Hey guys! Back again after however long I procrastinated once again :') I wrote a lot of this pretty shortly after I posted the last chapter but got caught up with some adult stuff that kept me busy. The story continues with some love for the more snowy characters of the show but nonetheless important! As always thank you so much for the feedback and I hope you enjoy it. Any constructive criticism is appreciated 3

Cold. Wet. Frail. If there were three words that one General Ironwood of the Atlas military thought encapsulates the current climate of his beloved home it would be those. Cold and wet were both obvious and subtle. The weather was hardly ever sunny or traditionally 'cheery' like the grand everglades of Vale or Mistral, nor did it hold an ancient and mysterious beauty like the sweeping sands of Vacuo. It was often overwhelmingly brutal and unforgiving, offering no solace for any feeble-minded humans wishing to survive and thrive as well as they could. No, it bred the kind of bastards that either held a great passion for its rugged splendor or an uncompromising hatred for its raw, apathetic exterior. An often hollow, duller alternative to nearly every other kingdom or settlement on Remnant. It wasn't always like this…

Frail.

Gritting his teeth he let out an explosive sigh and, forgoing his brief break, returned to the mountains of paperwork that sat smugly across his desk. Beckoning him to once again acknowledge the harsh reality of being such a high ranking officer. Don't get him wrong, he wasn't ignorant of bureaucracy whatsoever. The only reason he's reached the position he's in today is because of how painfully aware he's always been of such an affair. Meetings, lunches, dinners, balls, charities, the whole nine yards. The truth of today's governments exemplifies avoiding 'biting the hand that feeds you' without exception. Bending over backward to make a career politician see himself as a hero of Atlas wasn't new at all.

No, the part that irritated him the most was how useless it made him feel. How very much like a cog in a machine that dutifully spun and spun when he could be the wrench disassembling the whole goddamn bullhead. He'd always been a man of swift and decisive action, a soldier at heart. He had been for a long time, before his dream of steering his home in a direction befitting of his ancestors consumed the 'infamous male ambition' as Glynda would put it. The thought brought a slight smirk to his face.

Beacon, the rival academy to his own. If there was one place where he felt at home beside the icy embrace of Atlas it was there. Excursions to neighboring kingdoms had been commonplace during his younger days, Grimm and the like an ever-present threat no matter where you stepped foot or how high your walls were. It was then that he came across his dear friends, the people he trusts most in the world amidst all the lies and deception. All the backhanded praise and political scandal, all the undue suffering…

Another sigh spilled forth, this time softer and more exasperated than anything else.

'You gain nothing from worrying about what could have been prevented, James. The past is the past, focus on changing what you can with what you've learned.'

It seemed to be a daily mantra of his to remind himself of his limitations, the ever-present guilt that gnawed at him like a particularly rabid beowolf chewing happily into any chance of a good mood. He'd always been of the mind that a mission wasn't complete until you felt it so, regardless of what had been achieved. Some might say this point of view was naive, and he agreed to some extent, however, it's something he committed to himself even before he was admitted for basic training. Because while shouldering the guilt of a life you couldn't save was a path to emotional ruin, he'd rather bear the burden of a thousand men than come to find himself be so callous and apathetic towards those under him he wouldn't bat an eye at anyone's sacrifice. No matter how dire or inconsequential they were to an operation. Lives mattered, always.

Reaching over for yet another submission form or god knows what piece of documentation that made it through his secretary he paused, the telltale crest of Vale gleaming upon an envelope amongst the scattered papers. Producing a small knife he tore the top open in one precise motion, gently returning the blade to his coat as he opened the letter inside proper.

Dear James, I write to you before the start of a new year at our respective institutions as per our usual agreement. That being entirely possible due to a headmistress who shall not be named.

Ironwood chuckled.

The skies are clear, the Valeian sun never failing to bring a little light to an otherwise gloomy world we live in. The council seems sedate compared to their usual antics, though I doubt that won't flare or change in due time. Our responsibilities leave us unable to enjoy each other's company as we did in the old days, however, I'm sure the future will bring opportunities to rectify this. Perhaps even a few games of chess if we're lucky, though I still seem to be missing a few pieces here and there. A Queen and a few pawns if I'm not mistaken.

