha."

"I could say the same about you," Pyrrha smiled warmly, looking up into his eyes. The tender, romantic atmosphere wrapped around them like a warm blanket, straight out of a fairy tale. They walked in comfortable silence until the cobblestone path leveled out before a beautiful, two-story home with traditional Animan architecture and a sweeping view of the frozen coastline. Pyrrha's footsteps slowed. She unlooped her arm from Jaune's, her breath pluming in the cold air as she stared at the dark mahogany front door.

"This is it," Pyrrha whispered, a sudden tremor of emotion entering her voice. Jaune stepped up beside her, gently placing a reassuring hand on the small of her back.

"Are you ready?" Pyrrha nodded. She walked up the snowy steps and raised her hand, knocking three times on the heavy wood. For a long moment, the house was silent. Then, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed from inside. The lock clicked, and the door slowly swung open. Standing in the doorway was a middle-aged woman with striking red hair pulled back into a neat braid. She wore a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, her features a graceful, older reflection of Pyrrha's own. The woman froze.

The basket of laundry in her hands slipped from her grasp, clattering onto the hardwood floor.

"Pyrrha...?" the woman breathed, her voice cracking instantly.

"Hi, Mom," Pyrrha choked out, tears instantly brimming in her green eyes. Mrs. Nikos let out a fractured, agonizing sob of pure relief. She lunged forward, throwing her arms around her daughter and burying her face in Pyrrha's shoulder. Pyrrha hugged her back just as fiercely, weeping openly as the terror and distance of the past year completely washed away.

"My little leaf," Mrs. Nikos cried, holding her daughter as if she might vanish into thin air.

"I knew you were safe, I heard your voice on the Scroll... but seeing you... oh, gods, you're really here."

"I'm here, Mom. I'm okay," Pyrrha promised, resting her cheek against her mother's red hair. After a long, deeply emotional minute, Mrs. Nikos finally pulled back, wiping the tears from her glasses. She cupped Pyrrha's face, making sure she was truly whole, before her gaze finally shifted to the tall, blonde young man standing awkwardly on the porch. Jaune immediately stiffened into a rigid, military-esque posture, his heart leaping into his throat.

"Oh," Mrs. Nikos blinked, stepping back slightly to observe him.

"And who is this?" Jaune swallowed a massive lump in his throat.

"H-Hello, Mrs. Nikos. I'm Jaune. Jaune Arc." Pyrrha reached out, gently taking Jaune's hand and pulling him forward. Her tears were replaced by a bright, beaming smile of absolute pride.

"Mom," Pyrrha said, her voice steady and clear.

"This is Jaune. My... my lover." Jaune's face instantly detonated into a shade of violent, radioactive tomato red. He looked like he was going to spontaneously combust on the welcome mat.

"P-Pyrrha!" Mrs. Nikos's eyebrows raised in profound surprise. Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. She stepped forward, her intelligent eyes slowly scanning the young man from head to toe. She took note of the heavy, battle-worn scars etched into his white armor, the sheer, hyper-dense mass of his broad shoulders, and, most importantly, the intensely protective way he allowed Pyrrha to hold his hand. A warm, knowing smile spread across the mother's face.

"It is an absolute pleasure to meet you, Jaune Arc," Mrs. Nikos said warmly, stepping aside and gesturing to the hallway.

"Please, come inside, both of you. It's freezing out there."

The interior of the Nikos home was incredibly cozy, filled with plush furniture, a roaring fireplace, and the rich scent of brewing herbal tea. The three of them sat in the living room, the warmth of the fire slowly thawing the winter chill from their bones. Mrs. Nikos sat across from the couple, her hands wrapped around a porcelain teacup, unable to tear her eyes away from her daughter.

"I cannot express how glad I am to see you," Mrs. Nikos sighed, her voice trembling slightly.

"When the CCT networks went down... when the news broadcasts showed Beacon Academy burning... I thought my heart would stop. The panic was absolute." She took a sip of her tea, her eyes widening slightly.

