Chapter 18: Setting Priorities Straight.
A leader is only as good as the sacrifices he's prepared to make for his charges. A team is only as good as the sacrifices they're prepared to make for their leader.
The history of mankind on Remnant is a history of fighting, struggle, and survival. Over countless millennia, our minds and bodies have been shaped by necessity and the merciless nature of this world into what they are today. Our endurance trumps that of most living creatures, our limbs allow us to use weapons and tools impossible to find naturally on Remnant, and our tenacity makes certain those weapons grow ever more intricate and deadly. Not to mention the remainders of the simpler, more primitive points of our existence, when our only real tool against this world was our own organism pumping itself full of potent combat drugs at the first sign of danger. Indeed, it is no wonder that of the vastness of creation, we alone (and our Faunus brethren, naturally) had managed to tap into the great flame bequeathed upon every living thing by the Light, into the spark that burns for life itself: our soul. Yet with this great might and opportunity, a great burden of responsibility is placed upon the shoulders of each one of us, of responsibility before our fellow kin first and foremost.
And the Grimm, that despicable scourge, are a constant reminder that by abusing that power, by turning it against fellow humans, we shall only bring about our collective demise ever swifter. This does not mean, however, that it may ever be acceptable for us to become complacent. For while it is true that peace is the noblest of all aspirations, one must be willing to fight to the death in order to preserve it; be it from Grimm or from ourselves.
And so it is true, that although times have changed much and the world we take for granted today would be unrecognizable to someone from a thousand years ago, the essence of it still boils down to two key aspects: survival and fighting, and may the Light prevent us from taking any of the two to their extremes. For every person on Remnant, there may be a different point on the correlation between the two and a different approach to either aspect. For some, violence is a means to an end, a simple tool like a pencil or a screwdriver to make sure their survival is as prolonged and trouble-free as possible. Many view it as a last resort, an option one should choose solely when all others have proven futile, to the point where their own existence is on the line.
Some, on the other hand, relish a chance to put their life at stake, for it is common knowledge that in most situations, risk and reward are equal in their worth. And what is a greater bet than one's very life? Those men and women revel in the sensation of adrenaline flooding their veins; they adore the concept of steel clashing against steel, a strong will matched in combat by an equally strong one. For them, battle is its own reward. Legends are still passed from elders to children – tales of invincible warriors who would raze legions on their lonesome and drive entire armies to flee with naught but their gaze.
Yet among us walks another kind of people. There are those for whom violence is neither of the three: they have nothing to gain through it, nor are they driven to it through fear, nor is the process of fighting riveting to them. For them, their war is a sacred duty, a duty before their families, their friends, their countrymen. Whether driven to it through patriotism, understanding, or because they have not found their lot in life, they choose to stand an eternal vigil against an evil that, unlike civilizations, kings, kingdoms, or councils, is everlasting and unchanging.
One day, a man looked outside the kingdom's walls, and witnessed a terror unlike any he had ever seen before. And although his fear was great, he realized that no matter where he would run, he could never hide from it. For as long as a human roamed the lands of Remnant, so too would the last spawn of Grimm scour the ends of the earth in search of him. And so, he stepped forth, willingly, to serve as a bulwark against the horrors, that no man, woman or child would ever face it again. Thus, the first Hunter was born. And from that day, young men and women follow in his footsteps. They offer their lives to the Light, battling a threat that will never cease its existence, so that we may lead ours undisturbed. Such is their sacrifice, and for that, they are rewarded in kind: through great might in life, and great knowledge in death…
…Jaune Arc, however, did not feel himself reaping any of those two rewards any time soon, of which at least one was due to obvious reasons. Despite enrolling in Beacon just about a semester ago, so far any and all violent confrontations, whether with Grimm or his own co-students, had felt less like a holy and just crusade and more like an uphill struggle, with the hill only growing steeper. True, he had definitely picked up a trick or two during his constant training-slash-workout-sessions with his team and, surprisingly, Darius, who, despite the implications of his name, turned out to be – what heresy! – a valued friend, if unbearably harsh at times. True, most spawns of Grimm they had encountered so far had about as much tenacity as a lamp post unless working in packs, allowing Crocea Mors to make surprisingly short work of them, despite its archaic nature. But it just wasn't enough.
Between the civil classes like history, math, biology etc. and the applied disciplines, of which most pertained to the eradication of Grimm, he was finding it increasingly hard to actually be the leader of team Juniper and not just a figurehead. And while the civil classes were easy enough to manage, thanks to his innate wit and rather broad spectrum of interests pre-academy, when it came to getting physical, he simply could not keep up. No matter how hard the training, an aura awakened barely four months ago simply cannot compare with that unlocked – and trained – for several years. During drills it took him all of his strength, endurance, and raw willpower to simply keep up with the statistical average, all while being completely outshined by the rest of his team. They effortlessly vaulted over obstacles he himself had to climb over, both physically and metaphorically. Today, the trend would continue…
Namely, in him squaring off against none other than Cardin Winchester, as called by Goodwitch, who never seemed to have had enough of his suffering. As the lights in the arena grew dimmer, eventually leaving them in a circle of light, surrounded by total darkness, his opponent, whose smile had not left his face since the match had been called out, tossed his massive mace in the air, giving it a good spin, before effortlessly catching it with his other hand and balancing it on his palm:
"So, Jauney-boy, ready to get destroyed?"
Jaune remained silent. A bully's tactic never changes, only a victim's reaction can: they can give the bully the emotional response that they want, or they can remain silent. He was very familiar with this approach even before he applied to Beacon, and in the last six months he, thanks partly to Cardin, had grown a skin thicker than a Death Stalker's frontal plating. Such low-effort provocation had about as much effect on him as it did on a rock. Instead, he slammed his sword sideways into his shield, before pointing at Cardin, a warrior's salute. The recipient shrugged.
"Good form, good form. I mean, you're still gonna lose the match, and probably some teeth in the process, but at least you won't lose your face. Not that there's much to lose there."
Continuing to ignore his opponent, Jaune assumed the usual combat stance: left leg in front, shield up, sword rests on shoulder. Good for defense, easy to transition into offense. Now to wait for the signal.
"Fight!"
There we go.
