Fate's Wild Card Ch.8 (Released)

AN: I decided that I will re-post the chapter after they complete the early access period so people don't miss out on new chapters. However, their votes will be added here at the end notes so to not be confusion

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Yes, he is going to confront her and clear things out so he can feel at ease, because her poor spying is getting on his nerves.

And sneaking another glance he confirms that she is the same girl with the bow from the airship, and Pryce feels like this could become a problem. He doesn't want to deal with any drama or misunderstanding later that might be born from this, because she is probably thinking something bad or she is confusing him with another person. And a false accusation could fuck him over, knowing the asshole, so he absolutely doesn't want one.

But first he lets out a sigh, slumping his shoulders as he probably missed out on an opportunity but still starts walking over to her, who still has her face hiding behind that book, pretending that she has never been spying on him. And she is seriously bad at pretending, it's even giving him second hand embarrassment.

However, the girl with the bow lowers the book a little and he notices that her eyes are widening as if she's been caught red-handed and her bow visibly twitches which catches Pryce's full attention to the point of slowing his pace. His rabbit's ears stand straight up in alert—that bow moved like it had something living beneath it. That brief hesitation is enough for the spy to spin on her heels and walk in the direction of the academy building at a fast pace, causing him to get annoyed. But at the same time confirming his initial thoughts, he must catch up with her.

Pryce starts following her, rather determined to catch her and confront or at least clear things out because he doesn't want to leave a potential loose end. No stranger has any business watching him like that unless they want something from him—or worse, they know something about him.

But whenever he is closing distance, she increases her speed again, still pretending that she is reading her book. Like a game of cat and mouse where neither wants to admit they're playing.

Just as they are reaching the small plaza, he finally decides to call her out. "Hey!" he shouts, his voice sharper than intended, making a few nearby applicants turn their heads.

And that seems to be her cue to finally drop all pretense and make a run for it and disappear, leaving him behind confused and annoyed. And all that he can do is to let out a groan, scratching his head.

He probably should have just run and caught her arm. Still, he grows very suspicious of her. Her bow twitched. That's not something bows normally do, it is eerily similar to what his own ears do when they are trapped under a hood or beanie. Plus, the way she kept watching him specifically...

Something's off about that girl, and in his experience, people who act suspicious around him usually mean trouble. Could she be connected to the woman who hired him? A spy sent to keep tabs on him? Or maybe she recognized him from some job he pulled in Vale? Or maybe she is from Mistral? The criminal elements there have long memories and even longer reach.

Whatever the case, he makes a mental note to keep an eye out for her. The last thing he needs is someone digging into his past or reporting back to someone he doesn't want to deal with. He's worked too hard to get this far—a fresh start shouldn't come with old baggage.

With a frustrated sigh, he walks toward the main building. 

He's wasted enough time already, and must go to the auditorium for the whole initiation thing. A very easy and quick feat since he finds the auditorium as it is the only place where he can see people gathering so he just follows the rest and goes inside and finds a spot in the crowd where he waits for whatever announcement or talk or whatever. 

However, after a quick scan of the room he ends up finding Pyrrha patiently and fully attentive waiting for the whole thing to start. Which is great, but sadly he cannot move over to her as the area around her is fully occupied. So he tries to look around for anything or anyone that stands out in his eyes but nobody really seems to fit that high profile, neither can he find that girl with the bow, so he crosses his arms and waits as well.

His ears twitch occasionally, picking up random snippets of conversation from the crowd around him—nervous people speculating about the initiation mostly, and others boasting about their strength or their Grimm kill count, the usual teenager bullshit.

Nothing useful.

After a while the asshole Ozpin and Glynda arrive and walk together to the center of the large scenario and he taps the mic before he starts talking. "You have traveled here today in search of knowledge, to hone your craft and acquire new skills, and when you have finished, you plan to dedicate your life to the protection of the people."

Huh, no grand and flowery introduction.

But Pryce can't help but notice how different his tone is from when they first met in that interrogation room. Gone is the manipulative edge, replaced with something almost... bored? Rehearsed?

"But I look amongst you, and all I see is wasted energy, in need of purpose, direction. You assume knowledge will free you of this, but your time at this school will prove that knowledge can only carry you so far. It is up to you to take the first step."

