I won't sugarcoat it—our first meeting was a hot mess. Like, he had the vibe of someone who was trying really hard to be a hero but somehow missed the memo about common sense. He had a heart of gold, sure, but his brain? Rock solid—and I don't mean that in a complimentary way. I swear, the man could stare down a dragon but would probably try to talk it out of eating him.
He actually had the nerve to say Salem wasn't a threat. Salem. The immortal queen of darkness, terror of all living things, destroyer of worlds, blah blah blah. And here comes Jaune Arc, with all the confidence of someone who's never even read a fairy tale, saying, "Nah, she ain't that bad." I almost choked on my own spit. Like, excuse me? Did I just hear you correctly? But, believe it or not, there were people—actual breathing men and women—who bought into his nonsense. They thought he was pulling some deep, philosophical, next-level "I've unlocked the secrets of the universe" kinda wisdom. They genuinely believed he had some cosmic insight no one else did.
Spoiler alert: he didn't.
But you know what? As much as I want to shake him by the shoulders and yell "What the hell is wrong with you?" there's a part of me that can't help but respect him. Don't ask me why, I don't know. It's like being grateful to a cat that brought you a dead mouse—it's gross, you didn't ask for it, but damn if it didn't put in some effort.
Jaune was a good leader. Yeah, I said it. It hurts to admit, but he led us like a champ. He fought like a rabid beast—like he had something to prove every time he swung that sword. And let me tell you, people followed him. I have no idea why, maybe it was some weird magnetic charisma, like moths to a particularly idiotic flame. And even though none of us died—thank the god —plenty of us came back looking like we got hit by a Grimm bus. But that man? He was like walking healthcare. A walking panacea, for crying out loud. He'd heal you with a pat on the back and a dumb grin that made you feel like you were actually gonna be okay, despite how ridiculous the whole situation was.
Seriously, how did we survive under his command?
Oh, you wanna know what his words were before the battle? His big, heroic speech that was supposed to rally the troops and fire us up for the fight of our lives?
"The Will of Fire burns brightly in us, their piss won't extinguish it!"
…I wish I was joking. I truly do. But those words, my friends, are forever etched into my brain like a really bad tattoo. How do you even respond to something like that? I looked around, fully expecting everyone to burst out laughing, but nope. Everyone was nodding along like he'd just delivered the "I have a dream" speech. Meanwhile, I'm standing there, questioning all my life choices.
But somehow—somehow—we won that battle. And guess who was at the front, leading the charge? Jaune Arc, the menacing idiot himself. You can't even make this stuff up.
—The Rise of Leaf
—X~X—
Yang had sent her weapons to repair in a workshop. Now, she was going to collect them.
Yang strode down the streets of Vale with her usual swagger, but anyone who knew her could tell something was off. Her shoulders were just a bit too stiff, her fists clenched inside her jacket pockets. Tomorrow was the big day—the Beacon Academy initiation—and her little sister Ruby would be joining her. Normally, that would be a reason to celebrate, but right now? It only made her more anxious.
Ruby, her baby sister, had gone and faced off against 'Roman freaking Torchwick'. The most notorious criminal in Vale. And that wasn't even the worst of it. Ruby, with all her childish innocence, had also fought Jaune Arc. 'Jaune Arc'. The guy who had somehow earned a reputation stronger and more feared than Adam Taurus, and that was saying something. Adam had been a force of nature, a skilled fighter who led the White Fang with an iron fist.
But this Jaune kid? He wasn't just strong; he was a whole different kind of crazy. He had publicly declared some kind of insane 'world war' against all of Remnant, like he was some big-shot dictator in the making. Of course, everyone knew he was delusional. He had to be. But that didn't stop him from being dangerous as hell. A lunatic with power? That was never a good combo.
Yang shook her head, her frustration boiling over. She still couldn't wrap her head around how Ruby had nearly gotten herself killed—and yet, for some bizarre reason, her little sister believed that Jaune wasn't a bad guy. 'How could she be so naive?'
Yang had demanded an explanation, and Ruby had only given her a cryptic reply: "His eyes. They held no malice."
'Yeah, right,' Yang thought bitterly. Psychopaths didn't exactly wear their emotions on their sleeves. That was the whole point. They were good at hiding who they really were. Yang sighed deeply, trying to shake off the feeling that her sister was getting herself into more trouble than she realized.