With his shield raised almost up to his eyes, he decided to let Cardin make the first move, slowly circling him to the left, waiting for any tells. His adversary, however, appeared entirely uninterested in charging a shielded target, having put his mace down and seemingly examining his nails. With a sigh, he resigned to having to take the bait, and charged in himself, watching his shoulders and center of mass intently. As expected, Cardin immediately picked up the mace and prepared himself for what seemed to be a horizontal swing. Yet as Jaune was about to bend the leg and slide right underneath it, he noticed further motion of his shoulders and, on pure intuition, decided against it. Pulling the mace even further behind him, Cardin suddenly slammed it down in front of him, just about where Jaune would be if he did decide to go low. As it stood, he simply hopped to the right, avoiding the impact, and was presented with a ripe opportunity to counterattack. He managed to get two hits in before being socked square in the face by the pommel of Cardin's weapon, which he now was gripping akin to a quarterstaff, sweeping around him. Seeing as his opponent was still continuing the motion, he hastily raised his shield up to avoid being slammed by the head of the mace as well, successfully absorbing the brunt of the impact.
However, he did not get to punish Cardin after the exchange, for he let the momentum of his colossal mace carry on, swiftly gripping it again and letting it trace a half circle around him before slamming it into the ground with another overhead, his movements deceptively swift for someone with such a weapon. Choosing wisely not to attempt to stop a literal mountain from falling on his head, Jaune instead dove to the right, minimizing his recovery times with a roll and dashing back into the fray, bringing his sword down as he went. Although executed almost perfectly, the strike was nevertheless blocked, locking him and Cardin into a clinch of sorts, which the latter broke by simply kicking Jaune in the stomach, driving him a good two meters back. Never letting his opponent out of sight, Jaune saw him break into a sprint, the mace already in a motion set to turn his head into a gory mush. Such chance could not go to waste. Ducking under the swing, Jaune put all of his mass into exploiting the momentum still carrying Cardin towards him and slammed his shield directly into his face. Seizing the opportunity, Jaune railed into him, landing a full chain of four hits into him before being greeted by a bash of Cardin's, although not by shield, but by his mace's hilt.
As Cardin mounted another offensive, his mighty mace traced a horizontal arc in the air, aimed to knock Jaune's soul straight out of his carcass. Jaune, in objection, raised his shield again, choosing to tank the hit and coordinate from there. Yet milliseconds before the hit connected, he saw the Dust crystal between the mace's flanges flash bright red, and what was going to be a heavy, but tolerable hit, was amplified by a massive explosion of fire, knocking Jaune a good distance away, just barely leaving him enough time to regroup and ease the fall somehow.
The hit had blindsided him and had his left arm sorer than anticipated, yes. Yet he had absolutely no time to pity himself, as Cardin was already charging headfirst into him, mace raised high with a baleful red glow emanating from the crystal. About six or seven meters away, Cardin leapt high into the air, bringing his weapon down with him. Jaune knelt and gripped his sword in reverse, using his sword arm, to support his shield he raised above him. In addition, he began to channel his aura through his hands and into the shield, a neat little trick he picked up in training. Shortly before Cardin's mace collided with his shield, he closed his eyes to shield them from what was about to come if he succeeded.
As metal clashed against metal, the Dust crystal, already pulsing with energy, released all of it in a massive burst of flame, spreading meters away from the epicenter. Yet the shield not only did not waver, but instead blinded Cardin with a flash of argent white light emitting from it, as the energy pumped into it by Jaune had been released in one swoop. Blindsided, quite literally, Cardin dropped his weapon and recoiled a couple steps back, his hands covering his eyes to at least somewhat alleviate the terrible piercing pain in them. Jaune, who not only did not suffer from the flash, but also, surprisingly to him, barely flinched from Cardin's plunge, could not allow himself to waste this opportunity.
Without switching the grip on his sword, Jaune clicked a hidden switch on the inside of his shield, letting it contract back into a sheath, and swiftly drove the sword into it. With the sheath still in his left hand, he charged towards his opponent and picked up Cardin's mace, surprised by how heavy it felt even with his aura enhancing his strength. With a furious battlecry, Jaune swung the weapon, driving the mace's enormous mass into Cardin's side, causing him to fall down on one knee. Yet as he was about to deliver another blow, his strike was intercepted mid-swing by Cardin's hand, who rushed Jaune from a low stance and bashed him with his shoulder, causing him to let go of the weapon, before landing his own swing into Jaune's chestplate. As he stood up, he saw Cardin stand where he was, with his shoulders slightly slumped and his breath rugged and heavy as his was.
"Did your mother not teach you not to take what isn't yours?" the bully asked, causing Jaune to grit his teeth in realization of this irony.
"Look at who's talking."
"Hm," Cardin simply brushed his reply off. "Learned a new trick, huh? Well, no matter. Got one of my own."
Without hurry, Cardin extracted the red crystal out of his weapon and put it into a small pocket of his trousers, taking out a similar one, but of piercing blue hue, and putting it back into the weapon. Ice, I would assume. Huh.
With a grunt and a guttural roar, Jaune's opponent in this all-too long fight picked up the pace again, charging straight at him. Slightly confused, he raised his shield again and began channeling energy into it, fully expecting Cardin to go right for him. Yet whether he lost his footing or simply miscalculated the distance between them, the mace exploded the flooring centimeters in front of Jaune, leaving his opponent open for retaliation. He raised his sword and was about to slash the adversary square across the face… Only to realize he could not move an inch. From the location of impact, ice surged from inside the crystal, freezing everything in about a meter in front of it, Jaune included. He was entombed up to his chest in ice, unable to even clench his fingers into a fist, and his glacial cage was making it difficult to breathe. A sinister laugh escaped Cardin's throat as he raised his mace one more time, aiming for Jaune's forehead. In his struggle to break free of his frosty prison, he tensed every muscle, every tendon in his body to its limits, until a loud crunch pierced the air and Jaune's sword arm had broken free of its icy bind, clashing with Cardin's mace and swaying its course just enough to plummet down on Jaune's left arm instead of his face, dear to him for sentimental value.
With this, the entire mass of ice shattered like a glass drop, freeing Jaune and causing him to immediately drop on the floor as he felt his entire body turn into a giant cramp from the tension. Thanks to what little aura he had left, though, the pain left about as quickly as it came, leaving only his left arm a hostage to dull, pulsating ache from being pretty much turned into stew. It wasn't broken, though, as it was somehow still gripping the shield, and controlled fine, which he had to exploit immediately. From the right, he heard a maddened scream as another mace swing finally flung his shield out of his hand, leaving him with nothing but a straight sword to fend for himself.
