[WAKE UP.]

He startles so violently at the ridiculously powerful telepathic shout that he (and Zwei, who has somehow managed to wrap his stubby little paws around his neck) rocket out of bed. At the speeds he's going at, his footie pajamas offer less traction than desired, and thus Jaune finds himself lying upon the floor on his back with an aching bottom and a tubby puppy sitting on his chest and a familiar face standing above.

He very determinedly looks into her eyes and not up her skirt.

[Poor Jaune. Tries so hard not to be a pervert…]

Her intent washes over him through their connection: a lighthearted tease without malice. Out loud, she offhandedly comments, "So, we're, like, hungry."

When he sits up, Zwei rolls off his chest like a tube of butter and trots over to the window. He looks over his shoulder and wags his stubby little tail until Miltia walks over and opens it, whereupon Zwei barks once in thanks and leaps out into the ground beyond.

"We?" Jaune asks in puzzlement. However, his stomach chooses at that time to make some really hangry noises, and he realizes that she never fulfilled her end of the deal to 'refuel' him.

"You're hungry," she answers, "so by extension, I'm weak. You need to go eat."

Jaune takes her proffered hand and pulls himself to his feet. Her grip is firm, and though she looks tiny, she possesses enough strength to lever him back up. "You didn't, uh… transfer… life energy to me last night?"

"Like, I sorta thought about it," the girl admits, "but after I ate, I realized I really didn't want to run the risk of giving you too much and end up dispelling, or whatever." She looks at the ground bashfully. "Cuz, y'know, this physical form might come from your aura, but its spirit totally wouldn't have ever existed in the first place if Melanie hadn't made up the persona in her head, y'know? So if I let this body go, will my spirit return to you and give you aura? Or will it go back to Melanie?" She wrings her hands nervously. "Like, if I go back to you, it'd be really useful. But if I, like, go back to Melanie, will she ever let me go again. I don't even knowww… So… can I stay with you?"

"Um…" Something flutters in his stomach at the sight of a blushing girl shyly looking at the ground and folding her hands and glancing up at him every once in a while with hope gleaming in her bright eyes as thoughts of [hook, line, and sinker] and [no way a desperate dork like him can resist this] and—

{Hahaha—close. But no.}

[Oh crap!]

"MIltia." He waits until she meets his eyes defiantly. "You could, I don't know, just ask. I mean, we're friends, right?"

"I totally asked."

"Without the manipulation and all, then." He chuckles a little at his own expense. "Good work though. Too bad we can read each other's minds."

Shock rolls through their mental tether. She clearly did not know about this.

{You spent the first few weeks of the semester poking around in my head and didn't think I could turn around and do the same to you?}

[Um. No?] He instantly senses that she's poking through his mind and imagines slamming an iron gate down upon her sneaky little psychic probe-fingers-things. [OUCH YOU **** THAT HURT.]

{Hey. This is a swear-free mindscape.}

He pushes a memory towards her, depicting what he saw of her desperate need to exist and be acknowledged as her own entity. "This is what I saw last night," he explains, "and why I'm sharing with you."

Miltia shies away from him in horrorstruck humiliation. [You shouldn't have seen that.]

"That's why I'm thinking we should respect each other's… psychic boundaries? Or something." Jaune directs a thoughtful glance her way. "Really, though, I know nothing about spiritual… stuff."

"And you think I do? As far as I even know, I'm speeeecial. Only one of me." She blocks her personal thoughts from him well enough, but basic emotions still roll from her mind into his. She is not proud of being the only spirit without a soul in the world. "And you and Cardin never tried to hack into my mind."

"I'm doing it now." His eyes light up with nerdy happiness. "We should, like, train psychically! What if I could develop superpowers or something?"

"Uh, Menagerie to Jaune. Real life doesn't work like that."

"Why not?" Jaune seats himself on his bed, wincing at the sudden flare of pain that manifests in his glutes. Launching out of bed for a floor-shaking ground-pound is not good for one's butt, apparently. "Like that time when you possessed my body—I forgive you, by the way—to push aura into Weiss. I couldn't do that on my own. So that definitely counts as supernatural!"

She pushes a memory his way. It's actually his own memory that she turned into her own after rooting through his own memory banks. It's like a memory within a memory. It's confusing, but he can just discern a vision of Ren literally holding a fireball in his aura-shielded hands. Ren disintegrated another fireball with a blast of pure energy projected out of his hands.

