A/N: Nothing is owned by me

Summary: Jaune Arc did not forge his transcripts; they were genuine and rightfully his. However, he concealed a significant truth about his identity. He wasn't actually Jaune Arc; that name belonged to his older brother. His true name was Steve Rogers, an orphan taken in and raised as a servant by the Arc family. His goal: to elevate the name of Jaune Arc to heroic and serve his nation.

Edit1: Changing the robot to ultron

Time Period: 5 years After the fall of Beacon and 4 years after the start of second great war

Casting

Jaune Arc: Steve Rogers: Captain America

Cardin Winchester: Bucky Barnes

Chapter 1

The sun cast a melancholic hue upon the city of Vale, painting long shadows against the backdrop of its structures. Where once the Beacon Tower stood tall, now lay remnants and ruins – a stark reminder of the dreams and hopes it had once symbolised. Its fall was felt in every corner of Vale, echoing the sentiment of the times.

The streets below bustled with activity, but the hurried footsteps and tight expressions on faces spoke of more than just the day's chores. Everywhere, there was an unspoken tension, an urgency, born from the ever-present threat of war and the increasingly common Grimm attacks.

At the city square, a considerable crowd had amassed. The centrepiece was a large, makeshift projector screen displaying news updates from various parts of Remnant. People stood huddled in groups, some with their arms crossed, others wringing their hands as they watched the unfolding events.

"... and another town in Vacuo has succumbed to Atlas's might," a newsreader's voice declared, "further intensifying concerns about this escalating war."

The image switched to a village, or what was left of it, post a Grimm onslaught. "With fear at an all-time high, Grimm attacks have spiked, decimating towns and bringing grief to countless families," the voiceover continued.

Another switch, and the screen displayed a naval ship, thick black smoke curling from its damaged hull. "Yet another blow as reports suggest a targeted torpedo attack on a naval vessel."

The economics of war weren't spared either. A graph depicted the alarming rise in Dust prices, "The Second Great War's economic repercussions are felt by every citizen, with skyrocketing Dust prices, making it near unaffordable for many."

Near the square, a crowd of eager young men filled the entrance of the Vale Enlistment Office. Each awaited his chance, but one figure stood out among them. Dressed in clothes that hung loosely on his frame, he looked like a skeleton with skin. Yet his eyes burned with a fierce resolve.

The Enlistment Office was a simple affair, wooden desks with papers stacked high and officers working diligently. As the young man entered, the subtle scent of old wood and ink reached his nostrils. A ceiling fan whirred overhead, providing little relief from the muggy afternoon heat.

An officer behind one of the desks, distinguished by his silver badges, beckoned Jaune forward. He took a deep breath, his hands slightly trembling, and approached.

"Name?" the officer asked without looking up, poised to check off yet another applicant.

"Jaune Steve Arc" he replied, his voice steadier than he felt.

The officer looked up, his eyes assessing. After a moment, he reached for a file on his desk, opened it, and began flipping through the pages, occasionally pausing to read in detail.

As the officer went through the files, Jaune's thoughts wandered back to his family, to the Beacon Tower that once represented hope and unity for Vale, and to the ruins that now stood as a grim reminder of a world on the brink.

"Arc" the officer finally spoke, his tone now softer, "I see here that you had applied to Beacon and even got in, but you were expelled. Care to explain?"

Jaune cleared his throat, "Yes, sir. I had some...health complications."

The officer raised an eyebrow, his gaze skimming over the file. "It's more than 'some' complications, Arc. Asthma, heart issues, and there's mention of a genetic condition. And yet, you're here. I wonder how were you even accepted"

Jaune did not reply

"How did your father die?" Officer asked

Jaune straightened, determination evident in his eyes. "Protecting a town from Bandit Attack. He was with the 107th squad. I want to be where he was, to serve Va-"

The officer paused, then sighed deeply. "And your mother?"