He immediately rolled away from the threat to assess the situation, but it would seem that Cardin had about enough of this. His skin was rapidly turning pale and growing increasingly thick, while his eyes had transformed into lifeless icicles. Jaune had no time to recover his shield, so instead he just gripped Crocea Mors with both hands as Cardin, now more reminiscent of a walking iceberg than a human, was going straight at him. Jaune swung directly for his face, yet the sword barely made a dent in the ice, while his enemy has up and socked him with a fist of ice into his. He staggered back from the terrible force of the punch and saw a mace swing down from the skies upon him.
He raised his sword to block, taking out a page from Pyrrha's book and angling it slightly, causing the swing to narrowly miss him, and before Cardin could lift his weapon to try again, swiftly transitioned into a diagonal slash… which his opponent caught with his bare hand. Entirely sick of Jaune's shenanigans, Cardin first kicked him directly into his kneecap, making him lose his footing and plummet down on one knee. With the sword still firmly in his icy fist, he drove another into Jaune's jaw, temporarily flipping the off switch in Jaune's sight. The next thing he saw was Cardin standing above him, with his mace raised high. He couldn't even raise his arm to block.
Yet before he could land the finishing blow, a siren blared around them, indicating the end of the match, prompting Cardin to back off and disengage his Semblance, his face frozen in a disappointed grimace. Jaune's vision was still blurry, yet still he saw the two gigantic screens with their respective portraits and their aura levels below them. Cardin's was at about a quarter, colored bright yellow. His was empty.
"A battle not only a contest of brute strength or agility, pupils," Glynda stepped out of the shadows, beginning her usual post-fight breakdown. "It is a test of your ability to adapt and strategize. Mister Arc has displayed a… praiseworthy tactical prowess, exploiting his enemy's predictable patterns."
Cardin frowned. Glynda, paying him no mind, continued:
"However, when mister Winchester decided to change his approach, Jaune had not adjusted his tactics on the fly, which, in turn, cost him the initiative and, ultimately, the battle. To mister Arc, I would advise exercising extreme caution when seeing your enemy drastically change their arsenal. Conversely, mister Winchester should consider revising his battle doctrine of 'Overhead Smash solves everything'. Just look at this mess."
With that, the principal raised her riding crop and waved it in a circular motion. As if on cue, all the smashed tiles and fragments of the flooring suddenly took their place before being smashed by Cardin, and molded together.
"Remember, everyone. The Vytal Festival, and with it, the tournament, is only a few months away. Those of you that choose to participate will be representing Beacon in front of all of Remnant. Believe me: large weapons will be the least of your problems there. Class is dismissed."
He heard a voice calling out his name. Some remote part of his brain that yet clung to consciousness, defying the merciful oblivion, told him it was Pyrrha's. He didn't even have the strength to turn his head to check whether he was right or wrong, such was his exhaustion. Yet it would appear that was not necessary. In a puff of smoke, a familiar silhouette materialized kneeling before him. Taking a closer look at Jaune's sorry state, Darius first carefully squeezed his knee, before grabbing his right hand and wrapping it around him, effortlessly lifting him up on his feet. As the two turned around, Jaune saw the rest of his team leaping up on the arena, surrounding them. Ren, without saying a word, moved to the left, trying to assist Darius, but was stopped by Silva himself as he raised his free arm to protest:
"Don't. He took a pretty heavy hit to his left arm, I doubt he'd appreciate you grabbing it right now. I can manage."
"Jaune, are you alright?!" Pyrrha asked, her eyes spread wide open and her face laced with concern.
"It's nothing serious, Pyrrha," his carrier answered the question for him, although that definitely was not the phrasing he'd use himself. "Likely heavy bruising on the left shoulder, although nothing is broken, minor frostbite, and based on how stiff he currently is, I'm pretty sure he cramped his entire body when trying to free himself from the ice. Nothing his aura won't fix in an hour." He then addressed the subject of the discussion directly, that being Jaune himself. "Talk to me, Jaune. What else is hurting?"
"How about everything?" Despite most of his muscle groups still spazzing from his exercises on, or, to be precise, in ice, his voice turned out to be surprisingly even, if somewhat aloof.
"Okay then. Different question: will you stand if I let go of you?"
"I'm not sure…"
"Well, there's your answer," with that, Darius chuckled, throwing his arm off. "You've been standing the entire time. Let's go. You'll feel better after a shower."
Jaune tapped himself on his left leg, realizing that he'd have to go fetch his weapon before that could be done. Yet as he turned in the direction he thought his shield flew in when it was oh so rudely confiscated by Cardin's smashing stick, he saw, instead, the second of his redheaded subordinates pick up the shield and then the sword, sheathing the latter in the former. With a familiar, ever present spring to her step, Nora skipped her way across the arena and extended her arm, handing him his signature weapon with her usual smug smile, although it appeared to Jaune that somewhere in the far corners of her eyes he saw a hint of approval. To be fair, the bout had turned out a decent amount better than his usual encounters with Cardin, in or out of the ring. Yet thinking back to who it was he was training with, and what role he was playing, it still wasn't good enough.
He considered turning around and grabbing his weapon with his right hand for a second, but swiftly came to the realization that eventually he'd have to stretch his arm back into shape. Might as well start now. So, despite his left limb feeling less like his natural appendage and more like one of those claw arms one would see in the arcades (the handling certainly felt that way), he successfully managed to accept the sheath and even heft it back where it belonged – on his waist, that is.
"Thanks, Nora. Think I'll go now… I feel like a used plush toy."
"You should kick him in the nuts next time!"
"Nora!" Pressing her lips together, Pyrrha voiced her opinion on the matter, all while cautiously looking around in hopes that this bit of advice was not overheard by the principal. "That's a terrible thing to advise, or do, to someone. Especially with Goodwitch still around…"
"It's effective, though."
"Depends,"Darius shot back. "Kick him when he's a walking hunk of ice and you might end up br… hm… injuring yourself." Tossing another look at Jaune, something must have clicked in his head to have him realize that unlike him, he was entirely not in the mood to continue shooting the shit with a semi-violent psychopath. That, in turn, prompted him to ever so gently nudge Jaune's unharmed shoulder, pointing him in the direction of the change room. "Alright, that's about enough of that. This here would be where we split. See you guys in about fifteen minutes. Let's go, Jaune."