And he stops talking after that.

Pryce blinks, as he didn't expect the speech would be that short. No threats, no false charges, no "join my academy or else" this time. Just vague philosophical bullshit.

And probably is a sentiment shared by everyone present as they exchange glances between themselves which seem to play on that old man as he merely takes one step back and starts walking away from the scenario, using his cane with every step. Almost immediately Glynda takes over the mic, both hands behind her back as she gives her announcement.

"We will gather at the ballroom tonight. Tomorrow, your initiation begins. You are dismissed."

Direct to the point, at least.

But the announcement surprises him a little as he didn't expect to spend the night at Beacon, but then again it makes sense why Qrow told him to pack up a set of pajamas.

After the woman finishes, it is the signal for everyone to slowly leave the auditorium in semi orderly fashion but Pryce stays behind waiting as to not be squished in the crowd that will inevitably form at the exit. So in the meantime he tries to go look for Pyrrha and stick with her, as the original plan, but much to his annoyance she is nowhere to be seen, so that can only mean that she was among the first to leave.

That is a bummer.

His ears flick back in frustration—losing track of the one person he'd made a connection with. Maybe she's avoiding the crowd too, just like him, but took a different exit?

"I-I'm a natural blonde, you know?" his ears pick up a voice from his right and he turns around out of curiosity and finds the same group of girls from earlier all gathered together. The source of the line is a tall blonde girl with long hair tied in a single long braid, wearing an incomplete set of chest plate over a black hoodie, who's clearly trying—and failing—to flirt with the same Atlesian white-haired snob from earlier who looks like she'd rather be anywhere else.

Pryce snorts quietly at the pathetic attempt at flirting. At least buy her a drink although by the looks of the Atlesian bitch, she very likely is going to splash that drink on her.

He considers moving on, but something about the interaction makes him stay to watch more. Maybe it's the trainwreck quality of it all so he stays.

The blonde girl is clearly not reading the room as she steps slightly closer to the Atlesian, who takes an immediate step back with an expression that's somewhere between disgust and disbelief.

"So, I was thinking maybe we could study together once we pass the initiation? I'm great at... um... holding flashcards?" The blonde offers with what she probably thinks is a charming smile, but comes across more as desperate.

Pryce can't help but lean against a nearby pillar, crossing his arms as he settles in for the show. 

The rich, snobby girl's eye twitches visibly. "I have a personalized study regimen that has been carefully crafted by top Atlas instructors. I don't need... flashcards. Or your help." She spits the last word like it is venom.

But the blonde is persistent, if nothing else. She strikes what is clearly meant to be a heroic pose, one hand on her hip and the other pointing to the ceiling. "Did I mention I slayed an Ursa Major single-handedly in my hometown? The mayor there called me the 'Guardian of Arc Valley'!"

Even from his position, Pryce can tell it's a complete lie. The blonde has the combat instincts of a startled rabbit—not the quick, smart kind like him, but the frozen-in-headlights variety. He's seen enough street hustlers trying to talk themselves up to recognize the desperate tells—the slightly too-wide stance, the way her voice pitches higher on the made-up title, the nervous shifting of her weight.

At this point, a girl with wild yellow hair steps in, barely containing her laughter. "Oh really? An Ursa Major? Tell us more about this incredible feat!" Her tone is dripping with amused sarcasm that the other blonde completely misses.

"Well, it was a dark and stormy night..." she begins dramatically, while the white-haired girl looks ready to stab herself with her own weapon just to escape the situation.

"And let me guess, you heroically saved a village of orphans too?" The yellow-haired girl prompts, now openly giggling.

"H-How did you know?" The blonde squeaks, genuinely surprised, while attempting to flex what little muscle she has through her hoodie.

Pryce has to stifle a laugh. This isn't just bad—it's masterpiece level terrible. He's told some convincing lies in his day—had to, for survival—but this shit is amateur hour. The only thing missing is claiming to have defeated a Nevermore with just a slingshot.

"This is preposterous!" The rich snob finally snaps, throwing her hands in exasperation. "I don't have time for these childish fabrications!"

