Delivery and Defeat? (Private w/ Carmine)

[Aurum Dasheng]

The commercial district bustled with life as Aurum Dasheng made his way through the cobbled streets. The midday sun cast golden hues over the vibrant marketplace, where shopkeepers called out to passersby, enticing them with wares ranging from fragrant spices to gleaming weapons. The air smelled of fresh bread, sizzling meat skewers, and the faint sweetness of candied fruits.

Aurum’s towering frame cut an imposing figure even in the relaxed crowd, but his outfit today softened his presence. Gone was the combat-ready gear of his training and missions. Instead, he wore a simple yet stylish sleeveless black tunic that fit loosely over his muscular frame, the edges lined with subtle gold embroidery reminiscent of his family’s signature motifs. A dark, lightweight scarf was wrapped loosely around his neck, trailing slightly down his back. His pants were a comfortable slate-gray fabric, fitted enough to allow movement but casual enough for a day in the city. Sturdy brown leather boots, scuffed from years of wear, completed the ensemble. His tail swayed lazily behind him, the brass ring at its base catching the sunlight with each flick.

Despite his relaxed appearance, Aurum’s sharp amber eyes scanned the streets with practiced awareness. Navigating the commercial district wasn’t much of a challenge—he’d grown familiar with its layout during his time at Beacon—but the post office was tucked away in a quieter corner, a little off the main thoroughfare.

As he walked, his mind wandered briefly to the package he was picking up. A shipment of dried mangoes from the family orchards—a little taste of home. Genni had promised to send them last week, and the thought of her small handwritten note tucked inside brought a faint smile to his lips.

After weaving through the bustling crowd, Aurum arrived at the post office. The building was modest but charming, with a weathered wooden sign hanging above the door. The faint smell of paper and ink greeted him as he stepped inside, the bell above the door jingling softly. A few patrons stood in line, chatting quietly as clerks shuffled behind the counter, sorting packages and stamping letters.

Aurum approached the counter, his towering frame drawing the attention of the clerk, a bespectacled Faunus with large, owl-like eyes. The clerk glanced up, momentarily startled by Aurum’s size, before breaking into a polite smile.

“Good afternoon,” the clerk said, adjusting her glasses. “How can I help you?”

“Got a package for Aurum Dasheng,” Aurum replied, his voice calm but carrying its usual weight. He leaned slightly on the counter, his tail curling idly behind him. “Should be from Mount Huaguo.”

The clerk’s eyes widened slightly at the name, recognition flashing across her face. “Dasheng?” she repeated softly, almost to herself. Her feathers ruffled slightly as she quickly composed herself. “One moment, please.”

She disappeared into the back room, leaving Aurum to glance around the post office. A few notices were pinned to a nearby bulletin board—job postings, missing pet flyers, and a faded map of the commercial district. A young child tugged at their parent’s sleeve, pointing at Aurum in awe, and he offered the kid a faint smile before turning back to the counter.

The clerk returned moments later, hefting a small wooden crate onto the counter. The box was stamped with the Dasheng family crest—a swirling cloud pattern etched into the wood—and bound with sturdy twine. The faint aroma of ripe mangoes wafted from the crate, and Aurum’s smile widened.

“Here you go,” the clerk said, sliding the crate forward.

“Thanks,” Aurum replied, fishing a few coins from his pocket and dropping them into the tip jar. With ease, he hefted the crate under one arm, its weight barely registering.

As he exited the post office, the lively hum of the commercial district greeted him once more. Aurum took a moment to glance down at the crate, imagining the taste of the dried mangoes and the note from Genni tucked inside. A little piece of home, far from Mount Huaguo.

With a satisfied grin, he adjusted the crate in his grip and made his way back through the bustling streets, his thoughts lingering on the sweetness waiting for him in that small wooden box. That is until he tripped over a raised slab of concrete and fell face first into the pavement, a defeated sigh coming from him.