Jaune did not object.
The Atlesian did not lie. After a solid five minutes of soaking under the streams of scalding hot water, concluding by a swift dip into an icy one, sensitivity had yet again returned to Jaune's battered body, and his left arm felt like a very sore, yet completely organic limb, instead of a pirate hook on several interconnected sticks. What's better, the murky fog of fatigue and residual adrenaline had left his mind, clearing his thoughts and lifting his spirits, albeit by a comparatively small margin. It was enough, however, for him to participate in some meaningless small talk between Ren, Darius, and himself, on their way to the dining hall. Having reasonably assumed that by the time the girls dolled up enough to show their faces, the three of them would probably turn to cannibalizing each other, they decided to break the promise oh so hastily given by one of them and just meet them at the table.
Inadvertently, the discussion eventually shifted to the assignment given to Jaune (and Cardin, ironically), at the beginning of the day by Professor Oobleck, that being an essay regarding the topic of the Faunus rights revolution, colloquially referred to as the Faunus War. After munching on the topic for a bit and taking a metaphorical bite at it from every perspective, Darius and Ren vowed to assist Jaune in his historical ventures: the former promised he'd dig up some materials pertaining to the political and economic climate surrounding that time period, aside from the obvious attempt by mankind to confine Faunuskind in a singular island, while the latter offered help scavenging the school library for other information. Jaune did not object to the offerings of help; after all, in this Hunter-eat-Hunter world, any assistance from fellow men was welcome, and the essay was due much sooner than he'd like.
"Perked up a bit, have we?"
And there I thought the evening was turning out rather nicely.
Stepping out from the corner of an adjacent corridor was none other than the illustrious leader of Team Cardinal, followed closely by said team. Cardin's face was beaming with excitement and joy at the sight of his opponent from a quarter hour ago, and his arms were outstretched far in a gracious attempt to give Jaune a big friendly hug. The fact that his excitement was of the most sinister kind and that the joy plastered on his face was more artificial than low-grade plastic was another matter entirely. Alas, or maybe thankfully, his endeavor to embrace Jaune did not come to fruition, as his two companions had immediately taken place at his sides, with Ren giving him the classic emotionless brick-stare, while Darius' lips froze in a half-smile that would have Nora herself nudging away from him. Disheartened to the very core of his being, Cardin shrugged. Jaune sighed.
"What is it, Cardin?"
"Jaune, you sadden me," Cardin swiped his hand across his cheek to wipe away an imaginary tear so fake an alligator would be appalled by such a blatant lie. "I simply wanted to thank you for a riveting spar! I mean, it's not like you had the slightest chance to win, but I still had a blast! Watching you ragdoll across the arena is an unforgettable experience that I simply cannot have with anyone else."
"He means you're trash," directly beside Cardin, a boy with a blonde mohawk quipped. Jaune's memory dutifully filled in the name Russel.
"How many times have I told you not to explain everything I say?!" the bully lashed out at his subordinate, who attempted to blend in with the remaining two members of the team with a meek 'sorry'.
"You seem to be having some leadership issues, Cardin," Darius' voice remained unnervingly even and bland during the entire phrase. "What kind of mook speaks up without his master's permission?"
"Darius, don't even bother," Jaune couldn't help but let out another exasperated sigh. His friend obviously didn't have any experience dealing with bullies, swallowing such an obvious bait. "You're just validating him right now."
"Well, I'm happy for him, then," the Silva replied without changing his tone in the slightest, his eyes still locked on Cardin. "That's one way to achieve purpose in life. But that's beside the point. You talk an awful lot of shit for someone who finished the fight with less than a quarter of his aura, Cardin. And even more so for someone whose face I broke for that exact reason. So tell me, Cardin, is it bravery or the goldfish syndrome that's pushing you to do it?"
And there we go. You'd think that an Atlesian would have a better grip on his temper than this.
Seeing as the attention of the entire team was currently focused on said Atlesian already raring to repeat the procedure, he inconspicuously shuffled positions with Darius, positioning himself at his right side, while quickly exchanging glances with Ren, who did the same at his left. He then refocused his gaze at Cardin, who was gritting his teeth as Darius finished his rebuttal.
"Look at who's talking. But if we're doing this, then you sure talk a lot of shit for some backstabbing scum. Can you do anything besides hide in the shadows, you coward?"
The two were preparing to grab hold of their friend, but the latter simply chuckled at the accusation, surprising Jaune at the least.
"That's a good one," he pointed out, with his half-smile growing ever wider, even crawling to the other half of his face. "I'd demonstrate, but I feel we'd end up where we did last time, with you in the infirmary and myself in detention. Instead…" he stepped forward, extending a hand towards Cardin, whose brow had shot up at the notion. "A proposition. The next time Goodwitch calls one of us into the ring, we challenge the other one to combat. We'll see what the other is capable of. Maybe you'll fare better with a long, blunt object in your hands."
If Jaune could be perfectly honest, the sound of Cardin involuntarily trying to grind his teeth into flour was pleasing him greatly.
"Deal." He shook the outstretched hand and motioned to his team. "Let's go."
As Team Cardinal vanished from their sight, Jaune and Ren caught up to their friend a couple steps ahead of them. When Jaune had the opportunity to look Darius in the face, however, he found that his gray eyes were gazing straight back at him, their expression colder than the glaciers of Atlas.
"I want you to explain something to me, Jaune," he sighed. "Why am I doing this? Why am I talking back to them when it's you they were after? Not that I don't relish the opportunity to spit in their pathetic faces when offered, mind you, but you do realize that your attempts at ignoring them have failed so far and will continue failing for the next three and a half years? What if Ren and I weren't here?"
It's like you don't know the answer.
"You chose to talk back to them, remember?"
"Oh, so you'd rather I watched you, my friend, get humiliated a third time this day?"
"Can we continue walking, maybe?"
The rest of the way to the dining hall was made in silence.
