Chapter IV: Running From Destiny
Jaune walked across the Beacon campus lost within his own thoughts, which he was doing more and more often these days. It wasn't that surprising given all that had transpired over the past few weeks, and what feelings were developing on the daily. He had spent a great deal of time thinking about what he said to Pyrrha, and what he was feeling. He liked her as a woman, and there was no denying that now. It wasn't just mere attraction, though he couldn't deny he found her incredibly attractive to the point that he was checking her out constantly. That in and of itself was a strange mixture of emotions, as it felt odd doing so after treating her like a friend for so long, along them not yet officially dating. On the other hand, he knew she had strong feelings for him, so she would be flattered if she noticed; if she hadn't already. It was that knowledge that fed his own desires to ignore the post tournament date, and just take their relationship further. Every time Pyrrha smiled it would ignite his heart, which would then demand him to embrace her. There had already been a couple of close calls, and Pyrrha never making an effort to stop his advances, was subconsciously fueling them. It felt as if at any moment the line would be crossed for good.
It was that realization which had been sending his mind into overdrive. The previous day's near kiss on the roof, and defending Pyrrha's honour at the fairgrounds, forced Jaune to take inventory of his current situation. It was certainly difficult to do, as he was rather nervous about the tournament, regardless of the sure-fire plan he had concocted, which caused him to get very little sleep last night. His thoughts were of Pyrrha and his future with her. As his feelings for her grew, the more seriously he thought about what the future would be in store for them. They were on the same team with him as captain and she as his lieutenant. There would undoubtedly be some complications with simultaneously having a personal and professional relationship, but if others had done it, so could they. Ren and Nora, though were not officially together yet, would no doubt be a model for them. Ruby and Yang were a by-product of teammates becoming more, and there were certainly others that he wasn't personally aware of. It gave Jaune encouragement that they could do this, which he definitely needed as he felt that what he and Pyrrha had was the real deal.
However, it was that realization that made the altercation with the Haven students affect him so devastatingly. He had been completely honest that people insulting him didn't bother him anymore. Coming to Beacon and meeting Pyrrha and his new friends, had given him the kick in the pants that he had been in desperate need of. He was growing stronger both as a warrior and as a man, and for the first time was determined to train and rid himself of his weaknesses. However, he had not been prepared to hear people belittle Pyrrha because of them. They had been from Mistral, and had called her a desperate whore because he wasn't some Knight in expensive shining armour. That had enraged him like nothing had before. Her honour being dragged into the dirt because of his inadequacies, might as well had been a spear driven through his gut. And what made him feel sick to his stomach was that his lying to get into Beacon hadn't been discovered yet. What would happen then? He'd be expelled immediately, but what would happen to his team? What would happen to their names? Their public images and standing in the Huntsmen community? He'd pull them down with him, and that had kept him awake the entire night, staring at the ceiling, plagued with guilt.
That guilt had forced him out of bed much earlier than he planned, skip any form of breakfast, and walk the grounds, lost in his thoughts. He felt powerless. He couldn't just bugger on because there were so many outside actors in play. There were the reporters in Mistral with connections in Vale trying to dig up his past, there was his family who had no idea he had forged his papers to get into Beacon and could easily reveal the truth, there was Huntmaster Ozpin who as far as Jaune knew believed he was legitimate, and of course there was Cardin, who was the only one who knew the truth outside of Jaune's small circle. That thought actually caused another pang of guilt as Nora, who was fiercely loyal, was the only member of his team that didn't know, and he knew he had to tell her soon. The amount of moving parts had forced the blond to physically draw up a full page of war manoeuvres, and examine it closely to see how to devise the right course of action. There were certainly a number of things that he could do, but after staring at them for several hours, he realized that half the morning was gone, and knew there were other things he needed to take care of. He knew he would have to go back to strategizing, but he would save it for that evening.
The sun had already risen around a quarter of the way into the sky, as Jaune walked past the bank of the body of water that encircled the Lecture Dome to reach the large building that lay behind it. This was the Beacon Armoury. While one needed their own weapon to enter Beacon, brought over from their primary Huntsman education, and were expected to know said weapon inside and out, students were not masters. Every Huntsman academy possessed a Master-at-Arms, a weapons and armour master smith leading a team of other smiths, to oversee all weaponry and ammunition at their respective schools. His or her job was to both forge and repair any and all weapons and armour the students of Beacon required. Furthermore, the Master-at-Arms was also a teacher that taught individuals that wished to become smiths instead of becoming Huntsmen. This meant that the armoury was constantly busy, crafting ammunition, refining Dust, and forging armour. The sounds of metal clanging could be heard around the clock, and only grew in volume as Jaune approached the armoury.
It was a rather impressive looking building, appearing to be much older than the rest of the school, both in physical age and architecture. It was one of the few original structures that remained from the former castle the academy had been turned into, and it seemed that the Huntmasters hadn't seen fit to modernize it. Above the giant wooden double-doors hung a large sign forged of wrought iron, shaped into an anvil with a smith's hammer resting with the handle pointing upward. To the right rested a pair of forging tongs, and to the left was a bullet mold. Resting at the feet of the anvil was a longsword, a shortsword, a maul, a two-headed battle axe, a spear, a mace, a bolt-action rifle, a shotgun, a revolver, and many brass cartridge cases spilled on the ground. If that didn't make it clear that here stood the armoury, then nothing else could.
Embarrassingly for Jaune, he had yet to step foot into the building. It seemed that all of his friends had at least made one trip here, leaving him to be out of the loop when they began discussing the functions of their weapons, as well as possible upgrades. Granted, he figured all he would need was a supply of whetstones and mineral oil, as Crocea Mors was just a sword. Furthermore, his armour was minimal and had held up so far, so he never really gave it much thought. Of course, it was now clear that his way of thinking had been a mistake, and he took Pyrrha's advice to heart. He may not be able to be fitted for a full suit of armour in time for the tournament, but agreed there were at least some pieces of armour he could add that would be a net positive.
Jaune wrapped his hand on one of the iron door pulls of the armoury, and with more effort than he expected, heaved it open. Instantly a blast of hot air hit him, along with the familiar smells of brimstone, oil, smoke, and the burning of wood and coal. The ringing of hammers on metal accompanied the smells, joined by random bangs, forges roaring, drilling, pieces of metal being quenched in oil, and the shouts of the many workers within the armoury. It would appear as nothing more than pure chaos to many, but for Jaune, it was incredibly nostalgic and rather peaceful. It had been a while since the last time he had been surrounded by metalworking, and it was genuinely surprised at how much he missed it. His eyes scanned the immediate part of the armoury and saw smiths and apprentices running about, tossing coal into forges, breaking open crates of raw ore and Dust, and arguing over what needed to be made that day. In the centre of the armoury was a large forge with a chimney that went all the way to the vaulted ceiling. Surrounding it were well over a dozen smaller forges, grouped by their intended purpose, as they varied in shape and size. The blond also noticed that there were several members of the armoury bringing packages to a set of stairs that led to below the building. He managed to make out the labels on some of them, several that said "brass casings", and others said "Dust", though he couldn't tell if they contained crystallized or powered. What he was certain of, was that they were on their way to the reloading stations in the lower levels of the armoury. Given that nearly all Huntsmen's arms were either primarily or secondarily firearms, centrefire rifles, shotguns, or pistols, the academy required hundreds of thousands of rounds of ammunition for training, as well as for Hunts. Of course the calibre varied greatly from one Huntsmen's weapon to another, so every known calibre was cast, loaded, and stored for use. There were specialists like Ruby that would go as far as crafting their own ammunition, but most chambered their arms in readily available ammunition to avoid being caught with not having enough. Jaune guessed that the cause for all this commotion was for the Vytal Festival Tournament, where students were in need of all these materials for both training and the competition.
While he wasn't well versed in firearms, the forge nevertheless felt far more nostalgic than he thought it would be. Molten metal being poured and pounded into sword, weapons and armour being forged for all; it was almost as if he were home again. These were the better memories of home, and he knew that no matter how much time would pass or resentment he felt towards his background, there were still some things he cherished and held close. It had proved to be serving him better than he had imagined, so perhaps there were more interesting surprises left in store.