[Carmine Valentina]

Carmine strolled out of the diner with a triumphant sway in her step, the remnants of her indulgent lunch—a burger, fries, and bits of milkshake—setting into a comfortable satisfaction. Her eyes squinted against the bright sunlight as she nonchalantly readjusted her sunglasses to perch atop her head like a crown. The memory of the waiter who'd spilt scalding coffee on her lap was already fading, though the sharp snap of bone still echoed in her mind. It wasn't her fault, really; reflexes were reflexes. Besides, the food was worth it, and the milkshake, creamy, cold, and just the right amount of sweetness, was the cherry on top of her day.

Her reflection caught her eye in a nearby shopfront window. She paused, cocking a hip and giving herself a once-over. Gone was her usual leather jacket, replaced with a light denim one that softened her look without losing her edge. She kept her signature cargo shorts and tank top, completing the outfit with a pair of simple sandals. It was an effortlessly cool, casual vibe, perfect for a day like this.

As she sauntered down the street, sipping her milkshake, she mentally reviewed her day. It had been productive—by her standards, at least. She'd put some insubordinate minions back in line, finalised a lucrative business deal that would keep her comfortably flush for weeks, and even found time to feed Scorpy, her pet scorpion. The latter had been a delicate operation, but this small poisonous friend had brought her a strange sense of tranquility. The cherry on top? A blissful hour of browsing her favourite manga store, walking out with a stack of glossy covers promising worlds of escapism.

Her scroll buzzed in her pocket, pulling her back to reality. Fishing it out with a sigh, she frowned at the name flashing on the screen: Dad. Of course.

"Hey Dad, what's up?" She answered, forcing a casual tone even as irritation flickered beneath the surface.

“Heyyy, piccoletta,” her father’s voice crackled through the line, exaggeratedly cheerful. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”

Carmine rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn't get stuck. "Nope, nothing important at all," she replied dryly. "Just enjoying my day."

"Ah, always with the sass. Runs in the family, I suppose," he said, chuckling. "Well, I've got a little favour to ask."

Here we go. "What is it?"

"There's a package waiting for me at the post office. It's some exotic plants for the garden centre.."

"And?" Carmine cut in, already ready for the wringer.

"—and a little, innocuous dust shipment tucked in amongst the greenery. Nothing wild, just a few. experimental blends to sell," he replied, his tone overflowing with that same annoying meld of charm and mischief.

Carmine groaned. "Dad. Did you really slap on a toxic plant's warning to steer suspicion away from it?"

"Obviously. It's brilliant," he replied, just a bit too proud of himself.

“Fine. I’ll get it. But next time, use one of your lackeys,” she snapped, already pivoting in the direction of the post office.

“Thanks, honey. Oh, and one more thing—stop buying those weird mangas with my credit card,” he added before the line went dead.

Carmine froze, mortified, the heat rushing to her cheeks. "DAD!" she yelled into the now-silent scroll, her voice echoing down the street. Passersby glanced her way before hurriedly looking elsewhere under her withering glare.

She jammed the scroll back into her pocket and took an aggressive sip of her milkshake, then felt the cool liquid splash onto her chest as she abruptly dodged a wooden crate that came hurtling out of nowhere. Her tank top now wore a blotchy chocolate stain, and her mood darkened considerably.

“What the—” She spun on her heel, searching for the culprit. A boy, clearly a monkey faunus, lay sprawled on the sidewalk nearby, his tail twitching as he groaned into the pavement.

"Watch where you’re walking, bitch!” she snapped, her voice cutting through the ambient noise like a whip.

[Aurum Dasheng]

Aurum groaned, lifting his head from the cobblestones with a grimace. His tail flicked behind him as he sat up, brushing dust off his face and tunic. The wooden crate sat beside him, miraculously intact, though his pride felt far more bruised. He blinked, his amber eyes locking onto the source of the sharp, cutting voice.

Standing not far from him was a girl—a striking figure with wild energy practically radiating from her. She wore a denim jacket and cargo shorts, her tank top stained with what looked like chocolate milkshake. Her glare could have melted steel.

Aurum sighed, shaking his head. “My bad,” he said, his voice calm but tinged with mild irritation. He pushed himself to his feet, standing to his full height and towering over her. “Didn’t think anyone would be in the crate’s flight path.”

He bent down to retrieve the crate, inspecting it briefly before setting it on his hip. “You good?” he asked, glancing at the stain on her shirt. His tone wasn’t particularly apologetic, but there was a flicker of genuine concern in his eyes.