As expected, their female colleagues took their sweet time catching up with them, only arriving to the dining hall by the time the trio finished the first course of their respective dinners. That did not mean, however, that there was much waiting involved: thoroughly drained by the classes and the subsequent training routines, the six girls devoured the first course of the meal so ravenously that Jaune, Ren and Darius exchanged bewildered glances in perfect sync, beset by the suspicion the new arrivals might not at all be the girls of Teams Ruby and Juniper, but instead masterfully disguised Grimm. Their doubts, however, were swiftly dispelled by several displays of behavior that could in no way befit the monsters, unparalleled bitchiness, smug indifference, and terrible puns being some that stuck out the most. Thus, after the dust had settled, along with the girls, the dinner eventually developed in a manner all nine of them were rather accustomed to. Yang and Darius, evidently dissatisfied by the time spent fighting in the ring, were engaging in yet another bout, this time verbal, which typically consisted of inventing ever more elaborate ways to mix one another with dirt, with Blake or Weiss occasionally interjecting in favor of either side with a stray snide remark, while Nora filled the role of the commentator and analyst, with Ren stepping in to calm his partner if the debate became too heated for her to handle. The routine was well-rehearsed and enjoyed by every party involved, and was employed every time there wasn't any grand commotion or event to talk about.
To Jaune, however, today's battle of wit and cunning rang about as hollow as any other noises from the neighboring tables, eventually merging with the background noise as his mind was replaying the sparring match between him and Cardin. This was not a rare occurrence, as for every battle he had fought with his fellow students, he put aside some time for reflection and consideration. Consideration of things such as: what went wrong? What could he have done to prevent something from going wrong? Why had he handled something going wrong the way he had and not the other? That sort of thing. After all, lacking the battle sense the others had developed over years of training, his only resort was to devise a reaction plan for any possible outcome and think of a trick to counter whatever the enemy could have had in their sleeve.
And yet every time he rewound the fight between him and Cardin, every time he pondered the possible development of the spar had he taken a different action at a certain point, every second he thought of what he could have done better, a strange and unsettling feeling of unease festered further deep within his heart. A feeling born of an ever growing realization that nothing he could have done or changed would have swayed the outcome of the battle in his favor. No trick he could have played, no maneuver he could have made, no tactic he could have employed would have helped him come out on top.
And the most terrible thing about it was the fact that this was not the first time this thought had visited him.
"Jaune, are you okay?"
Out from the downwards-spiraling loop of thought and back into the real world, Jaune felt a shiver run up and then back down his spine as his senses began picking up the world around him once again and the flood of information sent his consciousness into a brief overload, a state more commonly referred to as "being dumbfounded". Quickly processing that it was Pyrrha that had beckoned him to return to reality, he turned towards her as his mind began frantically scouring its corners for an answer. In the end, for lack of both valid reasons and will to tell his comrade of his strife, he settled for a non-committal:
"Yeah… Why?"
"It's just…" to his surprise, Ruby spoke up, desperately mincing her words and whirling the fork in her hand in search of answer that wouldn't be taken the wrong way. "It's just that you seem… a little… not okay."
"Well… losing isn't fun, Ruby. I guess I'm a bit down from after the spar," he conceded, although to him, his wording was downplaying the severity of the situation at the very least. "Other than that, I'm fine. Even the arm doesn't hurt anymore."
"Are you… sure it's because of that, and not because Cardin tried to pick on you again?"
The surprise that Jaune experienced after this question posed by Pyrrha was twofold in nature. Aside from the obvious fact that since she hadn't been with them to witness the happening, meaning that either Ren or Darius chose to tell her of that for whatever reason, this line went crassly against her typical manner of speech. To put it bluntly: he had not expected her to be this direct in her approach. As such, any and all knowledge of the common tongue had temporarily vacated his mind, leaving him to stare at her with his eyes expanded to the size of the plates the students had been eating from and a mild case of slack jaw setting in.
"Ren told me what happened. And please, don't look at me like it's the first time, Jaune. He's been at it since the first week of school."
That was, unfortunately, true. Whether through careful observation or some innate sense for potential victims, he, along with several first year students and, miraculously, even a couple second-years, were marked by cruel fate as potential pastime for Team Cardinal and its leader. At times successful, at times not, the four of them were incredibly consistent in their efforts to make his time at Beacon as unpleasant as possible. Bastards were creative, too: their pickings ranged from conventional tricks of inconspicuously shoving him, causing him to drop his various books and notes, to that one attempt Cardin undertook to send Jaune into a one-way trip to wherever by shoving him into his own personal locker. Only the timely intervention of his two companions had saved him from a long trek back to Beacon.
And yet… what am I to do?
"I believe he calls it 'practical jokes'," his dry attempt at sarcasm went horribly awry as Ruby interjected yet again, responding in her traditional no-nonsense manner:
"He's a bully!"
"And water is wet, Ruby! You've all seen what happens when I go against him sword in hand. Do you really think it's going to be any different without weapons or aura? Best thing I've got going for me is ignoring him. He'll get bored eventually."
"That, I doubt," Pyrrha shook her head. "You know… if you need help at any point, you just need to ask."
"No." He shook his own in return, for in this issue, his resolve was adamant. "I'm not involving any of you in this. You're my team, not my bodyguards. Besides, it's not like he's a dick to just me. He's a dick to everyone, even his own team."
"You're excusing him now?!"
"No, but…" he sighed. He really did not have a good counterpoint to put up against Pyrrha's vehement accusation. It's not like she's wrong.
He looked at his tray again. Despite him remembering being absolutely starved just before coming in, the image of food did not invoke any emotion at all in him. So, with that, he stood up and picked up the food tray.
"I think I'll go out for a breath of air. If you guys need me, I'll be on the roof."
Navigating his way towards the door exiting to the rooftop of his dorm wing did not take much time. By the time he opened up the door, it was barely half past eight. It being winter, however, the sky had already darkened, yet was surprisingly clear, and stars were littering the horizon as far as his eyes could see, with the moon hanging just short of the apex of the celestial dome.
Jaune slowly strolled along the rooftop, throwing a stray look over the edge, extending about eight stories straight down and stopping at an alley. His head was… uncomfortably empty. He'd thought he came here to clear his mind, yet the venture resulted only in wind blowing right through his already vacant sternum, creating a terrible feeling of emptiness and vertigo.
Why did I come here?
What am I supposed to do?
And yet he was not offered much time to dwell and wallow, for soon he heard a familiar sound of high heels clacking against stone. Turning around, he saw Pyrrha opening the door leading here, momentarily locking eyes with her. Her face, already exhibiting concern, was immediately twisted into a mix of horror and shock as she saw Jaune standing dangerously close to the edge.
"Jaune, wait! Don't do this!"
What?.. Oh.
