Jaune stared at the headmistress, his blue eyes shimmering with a desperate mix of hope and fear. His breath came in short, uneven bursts, the weight of the moment pressing down on him like a mountain. "You have to give me a chance, ma'am!" he pleaded, his voice cracking mid-sentence. He couldn't control the words spilling out; they were like a dam that had burst, rushing faster than his thoughts could catch up. His heart pounded in his chest, each thud louder than the last, drowning out reason.
The headmistress, a woman who seemed carved from marble with her sharp blonde hair and even sharper eyes, sat behind a towering mahogany desk, her fingers laced together in an unwavering grip of authority. Her gaze cut through him like a knife, slicing into every bit of hope he clung to. "Mr. Arc," she said, her voice as cold and final as a judge delivering a sentence. "I understand your situation. But I cannot, under any circumstances, ignore the fact that you've forged documents to enroll here."
She lifted the falsified papers — the ones he'd spent every last coin and drop of energy on, hoping beyond hope they'd be his golden ticket — and, with a single motion, tore them in half. The sound of paper ripping was as deafening as a thunderclap, the noise stretching and echoing in his ears as though it were the very fabric of his future being shredded. His heart sank.
"I... I spent all my savings on those!" Jaune gasped, his words tumbling out, frantic and uneven. His hands clenched at his sides, as if he could physically stop the air from leaving his lungs in ragged bursts.
The headmistress remained unfazed, her posture rigid and unmovable as though she had done this a thousand times before. The deputy headmistress, seated beside her, didn't even flinch as she adjusted her glasses with a mechanical precision that made Jaune feel even smaller. "Mr. Arc," she began in a calm, almost bored tone, "you have two options before you."
Jaune swallowed, his throat tight, like a stone was lodged there. His voice trembled as he forced himself to ask, "W-what are they?"
Without missing a beat, the deputy headmistress continued, her fingers tapping rhythmically on her scroll as if this whole scenario was nothing more than paperwork for her. "Either you return home, and we pretend none of this happened," she said, her tone eerily polite. "Or—" She paused, letting the weight of what she was about to say settle like a heavy fog. "You go to jail."
"J-jail?" The word slammed into him like a freight train. His stomach turned to lead, and his entire body began to tremble. Jail. The word lingered in the air like a threat, one that twisted around his mind and refused to let go. He couldn't believe this was happening. Jail. He had never been in trouble before — at least, not like this. He couldn't handle jail. "I… I just wanted to make my family proud…"
For a moment, just the briefest of seconds, the deputy headmistress's cold facade wavered. There was something in her eyes — a flicker of empathy, perhaps, or maybe just a hint of pity. But it was gone before Jaune could be sure, replaced by that same hardened expression, her voice firm and unyielding.
"Tell me, young man," she asked, leaning back in her chair and eyeing him with that same cold scrutiny, "what is your semblance?"
Jaune felt his insides twist into a tight knot. His palms were clammy, his throat dry. He didn't have a semblance.
The deputy headmistress raised an eyebrow, the silence growing thick and suffocating as she waited. When no answer came, she continued, her tone carrying a hint of finality. Have you unlocked your aura?"
Jaune's mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. No. He hadn't. He was useless.
"It's admirable," she said, her voice now softer, almost pitiful, "your determination. But determination alone isn't enough. You're too weak. You have no future here."
Jaune tried to open his mouth, to protest, to say something, anything that would change her mind, but his voice failed him. When he finally spoke, it came out as little more than a whisper. "But I want to—"
"Don't you get it, Mr. Arc?" Her voice was sharp again, slicing through the air like a whip. She stood up, turning her back to him and walking towards the door. "Strength means everything in this world. You will be a liability to your team. You'll die. And worse, you'll drag them down with you."
Jaune stood there, frozen in place, each word landing like a punch to his gut. He felt something inside him crumble, something that had been fragile from the start but had somehow managed to hold on until now. It shattered completely.
"Go home."
The door closed behind her with a loud thud that echoed in his head, the finality of it settling into the very core of his being.
For a long time, Jaune didn't move. He just stood there, staring blankly at the closed door, hoping, willing it to open again. To give him another chance. But it didn't. It never would.
Eventually, his legs gave out, and he collapsed into a nearby chair. His head fell back as he stared up at the ceiling, eyes burning with unshed tears. He tried to blink them away, but it was no use. They came anyway, hot and heavy, rolling down his cheeks as silent sobs shook his body.
"Why?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. He slammed his fist onto the desk beside him, the dull thud not nearly enough to release the pain and frustration building inside him. "Why?"
