Homeless Bunny 4 (Patreon)

Homeless Bunny 4

“Tianyu~” I heard the twins cry out as they jumped down from the second floor. Their auras flared briefly upon landing but they didn’t care in the least. The pair rushed over to take their seats at the bar and stared eagerly at me as I made the finishing touches on a spinach, tomato, and feta frittata. “Morning~”

Junior was already seated at the bar, nursing a large mug of coffee. He had the morning paper loaded up on his scroll and a binder full of briefs from his various contacts on the counter. He raised his mug to the twins in silent greeting. “I swear, those two never woke up before noon before you came around.”

“Yeah, well, no one cooks like he does,” Mil said matter-of-factly.

“Damn straight,” I nodded. There were few things I took unconditional pride in, but cooking was at the top of that list. “Divine Chef. The title is earned.”

It’d been two weeks since I arrived in Vale, a mere blink for an immortal, but much had changed in that time. Junior had sent out feelers, even reaching out to several experts at Vale University to gather information on legends and myths from back when the four kingdoms were monarchies in truth. The twins had completely shed their haughty, aloof personas in favor of trying to cozy up to me for more food, not that that was anything new. They even started looking up different recipes online, daring me to improve on them.

They’d yet to find a recipe I couldn’t upstage in some way. I was the best chef in the world before my century of experience cooking for gods, thank you very much. I wasn’t about to take an L from some upjumped online blogger. I’d die of shame.

Their faces lit up as I slid three plates of frittata over to them. The eggs were fluffy and mild, the tomatoes sweetened with an extra hint of wood qi and spinach blanched ever so briefly to get out a bit of the irony taste before being dried and added to the final product. The feta was crumbly and added a wonderful contrast to the rest, setting an exquisite balance that’d satisfy even the fabled God’s Tongue.

Coupled with a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, and whole wheat toast, it made for a hearty yet healthy breakfast that even the weight-conscious twins couldn’t deny.

I watched them stuff themselves for a minute, delighting in a job well done.

When we were finished, Junior dug around in his pocket and slid over a card, my card. “Here, got you something. My contact finally came through with your city ID. You are officially Tianyu Yue, sole survivor of a rural village that was wiped out by grimm. Your parents were locally trained amateur huntsmen who unlocked your aura for security reasons.”

I looked at the picture. It was one taken two weeks ago. Mel had forced one of her chokers on me, saying it’d make me look “punk.” I humored her with the grace of a centenarian humoring a little girl.

Then I read more closely. “Junior? Why does this thing say I’m seventeen?”

“Ah, well… Look, you’ve got the mother of all babyfaces. My guy couldn’t swing anything older than seventeen and even that’s pushing it.”

“He’s got you there, fluffy,” Mil said with a poorly hidden smirk. “You’re short.”

“And adorable,” Mel added.

“With big, red eyes like a baby’s.”

“And huge, floppy ears that make people think you’re even younger than you look already.”

“Seriously, and everyone says we look young for our age.”

“Yeah, totes not fair.”

I sighed. The twins were right. Whereas they looked like they were in their mid-teens but were actually in their early twenties, I looked like I could be anywhere from twelve to seventeen and was fucking immortal. It couldn’t be helped. I could wear a glamor all day every day, but that was a hassle. I had more important things to think about than trying to remember whether or not I put on magic makeup in the morning, like figuring out what I wanted to cook for breakfast.

“Fine, everyone’s bullying me today,” I grumped. “I’m surprised you didn’t go with the bastard Schnee thing.”

“Hah! You think I want that kinda heat on me?” Junior scoffed. “No way, man. Besides, they have a unique inherited semblance.”

“That they get from their mother, right?” I nodded. Then, with a wave of my hand, I flexed my qi and willed it into the visible spectrum. A golden light bloomed from my hand, expanding to form the wu xing elements framing the yin and yang in the iconic pentagram. “There, see that? I have their glyphs.”

It was the “Semblance” I’d decided on. I couldn’t just bust out an Authority without drawing more attention than I wanted, but I also had no intention of not being, well, me. I figured using a “glyph” like the Schnees would be a fair compromise. I’d picked up a fair bit of both western and eastern sorcery over the years and knew I’d have no trouble replicating dust-casting.

