Sebastian

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Sinclaire

[attr="class","FaustContent"]His sunny disposition was immediately darkened by the bad news. Oh well. There are plenty of fish in the sea, all he needed to was keep on fishing. He'd probably have a bit more success if he changed his methods and used better bait, but fuck all that noise. It'd be way too much effort to maintain a false appearance 24/7.

"OHOHOHOHOHOHOH! No. Of course not. If I was rich, I wouldn't be here!" he continued, shamelessly reaffirming that he wasn't here because he wanted to be a hero.

"Anyway, I, unfortunately, have been told that I'm on my last life. One more strike, and I'm out, get it?" he lied.

The truth was that Sebastian was actually [REDACTED]. There was no threat of expulsion looming over his head (yet). Honestly, he was quite surprised that he wasn't in danger of any sort of academic consequences. You'd think with how rotten of a student he was that he would be, but nope. The worst he had gotten were a few detentions—nothing major.

"So, I've got no choice but to start playing to win, y'see? SO WITH THAT IN MIND, I'D LIKE YOUR BAT!"

Sebastian

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Sinclaire

[attr="class","FaustContent"]Fourteen hours. That's how much time Sebastian had spent this week doing some form of strenuous physical activity. That's fourteen hours more than he did last week. It was also, however, way less than the amount of hours his peers were probably clocking in. Hell, he'd believe Jun was putting in that many hours alone in one day if it weren't for the fact that that would be literally impossible what with class schedules and all that shit.

Despite that disparity, however, he didn't feel like he was behind any of his peers. On the contrary, he wholeheartedly believed that he was on par with most everyone he knew. He might've been lacking in a few departments, but he was certain that he had something that nobody else at this entire school had: The Sinclaire Factor™. Now what exactly is the Sinclaire Factor™? Shit, man, Sebastian had no idea. It's something you can't really describe. You just have it or you don't, and Sebastian definitely had it—whatever it was. Y'know what Sebastian didn't have though? A weapon. It'd probably behoove him to get one of those. But what weapon would suit him be—Oh hey there's Freja laying on the ground.

"Ahah! I knew it was you!" he shouted, quickly leaning over her, his face just a few inches away from hers.

He had his blindfold pulled down to cover his eyes for maximum comedic effect when he identified her.

"I had a very, very important question for you. Why, I completely forgot to ask you this during our last meeting: How rich are you?"

Sebastian

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Sinclaire

[attr="class","FaustContent"]Now this was a fine pickle: no money, no job, no house, no food, no water, no hopes, no dreams, no luck. To be fair, this was a long time coming. It wasn't as if his parents just woke up one day and decided to kick him out of the house, after all. They gave him several warnings to clean up his act before actually giving him the boot. He was just too stubborn and deluded to believe that they'd actually do it. Truly, he had nobody but himself to blame for winding up on the streets. ...But was he actually going to blame himself?


Sebastian was not to blame. He was a blameless victim—a victim of circumstance. After all, he didn't ask to be born in this rotten world, so if anyone was to blame it was his parents. Were it up to him, he would've never had to contend with this miserable mortal coil. The infinite void of nonexistence is certainly better than this shit show of a world he was born into!


We play with the hand we're dealt, and Sebastian was shit on the ground on the flop, his luck wasn't looking like it was going to turn, and pretty soon he was going to find himself drowning in the river if he didn't figure something out. He had thought of begging Kioko or Renjirou to let him stay with them forever, but...Well, they were special. Taking advantage of them for free food and drinks at Noyote? That was fine. Burdening them for the rest of his life? ...Yeah, he'd prefer not to make them actually hate him. They were the only tolerable things in his life, after all.

For the time being, he just needed to tough it out until his parents caved and let him back in. Surely they'd take him back right?

Three days later...

"Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," he exhaled, rolling over to stare at the alleyway wall while laying on the discarded couch.

He was so hungry...So sore. Everything hurt. Everything sucked. Dying slowly sucks. Man, why couldn't he just die quickly. That'd be rad af. He could just off himself, but he was pretty sure that he'd pussy out at the last second. Whelp...He had no other option but to wait for something to happen—something to shift his fate.