All the best for the upcoming year,

Yours sincerely,

Ozpin.

Ironwood set the letter down.

Taking a sip of some Atlesian Black, he leaned back and contemplated Ozpin's words. As usual, they held a playful element, let it be known the man was benign and far more casual than his position would suggest. It was good to hear that the place hadn't burnt to the ground and that Glynda clearly had him working hard. Well, as hard as you can make Ozpin work. He always seems to find excuses and esoteric reasons for delaying the hard yards that came with being a headmaster. Few would read anything more into the contents as a whole, a more traditional form of maintaining contact with a treasured companion being the most likely conclusion given the nature of technology for the times. However, what caught Ironwood's eye wasn't the promise of future get-togethers or wishes of a productive year. No, what caught his attention was the end of the letter. Something that didn't surprise him but still frustrated him regardless.

A Queen and a few pawns if I'm not mistaken.

A Queen and a few pawns, huh. Who would've guessed? For some time now he and a select few individuals have been privy to a battle far beyond that of politics or Grimm. A battle defending the very foundations of what it means to be a huntsman, of what it means to be free of tyranny the likes of which you couldn't imagine.

Salem.

So her agents are still relatively unknown as of when this letter was sent, damn.

Troublesome, as well as, complicated didn't even begin to describe the ongoing proxy war between the Grimm witch and the immortal wizard. As far as he was aware, this had been going on for many years, even before his time, and with that knowledge came the ever-present likelihood that the situation wasn't about to resolve itself anytime soon. That irked him more than he would care to admit. Ordinarily, his instincts would tell him to identify the threat to the public, rally support amongst the council and neighboring kingdoms and take down the threat in one fell swoop. Eliminating any unnecessary mind games or holier than thou discourse. However, as tempting as that course of action is it would nearly be impossible to pursue at this present time. There were simply too many variables at play, too many thorns in their side. Too many truths the world simply wasn't ready for. It would change the world as anyone knew it.

For one, Salem and her people had likely already sunk their claws deep into the inner workings of the various kingdoms. While Ozpin, Glynda and himself work tirelessly to minimize this, there's only so much they can do. The sheer amount of positions on any council, military branch or huntsman academy alone would dispel any notion of absolute success.

Secondly, the mere fact that Grimm aren't simply natural abominations that mindlessly collide and toil against humanity would be overwhelming for the populace to consider. The Great War had demonstrated many points of view in many extreme ways, but the underlying message that controlling any populace's emotional output is vital to staving off the destruction of everything we hold dear is paramount and woefully relevant. Even if people let go of the more radical methods of doing so. An unintelligent and aimless beast is much easier to overcome in people's minds than a near bottomless army being spearheaded by a wicked mastermind. Who knows how people would react to such an established assumption and integral part of society's overall worldview being shattered into a million pieces.

Lastly, who's to say there wouldn't be defectors willing to sacrifice the chance at even fighting back for the sake of less bloodshed. A cynical and horrible outcome to consider, but a perfectly plausible one given the immense peace and luxury many have enjoyed since the end of seemingly all major conflicts that have cropped up over time. A person and society at large grow softer the longer they are separated from strife or conflict. Like a muscle that hasn't been stretched in god knows how long.

Especially the elites, I bet anyone with 'chairman' next to their name would sign any terms of surrender to protect their status and wealth faster than you can say nevermore.

Gods, it was enough to make any sane person wilt and rage. It was enough to make him wilt and rage on too many occasions. Not to mention the domestic issues that plagued both Atlas and the kingdoms at large.

Speaking of which…

Reaching into a drawer under his desk, he removed several folders and lay them out in front of him. Stacking any miscellaneous paperwork and mentally filing them away for a later time. Picking up one of them, he began to skim through its contents. 'Highly sensitive' and 'Classified' stamped in bright red on nearly every page.

Mission Report: Operation Splendor

0500 Hours, November 6th, 2367

Two White Fang cells raided and eliminated, minimal combatants detained due to the volatile nature of both safehouses.

Mission Report: Operation Hollow

0400 Hours, July 9th, 2367

White Fang storage facility raided and destroyed, with no personnel detained. No leads found.