The blond's eyes finally rested on a very tall man only a dozen or so strides to his two o'clock, standing near a lathe. He was over six foot and very muscular, as his brown short sleeved shirt fit tightly against his upper body, and revealed his impressively large arms. He wore a blacksmith's leather apron, dark leather gloves that reached halfway up his forearms, and a red bandana that kept his long black hair, which was tied into a ponytail, from falling forward. He also wore a dirty pair of jeans and equally dirty leather boots, and was peering intently at a blueprint. He was rather young looking despite the grease on his face making it difficult to guess his age, though Jaune could estimate he was five to ten years his senior.
The swordsman walked over to the smith, and spoke loudly to make sure he was heard, but refrained from shouting.
"Where can I find the Master-at-Arms?"
The smith looked at him without turning his head, and eyed him slowly. Without changing his expression, it was still clear that he recognized Jaune as another first-year, and knew what he wanted.
"Master Winchester is in his office on the second floor" he replied in a gruff voice, gesturing to a stairway behind him with his right thumb. "He's already with someone right now. A real nuisance that one, so who knows when he'll be free."
"Mr. Browning! We need your help with the tempering process!" called a voice of one of the younger smiths, who appeared to be Jaune's age.
"Damn newbies can't be left alone for a second. Comin'!" the smith muttered before shouting the last word and marched briskly over to where he had been called to.
Jaune stood rooted to the floor as his blood ran cold, which was rather shocking, given the humidity of the forge. Did he just say "Winchester"? That was Cardin's last name. There was no way they were related, were they? It had to be a coincidence. However, Winchester was far from a common name. Was the Master-at-Arms his father or even his grandfather? These thoughts raced through his mind as he forced himself to walk towards the previously mentioned stairs, and with heavy steps, made his way upward to the second floor.
'Calm down' he told himself. 'The world is a big place. All this is is a big coincidence, and he just happens to have the same name as Cardin. That's all. Nothing to worry about'.
But what if it's not a coincidence? An annoying voice in his mind said.
Jaune shook his head, knowing he already had too much on his plate, and forced himself to reach the last flight of stairs to get to the office. As he drew closer, he began to hear voices, two of them in fact, having a heated argument. One he had no idea who it belonged to, though the second became more and more familiar as he neared the door at the top of the stairs. By the time he grasped the doorknob, he had already figured out who it was and breathed a small sigh of relief. He turned the knob and opened the door to reveal that the second speaker was none other than Ruby Rose.
"Look! It's not that crazy of an idea!" shouted the short Huntress-in-training, slapping both hands on the old oak desk.
"If I've told ya once, I've told ya a thousand times, girly!" an old man spat back angrily, pointing at her with an equally old chimney style tobacco pipe. He was a short elder man with dark olive skin and silver tinted white hair, tucked behind a green bandana with a headband magnifier resting on top. Like Browning, he wore a leather apron, except that his leather gloves were of an older style, and lay on the table just behind Crescent Rose, which was resting in the centre of the table in its storage configuration. The master smith's face was quite crinkled, causing his eyes to appear to be continuously squinting, though it could actually be due to the frustrating conversation he was having with Ruby. "And it's still no!"
"But all I'm asking is to increase Crescent Rose's firepower! That can't be as impossible as you're making it out to be!" reasoned the hooded girl.
"Impossible? No. Stupid and dangerous? Yes! You should be focusing on trying to load better ammunition than wanting to rechamber your weapon to a higher calibre."
Jaune correctly guessed that this was the Master-at-Arms, and was rather amused that he was having similar arguments with Ruby as she did with Weiss.
"I am loading new types of cartridges, and experimenting with new Dust combinations and projectile types" Ruby countered hotly, "but there are limits with what I can do with the calibre Crescent Rose is chambered in! If we rechamber her in–"
"Rechamberin' would mean not only reborin' the barrel, but alterin', if not completely replacin' the lock! And the problems start with reborin' as it would make the barrel too thin! Overheating, warping, and most likely bucklin' from the weight in her scythe configuration, are all disastrous problems that ya don't want happenin'! Then we have the recoil–"
"Then just swap the barrel with one made of higher gauge steel!" cut in Ruby. "That takes care of the overheating and the warping, and the added weight will compensate for the higher recoil. Then we just strengthen the frame and upper receiver–"
"Increasin' the weight counters the recoil, obviously so. Think that statement over, hmmm" countered Winchester. "Do you really think that Crescent Rose would properly align and transform with those changes? Everythin' would have to be remade to make it all fit right! And that means more weight to boot! I bet you're not even a hundred pounds soakin' wet, and ya want to increase BOTH the weight and the recoil? I still can't figure out how ya can swing this thing with those twigs ya call arms."
"I'm plenty strong! I drink milk!"
"Then ya should eat ya greens too!"
"Uh...Ruby?" asked Jaune, causing both the young markswoman and the master smith to stop arguing, and realize someone else was in the room. "Not to be rude, but is this gonna take much longer, cuz I need to talk to the Master-at-Arms."
"Jaune!" said Ruby in surprise.
"Hmmm? Ya know her, sonny?" asked the old man.
"Yes, she's my friend."
"Then YOU tell her that what she's askin' me to do is moronic!"
The swordsman threw his hands up defensively.
"I know next to nothing about firearms outside of hunting rifles and shotguns, so please don't drag me into this one. She argues enough with her lieutenant as it is" he deflected, though he did find it humorous that Ruby was always so happy and positive, until the topic of arms came up. Then she would argue with anyone to the death, as she held a rather impressive amount of knowledge in her head, despite her age.
"It's not moronic! I just want to give my weapon more stopping power" argued Ruby, turning back to Winchester, but the smith was not having any more of it.
"Listen here, ya bouncin' jellybean!" he sputtered leaning forward. "This here..." he tapped Crescent Rose with the lip of his pipe "is a large calibre sniper rifle. Sniper rifles are specialist tools. Snipers are force multipliers and support soldiers, meant to provide recon and cover. They are not infantry troops, they are not armour, they are not vanguard troops; they are support. I know this rifle inside and out, because I remember every weapon I have ever worked on. I remember your ma when she was a student at this here school, and she was a magnificent markswoman, gunsmith, Huntress, and sniper. She was one of the best Huntresses of her generation and she knew how to maximize her effectiveness, as well as the effectiveness of Crescent Rose. I had tons of great conversations with her, and I admired her greatly. Now..." he breathed, leaning backward. "If ya're willin' to listen to some advice, if ya badly want a sniper rifle chambered in a larger calibre, then I suggest making one from scratch. Design one around a .50 calibre or higher anti-material cartridge, and use it when ya need to. Crescent Rose is a good arm. Treat her well and she'll treat you well."
Ruby remained quiet for a moment, contemplating what the Master-at-Arms had said. She stared at Crescent Rose, her eyes scanning it carefully, before letting out a sigh of defeat.
"OK..." she said half-whining, picking up her weapon and attaching it to her back. She turned around and was about to sulk out of the office, when Winchester grabbed her hood, causing her to choke.
"Just a minute" he snipped grouchily, leaning behind his desk and pulled up a rectangular package around two feet long and seven inches high, and dropped it gently before him. "Here are your reloading components. I'll see ya when ya need more" he said more softly.
Ruby looked at the smith, then to the package, and back to the smith, before giving him an apologetic look.
"Thank you" she said quietly, taking the components with both hands and bowed before turning to the door. "I'll see you later, Jaune" she added, and closed the door behind her.
Winchester sighed as he fished around in his apron for some matches.
"She's a firecracker, that one" he muttered.
"True, but she's impossible to get mad at" admitted Jaune with a smile. "She reminds me a lot of my younger sisters. Though it's weird how she's so positive and upbeat every other second of the day, and then turns right into her sister, ready to passionately argue with anyone over anything related to weapons."
"She's her ma's daughter, through and through" replied Winchester, striking a match and stoking his pipe to life, as it had gone out while quarrelling with the girl in question. "Though the passion you're referring to is entirely from her pa. How those two complete opposites got together, I ain't got a clue, but it explains why she's doin' what she's doin'."
"What do you mean?" Jaune asked, genuinely curious.
