Confusion

The teenager's eyes narrow slightly, a hint of wariness still lingering in his expression as he considers Ozpin's words. He takes a deep, steadying breath, the air leaving his lungs in a slow, controlled exhale before he speaks. The teenager reaches out, his fingers gently tapping the rim of the glass in front of him, the faint chime of the bell-like objects ringing out as he shifts in his seat, settling into a more relaxed posture as he prepares to respond.

"I appreciate the offer, old man, but trust doesn't come easy for me these days." His voice is low, tinged with a weariness that belies his young age. "Last time I thought I could trust someone, they nearly put a bullet in my head. My so-called captain, the one I thought had my back..."

The teenager's fist clenches tighter around the glass, the knuckles turning white as the painful memories resurface, a flicker of anguish passing across his features before he regains his composure.

"I did used to have teachers I liked back when I was younger, before all this went down. Maybe...maybe you could be one of the good ones. But I can't just open up like that, not after what I've been through. Not yet, at least."

He lifts his gaze to meet Ozpin's, a glimmer of cautious hope flickering in his eyes, like a delicate flame struggling to stay alight.

"For now, I'm willing to give you a chance. But you're gonna have to earn my trust. And if you ever cross me..." *His voice drops to a low, serious tone, a subtle edge of warning lurking beneath the words.* "Well, let's just say I won't be as forgiving as I was with my 'captain'."

Ozpin listens intently as the teenager speaks, his expression growing somber as he hears the young man's painful past. He pauses the Intel update he was reviewing on his phone, the soft glow of the screen momentarily illuminating his features before he tucks the device back into his pocket, turning his full attention to the teenager before him.

When the teenager finishes, Ozpin nods slowly, his eyes conveying a sense of understanding and empathy behind his glasses. The faint light catches on the lenses, casting subtle reflections as he contemplates the young man's words.

"I understand your hesitation, my friend. Betrayal is a wound that cuts deep, and it's only natural to be wary after such an experience." Ozpin's voice is measured, tinged with a subtle warmth as he speaks. "But I want you to know that I am not here to add to your burdens, but to lighten them if I can."

He pauses, gently squeezing the teenager's shoulder, the weight of his hand a comforting presence. In the background, the cheerful voice of a bartender can be heard approaching, inquiring about their orders.

"I give you my word that I will do everything in my power to earn your trust. I may be an 'old man' as you say, but I still have a few tricks up my sleeve." Ozpin's lips curve into a faint, reassuring smile. "And you have my solemn promise that I will never, ever turn against you. If you'll allow me, I'd be honored to be the mentor you deserve - one who will always have your back, no matter what."

Ozpin's expression is earnest, his gaze steady and unwavering as he waits for the teenager's response. The teenager nods slightly, a glimmer of cautious hope flickering in his eyes as he holds Ozpin's gaze, considering the older man's words. The teenager then turns his attention to the distance, his hand unconsciously reaching into his pocket, fingers grasping at the contents within as he takes a moment to collect his thoughts, the weight of Ozpin's comforting hand on his shoulder a steadying presence.

The air in the dimly lit bar is thick with the aroma of spilled alcohol and the sizzle of greasy food being prepared in the kitchen. The chatter of patrons mingles with the clanging of glasses and the occasional burst of laughter from the bartenders as they hustle to tend to the growing crowd.

In the corner, the teenager shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes darting around, taking in the unsavory characters that populate the establishment. He catches a brief whisper from a nearby table, the words barely audible over the din, but the pride in the speaker's voice is unmistakable.

Ozpin, seated across from the young man, pauses his conversation on the phone, his brow furrowing with a mixture of frustration and determination. The teenager watches as the professor's fingers tighten around the device, his knuckles turning white with the intensity of his grip.

"Are you kidding me?" Ozpin's voice is a low, gruff rumble, tinged with a hint of exasperation. "He gave you the slip? A dang ninja, no freaking way!" The teenager flinches at the professor's outburst, his own hand instinctively reaching into his pocket, the familiar feel of the weapons he carries a comforting presence.

Ozpin's foot stomps against the floor, the sound echoing through the bar, drawing a few curious glances from the other patrons. The teenager blinks, his gaze shifting from the professor to the various unsavory characters around them, a sense of unease settling in the pit of his stomach.

"Who the heck is Karlin?" the teenager asks, his voice barely audible over the din of the bar, as he stretches in his seat, trying to find a more comfortable position.