The deputy headmistress's words echoed in his mind. 'Strength means everything.' But what about heart? What about courage? What about the things his parents and sisters had always told him he had? They always said he was kind, that he had the heart of a hero. But in this world, heart didn't matter. Courage didn't matter.
Only strength.
Jaune stood up abruptly, wiping at his tear-streaked face with a trembling hand. He couldn't stay here. The walls were closing in around him, the rejection suffocating. He had to get out, away from this place that had crushed his dreams. His feet carried him out of the Academy, down the streets of Vale. His legs felt like lead, dragging him forward without any real sense of direction. He didn't care where he was going. All he knew was that he needed to leave. To disappear.
The further he walked, the quieter the streets became, until the bustling city melted into the quiet edge of the forest. Jaune didn't think. He just walked, the trees and shadows enveloping him in their cold, indifferent embrace.
Eventually, he found himself sitting beneath a large, gnarled tree. His hands were limp in his lap, his arms stung from mosquito bites, but he didn't bother swatting them away. What did it matter? Let them bite him. Let them drain what little he had left.
He had run away. Left everything behind. And in his desperation, he had even forgotten to bring his family's most prized possession — the sword of Julius Arc. He had abandoned his own legacy. What kind of warrior did that? What kind of failure?
His chest tightened at the thought of his family. If he went back home, his mother would enroll him in a regular school. His father would encourage him, and his sisters would support him, like they always did. But their eyes… he couldn't bear to see the look of pity and disappointment in their eyes.
"I wanted to be a hero…" His voice cracked, barely more than a whisper. "Now I'm just a loser. Just like I've always been."
Before he could sink deeper into his self-loathing, a distant scream pierced the quiet air. His body jerked up instinctively, his ears straining to catch the sound again. There it was — a cry for help.
"A Grimm attack?" Jaune muttered, his heart racing as he scrambled to his feet. Without thinking, he rushed toward the sound, ignoring the sharp branches that tore at his clothes and the roots that tripped him up. He didn't care about the scratches or the stinging pain in his legs. Someone needed him.
By the time he reached the clearing, he was panting, his lungs burning from the effort. And there it was — a large, wolf-like Grimm, circling the base of a tree. An old man clung desperately to one of the higher branches, his face pale with fear.
Jaune's heart sank. He couldn't fight this thing. He was too weak, too slow. But the old man… the old man needed help. And Jaune—Jaune had nothing to lose.
"HEY!" he shouted, his voice breaking but loud enough to catch the Grimm's attention. Its glowing red eyes snapped toward him, narrowing in on its new prey. Jaune's knees wobbled under the creature's gaze, but he forced himself to stand his ground. "Yeah, that's right, I'm talking to you! Come and get me!"
The Grimm let out a low growl, its sharp teeth bared as it prowled toward him. Jaune's breath hitched, but he quickly shot a glance at the old man, who still hadn't moved.
"Go! Run!" Jaune yelled, waving his arms frantically. "I've got this!"
Did he 'actually' have this? Not remotely. But that wasn't something a hero would admit aloud. Jaune gritted his teeth and clutched a stick, feeling his legs wobble beneath him like jelly. The Grimm's red eyes locked onto him, and Jaune realized with a sinking heart that it was 'definitely' about to lunge.
"Any second now, Jaune," he whispered to himself. "Hero time. Totally."
He swung his stick in a wild arc, missing the Grimm entirely, but somehow catching its attention. It growled in irritation, shifting its focus to him and giving the old man a moment to scramble away.
"Yeah, that's right!" Jaune puffed out his chest, desperately trying to ignore the feeling of impending doom crawling up his spine. "Come get me, you overgrown... puppy!"
The Grimm snarled in response, and Jaune's eyes widened in sheer panic as it charged at him full force.
"Oh boy—here we go!"
He turned on his heel and bolted, legs pumping as fast as they could carry him, while the Grimm chased after him with terrifying speed. The trees flew past in a blur as Jaune zigzagged through the underbrush, trying to lose the creature, but the snapping jaws and snarling breath just kept getting closer.
"Why am I running?! I'm supposed to be a hero! Heroes don't—!"
His train of thought was cut short when his foot caught on a root, sending him tumbling forward. He staggered but somehow stayed on his feet, only to realize that the ground beneath him was suddenly very uneven, with rocks and loose dirt slipping beneath his boots.
"—fall?!"
And that's when he saw it: the cliff.
It loomed ahead like a scene out of his nightmares, a jagged, rocky drop with no visible bottom in sight. His heart leapt into his throat as his feet skidded to a stop right at the edge, the ground crumbling under him.