"Terminal cancer. She fought in her own way, sir. Every single day." Jaune's voice wavered just slightly, but his resolve remained intact.

The officer leaned back, studying Jaune intently. "They were fighters. It's clear you've inherited that spirit. But this war, Arc... it's more than just spirit. It's about being able to survive, to fight another day."

Jaune hurriedly said, "I've had my aura unlocked."

The officer looked up sharply, his expression serious. "We both know that with your special genetic illness. Aura will do nothing but hasten you to your grave."

Jaune's eyes pleaded, "All I'm asking for is an opportunity, sir. A chance to prove that I can be more than my conditions, more than my past."

The officer was silent for a long moment, then finally said, "You remind me of someone I once knew. Full of heart. But sometimes, heart alone isn't enough."

"There has to be something. Please."

With a deep sigh and a gentle tone, the officer responded, "What I'm doing right now, Jaune, is trying to spare you. I'm trying to save your life."

With that, the officer firmly stamps the paper with "4F", marking Jaune as ineligible for military service.

Jaune sat at the bar, nursing his drink and staring forlornly at the report card in front of him — the glaring "4F" on it a testament to his failed aspirations. He took a deep breath, the weight of rejection pressing on him, and motioned for another drink.

The dim lights of the bar did little to elevate the sombre mood of its patrons. Every surface seemed to carry the weight of the war, stories of loss, and faded dreams. The chipped wooden bar counter, the worn-out stools, even the tarnished glasses told tales of better days gone by.

The faunus bartender, a middle-aged man with ram horns curling from his head, glanced at Jaune's report and sighed, "Young man, drowning yourself in booze won't change that paper. You'll just send yourself to an early grave."

Jaune smirked bitterly, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "I'm already in one. Just waiting for the final curtain."

The bartender, having seen more than his fair share of heartbreak, nodded in understanding. "I've seen that look a lot in the past few years. Ever since Beacon fell, and then this blasted war... everyone's got a shadow over 'em."

Jaune's gaze shifted to the flickering TV hanging at the corner of the bar. A news broadcast showed familiar faces: Weiss Schnee and Ruby Rose, bravely fending off a Grimm onslaught, protecting a beleaguered town in Vale.

"At least some are still holding up the beacon of hope," Jaune murmured, admiration evident in his voice.

The bartender grunted. "Aye, the huntsmen and huntresses. Bless 'em. It's a good thing the powers-that-be decided to keep them out of the political mess. They've got enough on their hands, protecting the folks from the Grimm."

A scoff came from a corner table, where a group was seated, their demeanour rowdy and dismissive. "Huntsmen? More like a waste of space! Especially those Schnee brats."

Jaune's eyes narrowed, and he turned to face them. "They're out there, risking their lives to save ours. Show some respect."

One of the men, larger with a sneer plastered on his face, snorted. "Why? Because she's a Schnee? They're the reason we're in this mess! Living off of our misery!"

The bartender's face darkened. "Listen, I may not be a fan of the Schnee family, especially that Ironwood lapdog, Johann, and his wife Winter Schnee. But not all Schnees are the same. That young lady on the screen? She's doing more good than most, and how can you forget about the Schnee that is really helping Vale in this war"

The loudmouthed man pushed off from his table, taking a menacing step towards the bartender. "Are you defending her? Just because you've got those horns doesn't mean you can speak up against us!"

"Back off" Jaune Spoke coming between bartender and the drunkard

"Back off or what! Did I hit a nerve, Schnee lover?" the fool sneered

Jaune's patience snapped. Without warning, he lunged at the man, landing a solid punch square on his jaw. The bar erupted into chaos.

Jaune's vision blurred momentarily from the force of the punch. He felt the brick walls of the alleyway against his back and the sharp sting of pebbles cutting into his palms. He tried to shake off the dizziness, tasting the metallic tang of blood on his lips. His ribs ached, and he could feel the start of a bruise forming on his jaw. But he forced himself up, ignoring the pain.

