Chapter 40. Beacon Days 22
*Beep* Jaune Arc, report to my office. Right. Now. *Beep*
…
"What do you mean, suspension!? These are bogus charges!"
In other circumstances, shouting at the Vice Headmistress of the Academy may be an ill-advised course of action. Glynda Goodwitch, stern disciplinarian that she was, tended to see it as cause for the punishment to escalate. Previous success, as in the single instance in history that a student avoided detention with the woman, suggested that a person under her scrutiny should hunch their form down as small as possible, meep-ing in quiet terror all the while, in the hope that she took pity on them. Today, however, Jaune disobeyed conventional wisdom to make his voice heard, for his was the voice of an innocent man.
Or near enough. He's not been caught yet.
Besides, he cannot see himself projecting the same level of 'scared little bunny' energy as Velvet Scarlatina.
"Violence? Vandalism? Extortion? And what is this—?" He affected a tone of outraged disbelief, spitting out each of his supposed charge as if they were insults.
Okay, to be fair, any of those three things sounded very in character considering his normal conduct…hypothetically speaking, with no admission of past actions or future plans, of course. He still had to deny them, though. Beyond the obvious reasons, he'd rather there not be any doubts that the final item on the list was anything but pure fabrication. His reputation depended on it.
"Professor, do I look like a person who would commit public indecency?" Here, he swept his arms up and down his impeccable ensemble that covered him from neck to toes. With the new gloves Melanie got him for Dustmas, even his hands were covered. It did not get any more decent and proper than this outfit. "I'm pretty sure you have me mistaken with someone else."
He had an idea of who performed the last act, too. A few buttons undone can give a guy that wild, bad boy look. All the buttons undone, and the guy's just half-naked. There's an exhibitionist on campus, and his name was not Jaune Arc.
"I considered Mr. Wukong at first—" I didn't even mention his name. "—but the act concerned something more serious than fashion choice. The details of the report also pointed to a likelier culprit. You see, witnesses claimed that the pervert who relieved their bladder on the main avenue—" Okay, maybe it's not Wukong, then. He hadn't seemed the type. "—and the Beacon Memorial Statue, and in the gym, and off the dormitory rooftop, and... well, in any case they were said to possess blond hair, sunglasses, and—up until they divested themselves of it—a suit."
That's it. Game Over. He might as well fess up now. You know, had he actually done it.
"This is a frame-up! A set up! A cover-up! A spurious accusation against my good character! Show me your proof that it was me. Measurements! What are his measurements!?"
"Mr. Arc, you sound more suspicious by the second."
"Look into my eyes, madam, and see that they are clear of guilt!"
"Take off those sunglasses first," Goodwitch deadpanned.
-o-
Beacon Cafeteria
Head in hands, Jaune groaned into his palms.
Good news, his heartfelt pleas of innocence proved pathetic enough to trigger Goodwitch's sense of pity, so he avoided suspension. Bad news, she still suspected him, even if she had no solid confession with which to pass judgment. Thus, her investigation continued on, and Jaune was granted a reprieve. So long as he maintained a rock solid alibi in the days to come, he should be safe from further accusations.
That meant staying put in places where people could see him, instead of skulking around Beacon as he was wont to do. He couldn't retire to the bar, either, so Ren took the reins there while he ran the cashier line in the store. It also led to him fighting for tables as he ate his meals in the packed cafeteria rather than his usual haunts.
On the bright side, the rumor mill has stayed quiet so far. Everyone knew Glynda Goodwitch called Jaune Arc in for something. A quick glance around showed that they've scented the juicy gossip and, nearly salivating, were looking for a chance to ask questions. As yet, his reputation insulated him from their curiosity. None dared to disturb his lunch.
Which was when Yang Xiao-Long scared him half to death by crashing onto the bench with the force of a pile of bricks and, with the subtlety of same, asked him point-blank.
"Yo, Jaune! What did you do? Goodwitch sounded like you pissed all over her cereal."
"I did not p-, that is none of-, I don't know what you're talking about she certainly wasn't accusing me of being a serial urinator."
"What?"
"What?" Smooth, Jaune.
As their respective teams settled in around them, Yang continued to stare while Jaune feigned deafness. After an uncomfortable length of time, he shifted his jacket to show the hilt of his long knife, and she caught the warning. Their mutual respect aside, he would not hesitate to silence her on this.