The elder smith drew from his pipe, and exhaled a plume of blue smoke out through his nose.
"Her old man was one Hell of a Huntsman. The best, many called him. Didn' matter the size of the Grimm or the number, he'd just charge in like a bat outta Hell, and crush'em all; spittin' fire with a temper that burned just as hot. He should have died dozens of times, but he just kept on fightin'. He was something alright. And then you have her ma; so kind and sweet, like spring flowers just before the turn of summer. Yet somehow, in the same woman, was a Huntress that could drop a man between his eyes at 1500 yards like it was nothin'. I couldn' believe that was the same girl that would bring me freshly baked cookies in the mornin' so she could hang round the forge and talk. What an incredible girl; what an incredible team. They were a deadly pair on the battlefield, but I never thought they'd make a good pair as sweethearts, especially after he got with their lieutenant. And then I hear years later they up and got married and had a little one. I didn't believe that either until she walked into my forge.
You see what I mean, sonny? About the way that she is? Her pa was captain of that team, so there's that part of her that wants to lead. But here she is, carryin' her ma's arm and wants to use it, but still wants to charge into battle. That's not how a sniper is meant to fight. She wants it all, but she's failin' to excel at her own skills."
"I've seen her kill Grimm, and she's an excellent shot" defended Jaune, though surprised at the story the smith was sharing.
"Oh I know; I've seen her practice at the range" Winchester confirmed, taking another puff of his pipe. "I just pity her, is all. She wants to be close to her ma so she uses her rifle. I don't blame her in the slightest; I just want her to honour Summer the right way, and be the best she can be...especially since her ma passed so suddenly..." The old smith sighed and looked out the window to his right. "But now I just sound like a reminiscin' old timer. Anyways," he cleared his throat, turning back to face Jaune, "what can I do ya for, sonny?"
"I'm looking for some armour" replied the blond.
Winchester cocked an eyebrow, and rolled his pipe with his tongue to the other corner of his mouth.
"What?"
"Nothin'...I mean, I may be older than the mountains, but I can clearly see that you need armour, badly" he replied, taking a short puff and allowing the smoke to escape his aged lips. "I'm just shocked you came out and said it."
Jaune just looked back at the smith, completely confused.
"Alrighty, I'll spell it out for ya, string bean!" Winchester snapped, his face turning slightly red. "Brats your age don't give a pinch of loon spit's worth a damn about armour, and only want more firepower. They got it in their thick skulls that havin' a hard hittin' weapon is what's gonna make'em Huntsmen; that they can furget armour since they can use their Aura to block attacks. That's how ya die young in this profession! Dang kids worrin' about lookin' pretty and chase tail rather than trainin'. I've lost track of how many hobbledehoys like yourself just want to be dapper for the girls, and payin' for it later. Good to see at least one of ya's have somethin' in that noggin', despite bein' greener than a bag of sprouts."
The blond smirked at the smith's grumbling.
"Well actually, it was a girl that suggested I should invest in new armour" he admitted. "My lieutenant actually; she's very knowledgeable about that sort of thing."
"Marry her" Winchester stated without hesitation.
Jaune chuckled as he rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.
"Well...if things keep going the way they are..."
This made the Master-at-Arms grin, causing the bowl of his pipe to rise.
"You two goin' at it like rabbits, ain't ya?"
The swordsman blushed deeply, not expecting the old man to be so direct.
"I...well...not yet–I mean, we're together but we decided to go out after the tournament so we could focus on training" he stumbled, trying his best explain the situation. "But I think she's incredible, and I'd be lying if I said the thought of marriage and...stuff hadn't crossed my mind..."
This was unbelievably awkward for Jaune, as he hadn't even spoken to Ren about either of these subjects, and here he was being confronted by an old man on both. Winchester noticed and began to laugh at him, which came out like a five pronged wheeze.
"Well blow me down! I have to commend ya for usin' your head and not thinkin' with your pecker!" he laughed folding his arms. "There are Gods after all!" Just as Jaune was considering taking his chances and hurling himself through the window of the smith's office, Winchester cracked his neck and fished out a pair of blacksmithing pincers. "Right then, let's get to it, shall we?" he said, and rapped the embarrassed swordsman's chest plate. "That needs to go. I wouldn't even be able to make good cutlery out of that; same goes for the spaulders. Those gloves are terrible as well...that sword however..."
Winchester leaned forward to take a better look at Crocea Mors, and was instantly intrigued by it.
"Can I take a closer look at that, sonny?"
Jaune nodded and drew his sword, offering it to the Master-at-Arms with both hands. Winchester accepted the blade, and dropped down his headband magnifier to examine every detail.
"Yes siree, this is a finely crafted sword...a rather old design" he remarked, turning the blade expertly, "older than I am, if ya can believe it."
"It was my great-great-grandfather's sword" affirmed the blond. "He fought in the Great War."
"Oh most certainly" the smith said, taking particular interest in the hilt and guard of the sword. "It was definitely made in the style of that era...a very particular style...tell me, sonny, was your grandpappy a Knight in the King's Guard?"
Jaune paused for a moment, not expecting the smith to know such history.
"Yes, or so my father claims. He also said that he was so powerful that he could withstand the breath of an Elder Wyvern Grimm without so much as a scratch. That could just be a family legend though..." he admitted, realizing how childish it sounded when spoken aloud.
"I can't confirm your grandpappy's feats, but unless he stole this here sword, then I do believe he was a Knight. Fancy that. Never thought it my life I'd see surviving craftsmanship from that time in history outside of the armoury. Anyone who has anythin' from that war either puts'em in museums or puts'em over the mantel. I must say, you've taken good care of this sword, sonny. Well oiled, nice'n sharp, not a speck of rust on it. If I wasn't as good of a smith as I am, I wouldn't have guessed it was forged nearly a hundred years ago."
"Thank you. It's a priceless family heirloom and every descendent whose wielded it in battle has taken good care of it" said Jaune graciously, glad that he had at least done something well enough to be praised. He accepted Crocea Mors back and sheathed it as Winchester removed his magnifying glasses.
"Now back to your armour" said the smith. "Ya know what ya want, or do ya need my advice on that?"
"Pauldrons, gauntlets, vambraces, couters, rerebraces, greaves, and a cuirass" recited Jaune without missing a beat. "A full suit is too late for now, so just those pieces will do for the tournament. I just need to make it through the first round to get my teammates to the doubles and let them do the rest."
"You're the captain and you're not aimin' for the singles?" asked Winchester in surprise.
"I'm not the best fighter on the team" replied the blond honestly, "my lieutenant and our other teammate are both far stronger, and without question my lieutenant is best overall, so we'll be sending her to singles."
Winchester looked at him in silent approval, impressed by his humility, something else that young Huntsmen had trouble being.
"Very good, sonny. Ya sure ya don't want cuisses too?" he asked.
"That might limit my mobility more than I would like. And I really need to be mobile since I'm not exactly built like a brick shit-house. Probably later when I have time to get used to them, and then onwards to a full suit."
"Fair enough, but ya should take some poleyns" advised Winchester, pulling out a clipboard and a weathered tailor's tape from the drawers of his desk. "Ya don't want to butcher your knees at your age, or ya'll have Hell to pay when you get to mine. Alrighty, stand up straight, and I'll start takin' your measurements."
Jaune complied and made sure his back was straight for the Master-at-Arms, who with incredible speed and finesse, began to take all his dimensions.
"That about does it. Now sit here nice and quiet like; I'll be back in a jiffy" he said tucking the clipboard under his arm. "Gonna go and get the armour myself to get the blood flowin', or else I'll be crampin' all day."
And with that, the elderly Master-at-Arms exited the office, leaving Jaune to himself, along with the muffled sounds of the forge.
Not expecting to be left alone, the blond begin to occupy himself by looking around the master smith's office, and found it to be more homely that he expected it to be. The walls were genuine dark wood paneling, adorned with many smithing tools of centuries past, some appearing to be several hundred years old. There were a large number of bookshelves that reached the ceiling, filled with an impressive number of tomes. Jaune noticed that they were organized by subject, with topics ranging from metal work, to gunsmithing, to Dust refinement, to reloading, to weapon history, and even topics that he had never heard of. There were also a number of framed sketches of what must have been every past and current cartridge ever produced in Remnant. The swordsman was honestly shocked at the sheer number of cartridges and shells, and felt a new level of respect for gunsmiths, as having to retain all that information could not be easy.