Distracted by her thoughts, she barely noticed the man walking toward her until they collided. Hard.
Yang's eyes snapped up just in time to feel his hand—his 'palm'—press against her chest.
Her boob.
In public.
"What the—!?" Yang's reaction was instant, pure reflex. "Why you perv!"
With a burst of anger, she swung her arm with all her strength, her palm connecting with his face in a brutal slap. The sound echoed down the street, causing a few pedestrians to stop and stare. The guy staggered back, clutching his face, his body language screaming confusion and panic.
"W-what the hell!" he stammered, his voice muffled by the surgical mask he wore. His hair, though messy, was blond. His eyes, blue and wide with shock, met hers for a brief moment before his mask fell off.
Yang blinked. Her heart skipped a beat as her brain caught up with her eyes.
Blond hair. Blue eyes. Old hoodie and jeans.
"You…" Her eyes widened in horror. 'No. It couldn't be…'
Before she could process what was happening, her body reacted. She drew back her fist, ready to slam it into his gut and send him flying across the street. But before she could even land the punch, something strange happened. A wooden wall shot up between them, blocking her attack. Her fist hit it with a sickening crack, and she nearly twisted her ankle from the force of the rebound.
The wall… wood?
The onlookers, to them, it clicked. Blond hair. Blue eyes. 'Wooden walls.'
The people around them began to murmur, realization dawning on their faces as they pieced together what Yang had just pieced together.
"Jaune Arc…" someone whispered.
And then the screaming started.
People scattered in every direction, pushing and shoving to get as far away from the scene as possible. The man—the boy—Jaune Arc, stood there, looking just as bewildered as she was. Acting?
Yang grit her teeth, her blood boiling. She didn't care how fast or strong this guy was. He was a killer. He was a threat. And now, he was standing right in front of her.
Without wasting another second, Yang lunged forward, her fist igniting with her signature fire. "You're not getting away, Arc!"
Jaune's eyes widened. "Wait, hold on! I didn't—"
But Yang wasn't listening. She threw a punch straight at his face, but Jaune was faster than she expected. Much faster. Way faster than Ruby He sidestepped effortlessly, barely moving, and her fist missed by inches. The momentum threw her off balance, and she had to skid to a stop to regain her footing.
"Hey, stop!" Jaune shouted, his voice still carrying that confused edge. He raised his hands in surrender, but there was something about the way he moved that made Yang feel like he was mocking her. Every little dodge, every casual shift of his body—it was like he wasn't even trying. Like he thought she wasn't worth the effort.
That only pissed her off more.
"Shut up and fight!" Yang growled, swinging again. This time, she aimed lower, going for his torso. But again, Jaune moved with lightning speed, raising another wooden wall to block her punch. Her fist collided with it, splintering the wood but not breaking through. Her fist however…was…
"You fucking piece of shit!" She jumped back and horizontally impacted on a lamp post, gaining momentum with her thigh and legs, she shot like an arrow, her form ready to shatter any wood he would conjure.
The boy looked horrified, why? Perhaps she'll get him now—
He raised his hand and snapped his eyes shut.
'Huh?'
Before Yang knew it, something hard collided with her cheekbone. Something really hard.
Yang fell on the ground with a thud, her momentum completely and effortlessly absorbed by the boy. Now, she had a broken jaw to deal with. Three premolar teeth came off her mouth as well— with blood, of course. 'Shit,'
He was good. Annoyingly good.
Jaune stepped back, his face twisted in frustration. "I 'don't' want to fight you! You're making a mistake!"
"Yeah?" Yang spat some blood and saliva, circling him, her fists still blazing. "Tell that to the people you've killed!"
"It was just once," Jaune's expression darkened. "And it wasn't my intention." For a brief moment, Yang thought she saw something cold flash in his eyes. But then he sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. "I don't want to kill anyone. You don't understand."
"I understand enough!" Yang charged again, this time aiming a series of rapid strikes at his head, torso, and legs. Each punch and kick came faster than the last, but Jaune dodged them all with ease. His movements were fluid, almost graceful, as he twisted and turned, using wooden barriers and quick sidesteps to avoid her attacks.