"Hoo-kay, I'm not sure I want to know now."
"You do not, I guarantee it." Jaune firmly nodded, hoping to end the matter. "It was a case of mistaken identity, anyway."
The evidence did seem damning, he admitted. Quite possibly by design, a suspicious part of his mind growled out. On a campus where the overwhelming majority tended towards loud, flamboyant outfits, who else was known to dress in such a ̶p̶r̶e̶t̶e̶n̶t̶i̶o̶u̶s̶ nuanced fashion?
It so happened that he then caught sight of a man in a suit entering the cafeteria; someone blond-haired, sporting sunglasses, and not Jaune Arc. The figure walked over to the lunch queue, Jaune's narrowed gaze following him all the while. Unaware of his observer, the student picked up an empty tray and waited for his turn to get at the food.
Well, that was easy.
Jaune pushed off his seat, ready to go subdue the culprit of his many troubles.
It so happened that he then caught sight of a man in a suit entering the cafeteria; someone blond-haired, sporting sunglasses, and not Jaune Arc. The figure walked over to the lunch queue, Jaune's bug-eyed stare following him all the while. Unaware of his observer, the student picked up an empty tray and waited for his turn to get at the food.
What. The. Hell. Jaune rubbed at his eyes, and looked again.
It so happened that he then caught sight of a man in a suit entering the cafeteria; someone blond-haired, sporting sunglasses, and not Jaune Arc. The figure walked over to the lunch queue and Jaune gaped for a few seconds before he found his voice.
"Am I on drugs, or are there a bunch of me's over that way?" Yang followed where his finger pointed.
"Oh, yeah, those guys! They've been cropping up lately."
"But, why?" croaked Jaune.
Weiss answered, "Their appearance correlates with the dissemination of your vacation pictures among the student body. Seeing you prancing about with a flower on each arm, along with your displays of opulence, must have struck a chord with them. I assume this is their attempt to ride on your coattails in the hope of getting their own ménage à trois." Weiss gave a haughty sniff. "Atlas is much the same with the multitudes of people who would dye their hair white." Pyrrha nodded along in commiseration.
"I've had my share of copycats, also. My agent advised me to think of it as a sign of admiration, and let it happen. To a point."
"Hmmm. I agree, Pyrrha. That has been my experience on the whole. Aside from the handful who deluded themselves into thinking they are actual Schnees, they are mostly harmless."
To that sentiment, Jaune maintained a healthy skepticism. At least one of these idiots have caused trouble whilst using his image. There was no way to tell who had done it, though, so he'd keep a simple watch on them for now.
-o-
I see them at the corner of my eyes.
Once he started paying attention to the people in the background, he could not help but notice copycats wandering throughout the campus. He'd spot two or three in his classes, a few would shop at his store at any given time, and they congregated in greater numbers in popular areas like the cafeteria or the fountain square. They tended to meet up with each other, and the one conversation he overheard was them chatting about their latest efforts to improve the outfits. A movement had begun in the new semester, and suits have come into style among Huntsmen.
He found it a bit flattering, really. People thought him someone worthy of imitation. Their reasons may be less than pure, but he hadn't exactly been a shining beacon of goodness when he started down this path, either. The truly innocent did not often go in for the Yakuza life. Neither do they fake their credentials to get into Huntsman Academies. But putting aside the person(s) who got him in trouble with Goodwitch, the copycats have been surprisingly docile and obeyed Beacon's rules like regular students. Jaune concluded that one bad egg should not spoil their fun.
It helped that none of them bore more than a passing resemblance to him; despite their best go at it, their emulation only went so far. The sunglasses hid their eyes, but the faces were often too different for anyone to mistake them for Jaune. Hair needed to be dyed blond, which looked terrible when used on certain colors. Suits were of whatever make they could get their hands on. Bought off the rack, Jaune figured, judging by the ill fit he sometimes saw. A newbie mistake, as proper measurements mattered if a person wanted both comfort and style in one. They gave a fair try, all told, but he doubted they knew the differences between fabrics, or the many other considerations that went into an outfit.
He viewed the suits as an integral part of his identity. For them, it was a fashion statement, nothing more.
It's still a little weird, but harmless.
-o-
I see them peeking out from cover.