He moved into a defensive stance, squaring his shoulders, eyes focused on the brute who'd thrown him into the alley. Every instinct told him to flee, but there was a fire in Jaune's eyes, a determination that wouldn't let him back down.

He managed to snag a trash can lid, using it as a makeshift shield, blocking one of the jerk's vicious swings. But the guy was strong, yanking it away and tossing it aside like it was nothing more than paper. The jerk, with a twisted smile, landed another blow, this one hard enough to send Jaune crashing to the ground, amidst the strewn garbage.

But Jaune wasn't done. Slowly, with every ounce of strength he had, he pulled himself back to his feet. He was battered, but not broken.

"You just don't know when to give up, do you?" The jerk said, his voice dripping with condescension.

Jaune wiped away the blood trickling down from the corner of his mouth, locking eyes with his attacker. "I can do this all day."

The jerk, growing visibly frustrated at Jaune's resilience, prepared to deliver another blow when an iron grip caught his arm. He spun around, only to come face-to-face with a soldier. He was dressed in a well-worn uniform with sharp eyes that radiated authority. Cardin "Bucky" Winchester.

Cardin's gaze shifted between the two, then settled back on the jerk. "What's with all the fighting?" His voice carried a note of warning, and despite the simplicity of the question, there was an undercurrent of threat that couldn't be ignored.

The jerk hesitated, clearly caught off guard by the new arrival. He took a step back, glancing from Jaune to Cardin.

Cardin reeled back and delivered a punishing blow to the jerk's face. The force of the punch knocked him off his feet, sprawling him onto the cobblestones.

Cardin's eyes never left the man as he lay on the ground, clutching his now bleeding nose. "Thought so," Cardin said coolly, his voice dripping with disdain.

The jerk groaned, attempting to pull himself up but faltering as the pain overtook him. With a final, resentful glare, he scurried out of the alley, eager to escape the wrath of the soldier.

Jaune, now catching his breath, gave Cardin a grateful nod. Cardin chuckled, shaking his head, "You really need to pick your battles, 'Arc'."

Jaune managed a weak grin. "Guess I've always had a knack for picking the tough ones."

Cardin chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck as he picked up the crumpled enlistment form. "Sometimes I think you like getting punched."

"How many times is this now, Jaune?" Cardin asked, the hint of a tease in his voice but the underlying concern evident.

Jaune, dusting off his pants and avoiding Cardin's gaze, replied, "Just a few... okay, more than a few."

Cardin raised an eyebrow, unfolding the paper further. "And, seriously... Jaune Steve Arc? Decided to mix it up with your real name, Rogers? You do know it's illegal to lie on an enlistment form. And making Steve your middle name now? You're getting creative."

Jaune sighed, looking down at his shoes. "Can't blame a guy for trying."

Cardin smirked but there was warmth in his eyes. "Always the persistent one, aren't you?"

Jaune's eyes darted towards Cardin's uniform, a mix of concern and envy evident. "Looks like you got your orders."

Cardin nodded somberly. "107th. We're shipping off to Mistral first thing tomorrow." He paused, glancing around at the dimly lit streets of Vale. "It's my last night here."

Jaune sighed. "So... first stop, church? To pray for safe travels?"

With a mischievous grin, Cardin replied, "Maybe second stop. I've got something else in mind."

Jaune raised an eyebrow, curious. "Where are we going?"

In response, Cardin produced a folded newspaper from his pocket, handing it over to Jaune. The headline read: "Special Exhibition: The Future of Warfare." Beneath it, images of new weapons, armoured vehicles, and experimental gear gleamed promisingly.

Cardin's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Thought we might get a sneak peek at what's waiting for us across the pond."

Jaune smirked, a spark of excitement lighting up his eyes. "Lead the way."