"Defensive and offensive," Miltia elaborates. "Snakes have, like, specialized in quick and precise strikes that use pure life energy for such a long time that it's totally become genetic for them, but really, anybody can use aura to enhance their movements. You've been doing it for a while."

A surge of adrenaline sweeps over him at his own realization. "Legs +1!"

"Uh, whatever that means."

"No, I mean, after you unlocked my chakras, I started kicking and flipping and generally flying a lot better. Like, a lot." He grins toothily. "I've never felt more awesome."

"Oh, that? Sorry to crush your bubble—" though her gleeful sentiment is anything but, "—but that wasn't you at all. That was Melanie."

"…Wut."

"For a while, when I was still soul-hopping, I was, like, a spiritual bridge or something. You shared your smarts about human history, she shared her legs, and Cardin shared his durability. Oh, don't get your panties in a twist. Nobody actually knows you're human. Melanie and Cardin just have, like, a little more sympathy for humankind than normal."

Two sharp knocks rap sharply upon the bedroom door. Two pairs of eyes swivel at the dorm entrance before meeting each other in confusion.

Slowly, he moves his way over to the door and eases it open.

Russel folds his hands before his chest and bows all the way to waist-level. "My lord."

Jaune closes the door.

"Ruuude," Miltia critiques. Despite her annoyance, he's getting mischievous vibes from her that pool uncomfortably in his gut. "You just gonna leave your friend hanging like that?"

"He's part of a cult," protests Jaune, "that I want nothing to do with."

"He came here, looking for you, at," she checks his bedside clock, "seven in the morning. You hafta at least hear him out."

Jaune groans and yanks the door open roughly. "What?" he growls to the startled Thrush.

"O-Oh! My lord!" This time, Russel kneels before Jaune's feet. "My apologies, but I merely—"

"I liked it better when you called me 'sir,'" he laments. "Oh, the good ol' days when you didn't kiss the ground I walk on…"

"My lord, if you insist—"

"NO. No. Just… no. Forget that I said anything. What are you doing here, Russel?"

Green Mohawk scrambles to upright himself. "My lord, if I may insist… I did not approach you earlier, for I saw that you still mourned the loss of your Amazonian queen—"

"Excuse me?"

"—but I confess, I cannot wait any longer!" Russel folds his hands in desperation. "Please, my lo—sir. If you remember: you promised to teach me your sexy ways!"

{…Oh crap. You did promise him a harem in exchange for Marco Bodt's life, didn't you?}

"Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…" Jaune skillfully stalls.

Russel continues, "I thought we could possibly discuss the basics over breakfast."

"Russel. Do you know what time it is?"

"Jaune?" Every muscle in his body locks up as Miltia calls out in a breathy whine. "You didn't let me finish!"

Russel's eyes bug out as Jaune moves to slam the door shut. The bane of his existence, however, moves faster than he can, wedging herself next to Jaune and blocking the door with her own body. Despite her speed, she still manages to drape an arm around his shoulders and lean against him sensually. "Hello," she mumbles sleepily. "Can you tell me the time?"

"I… uh… I…" His eyes dart between Jaune in his footie pajamas and Miltia in her wrinkled red party dress so quickly that one of them is bound to detach. "Ah, um, I… it's…"

"It's time," growls Miltia, and her voice goes terrifyingly deep, "for Jaune to end what he started."

There's a moment of awkward silence, in which Russel's eyes threaten to pop out of his skull and Jaune refuses to punch a girl in the face, yet debates whether or not Miltia technically counts.

"This isn't what it looks—"

Russel outright prostrates himself at Jaune's feet, bowing again and again and shouting praises to his lord until Jaune 'accidentally' slams the door on his head. It takes a few more times to get the unwanted worshiper back out into the hallway, but after that, he's mercifully silent.

Jaune turns on Miltia furiously. "What… was that."

The not-girl smiles at him. "I'm, like, earning you followers."

He settles for socking her shoulder. "I don't want perverted followers!"

"But," defends Miltia, "they're really quite useful."

"I don't want perverted followers!"

"Jaune, just listen to me! When I went out to eat last night, a couple desperate-looking dudes recognized me. It's like they have a hive mind or something, because they already knew that I'd, like, helped you hobble out of Melanie's dorm, and cat-called at me until I stabbed them in the eyes with their own forks."

"Uh, rude," he echoes sarcastically.

She doesn't get it. "I know, right? But it got me thinking, cuz last week, those boys wouldn't have even dared to look me in the eyes. Do ya get it, Jaune? You're empowering those pathetic weaklings. You're their perverted idol and they want to be just like—"

"NOPE." Jaune collapses onto his bed and buries his head underneath his pillow. "CONVERSATION OVER."