Jaune found the silver lining to this strange state of affair later in the week.
With hands over his nose and mouth to stifle his breath, he kept still as a statue in his hiding place behind a low wall that ran along the street. He failed to quiet his thundering heartbeat, however, and he was afraid it had been heard because his pursuer drew nearer and nearer with each passing second. *Click, clack, click, clack* went a certain blonde woman's heels on the stone tiles to ring the death knell of his operations. If Goodwitch caught him, she'd ask questions he had no good answers to.
She knew it was him she's after. She saw him running away. So, escape or no, he will face her wrath at some point. Just don't let it be now, with the case of Mistralian rice wine he was in the middle of transporting. With her keen mind and dogged pursuit, the wine would eventually lead back to the International Dorms, where he'd just bet his new affiliates will sing like canaries to save their own hides. One peep about his bar, and Juniper Berries gets busted.
But what options did he have here? There's no way to get rid of the evidence!
*click*
The sound of her high-heels stopped right on the other side of the wall. Jaune peered up at the top of it, waiting for the moment the bad, bad witch looms over the edge to catch him in her clutches. Faced with a doom he cannot match, long lost species memory awakened, telling of an age where humans and Faunus cowered before greater predators. An urge to let out piteous whimpers welled up in his throat.
Impossibly, miraculously, he heard the footsteps move on. The gait carried a hurried cadence, as if its owner was chasing a new target. Jaune waited with bated breath, survival warring with intrigue. When he no longer heard the tapping of heels, he chanced a peek over the wall. A part of him suspected a trap, and he prepared to see Glynda Goodwitch's green eyes staring back at his own.
Instead, he got a view of her back(side) a ways down the path, quickly marching towards a figure clad in clothing that mimicked what Jaune currently wore. That hapless boy trembled in place as the professor bore down on him.
In that moment, fondness bloomed in Jaune's heart for these copycats, and the idea of bringing them into the fold came to being. Their similar outfits had caught Goodwitch in the same trap where people saw the suit, the sunglasses, and the hair and thought it must be Jaune Arc. Except now, she could no longer be sure that it was him, what with the multiple targets in the dim light tricking her memory until his features blurred together with the person she accosted. It was a complete reversal from days earlier, and this time it worked in his favor. Next time, too, because the fanboys' existence has given Jaune plausible deniability in all things.
Hilarious.
On the flip side, this served as further proof that his face was kind of forgettable. A rather disheartening discovery for a young man's self-esteem.
Not so hilarious.
-o-
They're watching. Always watching. Waiting.
He said he wanted the knockoffs on side, and thought to maybe teach them a few lessons in his Way. Well, he changed his mind. Jaune wanted these guys gone.
"Watch where you're going! Do you know who I am?"
The same as me, someone who's going to be late to class.
"I can end your life!"
Going way too hard from the start. Cringe. How can you escalate from there?
"Bow down, turn out your pockets, and I might be merciful."
Dammit, now I'm getting flashbacks of my first encounter with Velvet. That was a mess and a half.
Jaune ignored the dominance display going on before him to debate whether he should provide this copycat with the internal critique in the hopes of seeing a better performance, or to crush him utterly and thereby teach the same lesson without wasting his breath. Opting for the former (and keeping the latter ready in reserve), his mouth shaped the first word of his lecture-
Oh, hey, there's a fist coming at me.
Oh, hey, there's a fist passing by me.
Jaune followed the momentum of his slap that had knocked the boy's arm off course, twirling past him in a dance-like move not unlike that of his teachers.
Mid-motion, he met the other guy's eyes for the briefest instant. The witless look of astonishment on his attacker's face set off something in his mind. Perhaps it was the complete surprise at the fact that Jaune could even fight back, which implied the boy only ever intended to waylay people he thought meek and helpless.
Not Yakuza. Not Yakuza at all. At least, as Jaune knew them.
Rage flared; blue, it burned. His arm shined bright and, with a snarl, Jaune completed the spin with a neck chop to send the face that had so annoyed him smashing into the hallway's wall. The bricks cratered under the force of his blow.
The copycat slumped to the ground, his Aura leaving him unbloodied but rattled half-unconscious. Jaune's own arm felt like it has been twisted in a pretzel. The soothing touch of Aura came and went, leaving a sticky sensation under the sleeves that he suspected was blood. He raised the arm, sniffing at it.