And she storms off, her expensive heels clicking rapidly against the floor, each step practically screaming privilege and disdain. The kind of walk that says she's never had to sneak anywhere in her life—always taking up space because the world's taught her she deserves it.

The clumsy blonde looks crushed, shoulders slumping forward as she watches her "romantic prospect" disappear into the crowd. Pryce almost feels sorry for her. Almost.

Noticing that the crowd has mostly dispersed and emptied the building, Pryce pushes himself off the wall and leaves the auditorium to explore the academy, as he initially planned, before going to the ballroom. Stepping outside the building he separates from the group and picks a random direction which leads him toward one of the many sprawling courtyards that dot the campus.

The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the immaculate stone pathways as he walks around, eyes constantly scanning and assessing. With no real destination in mind, he begins to map the place in his head, an old habit that he appreciates. He pulls out his scroll and starts taking pictures, not of every place, but those that he deems important or tactically useful.

Beacon's architecture is imposing yet elegant, with soaring spires that seem to pierce the clouds themselves. The main tower dominates the skyline, surrounded by smaller buildings connected by covered walkways and open plazas. Stone arches and flying buttresses create natural shadows—perfect hiding spots or vantage points, he notes mentally. Every courtyard has at least three exits, he observes, cataloging each one in his mental map.

The gardens are meticulously maintained, with hedges trimmed into perfect geometric shapes that could either provide cover or block escape routes, depending on the situation. Ornamental trees line the wider pathways, their branches thick enough to support someone of his weight if climbing ever became necessary. Water features punctuate various sections of the campus—a fountain here, a small pond there—all fed by an intricate system of channels that converge somewhere beneath the academy.

Whoever built this place went above and beyond.

He probably spent some time doing laps around the exteriors like that, mapping the place in his head while pretending to be just another future student impressed by the grandeur of it all. His scroll fills with seemingly innocent snapshots that are actually documenting guard positions, camera placements, entry points to various buildings, and the height of certain walls that might need scaling someday.

The academy is massive, with sprawling courtyards, ornate towers, and fountains that probably cost more than everything he's ever stolen combined. A far cry from the cold streets of Mistral or the cramped quarters of Vale's less reputable neighborhoods. The grass alone is unnaturally perfect—no brown patches, no weeds—the kind of pristine landscape that only comes from money and excessive maintenance.

One particularly secluded garden catches his attention, hidden behind a row of meticulously shaped topiaries. It's smaller than the others, with a single bench positioned beneath a cherry blossom tree. The pathway leading to it is narrow and partially obscured—a perfect spot for some secretive meetings or simply avoiding unwanted company. 

He makes special note of this location.

As the sun begins to dip lower on the horizon, casting everything in a golden-orange glow, Pryce's rabbit ears twitch at the distant sound of a bell. He wonders about the insides of the classrooms or dormitories, imagining they must be just as opulent as the exterior. Maybe later tonight he could "accidentally" get lost and do some interior exploring as well.

But then he feels a little hungry, and he hasn't packed some snacks with him so he turns around to go looking for a cafeteria or a corner store to get a quick bite. The direction of most student foot traffic seems promising, so he follows it, cutting across a smaller garden with stone benches and what looks like a memorial statue. His ears pick up the buzz of conversations ahead, possibly indicating food.

He walks some distance, turning a corner without looking, too focused on the rumbling of his stomach.

And then he ends up crashing against somebody and hearing a yelp. Even with the crash he doesn't stumble or fall back so he frowns and gets annoyed, ready to lash out—because obviously it wasn't his fault—however that annoyance and anger is replaced by surprise when he realizes it is the Atlesian bitch from earlier.

She stumbles back from the impact rubbing her head, a small case falling from her hands scattering some tubes across the floor. Her pale face flushes red—whether from embarrassment or immediate anger, he can't quite tell yet. The contents of her case—expensive-looking vials of dust much better than the ones he saw earlier.

"Why don't you watch where you're—" she begins with the same haughty tone she used on the blonde earlier, but stops mid-sentence as her ice-blue eyes lock onto him, his black rabbit ears to be more specific. Her expression shifts, a flicker of something—surprise? recognition?—crossing her features before settling back into annoyance.