In the heart of Vale, amidst the hustle and bustle of the city, stood the 'Future of Warfare Exhibit'. With grand arches and shimmering lights, the exhibit offered a glimpse into the advances of military technology, a sombre yet fascinating testament to the changing times. The entrance was thronged with people — young and old, hopeful and fearful, all seeking understanding or perhaps just distraction.

The vast halls, filled with gleaming weaponry and technological marvels, stood in stark contrast to the ruins of Beacon Academy, which once stood proud and inviolable before its tragic fall five years ago. Every Vale citizen bore the scar of that day, a constant, painful reminder of their vulnerability. The city had been rebuilt, but the collective memory of that devastation lingered.

Jaune and Cardin navigated through the exhibit, passing by displays of state-of-the-art weaponry and armoured vehicles. Every now and then, Cardin would pause to explain a piece of tech to Jaune, trying to lighten the mood with occasional playful banter.

"As much as I appreciate the trip down Armageddon lane," Jaune began with a hint of sarcasm, "I'm still not sure why I agreed to this double date you've planned."

Cardin rolled his eyes, chuckling, "Come on, Jaune. When was the last time you had a fun evening out? It'll be good for you."

Jaune hesitated, looking away, "You know the problem, Cardin."

Cardin sighed, stopping in front of an aerial drone display. "I do, but Jaune, you have to move on. It's been five years. Pyrrha... She's not coming back."

A heavy silence fell between them. The weight of their shared loss hung in the air, a painful reminder of the scars that the fall of Beacon have left behind.

Taking a deep breath, Jaune said, "I know Pyrrha's gone, I have accepted the fact long ago. But I can't just... settle down, not with everything going on, not with what people are facing out there. I need to do something."

Cardin turned to him, earnestness in his gaze. "There are people doing something, Jaune. Not everyone needs to be on the front lines. You don't need to lay down your life."

Jaune's blue eyes searched Cardin's face. "Then tell me, Cardin. Why did you join the Vale military? You had the grades, the skills. Unlike me, you had the chance to join any other academy, to become a fully-fledged Huntsman. Why didn't you? Why did you and the rest of Team CRDL enlist?"

Cardin looked thoughtful for a moment. The noises of the exhibit faded into the background as memories washed over him.

"It's not just about being a hero, Jaune. It's about finding a place where you belong, where you can make a difference. I found that with Team CRDL in the military. Sometimes, it's about fighting for those beside you, not just the ideals you hold."

Jaune sighed "You are correct Cardin, but it is not the answer i am looking for"

Cardin, noticing Jaune's introspection, tried to lighten the mood. "Relax, i will sure you will find the answer once we meet our dates"

Following his gaze, Jaune's eyes landed on two young women standing a short distance away, waving energetically in their direction. One was dressed in red with her hair tied back in a high ponytail, while the other, her identical twin, was adorned in white with her hair down.

"What'd you tell her about me?" Jaune asked with a hint of apprehension, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

Cardin grinned mischievously, his hand raised in a continuing wave. "Only the good stuff, I promise."

As they approached, the twins introduced themselves. "I'm Miltia," said the one in red, extending a hand.

"And I'm Melanie," added the other with a graceful nod.

With introductions complete, the group began walking, with Cardin and the twins taking the lead. Jaune trailed a bit behind, feeling slightly out of place.

Finding themselves at a quaint peanut shop, the group decided to take a seat. The seating arrangement, however, left Jaune feeling even more like the odd man out. Miltia scooted closer to Cardin, chatting animatedly about his exploits and how he managed to survive the fall of Beacon. Melanie, meanwhile, sat with a bit of distance from Jaune.

Trying to break the ice, Jaune offered Melanie a handful of peanuts. She looked him up and down with a mixture of indifference and mild disdain. "No thanks," she replied curtly, "I've never been a fan of blondes."

Jaune blinked in surprise. "Any particular reason?"

Miltia laughed, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Let's just say, back when we were bodyguards at our uncle's bar, a certain blonde caused quite a scene. Destroyed half the place. Melanie's pride has never really recovered."