"And then, the stories began to filter through the static. News of a mysterious, impossible hero falling from the sky. A man who destroyed the Wyvern in a single punch and routed the entire Grimm invasion."

"It's all true, Mom," Pyrrha nodded, squeezing Jaune's hand.

"His name is Saitama. He's... well, he's very unique. But he saved my life. If he hadn't intercepted Cinder Fall on the CCT tower, I wouldn't be sitting here right now." Mrs. Nikos closed her eyes, bowing her head in silent, profound gratitude to the universe.

"I owe that man a debt I can never repay."

"He doesn't ask for much," Jaune chuckled nervously.

"Mostly just discount coupons and video games." Mrs. Nikos blinked in confusion, but Pyrrha quickly steered the conversation. For the next hour, Pyrrha regaled her mother with tales of her time at Beacon. She spoke of forming Team JNPR, meeting Ruby, Weiss, Blake, Yang, Ren, and Nora. She spoke of the bonds they had forged in the crucible of Huntsman training.

"But everything truly changed when Saitama became our unofficial mentor," Pyrrha explained, his voice growing animated as he leaned forward.

"Headmistress Glynda put us through a training with Saitama that broke us down completely. First, we had to attack his invulnerable body so many times, but he didn't even move a bit. Then we had to land our attacks on him, while he was moving at the speed of light."

"That sounds... dangerously intense," Mrs. Nikos noted, observing Jaune's impressive physique.

"It was," Jaune agreed with a soft laugh.

"But it wasn't just the physical strength he gave us. It was his advice. He taught us that we didn't have to be perfect, emotionless gods to be strong. He taught us how to fail, and how to rely on each other." Pyrrha turned her gaze toward Jaune, her green eyes softening with a deep, immeasurable love.

"The Hero of Vale saved my life on that tower," Pyrrha said quietly, her thumb tracing the back of Jaune's hand.

"But Jaune has saved me in so many other ways." Jaune ducked his head, his cheeks flushing pink again.

"Pyrrha, you don't have to--""I want to," Pyrrha insisted gently. She looked back at her mother.

"My entire life, people put me on a pedestal. I was the 'Invincible Girl'. People treated me like a trophy, or an untouchable idol. But the very first day I met Jaune, he didn't know who I was. He didn't care about the cereal boxes or the tournament trophies." Pyrrha smiled, a radiant, beautiful expression of absolute freedom.

"He just saw me. He treated me like a normal person. As an equal. And when things got dark, he never once ran away. He stood between me and the fire. That is why I fell in love with him." Mrs. Nikos watched her daughter, her heart swelling with an overwhelming, profound joy. She had worried for years that Pyrrha's fame would isolate her forever. To see her so completely, deeply understood by the boy beside her was the greatest gift a mother could ask for. Jaune sat quietly for a moment, absorbing Pyrrha's words.

The insecurity that used to define him at Beacon tried to whisper in the back of his mind, but he quickly crushed it. He wasn't that boy anymore. Jaune took a deep breath, gathering every ounce of courage he possessed. He set his teacup down on the saucer with a quiet clink and looked Mrs. Nikos directly in the eye, his posture straightening with the noble authority of a true leader.

"Mrs. Nikos," Jaune began, his voice steady, carrying a sincere, unshakeable honesty.

"I am still far from perfect. I make mistakes, and sometimes... I honestly don't know if I'm truly worthy of being a leader, or standing beside someone as incredible as your daughter." He looked at Pyrrha, his blue eyes filled with absolute devotion.

"But... I was a nobody when we met. I faked my way into Beacon. I didn't even know how to hold my shield properly. Having Pyrrha by my side, having her believe in me when I didn't believe in myself... it changed everything. She gave me the strength to stand up."

"You were never a nobody, Jaune," Pyrrha whispered softly, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

"No, I'm not," Jaune smiled at her, a confident, protective grin breaking across his face.

