Well, that's another Prime Minister out, and now the idiots are considering putting Boris Johnson back in despite that HE started this all off by breaking all the rules, thinking himself invicible and tanking his popularity until he had to resign. Have any lessons been learnt?


Cover Art: GWBrex

Chapter 17


Body language specialists suggest rift between Weiss Schnee and Jaune Arc.

Atlas Times

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Trouble in paradise as Jaune Arc attends Vytal Festival without famous Atlesian girlfriend

Vale Daily Tribune

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World-famous healer offers services to all attendees of Vytal Festival, in what Mistral's Council says is a strong showing of support for the kingdom.

The Mistral Review

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Council protests turn violent. Former huntress, Gillian Asturias, calls for peace

Vacuo Today

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Sienna Khan BUTTS HEADS with Albain brothers over calls for White Fang action at Vytal Festival. Corsac says Khan all talk and no action. Our readers weigh in.

Kuo Kuana Express

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The fights were exciting, expressive, surprisingly quick and thankfully without injury or death. The whole first day, and numerous first rounds, had gone by in a blur. Jaune thought it should have been disappointing how quickly each individual fight ended, but it wasn't. They were four on four and there was honestly too much for any one person to keep track of. Aside from the small number of teams – mostly from Atlas – who worked together as a solid unit, most of the teams broke off into four individual fights, so while the whole thing might only have lasted five minutes, it was as if there was twenty minutes of actual fighting to watch.

He found himself looking back over the recordings after each match to see the fight from a different angle or see the other parts of it he'd missed. That kept it fresh and meant that even if it took fifteen minutes between each fight for the arena to be swept clean and prepared again, there was a whole lot to go over. The commentators were also keen on that, bringing up analysis and slow-motion replays of the key moments of the fight on the big screen, and then breaking them down for the audience.

General Ironwood had been right about the injuries as well; dust, Semblances and bladed weapons flew everywhere, but no one had managed to do worse than earn a nasty cut or a concussion, and the latter was from falling out the arena funny. They were quickly wheeled off to the medical tents where the best doctors in Mistral were waiting for them. To a one, they'd all come back out fine and taken seats in the competitor section. Sometimes it was members from the winning team that had been hurt, which must have made choosing for the next stage easier. Or harder. It probably depended on how valuable the injured member was.

An intermission was called halfway through the first day, about two hours into the fighting, and the stadium suddenly became a buzzing hive of activity as people filed – or chaotically forced their way – out the wide, open doors and out to the food courts and festival grounds again. They'd be lining up a hundred or more at a time for a shot at some Mistral cuisine or an over-priced hot dog, while Jaune could snap his fingers and have lobster brought out for him. He didn't, and kind of fancied a hot-dog himself, but the point was still there; while the masses rushed for the food court, the upper-class of Mistral and further afield calmly stood and congregated toward the bars in the VIP area, chatting and laughing and networking, as Ironwood called it.

Jaune's scroll beeped and he pulled it out quickly, eyes widening to see Weiss' name at the top of the text. He opened and read it: "Let's talk in the corridor outside." Finally, a chance to sort this out. Jaune turned to Ironwood, who had been standing nearby watching, and asked him if he could.

"Take Clover and Harriet with you," said General Ironwood. "But ask them to roam to the ends of the corridor if you want a little privacy." Jaune nodded quickly, and the man smiled and said, "Good luck."

The two Arc-Ops members were nearby enough to hear anyway, and Clover led them out into a mostly empty corridor. There were still people coming and going, either to use the restrooms or in some cases waiters and waitresses moving from the main VIP room to the nearby kitchens to collect food or more drink. It was a hustle and bustle however, and there were enough people chatting in small groups to create a hum of background noise. Clover signalled himself down one corridor and Harriet down the other; neither went out of sight, but they granted him and Weiss as much room as could be realistically allowed. Jaune took a deep breath. "Weiss, I-"

"Ap. Ap. Ap." Weiss silenced him with a finger. "Let me speak first."

