He was flirting with Weiss. Again. Pyrrha had grown used his obliviousness by now, but ever since their discussion about his underhanded entry into Beacon Academy, it always came with some sting.
"Was Weiss the one whom he'd entrusted with his darkest secret?"
"Was Weiss the one with whom he trained every night?"
"Was Weiss the one who saw in him a wealth of potential worth molding?"
She'd caught herself styling her hair in an asymmetric ponytail reminiscent to that of the Schnee heiress. With a remark of disgust, Pyrrha had tucked the brush back where she'd found it.
"No. If he likes me, he'll come to me as I am. Not because I remind him of her."
After a while, she'd begun to feel threatened by here. Not in the petty way some scorned lover would feel, but in a more relevant way.
"With his attention centered so much on Weiss, how could he clear his mind while they practiced?"
Today, however, as Wiess turned him down yet again, the Mistrali came to a realization. A momentary epiphany, if one would choose to define it as such. She scribbled the thought away in her notebook to look back on later.
"Jaune. It's been a week! Strike me or I'm going to hurt you!" Pyrrha sighed her warning- no, her promise- with a dissatisfied air.
"Pyrrha, I'm trying! You're not making this easy-"
"You think this is supposed to be easy, Jaune? Do you think the Deathstalkers will just kill themselves? The Nevermore will just drop from the sky? Beowolves will simply attack their own packmates when they see you?"
"Pyrrha, I don't want to hurt you!" She struck, slamming the flat of her blade against his ribs with enough force to dent a car door. He flinched in pain. His Aura was great and he was getting better at using it, but he could still feel the lethality with which she'd swung her blade. He looked betrayed and confused, to say the least. Never once had she struck him out of anger. Technically, she still had not.
"Jaune. Stop treating me as if I were some helpless dame! Now strike me!" Jaune chewed his lip and took a deep breath, gathering his courage to strike with all the intent Pyrrha had requested of him.
Slash. Stab. Swipe. Parry!
She smirked at him as their weapons shook with the force of their blows. He was strong- so much strength gathered in those biceps and triceps and- Swipe. Jab. A powerful overhead attack that had never been a threat until now. Second parry! She'd nearly slipped her cool steel through his defenses. Sparks flew as they held the stance for a second that seemed to stretch through eternity. Swipe. Backhand swipe. Slash. Forearm bash!
He struck her in the chest. She hadn't been expecting it. They had never actually gotten so far in a single exercise without stopping and the existence of the forearm bash had slipped her mind for the briefest of moments. Had it been an actual fight, she would've grabbed the arm and dislocated his shoulder before the blow landed, but, as it were, she'd been expecting to block the final jab.
Jaune saw the glimmer of surprise in her emerald eyes and- for the quickest of heartbeats- he hesitated with his final attack. It would be a finishing jab to the exact center of the chest that would incapacitate anyone not wearing armor. The tip of his blade angled slightly, shooting towards her shoulder.
She didn't even have time to sigh.
With a flurry of limbs, he was back on the ground, for what must've been the thousandth time that week, disarmed and defeated.
"… again."