As Jaune continued to scan the office, his eyes came across some photographs that rested atop a short three level bookcase. They were mostly old photographs, showing Winchester in his younger years, one of which appeared to be him as a child sitting on the knee of a man that must have been his father. It was the photo beside this one that caught Jaune's interest. It was of a slightly younger Winchester sitting on a stool before a reloading bench, probably somewhere within the forge, and grinning from ear to ear, his eyes vanishing into his wrinkles. To his right was someone that if Jaune didn't know any better, would have sworn it was Ruby Rose. She was taller than Ruby, by half a foot at least, had shoulder-length hair with the ends folded and held against her head with pins, and wore an outfit similar to hers, with many more pockets and pouches. A snow white hooded cloak was attached to her neck with a rose broach; the very same that Ruby now wore. She bore the same bright and sweet smile as her daughter, as Jaune knew she had to be Summer. It was different however, for despite it being a photograph, he felt a warmth that he could only describe as motherly; even though this was clearly taken years before Ruby was born. Jaune then noticed that between them was Crescent Rose sitting in a rifle vise, showing that Winchester had not been lying when he claimed he had worked extensively on the weapon, as well as knowing Summer personally. He couldn't suppress a smirk when he noticed the basket of cookies just behind the young woman.
"I'd say that's where Ruby gets her sweet tooth from, but now I'd say that's where she gets everything from" he said to himself, though feeling a pang of pity in his heart, knowing that such a lovely woman had died so young, leaving behind two young daughters and a widower. "A firecracker, indeed" he added, acknowledging how strong Ruby was to persevere through the loss, and put her emotions into action by become a Huntress. She was a better person than he was.
"Got'em all, sonny!" shouted Winchester, kicking the door of his office open, and scaring the life out of the blond. "Let's see how well they fit!"
"S-Sure!" Jaune replied, recovering quickly and walked briskly back to the smith's desk, where Winchester had just dropped a leather duffle bag onto. He quickly removed his old armour and Crocea Mors, as the Master-at-Arm began to show him how to strap the armour onto himself. Jaune was about to protest that he knew how to attach armour, but Winchester demonstrated that these had been specifically designed so that they could be easily assembled and disassembled by the wearer. Older armour required a second person to help warriors prepare for battle, which was why Knights of old had Squires accompany them. It wasn't impossible of course, as Jaune had learned to do it himself, and had seen others do the same, but it was admittedly time-consuming.
He listened intently as Winchester explained how the armour interlocked, and he realized that with some practice, he could get in and out of the armour rather quickly, which was certainly a net positive when at any moment a Grimm attack could occur.
"So how does it fit?" the old man asked, taking a step back.
Jaune began to pace back and forth, rotating his shoulders to see how much resistance the pauldrons caused, which he was very glad to discover did very little of. The same went for the new couters, which when he flexed his arms, gave him minimal interference. He did a few knee strikes and squats as well, and found the poleyns were in line with the previous pieces of joint-armour. He brought his hands up and balled them into fists, and smiled when he felt how much of his dexterity he maintained. It was then that Jaune took a closer look at this new armour, and noticed just how nice it really was. It wasn't ornately decorated or engraved, in fact, it was just plain looking steel that could use a pit of polish, but nevertheless was clearly well made. It even appeared that all the pieces he now wore matched, as if it were from the same set.
"It fits great" he answered at last, turning to face the Master-at-Arms, who grinned when he was able to see the swordsman fully.
"Well, don't ya look a Hell of a lot better? You were made to wear armour" he praised, which actually meant more to Jaune than he was willing to express.
"Thank you. These all look like they're all part of the same suit."
Winchester nodded. "They are. I just gave ya what ya asked" he confirmed, tapping out the contents of his pipe into an ashtray and began to search for his tobacco pouch. "The rest will be waitin' for ya when the tournament is over. Not like anyone is gonna take it before then."
Jaune remained silent for a moment, as he placed his left hand flat against his new cuirass.
"This is very good armour, sir. I don't feel right taking it" he confessed.
The smith froze mid-refill, and looked at him confused.
"What are ya yappin' about? You wanna go into a big tournament like this one with shit armour? I figured ya were a bit naive, but queer wasn't on the list."
"No, I mean–" Jaune began, though he wasn't exactly sure what he was trying to say.
"That armour has been sittin' on the rack for years" cut in Winchester, pointing at him with his pipe in annoyance. "I just told ya that no one wears armour these days, and then I go all the way into the bowels of this forge to get you the good stuff, and ya say it's too good for ya? Maybe it is, but I'd rather that it be worn by someone like you then go to waste in storage, ya hear?"
Jaune felt rather foolish beneath the master smith's glare, but only for voicing his thoughts aloud.
"You're right. Thank you, sir" he said bowing.
"Glad to hear it" Winchester replied, as he finished refilling the bowl of his pipe, and began searching for his box of matches. Jaune picked up the matches from the desk and handed it to him, which he accepted graciously. "Will that be all, sonny?"
"Actually" said Jaune, fishing out a neatly folded piece of paper from his pocket, "would these modifications be possible?"
The Master-at-Arms tossed a used a match into the ashtray on his desk while taking a pull from his pipe, and accepted the paper. He produced a pair of half-moon glasses from his apron, and put them on as he unfolded the request. He skimmed down it quickly, before snorting in comprehension.
"In my sleep."
"Can it be done before the start of the tournament tomorrow?"
Winchester closed his eyes and began to do a mental inventory check. He exhaled some smoke out of his nose before opening his eyes again.
"I think I might be able to squeeze ya in. Will ya be here bright and early to pick them up? I ain't gonna currier it to ya" he said sternly.
"I will."
"Then off with ya, and see ya tomorrow. I have work to do, since ya ain't the only young buck comin' in for last second requests" the smith remarked, walking around his desk and returning to his seat. He opened one of the drawers and pulled out a form which Jaune correctly assumed was for smithing orders. "Nearly forgot, what's your name, sonny?"
"Jaune Arc."
"Hmmm" pondered Winchester as he scribbled down the form, before stapling the paper with the modifications Jaune had requested to it, and dropping it in his "Rush Order" box. "Right then, have a good one" he added, before opening one of the folders on his desk and began to read its contents.
Jaune looked at him for a moment, wondering if he should ask the question that had been on his mind since he learned the name of the master smith. He knew if he didn't it would eat away at his sanity, but he was also hoping that keeping quiet would be smarter in the long run. Unfortunately, in the short amount of time he spent thinking over this decision, the Master-at-Arms looked up at him with a puzzled look, clearly not expecting him to still be there.
"Yes?" he asked.
"Uhh..." began Jaune, blushing slightly out of embarrassment, "your name is Winchester, isn't it, sir?"
"Yep; Henry Colt Winchester."
The blond swallowed. "Are you by any chance related to a Cardin Winchester?"
The old man mulled over the name for a few moments before shrugging.
"Can't say that I am. Never heard of him before. Who's he?"
"No one important. Thank you again for your time, Master Winchester" Jaune said courteously with a bow, and walked to the door, closing it behind him.
The smith looked at the door curiously, admittedly lost at the boy's actions, but decided not to dwell on it. He then leaned back in his chair, and folded his right arm while holding the bowl of his pipe with his left hand.
"Arc, huh?" he puffed thoughtfully. The silver-haired smith grinned and slapped his desk enthusiastically, rising to his feet and walked to the window that overlooked the inside of the old smithy.
"Browning!" he boomed over the din of the forges below, alerting the tall black-haired smith Jaune had first encountered.
"What?"
"Get your ass up here! I got a special order I need your help with!"
"I'm still dealing with the green kids you told me to teach today!"
"Let Savage handle them! I need you now, brat!" the master smith shot back hotly, before slamming the window closed.
Browning glared at the window for a few moments, before holding up a rolled up blueprint, which another smith took with a smirk on his face before walking away. The taller smith cracked his neck in annoyance before finally walking to the stairway that led to his master's office.