Mission Report: Operation Falcon

0530 Hours, March 15th, 2367

SDC supplies successfully recovered from White Fang possession, little evidence discovered as to cell whereabouts.

The White Fang was, amongst other things, at the core of nearly every major issue facing Atlas as a kingdom. If there was one thing that Ironwood could not stand, it was incompetence given the power to freely lay waste to the hard work of others, and that described the handling of Faunus rights in nearly every sphere to a tee. Willful ignorance of the masses was one thing, humans tend to stumble around and hide from the truth of any matter before freely exposing themselves to its harsh judgment. Another thing was suppressing any semblance of progress in the name of profit and 'safety'. Anyone with half a brain and any shred of decency would tell you that what's being done to the Faunus is obscene.

Most people willing to stake their livelihood on it don't make it through the workweek.

The Faunus Rights Revolution was bloody and brutal, the amassed resentment and anger from the marginalized finally spilling over into a nearly unquenchable blood bath. Many lost their lives on both sides and, despite securing victory on the battlefield, Faunus still lost out on fronts that couldn't be won through force. A bittersweet conclusion to what was initially hailed as the starting point to truly successful cultural cohesion.

And here we are, no closer to any form of equitable stability and seemingly only getting worse by the day. What a mess.

Scowling, he began signing off on many technically successful but ultimately inconsequential assignments. His intelligence agencies and all parties involved were good, the best he would argue, but for all the safehouses and cells they shut down, for all the terrorist attacks they prevented and lives saved, it did not deal with the fundamental problem that allowed the White Fang to grow into the monstrosity that it is now.

Apathy.

Taking another sip of coffee to soothe his increasing worries, Ironwood once again mulled over his options. Power and influence were things he possessed in higher quantities than most, however, ironically his reach in matters particularly relevant to his own home turf is limited. Bar a formal military invasion of Atlas, he can't exactly beat the White Fang into submission and call it a job done. Efforts to persuade players like the SDC and various council members were iffy in effectiveness since their bottom line isn't truly threatened thanks to his own work with counter-terrorism. The only front that hadn't truly gone awry as of yet was slowly integrating more Faunus into the military itself, though the rate of recruitment would only decrease as the White Fang gains more and more positive publicity off the back of idiots. Quite frankly, no matter how he considered it the situation was a losing battle. He liked to hold ideals like perseverance and determination, qualities that lifted him to heights he couldn't imagine when he was a young boy. However, he was also a pragmatic man. The type that knew when to cut his losses for the sake of his and the wellbeing of those he was responsible for.

It was a reality he'd faced many times over his career, the thousand-yard stare fate sent you when it had crafted a situation you simply couldn't overcome. When all you could do was your best and hope for the fallout to be salvageable. He didn't want to admit defeat, and in a way, he knew the status quo wouldn't last forever and someday, true equality would be reached. The problem? It'd be on the back of an even bloodier and messier conflict that could have been so easily prevented. That he was absolutely sure of.

Setting down his mug once again, Ironwood reached for the remaining paperwork he'd stacked earlier and, with a sigh of a man being escorted to his own execution, returned to resolving anything he could immediately one by one. Some things require further follow up or redirection to another official before it was eligible to be forgotten forever. Many being requests from various platoon leaders or minor officers regarding the quality of supplies, etc. Academy related issues weren't so tough since his word was essentially law as headmaster.

"Weapons and equipment acquisition here, cafeteria budget there, yes, yes, yes…"

It seemed never-ending and for that, he was largely thankful despite his grievances. A busy mind didn't have time for pondering the death and rebirth of civilized society.

Losing himself in the rhythm of productivity, he almost failed to notice his secretary paging him through his earpiece. Pressing a gloved finger to it, he internally winced in preparation for more paperwork but maintained his composure.

"Yes, Jean?"

"Headmaster Ozpin is on the line, sir. Shall I patch him through?"

'Ozpin? That's strange.'

"Sure, I'm not occupied at the moment."

"Patching him through now, sir."

"James? Is that you? I've been waiting on the line for over twenty minutes. Your secretary told me your office has been having connectivity issues."

That was partially true. His office had been experiencing issues. Mainly because he'd implemented a mandatory delay for anyone wanting to speak to him directly. He gets enough harassment as it is, much less having to deal with certain individuals...antics.