Her glare didn’t waver. “Guess not,” Aurum muttered, his tail curling slightly in what could only be interpreted as a faint expression of exasperation.

“Look, I get it. Bad timing, bad aim,” he continued, shifting the crate under one arm. “But yelling at me isn’t going to unspill your milkshake.” He tilted his head, studying her for a moment. “You want me to buy you a new one or what?”

The murmurs of passersby began to creep into Aurum’s ears as a small crowd formed, drawn to the spectacle of the towering monkey Faunus and the fiery girl exchanging words. His tail flicked with mild irritation. The last thing he wanted was to cause more of a scene, especially with the Dasheng crest prominently displayed on the crate he was carrying.

“Let’s keep this short,” Aurum said, his tone firm. “I’ve got mangoes to eat, and you’re in need of a new milkshake and shirt. So let me fix one.

[Carmine Valentina]

Carmine's eyes flashed with a keen edge as she settled her glare on the boy before her, her hair catching the sun in strands of molten copper. She stood tall, arms crossed tightly against her chest, accentuating the fresh chocolate milkshake stain blooming across her pristine white tank top. The contrast made the mess all the more infuriating, and her rising irritation was practically tangible, radiating off her in waves.

Her lips pulled into a sardonic smile—a cruel mockery of amusement that fell far short of her eyes, which burnt with barely restrained anger.

"Buy me a new one?" Her voice came out in a low, razor-sharp tone, the weight of the scorn cutting deeper than the words themselves. "You think buying back a milkshake fixes everything?"

Oh, there was definitely a list of things she'd like to do. She almost pictured it: the boy wilting under the weight of her ire, stumbling in panic while she made him regret the day he was born. Or maybe she'd get creative.

But no—there were too many eyes. The street bustled with onlookers, and the murmured whispers and curious glances all told her that she couldn't afford to unravel in public. A hot surge of frustration bubbled under her skin as she reined herself in, forcing her composure to hold. Barely.

Even so, the itch for revenge just would not subside. Petty? Yes. Childish? Absolutely. Beneath her? Probably. But sometimes, indulging in a little pettiness was therapeutic. She wasn't about to let this slide, not completely. Satisfaction, however fleeting, was worth the price of a dent in her pride. After all, she was human, and even the best of them had their moments.

"You know what? Don’t bother," she snapped, brushing past the boy with a dismissive flick of her wrist. Her voice carried an air of finality, as though his existence had been neatly filed under irrelevant. "You’d only make it worse."

As she strode past him, her arm brushed against a stack of crates standing nearby; the contact was casual, almost incidental, but her intentions were anything but. A faint pink hue shimmered across the surface of the crates, barely visible to the naked eye—a telltale signature of her aura at work: Minezone. The deed was done.

A wry smile played on her lips, and she turned away. She didn't look back; there was no need for that. Her steps were slow, almost as if deliberately made so that she could savour the moment of victory a little longer.

There wasn't a shred of doubt in her mind that the next few moments would play out exquisitely. The detonation would be subtle, just enough to send whatever was in the crates flying out in a colourful explosion of chaos and maybe ruffle the boy's composure. No harm done—well, nothing physical, at least.

[Aurum Dasheng]

Aurum watched her storm off, her parting words sharp and dismissive. His amber eyes narrowed slightly, his tail flicking behind him with irritation.

“You’d only make it worse,” he muttered under his breath, mimicking her tone with a faint smirk. “Guess that makes two of us.”

Adjusting the crate under his arm, he was about to move on when a faint shimmer caught his attention—a barely perceptible glint on a nearby stack of crates. His sharp gaze lingered on the area for a moment, and a flicker of suspicion crossed his face.

“What’s this?” he murmured, shifting his stance slightly.

Before he could investigate further, a soft pop came from one of the nearby crates. It was followed by a sudden, chaotic burst of noise. The explosion wasn’t destructive, but it was loud enough to send a cascade of colorful confetti, streamers, and small plush toys flying into the air. Aurum took a sharp step back, his tail snapping behind him for balance, but the commotion wasn’t over.

The crate in his own hands began to vibrate ominously. His amber eyes widened as he realized the same faint shimmer from the other crates had enveloped his own. Before he could react, the wooden box erupted, sending dried mango slices fluttering into the air like golden leaves.