Just outside the forge stood Jaune, taking a deep breath, relieved that at least he hadn't just run into Cardin's grandfather. He pulled out his Scroll to take a look at the time, and nodded before putting it pack in his pocket.
"Well, that's one down. Now for the hard part" he said to himself, reluctantly beginning to walk past the pond back towards the main Beacon building. He wasn't going to like this, but he knew that it had to be done.
λΛλ
Jaune was in silent thought as he rode the elevator to the top floor of the former Donjon where Huntmaster Ozpin's office resided. He could feel his stomach in his throat, and nearly two dozen swallows hadn't help settle it. He had spent the entire morning thinking over the decision he was about to make. He hated it, truly he did, but he knew that it was the right thing to do. This was what it meant to be a leader, to make hard calls, and this would be the hardest he ever had the misfortune of making.
The doors of the elevator chimed as they opened, and after a moment of hesitation, the blond stepped out. He could see the doors of the Huntmaster's office, and blinked several times, as it felt as if the hallway had tripled in length. Taking a deep breath and exhaling through his nose, he began the long march. However, now that he was in sight of his destination, his thoughts became impossible to focus. They had become a cyclone of images and emotions, and Jaune was starting to think that he was going to be sick. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he clenched his fists tightly in a vain attempt to calm himself.
'This is the right thing to do. You know you've had this coming for months' he told himself, feeling the nausea building. 'You can't keep running forever.'
When he finally reached the tall double doors, he felt his feet glue themselves to the marble floor. He told himself to get a grip and knock on the door, but he was completely frozen. All he could see was Pyrrha's face, and the sound of her beautiful laugh chiming in his ears. He wanted to run to her. He wanted to take her into his arms and kiss her deeply, more than anything he ever wanted to do. But he knew that he couldn't. He had to be an adult and face his problems, rather than run from them, as he always had. He made his bed, and now he had to sleep in it.
"And what are you doing, Mr. Arc?" came a voice.
Jaune's head spun to his left and saw an unamused Deputy-Huntmistress, standing with her arms crossed.
"Professor Goodwitch..."
"I asked you a question, young man" she said sternly, walking towards him.
"I uh...wanted to speak with Huntmaster Ozpin" he explained.
"He's currently very busy with the tournament, and won't be seeing anyone."
"But it's about the tournament that I need to talk to him about."
"If it has nothing to do with withdrawing from the tournament, then it will have to wait."
"No it can't" said Jaune, louder and more desperate sounding than he wanted to. "Please Professor Goodwitch, I just need a few minutes to speak with him. I have to let him know before it starts. It's not about what's been going on with Torchwick and the White Fang" he added hurriedly, stopping the professor from interrupting, "but it is about my team, and their wellbeing means more than anything."
Glynda looked at the stressed blond with uncertainly. She was still suspicious of the boy's record, as his grades were far from satisfactory, and there were still some holes that had yet to be explained. Ozpin had assured her that everything was in order, but her suspicions were rarely wrong; though neither were his. What made her hesitate from sending him out of the building, was the sincerity in his eyes and voice. He appeared to be genuinely in distress, which gave validity to his claim that his reason for coming was important and for the sake of his team.
"Wait here a moment" she said at last, deciding to trust the Huntmaster's judgement, and entered his office, leaving Jaune outside.
The blond swordsman finally managed to unglue himself from the floor, and began to pace in front of the office, feeling his guts twist as he waited. Thankfully he didn't have to wait long, as Glynda returned in only thirty seconds, and allowed him to step inside, before leaving the office and closing the door behind her. Jaune looked before him, and saw the Huntmaster behind his desk, steady and composed as always.
"Mr. Arc" said Ozpin calmly, looking at Jaune with a patient gaze. "It has been a while since we last spoke. Ms. Goodwitch tells me that you wish to speak to me about a serious matter."
"Yes, sir" Jaune heard himself say, as he walked forward and stopped a few feet from the front of the Huntmaster's desk.
"Well, I could use a small pause from the frenzy of this festival" he stated with a small smile. "Now then, what seems to be the matter?"
Jaune swallowed. There was no going back now.
"Huntmaster Ozpin" he began, trying to be as polite as possible, "when the Vytal Festival Tournament concludes, I would like to officially withdraw from Beacon Academy."
The silver-haired Huntmaster raised his eyebrows, clearly not expecting this.
"I see" he said slowly, leaning back in his chair with his fingers interlaced. "Of all things that I expected you to request an audience for, this was certainly not among them" he admitted. "May I ask why you've come to this decision?"
The soon to be former captain cleared his throat, preparing to recite the lines he had repeated in his mind while planning this course of action.
"My short time here at Beacon has been the best time of my life. I've learned a great deal, and I will be eternally grateful for the opportunity, but I would be lying if I claimed that I was deserving of it. I've proven to be a poor student and an incompetent leader, which my team don't deserve to be subjugated to."
"That is a rather humble proclamation, Mr. Arc, however, I believe you are being far too hard on yourself" countered Ozpin softly. "Your grades, while lacking, have been steadily improving. I have personally noticed how much training your team has undergone as of late, the part you've played in dealing with our conflict with the White Fang and Roman Torchwick's gang, and many other achievements. Thanks to your leadership, your team has become the odds-on favourite to win this tournament, and many have great expectations for Team JNPR in the years to come."
"Expectations and achievements earned due to the hard work of my teammates, not I" rejected Jaune, refusing to allow himself to succumb to the praise. It was time to finally speak the truth. "Pyrrha earned her place at this academy, as did Ren and Nora, but not me. I...forged my primary Huntsman transcript. I never attended Signal Academy or any primary Huntsman institution. I've stolen my place at this school from someone who truly deserved it. I want to correct my mistake."
Ozpin studied the blond carefully, peering over his shaded spectacles.
"By admitted this, Mr. Arc, you have given me the need to fulfill my duty as Huntmaster and expel you immediately" he said steadily.
"I know, sir. I just ask you that you give me till the end of the tournament" bargained Jaune. "I believe that my team can win, and I want that victory to be my goodbye to them for the time being."
"Except for the fact that with you enrolling into this academy with forged documents, de facto meaning that you have illegally entered this tournament, thus invalidating any victories your team achieves" Ozpin pointed out, though maintaining his calm and steady tone.
"I..." Jaune began, knowing that if he couldn't convince Ozpin to go along with his plan, everything would fall apart. "I'm fully aware of that, but I'm begging for you to delay my expulsion for a little while longer."
The Huntmaster paused yet again, examining the blond, noticing his steadily increasing desperation.
"So the entirety of your plan, Mr. Arc, relies on whether or not I choose to accept your demands" he mused, as if able to read Jaune's mind. "As I said previously, I am the Huntmaster of this academy, thus I hold the power to have you removed or allow you to stay. Since that is the case, why don't we delve a little deeper into your plan, shall we?" Ozpin reached for an antique tea pot that sat on a small Dust powered burner, and poured two cups of tea, placing one cup in a saucer to the other side of his desk. "Please, have a seat."
Jaune looked at the cup with uncertainty, trying to understand the game the professor was playing. There wasn't an ounce of maliciousness or mockery in his voice, so perhaps he genuinely wanted to know why he was asking to quit Beacon. He slowly seated himself on one of the chairs placed in front of Ozpin's desk, but didn't take the tea. He then noticed a stuffed Great Horned Owl perched on a wooden stand to his left. It was a rather large bird, and he wondered why the Huntmaster would have such a thing.
"Now then" began Ozpin, gently blowing on his tea, "let us go over this plan of yours step by step. You want to be honest by admitting to me that you forged your transcript, which would mean you will be expelled, but you wish for me to withhold that expulsion until after the conclusion of the tournament." He took a sip of his tea and placed the cup back onto its saucer before speaking again. "Why not remain quiet on the matter? I wasn't aware that your transcript was forged."
"Because it was going to be discovered sooner or later" rationalized the blond, trying to argue his case. "I had already let it slip to Cardin when I was talking to Pyrrha, and–"
"So Miss Nikos is already aware of your secret" Ozpin cut in politely, taking another sip of his tea.
"Well...yeah."