Behind him, the Grimm was still barreling toward him, its teeth bared and its glowing eyes fixed on its prey. Jaune glanced between the charging monster and the cliff's edge, his brain scrambling for any kind of escape plan.
"Okay, think, Jaune. Cliff. Monster. Options: 1. Jump. 2. Get eaten. Both terrible."
The Grimm lunged just as Jaune flung himself to the side, narrowly avoiding the beast's snapping jaws. In the scramble, though, his foot slipped, and with a startled yelp, Jaune felt himself pitching backward over the edge of the cliff.
"Oh no no no no NOOO—!"
Time seemed to slow as he flailed wildly in mid-air, his arms windmilling as if he could somehow grab onto nothing and stop his fall. The ground beneath him disappeared, and gravity took over with an unforgiving grip.
"I 'knew' this was a bad idea!" Jaune screamed as he plummeted. His voice echoed into the abyss below.
For a few heart-stopping moments, Jaune was free-falling, the wind whipping past his face, his mind racing through every possible regret he'd ever had. He was going to die. He was really, 'actually' going to die because he'd tripped and fallen off a cliff while trying to act like a hero.
And then—
'THWACK!'
His fall was abruptly halted as he hit something. Something soft.
He blinked, dazed and confused, his body aching from the sudden stop. What just happened?
He slowly looked around and realized, with an almost comical sense of disbelief, that he had landed on a particularly thick, bushy tree branch sticking out from the cliffside. The leaves cushioned his fall like some kind of natural hammock, preventing him from becoming a splatter at the bottom of the gorge.
"Holy—" Jaune gasped. "I'm alive! I'm actually—"
The branch creaked ominously beneath his weight, and Jaune immediately regretted celebrating too soon.
"Not the time, Jaune. Not the time!" he muttered to himself, clutching the branch for dear life as it bent dangerously.
Above him, he could hear the Grimm growling in frustration, pacing back and forth at the edge of the cliff, unable to follow him. Jaune, still dangling precariously on the branch, couldn't help but flash the creature a nervous grin.
"Ha! Can't get me down here, can you, you big ugly mutt?" he called up, though his voice cracked a little at the end.
The Grimm snarled again, but after a moment of glaring down at him, it finally turned and stalked away, disappearing back into the forest.
Jaune let out a shaky breath, his heart pounding in his chest. He was alive. Somehow, miraculously, he was still alive.
The branch groaned again, and Jaune's grip tightened, his eyes wide with terror as he realized he was 'not' out of danger just yet.
"Okay, now... how do I get down?"
The branch creaked again… and this time, it broke.
"Aghhh…!" The last yhing Jaune remembered before losing his consciousness was his unmanly scream.
—X~X—
Jaune blinked, he wasn't dead.
That much he was sure of, despite how his body felt like it had been trampled by an Ursa. His whole world was pain. His back throbbed, his limbs ached, and he could barely muster the strength to crack open his eyes. When he finally did, he found himself staring up at the sky, the treetops swaying gently above him.
"Well... at least I'm not a pancake," Jaune muttered weakly, his voice barely more than a groan. His ribs protested the effort, but somehow, he managed to sit up. He blinked groggily, trying to make sense of what had just happened.
The cliff.
The Grimm.
The fall.
How was he still alive?
He glanced around, confused. Beneath him, the ground was surprisingly soft—thick moss covered the forest floor, and a few branches had broken his fall. He ran his hands over his body, wincing as he prodded at various sore spots, but nothing seemed to be broken. Bruised, yes. Definitely bruised. But alive.
"Thank… the gods..." Jaune muttered, collapsing back against the moss with a relieved sigh.
It was then that he noticed the old man.
Standing at the edge of the clearing, the elderly man who had been cowering in the tree earlier was staring at Jaune with wide, disbelieving eyes. His thin, frail frame shook slightly, and his mouth hung open as if trying to form words but failing miserably.
Jaune, still dazed from the fall, offered him a weak smile. "I... guess you didn't need saving after all?"
The old man's expression quickly changed—from shock to an odd mixture of disbelief and... was that annoyance?
"You!" the old man spluttered, pointing a bony finger at Jaune. "You absolute dolt! What in the blazes were you thinking, taunting that Grimm like that?!"
Jaune blinked, taken aback by the sudden outburst. "I-I was trying to help!"
"Help?! You nearly got yourself killed, boy!" The old man hobbled forward, his cane thudding against the ground with every step. "If it weren't for that soft landing, you'd be worm food by now!"
Jaune rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Well… at least I distracted it long enough for you to get away, right?"
The old man stopped in his tracks, glaring at Jaune with an intensity that made him feel like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Get away? I was 'fine'! I've been climbing trees longer than you've been alive, boy!"