Yup, the scent of iron, and sickly sweet. He had done something new, yet familiar, and oh so dangerous unless he practiced.
Jaune could not find it in himself to care at the moment, occupied by a conundrum. This was the third time he witnessed the copycats behaving in such a manner. The third time he had to step in.
They needed a harsh lesson.
He kicked the boy's unprotected stomach to drive home the point, eliciting a pained grunt. He debated another kick, but decided he did quite enough with two attacks to ruin this boy's day. Should he see it happening again, then that would be a different matter, one worthy of a long stay in the infirmary. Pivoting on his heels, Jaune marched on his way.
One step. Two steps. Three steps.
*Bump*
"Haaah!? You wanna die?"
...sigh.
-o-
They want what I have. They want to be me.
Jaune's breaking point arrived, when his conundrum took a step too far into the uncanny valley.
Sitting in a chair, surrounded by his friends, Jaune engaged in a staring contest with himself. He tapped a beat on his leg, and he did the same. He narrowed his eyes, and he did the same. He, and he, huffed in frustration, turning to the side and steadfastly ignoring one another.
Their movements were out of sync, each their own person. Yet, either could be Jaune Arc, so naturally did they act the part.
It was not simply the suit (cashmere), the sunglasses (the right shade of blue), and the hair (same cut and color) in this case. His copycat- no, his doppelganger wore Jaune's face and body. A sharp chin, shallow cheekbones, tall stature, leaner musculature than the average Huntsman, and more; physically, they were identical twins.
Then, there was the sneer. The way he lounged on the bench. That insufferable tilt to the head that suggested he was either looking at someone particularly amusing, or already had his opponent in the palm of his hand. How unnerving to see it from the other side.
On the sideline, the rest of Team JNPR and Team RWBY studied one Jaune, then the other. Thus far, they've failed to discern the original from the fake by appearance and mannerism, and so maintained a wary hostility to both. They circled the duo, bouncing around ideas.
"Is it a Semblance?" Ruby wondered. "Weiss, Pyrrha, you said you fought a student who can cast illusions. Thoughts?"
The named girls pondered the possibility. They shared a whispered conversation, nodded in agreement, before sidling over to the two boys. Weiss reached out with her hand, and tapped Jaune's nose. A frown, and she began poking and prodding at various places. Nearby, Pyrrha mashed the doppelganger's cheeks between her hands, scrubbing insistently to no effect.
"I do not believe it is an illusion," Weiss said, "there features feels solid to the touch."
Pyrrha followed-up, "There's no use of makeup, either, and I can't imagine there is a mask good enough to stay on so firmly and able to mimic facial expressions."
Exhausted of ideas, Weiss and Pyrrha gave the floor to someone else. Taking their place, Nora stepped between the two Jaunes. She peered left. She peered right. A grin crept onto her face.
"Okay...would the real Jaune Arc please stand up?"
Jaune stood, and so did Jaune.
"Welp, that didn't work. I'm out."
"Dammit, Nora."/"Dammit, Nora."
"The suspects are not to talk unless questioned!" Warden Ruby pointed a damning finger.
*sigh*/*sigh*
Ruby returned to her musing. She paced back and forth, face scrunched in thought as she talked to herself.
"How are we going to tell them apart? By that reaction to Nora, he clearly understand our dynamics. He's a Beacon student, then. Someone who had the whole previous semester to study Jaune. Anything we do…he's prepared…for." She paused there. "We're not the best people for this, are we?"
Slooowly did her face brighten, eyes alight with mischief. With notes of triumph in her voice, she shouted.
"I have an idea!"
"Same."
Ruby whirled to face the speaker. "The suspects are not—"
Jaune pulled out his long knife, stepped closer to his doppelganger, and in one smooth motion jabbed the blade against his kidney. A flick of the thumb, and he lit the fake Jaune up like a Dustmas tree.
It was a testament to how accustomed they were to his stab-happy ways that his friends hardly batted an eye at the sight.
"That's Jaune."
"Yup, yup."
"No doubt. *cough* psycho *couch*"
Ruby, however, did not seem happy about this turn of events. Her shoulders drooped in disappointment, and she whined, "Auuu, I wanted to bring Miltia and Melanie here and let them figure it out. Like something out of those Mistralian rom-com comics."
