Kirunax
patreon
Dysfunctional (Chapter 8)
🕑 Added 2025-03-26 12:59:16 +0000 UTCA/N: Double update today. Don't forget to check out chapter 9.
Sitting on the couch in the main room of the Wards quarters I was silently fuming.
Turns out our little dispute in the training area was very much against the rules.
According to the handbook, spars between Wards were supposed to be conducted in full gear, masks included, and only in the area specifically reserved for the use of parahuman powers. It was also supposed to be done under the supervision of a senior Protectorate member, a Wards team leader or a sufficiently experienced member of the team. The ‘sufficient experience’ in this case meant a minimum of 6 months.
In practice, it meant that senior Wards could spar all they want with little to no supervision, with the understanding that in case of case of a sufficiently serious training incident that privilege could be revoked.
My brother and I being fresh recruits, meant that sparring without masks, with no one else present and in the ring intended for the use of PRT troopers was a clear breach of conduct.
Those could actually be used by the Wards, but only for general CQC practice and not for training with active use of parahuman powers.
Which led to the question of whether Combat Thinker powers, which were ostensibly always on, counted as ‘active use’ of powers, since it would bar Shirou and me from sparring anywhere other than the Wards' training area. It turned out to be something of a grey area, decided on a case-by-case basis.
In our case, we were supposed to engage in spars in the Wards' area and only under supervision.
I thanked Miss Militia for clarifying my questions, even if I privately thought that she was overreacting a little, bursting into the gym with a containment foam grenade launcher.
Shirou, on the other hand, was insistent that finding a supervisor this early in the morning would prove difficult, and he had no need for supervision to ‘teach me how to use a sword’.
When Miss Militia pointed out that he was talking about training with live weapons, and that one hit from my power could kill him, he arrogantly proclaimed that I was not on a level where that was even a remote possibility.
The nerve on him to question my competence like that. The number of mages I killed with that formula was in the double digits.
Although, I admittedly got carried away a little. It was important to put a healthy fear of death in him now that he had powers and thought himself unbeatable. But it wasn’t like I would really go as far as to actually hit him with the spell! He had an advantage in reach, but overwhelming him with a relentless assault until he gave an opening and putting him down with a haymaker would be easy enough. He would most likely be so focused on the blade that using my free hand would catch him off guard.
In the end, we were almost forbidden to spar altogether, but Miss Militia agreed to a compromise of using blunt swords, and only under her supervision.
It turned out the heroine did not need to sleep at all, which was why she often volunteered to take night shifts at PRT HQ. A most useful ability! I could only imagine how my own productivity would rise if I could operate 24 hours a day. The competitive advantage it would bring to my resume couldn’t be overstated.
But now I had my first reprimand before I could even start active duty. It was Shirou’s fault, dammit!
My brother, on the other hand, cared more about the fact that Miss Militia had prior commitments this morning, so the training was cut short.
I demanded coffee the moment we came back. It was the least he could do to apologize.
It was the afternoon when the other Wards started to trickle into PRT HQ. Aegis—I was reasonably sure the Hispanic boy was him—entered first and went for his room, soon followed by Missy. Others went for the console, but Missy immediately plopped on the couch and greeted me enthusiastically.
“Hey, Tanya! What’s up?”
“I am well, Missy,” I nodded at the girl. “How was your day?”
“Eh, just school,” she shrugged, “Do you know where you and Shirou will be going?”
“We weren’t told yet.”
Actually...
“Do you think the PRT will be amenable to facilitating an early entry into middle school for me?”
“Huh?” she was caught off guard by my question.
“I’ve been thinking about skipping grades for quite some time.”
The coursework for elementary school was trivial for me. I had been through college twice already, after all. I would die of shame if there was anything but straight A’s on my report card.
The only reason I hadn’t skipped grades already was because Jefferson didn’t provide parental permission, citing the need for a ‘healthy environment for emotional maturity’ and prattling about the quality of life for young prodigies. Or at least, that’s what Shirou conveyed to me.
The bastard. Taking our money wasn’t enough—he had to stifle my education as well. I was also confident that if Shirou applied himself, then he would be halfway through high school already, if he didn’t feel the need to make back the money Jefferson stole from us.
