Chương 8: The Councils of the Broken

The tactical briefing room in the sub-levels of the Beacon CCT tower was cast in a sterile, dim cyan hue. Outside, the distant thrum of Atlesian transport engines vibrated through the reinforced concrete walls, but inside, the air was dead and heavy with the scent of stagnant coffee and ozone. General James Ironwood stood at the head of the long steel table, his palms pressed flat against the metal surface.

His broad shoulders were hunched, the white fabric of his military coat torn and stained with ash at the collar. His cybernetic eye whirred in a frantic, micro-stuttering pattern, reflecting the walls of red data streams cascading down the holographic projections before him.

"We are looking at a localized atmospheric displacement that violates every known law of kinetic energy," Ironwood said, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly vibration that betrayed his lack of sleep. He didn't look up as he tapped a command into the console, bringing up a wireframe rendering of the CCT roof.

"No Dust trace elements. No aura spike. Just... mass. Acceleration. And a complete erasure of the target. Glynda, look at these pressure metrics. This isn't a Semblance. A Semblance manipulates the soul's energy to warp reality. This man simply pushed the air so hard the air became a physical battering ram." Glynda Goodwitch did not look at the monitors. She sat in one of the high-backed leather chairs, her riding crop resting across her knees like a barrier.

Her glasses were propped slightly askew on her nose, her green eyes hollowed out by deep, dark circles. For twenty years, she had been the logistical anchor of Beacon Academy, a woman who could rebuild shattered stone with a flick of her wrist. But as she stared at her own trembling hands, she felt a profound, cold emptiness.

"The metrics do not matter, James," Glynda said, her voice dropping into a flat, exhausted register.

"The Wyvern is gone. The sky is clear. And the man who did it is currently sitting on a broken fountain outside, crying because he missed a discount on groceries. We are trying to apply military mathematics to a man who reads like a complete civilian."

"That 'civilian' just vaporized a mountain-level Grimm with a backhand, Glynda!" Ironwood slammed his cybernetic fist onto the table, the metallic ring echoing sharply through the enclosed room.

"He is an unregistered, apex-level weapon walking through a sovereign kingdom during a state of war! If he is an independent operative, he is a threat to global stability. If he is working with the White Fang--""Oh, grow up, Jimmy." Qrow Branwen spoke from the darkest corner of the room, near the secondary exit. He was slumped against the wall, one foot propped against the baseboard, his greatsword folded heavily onto his back.

He didn't have his flask out, Glynda had already snapped at him twice about it, but his red eyes were sharp, bloodshot, and filled with a dangerous, cynical clarity.

"The White Fang were running for the hills the second that bald head broke the sound barrier," Qrow said, leaning his head back against the concrete.

"I watched their squads from the treeline. They looked like they'd just seen the wrath of the gods. If he's a mercenary, he's the worst paid one in history, considering he's currently begging the students for change." Ironwood straightened up, his jaw clenched so tightly the synthetic skin around his cheek twitched.

"Then what is your explanation, Qrow? You were Ozpin's eyes in the field. You know the deep lore of this world better than anyone else in this room. Is he... is he one of hers?" The room grew instantly colder. The name Salem was never spoken aloud in military briefings, but her shadow hung over every red light on Ironwood's tactical display.

"No," Qrow said flatly, his voice cutting through the general's rising panic.

"She doesn't make things that clean. Her stuff is all bone, tar, and misery. This guy... he's just skin and bone. And besides, if she had an asset like that, she wouldn't have wasted time with a sneaky little rat like Cinder Fall. She would have just sent the bald guy to walk into the Vault and pull the tower down by the roots." Glynda rubbed her temples, her chest heaving with a slow, ragged breath.

"Which brings us back to the only other alternative. Ozpin." Ironwood paused, his cybernetic eye freezing for a fraction of a second.

"Ozpin? You think this... this Saitama is related to him?"

"Think about it, James," Glynda said, looking up, her eyes narrowing behind her lenses.

"Ozpin's soul has existed for millennia. He has accumulated power, magic, and secrets that even we were never permitted to see. Before the tower fell, before the network cut out, Ozpin went down into the Vault alone to face the Fall Maiden. We found no remains. No ashes. Just his cane."

"You think he reincarnated instantly?" Ironwood asked, his brow furrowing as he analyzed the theory.

"Into a grown man? The cycle has always chosen a young, impressionable mind. A vessel that can be guided." The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

"Maybe it wasn't a standard reincarnation," Qrow muttered, straightening up from the wall and walking slowly toward the table. He stood directly under the dim cyan light, looking down at the wireframe of Saitama's head on the screen.

"Maybe Oz had a backup plan. An old soul he kept locked away for when the world finally hit the fan. Someone from before the dust, before the kingdoms. A relic."

"He doesn't know what a Kingdom is, Qrow," Glynda countered, her voice laced with a deep, frustrated logic.

"He asked me if Vale was part of 'A-City'. He didn't recognize the silver eyes on Ruby Rose. He didn't even know what Huntsman and Huntress were. If he is Ozpin's creation, Ozpin forgot to give him a brain."