Having realized the irony of the situation, he turned around the rest of his body and stepped away from the edge, with his hand involuntarily reaching for the back of his head and scratching it. Indeed, it was quite the awkward encounter he had found himself in.
"Pyrrha… It's not what it looked like."
"You weren't…"
"No, of course not!" He made a rather weak attempt at a hearty chuckle, but the result was more resembling of the sound of someone choking. "I may be going through a bit of a rough patch, but I'm not that depressed. Could always be a farmer or something…"
"It's just…" the redhead stammered, struggling for a moment to pick the right, or any words, for that matter. Taking a closer look at her, Jaune could see she was slightly shaking. "You up and left all of a sudden, said you were going for a breath of fresh air… we thought…"
"Yeah, I can see how that… might have sounded wrong," Jaune conceded, scratching his head ever more furiously. "I'm sorry for giving you a scare like this. I promise I wasn't going to jump down from here. Did you want to talk about anything else?"
"Well… yes, actually," she said, tuning her tone down a notch. "Look, Jaune… I know you've got problems when it comes to fighting… and I want to help you. You've been training with Darius on the side, I know, but if you think it's not enough, we could also train here, after classes, where no one can bother us."
"Pyrrha… I don't think any amount of additional training is going to bring me up to your level. Or really even to any acceptable one."
"You're thinking too little of yourself. Look around you!" she stepped closer to him, giving their surroundings a wide berth. "You've made it to Beacon! That speaks volumes about what you're capable of."
There we go.
There's no point lying anymore, is there? Jig's up. Just tell her the truth and get this over with.
"You're… wrong." Two words, yet he barely managed to squeeze them out of his windpipe, as his body suddenly stopped obeying his commands, feeling more like a sock puppet he was temporarily occupying. "I don't belong here."
"That's… that's a terrible thing to say, Jaune," she rebuked. Yet something in her voice, something on the very edge of perceivable, irked Jaune terribly. Something he could not put his finger on, yet made it feel… forced. "Of course you do."
"No, I don't!" he lashed out on her, turning around to face her in a single stark motion. That was unnecessary. She means well.
He felt ashamed, terribly so. With his shoulders slumped, and his gaze slumping ever lower, he continued. "I wasn't really accepted into Beacon."
It was only a second before Pyrrha spoke back up. For Jaune, however, it felt more like a full ten minutes.
"You mean…"
It was then that Jaune finally realized what he felt was off in Pyrrha's voice. It was the disbelief: the hopeful denial of someone whose worst suspicions had just been confirmed.
I wonder how long she suspected me.
"I mean: I didn't go to a combat school. I didn't pass any tests, I didn't earn a spot in this academy!" It was becoming harder for Jaune to breathe. Confessing wrongs was turning out to be a lot more difficult than he'd imagined. Probably has to do something with how many of them there are. "I lied. I got my hands on some fake transcripts… and I lied."
As he finally raised his eyes to look back at Pyrrha, he himself was validated in his suspicions. Pyrrha was distraught, shaken, demoralized, even, but not surprised.
"But… why?"
"Because that's what I always wanted to be! My father, my grandfather and his father before him were all warriors, heroes, even! My great-grandfather was the leader of one of the battalions that marched into Atlas, for Light's sake! I wanted to be one too… Just never was good enough."
"Then let me help you!"
"I don't. Want. Help!" At this point, the argument had devolved into shouting as both sides involved began to lose their temper. "I don't want to be the damsel in distress, I want to be the damn hero!"
"Jaune, I…"
"I'm tired of being the lovable idiot stuck in the tree while his friends are out there fighting for their lives! I'm tired of being that one guy who needs constant supervision lest he run into trouble! Don't you understand?! If I can't do this own…" Jaune stopped and took a breather. His throat was approaching the dryness of an average Vacuoan desert, and his eyes were starting to tingle something awful, but he was this close to being done, for better or for worse. Probably for worse. "…Then what good am I?"
"But…"
"No buts, Pyrrha. Please… Just leave me be for now."
"If you say so…"
And then she left.
Once again, Jaune was left alone, the moonlit sky his only companion… Or so he thought.
"Oh, Jaune…"
Oh merciful Light, please, no.
A hand surfaced from below the edge of the rooftop and grabbed said edge, soon pulling up the rest of the body behind it. The body, as the voice already hinted at, belonged to Cardin, and deep within his heart Jaune felt a thick layer of ice expand at breakneck pace, soon enveloping all of his being, freezing him in place.
"So," Cardin spoke, squinting at Jaune in a mix of smug and mild disbelief. "Snuck into Beacon, huh? Ingenious. Devious, I would even say. Never took you for such a rebel."
"What. Do you want?"
"Ah, please, Jaune," Cardin laughed, rapidly closing the distance between them and extending an arm, enclosing Jaune in an embrace. "No need to be so stiff. I would never rat out a like-minded person, especially since that person is my best friend! And really, with this stunt you pulled, you cannot deny we're kindred spirits. What say you?"
Go die in a fire, I say. Or at least, that's what he would have said, if he could speak. Even without his aura, Cardin's bear-like arm had his windpipe in an iron grip, rapidly draining him of precious oxygen.
"I say, us opportunity-oriented people have to keep together! And the way I see it, as long as you're there when I need you, we'll be friends for a very long while."
Despite the light slowly beginning to fade out of Jaune's sight, when Cardin let go of him, he miraculously retained his balance and regained his vision and breath on his own two legs. Cardin seemed a little disappointed.
"With that said… I really don't have the time for that essay Oobleck assigned us. Think you could take care of that for me, friend?"
This piece of shit is blackmailing me.
This piece of shit is blackmailing me!
"And if I don't?" Despite being strangled for a solid ten seconds, Jaune's tone remained surprisingly even, even for him.
"Well, that'd just be terribly rude of you, wouldn't it? That's not how friends roll," the bronze-haired boy shook his head in dismay, as if shocked by the lone implication that his bestest of friends could harbor such a thought. "Really, I can't even say we'd be friends because of this!"
Now he's gonna say he'll have to report me to Ozpin isn't he?
Piece. Of. Shit.
"Let me make four things clear," Jaune spoke. Though he was not sure the voice emanating from his mouth was his own. Quite honestly, that was something he'd expected from an Ursa. "One. We are not friends. Two. I am not writing an essay for you. Three. Fuck. Right. Off. Is that clear enough for you?!"