"It's me, Oz. The I.T department recently rolled out a new patch to our communication infrastructure that's caused some issues, apologies for any inconvenience this might cause."

"I see...", Ozpin acknowledged, a minute sense of distrust slivering its way into his reply. "Did you receive my letter?"

"I did", Ironwood replied. "From what I can gather our predicament has remained relatively unchanged. Though I suppose you wouldn't contact me simply to confirm the obvious."

"No", Ozpin denied, "I've called because while largely we are still in the dark, there is a certain...variable that has entered the equation. Are you aware of what I'm referring to?"

It may seem foolish to discuss potentially sensitive information on what essentially amounts to a public line as far as Atlas higher-ups are concerned, but for all intents and purposes, it's far easier to hide anything in plain sight than attempt to bury something in layers upon layers of secure lines and secret codes. Sure someone's technically less likely to discover information being exchanged in the first place, however, if at any point they do pull the rug out from under you it's almost a sure-fire shit storm coming your way. Many would question the validity of hiding what's being said in the first place if it's merely a harmless conversation. Especially between individuals of such immense notoriety and influence. No, the best method in Ironwood's experience is making everything so exposed people will have to spend every minute of every day analyzing every word uttered between droves of people in the hopes of glimpsing something worthwhile. Fatigue and confusion allowing any unwanted ears to defeat themselves.

"Things seem to change at every moment yet remain all the same, Oz. Lately, I've been swamped with administrative duties but even I've been lucky enough to escape the confines of paperwork from time to time. I assume you're talking about Torchwick's capture?"

"Indeed", Ozpin confirmed, "Though more so the parties attached to said incident. I know we've discussed prospective students arriving through less than ordinary means before but I feel the need to mention another addition. One more aligned with our staff here at Beacon."

What a surprise that had been. The gentleman thief had been a thorn in practically everyone's side despite his fondness of remaining in Vale. His reputation and popularity, not to mention his ongoing success, inspiring many admirers and imitators in some cases. In a morbid way, many had begun to associate him with the identity of Vale as a whole. His presence a constant and his charisma infectious as he climbed his way to the top of the underground. Though Ironwood expected him to bite off more than he could chew at some time or another, he hadn't expected it to be quite so abrupt. Roman had always been one for theatrics but also cunning, hardly ever pursuing a job that even held a lick of failure written over it.

A new member of the teaching staff was a less surprising affair, however. While Beacon has many longtime staff that have upheld the school's stability over the years sometimes additional help is brought in from time to time. Managing hundreds of hormonal teenagers with the ability to level a city block isn't exactly as easy as it may look. Though from what Ozpin was implying...

"Hiring more help is something we Headmasters should take advantage of as much as we can. Though I sense this new addition was somehow entangled in Torchwick's downfall. Did the VSS receive our request for any information linking to his dust operations? While Jacques has practically been swooning over this development the SDC is eager to kill any potential continuation of Torchwick's antics. "

"Yes", Ozpin agreed, "Since Mr. Torchwick was apprehended by Huntresses under my jurisdiction and two prospective agents of beacon were involved I became privy to anything they could find. As such, I can authorize a full report being sent to you as soon as possible; along with some extra notes I made myself. Please understand that the council is weary to leave me with any significant influence in branches of the state they're securely nested in. They seem to believe me as somewhat of a wild card."

Ozpin chuckled as if he had no idea why they would believe such a thing. As annoying as it was having to bear the brunt of being hounded by SDC representatives Ironwood understood Oz's hands were tied. Though he couldn't help but somewhat agree with the council's evaluation of his dear friend. Launching kids into Grimm infested forests among other things…

"Perfectly reasonable, my old friend. I appreciate the effort you're going through to keep me in the know. All too often we isolate others for reasons we often forget the importance of."

"Indeed, James. It seems like a temptation all but impossible to resist these days. I suppose I better get back to preparations for the new year. I fear if I stall any longer Glynda may very well have my head."

They both laughed, the sound almost robotic as they trailed off in an attempt to smother the beheading the disciplinarian likely envisioned for both of them, not just Ozpin, at one stage or another, with copious amounts of humour. For without humour there is only death, as they say...