Yang could feel herself growing frustrated. She wasn't used to this. She was used to overwhelming her opponents with sheer force and speed. But this guy? He was a step… no… miles ahead of her at every turn. And the worst part? He wasn't even trying to hurt her. He was just…defending himself. Dodging. Blocking. Never striking back.
"Stop this!" Jaune shouted again, his voice growing more desperate. "I'm not your enemy!"
Yang grit her teeth, ignoring him. Her body burned with the strain of the fight. She wasn't going to let him get away, not after everything he'd done. But no matter how hard she pushed, no matter how fast she moved, she couldn't land a hit. He was just too fast.
Yang pulled out a pen from her pocket ready to introduce his eyeball with the word 'pain'. She followed a curved path to confuse him. True to her assumption, he indeed sidestepped in the wrong way.
She smirked, that should be easy now—
—except it wasn't.
The boy caught the pen inches away from his face and the worst part? He did it with two fingers.
"Are you insane?!" He yelled.
Yeah. She is. Apparently, trying to injure a man faster than… whatever with a pen is the definition of insanity.
He crushed the pen with his hands alone, even he looked shocked by that. But his expression became serious swiftly. "I am not going to apologize for that,"
'…did he just pout?' no, it must be my imagination. But that was an expensive pen!
Yang wished she had her weapons with her now. Only if her dad hadn't told her to send them for fixation.
Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, Yang noticed a bullhead approaching in the distance. Reinforcements. Probably hunters, responding to the commotion. She didn't have much time. If they got here and Jaune bolted, she might lose him for good.
Her heart pounded in her chest as she launched one final attack, pouring all her strength into a fiery uppercut aimed at his jaw. But before her fist could connect, Jaune's eyes widened, and in a flash of movement, he dropped to the ground, slamming his fist into the pavement.
The ground rumbled, and before Yang could react, the street beneath her feet cracked open. Jaune disappeared into a newly created hole, dropping down into the sewers below.
"Get back here!" Yang shouted, but it was too late. He was gone.
Breathing heavily, Yang stood at the edge of the hole, her fists still clenched, her body aching from the effort. Her jaw was broken and she had three adult teeth missing. She could hear the bullhead landing behind her, the sound of hunters disembarking, but all she could think was…
She was tired.
She was Injured.
She was pissed.
"I'll fuckin' kill you, Arc…!"
—X~X—
Jaune sprinted through the labyrinthine sewers, the dim light barely illuminating the winding tunnels. His breath came in ragged gasps, each footstep splashing through the murky water below. The walls felt like they were closing in, the foul stench of the place clinging to his clothes and skin. He didn't know how or why, but he could 'feel' them—every hunter, every armed figure hunting him down from above. Their presence pressed against his senses like a heavy weight. It wasn't just paranoia; they were out there, right on his tail.
'How the hell can I sense them?'
He didn't have time to figure that out. All he knew was that they were getting closer, and these weren't just some Vale PD officers with tasers and handcuffs. No, these were full-on huntsmen, equipped with deadly weapons and Semblances that could tear him apart in seconds. And worse—each of them had their aura unlocked, making them a hell of a lot harder to deal with.
The sound of footsteps echoed behind him, getting louder with every passing second. He wasn't just running for his life; he was running against time, against the inevitable. 'I'm so dead,' he thought. His legs were screaming in protest, burning with fatigue as he pushed himself harder, faster.
Up ahead, a flicker of light—barely noticeable. 'A ladder!'
Without hesitating, Jaune made a sharp turn and bolted for the ladder, jumping onto it and climbing as fast as his trembling arms could carry him. His fingers slipped a few times on the wet rungs, but he forced himself to keep going. 'Just a bit more…'
At the top, he hesitated for a split second, stretching out his senses to make sure no huntsmen were lurking above. Nothing. He pulled himself up, crawling out into a dim, crumbling alleyway that led into an old, decaying slum.
The place looked deserted, abandoned for years, but Jaune knew better than to trust appearances. He scanned the area quickly before his eyes landed on a small, weathered hut that looked like it was on the verge of collapse. It was perfect. 'Hide first, think later.'
Without a second thought, he darted toward the hut, throwing himself inside. The door creaked, barely hanging on its rusty hinges, and the interior was just as rundown as the outside. Dust coated everything, cobwebs hanging from the ceiling like drapes. He found a half-broken bathroom, the tiles cracked and moldy, and slipped inside, crouching down low as he tried to steady his breathing. His heart pounded in his chest, hammering so hard he thought it would burst.