The bastard Schnee thing was a long-running joke between us now. After I gave them a brief demonstration of what I could do with the five elements, they genuinely started to question my lineage for a while.

“I swear, your Semblance is such bullshit,” Junior said, head shaking. “Thanks for patching up my boys the other day, really saved me on the hospital bills.”

“Don’t rely on it,” I warned. I wasn’t blind. They were criminals, even if I did have them wrapped around my pinky with my cooking. I gave them good food, as my honor as a chef demanded, but I never strengthened them beyond mortal nutrition. “I’m a chef, not a doctor. If I find your men did something unforgivable, the cops will be the least of their worries.”

“Yeah, they know. No murder, no rape, no children. Trust me, they’re my rules too. It’s just bad for business.”

“Good.”

“Bo-ring~” Mel yawned exaggeratedly. She flipped her long hair over her shoulder. “Can we talk about something other than gang talk?”

“Well, Mel, I did read up on some interesting folktales.”

“Ugh, no offense, but that’s a really lame hobby.”

“Hey, you can learn a lot from stories like that.”

“If you figure out how to make me a Seasonal Maiden, let me know,” Mel said dryly.

I rolled my eyes. That had been one of the first stories Junior found for me, and the one I considered to be the most likely to be valid. There were too many stories of young heroines appearing to save the day across history and continents for there to be no truth in them. It seemed likely to me that they existed and belonged to a secret sorority of elementalists, probably with powers and teachings passed down from mother to daughter.

That I could easily anoint the girls with similar powers went unsaid. They were cute in that bratty little sister sort of way, but I didn’t think I could trust them to be responsible with powers beyond mortal reckoning.

“So,” Miltiades, the more thoughtful twin, interjected before Mel and I could dive into our old argument. “Anything planned, fluffy?”

“Ehh, not much. I’m still thinking about new dessert recipes. Maybe something to help people cool down after dancing all night?” I mused.

Junior, after countless people complaining about not having enough seating space to eat my cooking, had greatly expanded the dining area. The dance floor now competed evenly for floor space with the dining area and the second floor was all but converted into semi-secluded booths for romantic dinners. My presence had turned his club into the biggest underground attraction overnight.

“Like what? Ice cream? Parfait? Some kind of cocktail?” Mil asked. She was the quiet one, but had a massive sweet tooth that never failed to get her out of her shell.

“I don’t know. I have lots of ideas but only so many I can put on the menu. How about you three try my creations over lunch and pick your favorites?”

“Yes!” The twins cheered, giving each other a high five.

“You’re spoiling them,” Junior said, eyes rolling.

“You don’t need to be here if you’re busy being the best information broker in Vale,” I replied snidely.

“Hell no. You save me a piece.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

X

“Hiyaa!” Melanie cried as she brought her bladed heel down on Miltiades. She missed, but immediately pivoted to turn that ax kick into a donkey kick at her sister’s kidney.

Miltiades, not missing a beat, caught the blow with her claws, taking a half-step back to bleed off momentum. She wrenched her hand to the side, the twin prongs of her claws catching her sister’s single blade and twisting her foot.

Taking full advantage of her sister’s momentary distraction, Mil lashed out in a series of slashes and stabs that left the air sizzling in her wake. It was so fast that several of the Xiong Family’s mooks could only watch in dumbfounded awe at their enforcer’s speed.

Mel allowed her leg to fold, collapsing to the ground bonelessly to avoid the worst of her sister’s attacks, before turning the fall into a backwards cartwheel that lashed twin uppercuts with her bladed heels. It would have gutted a man from crotch to throat had even one strike found their mark.

This was their routine during the day. They had to keep their skills sharp apparently so they repurposed the dance floor into a sparring ring. They had their scrolls hooked up to the TV so if one of their auras dropped too low, they’d know.

I watched placidly as they went back and forth. The tide of battle ebbed and flowed like the sea. It was rhythmic, like a dance. In my hands was a large bowl of ice cream, still being stirred for maximum fluffiness. I decided to get a little exotic and settled for vanilla with shards of candied ginger, cinnamon, and nutmeg. Familiar, but with a unique kick of class.