The way she looks at his ears makes him face contort into a frown because he's seen countless times before. The look that says she's just realized she's dealing with a faunus, and thinking exactly how much contempt to show.

"Typical," she mutters under her breath, but loud enough for his ears to catch. "I suppose I shouldn't expect any better from one of your kind. Always rushing about with no regard for others or proper decorum."

One of his kind?

She bends down to gather her scattered belongings, her movements precise and dignified despite being on her knees picking up items from the ground. Each vial is handled with the care of someone who knows exactly how much it all costs. She sends him a glare, her blue eyes as cold as winter.

"Faunus from Mistral, I presume? That would explain the lack of manners. All ruffians and troublemakers." Her tone drips with contempt as she continues, "Atlas Academy would never tolerate such uncouth behavior. At Beacon, I expected at least some basic standard of conduct, but clearly I was mistaken."

That ticks him off immediately. His brow narrows dangerously, his eyes hardening as he scans his surroundings while pretending to still listen to the bitch's ranting. His ears twitch slightly, picking up no sounds of approaching footsteps or nearby conversations.

Nobody is around. 

Nobody to witness anything. Almost like everything is falling into place. The sun has dipped lower now, casting longer shadows across the secluded pathway they're standing in.

Perfect.

The Atlesian girl continues, completely oblivious to the shift in his demeanor, still gathering her belongings while ranting. Her voice carries that distinctive upper-class Atlas accent, each syllable perfectly enunciated as if she's been trained since birth to sound superior.

"Perhaps Beacon's standards have fallen if they're accepting applicants who can't even watch where they're going. A future Huntsman needs to be aware of their surroundings at all times. That's the first lesson my private instructors taught me. But I suppose not everyone has had the benefit of proper education-ah?!"

Consequences be damned.

Her words cut off with a startled yelp as Pryce suddenly moves. In one fluid motion, he yanks her outstretched hand and throws her against the nearby wall, not hard enough to hurt but with enough force to shock. Her dust case clatters to the ground again, this time staying closed. His palm slams against the stone next to her head, caging her in as he leans forward, close enough that he is sure that she can feel his breath on her face.

"Listen carefully, princess," he growls, adopting a different tone, the kind of tone he'd perfected in Mistral's back alleys. "I don't take shit from entitled Atlesians who think they're better than everyone else. You want to talk about proper training? I learned to fight to survive, not because daddy paid for fancy tutors. You don't know me. You don't know where I come from or what I've had to do to get here. So mind your fucking tone with me before I decide to show how things are handled."

The girl's eyes widen in shock, all her previous bravado and bitchy attitude evaporating instantly. She presses herself further against the wall, as if trying to melt into it. Her face, previously flushed with anger, now pales as she looks up at him, suddenly very aware of the height difference between them. The expensive perfume she's wearing—something floral and definitely out of his price range—mixes with the scent of her fear.

Despite her obvious fear, something flashes in her eyes—a brief moment of defiance, as if some part of her refuses to be completely cowed. "You—you can't just—this is completely inappropriate conduct for—" she attempts to maintain her composure, but her voice wavers.

Pryce quickly notices her trembling slightly, her hands clutching her dust case so tightly her knuckles turn white. Her ice-blue eyes dart around, searching for an escape or maybe even hoping for help. The scar across her left eye seems more pronounced now against her pale skin.

"I—I'll scream," she stammers, trying to sound threatening but failing miserably. The quiver in her voice betrays her fear. "Someone will—will hear and—and you'll be expelled before initiation even begins. I know people—"

"They aren’t here now, are they?" Pryce cuts her off, his voice dangerously soft. "Just you and me, princess."

Too Easy.

Pryce smirks, amused at how quickly this armed Huntress-in-training was reduced to a stuttering mess. Neo's strange advice about intimidation tactics was proving very useful indeed. It's almost too easy—like flipping a switch on these sheltered rich types who've never had their precious bubble of privilege popped before. They talk big until someone actually pushes back, then they crumble like a house of cards.

Now how should he finish this?

According to his girlfriend it needs to leave a lasting impression.

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AN: Early Weiss was a bitch.

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