"And how did she take the news?"
"Not well at first...but she seems to have forgiven me" Jaune admitted.
"And what of the rest of your team?"
"I've told Ren and he didn't act like it was a big deal minus the initial shock, and I haven't told Nora yet."
"Then why, Mr. Arc, are we having this conversation?" asked Ozpin politely. "If your team is not offended by the truth and I didn't know it, then a better course of action would be for you to simply continue to improve on your grades and complete your education as a Huntsman."
"But it's not about me!" argued Jaune, leaning forward, holding his hands up. "Journalists have been trying to dig into my past because Pyrrha and I are..." He immediately looked down, as what he was about to say was rather embarrassing, given he was going to say it to his Huntmaster. "...involved."
"I am very much aware" said Ozpin with a nod, holding up a paper copy of the Albion Free Beacon, the capital's major newspaper, with the same photo of Jaune and Pyrrha dancing on the front page titled "Who is Jaune Arc?". "I have received no less than several dozen requests from a number of publications across Remnant for information regarding who you are. They are acutely fixated on knowing more about you."
"Exactly! If they find out that I cheated my way into Beacon, they'll drag her name through the mud. And not just her, but Ren and Nora too. I'd never forgive myself if that happens."
At this point, Jaune was no longer trying to appear measured with overly professional language. His fear was now clearly on display, and the Huntmaster acquired the final piece to the puzzle he had been solving since Jaune stepped into his office.
"Mr. Arc..." he began, placing his cup and saucer onto his desk and leaned back into his chair, fingers interlaced and resting in his lap. "Your heart is in the right place. However, you are nevertheless misguided. I take it that you haven't spoken to your team about what you were planning to do today." Jaune nodded, but was halted from speaking by Ozpin asking another question. "How do you think they will take the news that you are leaving them behind?"
"But I'm not!" the blond defended. "I want to do this properly by reenlisting, so that no one can question my record and mock my team for it. If you can allow me that, then I can protect my friends and be a normal student here without stealing the valour of a better qualified one."
"You care deeply about your teammates, and you clearly care even more so for Miss Nikos. No one would fault you for that. However, not communicating these feelings with your team, is not how a leader is supposed to act. Placing that aside, they are not merely teammates, they are your friends; and in the case of Miss Nikos, apparently more. You have gone behind their backs to confess your crimes, crimes that your team have already forgiven you for, and would stand by you through the possible naysayers."
"But..."
"Do you expect them to remain your friends after you depart from this academy? Do you honestly expect for Miss Nikos to maintain her respect for you, and continue to date you after hiding today's actions, and learning that you are effectively running away at the end of the tournament?"
Jaune slumped in his chair, taking each salvo of criticism from Ozpin like a castle wall being wailed on by trebuchets. The reality of course was that Jaune was not a castle, and his defenses could not withstand the silver-haired professor's dismantling, the shame he had fought to suppress now washing over him.
"I just...I'm just tired of lying to them...all of them; Team RWBY as well" he said at last, nothing being hidden. "I never thought I'd survive this long here, and I never guessed that I would make such good friends so fast. And Pyrrha..." he ran his fingers through his hair "I don't deserve her; I don't deserve any of this. I've done nothing but think about all what's happened since the Dance, and I just feel that I've stolen it. I thought I could just carry on, take the hits and keep walking forward, but then students from Mistral started insulting Pyrrha, saying she was desperate to go out with someone like me. That I can't stand. I don't care what people say about me, but going after my team, and insulting her, that's not..."
Ozpin watched the boy in silence, waiting patiently for a moment to cut in.
"Trust me when I say, Mr. Arc, that I understand what you doing. As I said, your heart is in the right place; however, you are preparing to throw yourself upon your own sword when there is no reason to. Your teammates have clearly displayed great loyalty to you, not caring of your past actions, and appear more than willing to remain mum on the matter. Miss Nikos apparently is more than willing to go above and beyond for you. Of course, you would have known better than I, if you had spoken to her on the subject, which you clearly have not, as you chose to plan all of this in secret. Again, I understand why. Your feelings for her have grown more than you thought they would, and you are trying to act before you lose the strength to resist. Though with that being said, some would deem what you are attempting to do unwise. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, as they say."
He ended that final sentence with a smirk, which succeeded in make Jaune look up at him with a little less dread, and helped lift the tension in the air.
"Take my advice" continued the silver-haired Huntsman, "keeping secrets like these from your friends, or even your partner, will only bring distrust and pain. I think you should first tell Miss Valkyrie the truth, and then, when you feel it is right, tell Team RWBY as well. I think they will be far more understanding than you expect, and have thicker skin."
Jaune stared at the Huntmaster completely baffled, trying to understand what was going on. Was Ozpin implying that he was going to let this slide?
"I take it by your expression you have many questions" commented the Huntmaster. "I can answer the first, as it was the initially suggested terms; no, I will not accept your request to withdraw from my academy, nor will I expel you. Instead, you will complete your education, and graduate as a Huntsman in five years time. How about that for a plan, Mr. Arc?"
Jaune sat there with his mouth agape, and at a complete loss for words. Of all the possible outcomes he thought could happen by revealing the truth to Professor Ozpin, this was not even in the realm of possibility. He closed his mouth, and instantly realized just how dry it was, causing him to finally reach out for his cup of tea. Ozpin watched him take a mouthful with an amused smile, and waited patiently for the blond to compose himself.
"Why?" the swordsman finally said, unable to think of a better question to ask.
"Why am I allowing you to remain at Beacon? A good question. You broke the rules, therefore you should be punished accordingly. Tell me Mr. Arc, do you know how many applicants this academy receives every year?" he asked. The blond shrugged, allowing the Huntmaster to continue. "Not enough. We live in a world where monsters roam, and more than ever we need warriors to defend us from them. We have our royal militaries, but it is the trained Huntsmen that can make full use of the tools the Gods have given us to fight the dark legions of Grimm. Only we stand between the shadows cloaking our Kingdoms in darkness, and the continued survival of Men and Faunus. There are only four Huntsmen academies in Remnant, with one or two accompanying primary academies for each. And despite that small number, the amount of applicants, let alone the number of graduates, is embarrassingly low. Our standards are high, there can be no denying of that, but the number of young men and women who are willing to take up the cause, to heed the call of the Hunt, brings about a strong sense of desperation. We are in an unprecedented era of peace and prosperity, so there is no drive for the people to rush and take up arms. As my dear friend James has put it, 'Hard times create strong men. Strong men create good times. Good times create weak men. And weak men create hard times'. Nevertheless, I, nor any professor or Huntmaster, will abandon those standards to get more Huntsmen in the field."
"Then why in the fuck are you letting me stay?" cut in Jaune, immediately regretting his choice of words.
Ozpin surprisingly smiled.
"We do this not for the sake of elitism or tradition, but so that we do not have the blood of young Huntsmen who met their end prematurely on our hands. This then brings us to the question of why am I not having you escorted off the campus. The answer to that Mr. Arc, is that I would be a fool to turn away such a promising young man, when we are in dire need of dedicated individuals to fight for the right. Yes, you forged your transcript, and your lack of basic Huntsman training sets you back with a terrible handicap. However, you've chosen to persevere nonetheless. As I said, I've noticed the increase in training and overall dedication. That is not wasted effort in my eyes, and speaks far more about one's character, than an obviously forged transcript."
Jaune once again starred at his Huntmaster in mute awe, touched by the gravity of his words, before the final statement hit him with the momentum of a runaway train.
"You knew my transcript was fake?!" he cried, jumping to his feet. At that moment, the stuffed owl turned its head to him and hooted in protest, not enjoying the loud noises the boy was making. This caused Jaune to recoil, not realizing that the owl was alive.
"My dear boy, if you think that you are the first individual to try and get into this school with false documents, then you are more naive than you appear. Ms. Goodwich still doesn't believe you are who say you are and I did my best to convince her otherwise" Ozpin confirmed, without losing his calm tone and gentle smile, taking another sip of his tea. "I have always been present to the initiation trials, for I must judge the first-years with my own eyes. I saw you stumble, Mr. Arc, but I also saw you stand tall when you were needed. It was there I knew that you had every right to enroll in my academy. I saw something special in you, and I am glad to see that I was not mistaken."