Piecing together the story with a memory of his own, Jaune chuckled. "Sounds like Yang."

Miltia raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. "You knew her? She is a famous huntress now".

Before Jaune could respond, Cardin, ever the protective friend, chimed in. "Of course, he knows her. She studied at Beacon. Jaune and I were best buddies with her back at Beacon."

Jaune rolled his eyes at the exaggeration, but before he could correct Cardin, Miltia gave him a scrutinising look. "You went to Beacon? With that physique, how did you survive the fall?"

Jaune hesitated for a moment, then admitted, "I was expelled just before everything happened."

Melanie, without missing a beat, responded with a dry, "Lucky."

Jaune, chuckling at the irony of it all, agreed. "Yes, very lucky."

The crowd's buzzing excitement was almost palpable as Jaune, Cardin, Miltia, and Melanie made their way toward the throng of people surrounding the stage in the centre.

From where they stood, the stage was a beacon of vibrant hues against the waning light of the evening. The stage's backdrop shimmered with a vast neon sign that read "Marvels of Tomorrow," its vibrant colours casting a surreal glow that danced off the faces of the onlookers. Every few moments, a new shade would dominate, painting the scene with a palette that seemed to promise an unforgettable spectacle.

Jaune, trying to acclimate to the sights and sounds around him, took a moment to look around. To his side, Melanie was jumping up and down, her earlier impassive demeanour having given way to genuine excitement. On the stage, performers in brightly coloured outfits danced, their choreography mesmerising.

Suddenly, the music took on a grander tone as the voice of an announcer boomed, "Ladies and Gentlemen! Allow me to present the organiser of today's function, a man whose weapons is keeping our families safe, a man who has promised to keep vale safe —the Doom of Atlas, WHITLEY SCHNEE!"

Emerging through a haze of light and smoke, Whitley Schnee appeared. His silver hair seemed to reflect the neon lights, making him glow. Whitley struck a confident pose, girls flanking him on either side. The music picked up, and they danced, the movements syncopated with precision.

Melanie and Miltia's excitement became even more palpable, their elated squeals piercing the air. Jaune winced, his ears ringing.

Whitley Schnee confidently strode to the stage, capturing the audience's attention instantly.

"Good evening to all, and thank you for being here," he began, his voice resonating with authority. "For those who might not know, I am Whitley Schnee, the youngest son of the renowned Schnee lineage. Before we begin today's show,I feel it's necessary to address a particular matter."

A large screen behind him illuminated with images of the Schnee family crest, their mines, and their influence over Atlas. "Three years ago, when I set my sights on Vale, many of you voiced your reservations. Given the current state of our world, the ongoing Second Great War, and my family's involvement in it, your scepticism was warranted."

Whitley paused, taking a moment to let his words sink in. "But, let me make this perfectly clear. Though my bloodline is Schnee, my allegiance and my actions are not defined by the mistakes of the Atlas branch of our family. I neither hold stakes in the Schnee Dust Company nor endorse their decisions."

The screen changed, showing images of the bustling city of Vale, its people, its landscapes. "I am a Schnee of Vale. My heart and my endeavours have been, and always will be, for the people of this city and so is my company Schnee Industries"

Images transitioned again, this time showcasing weaponry, soldiers, and advanced tech. "Schnee Industries, independent of SDC, has stood by Vale in its darkest hours. We've equipped our brave soldiers with state-of-the-art weapons to counteract Atlas drones and military assaults." Pictures flashed across the screen, displaying Vale's military forces successfully utilising Schnee Industries' equipment against Atlas aggressors. The visual narrative painted a tale of resilience and triumph.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I stand before you today with a promise—a promise of safety, security, and progress. I am proud to showcase a leap in our technological advancements" Whitley said, his excitement evident. The curtains rustled as they parted, revealing the sleek, imposing form of a state-of-the-art robot. The robot stood tall as a symbol of protection and strength.