'They're coming.'
The sound of the manhole creaking open echoed through the slum, followed by the loud thud of boots hitting the ground. Jaune's heart rate spiked. He pressed his back against the bathroom wall, straining to listen.
"Spread out!" one of the huntsmen barked. "Arc's gotta be around here somewhere!"
Jaune's mind raced. If they found him here, it was over. They wouldn't hesitate to shoot him on sight, no questions asked. To them, he wasn't just some kid—he was a wanted criminal. A threat. And with how things had gone down, it wasn't like he could just talk his way out of this. His so-called "message" about world peace or whatever hadn't exactly been a friendly gesture. They'd probably just seen the headlines: 'Jaune Arc, murderer, declares war on Remnant.'
Yeah, they weren't here for a chat. They were here to take him down.
'Maybe I should've tried talking first,' he thought bitterly, his fists clenching. 'Too late for that now.'
The sound of heavy boots approached the hut, and Jaune froze. His body went stiff, his breath catching in his throat. The door creaked open, and he heard the unmistakable clank of weapons being drawn.
"He's gotta be in here," one of the hunters muttered. "Search every room."
Jaune swallowed hard, panic creeping into his veins. 'I'm so screwed.'
One of the hunters stomped through the door, his voice echoing through the small space. "Arc! Come out and make this easy on yourself, kid!"
'Oh, sure,' Jaune thought sarcastically, 'because getting shot is super easy.'
The bathroom door rattled as the huntsman reached for the knob. Jaune could almost see it now—the door flying open, the gun being pointed at his face. 'I'm done for.'
Just as the door started to open, an old, gravelly voice cut through the air like a knife.
"What in the goddamn hell are you doin' in my house?!" The voice was shrill, angry, and full of years of built-up frustration.
The huntsman paused, clearly taken aback. "What the—who are you?"
Suddenly, there was a loud 'whack' followed by a string of furious, senile curses. "You think you can just barge into my property, you little punk?! I'll smack the stupid outta you!"
There was the sound of something—'someone'—being hit repeatedly, and the huntsman let out a yelp of pain.
"Ow! What the hell, lady?!"
"I'll give ya somethin' to 'hell' about!" the old lady screeched. "Get your lazy ass outta my house before I break your legs!"
Jaune could hear the sound of the huntsman stumbling backward, crashing into furniture as the old woman continued to batter him with what sounded like a cane. The next thing Jaune knew, the man was bolting out the door, yelling, "Screw this! I'm not dealing with this crazy hag!"
Jaune sat there, stunned, heart pounding in his chest as silence returned. He couldn't believe it. Had he seriously just been saved by some random old lady?
The bathroom door swung open with a bang, and there she was. A hunched, gray-haired woman with thick glasses that made her eyes look twice their normal size. She squinted at Jaune for a moment before her eyes widened in recognition.
"Ben? Is that you, boy?" She shuffled closer, her cane tapping against the floor. "I knew it! I'd recognize my boy anywhere!"
Jaune's mouth opened and closed a few times as his brain tried to process what was happening. "Wait, no, I'm not—"
"Oh, hush up, Ben!" The old lady wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a surprisingly strong hug. "You've been gone for so long, I thought you'd forgotten your poor ol' mother!"
"I-I'm not—" Jaune tried again, but she squeezed him tighter, cutting off his words. His face was practically buried in her shoulder.
"Don't you 'I'm not' me, young man! Where've you been, huh? Leavin' your poor mother to fend for herself while you run off and do Lord-knows-what!" She released him just long enough to give him a stern look, wagging a bony finger in his face. "You oughta be ashamed of yourself!"
Jaune's brain was short-circuiting. "I-I'm not your son, I swear!"
"Ah, enough with your jokin'! You're Ben, alright, I'd know my boy anywhere!" She sniffed the air and wrinkled her nose. "Ugh, you smell like a sewer rat! What've you been rolling around in? Go take a bath while I cook you somethin'. You've gotten skinny."
Jaune blinked, still trying to find the words to explain that he wasn't her long-lost son. But honestly? After everything that had happened today, a bath sounded pretty damn nice. He hadn't realized just how gross he felt until now.
He sighed, defeated. "Yeah… alright. A bath sounds good."
