Chapter Text
Three days flew by at The Old Drunkard. Three days in which Wise proved that, even if he didn't know how to throw a punch, his brain operated on a completely different level than anyone else's in The Border.
Madame Anne stood behind the bar, observing the premises with a mix of absolute surprise and slight bewilderment. She rubbed her eyes, wondering if the desert heat was finally making her see mirages. The bar no longer looked like the usual run-down joint. The wooden floor, which used to be sticky with cheap alcohol and coated in layers of sand, now reflected the light from the oil lamps. The rustic glass windows let the sunlight through without a single smudge of grease, and the reinforced metal tables and chairs looked disturbingly bright and clean.
But what truly left Anne speechless was the liquor shelf. Wise stood right in front of it, placing the final bottle with millimetric precision.
"Kid..." Madame Anne managed to say, walking over to him. "I've run this bar for years, but I've never in my life seen anything like this. What did you do to my bottles?"
Wise turned, adjusting his worn long coat, which now felt more comfortable, and gave her a soft, calm smile.
"Oh, I just reorganized them following a logical order," he explained matter-of-factly, as if sorting video tapes back on Sixth Street. "The top shelves hold distilled spirits with an alcohol volume of seventy percent and above. The middle row is reserved for the forty to sixty percent range, and the bottom ones are for light fermented beverages. Additionally, I sorted them from left to right based on their density and origin. This will make serving customers twelve percent more efficient."
Anne blinked, completely stunned by how systematic and orderly the young Proxy was.
"It's... disturbingly clean, dear," the bar owner admitted, letting out a soft laugh. "The customers are going to think they walked into Ryan's clinic by mistake. But I can't complain, this place has never had this much order."
At that moment, the heavy creak of the bar's double doors interrupted the conversation. The blistering desert air swept into the peaceful, gleaming atmosphere of The Old Drunkard once again, signaling that Wise's quiet days had come to an end.
The door flew open with a sharp thud. The silhouette of a young woman, framed against the blinding glare of the desert, stepped inside, dragging a massive canvas net with one hand. It was packed with scrap metal, fuel jerrycans, and a couple of rusted engines that clanked heavily against the wooden floor.
The moment she crossed the threshold, the girl froze. Her gaze swept the room, pausing over the spotless tables, transparent windows, and bottles aligned with millimetric precision. She dropped the heavy bag of loot, causing a dull thud that shattered the silence, and blinked several times in disbelief.
"What the hell...?" Love muttered to herself, taking a step back to look out at the street and then back inside. "Did I walk into the wrong joint? Since when does this dump shine?"
"My sweet girl! You're finally back!" Madame Anne's cheerful voice broke the spell. The bar owner rushed out from behind the counter and wrapped her daughter in a warm, tight embrace.
It took Love only a second to react. A wide, genuine smile wiped the confusion from her face as she returned her mother's embrace with equal force, lifting her a few inches off the ground with an ease that did not go unnoticed by Wise.
"Hey, Mom. Missed you," the young woman said, resting her chin on her mother's shoulder before they pulled apart. "Got some good parts from the periphery of the Hollow. But seriously... what happened to the bar? It smells clean. It's terrifying."
Madame Anne let out a bright laugh and turned around, pointing proudly to the young man watching the scene from the liquor shelf.
"He gets all the credit. Love, meet Wise."
Wise took a couple of steps forward, maintaining his usual composure. Even as he internally analyzed the girl's impressive physical strength, he offered a slight bow of his head.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Love. My name is Wise," he greeted with impeccable politeness and gentleness, completely foreign to the rough manners of The Border.
The young woman observed him in silence for a brief second. Her gaze, previously full of energy and fierce determination from her trip, turned entirely neutral. She relaxed her shoulders, crossed her arms, and nodded, responding in a way that completely contrasted with the bone-breaking reputation her mother had described.
"Hi, Wise. Good job with the bar," she returned the greeting in a calm, direct, and serene tone.
That flat voice, free of hostility but entirely lacking emotional fluff, struck Wise's memory like lightning. For an instant, The Old Drunkard and the suffocating desert heat vanished from his mind. That way of speaking, so pragmatic and cool in front of a stranger, immediately reminded him of his dear friend from the Cunning Hares, Anby Demara. The similarity in temperament brought such a wave of nostalgia that Wise felt a tightening in his chest, briefly missing the burgers, the classic movies, and the missions back in New Eridu alongside her.
Madame Anne, oblivious to the Proxy's thoughts, broke the silence by clapping her hands enthusiastically.
"Perfect! Now that you know each other, let's get straight to the point," the bar owner announced, looking at her daughter. "Love, this boy survived an Ether shrapnel blast, but he has no tech, no money, and he's looking for a way back home. Ryan gave him a weapon, but he doesn't even know how to hold it. He needs you to teach him how to defend himself and survive in The Border."
Love averted her gaze from her mother and locked her serene eyes back onto Wise, analyzing him from head to toe. She kept quiet for a few moments, processing the request. Leaning against the wooden counter while maintaining that same coolness, she fixed her neutral eyes on the young man.
"Training someone from scratch takes time and resources—two things we don't have to spare in The Border," Love said calmly. "What's in it for my mother and me if I decide to help you?"