Today was the day. Today was the time to prove her worth. Despite beginning her tenure at Beacon with a less than preferable encounter with a few...miscreants...Weiss refused to let what amounted to a schoolyard squabble affect her drive to succeed. Being from Atlas and being a Schnee she knew that her transition to Vale wouldn't be filled with sunshine and rainbows. Even conceiving of the idea of abandoning her life at the Schnee Manor had been daunting at first. For a long time, it had always been her home and her sanctuary. Her early life all but announcing 'sheltered' from most issues others encountered on a daily basis. At least, that's what it was like for a brief period of time. An affluent but caring family going about their day to day and savouring their time together when busy days finally relented. Then came the longer and busier days. The days where her father hardly left the office and her mother secluded herself to her bedroom day in and day out. Where the arguments and the alcohol became commonplace, where the White Fang reared its...complicated head.

Don't get her wrong, despite what many may assume given the SDC's reputation she wasn't some kind of horrible racist hell-bent on enslaving the Faunus population till the end of Remnant. She honestly didn't even think half of the Atlas elites were as racist as many may think. Cruel and apathetic to the plight of Faunus, sure. But genuinely believing their race to be inferior to their own? Doubtful. There's a reason that Faunus are treated the way they are despite the inherent crime against humanity. There's a reason they're hired in droves by companies all across the kingdoms. The guiding principle of the world that many may refuse to acknowledge.

Profitability.

Companies are a collection of individuals attempting to foster a higher standard of living for themselves and by extension; others. In order to maintain that goal, there must be some kind of dedication to that cause despite misgivings or doubt, otherwise the ship sinks and is swallowed by the overwhelming sea of competition. It's a harsh reality that's veiled under the illusion of advertising campaigns, PR management, and social engineering. It's why when you think of your favourite supermarket or restaurant you immediately picture the friendly or bombastic logo or the delicious food you consume. You hardly ever consider the logistics of even running a business dedicated to hospitality or wide consumer appeal. The pragmatic moving parts of an operation that can overwhelm or ruin any human, or Faunus, attached to it. Politics is similar in that you yourself become the business and brand all in one. You rely almost entirely on your own 'package' to sell to voters and, if demand isn't high enough, the viability of your venture deteriorates. The point? It's simply far more practical to follow the path that maximizes profit margins - and subsequently livelihood - whilst decreasing opportunity cost. And what's the greatest opportunity cost any entity or individual can sacrifice?

The status quo, or to put it simply; Faunus mistreatment.

Of course, she didn't believe there shouldn't be any guidelines or rules in place to encourage fair play or maintain civil liberties. In an ideal world freedom of opportunity is a paramount cornerstone of civilized society. However, not everything is ideal or held in high regard. Not everything is neatly tied together to foster efficient and meaningful cooperation between our fellow man. But if for many it's what keeps themselves and their family afloat, then a part of her didn't blame them. A part of her even admired them for willing to sacrifice noble parts of themselves for the betterment of others. Isn't that what heroic sacrifice is? To bravely let go of selfish parts of yourself like ego and high morals?

Maybe that's her father's influence needling itself into her. She wasn't sure.

Shaking her head to dispel thoughts of home and the fiasco that had been announcing her intentions she strode towards her locker. Scanning the people around her for anyone that may be of interest. Whilst she did abhor the all too ingrained practice she had of assessing people's ability to boost her rate of success in any organized structure - the connotations are never lost on her as a member of the Schnee family - she thought it to be somewhat permissible as far as initiation was concerned. Hunters and Huntresses formed teams during their major schooling years and those teams influenced your chance of graduation and so much more. It was only natural you at least somewhat compared your chances of success with various people in group related tasks. For that's what the academies were, long group projects that ended with the success or failure of your Grimm battling career. Yes, she was completely correct on this front. School rules did apply in school.

'Too short, loud and annoying, sending me way too many flirtatious looks given what would generously be coined scraggly as far physique goes, too plain, giving me suspicious looks...just what the hell are most of the people here anyway?'

