Chapter Text
The bass thrummed through the pavement, a heartbeat of chaos that made the very air vibrate.
Yang Xiao Long loved it. She cracked her neck, rolling her shoulders as she stared at the garish neon sign of Junior’s Club. The air smelled of expensive cologne, cheap booze, and desperation.
Her informant had been a dead end. A mumbling drunk who knew less about her mother than she did about advanced Dust weaving. So, she was doing what any self-respecting, leather-jacket-wearing, shotgun-gauntlet-blasting brawler would do.
She was going straight to the source.
She was about to push the door open when the world flickered.
Ding.
Yang blinked. A translucent blue screen materialized in front of her face, hovering in the air like a ghost. She froze, her hand still outstretched.
[Welcome to the System, Yang Xiao-Long.]
“…What the hell?” she muttered, waving a hand through the screen. It shimmered but didn’t dissipate. A second box appeared beneath it.
[Gamer’s Mind – Passive: Maintains emotional equilibrium and logical thinking under pressure. Immunity to psychological status effects.]
[Gamer’s Body – Passive: Physical damage is converted to HP loss. Restful sleep restores HP, AP, and removes all non-lethal status ailments.]
Yang’s confusion lasted precisely two seconds. Then, a slow, dangerous grin spread across her face. “Sweet.” She looked down at her hands, flexing her fingers. The familiar warmth of her Aura was there, but now it felt… quantifiable.
[Status]
A new window bloomed, displaying her information in crisp, clean text.
Name: Yang Xiao-Long
Class: Brawler
Level: 25
Title: None
HP: 1250/1250
AP (Aura Points): 1100/1100
STR: 35
AGI: 21
DEX: 28
INT: 14
WIS: 10
LUK: 18
Perks:
· Burn (Semblance): Damage taken increases STR and attack speed proportionally. Current conversion rate: +1% STR per 5% HP lost.
· Ember Celica: Customized Dual Ranged Shotgun Gauntlets. +15% DMG to CQC. Fire Dust compatibility confirmed.
· CQC Mastery: Reduced AP consumption for unarmed and shotgun-blast maneuvers.
She stared at the ‘WIS’ score and snorted. “Seems about right.”
The fear of the unknown was a distant echo, silenced by the strange, soothing blanket of [Gamer’s Mind] . She wasn't panicking. She was analyzing. Cataloging.
And the first thing she noticed was that her Aura was a separate pool now. Interesting.
Another chime.
[Quest Alert!]
[The Lead.]
Find Junior and extract any information regarding the whereabouts of Raven Branwen.
[Objective 1: Locate Junior.]
[Bonus Objective: Wreck the club. Show them why you don’t mess with a Xiao Long.]
Reward: 1500 EXP, +2 to LUK.
Bonus Reward: 500 EXP, +4 to STR.
Accept / Deny?
Yang’s grin widened into a fierce, predatory smile. She stabbed her finger at the glowing [Accept] box. The screen dissolved into pixels.
She pushed the heavy door open.
/./
The interior was a sensory overload of purple strobes and thundering bass.
Bodies writhed on the dance floor, oblivious to anything but the beat. Yang ignored them all, her lilac eyes scanning the VIP balcony above.
She focused on a hulking figure in a black suit standing by the stairs.
[Observe]
[Junior’s Goon – LV 8]
[HP: 250/250]
[A grunt. Good at looking intimidating, terrible at holding a conversation.]
She swept her gaze across the room. Suits, sunglasses, and red ties everywhere. A sea of levels ranging from LV 8 to LV 14. Cannon fodder. Amusing.
Her eyes tracked higher, to the central booth overlooking the floor. Junior himself. Bald head, fancy coat, looking like a sleazy peacock.
[Hei “Junior” Xiong – LV 26]
[Owner of the club. Information broker.]
Flanking him were two women in matching red and white, their postures coiled with coiled-spring tension.
[Melanie and Miltia Malachite – LV 20]
[The Malachite Twins. Deadly dancers. Do not let the heels fool you.]
Yang was about to approach when her [Observe] locked onto a new target.
A man in a white coat and bowler hat, leaning casually against the bar next to Junior. His face was all sharp angles and condescending smirks.
[Roman Torchwick – LV 44]
[Master Thief. Connoisseur of fine hats. Wanted in four kingdoms.]
Yang’s blood ran cold for a fraction of a second before [Gamer’s Mind] smoothed it over.
Level 44. That was almost double her own. He was a heavy hitter. A real threat.
But he wasn't her target. Not tonight.
Quietly, she pulled out her scroll, angling it to look like she was checking a message. With a subtle flick of her thumb, she snapped a picture. The flash was barely a blip in the strobe lights. Junior and Torchwick, deep in conversation, didn't notice.
Evidence. She’d hang onto that.
Torchwick clapped Junior on the shoulder, said something that made the bigger man scowl, and sauntered out a back exit, his cane twirling in his hand.
Showtime.
Yang sauntered up to the bar, hopping onto a stool with practiced ease. Junior descended from his booth, his two shadows flanking him. He leaned on the bar, his gold tooth glinting. "You lost, sweetheart?"
Ignoring him, Yang smiled sweetly at the bartender. "Strawberry Sunrise. No ice." She held up a finger. "And the little umbrella. Don't forget the umbrella."
Junior’s eyes narrowed. "You're a little young to be in this club, Blondie."
Yang finally turned to him, resting her chin on her hand. "And you're a little old to have a name like Junior." She let the silence hang for a beat, her smile never wavering.
Junior grunted, unamused. "What do you want?"
Yang pulled out her scroll, swiping to the grainy, obscured photo of a woman with raven-black hair. "I'm looking for someone." She turned the screen toward him. "Seen her?"
Junior barely glanced at it. "No." The word was a stone dropped into a well; final.
"Are you sure?" Yang cooed, tilting her head. "Because I have another picture you might find interesting." She made a show of swiping her finger across the screen, her eyes widening in mock surprise. "Oops! Is that a picture of you having a friendly chat with notorious criminal Roman Torchwick?"
Junior’s face went from bored to granite. His eyes flicked to her scroll, then back to her face.
In a blur of motion, his hand shot out to snatch the device.
Yang was faster. She leaned back, sliding off the stool and putting two feet of polished floor between them. "Whoa there, easy, big guy." She laughed, the sound bright and sharp over the music. "You trying to steal a girl's phone? That's not very gentlemanly."
Junior’s expression twisted into a snarl. He didn't speak. He just drew back a fist the size of a cinderblock and threw a punch aimed directly at her perfect teeth.
Yang’s [Gamer’s Mind] fed her the data. Telegraphed. Right hook. Slow.
She didn't block. She just… wasn't there.
Her body flowed under his arm like water. As he lumbered past, off-balance, she straightened up and drove her own fist, wreathed in the golden glow of her Aura, directly into his solar plexus.
CRACK.
The impact was a thunderclap. Junior’s eyes bulged. He lifted off his feet, flew backward over the bar, and crashed into a shelf of top-shelf liquor in a spray of glass and amber liquid. He slumped to the floor, groaning.
The music screeched to a halt. The dancers froze. Every single pair of sunglasses in the room turned toward the blonde at the bar.
Yang cracked her knuckles. The blue screen of the Bonus Objective winked in the corner of her vision.
She looked at the sea of LV 8 to LV 14 goons, then back at the groaning Junior, and finally at the Malachite twins who were pushing off from the bar, their heels clicking in unison.
Yang smiled.
"Alright, boys and girls." She raised her fists, Ember Celica clicking into place with a satisfying ka-chunk.
"Let's dance."