"This," Whitley announced, beaming, "is Ultron. A testament to our commitment, innovation, and the bright future we envision for Vale. A future where we stand strong, independent, and undeterred."

The audience erupted into applause, some standing to get a better look at the technological marvel before them.

"When I saw the strength of Atlas," Whitley continued, "I knew Vale deserved no less. This guardian," he patted the robot's cold exterior, "is designed to defend our beloved Vale with an efficiency that rivals even the strongest of Atlas Paladin."

The crowd's reactions varied: some looked on with awe, others exchanged excited whispers, while a few seemed to be in disbelief at the sight of the mechanical marvel before them.

In the midst of the presentation, a reporter stood up, pushing her glasses up her nose, "Mr. Schnee, with all due respect, how do you differ from the others? And how can we be certain that your Ultron can truly challenge the Atlas Paladin?"

Whitley met her gaze with a calm, confident smile. "Believe me?" he began, his tone light, "Well, perhaps you don't have to trust me at all." His eyes twinkled with mischief. "Perhaps, instead, you can place your trust in Ultron."

With a dramatic gesture, he beckoned to the towering robot. "Ultron, would you kindly introduce yourself?"

For a moment, there was silence. Then, Ultron's eyes lit up with a radiant glow, and in a voice both mechanical and eerily human, he declared, "I am Ultron, the guardian and protector of Vale and its citizens."

A murmur of shock swept through the crowd, their expressions a mix of awe and disbelief.

Whitley, seizing the moment, continued, "Ladies and gentlemen, what you see before you is not merely another drone or machine. Ultron is a groundbreaking, fully autonomous AI, tailored for the defence of Vale. He doesn't await commands; he's programmed to act, think, and protect on his own volition."

The reporter, pushing up her glasses, jotted down a quick note before continuing, "Mr. Schnee," she began, her voice steady and clear despite the crowd's chatter, "given the advanced capabilities of Atlas Paladins, how can you confidently state that Ultron stands as a stronger protector?"

Whitley's response came with an almost playful smirk. "My dear, Ultron was never designed to merely match the power of a Paladin." A dramatic pause allowed for the eager eyes of the audience to fixate on him. "But if we're talking about strength in numbers," he declared, "Who said Ultron operates solo?"

Suddenly, the stage lighting intensified, and shadows cast by multiple robotic figures began to stretch towards the audience. One by one, Ultron replicas made their entrance, standing uniformly in formation. In an eerily harmonised voice, each robot echoed the same line: "We are the protectors of Vale and its people."

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd, while Whitley, clearly enjoying the moment, gestured grandly at the mechanical army. "Ultron isn't merely a robot," he asserted, "He represents the pinnacle of AI technology. Yes, in direct confrontation, a single Ultron might be outperformed by a Paladin. But, should one fall, the essence of Ultron survives."

Whitley's tone then shifted to one of deeper conviction, "He isn't restricted by a singular physical form. He is interconnected, integrated directly with our city's CCT. His reach and comprehension are unparalleled. While a Paladin might destroy one unit, the consciousness, the very essence of Ultron, lives on, always learning, always adapting."

The reporter, taken aback by the display, jotted down quick notes. Whitley, however, wasn't done.

"But combat," he said, with a gentler cadence, "is just one facet of Ultron. Imagine a world where the same entity that safeguards your streets can also aid in medical emergencies, whip up your favourite dish, or assist in city planning. Ultron is not just about protection; he is about enhancement. He can transition from a protector to a caregiver, a chef, or even a teacher. The possibilities are endless."

He paused, letting his words settle in, and then concluded, "Ultron isn't merely a creation. He's a vision. A vision of a seamless, secure, and sophisticated future for Vale. A testament to what we can achieve when we merge innovation with intention."

The revelation left the audience in stunned silence, the weight of Whitley's innovation apparent in their wide-eyed stares.