What I wouldn’t give for a few minutes alone with him. I would have shown him what the Empire did to people like him during the wartime.
“I don’t know...” Missy seemed unsure, “What grade are you in?”
“Grade 5.”
“Already?”
“I started early,” I shrugged. ”Since we are already changing schools, I could take advantage of that fact and further my own education.”
There was also the fact that the PRT seemed to be under the impression that my intelligence was the result of a ‘Thinker power.’ Mildly insulting, but not an unreasonable assumption to make. I could easily argue that my newfound powers made the elementary school curriculum dreadfully boring, and a bored child is always a disruptive element in a classroom. There were enough of those troublemakers in my previous school, but teachers could simply embarrass them by asking questions they couldn’t answer because they weren’t paying attention. That wouldn’t work with me, and even if I would never act like them, just hinting at the possibility of causing trouble would make for a solid argument.
“Well, I guess it would be better if the three of us went to the same place. It’s bad enough that all the other Wards go to Arcadia, while I go to a different school. Oh, and Sophia goes to a different school too, I guess.”
“Sophia?”
“Shadow Stalker.”
We weren’t introduced, but I made a note of the name for later.
“It is as you say, Missy. Having you, Shirou, and me go to the same place would certainly be convenient.”
“Yeah, they can use the same transport for all of us. It’s a pain when we’re called in for a shootout during school hours but arrive at different times because of the distance.”
Yes, the logistics would certainly be simplified.
“I take it the school is aware of your Ward status?”
“The principal is. Schools are paid for hosting Wards, so they’re fine with us leaving early. They either call me into the principal’s office or turn a blind eye to me ‘skipping’ class.”
Another argument for me to attend the same school. Fewer people aware of my identity and less money spent on greasing the wheels, so to speak. Redusing costs is always a strong incentive.
Meanwhile, Shirou returned to the Wards' quarters, carrying several bags. He put them in the kitchen and immediately turned on the stove.
“Where did you get that?” I asked.
“Took it from the cafeteria,” he answered, ‘projecting’ a large pot and started filling it with water.
“You asked for permission, correct?”
“A sharp knife makes for a good argument,” he smirked.
“SHIROU!”
“I gave them a few high-quality knives and fixed their coffee machine,” he summoned a set of expensive-looking cooking implements and waved a Nakiri bōchō at me. “Take note of the pattern on the blade, sister. A genuine Damascus steel. What are a few ingredients in exchange for a full set?”
That was indeed a good deal for the cafeteria staff. Frankly, they were robbing him blind. If Shirou wanted them to supply him with ingredients, he could’ve gone for a better price.
The list of literature I intended for him to educate himself with had gotten a few entries longer.
That was for later. For now, he genuinely seemed in a good mood. I suppose his powers perfectly complemented his passion for cooking, and he was excited to try it out. It was perfect for building a better rapport with our colleagues. Missy already seemed excited.
As the Wards' quarters started to fill with a pleasant aroma, our teammates began to filter back in.
Aegis, now in full costume, looked at me the moment he returned and approached the couch.
“Hey, Tanya.”
“Sir!” I stood up and assumed parade rest.
He looked at me silently for a moment, and it seemed like he wanted to say something but changed his mind at the last moment.
“Why is there a flag in the system about you and your brother, notifying me about unauthorized use of powers in a restricted area?”
I cleared my throat.
“We weren’t aware of the proper procedure for Wards' training and intended to use the ring in the general training area for a spar with the use of parahuman abilities without supervision.”
“At half past 5 in the morning?” he raised an eyebrow.
“Correct, sir!”
“Well, be more careful in the future. You are new, and those rings aren’t as durable as ours.”
“Understood, sir!”
He looked at me closely, like he was trying to figure out if I was serious. I stood perfectly still, without a twitch, fully determined to show him that I understood my misstep and would seek to correct it in the future. He was letting us off lightly as it is.
Finally satisfied, he walked away with a slight slump to his shoulders.
I sat back on the couch with Missy, who was red-faced and looking tight-lipped for some reason.
“Are you alright, Missy?”