Aurum stood frozen for a moment, pieces of mango clinging to his hair, shoulders, and tunic. A bright pink plush rabbit bounced off his chest and landed at his feet amidst the chaos. Around him, the murmurs of passersby quickly turned to laughter as the spectacle unfolded.

He let out a long sigh, brushing a sticky slice of mango from his shoulder before bending down to pick up the plush rabbit. His expression shifted to one of exasperation mixed with reluctant amusement.

“Cute,” he muttered, holding the rabbit between his thumb and forefinger before tossing it into the pile of scattered plushies.

His gaze turned toward the retreating figure of the fiery girl, her coppery hair catching the sunlight as she disappeared into the crowd. She didn’t look back, but the deliberate sway in her step told him all he needed to know.

“Figures,” Aurum said quietly, adjusting what remained of his crate under his arm. The mango slices scattered across the cobblestones were a lost cause, but a faint grin tugged at his lips nonetheless.

The laughter and whispers of passersby only added to the sting of his pride, but they were quickly drowned out by his focus. He brushed off another sticky piece of mango and strode forward, his towering frame cutting through the bustling street like a storm. His tail swayed behind him in sharp, purposeful flicks as he closed the distance between them. His gaze didn’t waver, his steps quick and deliberate.

“Hey!” he called, his voice cutting easily through the chatter of the marketplace.

Hoping she would stop. Aurum slowed his pace, now only a few feet behind her. The ruined crate under his arm dripped sticky mango juice onto the cobblestones, and his tail coiled slightly behind him, a subtle expression of his restrained frustration.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve,” he said, his tone steady but edged with frustration. His amber eyes glinted with a mixture of irritation and restraint. “Mind explaining why my mangoes are wearing half the confetti in this district?”

He paused, adjusting his grip on the crate before taking a calming breath. “Look, I get it. I messed up with the milkshake,” he said, his voice softening slightly. “But blowing up my crate? That was uncalled for. Those mangoes—they’re from my family. My sister sent them.”

His tail flicked behind him as he stood tall, his gaze unwavering. “You want to be mad about the milkshake? Fine. I’ll replace it. But the mangoes? That’s a low blow. Be thankful it wasn’t my usual crate of peaches.”

He exhaled slowly, his grip tightening briefly on the crate. “So, let’s settle this now,” he continued, his tone calm but firm. “I’m not leaving until we figure this out.”

Though his irritation was clear, there was a flicker of curiosity in his amber eyes, a faint hint of amusement that softened his presence just enough. This wasn’t about the mangoes anymore—it was about standing his ground and seeing what kind of person would fight back this hard. One thing was certain: this wasn’t over yet.

[Carmine Valentina]

Carmine froze mid-stride, her eyes narrowing as she turned to take stock of the scene before her. Her gaze took in everything: the absurdity of the situation, the boy's irritated expression, and the mangled remnants of the crate. A flicker of amusement danced behind her cold demeanour. Actually, no—it wasn't just a flicker. It was outright hilarious.

Unable to resist, she pulled out her scroll in one swift motion; the sharp click of a camera captured the scene in all its chaotic glory. The moment was immortalised. She gave herself a small, knowing chuckle, quickly stifled, though the mischievous glint in her eyes betrayed her. This one was going straight to her father. He was going to absolutely revel in the ridiculousness of it right before he launched into one of his signature lectures about decorum and maturity. A problem for her future self to deal with.

"Didn't know mango could go great on you," she quipped dryly, the smirk widening as she slid the scroll back into her pocket. It was said playfully yet cuttingly—the words aimed to hurt, if only a little. "Consider it payment for interrupting my day. A little chaos for a little inconvenience. Seems fair, don't you think?"

She crossed her arms and shifted her weight onto one leg—the picture of casual confidence—though her gaze hadn't missed the emblem peeking out from the splintered crate, the boy still clutched. It was faint, partly obscured by the sticky pulp, partially destroyed by the explosion, but unmistakably a crest of some kind. Her curiosity stirred. What business did some random kid have with a marked crate? Drugs? Weapons? Stolen goods? The question itched at the back of her mind, but she dismissed it for now. She had more entertaining matters to attend to.