Besides, he was starving. And the food he'd bought earlier? After crawling through the sewers, it wasn't exactly appetizing anymore. Maybe this crazy old lady's cooking wouldn't be so bad.
—X~X—
Lisa Lavender stood tall, her perfectly styled hair catching the studio lights as the cameras rolled. The ever-present, gleaming smile she wore stretched wide across her face, showcasing the level of confidence she had in front of the camera. She was the face of the hottest news show in Remnant, and today—today was about to be a 'massive' hit.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!" Lisa's voice was smooth, like silk gliding over a sharp edge, perfectly controlled, yet with an underlying excitement that promised scandal. "This is Lisa Lavender, your source for all things shocking and sensational in the world of Remnant! And oh boy, do we have a story for you tonight!"
The camera zoomed in as she took a deep breath, savoring the suspense she was building. The way she painted a picture was practically artful—after all, that was what made her show number one.
"Tonight, we delve into the terrifying rise of a boy—a boy who has become a 'terrifying creation of nature'," she paused for effect, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "A boy who was once thought of as nothing more than your average teenager, but now… now, he's something else entirely."
She let the silence hang for a moment longer before delivering the name like a punch to the gut.
"'Jaune Arc.'"
The words sent a ripple through the air, and the image of Jaune Arc, his messy blond hair and innocent face, flashed across the screen behind her. The contrast between his appearance and the dark narrative Lisa was spinning was too juicy to resist.
"Now, you might be asking yourself, 'Who is Jaune Arc?' Just a simple boy from a simple family? 'Wrong.'" Lisa's voice sharpened, her smile shifting into something more devious. "This boy, ladies and gentlemen, has become one of the most dangerous figures in our world. Let me break it down for you."
She waved her hand dramatically as the screen behind her changed to show grainy footage of Roman Torchwick—one of the most infamous criminals in Remnant—running from the police, laughing as he made his escape.
"First up, Jaune Arc was directly responsible for aiding the escape of Roman Torchwick. Yes, you heard that right! Our sources have confirmed that this so-called 'innocent' boy helped Torchwick slip right out of the clutches of the authorities. 'Why,' you ask? We can only speculate. Maybe there's something darker lurking beneath that baby-faced exterior." Lisa's eyes gleamed.
The screen flickered again, this time showing a more menacing figure—Adam Taurus, the revolutionary turned terrorist.
"But it doesn't stop there. Oh no, Jaune Arc wasn't content with just 'aiding' notorious criminals. He's also been linked to the death of 'Adam Taurus' himself." Lisa's voice took on a breathless quality, as if even she couldn't believe the sheer audacity of the claims she was making. "Adam Taurus, a ruthless killer who terrorized with the White Fang and beyond, cut down by this boy. Jaune Arc—who couldn't even swing a sword straight—took down one of the most feared men in all of Remnant."
She paused, letting the absurdity of the claim settle in. "Unbelievable, right? But that's not all."
The screen changed again, showing footage of a chaotic scene in front of a bakery. Glass was shattered, people were screaming, and the police were barely holding back a growing mob.
"This right here is what Jaune Arc caused after his little 'victory' over Taurus," she said, voice dripping with faux concern. "He instigated a full-blown 'riot' in broad daylight, right in front of a bakery. Yes, a bakery. Of all the places to wage chaos, Jaune Arc chose to start a fight in front of a family-run business! Near a police station, no less. But what could we expect from someone who's clearly spiraling out of control?"
Lisa leaned forward, her eyes narrowing conspiratorially. "And folks, if you think that's the worst of it… well, buckle up, because it only gets more disturbing from here."
The screen flickered again, this time to a blurry image of a young woman, her face blurred out, standing outside a café.
"Our sources have uncovered something truly horrifying. This brave young woman—whose name we cannot reveal for her own safety—was subjected to a vile, disgusting attack by none other than Jaune Arc." Lisa's voice became deadly serious, every word heavy with feigned outrage. "This girl was simply minding her own business when 'he' approached. According to eyewitnesses, Jaune Arc groped her chest, attacking her in broad daylight! She tried to fend him off, bless her heart, but he was too animalistic, too 'strong'."
The camera cut to Lisa's face, her expression grim, as though she were reporting on the fall of civilization itself.