Jaune nodded. His apology could wait.

"In hindsight," said Weiss, "I can see that my anger toward you was somewhat misplaced. You obviously believed you were helping me, and that intent should be taken into account when considering the words used. Your words were born out of concern." Her face twisted a little as she said it. "I can see now that I reacted somewhat… instinctively… in the moment. I should not have."

Was… Was that it…? Jaune waited, but it didn't look like any more was coming, and she hadn't even said sorry for ghosting him all this time and making him feel awful and ignoring all his attempts to make up with her. Weiss didn't seem to notice, and inclined her head and raised an eyebrow, indicating it was his turn.

"I wanted to say I'm sorry for sounding harsh," said Jaune, unsure if he should be using the word sorry at all if she wasn't going to. This didn't feel like it was all his fault. A little, maybe, but not all. "I was exhausted at the time, Weiss, my aura literally drained down to nearly nothing, and I'd had a stressful day healing, studying and then having to do an on-air interview for the first time in my life. I'm sure you can see why I wouldn't be at my best."

He worried that the last bit might be too combative. That Weiss might hear the listed occurrences in the day and realise he was pointing out all the things she hadn't had to do and comparing them to his. It was excuse-making, he would freely admit, but they were good and reasonable excuses. He'd been worn out; Weiss had been as fresh as a daisy; he had more than fair excuses to not be at his best, while she didn't.

Weiss smiled, then nodded. "I accept your apology, Jaune. You made a mistake, but I accept that you meant well, and that you were tired at the time. I just hope you understand that I'm not some trophy girlfriend who is going to smile and accept you saying hurtful things."

"I never once thought or acted like you were!" argued Jaune, louder than he intended to. The accusation hurt – and it annoyed him, too. He'd done his best to be a good boyfriend, and he didn't think he'd done anything wrong. Hell, he hadn't had the free time to do anything wrong. A few people looked their way, but he was too defensive to care. "When have I ever acted like that, Weiss? When did I ever give you that impression?"

"Jaune, hush. Quiet." Weiss' eyes were darting left and right, as her hands found his arms and tried to calm him. "You haven't. You never have."

Jaune sucked in a deep breath and let it go. "Then why bring it up?"

"I'm trying to cut off bad behaviour before it can happen."

"By accusing me of it? How is that fair?"

"Better you know what I won't accept before you make any mistakes," whispered Weiss. "I am trying to be a clear communicator. Is that so bad? Surely, there are things you wouldn't want me doing either." Weiss brought one hand out and counted off her fingers. "I will never flirt or show attention to another man while I'm with you; I will conduct myself as best I am able so as not to embarrass you; I will accompany you to formal and work events and put my best face forward; I will-"

Jaune cut her off. "Weiss, you're making this sound so mercenary. This isn't a business arrangement. We're dating. We're supposed to be in love." He hesitated, before asking, "Aren't we in love…?"

"Of course we are." Weiss took his hands quickly and held his fingers. "I'm not- I didn't mean to suggest we're not. I just…" Her brows drew in as she struggled to find the words. "I want us both to be clear on what we expect from one another. A relationship is built on good communication; I want us to have that."

"Isn't it built on trust?"

"That as well, but is it really fair of me to hold you accountable for mistakes you don't know are mistakes?"

No, thought Jaune, but you could trust me and have a little faith in me to be a good person before having to write me out a list of what I should and shouldn't do. It felt like Weiss was dictating the terms of a contract.

"Let's just have faith in one another," said Jaune. Weiss opened her mouth to argue, but he spoke over her. "We can discover things about one another normally and address any issues as they arise. There has to be some mystery, Weiss."

"What if there are things we don't like?"

"Then we can tell each other. That's what communication is about."