"Jaune, you wound me…" Cardin sighed. "I wanted to be your friend. Truly, I did. But you just shake me off like that… You know, I would've made an exception for you, as a friend. I would have been silent as a grave, because that's what friends do, they help each other out. But since you don't want to be my friend, I suppose I'm under no obligation to keep your little secret, now am I? Who do you think should hear this first? Ozpin? Glynda?"
"And that's the fourth thing. Nobody."
With that said, Jaune, his mind completely blanketed by a murky fog of blind fury, rammed his fist directly into Cardin's nose.
Admittedly, Jaune was not the best fit for unarmed fighting. He didn't have the sheer physical strength of someone like Darius or Yang, nor did he have impeccable technique of Ren or Pyrrha. What he did have, however, at least at the moment, was adrenaline and rage flooding every fiber of his being, his very essence absolutely appalled at the prospect of being threatened by someone like Cardin. Besides, it's not like it was hard to grasp the basic understanding of how to hit things with one's fists: put one's entire body into the swing and strike with the arm and shoulder, not just the bloody wrist. This basic, yet incredibly robust knowledge, combined with the element of surprise playing into Jaune's clenched fist, allowed him to put almost all of his mass into the strike, completely blindsiding Cardin, who was in no way prepared to deal with this outburst.
With a meaty crunch, Jaune could feel the cartilage fracturing under his fist, and sensed something warm splash against his knuckles. Retracting the fist, he saw it was covered in thick red liquid. Without pausing for a second, he struck again; the second blow landed on the staggered opponent's temple, causing him to take a step back, in addition to him already covering the broken nose. Unable to contain the flood of anger bubbling inside of him, Jaune growled as he went for a third strike. Despite connecting, by now Cardin had realized the situation had gone out of control, and so a hand shot out, grabbing Jaune by the throat. He was immediately slammed into the ground, instinctively throwing his hands up in front of his face, just managing to somewhat soften the fist slamming into his face, though it still hurt immensely and rendered Jaune's right eye almost blind.
As Cardin raised his fist again, this time taking careful aim, Jaune's leg yanked upwards, inadvertently heeding Nora's advice and connecting directly with the bully's crotch. With Cardin's composure thrown entirely out of the window, Jaune could feel the grip on his throat relaxing and shoved Cardin off of him. He then immediately stood up and grabbed his still dazed opponent by the collar, punching him again. And again. Yet before he knew it, his adversary had regained a portion of control over his body, grabbing him again and slowly standing up. He felt his feet losing contact with the ground and reflexively grabbed the hands grabbing him in order to not get choked by his own clothes. Then, he did the only reasonable thing, that being contracting his knee.
Once again he was let free, although he did receive a heavy headbutt as a farewell gift. He grabbed his burning throat, throwing a glance at his opponent, who, admittedly, was not faring any better, now kicked into the family jewels twice within a very short span of time. Still somewhat bent over, Cardin threw Jaune a look full of promises of slow and painful death, then looked back at the edge of the rooftop. He then took a couple steps back and… jumped down. And yet as he rushed towards the edge, Jaune did not see Cardin's splattered body on the ground, despite the sliver of hope somewhere deep in his soul. Instead, all he saw was the window directly below him slamming shut.
It took a couple of seconds for the entirety of what just happened to fully sink in. Yet as it did, he could not help but grip his head in silent terror. Of all people, Cardin-fucking-Winchester was now aware of his secret and he just tried to coerce him into keeping quiet about it.
So much for that.
Suppose it's time I started packing up.
I'll just take a seat for a moment…
He covered his right eye in an attempt to slightly numb the dull pain pulsing through his face, then hobbled towards the nearby wall and slowly slid down it, looking at the midnight sky with the untouched half of his face. He felt the cold wind slowly cool his burning throat and eye, eventually venting out the adrenaline residue out from his system, letting the fatigue set in. It was quite pleasant.
He thought he saw a shadow swirl in a mildly atypical manner in his field of view, but simply wrote it off to his battered eye acting funny. Yet before he knew it, a pair of grey eyes were drilling right through him, reaching into the deepest corners of his soul with their icy gaze.
"Don't move," now fully material, Darius raised his hand with a small white tissue. "I'd also suggest closing your right eye. The surrounding area is bruised pretty badly and he actually managed to split open the skin at the eyebrow. It'll sting a bit."
The tissue turned out to be soaked with disinfectant, and did, in fact, sting a fair amount, although Jaune did not actually mind the mild burning, as it was something that kept him fully awake and conscious, holding back the overwhelming feeling of tiredness and fatigue from the adrenaline rush. He sighed.
"What are you even doing here, Darius?"
"Well, I, for one, live here. Literally on the rooftop of the opposite wing, I'm sure you know." Taking away the tissue, now heavily soaked in blood, Darius simply crumpled it in his fist, shortly enveloping it in a black mist. When he opened his palm, it was not there anymore. "But, to answer your question, I decided to follow Pyrrha here in case I actually had to catch you if you decided to bid this world farewell. I'm glad you didn't."
"So… you heard it all, I'm guessing?" Darius nodded. "Great… that's two people more than I wanted to share with."
"You're giving yourself too much credit when it comes to fooling people. Trust me; you're talking to an expert," he uttered without a shadow of a smile on his lips. "Matter of fact, I'm pretty sure your entire team except for maybe Nora suspected it. After all, what kind of Hunter academy accepts a candidate whose aura hadn't even been unlocked yet?"
"And how would you know?!" He threw his hands in the air in exasperation. At times, it legitimately unnerved him how much his friend seemed to be aware of. This case was no exception.
"Hm…" The Atlesian stroked his chin, then spoke back up. "I want you to take a look back at the last six months, Jaune. Tell me: have you been feeling ill or generally unwell at any point back then? Did you happen to… I don't know, catch a flu, eat something that disagreed with you, maybe? Just feel generally sick, and I don't mean exhaustion from training?"
As was asked of him, Jaune wracked his brain around, trying to find any moments in his life in the academy that would fit Darius' description. To his surprise, nothing came to his mind. In fact, it was quite the opposite: ever since enrolling in Beacon and starting to attend the classes, Jaune could feel his general health and fitness gradually improve. Despite the winter periods typically hounding him into bed at least once, the last December and January were an absolute joy to spend. So, slightly puzzled, he shook his head, although a creeping suspicion had wormed its way into his heart regarding what his companion would say next.