"Not anymore. And it's all thanks to you." Jaune turned his gaze back to Mrs. Nikos, his aura practically humming with his unwavering conviction.

"I have determined," Jaune declared, his voice ringing with absolute certainty.

"I will never stop pushing my limits. I don't want to be an invincible human. I just want to be a reliable partner, and a leader my team can count on. I want to be my own version of a hero. Someone who can stand together with Pyrrha and the others, so we can complete each other." The living room fell into a heavy, beautiful silence. Mrs. Nikos reached up under her glasses, wiping a stray tear from the corner of her eye.

She looked at the young man, seeing past the armor to the indomitable, pure heart of the warrior underneath.

"Pyrrha always knew exactly what she wanted. And looking at you, Jaune... I can see she chose perfectly." Mrs. Nikos smiled radiantly, her voice thick with emotion as she reached across the table to cover both of their intertwined hands with her own.

"You have my heartfelt blessing, both of you." Jaune's chest swelled with immense, overwhelming pride. His face flushed, but a massive, goofy smile stretched across his lips.

"Mom..." Pyrrha let out a choked, happy sob.

"Thank you... Thank you very much!" She threw her arms around Jaune's neck, burying her face in his shoulder as he tightly returned the embrace. Jaune was not acting shy like before.

"I will always be with my friends. With Pyrrha," he held Pyrrha's arm gently, and gave a warm, reassuring smile toward his lover and her mother.

"We will support each other no matter what." In a world consumed by shadow wars and apocalyptic monsters, sitting in a quiet living room in Argus, Jaune and Pyrrha had found an unbreakable, perfect light.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, the light was rapidly fading. Inside the sterile, high-tech interior of the Argus Cross Continental Transmit hub, Qrow Branwen stood before a glowing command terminal. The room was bathed in the harsh, cyan glow of holographic monitors, casting long, grim shadows across the Huntsman's face. Qrow tapped a rapid sequence of override codes into the console, bypassing the civilian lockouts.

He had been trying for an hour to bypass the local military grid, desperately attempting to establish a secure link to Solitas. Finally, the central projector hummed to life. The static cleared, resolving into the exhausted, rigidly stressed holographic form of General James Ironwood.

"Qrow," Ironwood greeted, his voice clipping slightly over the long-distance feed.

"I was beginning to wonder if you had made it to the coast."

"We're here, Jimmy, but we've got a massive problem," Qrow grunted, leaning heavily against the console.

"What the hell is going on with the grid? We went to the military base to catch our ride, but Cordovin practically slammed the gate in our faces. She says she never got the clearance codes." Ironwood's cybernetic eye narrowed, his jaw clenching with severe frustration.

"I sent those codes myself, Qrow. Authorized from my personal terminal."

"Well, they didn't arrive," Qrow argued, crossing his arms.

"Cordovin acted like we were making the whole thing up." Ironwood dragged a heavy, metallic hand down his face.

"The Atlas network is currently experiencing severe, localized anomalies. Entire sectors of the grid are glitching, and our communications are struggling to remain stable. My technicians are investigating it as we speak." Qrow froze. The tactical implications of Ironwood's words hit him like a physical blow.

"Anomalies?" Qrow repeated, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous whisper.

"Jimmy, if Cordovin didn't get the orders, and the network is failing... someone must have intercepted them. Someone is actively messing with the grid from the inside." Ironwood's holographic posture stiffened.

"You think we have an infiltrator?"

"I think Salem sent--" BZZZZT. A violent, ear-piercing burst of digital static shredded the audio feed. The holographic image of General Ironwood warped sickeningly, the cyan light fracturing into jagged, corrupted pixels of blood red.

"Jimmy?!" Qrow shouted, slamming his hands onto the terminal.

"James, do you read me?!" The console did not respond. The hologram collapsed entirely, plunging the CCT hub into darkness before a stark, flashing red error message appeared on the primary screen. CONNECTION LOST. EXTERNAL OVERRIDE. Qrow stared at the red letters in absolute, suffocating shock. He slammed his fist violently onto the metal console.