Her words caused Blake and Pyrrha to gasp in tandem. They turned towards Jaune, their intense glares accusing him of grave wrongdoing. Looks like Ruby was not alone in liking Mistralian rom-coms around these parts.
Their anger was misplaced. It would never have ended up like they imagined, a scene so cutesy and sweet. The Malachite sisters shared many elements of his way of thinking. Hell, they helped him develop that mindset, and Jaune was sure he influenced them in turn. He foresaw the two of them implementing a similar plan to what he used, the difference being that they would stab the fake and Jaune, then figure out who was real by the pitch of their screams or some such. They've had ample experience hearing it from all the times they sparred with him.
Here, he resolved the matter with half the casualties and a fraction of the time. A superior solution by every metrics.
Still, gazing down at the smoking, twitching heap on the ground, Jaune realized this was going to be a problem.
-o-
They move closer when I look away.
In the dim lights of the classroom, a clear voice rang out.
"Good of you to join me. We have a lot to discuss."
A susurration passed through the crowd of blond-haired, black-suited men. They could tell the Original Jaune Arc was not happy, his seething wrath more akin to a knife's edge than a blazing fire but nevertheless entirely directed at them. The slow, steady tap-tap-tap of his foot against the tile floor lent an air of anticipation, promising imminent violence to the person who dared act out.
Jaune scanned the room from wall to wall, meeting the gazes of his imitators. The number of people present were much higher than he expected. Some cowered, some stood tall, none have shown outright defiance as of yet. Once he was sure he had their attention, Jaune leaned back on the chalkboard and crossed his arm, then continued.
"Quite an exciting week we've had. A bit longer for you as I understand it. I asked around and, wow, did you have a…a wild time when I was gone. And what you got up to ever since I returned…heh." He cracked a smile. "It's fun, right? Doing as you like."
The tension bled out of the room. Jaune can see the change on their faces when they caught the friendly tone, the sheer relief at what sounded like approval to them. Braver now that the danger seemed to have passed, one of the knockoffs—a rather spot on one, at that—stepped forward. He shared a conspiratorial wink with Jaune, back stooped and a fawning grin plastered on in the manner of sycophants.
"Hehehe, we're just following your example, sir."
*BOOM!*
The crowd jumped in shock. Their eyes zeroed in on the spider web of cracks spreading out on the chalkboard, centered on Jaune's fist.
"No, you're not!" Jaune snarled, Aura roiling off him. "Do I rob people in broad daylight? Do I break their belongings for laughs? Those I battle, were they or were they not a danger to me in turn?" The knockoffs bristled at the notes of derision in his voice. "Oh, and let's not forget the last reason for why we are not the same. Have I ever hinted at a predilection for urinating in public?"
Among the angry-turned-mystified faces, Jaune spied a few sheepish expressions.
Ah, so they're the ones. And wooow, there's a lot.
He made a mental note to contact Goodwitch later. There's being a poor Yakuza, and then there's…whatever these guys were doing.
"The week, for you, has been exciting. Wild. Fun. And wrong."
As abruptly as his anger flared, it vanished. Jaune's shoulders slumped. Just now, he had realized where things went off-kilter.
"You claim to admire me. Yet, if you are a reflection of me, then I must be a contemptible man, indeed." Running a hand through his hair, he exhaled a shaky breath. "I…I must seem a thug in your eyes, at times. The mindless, rampaging beast that barrels through Beacon, uncaring of who he hurts. And somehow, someway, I attained what must look like a dream."
That was the crux of the problem here, really. They witnessed his successes, and so mimicked his form, but lacked the understanding of how one became the other. In a way, they were innocent. Their great crime, ignorance. Melanie and Miltia prepared him to walk this path, they taught him all he knew. These wannabes had Jaune as their guide, and though he did not volunteer for the role, he could have spared a word to explain why he behaved as he did. Not one lesson had he imparted, so it would be unfair to expect the world of them.
Throughout the room, fear and anger receded, overtaken by intrigue at what seemed almost like a lecture with Jaune the teacher and they his students. Heeding familiar instincts, the fake Jaunes took their seats. And, for a while, they listened.
Pacing to and fro before the class, Jaune expounded upon his reasons.