"Thought as much," he hemmed. "And now, I want you to think back to the very first time we met. Could you describe what was happening?"
The situation became crystal clear to Jaune, and as he raised his eyes back to meet Darius', he also realized the question posed by him was entirely rhetoric, and that no answer was necessary.
"You understand. Good. Us Hunters don't get indigestion. We don't succumb to diseases. We don't even suffer from allergies. This is what our aura does to us. There are very few things that will get a Hunter reeling like you were back on that airship, and you're not convincing me you got exposed to any of them. Matter of fact, anyone who saw you back then should've gotten suspicious. You should be thanking your luck you were outed only now."
"And by whom…" Jaune sighed. If he were to be frank with himself, he still couldn't quite believe his gravest secret was learned by his gravest foe in this fine establishment.
"I wouldn't worry about Cardin snitching on you," Darius shook his head. As he caught Jaune's empty gaze, he sighed. "The teachers, Ozpin especially, do not tolerate treason, especially not the kind committed by students against students. If he rats you out, he will be leaving Beacon with you, and that is just something he is not willing to do. If I were you, I'd worry about other matters entirely."
"What do you mean?.."
"Ah, I see I've got your attention," he remarked, finally sitting down in front of him. "I propose a mutually beneficial agreement. I will sit here and monologue for a couple minutes, while you will sit here with your aura activated and listen to me. Your mug should about heal up by the time I'm done, so Pyrrha won't even notice you tussled with someone, while I get a chance to make something worthwhile out of you. What say you?"
Jaune didn't say anything. Instead, he merely raised his eyebrow, allowing Darius to correctly interpret his opinion on the matter. While the last phrase stung more than a little bit, something about his voice and his entirely emotionless face told him he'd best step on his pride for a second and pay attention. After a couple seconds' worth of thinking, Darius spoke up.
"I'll start with the one positive thing about the entire situation. I am very glad you did not cave in to him. It means that there is hope for you yet."
"To be honest…" he mumbled, regaining some of his composure. "I did not expect for all of this to go as it did. I… never thought he'd go as far as to start blackmailing me. I got scared, and then got angry that he even dared to threaten me like that…"
"Good," he was interrupted by Darius, who beckoned him to just calm down and listen. "Anger is good. Let this be today's first lesson in human relations: there is nowhere a bully won't go. They get kicks from testing how far they can push their victim. Regardless of whether it was intentional or not, though, I approve of how you handled this. I do not approve, however, of how you handled the talk with Pyrrha. You might consider apologizing to her when you get back…"
He's not wrong.
"…But it's not my concern how you treat your own teammates. I heard some girls like it rough. My concern…" he thought Darius' tone was frosty before, yet the next sentence had him frozen in his tracks, still pierced by the jagged edge of his iris as his voice grew ever more gravelly and his speech slowed down to emphasize his every word. "…Is your absolutely outlandish, childish, even, denial when it comes to approaching real life. I honestly expected something like that from Ruby. And she's fifteen, Jaune! Fifteen!"
"What are you on about?!"
"I'll keep it simple: your desire and intent to somehow manage the training in this academy without any help from your teammates is like someone whose most strenuous physical exercise was the ten-meter-dash between the coffeemaker and the couch trying to break the world pole vaulting record without a pole. You do realize there are people who had been training for this since they learned how to walk? How do you hope to catch up all alone with a whopping six months of actual training?! Not to mention the fact that you'll be abandoning all of your responsibilities as a team leader in pursuit of some pipe dream!" He suddenly stopped and squinted at Jaune, turning his head but not breaking eye contact for a second. "You haven't forgotten you have a responsibility before your entire team, have you? You got one thing right in that outburst of yours before Pyrrha: right now, you're not an asset in a fight, but instead a liability. And the longer it continues to be so and the longer you continue twiddling your thumbs instead of working to improve yourself, the further you'll be dragging down yourself and all three of them with you. Is it clear enough to you?"
"Just… stop," he sighed, covering his face with his hand again. "You know, sometimes I forget you're a Silva."
"I'll take that as a compliment to my ability to break established stereotypes." Darius sighed as well. "Look, Jaune. I'm sorry I have to break it down to you this way. But you are, and I'm sure you realize it as well, in very, very deep shit, and if I have to point out the obvious things to you to get you out of it, I'll take the obvious things and beat you over the head with them until you understand. Ironic as it may sound, this is what friends do: they help each other out, no matter how harsh the methods."
"Yeah… You would know. So what do you propose?"
"Well, first thing to do would be to fall to your knees before Pyrrha and beg forgiveness, as well as to ask her to train you some more. Us training together is nice and all, but I simply cannot spend any more time with you than I already do because I have a team of my own to integrate into. It's not easy being the fifth wheel. Second, you have to get some work done to unlock your Semblance. No other way around it. Though I might be of help here…"
"And how is that?!"
"Well, I do tend to think of myself as a rather bright individual," Darius smiled for the first time in the entire conversation, running a hand through his hair and straightening up a little. "I could do some reading, some looking around, that sort of thing… if you asked me."
"Fine… you've made your point," Jaune conceded. He wasn't kidding when he said he'd beat me over the head with obvious things. "I'm not sure what I'm even asking of you, but could you please help me out with the whole Semblance thing?"
"I'll see what I can do," he chuckled as a wide grin split his face ear to ear, and in his eyes Jaune could see a hidden spark ignite, almost as if he had something in mind.
"Lastly," and immediately the grin vanished from his face, as his tone grew icier than the coldest Atlesian winter. "We have the most urgent issue to deal with. Bullies don't appreciate losing their victims, and no self-respecting leader should have a bullying problem. You might have gotten Cardin off your tail this one time, but don't delude yourself thinking he won't be back, or without his clique next time."
"Do you… happen to have anything specific in mind?" Having correctly read the subtle hints in Darius' eyes, Jaune asked a question he was certain his friend had an answer to.
"Yes. If you remember, we have a field trip to Forever Fall tomorrow. I'd suggest not straying far from your team."
Author's Notes: Have you ever been irked by the sudden change of Jaune's attitude during that scene? One second he is all "I gots ta do dis meself, manly man style", and the next he does a 180 and goes "Bah Gawd I better comply with what this guy wants from me, even though it's obvious blackmail and I'm just letting him know I'm fine with this." I know I have. With that, here's the beginning of the Jaundice arc. It's going to be a doozy, I promise.