So," Carmine said, the lilting rise in her voice heavy with a veneer of mock civility. "How would you like this settled? The civilised citizens we are, or…"

She tilted her head; the smirk evolving on her lips took a harder edge.
“Or are you more of a fan of settling things the old-fashioned way?”

The weight of her gaze seemed to settle onto his, a blatant dare to rise to the challenge.
Her words hung in the air like a gauntlet thrown at his feet, laced with a malicious edge that hinted she was already betting on the latter.

"Your call, mango boy. Either way works for me."

[Aurum Dasheng]

Aurum sighed heavily, his grip on the crate shifting as his irritation simmered beneath the surface. With an exaggerated motion, he bent down and gently set the broken crate on the cobblestones. Sticky mango slices dripped lazily from its edges, and his amber eyes scanned its contents for the one thing that actually mattered.

He reached in, carefully pulling out a slightly crumpled envelope, its edges smudged with faint traces of mango juice. Holding it delicately between his fingers, he glanced at the familiar handwriting—his sister’s neat, looping script. A flicker of relief crossed his face as he slipped the note into his tunic pocket, patting it lightly to ensure it was secure.

“Alright,” he muttered under his breath, straightening and brushing his hands against his tunic. “At least one thing survived your little explosion.”

Turning his attention back to the fiery-haired girl, Aurum took a slow, deliberate step toward her, then another. His towering frame loomed as his tail flicked behind him, its motion slow and deliberate, a faint echo of his growing amusement. The crowd’s chuckles buzzed in the background, but Aurum’s focus remained locked on her.

“Confetti queen,” he began, his tone calm and almost conversational, though his amber eyes gleamed with playful intent. “You’ve made quite the mess. Mangoes, plushies, streamers… It’s almost impressive, really. Didn’t think I’d be part of the entertainment today.”

He crouched down, scooping up a handful of confetti soaked in mango juice. The sticky clumps clung together as he held them up for her—and the growing audience—to see.

“Now, me?” he continued, his voice laced with mock thoughtfulness as he rose to his full height. “I’m not the vengeful type. But it’d be rude not to return the favor, don’t you think?”

With a flick of his wrist, Aurum sent the sticky confetti sailing through the air. The clumps hit their mark with comical precision, smearing mango juice down the shoulder of her denim jacket. The faint sound of juice squelching against fabric only made the laughter from the onlookers louder.

Aurum’s grin widened as he casually brushed a piece of mango from his sleeve. “Oops,” he said lightly, his voice dripping with faux innocence. “Guess I’m not as good at aiming as you are, confetti queen.”

He crossed his arms, his stance relaxed but confident, as his tail curled behind him with satisfaction. “So, what’s next?” he asked, his tone teasing but carrying a subtle edge of challenge. “You escalating this? Or are we finally calling it even?”

His gaze softened just slightly, though his smirk remained firmly in place. For all his irritation, there was an undeniable flicker of amusement in his eyes as he waited for her reaction, knowing he’d managed to turn the tables—even if just a little.

[Carmine Valentina]

This was her limit. Carmine's smug grin had faltered, melting into a look of genuine shock. That shock quickly churned into unrestrained fury—her features twisting like a storm cloud ready to break. And then, just as quickly, her expression settled back into that familiar scowl—a mask of cold resolve she wore as naturally as breathing.

Fine. If he wanted a fight, he'd get one. But first.

Carmine's hand moved deliberately slowly, scraping off clumps of mango and confetti that had marred her jacket. Her gaze never once left the boy in front of her, eyes razor-sharp and predatory—a hawk locked onto its target. A faint shimmer started to radiate from her fingertips as she poured her aura into them, the faint glow making the movements almost ritualistic. When the clumps of muck were finally peeled free, she flicked her hand dismissively, tossing them to the ground.

The resulting explosions rang out like a series of gunshots, each detonation sharp and violent, reverberating off the walls of nearby stalls. Panic erupted instantly. People screamed, their cries merging into a single cacophony as they scrambled to flee, their footsteps echoing like a stampede.