Jaune's mouth opened, then closed, as he processed that. "You... were fine?"
"Yes! That Grimm wasn't even paying attention to me until you started hollering and waving your arms around like a lunatic!" The old man threw his hands in the air, his frustration palpable. "I was about to climb down the other side and make my escape, and then you came crashing in, making things ten times worse!"
Jaune's face turned red with embarrassment. "Oh…"
"Oh?!" the old man mocked. "Is that all you have to say for yourself?"
"I-I thought you needed help!" Jaune stammered, his voice cracking as he tried to defend himself. "You were screaming, and—"
"I scream at squirrels when they steal my apples! Doesn't mean I need a hero to come running every time!"
Jaune couldn't help it. Despite the situation, despite his aching body and the old man's tirade, a laugh bubbled up in his chest. It started small, just a snicker, but it quickly grew into full-blown laughter.
The old man narrowed his eyes. "You're laughing? After all that, you're laughing?"
Jaune doubled over, clutching his stomach. "I'm sorry," he gasped between breaths, "it's just… I thought I was going to die trying to save you, and you were fine the whole time!"
The absurdity of the situation hit him all at once. Here he was, bruised, battered, and thoroughly humiliated, after throwing himself into a life-or-death situation to save an old man who hadn't even been in danger. It was like something out of a bad comedy sketch.
The old man, for his part, stared at Jaune for a long moment, his frown softening just a fraction. "You're an idiot, you know that?"
Jaune wiped a tear from his eye, still chuckling. "Yeah. I know."
The old man shook his head, but there was something almost... fond in his exasperation now. "You've got spirit, though. I'll give you that."
"Thanks," Jaune muttered, still grinning despite himself.
They sat in silence for a moment, the forest around them calm and peaceful, as if the chaos from earlier had never happened. Jaune took a deep breath, feeling some of the weight on his chest lift. For the first time since the headmistress had torn his dreams apart, he felt... lighter. Maybe it was the adrenaline wearing off. Maybe it was the sheer absurdity of it all. But for the first time in days, he didn't feel like the world was crashing down around him.
"So," the old man said after a long pause, leaning on his cane as he scrutinized Jaune. "What's a fool like you doing out here anyway? Shouldn't you be at Beacon? Or did they kick you out for being too weak to hold a sword properly?"
Jaune winced at the jab, but the words hit a little too close to home. "Something like that," he mumbled, his earlier humor fading.
The old man raised an eyebrow, clearly waiting for more.
Jaune sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I… I wanted to be a Huntsman. It's all I ever wanted. But they said I wasn't strong enough. They kicked me out before I even had a chance to prove myself."
The old man studied him for a long moment, his sharp eyes seeming to pierce right through him. Then, to Jaune's surprise, he chuckled softly. "Ah, so that's it. Another kid chasing dreams that aren't his."
Jaune frowned. "What do you mean?"
The old man tapped his cane against the ground thoughtfully. "You're chasing something you think you're supposed to be. Not what you actually are."
Jaune's brow furrowed in confusion. "I… I don't understand."
The old man huffed, shaking his head. "Of course you don't. You're too young, too stubborn, and too busy listening to everyone else to hear what your own heart is telling you."
Jaune opened his mouth to protest, but the old man held up a hand, silencing him.
"Let me ask you something, boy." He leaned in slightly, his eyes boring into Jaune's with an intensity that made him squirm. "Why do you want to be a Huntsman? Really?"
Jaune hesitated, the question catching him off guard. "I… I want to help people. To protect them."
The old man snorted. "That's the answer they all give. But what about you, personally? What do you get out of it?"
Jaune blinked, unsure of how to respond. "I... I don't know. I just..."
The old man leaned back, tapping his cane again. "You don't know because you've never asked yourself the right questions. You're trying to be something because it's what you think everyone else expects of you."
Jaune felt a pang in his chest, the truth of the old man's words hitting harder than any Grimm ever could. He had always wanted to be a Huntsman, sure. But how much of that had been because it was what he thought his family wanted? What he thought the world wanted?
The old man watched him closely, as if waiting for the realization to sink in.
Jaune slumped, his shoulders heavy with the weight of everything he'd been carrying. "So what do I do then?"
The old man gave a small, knowing smile. "That's for you to figure out, boy. But I'll tell you this: You don't have to be a Huntsman to make a difference. Strength isn't just about swinging a sword. Sometimes, it's about knowing when to put it down."
Jaune stared at him, the old man's words swirling in his mind. He didn't fully understand yet. But maybe, just maybe, he didn't have to. Not right now.