Weiss frowned, cross and honestly a lot more annoyed than he thought she'd be. He had thought himself quite suave there, and hoped she'd agree. "That is so inefficient," grumbled Weiss. "We could just list things out and not have to run the risk of upsetting one another. But fine. If that's the way you want it then we'll do it your way." The way she rolled her eyes made it clear what she thought of that. "But this issue with Pyrrha is done and over. You have to accept that I will have other friends, and you have to accept that I will spend time with them."

Jaune's lips dragged down. "When did I not…?"

"The fights are beginning again," said Weiss, turning her head away and missing his annoyance. He'd been trying to help her with Pyrrha. He'd been trying to make her aware of the fact she was driving the girl away. "We will sit by one another again. I dread to imagine what the media are saying about even our limited time apart. We should put a stop to any rumours from this as well. Everyone watching is a potential leak."

"What do you-?"

Weiss leaned in and pushed up on her tip toes to plant her lips against his. It was soft, short and unbearably sweet. And then, once she drew away, smirking, it was unbearably sour. The kiss was only to convey a message to their onlookers and meant nothing else in the moment. Weiss' hand felt cold in his, ice-cold, and his lips were little better. They walked back inside hand in hand.

It felt like nothing had been resolved.

/-/

He didn't talk to his parents about it. He knew he should, knew deep inside they'd have good advice, but talking to them would mean airing the little problems he was having, and everyone was staying in the same hotels, so there was all too good a chance one of the girls would act differently around Weiss or let his issues slip, and then it would be the second coming of the cold shoulder, possibly even permanently. It's just an issue between us, thought Jaune. We can get over this together. No need to drag it out into the open.

So, they watched the fights together and Jaune let himself be swept into that, and he and Weiss even chatted and talked about which they thought would win. Weiss had far better instincts than he, and predicted more winners, though none of the fights were what you'd call one-sided. The chatter helped distract from their little argument out in the corridor, and from the fact that he'd apologised and she hadn't. He hadn't forgotten, but it was easier to push it all aside and simply enjoy the moment.

Once the first day was over and the audience had clapped and applauded the people entering the next round, General Ironwood stood and led them all away, and Weiss asked permission from her father to accompany him. Jacques Schnee looked pleased and bid Jaune keep an eye on his daughter. Jaune promised that he would.

"Do they want me at the hospitals now that I didn't use my Semblance?" asked Jaune. He'd kept it on tap for the tournament for that little diplomatic offering, but it was over for the day now and he was full. Weiss squeezed his hand and smiled dazzlingly. He wasn't sure if she was happy for him, or happy because of him – like she was proudly smiling because her prize dog had performed to expectations.

"There's no need," said Ironwood. "I specifically told them you should have the afternoons off during the festival. The decision is final," he added, before either of them could argue. Jaune wasn't about to, but it stopped Weiss. "Have some time to yourselves."

Jaune nodded. "Thank you, sir." He turned to Weiss, knowing she'd be the most bothered by it. "What do you want to do, Weiss?"

"Ah. Me?" Startled, she almost drew her hand from his, but then recovered. She must have thought this was more of him trying to apologise. "I don't think either of us wants to go out in public and deal with even more paparazzi. Why don't we spar with Pyrrha? I can see if my sister is free as well."

"Your sister is busy," said Ironwood, "But I might have something even better for the three of you if you wish." He tapped his chin, smiling slightly. "I'll have to go and see if they are available. Why don't you go and ask Miss Nikos if she wishes to train with you both?"

Weiss was eager, and Pyrrha was also in the VIP box as a guest of honour of the kingdom, and because of her various sponsors and financial backers. Unlike them, she didn't need an armed escort of military personnel, though she was accompanied by an older woman that Pyrrha introduced as her agent. The woman, suited and professional-looking, spoke briefly to Pyrrha, but left the decision in her hands.

Pyrrha looked to Weiss and then to Jaune before saying, "I'd be happy to come train. Will you be joining us today, Jaune?"

"I think I will be for once."