"The poor girl, overwhelmed and overpowered by Jaune Arc, was left with 'serious injuries'. She's currently fighting for her life in the hospital as we speak." She paused, her eyes widening dramatically. "Yes, viewers, you heard me. She is fighting for her life."
Of course, she knew it was an exaggeration. Hell, the girl probably just had a bruised jaw and a bruised ego. But if the story sold? Then so be it.
Lisa's expression shifted, becoming more playful again, as she leaned back in her chair. "But, surprisingly, there are some people out there who still believe in Jaune Arc. Who see him as a hero, a 'savior'. Can you believe that, folks? It's truly astounding."
She tilted her head, as if genuinely baffled by the absurdity of it all. "Somehow, there's a group of individuals—people just like you and me—who think this boy, this menace, is the one who's going to save us all. It's baffling, really. But hey, who am I to judge?" She let out a mocking laugh.
"And let's not forget about his 'family'." The screen flickered again, this time showing a humble-looking house. "The Arc family has been taken into custody for interrogation. Authorities are pressing them hard, trying to uncover the truth behind Jaune Arc's transformation into a criminal mastermind. And yet, they 'refuse' to admit it. They insist he's innocent, that he's not the sociopathic killer, the 'boob groper' that we know him to be."
Lisa shook her head, her lips twitching with amusement. "It's really quite tragic."
The camera zoomed in on her face one last time, her smile returning in full force. "And that's all for tonight, folks. Stay tuned for more updates on Jaune Arc in my ongoing special: 'Jaune Arc: The Wooden Demon.'"
As the camera cut off and the lights dimmed, Lisa sighed and slumped back in her chair, relaxing her posture for the first time that evening. She glanced at the clerk and waved a hand. "Sharp coffee. Now."
She cracked her neck, smiling lazily. Today's live show had been a 'hit'. And tomorrow? Tomorrow was going to be even better. She just needed more dirt.
There were people she could rely on to dig it up, of course, but where was the fun in that? No, Lisa Lavender liked getting her hands dirty. 'Real' journalism wasn't about waiting for a story—it was about chasing it down, cornering it, and milking it for all it was worth.
This was going to be thrilling.
—X~X—
Jaune stepped out of the bathroom, his damp blonde hair falling messily over his forehead. The house—if you could even call it that—was small. No, scratch that. It was 'tiny'. A single room that served as a kitchen, living room, and bedroom all in one, with only the bathroom offering any sense of privacy. It smelled of old wood and fried food, a far cry from the sterile, cold environment he was used to, but somehow... oddly comforting.
His eyes landed on the old woman standing by the stove. Her back was hunched, her wrinkled hands trembling ever so slightly as she stirred something in a pan. The stove looked like it had been through at least three wars, but it still did its job, emitting a low hum as it heated the pan.
"Sit down, boy," the woman said in a raspy voice, not even turning to look at him. "You're skinnier than a stray cat. You need to eat."
Jaune hesitated, his heart still racing from the day's chaos, but his stomach growled loudly in response. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck before slumping into the creaky old chair at the rickety wooden table. The house may have been falling apart, but it had its charm. Like stepping back into a time where things were simpler—if a little rough around the edges.
She turned around and shuffled over to him, placing a plate in front of him. It was an omelet—simple, but the smell made his mouth water. He stared at it for a second, then picked up the fork she had placed beside the plate, his stomach growling again.
"Go on, eat it before it gets cold," the old woman, Casine, said, a strange warmth in her voice. She sounded... proud. Like she had just served a five-star meal at some fancy restaurant, even though it was just eggs and some kind of mystery meat.
Jaune took a bite. To his surprise, it was pretty damn good. Better than the garbage fast food he'd been living on lately. He let out a small, satisfied sigh and continued eating, trying not to wolf it down too fast.
Casine stood over him, watching with a small, bittersweet smile. "Where've you been all this time, Ben?" she asked softly, her voice trembling with both affection and accusation.
Jaune froze for a moment, fork halfway to his mouth. He swallowed hard. Here we go again.
"I'm... not Ben," he said, trying to keep his voice calm and gentle. He didn't want to upset the old lady more than she already was. "I'm really sorry, but I'm not your son."
Her face hardened. "Stop lyin', boy. You've been gone so long, you don't even recognize your own mother? You think I'm too old and senile to know my own flesh and blood?"