Cardin nudged Jaune, his eyes dancing with excitement. "Impressive, right? Atlas might have some competition."

Jaune only hummed, his eyes scanning the robot. The mention of Atlas always hit a nerve, given their history.

Melanie, her eyes shining, whispered to Miltia, "Can you imagine having one of these patrolling our streets?"

Whitley seemed to feed off the crowd's energy, his smile growing wider. "This is not just a mere machine. The Ultron embodies resilience, power, and our dedication to a safer future."

Another reporter from the front row shot up, notepad in hand. "Mr. Schnee! Does this mean Vale will become an autonomous region with its own defence mechanisms?"

Whitley chuckled softly, a practised gesture. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. For now, let's focus on what this guardian can offer Vale. This isn't about politics; it's about the future. And the future is about innovation, collaboration, and, most importantly, protection. Currently many models Ultron is actively recruited in vale military, but sure as the time go you will be able to see them more on streets defending and working with common folks".

Suddenly, from the back, an elderly woman called out, "Young man, this is all well and good, but can it dance?"

Whitley chuckled, his poised demeanour giving way to a more relaxed and playful one. "Well, I am not sure, let's ask Ultron ..." He turned towards the robot, "Ultron, can you dance?"

In response, All the Ultron adjusted their posture and began executing a series of robotic dance moves, eliciting a burst of laughter and applause from the audience.

Melanie sighed dreamily, "He certainly knows how to work a crowd."

Cardin's voice, pierced through the ambient noise of the fair. "Jaune, Miltia said she needs some soda let's go to -" He turned around, only to find Melanie munching on peanuts, an empty space beside her. "Where'd he go now?"

Melanie, looking slightly disinterested, gestured with her thumb toward a large signboard in the distance: 'Marvel Recruitment Center: Vale Needs You'. Cardin squinted to make a familiar figure out, Jaune, lost in thought, staring intently at the sign. Cardin exhaled sharply, moving briskly towards him. "Really, Jaune? In the middle of a double date? You're going to bail on us for this?"

Jaune didn't budge, his gaze unwavering. The weight of memories and decisions reflected in his eyes. A commotion from the building drew Jaune's attention. He could discern a doctor in heated discussion with another individual. Without thinking, he began to move towards the entrance.

Cardin, seeing his friend's determination, grabbed Jaune by the arm, pulling him back. "Are you sure about this? Really sure?"

Jaune pulled his arm away, his voice calm yet resolute. "I'm going to try my luck."

Raising an eyebrow, Cardin quipped, "So, what name are you going to use this time? Steve Rogers?"

Jaune glared back, irritation evident. "The name the world knows me by. Jaune Arc."

Cardin let out a long sigh. "Jaune, they'll either catch you or, worse, they'll recruit you."

The atmosphere grew tense, two friends, standing at a crossroads of decision and consequence. The name "Jaune Arc" carried weight and history. "Is that name so vital to you?" Cardin questioned, his voice softening.

Jaune looked away, his voice laced with pain. "You know why. I failed my brother once; I won't do it again."

"I get it," Cardin said, his voice thick with emotion. "Your bond with Jaune meant everything to you. He was your brother. But think about this: would he want you to do this? The Arcs have turned their backs on you. They never accepted you. Why are you so fixated on that name?"

"Steve Rogers has nothing left to prove," Jaune whispered, his voice barely audible. "But Jaune Arc does."

Cardin's eyes narrowed. "Maybe because Steve Rogers never tried."

The bickering was interrupted by Miltia's voice, impatience evident. "Are you guys done? When can we get sodas?"

Cardin rolled his eyes, exasperated. "We're coming." He shot Jaune a warning look, his voice filled with concern. "Don't do anything stupid, alright?"

Jaune smirked, retorting, "I can't. You're taking all the stupid with you."

Cardin smirked back, shaking his head. "Punk."

Jaune grinned, "Jerk."