For the first time in what felt like forever, there was a spark of hope inside him. A tiny ember, barely there, but it was something.
"I'll… I'll think about it," Jaune said quietly.
The old man nodded, satisfied. "Good. Now, help me up. I've got to find my apples before those damned squirrels get to them."
Jaune blinked. "Apples? Now?"
"Yes, now! You didn't think I came out here for a stroll, did you?" The old man grumbled, waving his cane impatiently. "I need those apples for my cider!"
Jaune couldn't help but laugh again, shaking his head as he stood and offered the old man his arm. "Alright, gramps. Let's get your apples."
As they made their way through the forest, Jaune couldn't help but feel that maybe things were going to be okay.
—X~X—
Jaune groaned softly, the warmth of the rising sun coaxing him from a restless sleep. Blinking groggily, he found himself slumped over an outdoor table at a cozy little café. The faint smell of freshly baked bread and coffee filled the air, and the hum of the city felt strangely distant as he rubbed his eyes, piecing together the chaotic events of last night.
There was something about a Grimm. Right, that horrible creature had chased him through the streets. And the old man—'he didn't even need saving'—how embarrassing! And then there was something about apples…?
"What was I doing last night?" Jaune muttered, utterly perplexed as he tried to sort through the jumbled mess that was his memory.
A soft, polite cough snapped him out of his thoughts. He glanced up, blinking to find a waitress standing beside him. She had a wry smile on her lips, her chestnut hair glinting in the morning light. There was a kind but slightly impatient gleam in her eyes, as if she'd been waiting for him to wake up for a while now.
"Sir, if you're not going to order anything, I'm going to have to tell you to leave," she said with a sweet but firm tone.
Jaune's face flushed red with embarrassment. "Oh! Uh, sorry! I'll be on my way."
With a sheepish smile and an awkward shuffle, he hurried away from the café, feeling very much like the world's least competent hero. His hand absentmindedly checked his pockets, feeling the coins clink together—just enough to last a week, but that was a problem for future Jaune.
He wandered through the city, the bustling streets of Vale alive with chatter and commerce, but his mind was elsewhere. His thoughts drifted as the hours slipped by, the sun slowly lowering in the sky, and Jaune found himself lost in the haze of his aimless stroll.
Suddenly, a loud rumble broke the trance.
A van screeched to a halt nearby, its tires kicking up dust as it parked across the street from a dust shop. The side door slid open, and a group of men in sleek black business suits poured out, their expressions hard and focused. Jaune's curiosity got the better of him as he watched them make a beeline for the shop, their movements hurried and tense.
Something wasn't right.
A few moments later, the door to the shop flew open, and the men came stumbling out, panic etched on their faces. Before Jaune could even process what was happening, a deafening 'crash' echoed through the street as one of the men was launched out of the shop, his body skidding across the ground like a ragdoll.
"What the—?"
Jaune's eyes went wide as a figure emerged from the shop. A girl. No, 'not' just any girl. She had striking silver eyes, a flowing red cape, and a massive scythe resting casually on her shoulder. Her black-and-red hair framed her youthful face, and though she wore a smile, there was a dangerous edge to it. She walked toward the fallen men with a terrifying calmness, the blade of her scythe gleaming menacingly.
"You guys are really annoying me," she said, her tone light and playful, but laced with threat.
Jaune's heart pounded in his chest. He wasn't a genius, but even he could tell this was a bad situation. These guys weren't civilians. They were clearly some kind of authority, maybe officers. And that girl? She had just taken them down like it was nothing.
'She's a criminal! A dangerous one! They came to arrest her, and she just…'wiped them out'!' Jaune's mind raced as he took in the scene, trying to make sense of it.
Then, from the shadows of the van, another figure emerged. An older man with orange hair, leaning heavily on a cane, approached the girl with measured steps. His face was calm, his posture collected, and he began speaking to her in a voice too low for Jaune to hear. Whatever he was saying, it made the girl's expression shift, her scythe twitching in her hand.
The next moment, the girl moved, raising her weapon with deadly intent—she was going to strike the man down!
Jaune's panic hit a fever pitch. 'Is she really going to attack a disabled guy?' This poor old man couldn't defend himself!
Without thinking, Jaune's body launched into motion. His legs sprinted toward the man, his mind screaming 'what are you doing?!' but his instincts didn't care. He had to protect that man—he would throw himself in the way if he had to.
Then, it happened.
A sudden, overwhelming warmth spread from his chest, flooding his body with power. The ground beneath him shuddered violently, and just as the girl's scythe came down—
A massive, 'majestic' wall of wood erupted from the earth, soaring up with a thunderous roar. Its surface was smooth and polished, the wood gleaming with an almost ethereal glow. The girl skidded to a halt just inches before slamming into it, her silver eyes wide with surprise.