“Y-yes. Perfectly fine,” she managed to say, taking a deep breath. “Do you want to spar sometime?”
This was an opportunity.
“I would deeply appreciate that, Missy. Thank you for the offer. Miss Militia agreed to supervise in the mornings, but if we were forced to reschedule or opted for more training, could you fill in for her as a senior Ward?”
The young girl’s eyes widened, and she practically leaped off the couch. “Yes! Leave it to me!” she beamed. “Are you going to train today?” She leaned in toward me.
“N-no,” I was slightly taken aback at the sheer enthusiasm in her voice. Was she so excited?! “We had already done so this morning. Some additional practice wouldn’t hurt, but we made no such plans for today.”
“Ok, sure. But tell me next time, I’ll help.”
“I will. Thank you.”
We spent some time in a companionable silence. Me, reading the Wards handbook, and Missy doing some homework on the coffee table.
Clockblocker, in his civilian clothes, entered the room and took a sniff of the air.
“What’s this smell?” he looked around and spotted my brother. “Oh wow, that’s the first time anyone’s been doing some actual cooking here.”
“I’ve gathered as much,” Shirou said contemptuously, stirring the pot. “Given the nature of this circus, one would think you would all collectively possess enough sense to at least stay properly nourished.”
“Hey, we have pizza in the freezer.”
“Not anymore.”
“What? How?”
“I threw it away.”
I paused my reading to look at my brother. When did he have the time?
“Why would you do that?!”
“Because I have to live here now. And I needed space in the freezer.”
“There was enough space in the fridge!” Clockblocker said heatedly.
“Yes. Because it was empty. And now, so is the freezer. There is no food in this kitchen other than what I have brought from the cafeteria.”
“So what, are we now supposed to go there for meals, instead of just quickly making some pizza in the microwave?” the Ward threw up his hands.
“It is better than stuffing yourself with cheap garbage, at least,” Shirou shot him down, adding some spices.
Clockblocker crossed his arms and looked at him closely. He studied how my brother moved around the kitchen, eyed at the large pot with a critical look, and noted the amount of peelings.
“Alright, little man, spill it. You didn’t do that just to be an asshole. You did it for a reason.”
“Maybe I just hate junk food.”
“Maybe,” the Ward narrowed his eyes, “But you look like you are up to something. So spill.”
Shirou studied him for a moment and then shrugged, returning to stirring the pot. “If you simply must know, now that there is no food here, the request for proper groceries I will file with the chief clown will not be casually denied because the freezer is full.”
Clockblocker scratched his jaw at my brother’s casual insult of our team leader, but didn’t react beyond that, seemingly deep in thought.
“Alright, I can respect that. I’ll set the table then?”
“If you want to make yourself useful,” Shirou answered without turning his back. His free hand hovered over the kitchen counter, and the next moment, a stack of plates and some cutlery appeared in a swirl of blue motes.
Clockblocker cracked a smile at that and went for the plates.
What was that interaction? My brother acted little better than during their first meeting, casually throwing insults, but Clockblocker somehow seemed more at ease?
I asked Missy, hoping to find answers, but she was too engrossed in her homework to listen to the conversation.
“Boys?” and a shrug was all she gave.
Comments
Ержан Жусанбаев
I have looked into it, and it would seem you are indeed correct. I will correct that.
kade Holder
Grade 9 (or 9th grade for the U.S.) would be High School or late Middle School. 5th or 6th grade depending on the school would be the last year of elementary school. Which of the two depends on which state you think Brockton Bay is set in but 5th grade is usually the end of elementary in most
Ержан Жусанбаев
My research into US education system revealed that the count starts from before elementary school. For clarity, Tanya is on her last year of elementary school, and even that is early for her age. Perhaps there is another, more colloquial name for this in US, but from what I understand, going by the government terminology Tanya would be Grade 9.
kade Holder
What is Grade 9? Is that ninth grade? That would be early entry into high school instead of middle school and unless I missed Tanya’s age, she would have had to have skipped several grades already to do that
Dragonin
Poor Missy, getting the ‘oh my god, did I look like that?’ Experience. Holy crap, did Dennis just understand Shirou’s feelings about cooking?
