Blake cast her friend a side-long glance. "Are you sure Jaune will be alright without you there?"

Her partner shrugged and took a sip of her strawberry sunrise. "I'm sure he's fine."


Goddammit, he'd never been less fine in his life. And where the hell was Yang? Was whatever she was doing more important than coaching him during his match? He tried to remember whether she had mentioned a reason she wouldn't make it but couldn't recall anything. If she was out drinking with Blake again instead of supporting him, he would never let her hear the end of it.

Stupid Yang.

His momentary lapse in judgment was rewarded with a swift strike to the gut. He growled in frustration, lashing out haphazardly and forcing the young man to leap backward. How had his opponent known his one weakness was where he didn't have any armor? And why did he still not have any armor there?

"Focus on the fight at hand, Mr. Arc," Professor Goodwitch commanded in a tone that left no room for argument.

He gulped. "Yes, ma'am."

To his relief, the other team leader seemed to recognize he had zoned out and had decided against taking any cheap shots. Now, however, he was on the offensive once more. Their blades collided, and Jaune felt his arms shaking trying to hold back the blows raining down upon him.

"You can do it, Jaune!"

He sighed in response, knowing that Ruby was completely sincere in her belief in him—her belief that he could do anything he set his mind to. He hated that he always let her down.

Parrying a blow, the blonde sword fighter managed to land a knee into the young man's stomach. Smiling in satisfaction at returning a blow like the one he received earlier, Jaune stepped back into a stance which brought his shield to the forefront. After all, he had learned from having been defeated so many times that an all-out offense would only lead to his own demise. When his opponent dramatically exhaled and collapsed to his knee, however, Jaune felt the smile slip from his face. Perhaps he had been mistaken earlier about neglecting the whole offense thing. A downed opponent who had dropped their weapon was basically a win handed to him on a silver platter; he would be a fool not to take it.

Forgoing any sense of his training, Jaune rushed his opponent his blade flailing at his side and his shield discarded. His shield would only weigh him down, and this could be his one shot. With a grin once again in place, the blonde swordsman raised his weapon above his head, briefly considering how sweet his first victory would taste. When his sword suddenly flung itself across the room, Jaune found himself at a loss. Had his opponent tricked him with some kind of crazy, awesome semblance? Before he could even consider the implications, a searing pain shot through the back of his head. Following this, his body slammed into the floor and his vision swam with ever-enclosing darkness.

The last thing Jaune saw were two pairs of eyes. One pair was silver and filled with worry, while the other pair was emerald and filled with disbelief.