Everything's On Track
The first thing Gray, Indigo, and the rest of the group felt when Asher said that was pure disbelief. Doubt settled in immediately. They were from the slums of Mantle, where knowing how to fight wasn't a choice—it was survival.
Asher, on the other hand, was an heir born in Atlas, someone who had never needed to lift a finger in his life. Or at least, that's what they'd assumed. But then, the memory of how they ended up in this situation resurfaced, and their skepticism wavered—especially for Indigo and the Faunus who had been with her during the botched robbery.
One kick.
A single, perfectly timed, and arced kick was all Asher had needed to knock one of them out and flip the situation on its head. And considering they had already signed the contract, there was no reason for him to lie. Whether he could fight or not, they were bound to work for him either way.
Seriously? He's a Frostvale, he builds exoskeletons, and he knows how to fight too? I guess Liv Melone wasn't just hyping him up. As irritating as it was to admit, he is some kind of freaky genius.
That reluctant realization settled in her mind, but it wasn't just hers. Everyone in her crew was coming to terms with something they hadn't expected—something that gnawed at their pride more than they wanted to admit.
Admiration.
The silence stretched, their previous complaints fading. Then Asher's voice echoed once more through the speakers.
"For the next two months, nearly every day, your training will take place here in this room. I'll be overseeing all of you personally." He could have left that task to someone else, but GAIA only recognized him as an authorized user, and he wasn't about to hand that level of access to just anyone.
"For the first two weeks," he continued, "we'll focus on calibrating the O.M.N.I. Frames. That means getting used to simple movements, adapting to the system's optimization of your body and combat stances, and reinforcing your muscle memory until it's second nature."
Normally, it took weeks—if not months—for proper muscle memory to develop when it came to complex movements and actions. But Asher was confident the O.M.N.I. Frame would drastically cut that time down.
Besides, it's not like I'm expecting perfection.
Two months was just the timeframe he estimated before they reached a level of competence fit for real-world application. After that, he'd put them through additional training, refining their weaknesses as field missions gradually increased in difficulty.
His gaze flickered downward again. Just a step or two from the glass, he observed all eight recruits in action. They had only been at it for about an hour, yet none had faltered. Their focus remained sharp, the steady echo of GAIA voicing the accuracy percentages driving them forward.
It was almost instinctual—like a trigger embedded into their bodies, forcing them to adjust, refine, and improve with every passing second.
And so, the hours slipped by.
At some point Asher eventually settled onto one of the benches in the observation deck, his fingers tapping against his scroll as he typed into the group chat. His attention drifted between the ongoing training and the messages, splitting his focus without losing track of either.
The first name in the group chat belonged to the Group Chat Manager, whose profile picture was of a character shrugging with an impossibly smug expression. It wasn't a face most people would recognize—unless they were like Asher and had read through all of Whitley's book recommendations.
The character was one of the recurring antagonists in a series, someone who never quite stayed gone, no matter how many books went by. Despite not being the main villain most of the time, he had an uncanny way of resurfacing, always finding a way back into the story.
The second member of the chat was, unsurprisingly, Weiss. Identifying her was easy, given her profile picture—a candid shot of her in what looked like her room. Her desk was buried under stacks of books covering everything from business to history, while the background held its own subtle details: ballet shoes tucked to the side, a violin case leaning against the wall.
And in the center of it all was Weiss herself, sipping tea with an expression that was both exhausted and intensely focused. A caption at the bottom read:
I'm not perfect yet, but I'm still leagues better than you.
Then, of course, there was Asher. His name was the easiest to spot since he hadn't changed it, only abbreviated it. His profile picture? A GIF—one recorded from a first-person POV inside his workshop. It showed his hands working with two different tools as he tinkered with a circuit board, carefully adjusting something.
Then, in the next second—pop.
A spark flew, and just as the circuit board exploded, the GIF cut out.
[Group Chat—He with even Whiter Hair (GCM), She with White Hair, Asher F]
She with White Hair: I'm getting sick and tired of all these extra lessons Father is making me take. (ꐦ¬_¬)
He with even Whiter Hair (GCM): And here I thought you were already sick and tired of them.
She with White Hair: I was. But now? He's just having my tutors reteach things I learned on my own years ago.
Asher F: Probably trying to eat up your time.
She with White Hair: What do you mean?
He with even Whiter Hair (GCM): He means Father's trying to make sure you have as little time as possible to train to be a Huntress.
She with White Hair: But I still get to train when we go to Asher's place?? (⇀‸↼‶)
Asher F: Yeah, but he doesn't know that. As far as he's concerned, you're just building a relationship with the future CEO of a business partner.
He with even Whiter Hair (GCM): Makes me wonder how he'd react if he found out you two were dating. (¬‿¬)
She with White Hair: We aren't dating! Also, keep your mouth shut!
Asher F: We aren't?
She with White Hair: I thought you didn't want to put a label on it.
Asher F: I said we didn't have to rush or make things complicated.
She with White Hair: Oh...