Sebastian

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Sinclaire

[attr="class","FaustContent"]Everything was going according to plan(translator's note: plan means keikaku). Indeed, this whole exam was a piece of keikaku (translator's note: keikaku means cake...probably). While the other two did the heavy lifting, Sebastian was coasting by on easy street. At least, he was until the ship started shaking. That wasn't a good sign.

"Don't panic, everyone! Everything's under control. Quickly now, take that leap of faith, and I promise you'll make it to safety!" Eugh. Each time he encouraged everyone, he threw up a little in his mouth.

...Lone fool? Was this guy riffing on his hero name? That checks out. He should've expected that when he put it down on his hero application. I mean, it was a prime name for shit like that. No ragrets tho.

"Ze—" he cut himself off. Now that he thought about it, the path was already set. All the civilians needed to do was follow it, and he'd get the points. Perhaps now was the time to cement himself as the best candidate. In other words, it was time to get points for combat. "The peril? I don't think so, villain!" Vomit. "So long as I'm breathing, I won't let you harm a single one of them!"

Easier said than done. He had never actually fought a pro before. Hell, he had never fought anyone before PERIOD. Still, he wasn't scared. None of this shit was real, and he wasn't about to crack under the imaginary pressure. It also helped that he had Sada's gift to make up for his shortcomings. First thing's first: analyze the opposition. "He can make the first move. All I need to do is react accordingly," he reminded himself.

Sebastian

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Sinclaire

[attr="class","FaustContent"]"When I was a but a young lad, I had fond memories of visiting my grandparents' ranch. When I close my eyes and think back to those moments, I can almost feel the arid breeze accompanied by the sound of wind chimes and the creeky porch. It was hot out in the country side. I used to get all hot and sweaty, and my shirt would practically fuse to my skin. My only respite in those days was my grandma's famous lemonade. Why, I remember when my grandma used to come out onto the porch with a glass pitcher and a cup full of ice. You could only imagine the delight on my face seeing the ice cold droplets on the outside of that pitcher. I hope that this lemonade recipe brings as much joy to your family as it did to me during my childhood. Recipe: Water, Lemons, Sugar. Juice lemons into water, add sugar, and mix.

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Why is it that eveyrone needed to inject some cheesy life story into their recipes? Seriously, if I Google a lemonade recipe, I'd like the lemonade recipe—not all of that preliminary bullshit that I don't care about. Just give me the damn recipe, and stop harping on and on about yo—"

"SINCLAIRE!"

"EH?"

"Take off the blindfold, and pay attention! If I see that blindfold back over your eyes one more time, I'm writing you up, y'hear me?"

"Ah, yeah. My bad, teach. I promise I was awake and paying attention! My eyes just get kind of sore from the light, yeah? Too bright," he smiled, lifting the blindfold from his eyes.

Anybody that knew even a little bit about Sebastian knew that he was full of shit. I mean, the lights were bothering him, but it wasn't for any legitimate reason. He just loved taking naps in class. He just loved not paying attention. The professor wasn't buying it either, and so he tested the little shit.

"Oh? Then you wouldn't mind repeating what I just said?" he asked, folding his arms with a confident smirk.

"Eh. You said a lot, so I won't repeat it. You said we're doing a little sparring thing at Ground Gamma. I'm fighting Eli."

"Huh...Well, I'll be damned: You were paying attention."

"Yup."

He was half-paying attention. He didn't get everything that was going on, but he got the important bits—enough to pretend like he was actually conscious of what was going on. The truth was that he got bored and let his mind wander to some inane topic. Something about iced tea? Eh, he forgot what he was thinking about already. Anyway, it was time to get changed and head to Ground Gamma for his fight. Unfortunately, Sebastian didn't have a hero suit, so he didn't bother going to the locker room to get suited up. Instead, he just waltzed on over to Ground Gamma in his disheveled uniform.