When the dust finally settled, only two figures remained standing in the middle of the upheaval. Carmine and the boy faced each other, the destruction that surrounded them shrinking as the standoff between them became the priority over everything else. The silence between them was charged, humming with the promise of violence.

And then Carmine laughed.

It wasn't a laugh born of humour or amusement, but cruel, sharp, laced with venom. The sound crawled under the skin, sending shivers down the spines of anyone unfortunate enough to hear it. It was that kind of laugh that would hush a room—even a room full of seasoned mercenaries or the infamous Cleaners themselves.

"You know," she started off, her voice low and mocking, "you're a brave little shit. I'll give you that." The words were honeyed with malice, each syllable dripping with disdain.

The moment stretched, and then, like a coiled spring released, she moved.

Her first jab landed hard in his stomach, a brutal strike that forced the air from his lungs and left him doubled over in pain. She gave him no time to recover, no moment to process the searing ache in his gut. Her follow-up came in the form of a lightning-quick kick to his ribs, the impact resounding with a sickening crack that echoed louder than the explosions from earlier.

He fell to the ground, holding his side, but her expression did not reflect any sense of satisfaction—no triumph. It wasn't over. Not yet.

[Aurum Dasheng]

Aurum’s body instinctively tensed as the first jab landed, forcing the air from his lungs. His knees buckled, but before the second kick could connect, the black markings along his arms and neck flared to life, spreading across his torso as his semblance activated. His skin hardened into an iron-like sheen just in time to absorb the brunt of the impact. The kick slammed into his ribs, the force radiating through his body, but the iron-like markings held. Even so, the blow sent him sprawling to the cobblestones, the sharp ache in his side lingering as he braced himself on one knee.

The crowd murmured in surprise as Aurum stayed low for a moment, his palms pressed against the cool stone. His breathing was shallow but steady, the iron-like sheen of his semblance pulsing faintly. The weight of the two halves of the Dasheng Legacy on his back was a subtle reminder of its presence, its balance a comfort even now. The staff wasn’t in his hands, but its familiar weight grounded him, a quiet symbol of the control he still held.

Inhale. Exhale.

The tension in the air grew thick, the murmurs of the onlookers fading into a dull buzz as Aurum focused inward. Pain lingered in his ribs, but he let it settle into the background. His amber eyes closed for a moment, the world shrinking to the rhythm of his breath. The sharp ache from the kick was nothing new—he’d felt worse in the training fields of his youth, where giants had towered over him and forced him to learn how to rise again.

Finally, he exhaled slowly, his amber eyes snapping open. They gleamed with steady intensity, locking onto Carmine with a focus that made the air between them feel heavier.

He rose deliberately, his towering frame unfolding with a calm, purposeful motion. His tail flicked once behind him, sharp and deliberate, a faint echo of the resolve settling in his chest. The black markings on his arms pulsed faintly before fading back into stillness, leaving behind the iron-like resilience that steadied him.

“You’re strong,” Aurum said, his voice calm and measured, but carrying a quiet weight. “But strength without purpose? That’s just chaos.”

He took a slow, deliberate step forward, his amber eyes locking onto hers. His tail swayed behind him, the brass ring catching the sunlight, but his movements were controlled, measured—no aggression, only resolve. The faint weight of the Dasheng Legacy on his back was ever-present, a reminder of the discipline he carried with him.

“You’ve made your point, Confetti Queen,” he continued, his tone steady but laced with sharpness. “But if you think kicking me down is going to keep me there, you don’t know me.”

He paused, brushing dust from his tunic, his stance solid and unyielding.

“I wasn’t looking for a fight,” Aurum said, his voice firm but not angry, “but if that’s what you want…” He spread his arms slightly, the iron-like markings on his skin glinting faintly in the sunlight. “…you’re going to have to earn it.”

Aurum stood tall, his presence calm yet unrelenting. He didn’t reach for the staff on his back—the weight of it was a steady reassurance, not a weapon to draw without cause. For now, he waited, watching, his resolve unshaken. Whatever came next, he was ready to meet it.