"That's grand!"

"Ahem." Pyrrha's agent cleared her throat. "I will leave you to them then, Pyrrha. Send me a call when you need a cab and I'll have one of our team come pick you up. Thirty minutes warning ought to be enough."

Pyrrha smiled back. "Thank you, Cassandra. Do I have any work tomorrow?"

"A very short meet and greet before the second rounds begin. Nothing serious and no long autograph sessions, though I'm sure your fans would be over the moon if you signed a few shirts. It won't be long," she promised. "It's just to be seen about before the tournament. Make sure to wear your sportswear brands – they've paid for the privilege."

"I will. Thank you."

Once the woman had left them, Jaune asked, "You have to wear certain things?"

"It's a sponsorship, Jaune," huffed Weiss, rolling her eyes.

"My sponsors cover most of my expenses," explained Pyrrha, far more patiently, and with an embarrassed little smile. "When I started, it was small companies helping out an aspiring athlete. My family aren't poor, but we couldn't expect proper huntsman-grade equipment at that age. Local companies would band together to share the cost in exchange for my advertising them when I fought. It happens with a lot of sports."

"Like adverts on racing cars?"

"Exactly. I have logos on my uniform when I fight, and some clothing brands sponsor me for certain things. Drinks too." She grimaced at the latter. "I'm not allowed to drink certain things in public and have to wear certain brands to certain events as per my contract. For a sporting event like this, I have to wear Psyche."

Pyrrha tugged at her bright and stylish sports jacket, which he personally thought looked pretty damn good on her. It was obviously expensive, and a little slap-dash in colour like gym wear, but it was the kind of thing his sisters would love wearing. "At least it looks good."

"There is that." giggled Pyrrha. "I suppose it could be worse. I could be sponsored to stumble around in a mascot suit."

"It's not like she doesn't have a choice," said Weiss impatiently. It was clear this topic wasn't dear to her, and she likely wanted to get back to talking about huntsmen, huntresses and the tournament. "Pyrrha's agent will approve things by her. Anyway, the first day of the Vytal Festival. Wasn't it brilliant?"

"It was impressive, yes."

"Maybe we'll be down there in a year or two. I bet the two of us could make it past the first rounds easily."

Pyrrha's smile became strained. "I'm sure we could, Weiss."

This is what I tried to warn you about, thought Jaune. He considered stepping in again but knew it wouldn't be welcome. Even if he pointed to Pyrrha's face and said "See! I told you!" it would just embarrass her and Weiss and have Weiss dragging him outside to hiss at him again. Jaune sighed, closed his eyes and simply enjoyed the feel of her hand in his, listening distractedly to Weiss digging herself a hole until General Ironwood returned, this time with two more people in tow. Weiss' eyes widened.

"H-Headmaster Ozpin and Glynda Goodwitch!" Her voice was awed, and she yanked her hand from Jaune's and dipped a graceful and very deep curtsy. "It is an honour, sir, ma'am. I've heard so much about Beacon, and I've read about your exploits as a huntress, ma'am."

"A good day to you as well, Miss Schnee, and Mr Arc and Miss Nikos." Ozpin smiled with no small amount of amusement over the rim of a mug stamped with the logo of the Vytal Festival. "You've read about Beacon, hmm? Are you putting though into applying for our academy?"

Weiss might as well have been drooling. Not that she ever would, but her back was ramrod straight and her eyes were wide. "Yes, I am. I am- Ahem. I have been training hard with the intention of applying, sir."

Ozpin eyed Ironwood slyly. "Not to Atlas Academy? Oh my."

"I expect Miss Schnee wants to see more of the world," said Ironwood, not rising to the bait. Weiss nodded as well, happy to have an excuse that wouldn't come across as an insult to Atlas or its headmaster. "I see no fault with that. I didn't bring you poach students however, Ozpin." He cleared his throat. "Glynda here is Beacon's Combat Instructor, and a premier teacher of huntsman arts. I asked on your behalf if she would be willing to offer some critique and advice, and she graciously accepted. I trust you all understand how generous it was of her."