Miltia seats herself on his prone booty. Monty, she has weight. Incredible to think that he formed this. Uh… well, at least a dissociated entity from somebody else hopped over to his body and swiped off some of his aura to form… eh, never mind. She… came from him?

{Oh dear Monty, are you my child?}

She practically dents his head in with her fist. [See, you don't even need me around. You are your own worst troll.]

{You could at least try to be supportive.}

[You've already got plenty of supporters. Check out the cafeteria and see for yourself.]

She wasn't kidding.

Despite this morning's ground-pound still ailing his tailbone, Jaune somehow manages to hobble into the cafeteria. Whispers and not-so-furtive glances follow him as he makes his way, with a little difficulty, from the food booth to a deserted table in hopes of pretending that the rumor-thick atmosphere surrounding him doesn't exist.

Cardin intercepts him on the way over and destroys any hope he had of a peaceful breakfast. "Here," he smirks, shoving a bundle of cloth into Jaune's chest. "You left your pants with me yesterday."

Upon confirming that, yes, he is still wearing pants, Jaune checks the worn denim in his hands. These are also his pants, right down to the wear and tear. He is currently wearing the one pair of jeans he bought to Menagerie, yet in his grasp lies a completely identical pair. How…?

{Ask Penny later. Damage control now.}

"These aren't mine," he retorts, "but in any case, you really should ask for consent before you go around tearing off people's pants."

"What can I say? You're the one who pretty much flew out of them in a hurry."

He can literally feel every underhanded whisper, disgusted and/or envious in almost equal measure, caressing the back of his ears. "They're not mine," he repeats emphatically, ignoring Cardin's expression as it transitions from smug to genuinely confused. He tosses the jeans onto Cardin's shoulder and moves on with his food, desperate to stuff his gullet in peace.

Of course, the moment he sits down, two more bodies plop themselves in the two seats beside him.

"Bro," Neptune grins.

"Bro," agrees Sun.

Both hold out a fist to bump.

At first, Jaune refuses to look at either of them, intent on letting them stew in rejected awkwardness… except neither is willing to back down. They just hold their fists in perfect position, the morning sunlight gleaming off their shit-eating grins, and eventually Jaune is so out-awkwarded that he gives in.

"Bro, everybody and their mom's talking about you," Neptune starts off as Jaune's fist meets his.

Sun laughs. "Everybody and their sisters."

"One of my kohais said he'd go to third base—the Third F, mind you—just to get in your good graces."

"Eh, that's nasty, man. Also, old news." The smile on the Monkey's face cannot bode well. "Yo Panty Prince. Word's been going around that you're handing out free undies to anybody who'll take 'em. What the hell, man? No special present for your dear ol' Director?"

Jaune points his fork at Neptune accusingly. "You, and I mean it in its entirety, are a douchenozzle." The fork switches over to Sun. "And you're the one who broke into my room yesterday. Why didn't you just grab a pair yourself?"

Neptune reaches over and smacks Sun upside the head jokingly. "Man, you've been roooooasted."

"Brah. Not cool. Don't go blowing my cover like that."

The Dolphin just grins carelessly. "I didn't have to. You think somebody like Nora Valkyrie's going to keep her mouth shut about that?"

Annoyed, Sun buries his face in a hand. "Aw man, you're right. Argh. I knew I should have shot her on sight instead of roping her in." A slow smirk gradually shows teeth as sparkling eyes peek between fingers. "Though—and I'm not even kidding here, bro—it was totally her idea to hang all those extra whitey tighties in hard-to-reach but highly-visible locations."

Any camaraderie he'd previously felt for Ren's perky friend evaporates in an instant. "WHERE?"

"Y'know," muses Neptune, "I spotted a pair up atop the flag pole an hour ago. Had the letters J+B on the booty. Whose was it, I wonder."

Jaune head-desks three times. "Why."

"That," the Dolphin laughs. "You have the most hilarious reactions. Your face yesterday, in front of Melanie's room? I managed to snap a picture of it. It's my scroll's desktop background now. I'm thinking about turning it into a demotivational poster."

"But," interjects Sun, "our golden window of opportunity passed yesterday. I'm just your Director now for the rest of the year, so I gotta buff you up, y'know? Even if it means butting heads with Azure Dragon." He pats Jaune on the back so forcefully that the breakfast eggs sliding down Jaune's throat come back up. Sun ignores the bits of yellow dripping out as he cheerfully grins, "Though word's going around that you're doing just fine without me!"