"Damn it!"

Miles across the frozen ocean, deep within the subterranean, frozen infrastructure of Mantle, the hum of massive servers filled the air. Inside a dark, highly classified control room, a single monitor cast a pale glow over the elegant, aristocratic features of Arthur Watts. The disgraced scientist typed with effortless, rhythmic grace, his fingers dancing across the Atlesian keyboard like a maestro conducting a symphony.

"Apologies, Qrow Branwen," Watts smirked, his voice dripping with condescending, arrogant amusement as he watched the Argus connection officially sever on his screen.

"But I am afraid your flight has been permanently grounded." Watts leaned back in his plush leather chair, stroking his pristine mustache with a gloved hand. He had effortlessly infiltrated the grid, isolated the coastal city, and successfully trapped Ozpin's vanguard precisely where he wanted them. With a few keystrokes, Watts pulled up a heavily decrypted file on his secondary monitor. It was the digital manifest General Ironwood had attempted to send to Caroline Cordovin.

Watts's dark eyes scanned the text, lingering on the specific cargo designation that Ironwood had so desperately tried to hide. Priority clearance for Huntsman Qrow Branwen and Vanguard. Securing safe passage for Class-A priority asset to Solitas. Watts stared at the glowing text, a profound, burning curiosity gnawing at the edges of his brilliant mind.

'Class-A priority.' He knew exactly it was the Relic of Knowledge. It must be. But it was impossible. Physically, logically, and magically impossible.

"How in the world did you manage it, Ozpin?" Watts murmured to the empty, freezing server room, his brow furrowing as he leaned closer to the screen. His analytical mind rapidly processed the undeniable facts. From Salem's briefing, he knew that the Battle of Haven had concluded with the subterranean vault suffering a catastrophic structural collapse. The heavy, indestructible gateway forged by the Brother Gods had been buried beneath hundreds of thousands of tons of solid bedrock.

Furthermore, Cinder Fall had successfully usurped the Spring Maiden's magic. She was currently traversing the tundra toward Atlas, carrying the absolute only magical key capable of opening that door. Yet, here was undeniable proof that Qrow Branwen and a handful of exhausted students had retrieved the lamp. Ozpin lacked the heavy machinery required to excavate the cavern. He lacked the Spring Maiden. The door cannot be breached by Dust, nor shattered by Aura. It defies the very foundational laws of physics.

A cold, thrilled smile slowly stretched across Watts's face. He hated anomalies. He despised puzzles he could not immediately solve. The sheer arrogance of Ozpin finding a loophole in the magic of the Gods sent a thrilling rush of intellectual adrenaline through his veins.

"Did you possess a backdoor, old man?" Watts mused, his fingers steepled together beneath his chin.

"Did you hide a secondary relic? A master key? Or did your little prodigies stumble upon a flaw in the Brother Gods' own design?" He chuckled, the sound dry and echoing in the dark room. By deleting the clearance codes and severing the comms-link, Watts hadn't just crippled Ironwood's logistics. He had cornered a rat in a maze. He had stranded Ozpin's vanguard in Argus, forcing them to remain stagnant while he orchestrated a way to peel back their defenses and dissect their impossible trick.

Watts smiled at his own brilliant, flawless tactical sabotage. He had the board completely under his control. But as he stared at the screen, reveling in his intellectual superiority, the disgraced scientist remained completely, entirely unaware of the fatal flaw in his logic. Because General Ironwood practiced absolute operational security, the digital manifest listed only the Huntsmen and the students. Arthur Watts had successfully locked the door on his enemies. He smiled at his own brilliant, tactical sabotage.

Yet he remained completely, entirely unaware of one crucial detail. He had no idea, completely blind to the fact that the "impossible trick" he so desperately wanted to dissect was a man who could shatter the very concept of magic with a single punch. And that man was currently an Argus supermarket, wearing a bowler hat, and complaining about the cost of stain removal.