"The thing is, there are rules I follow. Lines I've drawn. Above all, there is a goal I seek. Some courses of action, I would take without hesitation even as others would protest. Why? Because it advances my cause, no matter how minutely…"
He chided their behavior.
"What drives you, can you say? Standing here, I see no grand ambition in what you do. Review your recent days, and consider whether it has helped you attain anything of worth. You think me your inspiration, but I suspect that I was simply your excuse to act out your base urges…"
And, he taught them a lesson.
"Question yourself, constantly. During the past semester, even I have had to relearn my lessons time and again. Because this Way? Along its winding path, it is so easy for one to go astray."
He came to fight, he stayed to teach. At the end of the impromptu lecture, they greeted him not with protests and jeers, but with contemplative miens and solemn nods.
A sense of calm settled over Jaune. Kindly, he said, "You understand now, don't you?"
The same person who had spoken for the copycats, did so once more.
"You're right. You are completely right! I've been floundering in place. I'm sure everyone else were the same as me. But we finally know what to do."
Good. He got through to them. It went to show that talking like rational people can resolve issues as well as, if not better than, a savage beatdown. In this cruel, harsh world called Remnant, they needed to remember that mentality, that human and Faunus were no mere Grimm or beasts, but people. A higher level of being, granted the sapience that allowed them the capability of making moral choices.
"We have to eliminate you."
…Whut?
"…Whut?"
"That's our goal, to be where you are. Sure, we can do as you suggested and go for the long way there, buuuut the easy route of taking over all that you've built is right in front of us, so we'd rather just GET RID OF YOU RAAAAAH!"
Ahaha. As it turned out, he wasted his breath. These guys were idiots.
The self-appointed spokesman's sudden—and solitary—charge ended with his face meeting the chalkboard behind Jaune, not unlike a certain scene in a hallway yesterday. Exploiting the momentary lull his brutality brought, Jaune quickly set to persuading the rest of the mooks to stand down.
"Think of what I said. Listen to your own sense of honor. By the way, I have a knife—"
"He can't beat us all!" So screamed the apparently still-conscious knockoff. "Once he's gone, we can decide who gets to be the real Jaune- oof!"
Jaune removed his foot from the now-unconscious body, smiling brightly at the crowd in a show of goodwill.
"Hey, here's an idea. Let's ignore that guy."
The smile faltered as three dozen or so pairs of feet advanced in lockstep. They've scented blood in the air. Led as they were by greed, his words fell on deaf ears. Jaune, left with no recourse, clenched his hands into fists.
Fine, then. Forget any ideas of tempering the movement, this new fad needed to die. Beacon has no room for any Yakuza but Jaune Arc. There can be only one.
…
…Haaang on a bit.
Jaune counted their numbers, comparing it to his gang of one. To account for their fanatic idiocy, he evened out the ratio a little further. Then he factored in the power of his wakizashi. It still did not add up to victory. That changed things.
Nodding sagely, Jaune relaxed his stance. For the moment, this battle favored the other side to an overwhelming degree. Winning was near impossible, and trying would be a vain endeavor.
Melanie and Miltia had a lesson for situations like this one.
"Oh! I just remembered I left the stove on. Silly me, hahaha!"
-o-
Two second-year students from Atlas were taking a stroll in the outdoors, enjoying the crisp air of January. They would not admit out loud, but even they and their classmates had found the blizzard over the break to be a tad too extreme.
Today, though? Mwah! It was perfection.
How wonderful the cool breeze. How lovely the crisp air. How—
The windows of a classroom blew out, shattered by a flying figure, their arms crossed in front of their face for protection. They—he hit the ground, smoothly rolled to his feet, and sprinted away.
The Atlesians barely had time to register what just happened before a dark shape bulged out of the broken window. A mass of bodies, clad in black, spilled out onto the footpath in a manner reminiscent of zombie movies. They impacted the ground, those ahead crushed by those behind. Unheeding of pain, they scrambled to their feet, and chased after the first figure.
Witnessing this strange scene of a man in a suit pursued by many men in suits, the Atlesians shared a perplexed glance. A silent conversation passed, one that they've often held in their time here. At the same time, they nodded in agreement.
Beacon was an odd place. Like, really damn odd.
Author's Notes: How did the chapter end up in the horror genre, of all things?
Stumbling onto the next special move.