The problem with her plan was that, while she liked to say she was fairly adept at ascertaining people's strength of character on a surface level, she was in a completely foreign environment surrounded by people precisely her age. This wasn't a boardroom meeting or business conference, she wasn't in a position practically next to the CEO of a gigantic company where she was allowed the freedom to comfortably scrutinize those around her without worry. For all intents and purposes, she was the same as everyone here. It was jarring, to say the least.

'That doesn't mean you aren't a Schnee Weiss, a Schnee takes what's theirs and rises to the top no matter the circumstance. Letting yourself fall into uncertainty will only damage this prospect.'

Spotting a much taller redhead with golden armour and a winning smile, Weiss couldn't help but grin victoriously as she saw what could only be described as a golden opportunity to guarantee her success. The irony not lost on her as she made her way towards another section of lockers.

Saitama's favourite part of the day was without a doubt the post-breakfast bliss of yore. Sure, there were other star moments throughout the day like lunch, afternoon walks or an evening reading manga. But there was something about cooking a stellar meal for yourself with food that seldom makes an appearance in the other two main courses of the day. Maybe it was waffles, or pancakes, or bacon so greasy you could lick diabetes clean off the plate, or maybe-

"-Mr. tama, Mr. Saitama, I've come to escort you to the Emerald Forest cliff face. Are you decent?"

The voice of Ozgrin's scary looking lady broke through Saitama's thoughts. Having sat firmly hunched against his deceptively plush couch, his call to duty reminded him that without pain there can be no joy. He sighed and adjusted his tie, rising to his feet and smoothing out any wrinkles that accumulated during his brief early morning respite.

'Time to face the music, I suppose. At least it's not like any teaching is gonna happen today. From the timetable I've been given, the students will spend most of the day completing their initiation task. All I have to do is stand there and act important or whatever, maybe I could hit the cafeteria in between any lulls.'

Opening the door to his office/bedroom he nodded to the prim woman in front of him. Closing the door behind him as they set off at a steady pace down the halls of his new home.

"Good Morning, ma'am. How are you on this fine day?"

Voice deep and strangely rich, Saitama confidently kept pace with the headmistress. Slightly jarred at not only his attire but his strange demeanour, she blinked and looked him over. Almost checking to see if what she was seeing was, in fact, happening.

"I'm well, thank you. I trust your transition hasn't been too rocky so far?"

Saitama shook his head, an almost sardonic chuckle escaping him. "No no, if anything it's been very smooth. I don't visit many places but I will say that the hospitality here has been particularly stellar."

Nodding as if he'd said something especially apt, he smiled. A smile that looked like a mix between the charismatic smirk Spruce Willis adopts in the face of great danger and a teenager desperate to convince their parents they were cool and not a total loser. A delicate eyebrow rose in response.

"I see…I'm glad to hear of your...comfort. I understand it can be daunting to take on a job such as this, so if there are any questions or inquiries you have don't hesitate to ask. I'm sure any member of staff here will be glad to help, not just I or the headmaster."

Staring at him with the intensity of an unyielding force of nature in what was likely an attempt at looking reassuring, he nodded woodenly in kind. An array of dark clouds seemingly gathering above him as they made their way to the cliffs.

'I knew it'd be tough for me to pull off any kind of stern look but jeez, it seems my plan of being as professional as possible is coming off a little forced. Who knew acting like an adult could be so hard?'

Maybe it was the fact that he was dealing with someone who appeared as all but a picturesque example of what a capable employee should be, but for some reason, he couldn't shake this strange nervousness he felt. When he told off the kids the other day it was easy, mainly because they were, in fact, very much kids. Sure they were huntsman trained and thus, a little more impervious to some confidently driven stern words. But the advantage of teaching at a high-class facility like this, even more so when the profession is fighting Grimm, is that the people who are here want to learn and ensure their success. Unlike the many public schools where regardless of your desire to learn, you are forced to attend until a certain age.

'It's fine to be a little out of your element so long as you're willing to do your best. They won't punish you for being a bit clumsy on things you've never done before. Give it time.'

A part of him was reeling in both awe and shock at how anxious this new path he'd set himself on was making him. For a long time life had been stagnant and repetitive and, for a long time, he hadn't really situated himself into a position where unpredictability was a factor. Routine had been established and while fun popped up here and there, it was undeniably monotonous.