"What the hell?" the cane-wielding man muttered, his jaw slack in disbelief.
The girl stared at the towering wooden barrier, her expression a mix of shock and curiosity, as if she couldn't quite believe what she was seeing.
Jaune, too, was in shock. He stood there, frozen, staring up at the wall that had just appeared out of nowhere. 'His' wall.
'What…what just happened? I felt something, like a warmth inside me…'
His thoughts tumbled over themselves as he struggled to understand. 'Aura.' That had to be it. He'd read about it before. Aura was the manifestation of one's soul, protecting them in battle. And a Semblance—'a unique power that came from their Aura'. He had just unlocked his.
His 'Semblance'. He could create wooden walls from the ground. And not just any walls—these were massive, unyielding structures, like fortresses rising from the earth itself.
The girl's momentary surprise faded as she twirled her scythe, her movements fluid and graceful, but there was a slight narrowing of her eyes. She dashed toward him, her speed dizzying. Jaune barely had time to react before she was upon him, but he focused, and another wall exploded up in front of him, even taller and stronger than the last. The wood gleamed like freshly polished oak, unbreakable.
'THUNK'.
Her scythe slammed into the wall, but it didn't even crack. The weapon vibrated as she pulled it back, her eyes widening again.
"Where did 'this' come from?" she muttered, eyeing him with a mixture of annoyance and intrigue.
Jaune gulped. "Uh… I guess this is my thing now."
The girl darted around the wall, far faster than Jaune could react. He barely had time to conjure another one before she was swinging her scythe again. The walls kept appearing, majestic and unyielding, each one lasting just long enough to block her path before fading into the ground like they had never existed. Jaune was struggling to keep up, his body trembling from the strain, but he couldn't stop now. He had to save the men!
"Why won't you stop?!" Jaune shouted, summoning another wall with all his might. The wood soared up from the earth, tall and imposing, and the girl's scythe bounced off it with a loud 'clang'.
"You're really persistent, aren't you?" the girl said, almost sounding amused. She twirled her weapon again, her eyes glinting. "But I gotta ask—what's with the trees? You really think you can stop me with 'wood'?"
Jaune gritted his teeth. "It's… uh… effective?"
He conjured another wall, this one even bigger and more intricate, the wood twisting into elegant patterns as it rose from the ground. The girl slashed at it, but the wall stood strong, and as soon as it served its purpose, it melted back into the earth, disappearing without a trace.
In the distance, the whir of helicopter blades caught Jaune's attention. He looked up just in time to see the older man, the one with the cane, climbing into the chopper with a bewildered look on his face.
'Yes!'
'Now the higher-ups owe me a favour,' Jaune thought with a grin, narrowly dodging another of the girl's attacks.
The girl paused, staring at him with genuine curiosity now. "You've got stamina, I'll give you that," she said, her scythe resting on her shoulder. "But why are you helping 'them'?"
Jaune took a deep breath, still panting from the effort. "Because… it's the right thing to do."
She blinked, clearly not expecting that answer. "Huh? No, it isn't!"
Before Jaune could respond, a shiver ran down his spine. He could feel it—more were coming. Reinforcements, probably her accomplices. His heart pounded in his chest, and without a second thought, he turned on his heel and ran, sprinting down the street as fast as his legs could carry him.
And this time, he didn't look back.
—X~X—
Glynda Goodwitch's normally composed expression hardened as she leaned against her desk, arms crossed tightly. Her steely eyes bored into Ruby, who was shifting nervously under her intense gaze.
"You confronted 'Roman Torchwick'?" Glynda repeated, her voice sharp as a blade.
Ruby nodded slowly, the weight of Glynda's disapproval pressing on her. "Y-yeah, I didn't mean to—it just happened. He was robbing a Dust shop, and—"
Glynda's stern voice cut through the explanation like a whip. "And you thought it would be a good idea to 'engage' with one of the most notorious criminals in Vale? Did it not cross your mind how dangerous that was?"
Ruby flinched, her heart sinking as she recalled the chaos from earlier. "Well, I had Crescent Rose with me, and I thought—"
"That's the 'problem', Miss Rose," Glynda interrupted, her tone growing more pointed. "You thought. You acted impulsively, recklessly even. Roman Torchwick is a seasoned criminal, a man known for his cunning and ruthlessness. He's not someone a fifteen year old should be chasing through the streets like some vigilante!"
Ruby's cheeks flushed as she looked down at her feet, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her red cloak. Glynda wasn't finished.