The blond felt his knees give out, and he collapsed back onto his seat, trying his best to make sense of what he had just learned. Ozpin had not only known that his transcript was forged, but he had chosen to allow him to enroll despite knowing the truth. All the weight that had been on his heart had suddenly been lifted, but it unfortunately made him incredibly aware of how little sleep he'd had.
"I'm a fucking fool" he gasped, wincing once again at his cursing. "I'm sorry, sir."
"Oh it's perfectly alright. Far worse things have been uttered in this room" dismissed the Huntmaster, chuckling. "Also, you're young, Mr. Arc. It is fully expected of you to make a fool of yourself. By doing so, you can learn, which is the very point of attending institutions such as these. Indeed, your plan was a very unwise one, but wisdom can only be gained from acquiring knowledge and testing it through experience. Now then, was there anything else you wished to speak to me about?"
Jaune ran his fingers through his golden locks, trying to think with his sleep deprived brain. After a few moments, one finally materialized.
"What are we going to do about the reporters?"
"Weather the storm" Ozpin replied sipping his tea.
"But what if they find out the truth?"
"I very much doubt they will. You are a student in my academy; therefore your wellbeing and privacy are my responsibility to protect. I have rejected their requests, and I will continue to do so. If they do find the truth, they will not get it from me. But I assure you they will find nothing to sully you or your team, as I took the liberty of replacing your poorly forged transcript with a genuine forged one" reassured the Huntmaster, pouring himself another cup of tea.
Jaune's eyes widened. "Are you serious? Professor, thank y–wait! I wrote that I attended Signal! What if they check there and find out I was never a student?" he realized.
"And they will find a genuine forged record there as well" added Ozpin.
"Wha–how did you forge my documents there?"
"I called in a favour from a good friend of mine in the faculty."
"Who do you know that would go so far as risk their career by creating a fake student record?" asked Jaune in bewilderment.
"Miss Rose and Miss Xiao Long's father. He teaches at Signal" answered the Huntmaster, sipping his tea.
The blond gave a short laughed as he shook his head in disbelief.
"I don't know what to say other than thank you. But I have to comment, I had no idea you had this much experience in forgery. Had a shady past of your own, Professor?"
"I've been at this academy for nearly twenty years, including my time as a student. You become knowledgeable of such things" Ozpin explained. "Take this for example. Let's say for the sake of argument, that a student submitted a false transcript to enroll at this academy, to hide their past. Let's then say that this student decided to use their real name, not realizing that their parents were students here, therefore making it very obvious their transcript was false, despite trying to hide important details, say, their race..."
Jaune wasn't sure what the Huntmaster was getting at, before the pieces finally came together in his mind.
"You're talking about Blake!" he gasped.
Ozpin smirked. "As I said, you are not the first person to try and lie their way into this school, and you will certainly not be the last."
The blond puffed his cheeks as he exhaled, unaware of how deep this rabbit hole went.
"I knew she must have lied about being Human, but a complete false paper trail? Well, that does make sense. I take it you also made genuine fake transcripts for her?"
"Indeed."
"Did she really not know her parents went to Beacon?"
"Apparently so, which means she is not aware we were classmates and good friends" guessed Ozpin, taking another sip. "We've grown apart over the years given our life choices, but we have always been a mere phone call away. I suppose I should give them a call when the festival concludes and invite them back to the academy. I do miss Mrs. Belladonna's cooking. She makes a lovely spicy tuna casserole."
Jaune laughed again. "Yeah, Blake loves her fish, so I guess her folks would too. Would you have guessed who she was if she had used a fake name?"
"I knew who she was the moment I laid eyes on her. She is the spitting image of her parents, just as Miss Rose and Miss Xiao Long are of theirs. She has her mother's beauty and her father's..."
"Doom and gloom expression?"
Ozpin chuckled. "Well, a mutual friend of mine and the Belladonnas would certainly have put it in much harsher terms, but yes."
Jaune chuckled as well, and hung his head with a sigh.
"I dare say you look exhausted" commented the silver-haired man.
"I didn't sleep a wink."
"You should remedy that before the tournament."
"Yeah. I think I'll have a shower, eat some pancakes if Ren made any, then I'll hit the hay. Thank you again, Professor, for everything. I won't waste this opportunity, I swear to the Gods I won't" Jaune pronounced clearly, rising to his feet, and holding up his tea cup.
"No, I don't believe you will" the Huntmaster acknowledged, joining the blond and clinked his cup with his. Jaune drained his cup and placed it back onto its saucer before giving his secret saviour a curt bow, and headed for the double doors. He reached for the doorknob but paused, knowing there was one final thing he needed to ask.
"Professor?" he began, turning to face Ozpin who was still standing behind his desk. "You said that you saw something special in me. What was that exactly?"
The Huntmaster smiled, knowing that question would come.
"I saw a spark" he replied.
Jaune blinked. "A spark? That's it?"
"A spark is a start, and if you feed it with the right fuel, a fire will burn" Ozpin rationalized. "Though if you would like something a tad deeper philosophically, Huntmaster Tanngnjóstr, my predecessor," he gestured to a large portrait that hung between the large bookshelves to his right, which was that of an elder sheep Faunus with a long grey beard and wide double curled horns, "was fond of saying 'A person often meets their destiny on the road they take to avoid it'. It was clear from when I first met you, you were running from your past, trying to find something better. I now agree with my predecessor, seeing destiny being more literal than metaphorical. I believe you were meant to come here, Mr. Arc, and I am glad to help you on your way."
Jaune's back instinctively straightened from the profoundness of the Huntmaster's words, and gave him a deep bow.
"In hoc signo vinces" he said, before finally turning for the door.
"One last thing, Mr. Arc" interrupted Ozpin. "I have one condition regarding you staying at this school: you must win the tournament or else I will expel the entirety of Team JNPR."
Jaune whipped around in wide-eyed confusion, as he was sure that things had been finally settled.
"Wh–Wha..." he began, only causing the silver-haired man to smile.
"I have a very good relationship with my fellow Huntmasters" he explained, his smile now revealing a hint of mischievousness. "However, I will not stand a loss on home soil. I hope that plan of yours for winning the tournament is sounder then the one we just discussed."
The blond paused for a moment, slowly understanding that his Huntmaster was only kidding. He breathed a sigh of relief, and bowing again.
"We will do our best, sir. I swear on my honour I will."
With that, he finally opened the door of the office, and left, closing it behind him.
"In this sign thou shalt conquer. I'm sure you will, young Squire" Ozpin translated with a smile, and at last returned to his chair. Just as he did however, his office phone rang, which he answered as he brought his cup to his lips. "Yes, Glynda?"
"The Crow is nearing the castle" she said.
He smirked. "Such wonderful timing as always. Please let James know, if you would."
"Right away."
Ozpin leaned back in his chair and stared into the amber liquid.
"How long will that road be, I wonder?" he said to himself. The owl examined him without making a sound, making itself clear with its intelligent eyes that it understood was Ozpin was feeling. Ozpin noticed and smirked. "Only time will tell, hmm?"
The raptor hooted twice in agreement, causing the Huntmaster to drink his tea, delving into his thoughts.
λΛλ
Jaune stepped out of the Beacon Tower, and took a deep breath. In the strangest stroke of luck, his fears and concerns had been completely wiped away. As hindsight was 20/20, he could now see just how foolish he had been in thinking he could forge his transcript without anyone realizing, and even more foolish in thinking his plan to withdraw was in any way sound. He had completely succumbed to his fear, and made a series of terrible decisions that fully showed just how green he was as a leader. Some important lessons had been learned today, and he knew he couldn't afford to make those mistakes ever again.
Despite feeling significantly less encumbered by his consternations, there was still a portion of guilt that remained in his heart. Ozpin had been right. He had gone behind his friends' backs, which might as well have been a spit in the face, given what had happened between them over the past few months. He felt as if he needed to make up for it, but decided to follow the Huntmaster's advice and be quiet on the true reason for trying to absolve himself of his sins.