He with even Whiter Hair (GCM): Well, whatever this is, how exactly do you plan to handle it? Asher's parents don't seem to mind, but Father is either going to force you two to break up or push for an arranged marriage. ¯\_(ᵕ—ᴗ—)_/¯
She with White Hair: That's why we don't have Asher over at our house that often.
He with even Whiter Hair (GCM): Yeah, because you two have no concept of restraint and can't keep your hands to yourselves. ( – ⌓ – )
She with White Hair: What?? What are you talking about??
He with even Whiter Hair (GCM): Just because I'm not actively watching doesn't mean I don't notice things. And from what I've seen, you're the main culprit here—which is honestly surprising.
Asher F: True.
She with White Hair: Don't agree with him!
--|
Just then, the group chat temporarily closed as a notification popped up at the top of Asher's scroll, followed by the sharp chime of an alarm. His reminder—eight hours had officially passed. Time to wrap up training.
[Group Chat—He with even Whiter Hair (GCM), She with White Hair, Asher F]
Asher F: Gotta go. Duty calls.
She with White Hair: What? You can't just leave! We're being slandered!
He with even Whiter Hair (GCM): It's not slander if it's true. ¯\_(ᵕ—ᴗ—)_/¯
--|
Asher closed out of the group chat, leaving Weiss and Whitley to continue their back-and-forth. Rising from his seat, he stepped toward the window and spoke, his voice automatically amplified through the speakers.
"Alright, that's enough for today. GAIA, deactivate." On his command, the O.M.N.I. Frames powered down, their forceful guidance and locking mechanisms disengaging. Indigo and her group immediately felt the shift as full control of their bodies returned—along with the exhaustion that came with it.
"Ow... I feel numb everywhere," one of the Faunus groaned, collapsing onto the cool metal floor as they tried to catch their breath.
"I don't know if we're even gonna last a week doing this," Gray muttered, sinking to the ground. Sweat dripped from his face as he glanced at Indigo, who was hunched over, hands braced on her knees, her breaths short and sharp. Strands of hair clung to her face, but she barely noticed because of how tired she was.
The same thought ran through all of them, though none voiced it aloud when Asher arrived on the ground floor, stepped out of the elevator, and strolled over.
"You all did well," he said, clapping his hands together.
"I won't be checking in on your progress every day, but on weekends, I'll do a quick review so you can all know where you need improvement. Other than that, you're dismissed—feel free to take advantage of the showers and jacuzzi you mentioned earlier."
"Sounds great," Indigo panted the sarcasm hardly noticeable as she wiped sweat from her face with the hem of her shirt.
"And what exactly do you plan on doing with all your free time?"
Asher smirked.
"Oh? I didn't know you cared. But since you're curious, I'm meeting with our division's Director of Operations to sort out a few things. Don't worry—it has nothing to do with you all." And with that, he turned and strode toward the automatic sliding doors.
But mid-step, Asher paused, as if remembering something. Glancing back at the group, he added, "Oh, and I advanced your pay. So even though you haven't completed a full month yet, you'll still receive your full salary at the end of this month. Of course, if you exceed my expectations—even during training—there's bonus pay to look forward to. Keep at it."
With that, he turned and continued walking, disappearing around the corner as the heavy metal doors sealed shut behind him.
For a moment, the only sound in the room was their ragged breathing. Then, one of them finally spoke.
"See? Getting paid makes the pain so much sweeter."
"Oh, shut up…" Indigo groaned, too exhausted to argue.
Meanwhile, Asher had already stepped into an elevator, ascending toward one of the top floors of Atlas Academy—an area typically reserved for the higher-ranking echelons of the military.
As the elevator climbed, he turned his gaze to the window at the back, watching as the sprawling cityscape of Atlas stretched beneath him. Bathed in its signature blue glow, the city pulsed with life even as night settled in.
Atlas never sleeps.
The doors slid open with a soft chime, pulling his attention back. He stepped into a quiet hallway, its smooth, intricately designed stone floors polished to perfection. Traffic here was sparse—only janitors and the occasional ranking officer passed through, given the strict clearance required to access these floors.
Unlike them, Asher didn't wear a uniform. As a Special Operations Consultant, all he needed was his badge—a simple identifier that granted him access to places many didn't even know existed.
More than a few people gave him odd looks as he passed. A fourteen-year-old, dressed in formal civilian clothes, walking through a military area wasn't exactly normal. But the moment their eyes landed on the badge clipped to his jacket, confusion turned into silent, reluctant acceptance.
Not their business.
Eventually, Asher reached the door to an office and knocked twice, after which he heard a fairly deep voice reply.
"Who is it?"
"Asher Frostvale." A brief pause followed before the voice spoke again.
"Come in."
Pushing the door open, Asher stepped into a well-lit office. With no windows, the space relied on eight individual ceiling lights to keep it illuminated. The aesthetic was unmistakably Atlas—clean, precise, and subtly imposing.
Smaller than Ironwood's office but sharing a similar atmosphere, the room felt deliberately cold. Every detail, from the flanking bookshelves to the crisp white carpet layered over the stone floor, was a design choice.
Behind the desk sat the man Asher had come to see.
