Jaune stumbled to his feet, the world tilting wildly around him.

"What's happening?!" he cried, his voice choked with confusion and fear.

His body - it felt like he was being impaled by a thousand swords.

The pain, oh gods, the pain. It lanced through him, twisting his insides into knots. Images flashed behind his eyelids: a deathstalker, Pyrrha's fiery hair, the glint of his own blade… then nothingness. His mind throbbed, trying to grasp at memories, at understanding. Where was he? The air choked him, thick and unfamiliar. Neon clawed at his vision, harsh and alien. His heartbeat echoed in his ears, a frantic drumbeat against the symphony of agony.

Gojo stared at the scene, his characteristic smirk nowhere to be found. This wasn't right. This shouldn't be possible. A character yanked straight from a manga?

"Should have just killed it the moment I saw it." he muttered, frustration creeping into his voice. He eyed the squirming curse with disdain. Curiosity warred with caution, but the potential threat was too great to ignore. With a swift flick of his wrist, he exorcised the spectral pest, a blue flash sending chills down his spine.

His gaze settled on the unconscious boy sprawled on the floor, his sword and shield abandoned nearby. Gojo frowned. The higher-ups wouldn't like this. A manga character having come to life? It reeked of trouble, whispered of dangerous possibilities. Fear, he sensed, would be their first response, not understanding.

Lost in thought, Gojo ran a hand through his hair. What to do with this anomaly? Was he a danger? A pawn? Or just a scared kid ripped from his own story? The questions hammered at him, each one heavier than the last. He sighed, another burden added to the countless on the shoulders of the strongest, he supposed - nothing he can't handle.

The city lights reflected in his eyes. One thing was clear: this was going to be an absolute pain to cover up.


Consciousness crept back into Jaune in fits and starts, like a flickering candle struggling against a sudden gust. The pain, thankfully, had dulled to a throbbing ache, leaving behind a dull echo of its searing intensity. He cracked open an eye, expecting to see the familiar ceiling of home, but instead met harsh light bouncing off chrome and glass. Where was he?

He sat up, the world tilting precariously. His body ached like he'd been trampled by a thousand Grimm, every muscle protesting against the slightest movement. An instant later, he felt the wash of a familiar yet unfamiliar power - his Aura bled through his body, healing, fixing him up. The pain was fading - good.

His gaze swept across the room, taking in the alien surroundings. This…was pretty clearly a hotel room. But not like anything he'd ever seen. Walls made of paper, painted with symbols that danced like drunken calligraphy, draped around him like a silk cocoon. A low table, polished to a mirror sheen, balanced precariously on tatami mats, holding a tea set that looked like it belonged in a museum. The air felt thick, heavy with incense and something metallic that tickled his nose like bad cologne.

Every instinct screamed wrongness. This wasn't a room he could recognize at all. A pang of fear echoed through him, sharp and cold. Where was he?

With a groan, he forced himself to sit up, the room tilting around him. This…was weird.

He found Crocea Mors leaning against a wall nearby, and he instantly sensed safety. He needed to - he had to get to it.

He forced himself to stand up, desperate, but his legs betrayed him, and he found himself stumbling forward, barely holding himself up. He found himself at a window, holding himself up by leaning against the wall.

Outside the window, the city sprawled like a neon playground, buildings erupting into the twilight like jagged teeth. This…this wasn't Vale. This was...wrong. Everything hummed with a dissonance that vibrated in his bones.

The sound of a paper door sliding open prompted him to look, revealing a figure that made him blink. A tall, impossibly white-haired man stood there, wearing sunglasses and a smirk so sharp it could cut glass.

"Welcome back to reality," the man drawled, his voice smoother than the teacups perched on the table. "Gojo Satoru, at your service. And you, my friend, are about to have a story to tell."

"Story?" Jaune croaked, his voice raw with fear and desperation. "Where… what did you do to me?"

Gojo tilted his head, amused. "Story first, friend. Then answers, maybe." He gestured to the tea set with a flourish. "Care for some refreshment? We have time."

Time? Jaune wanted nothing more than to slam the door shut, barricade himself from this unsettling stranger and the alien chaos of the cityscape beyond. But his body wouldn't cooperate. Panic constricted his throat, fear turning his mind a swirling blur.

His Aura hummed weakly, spent from healing wounds and alleviating pain while he was unconscious. Fear bled into desperation. He needed safety. His weapons were safe.

A moment passed, and in his right he held the sword of Crocea Mors, the shield lay on the ground - not quite useless, but too difficult to grasp. His blade was pointed towards the strange man.

"Tell me where I am." he choked out, desperation raw in his voice.

Before he could take a step, the world dissolved into a dizzying blur. Gojo stood before him, eyes blazing with an unknown power, a hand outstretched with unnatural speed.

Jaune's sword froze, the tip inches from Gojo's palm. Time seemed to stretch, the metallic scent of the room amplified, the neon lights outside strobing in his periphery.

"Easy there, blondie," Gojo's voice was smooth, yet menacing. "Jumping to conclusions won't get you far. First, a sip of tea, then we talk."

He swallowed, fear mingling with a sliver of defiance. He may be lost, alone, but he wouldn't be cowed. Not without a fight.

"Fine," he spat, his voice trembling but resolute. "Tea. Then answers."