"Do you have any idea how much danger you were in? Torchwick has been linked to multiple major Dust thefts, assaults, and even murders. He's evaded capture for years because he's smart and resourceful. If he had gotten the upper hand, you could have been seriously hurt, or worse."
Ruby swallowed, feeling smaller and smaller under Glynda's withering stare. She hadn't realized just how serious it was when she had faced off against Torchwick. It had felt like the right thing to do, but now, standing here, it felt like she had been a complete idiot.
"And that doesn't even account for the chaos you caused in the city," Glynda continued, her voice finally softening as she let out a long, tired sigh. "Public property damage, endangering civilians... You're lucky we can keep this incident under wraps, but that doesn't mean there won't be consequences, Ruby."
Ruby winced at the thought. She had only been trying to do good, but now it felt like everything had spiraled out of control. After a long pause, Glynda seemed to have calmed down somewhat, though her expression remained stern.
"And what of this… boy you fought?" Glynda asked, her tone still critical but less severe now.
Ruby's mind quickly flashed back to the strange boy who had appeared during the fight. "He was… really strong," Ruby admitted, scratching her head as she tried to piece together her memory. "He was fast, and he had this really weird semblance. It looked like—uh—Wood Style or something."
"Wood Style?" Glynda quirked an eyebrow, the skepticism clear in her voice.
"Yeah!" Ruby nodded enthusiastically. "He could sprout these wooden walls out of nowhere. They just popped up from the ground like 'wham', and even when he wasn't looking, they blocked my scythe. I swear, it was like he wasn't even trying! I think it was all instinctive, like he wasn't really in control of it."
Glynda's gaze sharpened with interest. "So, this boy… he was working with Roman, then?"
Ruby hesitated, her brow furrowing. "I'm… not sure. Maybe? Maybe not."
Glynda's eyes narrowed. "Why do you think he might not have been?"
"Well," Ruby started, shifting her weight nervously, "he didn't seem like he was helping Roman. He wasn't even trying to rob the store or anything. He was just… there."
"'Just there'?" Glynda repeated, the skepticism returning. "That doesn't make much sense. If he wasn't helping Torchwick, what was he doing?"
"I don't know," Ruby admitted with a shrug. "He didn't really stick around to chat. He was more focused on blocking my attacks."
Glynda's expression grew more serious, her eyes narrowing as she processed Ruby's words. "What did this boy look like?"
Ruby thought for a moment before replying. "Um, he had blond hair, blue eyes, and he looked to be about seventeen or so. He was wearing white armor with blue jeans. He wasn't really dressed like a criminal, but…"
The more Ruby described him, the more Glynda's expression darkened. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her scroll, swiping through the images with a quick flick of her fingers. Eventually, she stopped and held the scroll up to Ruby, showing her the screen.
"Is this the boy?" Glynda asked, her voice tight with concern.
Ruby peered at the image and immediately nodded, her eyes widening in recognition. "That's him! Is he some kind of wanted criminal or something?"
Glynda stared at the scroll for a long moment, her face unreadable. She then leaned closer to Ruby, her voice low and urgent. "Are you absolutely certain, Miss Rose, that this is the boy you saw?"
Ruby nodded again, more firmly this time. "Yeah, I'm sure! I can't forget those icy blue eyes."
For the first time since the conversation began, Glynda's stern mask faltered. She rubbed her temple with her fingers, muttering something under her breath that Ruby couldn't quite catch. It sounded like "liar," "infiltration," and something about "impossible."
Before Ruby could ask what was going on, Glynda let out a long sigh. "There's someone who will want to meet you, Miss Rose. Someone very important."
Ruby's eyes widened, her curiosity piqued. "Someone important? Why? Is something wrong?"
"You'll see,"
Glynda looked at the screen of her scroll.
'Unable to use aura, huh? No semblance? No training either? Bullshit. You are up to something big, aren't you, Jaune Arc?'
—X~X—
Breathing heavily, Jaune stopped in the dark alley, leaning against the cool brick wall for support. His thoughts were a mess, his heart still racing from the encounter. "Was it all real? Did I actually just fight a terrorist girl and help someone get away?" He couldn't believe it. The walls, the chase, the helicopter—it all felt like a strange dream. But the weight of the exhaustion in his bones told him otherwise.
He needed to test something. Anything to prove that what had just happened wasn't a fluke, wasn't just adrenaline-fueled nonsense. Jaune steadied himself, staring at his hand as if it held the answers. Could he really summon weapons? Could he really manipulate wood like that?
"Alright… focus," he muttered to himself.