"Or maybe," Qrow said, his voice dropping into a whisper, "the sheer force of whatever happened down in that Vault cracked something open. The kids said the sky didn't just open. It ripped. What if he's not from our history at all? What if he's from somewhere... else?" The heavy blast doors at the rear of the briefing room hissed open with a sharp release of pneumatic pressure.

Winter Schnee strode into the room, her pristine white Atlas uniform immaculate despite the dust outside, her blue eyes flashing with a cold, military discipline. Her hand rested firmly on the hilt of her saber, her posture rigid as she stopped three paces from Ironwood and executed a perfect salute.

"General," Winter said, her voice clear and cutting.

"The perimeter is secure. The auxiliary transport units have completed the evacuation of the lower commercial district. But... we have a situation regarding the individual in the courtyard." Ironwood turned to his specialist.

"Did he move, Winter?"

"No, sir," Winter replied, her eyes shifting briefly to Qrow with a flicker of old disdain before returning to her commander.

"But my scouts have reported something troubling. Several of the junior officers from the third infantry tried to approach him to clear the fountain area. When they asked for his transit documents, he offered them a piece of metallic paper with the words 'Hero Association / A-Class' stamped on it. When they told him it wasn't valid currency or identification, he... he began to pace around the courtyard, muttering about 'isekai tropes' and 'bad light novels.'" Qrow let out a loud, dry bark of a laugh.

"See? Told ya. The guy is completely out of his skull. He's stranded."

"It isn't a laughing matter, Branwen," Winter snapped, her heels clicking together as she turned slightly toward him.

"The sheer existence of an unquantifiable power source within our defensive perimeter is a catastrophic security risk. If he suffers a psychological break, if these 'delusions' turn violent, we do not have the logistical assets to contain him. General, I recommend immediate containment. We have a high-security transport ship ready for departure to Atlas."

"No," Glynda said, standing up from her chair, her riding crop hitting the table with a sharp thwack.

"You will do no such thing, Specialist Schnee." Winter's eyes narrowed.

"Professor Goodwitch, with all due respect--""You cannot contain a man who treats a mountain-sized Grimm like an insect, Winter," Glynda said, her green eyes flashing with an authority that made even Ironwood look down.

"If you try to put him in handcuffs, or put him on a prison ship, and he decides he doesn't want to go, you won't just lose the ship. You will lose the fleet. You will lose Atlas."

"Then what do you suggest, Glynda?" Ironwood asked, his voice low, the exhaustion finally overriding his military stubbornness.

"We can't leave him out there. The media will find him. The council will demand answers. And more importantly... she will find out about him." The silence returned, heavier this time. They all knew the truth. Salem's entire strategy relied on fear, division, and the gradual erosion of humanity's hope. If the world discovered that there was a bald man in a yellow suit who could solve an apocalypse with a single punch, the fear she relied on would evaporate. She would be forced to change her tactics.

She would target him.

"We don't tell him about her," Qrow said suddenly, his face completely serious.

"Not yet." Ironwood looked at him.

"You want to keep him in the dark? About the literal threat to existence?"

"Think about it, Jimmy," Qrow said, leaning over the table.

"The guy is looking for a home, right? He's looking for a place to sleep and some cheap food. If we drag him into the inner circle, if we start giving him the whole 'guardians of humanity' speech, he's gonna get bored and walk away. He doesn't care about our legends. He cares about his groceries."

"So we exploit his simple nature?" Winter asked, her voice tight with disapproval.

"We lie to him?"

"We don't lie. We just... manage him," Qrow corrected, a slow, cynical smirk returning to his lips.

"Give him a place to stay. Beacon's got plenty of empty staff quarters now. Give him a small stipend, use some of that Atlas discretionary fund you're always hiding, Jimmy. Tell him his job is 'Special Campus Security.' Tell him if any more of those big black dogs show up, he gets paid a bonus to punch them." Glynda looked from Qrow to Ironwood, her logical mind weighing the sheer, absurd risk of the plan against the absolute certainty of destruction if they tried force.

"It keeps him close," Glynda admitted softly, her fingers tightening around her crop.

"It keeps him away from the public eye while we rebuild. And if Salem does send something to investigate... she'll find him instead of our students." Ironwood stared at the holographic rendering of Saitama's face for a long, agonizing minute. He looked at the red data streams, the broken tower, the calculations that didn't make sense. Finally, he closed his eyes and let out a long, shuddering sigh.

"Very well," Ironwood said.

"Winter, cancel the transport order. Prepare a temporary civilian housing voucher under a classified Atlas security budget. Glynda... you will be his primary point of contact. If he asks for rice... find him rice."

"And what about the kids?" Qrow asked, turning toward the door.

"They're out there right now, talking to him. They think he's some kind of ancient warrior king."

"Let them talk," Glynda said, her voice dropping into a weary, maternal tone as she adjusted her glasses.

"After today... those children deserve to believe in a miracle. Even if that miracle is wearing bright red boots."