Jaune eyed the steaming cup in his hand with suspicion. The delicate porcelain felt alien against his fingers, the swirling patterns on its side mocking his confusion. Across from him, Gojo sat with impossible grace, sipping his tea like a connoisseur, eyes the color of a summer sky radiating an unsettling calm.

"So, blondie," Gojo drawled, a hint of amusement in his voice, "let's unravel this little mystery, shall we? Start with the basics. Name and age?"

Jaune hesitated, his throat suddenly dry. "Jaune. Jaune Arc. I'm seventeen."

"Jaune Arc," Gojo repeated, tilting his head like a curious cat. "A name straight out of a story, wouldn't you say?"

The air crackled with unspoken accusation. Jaune's grip on the mug tightened, knuckles white. "What… what do you mean?"

Gojo's smile widened, a flicker of amusement present within his eyes. "Let's just say… your arrival here wasn't exactly accidental, Jaune Arc. You, my friend, are a glitch in the system."

Jaune blinked, his mind swirling with confusion. Glitch? System? "You aren't making any sense."

Gojo sighed, a theatrical movement that felt strangely out of place in the stark hotel room. "Let's just say you, Jaune Arc, slipped through the cracks, a character ripped from the pages of a book and deposited here, in the real world."

The neon city outside cast distorted shadows on the walls, mirroring the disarray in Jaune's mind. "What do you mean, the real world!? You…seriously aren't making any sense at all! We must be somewhere on Remnant. We have to be."

Gojo chuckled, "Remnant? Never heard of it. We're in Tokyo right now."

"What the fuck is a Tokyo!? You can't be serious! I know there isn't a place called Tokyo on Remnant. Are you messing with me?!"

"Ah, the cultural gap," he drawled, his voice smooth as the porcelain cup in his hand. "Let's start with this: Remnant, as you call it, is a fictional world, Jaune. A story, a fabrication. You, my friend, are a character from that story, somehow brought to life in the real world."

Jaune stared at him, mouth agape. His mind, already reeling from the impossible, threatened to completely unravel. He clutched the teacup tighter, the delicate floral pattern biting into his palm like a desperate anchor.

"Remnant isn't real?" he choked out, his voice raw with disbelief and a sliver of fear. "My family…my friends…my dreams…I- I can't just believe this. I'm clearly real. I-I'm standing in the same room as you. I'm breathing the same air as you."

Gojo chuckled softly, a hint of sympathy coloring his amusement.

"I understand, Jaune," he said, his voice gentle despite the impossible reality he was revealing. "This is a lot to process. I understand you'd need some proof. So, here."

Gojo placed a leather-bound book on the table, its worn cover emblazoned with the title 'RWBY Vol. 1.' Jaune's breath hitched. He reached out, fingers trembling as they traced the familiar design.

"Here's your proof."

Hesitantly, Jaune flipped the cover. Inside, pages filled with vibrant illustrations depicted events he swore he had lived. There was Beacon Academy, its majestic silhouette etched against the sky, and there… his friends stood, frozen in poses he recognized too well. Ruby's grin, Weiss's icy elegance, Blake's black-white colour scheme, Yang's fiery confidence – they were all there, yet…something was missing.

They stood there at initiation, Ruby's group fighting a Nevermore and…a group of three - was that Pyrrha, Ren & Nora!?

A group of three fighting a Deathstalker? Three?

Three!?

He scanned the page frantically, a cold dread slithering into his gut. His blood turned to ice when he finally spotted the gaping hole, the space where he, Jaune Arc, should have been. He was a ghost in his own story.

"But… this doesn't make sense," he croaked, his voice barely a whisper. "I met them. I talked to them!"

"Yeah. You did meet them. Because, before today, you were in here," Gojo taps the book in Jaune's hand. "But now, you're out here."

"Then what am I…what am I supposed to do?! How am I supposed to cope with knowing that…all of my problems…no, my whole life was fiction?!"

The book trembled in Jaune's numb fingers, the glossy pages mocking him with their vibrant, non-existent past. A hollow laugh escaped his lips, echoing off the walls.

Gojo watched him, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. He leaned back, swirling the tea in his cup, the porcelain clinking a gentle counterpoint to Jaune's turmoil.

"There's no manual for this kinda thing, Jaune," Gojo admitted, his voice soft but firm. "No guide on coping with this kind of realization. But what I can offer you is not closure, but purpose."

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "When you were pulled from your book, the curse that brought you here… it left a trace. A whole lot of Cursed Energy, clinging to your soul. It was a curse meant to control you - but I destroyed it before it could truly take root."

Jaune looked up, confusion flickering in his eyes, not for the first time that day. "And what does that mean?"

"You've got more than enough Cursed Energy to attend the school I teach at. So, how about it? You up to exorcise curses?"

"…What other choice do I have? I've got to accept."

Gojo grinned, "I'll see you on Monday. This is where you'll stay for the time being. I'll send food your way. Probably."

"What do you mean, probably?"

"Bye-bye!"

"Don't just leave! Answer my question! What do you mean probably!?"


Random thing I just felt like working on. Nothing too serious about it. Probably won't be uploading too often, but the coming chapters also won't be as short as this one. This is kinda like a prologue? Just something to get the ball rolling, then everything else should be pretty long going forward.

Do please leave a review if you can, constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.

Thanks!