"I do!" whispered Weiss, and she curtsied again. "It would be an honour."

"I am grateful as well," said Pyrrha, managing to sound remarkably humble for being a famous championship fighter who probably didn't need much help. "Thank you for giving us your time, Miss Goodwitch."

"Thank you," echoed Jaune. "I appreciate it as well."

But, of course, he knew this would never be happening if the three of them weren't already world famous. Ozpin and Glynda seemed like good people, and he remembered them fondly from their impromptu visit to Ansel, but he wasn't stupid. Random students from normal families didn't get the benefit of instructors coming from foreign academies to give them pointers. This kind of special treatment was reserved for the privileged few.

There wasn't much point complaining about that now, however.

/-/

Jaune sat slumped at the edge of the arena as Miss Goodwitch took on both Weiss and Pyrrha at the same time, and handily juggled them around like the amateurs they realistically were. It was startling, and a little daunting, and Jaune hadn't lasted even ten minutes. His body ached in ways he wasn't used to, with a deep-rooted pain burning away in his joints, and a sharpness in his chest that hurt with every breath.

It was a good pain in every way and he loved it.

"Not a bad showing," said Ozpin, his cane clicking as he came to stand by Jaune. He didn't sit, presumably because of his legs and the cane, and Jaune didn't stand because his own would give out. "I can see you have the fundamentals down. Your swordplay is practised enough for me to know you've been working in Atlas, with only your overall fitness holding you back. I imagine that is because you don't have much time to work out in between all your work. Is that right?"

"Pretty much," panted Jaune.

"I thought as much. You aimed to become a huntsman before unlocking your Semblance, correct?"

"Yes."

"Did you intend to apply for Beacon?"

"Honestly, I was going to apply for anywhere and everywhere."

Ozpin chuckled. "A practical choice, and a wise one. There are so many who pin their hopes and dreams on one academy and feel as if their lives have been torn out from under them when they are rejected. I have lived a long time, and I will tell you now that there are few things that simply must happen to be happy. We humans are an adaptable lot, and you can find happiness in any path, given enough time and effort."

Jaune wondered if that was a subtle insult at him but didn't think so. Ozpin couldn't know exactly how difficult things were, and it was more likely aimed toward Weiss and Pyrrha, or maybe just light conversation about his past. "I figured it was that way," said Jaune. "I wanted to go to Beacon, but it's not like I couldn't have made friends and become a huntsman in Atlas, Mistral or Vacuo."

"Indeed. Each academy has its own focus, strengths and what-not, but all paths lead to the same goal. Atlas is especially good at teaching teamwork and the value of cohesive team manoeuvres. You likely saw some of that in the tournament. They don't just work together, but function like a squad. They are more individualistic in Mistral, which can be both a blessing and a curse, whereas Vacuo focuses far more on survival in the hostile wilderness than it does performance at shows like this." He smiled, adding, "The headmaster there is quite dismissive of the Vytal Festival, calling it a pointless theatre, and saying he would rather his graduates survive in the field than chase glory here. He's not wrong."

"He sounds smart. What about you and Beacon?"

"We try to be a balance of all approaches, which isn't necessarily better or worse. My personal view is that if we give our students a foundation in everything, they can further expand on the skillsets that interest them. It doesn't always work," he admitted, "but the degree to which it does depends on how hard the student is willing to work. Miss Schnee seems like a hard worker."

"She is," agreed Jaune. Weiss, for all her faults, didn't coast by on her family name like so many others would have. There was a lot he could complain about, but her being lazy wasn't one of them. Hell, he'd prefer it if she could relax just a little. "Weiss is determined to be the best, and… well…" He decided to use the man's own words. "That isn't necessarily better or worse."