"Bro, if I'd known," defends Neptune, "that there was some serious UST between you and Pyrrha, I'd have tried a different tack. Seriously."

"U-S-wha?"

Neptune winks at Sun. Sun smiles unashamedly back. Jaune startles slightly as some telepathic, electromagnetic, fraternal signal buzzes between the two of them, then startles again when both drape their arms across his shoulders and lean in conspiratorially.

"There is still so much you have yet to learn, young brohopper."

"Yes, yes. As fellow brothers, we shall instruct you in the ways of The Man."

"You shall do nothing of the sort."

Jaune's not sure if he's happy or terrified when Weiss primly seats herself before him. A graceful hand waves at Sun and Neptune in a condescending dismissal. "Be gone."

A horde of crazed hands flutter from above, wrap themselves up in flesh and fur and cloth alike, and vanish in a flurry of fingers and shouts of ouch, watch the tail! and Ugh, I don't do hand jobs and Hee, that tickles. Just like that, within seconds, the only faunus seated before him is Weiss.

Recalling his last appointment before her, he maintains his silence—a good decision, apparently, because her lips curl upwards in approval before the usual chill frosts it over. "I believe," she states coldly, "that we had an agreement."

Eddies of panic swirl in his mindscape before he puts a damper on them. Only when the silence stretches on, when it's clearly apparent that Weiss is waiting for an answer, does Jaune open his mouth. "I, eh… is Zwei okay?"

"He's fine." Weiss's gaze sharpens to a razor point focused right between his eyes. He's the problem here. What did he do wrong? Box unharmed, Zwei still alive, it's daytime and she did say last night that the dog could take care of himself. He hasn't done anything too radical yet—

{Don't forget about the recent emergence of your fan club!}

Silence crystallizes around them. Or maybe it's the moisture in the air spontaneously freezing into droplets of ice as the temperature drops. She's waiting for him. What is he supposed to say?

After the most awkward of stillnesses, Weiss finally speaks up—slowly and deliberately, as if talking to a particularly stupid child. "Our agreement that you would not judge me based off of labels and related rumors, and that I vice versa."

{Labels and rumors, labels and rumors…?}

[Lemme help you out,] comes Miltia's smug thought. [It's about me.]

The absolute cluelessness that is probably plastered all across Jaune's face promptly Weiss to sigh heavily (because she's too proper to slam her forehead against the tabletop in frustration). "There is a story—nay, an epic feat, as purported by the multitude of groveling admirers—that you broke through a heavy guard of female warriors by manipulating events with, not your brawns, but your brain. With the utilization of the sprinkler system and the brown note, you cast the entire Dragon dormitory into such a state of panic that you managed to slip, unnoticed at the time, into the heiress Malachite's bedroom."

"Brown note?"

Weiss does The Sigh again. "A once-hypothetical conjecture concerning the resonant frequency of the faunus bladder."

{….}

[Yeah, think about that. You made all the ladies pee their pants. For science!]

{…What about Melanie? She was… dry.}

[She had her room isolated from the rest of the dormitory so she could conduct business in total privacy. She is the heiress of a mega-corporation.]

"Hours later," Weiss resumes, "witnesses spotted you hobbling out of Dragon dormitories, unable to walk with the assistance of a certain Miltiades Malachite."

{…..}

"My inquiry here is: have you done anything to dispel this rumor?"

"Uh… about that…"

"There is a very important matter I wish to discuss with you currently, and in order to proceed, I must ensure that you still possess a certain degree of respectability and good character." The lady maintains her frostily professional façade when she says, "I want you by my side."

The statement is so out of left field that his heart skips a beat. "…Huh?"

"Despite how frighteningly dull you can be at times, I have personally observed that your processing power in stressful situations, self-imposed as they may be, is unrivaled. You think well on your feet even when the odds are not in your favor, and your ability to grasp all the right straws to pull together the strangest of strategies is reinforced by your indomitable will to… not die."

"Erm." He can see what she's getting at. He's not sure if he likes it. "Thanks?"

"Thusly, after much internal debate, I've decided." She smiles somewhat happily and leans forward. It occurs to Jaune that he hasn't quite seen this kind of expression on her perpetually standoffish face before. As for what it means to him… "As future heiress to the Schnee Dust Company, I offer you the position of Advising Assistant #2 to myself and all my future endeavors for this school year."

