"My name's Yang Xiao Long!"
Well I know where I am in the RWBY timeline now. Fortunately or unfortunately for me, depending on how you look at it.
I lost my composure for a bit, staring at her with wide eyes like I was braindead.
This was one of my favorite characters in RWBY, in the flesh. You would be pretty surprised if you met a real life Superman.
Not Superman in terms of ability, but in terms of a fictional character becoming real. You could say that Blake was my first encounter, or even Lisa Lavender. They were on a screen though.
This? This is Yang! The angriest girl in RWBY! Standing right in front of me!
What is throwing me off is her behavior. She's unbelievably polite compared to her portrayal in the show. You wouldn't think she would apologize for something so minor, but there has to be something different.
"Uhh, nice to meet you too?" she waved. I was still staring.
"Oh, sorry about him. He doesn't talk to a lot of people, so he's not really-" Dez began, trying to fill the blanks for me. I didn't exactly want to get embarrassed like that so soon, so I cut her off.
"Dez! I can talk just fine!" I turned around to face her rather stunned face. I needed to excuse the staring without exposing my true reason. "So you're related to Mr. Xiao Long?" I pointed out towards the seats where the faculty began shuffling out.
"Yeah. He's my homeroom teacher too," she remarked. She finished her thought with a hint of sarcastic irritation, "As if I don't see him enough at home..."
"What homeroom are you in?" I glanced down at her nametag.
"I think I'm in 1C, in the quad." She then pointed to mine and Desiree's. "So are you, by the looks of it." What.
"What?" Sure enough, a quick glimpse at mine and Desiree's did say 1C.
Yang is in my homeroom? This makes things interesting.
"She's in our homeroom too," Dez repeated. Yes, I know.
"Oh ok, cool." I thought briefly for a moment. I had then felt my mouth dry just a little and my heart move to my throat as the implications of the period of time I am in dawned on me.
This is Yang before she became the fun-loving girl in the show. She would be pretty normal, or at least, more tame than in the show. My actions here at Signal will determine how she ends up. And depending on how she is, Ruby will change too.
"Well we're going to be late soon if we don't get moving, so..." Desiree trailed off obviously implying that she doesn't want to be late.
"That's probably a good idea," Yang agreed moving next to her. The two started whispering things to each other as they moved. I walked behind them out into the foyer then into the front of the gymnasium.
The campus of Signal was much larger than what I was used to. There were 4 dormitories, no doubt 1 for each year class, and each were 3 story and rectangular, likely only a few rooms on each floor. They surrounded the quad, which was a large, 4 story square. The gym and cafeteria were separate from this cluster of buildings and the field was the border for them.
Concrete paths were strewn all over the campus, with trees planted alongside all of them to provide natural shade. There was also the small forest behind the cafeteria, which likely served as a personal retreat ground. Then there was the big kahuna.
The gym was next to a large, towering construct. A glimpse at my map named this building the arena. I remember the days back when I would see little announcements for small social and probably tournament functions that were hosted inside of the Signal Arena. I never paid those ads much mind so it stood out a lot more than I thought it would have.
It was likened to gothic architecture with a number of tall spires and wide arches. However, it still had a modern flair with large glass panes and angular edges.
All of this was a far cry from my high school that only had about 6 buildings in total.
"That's our room." We turned to the door and read our relevant homeroom number. Entering the room, things looked pretty average like an Earth highschool classroom. At the front of the room was a whiteboard and what I assume would be the teacher's portion, if the metal desk topped with paperwork and small booklets and swivel chair told me anything.
The rest of the room had mostly students' desks and a few cabinets along the walls for storage of what I guessed books.
Again, Remnant betrays my expectations. I have lived with the assumption that the RWBY world would, but it never ceased to amaze me on how normal things were.
As for the occupants... Well, that is obviously a different story.
Dez, Yang, and I were the last few to come in. Not that it mattered, as Yang's dad came in minutes after us.
"Good evening everyone! My name is Taiyang Xiao Long," he said this looking over at Yang, who didn't try to react, and pressed a button on his scroll.
Immediately, a projector from the ceiling came to life and lit up the whiteboard with an image. An image that said, "Combat sciences." Taiyang followed up with, "and I am your homeroom and combat sciences teacher."