[Carmine Valentina]

The force of the impact sent a reverberating shockwave up Carmine's leg, her foot making contact with something hard and metallic, almost as though she had struck a wall of reinforced steel. She stumbled backward, her balance compromised, though her feet adjusted quickly. The blow hadn't hurt as much as it had unsettled her, leaving her with a flurry of unanswered questions suddenly swimming in her mind, all sparked by the black glint she'd seen peeking from beneath the boy's sleeve.

That gleam had caught her eye before anything else, and it was enough to plant a seed of doubt in her. No normal person could have hardened their body to withstand that kind of force without some kind of semblance or armour. She knew that well enough. Her mind began running through possibilities, quickly narrowing it down. Probably not just a random civilian, then. Maybe a huntsman—or more likely, a student, given his somewhat young appearance—mostly, but it was his eyes that convinced her. There was something too sharp, too aware in them, something not easily forged. No, this boy wasn't just anyone.

She could feel the pulse of excitement build in her chest. This wasn't the time to go easy on things. She knew she had to tread with care. Confronting someone who could possibly possess an ability like that was no joke. One wrong move, and things could get out of hand in a split second. But again, how boring would it be to walk away from a mystery like this?

A smirk tugged the corner of her lips up. He wasn't the only one who could play a dangerous game.

After a beat of silence, Carmine broke it, her voice dripping with a playful sarcasm as she glanced his way, eyes narrowing while weighing her next move. "Do you always act this intimidating and introspective with girls, or am I just lucky?" She let the words hang in the air, challenging him, teasing him, just enough to gauge how he might react.

Smoother than silk, her stance shifted into a fighting pose, muscles coiling in readiness. "Because I have to say," she continued, the grin spreading across her face, "it's really not working." And before he could register the full weight of her words, she moved—a blur, Carmine darting in, her body a swift, fluid motion that closed the gap between them in mere seconds. Her fist shot out in a feint, a mock jab aimed right at his face, meant to test his reflexes and see if he could track her movements.

But it was the stomp that followed, her foot crashing down at an angle toward his knee, meant to destabilise him and throw him off balance; that was the real attack.

"Not. One. Bit." Her voice was low now, dangerous, the playful tone gone and replaced by something far sharper. She wasn't looking for a fight; she was looking for answers, and if she could have some fun along the way, all the better.

[Aurum Dasheng]

Aurum’s amber eyes stayed locked on Carmine, unwavering as her taunts spilled into the air. Her smirk dared him to react, but he remained calm, his tail flicking behind him in a slow, deliberate rhythm. The brass ring near its base caught the sunlight, a subtle counterpoint to her fiery energy. Her sarcasm barely registered as he focused on the minute shifts in her stance, the tension in her muscles betraying her intent.

“Lucky? Maybe,” Aurum said, his tone calm and measured, though a faint trace of wry amusement crept in. “But let’s not overestimate your charm, Confetti Queen.”

She lunged, her movements quick and calculated. The jab came first—a feint aimed squarely at his face. Aurum didn’t budge, his amber eyes tracking her with practiced precision, his body rooted like an immovable pillar. He’d faced enough skilled opponents to know a distraction when he saw one.

Her true attack came swiftly—a stomp aimed at his knee. As her leg shot forward, Aurum twisted his torso, his black-marked forearm descending in a swift arc to intercept her strike. His iron-like semblance flared briefly, absorbing the impact and redirecting her momentum. The motion was seamless, calculated to disrupt without harming, throwing her off balance.

With the opportunity created, Aurum moved with purpose. He stepped into her space, his tail snapping forward with precision. The brass ring near its base glinted as it struck her midsection, a deliberate push designed to force her back and widen the gap between them. The impact staggered her, breaking her rhythm and halting her assault.

As Carmine stumbled back, Aurum straightened, his towering frame looming as he advanced with measured intent. His tail flicked once behind him, the brass ring humming faintly as it settled into its natural sway.

“Didn’t see that coming, did you, Confetti Queen?” he said, his voice calm but carrying a sharp undertone. “You’re fast, but you’re not the only one who knows how to use every tool in a fight.”

He paused, brushing a speck of dust from his tunic before shifting his stance. The weight of the staff on his back gave him temptation, but he made no move to reach for it. His amber eyes gleamed with quiet intensity as he rolled his shoulders and exhaled slowly.