"It's good to finally meet you," the man said, his tone measured. He appeared to be in his late forties or early fifties, wearing the standard uniform of all division directors—a sleek, white-and-black tunic, fitted to his broad frame. The crest of Atlas adorned his shoulder, while his name and rank were displayed neatly on his chest.
With a quick motion, he powered down the holographic display projecting from his desk and gestured for Asher to take a seat.
Asher obliged, settling into the chair.
"It's nice to meet you as well, Director Graz. I would have visited sooner, especially given how much you'll be handling for this division, but I've been preoccupied with other matters." Graz gave a slow nod.
"It's fine. I could have come to you myself, but I've been caught up with paperwork regarding the division." He leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable.
"Also, no need for formalities. I'm well aware that the general has entrusted this division's control to you. My job is to ensure everything runs smoothly and report anything of note to the general." His voice carried an almost unnerving calm as Asher observed him.
This division—the one Asher had convinced Ironwood to create—was entirely confidential. It had no official headquarters and no traceable location. Beyond this office, there was no physical evidence of its existence. On paper and in the system, it was buried under layers of authorizations, hidden from all but a select few.
Only those Ironwood personally trusted could have been appointed as its Director of Operations and Graz was one of those few.
"I see. Well, in that case, just call me Asher," he said, offering a polite smile.
"Regardless of whether you're acting as a figurehead or not, I hope we can get along." Graz studied him for a moment, his gaze unreadable. Then, with a slight nod, he responded.
"Likewise."
"Wonderful," Asher said before moving forward.
"Since you're busy, I won't take up too much of your time. I need one of my facilities reclassified as a private military facility under our division's exclusive jurisdiction." Graz raised a brow slightly, reaching into a desk drawer and pulling out a pen and paper.
"And what kind of facility is this exactly?" He asked, already jotting something down.
"It started as a warehouse, but it's currently under construction to become a remotely operated automated factory. I'll be doing a lot of my research and development there, so I want it sanctioned to prevent any legal issues and to ensure I can have everything I need delivered directly to it." Graz scribbled a few more notes before leaning back in his chair, twirling the pen between his fingers.
"As long as you're the legal owner of the warehouse and consent to the transfer, that won't be difficult to arrange." Asher nodded, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a card. Sliding it across the desk as he stood.
"That's my attorney's contact information. Since I'm still technically a minor, she handles most of my legal matters. I've already informed her about this, so she'll provide whatever documents you need." Graz took the card, glancing at it briefly before nodding.
"Alright then. Normally, this process takes a while, but I can fast-track the submission and send a personal request for review to the AMOD (Atlas Military Oversight Division). If all goes smoothly, it should be finalized in about six to eight days."
"Perfect. In that case, I won't take up any more of your time." Asher turned toward the door, but before he could leave, Graz spoke again.
"One more thing. Once your factory is operational and starts handling military-grade equipment and development, proper security measures will be required." Classified or not, a warehouse in Mantle conducting high-level R&D without sufficient defenses was a ticking time bomb.
It wouldn't take much for the right people with the right resources to find out—and when they did, it would be targeted. Asher glanced back, his expression unreadable.
"Don't worry. I plan on handling that personally." With that, he stepped out, shutting the office door behind him.
As he made his way down the quiet hallway toward the elevator, he ran a hand through his hair, exhaling softly.
So far, everything's on track and roughly following the timeline I had in mind. Now I just need to make sure it stays that way.
=====================================•=====================================
October 17th, 2033
Everything had been moving along exactly as Asher had planned—partly because no major issues had arisen, and partly because he was micro-managing nearly every detail. The eight hours he spent overseeing Indigo and her group's training meant eight fewer hours for everything else, forcing him to cram the rest of his work into whatever time remained.
For Asher, it wasn't difficult—just exhausting. But the effort had paid off.
The warehouse-turned-automated-factory was nearly complete, with only the final equipment installations remaining. The AMOD review had gone smoothly, thanks to his direct involvement in giving them a tour and explaining his future plans, officially securing its designation as a private military facility.
Beyond military matters, he had also made considerable progress on his personal projects, particularly his weapon designs. With so few regulations holding him back, acquiring the necessary materials and components to build all sorts of prototypes had never been easier.
But at this moment, Asher wasn't in his workshop, nor was he at Frostvale Manor.
Instead, he stood down in the city, leaning casually against a car, his gaze flicking to the watch on his wrist. He was always dressed formally, but today felt different.
Pedestrians moved along the streets, some glancing in his direction, whispers following in their wake. It was an unfamiliar sight—the young Frostvale, out in a setting like this. Asher handled it by handling things on his scroll and casually greeting anyone who came up to him, though if one looked carefully, his bodyguards could be seen out of sight but nearby.
Another thing his parents had taught him was the importance of being approachable, whether at an official event or out in public; both affected his family's reputation. So with a neutral expression, he waited until eventually, a familiar voice called out.
"Sorry to keep you waiting. It took… longer than it should have to pick out a dress." Looking up, his lips curled into a small smile as he spotted Weiss approaching. Pushing off the car, he straightened up.
"It's fine," he said smoothly.
"So… are you ready for our date?"