His mother would have barked an incredibly long and sarcastic laugh had she been within earshot of such thoughts, the Saitama she'd known had always been a 'lazy smartass' hell-bent on avoiding any kind of responsibility he could. For she always knew what he was thinking somehow, woman's intuition his ass...it had to be a sign of witchcraft or something.

"I see you've exchanged your...combat attire in favour of a more professional look. I must say it rather suits you, pun unintended." Glynda remarked. Approval gleaming in her eyes as she fixed him with another pointed stare. Almost as if she suppressing the image of something else. Huh, strange.

"Thanks, it's a bit weathered since I've been unemploye- I mean pursuing other career paths since my office days but it's clean and functional. Can't say I'm unhappy with it really."

"Going back to the basics never hurts, a strong foundation is the pillar with which we all stand. I fear many students take this lesson to heart far too late, always obsessed with flashy moves that leave them hoping their peers preen at their brilliance. Only to then wonder how their foe got the better of them."

She almost seemed to sigh like a mother resigned to having to hammer important lessons into their children over and over until it one day clicked. Though she quickly snuffed it out by clearing her throat.

"We've almost arrived, once the students make their-"

An almost shrill voice interrupted the disciplinarian.

The scene could be described in many ways, but a theme that prevailed was a shark slowly coaxing its prey into its jaws. Raising his hand as if he was being blinded by how obviously uncomfortable one of the people was, he listened in.

"Pyrrha, I see you've chosen to attend Beacon despite hailing from Mistral. I myself am from Atlas but chose Beacon as well, may I ask what drove you to do so?"

"Ah, well, I figured a change of scenery would test my abilities to adapt far more than studying at Haven. Though of course, I have nothing against Haven as a facility."

Weiss nodded in approval. "Constantly testing your abilities is the key to success, it only makes sense that such a renowned fighter as yourself would grasp this concept so easily. And the-"

The conversation continued and his brain clicked. One of the girls was the snowgirl he scolded yesterday. A part of him was surprised to see her conversing civilly, though in hindsight it's not as if everyone argues all the time.

"I see Miss Nikos is already being scouted, I won't say I'm surprised by this development." Glynda chimed in.

Saitama turned to Glynda. "Scouted?"

"Indeed, I imagine Miss Schnee is attempting to convince Miss Nikos to be a part of her team during her tenure here. Though she may be in for a bit of a surprise."

"Ah." Saitama hummed. He supposed that made sense given-

Wait a minute, Schnee? Did Ozgrin's assistant say, Schnee? As in…

"When you say Schnee, do you mean as in Schnee comics incorporated? As in the distributors of some of, if not the most iconic pieces of art known to Remnant?" Saitama questioned. A frantic expression overcoming his face like a manic lumberjack that swears the trees are making fun of his underwhelming facial hair upon close inspection.

Glynda blinked. "Comics…? If I remember correctly, there is a branch of the Schnee brand within that market. Though of course they're most commonly associated with dus-"

"I must speak to those students immediately. The redhead seems to be incredibly uncomfortable and I'd hate to not put a stop to potential harassment. I'll find my own way to the mountain."

Beginning to speed walk away with the determination of a man discovering the meaning to life, Glynda could only look on in confusion. Her initial impression of him this morning evaporating into something much more reminiscent of the incident with Roman Torchwick. An eccentricity that eerily reminded her of a certain caffeine-addicted individual who shall not be named.

'Did he say mountain?'

Charm can sometimes be a subjective thing. There's the traditionally charismatic, handsome man that sweeps a beautiful woman off her feet. The mysterious bad boy that broods and scowls but has a softer, more intimate side beneath the rough exterior, and then there's-

"Jaune Arc, short, sweet, rolls off the tongue; ladies love it!"

An eyebrow was raised.

"Well, I like to think so. My mom never said it wasn't true..."

A giggle penetrated the otherwise dead, decrepit silence.

"Did she now?"

"...I'll shut up now?"

A prim nod affirmed the suggested action.

"You'll shut up now."

Jaune sighed.

"So close…"

"You really weren't." Weiss chimed in.

"I'd say you made a fine impression, Jaune," Pyrrha reassured.

Jaune somewhat brightened.