He closed his eyes, trying to feel that warmth again—the same warmth that had erupted from his chest during the fight. Slowly, he visualised a sword, not just any sword, but one as big and intimidating as the family heirloom he'd been training with for months. In his mind, he could see every inch of the blade, every notch, and dent. Only… this time, it wasn't steel.
Suddenly, there was a soft sound of branches creaking and colliding, like wind rustling through the trees. He opened his eyes, and to his amazement, there it was— a massive sword, the exact size and shape of his family's blade, but made entirely out of wood.
Jaune gasped, his eyes wide with awe. "Wow."
The sword was beautiful in a strange way. The wood was polished, almost shining under the faint moonlight that spilled into the alley. Its surface was smooth, the grain of the wood running in intricate patterns along the blade. The hilt fit perfectly in his hand, as if it had been made specifically for him.
But it was 'wood'. Seriously? Could it even cut?
His gaze shifted to the large, rusted dumpster at the far end of the alley. It stood there like an old, beaten-up titan, bulky and immovable. He hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath.
"Only one way to find out."
With a soft grunt, Jaune swung the sword, not too hard, just a light swipe to see if it could do anything.
'Slash.'
The sound of the sword slicing through the air was sharp and precise, but what followed next was something Jaune hadn't expected.
The entire dumpster—this massive, metal thing—was sliced clean in half. From top to bottom, the dumpster split apart with a loud 'clang', as if the wood had passed through it like a hot knife through butter. The two halves fell away from each other with a metallic groan, and garbage spilled out from inside, tumbling onto the alley floor.
Jaune froze, his eyes impossibly wide, staring at the destruction in front of him.
"Oh… oh my god…" he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Horror, shock, and disbelief hit him all at once. He had barely 'touched' the thing, and yet, here it was, in two perfect halves. The cut was so clean it almost looked like someone had welded it back together.
"I… I did that?" he stammered, staring at the sword in his hand like it was a foreign object. His heart pounded in his chest, but then… slowly, a grin spread across his face.
"I 'did' that."
He glanced back at the dumpster, and the sheer absurdity of it all hit him. He had just sliced through solid metal—with wood. The rush of excitement surged through him. This was real. This was 'his' power. He couldn't believe it. After years of being the slowest, the weakest, the one who never quite fit in, he suddenly had something incredible.
But then… as if to remind him that things couldn't stay perfect for long, the sword in his hand started to fade.
"Huh?"
The polished wood shimmered for a moment, like it was dissolving into thin air. Before Jaune could even react, the blade vanished completely, leaving his hand empty. One second it was there, the next, it was gone, as if it had never existed in the first place.
Jaune blinked in shock. "What? Where did it go?!" His heart sank for a moment, thinking that maybe he had lost it, maybe the sword was a one-time thing. But then… a thought struck him.
Could he 'summon' it again? Was it like an inventory, a storage of sorts?
His grin returned, even wider than before. He stared down at his hand again, focusing, and just like that, the soft rustle of branches sounded, and the sword reappeared, solid and gleaming in his grip.
"Oh… oh, this is 'good'," he muttered to himself, a wild excitement bubbling up inside him. "I can… I can create things. And 'keep' them?"
He experimented a few more times, willing the sword to vanish, then bringing it back at will. It wasn't just the sword. He could feel it—he could create anything with wood and call it back whenever he wanted. It was like having a personal arsenal, a limitless inventory.
"Huh," he chuckled, a sense of disbelief still hanging over him. He glanced up at the sky, the bright moon casting a soft glow over the alley. And then, for some reason, it all just hit him at once. The fight, the power, the fact that he actually had a Semblance now.
Jaune threw his head back and began to laugh, loud and hysterical. "Ha-ha! I have a Semblance! I actually 'have' a Semblance!"
His laughter echoed through the empty alley, filled with both joy and relief. He could hardly believe it. After all this time, after all his doubts and struggles, he finally had something that made him special. Something that meant he could 'belong'.
He clutched the sword tightly, feeling the solid weight of it in his hand. "Now," he whispered to himself, his grin never fading, "now I can attend Beacon Academy."
With that, he straightened up, his confidence soaring, and walked out of the alley, his mind racing with possibilities. He didn't know what the future held, but one thing was certain:
Things were about to change.
Author Note:
So, this is my first RWBY fanfiction, and the plot revolves around Jaune getting mixed up in some very sensitive issues—along with his newfound power, which Ruby has dubbed 'Wood Style.'
Will Jaune become overpowered? Well, that's something we'll find out as the story unfolds!
One important thing to note: Jaune won't be attending Beacon Academy this time around, so expect some fresh twists and turns.
If you enjoyed this chapter, stick around—there's more to come!
Till next time!