{What is this, a resume filler? And who's assistant #1?}

The way she phrases this rubs Jaune the wrong way; as if she's expecting nothing else than an enthusiastic yes. He can see her irritation already, how it crinkles around her eyes and pulls down on the corners of her mouth at his hesitance. Stalling for time, he questions, "What's the catch?"

Weiss checks her enthusiasm, leaning back in her seat and composing her demeanor into that of a cool business lady. "Right," she says slowly. "There are stipulations to be made, especially considering one of your particular stature. Yes." She sits upright, her piercing eyes upon him once again. "The first of which is the absolute requirement that you dissolve your pack."

He really needs to cut down on the oblivious mouth noises he makes whenever he doesn't know what's going on (which, frankly, seems to be all the time). Slamming his jaw shut, he stares resolutely at the tabletop while his mind processes this new fact.

Pack.

He has a sizeable cult following, yes. {Thank you, Russel, for the confirmation.} Does that count as a pack? A fan club at his beck and call, emulating his ways because his unlucky proclivity to getting wrapped up in things he really shouldn't be poking his nose into in the first place?

{Monty help us, you have pack leader authority. Next, the world.}

He shuts down that particular train of thought. He could do things if he stepped up to the task and played the part… but that might involve deliberately being a perverted jerkwad instead of an accidental one, and in all honesty, that's not really him.

"Easy enough," he finally speaks, "mostly because I didn't know it existed in the first place."

Weiss nods (a little too quickly, as he's just reaffirmed her uncertain faith in his purity). "Next: I'm willing to ignore just what kind of business you were conducting within the depths of Melanie's room yesterday afternoon. Henceforth, you must sever all ties with Malachite Technologies."

Of course the universe had to screw with his tenuous hope that all would be okay in the end. What is he supposed to say? The girl constructed from the ghosts of Melanie's mind and given body through my aura currently shares a psychic connection with me that I can't dispel because it might just end her existence. As if that's not going to get him tossed in a padded cell by tomorrow.

He'll have to wait for people to get curious about that particular aspect to his life. When they're more willing to accept the implausible, no matter how improbable, that'll be the point that he tells the truth.

"I can't." Maybe he should have phrased that a bit better. Good thing she likes keeping her clothes white, because she does not slit his throat then and there. If looks could harm, though… He hurriedly adds, "Miltia is a… friend. Not because of her name, but because... well, even she deserves a chance."

Weiss shakes her head. "A valid point, I'm sure. I'm not sure, however, if you grasp the full weight of this situation. Jaune of Lemming, this is as much a business venture as it is a personal request. As such, I cannot have you fraternizing with philandering brutes and jealous rivals who interfere at every opportunity simply because a childhood grudge. If we are to be associated with each other, I have to ask that you break away from that which would drag us down."

A hand materializes from empty space to rest lightly upon Weiss's shoulder. She doesn't flinch at the unexpected touch, even lifting her own hand to rest it atop Blake's. In the quick half-second that his eyes flash upward to look at the newcomer before returning to Weiss, Blake shakes her head ever so slightly.

He resists the urge to traitorously double-check, instead dropping his vision to the tabletop contemplatively as Weiss continues her argument. {Well, hello, assistant #1. What're you trying to tell me? What does 'no' mean?}

He tries peeking out of his peripherals. Harder said than done, forcing his pupils to remain concentrated on his breakfast tray while focusing his will in the far reaches of his visuals. There's a… shape hovering above Weiss. Any more hints?

One finger on Blake's hand raises upwards: wait. Or pointing at the ceiling. Should he risk looking up? Is she telling him not to join forces with Weiss? Why? Is she of the opinion that trying to reform the god of chaos is a horrible political move? Does she want Weiss all to herself, or is she warning him away for his own benefit?

Speaking of his own benefit… teaming up with Weiss might just help him cast off his unwanted following. Or it could just as likely reinforce it; if he recalls correctly, some of yesterday's hooded figures had uttering exhilarated cries of joy upon spotting the Ice Queen's box.

{"You remembered, so I exist."}

But… his imaginary friend. It really all comes down to that in the end, huh? In that case, he doesn't even have to think about it.

"I have a better idea," he says. He pulls out his scroll.

She's the clueless one this time. He can see it in her eyes, how unexpected this indirect refusal is to her. "What?"

"Give me your scroll," he insists, holding out an impatient hand.

She pulls away from him, backing into the void space where Blake no longer is. The Cat's really pushing a ninja vibe today… gone without a trace. Weiss is just as surprised, whipping her head around to look for the friend who is no longer there before shooting him a guarded look. "Why?"