"Thanks, cereal lady…"

Pyrrha beamed. "You're most welcome!"

"..."

Suddenly, a voice broke through the awkward fog of social niceties. Masculine, deep, close.

"You'll get there soon enough blondey"

Jaune quirked an eyebrow and looked left and right, searching for the source whilst surprisingly calm. Weiss and Pyrrha both lost in conversation once again.

"Thanks, man, I really...appreciate it?"

"..."

This time, as if the entrails of a deceased witch grew legs and crawled into Jaune's ear, a quieter, softer tone nuzzled into his ear.

"You're welcome."

"..."

"WHAT THE HELL?!"

The feminine duo startled, turning to see what the commotion was about.

"WHAT IN THE BLAZES?!"

"OH MY GOODNESS!"

The sight that greeted them wasn't what they expected.

"How is he doing that…?"

"Is he moulded to his back and perfectly mimicking Jaune's body language? That's honestly impressive…"

Jaune decided to enter the fray.

"The real question is; how long has he been there? He must've been here for at least a little while, he did reply to our little...disagreement."

"The real question is, why aren't you turning around Jaune?" Weiss questioned.

Jaune shivered.

"It's not because I'm scared."

Another unimpressed eyebrow rose to prominence.

"Okay, maybe a little."

"..."

"Okay, maybe a lot" Jaune squeaked.

The bald creature couldn't help but blink confusedly.

"You're a professor?"

"Yes." Saitama and Weiss responded.

"You sound like you've met him before, Weiss."

"I have."

"I'm guessing it wasn't on the best of terms?"

"No."

"She's upset I scolded her in front of her rival, I only did what I thought was best."

"Definitely not on the best of terms." Weiss practically ground out. An aura of irritation all but radiating from her icy demeanour. "I knew it was a possibility but I didn't want to acknowledge it. I'd had enough craziness for one day."

"She tried to blow up another student, it was quite messy."

"I did not!" Weiss squawked.

"You did?" Jaune and Pyrrha questioned.

"Well...kinda...somewhat…this isn't relevant to the current situation!"

"Thankfully only their pride fell apart. Hunter reflexes are a big source of anxiety I hear."

Jaune and Pyrrha hummed in acknowledgment.

Weiss seemed fit to explode herself.

"In any case, you guys better get to the cliffs, the fancy guy needs ya there pronto." Saitama reminded.

"Fancy guy? You mean Headmaster Ozpin?" Pyrrha spoke.

"Yes, the undercover surgeon," Saitama confirmed.

"Surgeon…?" Jaune blinked.

A thunderous click sounded off as Saitama clicked his fingers and smirked confidently.

"Indeed, run along now children."

The trio of students looked at each other before shrugging, whether it was from pure indifference or exhaustion at the roller coaster of emotions the morning had been. Jaune and Pyrrha setting off to face the beginning of initiation whilst Weiss was suddenly brought to a halt. Her arm gripped by none other than Professor Saitama himself.

"Miss Schnee," Saitama spoke, a seriousness in his voice that Weiss was so stunned by she practically skidded in her tracks. The intensity of how unyielding her goofy teacher's hold on her was causing her to unconsciously held her breath. The room almost seemed to disappear.

"Y-Yes, sir?"

He let go. She felt more relieved than she cared to admit yet the room seemed isolated, like his sheer presence was compelling her to do one thing; listen.

"Why do you wish to become a huntress?"

The bizarre question threw her off even more.

"W-Why?"

"Yes. Why?"

She thought for a moment.

"To..to pursue a path I chose, not what anyone else has dictated for me."

"I see. Do you wholeheartedly want to see it through to the end?"

She paused for what seemed like an eternity.

"Yes...there's no doubt in my mind, Professor."

He seemed to stop as if giving the weight of her words the proper consideration. Finally, he turned to face her fully. A mythological determination etched across his face.

"Then do your best, Weiss. Allow no one to steer you from what your heart desires."

She was momentarily speechless.

"...Right, I better get going then!"

He nodded, eyes burning with a fire unlike any she had ever seen. She sped off to catch up with the others.

"That was close." Saitama sagged, a familiar innocuousness taking over his form.

"I almost asked her if she could give me an inside on Schnee Comics Inc."