He looked around the room that was sparsely populated. "Let's get our seating down first." He read off of the list on his scroll and pointed at the first seat in the row. "Desiree Argent." The seat next to her would be mine. "Gainsboro Argent." Then, among the desks, he read out the rest of the names in alphabetical order.
Mr. Taiyang eventually pointed at the last desk. "And Yang Xiao Long." He then pointed to Desiree and said, "Now, introduce yourselves and something interesting about yourself."
"Hi, I'm Desiree Argent and I can play the violin," Dez said, sitting back down. I stood up next.
"I'm Gainsboro Argent. Call me Gray. I'm Desiree's twin." I sat back down right away, silently pondering if what I said was enough, whereupon Mr. Taiyang said nothing, indicating that that was indeed enough.
Everyone introduced themselves in much the same way I would expect: uncannily average and boring. Not much else interesting.
And then came Yang.
"Hi, I'm Yang! I know my semblance already. Nice to meet you all."
"Alright everyone, give yourselves a hand," Mr. Taiyang said, clapping. The classroom filled with sporadic applause.
Almost sad, considering the size of our class.
Mr. Taiyang then began listing off the criteria for the class. Combat sciences is part physics and part applied palynology (the study of dust). He was cut off by...
The high-pitched staccato of a school bell. Next period.
"That's all the time we have today, class. It's nice meeting you all." Taiyang smiled. He looked down at his table and gathered up the papers. "Now, head to your next class."
That was one out of five classes. Our homeroom class moved together in a single group. By the look of it, so did the other homerooms.
Our second period was Introduction to Psychology taught by Ms. Linden Birch, a young, lively woman. The objective of that class was basically this: be able to read your opponent and to cover situations hunstman regularly face without being phased.
Well, those are the cliffnotes. There's a lot of fluff to distract the more idealistic students, but the premise of the class is to predict your enemy and to stay calm in bad situations.
You know, situations that are typically kill or be killed. No big deal.
Except it is a big deal. What would you expect? Can you really expect your opponents to give you chances when both of you are on the razor edge between life and death? Do you think the persons or monsters trying to kill you are going to let you recover from your mistakes?
The Grimm don't fight with honor. To survive in Remnant, you must be ruthless.
That's what we learned in Physical Training and Combat Exercises. My class's 3rd period was taught by one Mr. Ahrid Palm. He was an experienced fighter and told us about the curriculum after attendance to familiarise himself with us.
"This class is meant to push every aspect of you." He stared each and every one of us down. "If there's any class that'll make you drop out, it's this one." Brown, tired eyes looked over me. He was shrewdly testing our resolves. Looking away would show weakness, and staring back would exude confidence.
I'll admit, I had a hard time maintaining eye contact. The way he would look back if you figured out his little test was intimidating. Squinting his eyes and setting his face into a frown, Mr. Palm tried to get me to budge. I was nearly there, but he moved onto his next victim as he spoke.
"If you're out of shape, don't worry. You'll be back into it in a matter of days." His loud voice shook the young woman after me, who looked elsewhere.
He continued this until everyone was tested. Few passed, not once blinking. Yang almost did, but she averted last second.
It's saddening to hear that, really. Possibly the most confident in her abilities in the show, the blonde didn't show much confidence yet. Everyone else failed, including Desiree.
"Now, can anyone tell me what about me makes me so scary?" Palm asked. He looked around the room.
A young man, hand raised, answered in a questioning intonation.
"Your semblance?"
"Good guess, but no."
No one dared answer after him. No one really knew the answer.
"Anyone else?"
Silence and curious looks.
"The way I handled myself. You'll see that it works with dogs too. Not that any of you are." He stood up from his table and wrote on the whiteboard the word confidence. "Ladies and gentlemen, if you answer confidently, you are correct." This seemed to have confused everyone else. Seeing he needed to elaborate, he added, "If you sound confident, you sound correct. Who here answers questions they know like they're scared?" No one raised their hand. "Precisely." Sitting back down, he pointed to the word. "This class is more than just physical. There is a psychological aspect to every fight. There are aspects that you don't know and that I'll teach you some other time, since we only have 3 minutes left. The rest of the period is yours."