"A carton of frozen strawberry yogurt for Pyrrha, a generous portion of pancake ingredients for Nora, and some green tea for Ren. That should be a good start" he said to himself, and was about to walk towards the Beacon grocery store, when a voice from behind caused him to halt.
"Jaune Arc!"
The blond turned and saw that the voice had come from a young woman in her mid thirties, dressed in a woman's suit, and held a device in her hands.
"Yes?"
"Jennifer Smith from VNN, I'd like to ask you a few questions regarding your relationship with Pyrrha Nikos" she said, holding up her device, which Jaune now figured was a recorder of some kind.
He eyed the reporter with disdain, but calmly squared himself with her, his hands resting on his sword belt.
"No comment" he said flatly.
"Where did you train before coming to Beacon?"
"No comment."
"How did you and Pyrrha Nikos become invol–"
"Ms. Smith, is it?" cut in Jaune, no longer willing to entertain this reporter any further. "I am captain of Team JNPR, therefore, the wellbeing and privacy of my teammates are my responsibility, as well as to lead and protect them. Furthermore, I have no right in sharing anything they share with me in confidence. You will get not an iota of information from me. If you take issue with that, take it up with the Huntmaster."
With that, the young Knight-in-training walked away from the reporter, feeling rather pleased with himself.
'Now then' he thought, 'two down, one to go.'
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his Scroll, making note of the time as he did. He tapped open his contacts, and swiped down to the entry marked as "Home". He stared at it momentarily, not exactly looking forward to speaking to his family after avoiding them for so long. He had hastily messaged them that he would be staying at Beacon during the Winter and Spring holidays, thus extending his avoidance of confronting them. And with journalists wanting to know about his relationship with Pyrrha, word must have in some form reached home, which consequently made him even more reluctant to contact his family. Nonetheless, he had made a promise to Pyrrha he would call home. He was a man of his word, and he would follow through. He tapped the call command and brought the Scroll to his ear. No more running.
After the second tone, the line connected.
"Hello?" came a small voice.
"Aline? It's me, Jaune."
"Big brother! I missed you! How are you?"
Jaune couldn't help smiling at his adorable little sister's enthusiasm.
"I missed you too. I'm doing alright; how about you?"
"I'm good. How's Hunting school?"
"It's going well. How's school going for you?"
"Booooring!" Aline moaned, causing Jaune to laugh.
"Hey, is mom there? I need to talk to her."
"Yeah! One sec" she replied quickly. The elder blond could then rear the sound of bare feet slapping against polished wood floors, as she no doubt was sprinting to the other side of the house. After a few moments, he heard the phone being pasted on.
"Jaune?" a woman's voice came through the Scroll.
"...Hi, mom."
"Sweetie! It's been so long since you last called! Is everything OK?"
"Yeah, everything's fine; it's just been busy. Listen" he said, wanting to get the point, "have people been calling the house? Trying to get information about us?"
"N-No why?"
"Have you seen the papers for the past few weeks? Regarding me and Pyrrha Nikos?"
"Oh, yes, that. I've seen those articles, but I never gave them much thought. I figured that–"
"It's true" cut in Jaune, his pride raising its head like a lion woken from its sleep. "Pyrrha and I are dating."
The call went uncomfortably quiet for a moment. "...Oh..."
If the silence wasn't terrible enough, the tone of his mother's voice made his guts twist in wroth. That one word laced with shock, felt like a dagger being jabbed straight into his ribs; that it was too much of stretch to imagine that he could be with Pyrrha. That wasn't something he could disagree with, but he knew coming from his mother's point of view, it was the idea of him dating anyone that was unbelievable. Clearly the conversation was going as poorly as he assumed it would, so Jaune decided to end it by telling his mother what she needed to know, even if she had trouble believing it.
"Listen, if anyone calls claiming they're from some newspaper and they want to know more about us, don't tell them anything. They have no right to our personal lives, so don't even bother giving them the time of day. I've already spoken to Huntmaster Ozpin, so everything that I can take care of on my end, has been locked down. Just let the girls know and tell them to be careful; same for Bridget and Bruce. I'll call if anything else comes up."
Jaune was about to hang up, when he heard his mother speak.
"Jaune...I'm glad you're finally becoming who we've always known you would be" she said sincerity. Jaune felt a large lump develop in his throat, taken completely off guard by her words. "We'll all be watching your first match tomorrow, and everyone will be cheering you on. Good luck, sweetie."
The blond swallowed with great difficulty, forcefully removing the lump, and at last replying to his mother.
"Thank you. I'll try to keep in touch more often."
"We'll always be here for you, sweetie, so call when you can. She's very pretty, by the way."
"Yes, she is."
"Do you love her?"
The lump was returning with a vengeance, as this was the first time that anyone had asked him directly if he did. Before it reinserted itself in his throat, he swallowed and answered.
"I think I might..." he said honestly.
His mother said nothing at first, which left only the sound of Jaune's heart pounding in his ears. Then, as sweet as fresh honey, she said the words that would linger in his mind for days.
"I look forward to meeting her. Goodbye, Jaune."
With that, the line went dead, leaving the blond with cheeks flushed and the tread of his father learning the truth at dinner. Part of him wished he could be there to see the look on his face when he was told, but the thought also made him want to run out of the house and not stop till he hit the red sands of Vacuo.
"You're a fool of an Arc" he sighed, tapping his Scroll against his forehead. "You'll be paying for all of this soon enough. Well, it's not like I don't deserve it. Light, I can't even imagine how hyper they must be getting over this."
Jaune sighed loudly once more, but managed to compose himself, for those thoughts would have to wait. He would cross that bridge, and the subsequent bridges the first would led him to, when he came to them. For now, he needed to get those groceries, as well as some sleep, so he could pick up his new armour before the opening of the tournament.
Tomorrow was going to be a lot of fun.
λΛλ
That night in the former Donjon, Huntmasters Ozpin and Ironwood, alongside Glynda, Winter, and Qrow, stood before a holoscreen displaying a freeze frame of a mysterious woman dressed in black.
"What do you think?" asked Ozpin, resting his chin in his interlaced fingers.
"Yeah that looks like her. She's definitely the one that attacked Amber" said Qrow coldly, taking out his flask and having a swig. "Lines up with every description of her I've been able to find too."
"So they're officially here" said Ironwood, pacing slowly behind them, his arms behind his back. "And if there's one, there's certainly more."
"It makes perfect sense they were behind the unification of the White Fang and Torchwick's gang" added Winter, standing to the left of Goodwitch.
"We'll share her description and composite sketch provided from Miss Rose, will all of our forces to keep an eye out for her. We'll do the same with local law enforcement. Of course they've been laying low since our raid, but they will begin to move again with the opening of the tournament" said Ironwood, already running through a number of tactics in his mind to predict the enemy's next move.
Ozpin continued to stare silently at the screen, delving deep into his mind, and like his fellow Huntmaster, trying to anticipate what the enemy was planning next. He then at once frowned deeply, and his fingers tightened, digging into his hands just above the knuckles. Glynda noticed this immediately, and looked at him with concern.
"What's wrong, Sam?" she asked, causing the others to turn their heads to the silver-haired Huntsman.
"I just had a terrifying thought" he explained in a low voice. "What if the enemy are impersonating students?"
This caused the others to instantly tense.
"I'll send over the entire tournament roster, as well as every foreign student who came to spectate" said the Deputy-Huntmistress, walking briskly out of the office to her personal computer.
"Get me the files of every soldier deployed to this mission" Ironwood said sharply to Winter, who in a flash, was on her Scroll speaking to the head of their military communications.
"You think there might also be a mole in your ranks?" asked Ozpin.
"I'm not taking any chances."
"What are you gonna do if there is? Put them before a firing squad?" asked Qrow sarcastically.
"Of course not" the General said coolly, drawing his revolves, Semper and Fidelis, and checked their chambers. "I'll shoot them myself."
Qrow snorted as he brought his flask to his lips.
'Brass tacks as always' he thought, taking a drink. 'Tomorrow's gonna be a pain in the ass.'
Hope you enjoyed this one! Just to let you know, I'm fairly sure the next chapter will be coming out late, as I'll be out of town for the weekend. My deepest apologies.
Cheers, and Happy October!