Aurum’s body lowered slightly, his legs spreading into a wide stance as his arms flexed subtly at his sides while his hands didn’t fully close, instead they were flexed and curled slightly as if ready to strike, defend, or even grapple. His tail swayed with a slow, deliberate rhythm, the brass ring catching the light as his posture shifted into a poised readiness. His head tilted forward just enough to cast a shadow over his sharp amber eyes, which burned with focused resolve.

It was the pose of a predator—also known as the Stance of Mount Huaguo.

“If you’re coming at me again,” he said, his voice dropping low and charged with energy. “You’d better make it count.” He had to subdue her before this fight got more out of hand, but his heart was beating loudly and it was happy for a fight.

[Carmine Valentina]

Carmine’s breath caught as she stumbled back from the initial assault, the unexpected blow sending a shock of searing pain coursing through her body. It wasn’t the physical pain that caught her off guard—it was the sheer force of the strike, sharp and precise. The kind of strike that made a seasoned fighter pause, even for just a moment. She gritted her teeth, her hand instinctively pressing against her midsection, but the pain wasn’t enough to break her resolve. It wasn’t weakness she feared showing—it was uncertainty. And that was something Carmine couldn't afford. Not now. Not in front of this stranger.

She refused to let the pain show, pushing through the haze in her mind. Slowly, with controlled movements, she pushed herself back onto her feet. Her body screamed in protest, but she ignored it. Her focus snapped back into place, the rush of adrenaline clearing the fog in her thoughts. She couldn’t allow herself to slip up now. Not when there was so much at stake.

Her gaze flicked downward, her eyes briefly landing on her hidden knife, its cruel gleam taunting her from beneath her jeans. It didn’t matter much, she knew. No, the real issue wasn’t the knife—it was the fact that Reconcile was back in her office, resting safely under Scorpy's watchful eyes. Great timing, Carmine, she thought, grimacing as she steadied herself. The sudden absence of her signature weapon left her feeling strangely unarmed, vulnerable even. This would be a test of her skills and her quick thinking. And her ability to stay cool under pressure. She can’t lose this.

Her pride, her reputation, her father’s expectations—they were all wrapped up in this moment. You’re not stupid, she reminded herself, recalling the many encounters with Huntsmen and competitors that had sharpened her instincts. A direct assault was out of the question. The boy’s posture, that subtle, almost imperceptible shift—he was preparing for a fight. And not just any fight. His stance said it all. He’s got some skill, Carmine thought. But so do I.

Carmine’s sharp eyes darted across the area, instinctively seeking something—anything—that might tip the odds in her favour. Her mind clicked through the possible tools of her environment. She scanned the empty market stalls, and then, just as her pulse quickened, she saw it: the cricket bat leaning casually against one of the stalls, its wooden shaft worn but sturdy. It wasn’t Reconcile, but it would do.

Her hand reached for the gravel and the debris scattered beneath her, her fingers quickly sifting through the mess. She charged small rocks with her aura, focusing just enough energy to make them more than just projectiles—they would be distractions, each one a potential smoke bomb. The rocks in her palm vibrated with the hum of her aura, and she could feel the buildup, the power. With a sharp exhale, she flung the rocks into the air. Some exploded mid-flight, detonating in a violent shower of sparks and dust. Others hit with a satisfying thunk upon impact, scattering debris that created a thick, smothering cloud of smoke. The air turned foul and dense with dust, obscuring her movements from the boy’s line of sight. It was the perfect cover, and she wasted no time.

She ducked low, moving with purpose. The gravel underfoot crunched softly beneath her sandals as she darted toward the stall. Her fingers wrapped around the cricket bat, her grip tight and firm. The weight felt good in her hands, like a weapon she had used countless times before—though its form was simple, it was still a tool of opportunity. The bat wasn’t just for hitting; it could be a strike to the head, a swift jab to the kidneys, or even a deflection against a heavy blow.

The smoke settled around her like a shroud, and Carmine took a deep breath. She could feel the boy’s presence nearby, his footsteps silent but deliberate. She prepared herself, eyes narrowing, waiting for him to make the next move. She wouldn’t strike unless it was certain, unless it counted. Her mind raced through every scenario—would he come at her head-on? Or try to surprise her from behind? Either way, she was ready. She had to be.