Finally, a chiming noise rang through the club’s speakers. Melanie had won this bout, though as far as I could tell, it was more by luck than skill. The two were evenly matched and it really could have gone to Miltiades just as easily.

The two walked up to me, tired but satisfied.

“So, what’d you think?” Melanie asked, a confident smirk on her lips.

I continued stirring. “Depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether you want my honest critique or flattery.”

She placed her hands on her hips. “Oh? Do tell.”

“Alright then. Mediocre,” I said truthfully. I wasn’t comparing the twins to Luo Hao, I wasn’t that unreasonable, but to Yinghua. Laura. Rob. Jabra. Hell, even Maeve when she shaped up a bit and quit being a useless alcoholic. I could see the heavy frowns on their faces. “To clarify, it’s clear that you’re extremely well-trained as far as people who aren’t professional huntsmen go. You know what the other will do, to the point that you sometimes start moving before the other even begins to attack. And that’s a huge problem.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“As a team? Nothing. It’s beautiful. When you’re sparring against each other though? You’re too familiar with your other half that it’s hampering your growth. At this point, I don’t think you’re learning anything as much as you are engraving into your bodies the ins and outs of fighting other people like yourselves. You’ll be much less successful against other fighting styles.”

Miltiades huffed. “Well we can’t do much about that.”

“Wasn’t finished. Though you’re both very skilled, it’s clear that neither of you have much talent for combat. You’re better than average, but that’s all. You compensate for a lack of innate talent with teamwork and I’d imagine it works for you most of the time, but you could do much better if you sharpened your movements more.

“You both have too much flair and not enough substance. There were points in your spar when either of you could have ended it decisively but chose to grandstand and pose for half a second. You’re not on a runway; you’re fighting. End it. That kind of showboating implies you’re used to the other twin attacking during your brief lull to keep you safe from retaliation. It’s really not doing you any favors.

“Lastly, I’ve noticed that you’re both horribly short on breath. Endurance really isn’t your strong suit because, again, you count on each other to buy time so you can catch your breath mid-fight. This works for you both because you’re usually fighting gangbangers who are little more than civilians. If they have aura, I’d bet their training is even worse than yours. Okay, now I’m done.”

The twins’ faces shifted from shock to rage. Their normally beautiful, pale skin took on tinges of ruddy red. Melanie scoffed. “Yeah? What do you know about fighting?”

“Yeah, you’re a chef, fluffy,” Miltiades huffed.

“What do I know of fighting?” I asked. What did I know indeed? It wasn’t like I was trained by the greatest martial mistress in history, developed a personal martial art based on the phases of the moon, fought dozens of deities, and helped murder the King of the End or anything. “I loathe fighting.”

“Then you don’t get to talk. Just make your ice cream.”

“Oh, no. I get it. The thrill of combat, the flow of battle. The feeling of accomplishment and fulfillment as you cross blades with a worthy foe. The sheer, unadulterated validation of life as you stand victorious over the corpse of an obstacle you thought you could never overcome. I get it. I loathe fighting because I loathe bullies and fighting weaklings makes me feel like a bully.”

The twins fell silent at the pure conviction in my voice. My first love was cooking, but it wasn’t as though I couldn’t understand a warrior’s heart. How could I not with a wife like Luo Hao? Combat was in my nature as a Campione and I had been honed to a razor edge by the best of the best.

Melanie took in a fortifying breath. “Yeah? Prove it. You think you’re so tough? Let’s dance, bunny.”

I sighed and stood. “I suppose after a speech like that, I can’t blame you for calling me out. Fine, I will trade pointers with you, just this once.” I called over a gang member and thrust the bowl full of ice cream into his hand. “Don’t stop churning. Keep it in the ice bath. If you stop, I’ll kill you.”

So saying, I stepped onto the dance floor.

Author’s Note

Huh, I’m having way more fun with this than I expected. You know what? I’ll probably make another few chapters over the next month, see where it gets me. Right now, the big question is whether or not I want Tianyu to stay with Junior or go to Beacon to fuck with the main cast. Both could be fun in their own way.