"I said I'd be a friend, right? Exchange contact info with me and call me whenever you feel like you need the help. Except after midnight. Like, you could try, but I sleep like the dead. The zombie apocalypse could happen and I wouldn't wake up until they started chewing on my noggin. Hey, maybe I could train Zwei to… never mind. What I'm trying to say is that, well, if we keep it professional and just trade information, I can be me and you can be you, and nobody has to sacrifice face or friendship for the other."

Even as he speaks, she's clamming up, pulling even more into herself at his subtle not-rejection. She probably didn't even hear the last half of his statement, though at least she sticks around for decency's sake until he's finished.

{Should have skipped the zombie metaphor, bro.}

"I'm… sorry," he finishes lamely.

"Your loss," she shrugs.

She's gone without further ado, leaving Jaune in an awkward silence… only broken by his grumpy stomach. Right. Interpersonal issues aside, it's about time he—

"Jaune. I… I'm sorry."

He prioritizes shoveling scrambled eggs—cold or not, his body isn't really picky at this stage—into his mouth. Chew, swallow, rinse down with milk, repeat. Only then does he raise his eyes to meet hers—and startles upon recognizing the proud form standing before him. "P-Pyrrha?"

She doesn't sit. In fact, she's in full combat gear, looking as though she's ready to go all out for another morning spar. Probably somebody she can go full power at, without having to worry about accidentally breaking a leg (his).

The comforting familiarity in her slight smile doesn't reach her eyes. "I am truly sorry, concerning Tifa's interference yesterday. Though she is a childhood playmate, she does not have the right to determine who I choose to keep company with. So… we are still friends, right?"

He considers pausing before sending his answer her way—an ironic comeuppance of sorts—but that's a little too spiteful for his tastes, so he just looks up at her with bright eyes and says, "Sure."

"Then—" She catches herself, as if aware that she's being a little too eager, and schools her expression into a stiff cardboard image of a professional. As if that alone doesn't speak volume toward the state of their relationship. "You… you'll understand I have… my reasons. For."

She apparently can't finish, so he sighs, "I would really appreciate if I at least got a flimsy excuse, but I'm fine if you don't tell me anything." He smiles ruefully. "You've both babysat and whooped my sorry butt these past couple weeks. I'm not going to forget just how far you've gone for me, no matter what you're doing now."

She smiles bitterly back at him. Though his intention was to send her a sort of nostalgic praise, he might as well twisted a hot knife of guilt into her gut. "I… I'm glad," is all she can say, collecting herself. "You've certainly come a long way since our first spar…" She blushes at her attire. "I… I'm on my way out. Outside. Would you like to…?"

Jaune plasters on a fake grin and points his fork to his mostly empty breakfast plate. "Can't fight on a full stomach."

"Ah. Yes." Even Pyrrha can't hide her relief. "Well. I'm… glad we could talk. Get things sorted out. I've been meaning to… but. After Tifa humiliated you in front of all those girls, I had to."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

An awkward pause ensues, in which Pyrrha still has more to vocalize but can't, and Jaune doesn't know what to say yet wants to pretend as if he and Pyrrha still possess the solidarity to keep up harmless, friendly banter.

"Who're you sparring with?" he questions, meaningless words just to fill the widening gap between them.

"Oh. Erm." Pyrrha fidgets. "Pack leader says she needs to personally judge my strength, so… I shall meet with Yang in ten minutes." She laughs slightly. "I am actually kind of nervous. She told me ahead of time that she would shift, and she wouldn't mind if I let loose with the inner Grimm too. Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, right?" She smiles a little bit to herself.

He wants to smile for her, but the crushing realization that Pyrrha, now part of Yang's inner circle, soon to be anti-Schnee just as he himself is establishing a shaky fellowship with the young heiress, is drifting even further away from him… the corners of his mouth can't help but drift downward instead.

His dreary mood pervades Pyrrha's space. She looks at him almost imploringly. "Jaune, please do know that… I need answers. I've been carrying a weight on my shoulders… since my thirteen birthday. And Yang… she was there. So…"

"On-time is late," he says, injecting as much levity into his voice as he can. "You should head over to Yang's right now and get there early."

"You… you're right. I suppose I shall see you in class?"

Jaune takes a swig of milk and waves a wordless goodbye in her direction. When he returns his carton to the tabletop, Pyrrha is gone.

He can't help but feel like the curtains have just closed on this chapter of his life, and that Pyrrha'll be forever on the other side.