"Ah." Ozpin had a knowledgeable smile. "I see. Well, I expect that she won't have much difficult joining us if she wants to, and Miss Nikos if that should match her desires. I don't think it safe for me to push that here in Mistral; it might cause quite the scandal. What about you?"

Jaune paused, confused for a moment. "What about me?"

"What are your goals going forward?"

His goals? Jaune wasn't sure what the man meant, and it took him a few seconds to realise the question was as simple as it sounded. Ozpin was asking what his ambitions for the future were. It was a strange question to ask, especially when he had to know just as well as Jaune did what the future held.

"I'm going to be working in Atlas in the hospitals."

"Is that the future you aspire to, Mr Arc? Have you already reaching your ambition?"

Jaune scowled. Something hot and ugly built in his stomach, but the aches and pains of his fight quickly, and cathartically, swept it away. He laughed instead, shaking his head. "What does it matter? It's not like I have a choice. Atlas isn't going to let go of me, and don't say things would be different in Vale. It'd be the same thing with different people telling me where to go and who to use my Semblance on. Nothing would be different."

"There are other ways," said Ozpin. "You're young and feel you're trapped in a corner, but it is possible to break out."

Stop healing in Atlas. Yeah, he supposed he could outright refuse, quit, and tell Atlas to stop paying him. They couldn't force him to use his Semblance. Of course, the fallout would be catastrophic. The best he could hope for was being kicked out of Atlas, but it was also possible they'd be run out by an angry mob, or that his family would be hurt. His sisters had just started to rebuild their lives as well, and Amber had recently stopping waking up in tears and jumping at every shadow. He couldn't uproot all that just because he was bored, overworked and grumpy. It would be the height of selfishness.

"I'm fine where I am, sir. I'm happy."

"I think we both know that is a lie, Mr Arc."

"I don't think we're on the same page, sir." Jaune stressed the last bit, ending the conversation. He stood, muscles groaning, and limped away from the man.

End it? Quit? Stop using his Semblance? How could he. As much as he hated it, and as much as he hated the entitled, pitiful and downright annoying idiots who kept demanding his constant work, he couldn't just stop bringing people back. It would be as good as killing them himself, and he'd be the worst scum imaginable.

Weiss would hate him as well, and he'd lose her, and then he'd lost the support of General Ironwood, and his family would lose their home, and Ansel would lose its support. Everything would explode, and the media would hate him. He'd become a despised figure across not only Atlas, but the entire world. Nowhere would be safe. There would be nowhere on Remnant he could go where his face and name wouldn't be recognised, and where he wouldn't be reviled. He would lose everything; his family would lose everything; it would be his fault, just as it was hi fault they'd lost their homes and lives before, and, in Juniper's case, her actual life as well.

I can't, thought Jaune, swaying dizzily. He felt cramped, trapped, and it felt like the walls and ceiling were closing in on him. I can't. I can't get out. I can't escape. I can't get away. His left foot came forward, but the floor moved. Or his perception of it did. He tried to adjust, missed and tumbled, and he heard Elm shout his name in alarm.

There was no escape, realised Jaune, as the floor and the darkness swept up to meet him. His heart was pounding in his chest, and his brain throbbed against his skull. There was no getting out of this golden cage he'd been put into.

But at least he could forget about it as the world whited out, and as he struck the ground.


Uh-oh. That's not good. There is only so far someone can be pushed before something gives, and Jaune has been working at this pace for over a year now. Work, exhaust, work, exhaust, work, exhaust, as all the mental pressure and stress builds up.

Finally, something gave way.

And Weiss, no, that's not how you apologise. It's as bad as your attempts with Ruby, except that Ruby was awkward enough to accept them and think it fine. As for Pyrrha and the logos, I just imagine the outfit Pyrrha brought to Beacon was her own, and that she intentionally ended her deals and removed the logos, but that she probably did have them before as most athletes in real life do.


Next Chapter: 27th October

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