Wise didn't hesitate. His Proxy brain had already calculated that variable during his three days of cleaning. He took a step forward and slid his hands into his trouser pockets.
"I can take complete charge of running The Old Drunkard," Wise proposed in a soft yet confident voice. "Over the past few days, I noticed that the management of accounts, income, and expenses is handled very informally. If you allow me, I can optimize the finances. That will provide a clear profit margin to remodel the establishment and, eventually, elevate the bar's reputation among the travelers and merchants crossing the desert. More high-end clients mean more money and better information for everyone."
Madame Anne's eyes widened, pleasantly surprised by the offer. Love, on the other hand, arched an eyebrow. The boy's logic was flawless, worthy of a manager from the big city.
"Organizing the numbers and bringing in merchants sounds great, Wise," Love admitted, giving a slight nod. "But there's a flaw in your equation. If the bar's reputation goes up and more outsiders come in, it also means a drastic increase in bar fights because of drunks and thugs wanting to mark their territory."
Love took a step toward him, crossing her arms as she held his steady gaze.
"More customers means more chaos. You're walking a tightrope; if you don't know how to defend yourself, you'll be the first one smashed against this shiny floor you just cleaned."
Wise listened to Love's objection with absolute attention. Far from being intimidated, his eyes reflected a spark of concentration. His brain was already processing the risk of increased thugs and rowdy drunks. He took a step forward, lowering his tone to sound as persuasive and logical as possible.
"That exact problem is precisely why your training is the key piece to solving this, Love," Wise explained, gesturing smoothly with his hands. "If the bar prospers and attracts more people, chaos is inevitable. But look at it this way: an efficient business doesn't just need a manager behind the counter; it needs a solid security front. If you teach me to keep a cold mind under pressure, use firearms with precision, and master the basic fundamentals of hand-to-hand combat, I will stop being a liability or a probable casualty."
Love didn't interrupt. She kept listening to him, weighing every word. The young Proxy continued, detailing his strategic plan:
"I don't expect to become an invincible warrior in a couple of weeks—I know that's impossible. But if I can learn enough to defend myself, I can cover your blind spots. While you handle the most dangerous thugs, I can neutralize smaller threats or contain disturbances before they escalate. That way, the bar won't just gain a reputation for good management and organized liquor, but for being a place where troublemakers are handled instantly. You gain a trusted partner in security, your mother gets a remodeled and thriving business, and I get the tools to survive. It's a perfect mutual benefit."
Madame Anne, watching both of them from the counter, brought a hand to her mouth, completely marveled by the eloquence and level of detail with which the city boy had structured the proposal.
Love remained silent for a few long, tense seconds, staring directly into Wise's eyes. She analyzed his posture: firm, resolute, with no trace of arrogance or selfish fear. Finally, the young woman dropped her arms, exhaled a slow breath, and a subtle, almost imperceptible spark of respect crossed her neutral gaze.
However, Love gave no warning. In the blink of an eye, she closed the distance between them and drove a swift, dry punch straight into Wise's abdomen.
Wise's instincts, forged during those afternoon training sessions with his mentor Yixuan, reacted before his conscious mind could even process it. He managed to cross his hands in front of his torso just in time, bracing for the impact. Yet, the raw power behind Love's fist was staggering; the force crushed his own hands back against his stomach, sending him staggering a step backward.
Wise doubled over slightly, resting a hand on one of the polished tables as he gasped for air. A sharp, burning pain flared up in his left ribs and chest stitches, reminding him that his body was still a long way from a hundred percent.
Love retracted her fist with absolute composure, watching him slowly straighten up as he recovered.
"You've got good reflexes," Love commented, giving a slight, approving nod. "Most guys your size would've ended up crying on the floor. We start formal training first thing tomorrow morning."
"Hold on just a minute, young lady," Madame Anne interrupted immediately, stepping out from behind the bar with a furrowed brow and a stern look of maternal disapproval. "Not tomorrow. Wise is still recovering from his injuries. Ryan had to dig Ether shrapnel out of his head and sew up three deep gashes just a few weeks ago. If you push him to train like that, you're going to open his stitches, and I'll be the one scrubbing his blood off my gleaming floor."
Love looked at her mother and then at Wise, lingering on how the young Proxy subtly pressed his left side while trying to catch his breath. Wise waited for the sharp sting in his side to subside, breathing in slowly to steady his heart rate. He looked at Madame Anne and then at Love, realizing the bar owner was entirely right.
"Your mother is right, Love," Wise said, his voice a bit raspy but regaining its soft, calm tone. "I agree to rest. It does me no good to start training tomorrow if my stitches rip open and I bleed out in the middle of the street. That would completely ruin the efficiency of our deal."
Love stared at him, processing his words. She didn't seem annoyed; on the contrary, Wise's grim but practical analogy seemed to appeal to her.
"Logical," Love agreed flatly. "A master doesn't train a corpse. You have one month to heal fully. In the meantime, handle those numbers you talked about."
"Deal," the young Proxy replied, adjusting the worn long coat over his shoulders.
Wise looked at the sparkling bar, the bottles perfectly aligned by their alcohol volume, and the dangerous girl who was now his instructor. The road to return to New Eridu alongside Belle was going to be long and painful, but the first step had officially been taken.