He proceeded to do his own thing. The 3 minute break he'd be giving us was quite welcome.
I nudged Desiree in the arm.
"What do you think?" I asked. I was talking about everything so far, and was glad to know she understood what I meant.
"It's all so much to take in. All of this is new." The light talking ended when the bell rang.
Civil studies was next and was taught by an unremarkably average teacher. The kick was that he wasn't a huntsman, had never been one, nor was planning to be one. This Mr. Lavan Luce was an old, well-studied man. His white hair and slouched posture denoted his wisdom and intelligence. He was smart, but might not have been effective in the way of keeping the class attentive.
Civil studies is a general mixture of practical classes you'd learn in highschool. It put a real twist on the whole superhuman training thing, but it was welcome. Not all hunstmen fought first and answered questions later.
Especially questions about Remnant history or Grimm anatomy. In a way, combat sciences would make this class redundant. However, combat sciences ultimately revolved around combat and the start and end of it. Civil studies is for the scholarly side of private schooled superpowered teenagers whose purpose is to kill anything that would kill them and then some.
Like I said, almost redundant. Useful, but to a certain degree.
Our last period was very interesting, at least to me. Aura training was the name of the game, and we were all new players.
Our aura trainer was a spacey but reserved middle-aged woman. Mrs. Skylar Astra was of a different mindset than everyone I'd ever met.
I swore that she was high, but I liked to believe that she was just transcendental because she was in touch with her aura.
It was unfortunate that we had this class last. I would bet that majority of us would be quite tired and might fall asleep when she would get us to meditate.
Good thing the class also covers dust synergies with aura! As if telling your students to be quiet and close their eyes isn't monotonous, lectures on a subject that some primary schools taught isn't going to put some of us to sleep.
You seriously have to forgive me. I woke up at 6 A.M. in the morning and it's 7 P.M. If your teacher told you to close your eyes, you'd nod off.
Anyways, I was awoken by the bell ringing for the last time today. We could finally go to our dorms.
Which were quite barren. They were small rooms with two beds across the door and two desks at each opposite corner. There was a single bathroom that was a sterile white.
Our baggage was separated between the beds. Facing the door, Desiree got the left. I got the right. Unpacking was a messy affair, since we were both too tired to care. And it was then why I learned why Desiree had one more case than me.
"You brought bed sheets and posters?" I threw her a glance over my shoulder, still throwing my shirts onto my bed. Admittedly, I appreciated the color. Reds and blacks would help us distinguish and personalize the room better than white and black sheets.
"Yeah. I knew this would happen. The academies do this so that you can make your room your own." She explained. "You know, give your room your style."
"Did you have to pack another suitcase full of sheets though?" I asked languidly.
It took her a while to process my question.
"Well it's better than white and black, right?" She sighed.
"Yeah I guess so." I shrugged it off. Dez threw me the gray sheet and I put it into my closet. In between our beds was a nightstand in front of the window. Through the window you could see the partial moon.
The moon is quite a peculiarity for Remnant. There are many stories and theories on how or why it's broken, but one thing's for certain. The moon is important somehow.
On Earth, shooting stars were meteors that burned up upon entry.
On Remnant, it is believed that shooting stars are fragments of the Moon that reach Remnant's atmosphere.
A streak of light flashed across the sky. Should I make a wish?
"Shooting star! Make a wish." Desiree closed her eyes and pressed her hands in what appeared to be prayer.
I guessed I should make one too.
I wished on that star with all my being for my life to have purpose and that what I did, I mattered. I would remain under the impression that my wish mattered.
It was a circumstance of self-assurance. Would I change things? Or would I be helpless, hopeless, and oh, so useless?
I shouldn't dwell on negative thoughts. It literally gets people killed.
Desiree masterfully finished unpacking and organizing her drawers. I did the same, but not as fast as she.
My thoughts were brought to Yang. She hadn't learned how to be confident just yet. She was still coping with her newest change in life.
That and her figure was less developed, so there's also that.
(A/N: Thanks for waiting so long for this chapter! Life threw problems at me, so I put them all down. And of course, you all give me motivation. Thanks again!
Cheers, Rico.)