Jaune winced. "No, it's just—"
She cut him off, her voice rising slightly, but still filled with that motherly affection. "You're angry, ain't ya? Angry at me for not lettin' you go off and be a Huntsman all those years ago. You think I didn't want you to follow your dreams, huh? That I wanted to keep you trapped here, lookin' after me?"
Her hands trembled as she spoke, and Jaune could see the hurt in her eyes. This woman was 'convinced' he was her son, and no amount of logic was going to change her mind. He opened his mouth to try and explain again, but she waved him off, shaking her head.
"I didn't let you go back then 'cause I was scared, Ben," she said, her voice cracking. "You were all I had left. After your big sis passed, you were our whole world. I couldn't lose you too. Not to some Grimm. Not to some dangerous job. You don't know what it's like, to fear every day that your boy won't come home."
Jaune's chest tightened. He wanted to say something—'anything'—but his throat felt like it was closing up. This wasn't his life, but the emotions she was throwing at him were real. He could feel the weight of her fear and love, even if it was meant for someone else.
Just then, the door creaked open, and Jaune froze, his heart skipping a beat. His muscles tensed, ready to bolt, thinking for sure the cops had finally found him.
But no. It wasn't the authorities. It was an old man. A familiar old man.
"You?!" The man jabbed a finger at Jaune, his face twisted in confusion and accusation.
Jaune blinked, his brain scrambling to catch up. "Me?" He glanced at the man's weathered face and then it hit him. "Wait… you're the old guy from the forest that day!"
It wasn't exactly the whole truth. It had been more like two days ago. And it wasn't like he had really 'saved' him from the Grimm, more like stumbled into the situation and things just worked out. But still, close enough.
The man's eyes narrowed as he looked Jaune up and down, clearly not thrilled to see him. "What the hell are you doing here?!"
Before Jaune could answer, the old woman—Casine—stepped in, smacking him on the back of the head with surprising force for someone her age. "Ben! That's no way to talk to your father!"
"Casine, that's not—" The man's eyes widened as he looked at Jaune, who could only shrug helplessly. "Wait a minute... Ben. You're Ben?" She thinks you're Ben? It was left unsaid.
Jaune rubbed the back of his neck, the situation spiraling even more out of control. "Uh, yeah... long story."
The old man massaged his temples, sighing heavily. "Alright, kid… 'son'," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Explain to me what the 'hell' is goin' on here?"
Before Jaune could open his mouth to reply, Casine cut in again, her voice sharp and protective. "Billy! Let him eat first!" She shot a glare at the old man. "He's so skinny, for heaven's sake! Look at him, he's practically skin and bones!"
Jaune took the opportunity to shove another bite of the omelet into his mouth, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, listen to her," he mumbled between bites, desperately trying to avoid explaining why the entire 'Remnant' probably thought he was a criminal mastermind right now.
Billy, the old man, crossed his arms, clearly not buying it but relenting for the moment. "Fine. But you owe me—'us'—an explanation," he grumbled, his eyes narrowing as he leaned in closer. "And why the hell are you the talk of the whole damn town right now?"
Jaune swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry again. "Yeah... about that..." He took another bite, trying to delay the inevitable.
—X~X—
Jaune crouched in the corner of the cramped, dingy kitchen, fiddling with the rusty metal trap in his hands. He was struggling to get the thing to stay open, his fingers slick with sweat and nerves. The kitchen was just as small and old as the rest of the house, the dim light barely illuminating the peeling wallpaper and ancient, creaky cabinets. Mice had chewed holes in just about everything, and Casine, in her own motherly way, had given him the task of catching the little critters.
He'd never set a mouse trap before. Honestly, the thing looked like it had seen better days. It was a miracle the damn thing hadn't fallen apart in his hands yet. He grumbled under his breath, pressing down on the bar just right—click. There, it was set.
Suddenly, before Jaune could even breathe a sigh of relief, a rough hand grabbed him by the collar and yanked him up with a force that nearly made him drop the trap.
"Explain!" Billy barked, his voice gruff, filled with anger and desperation.
Jaune's eyes widened, his heart racing in his chest. "I-I don't—"
Billy didn't let up, his grip tightening. "You told me you wanted to become a Huntsman. Then why is the whole Remnant lookin' for you like you're some kind of damn criminal?"
"I… uh…" Jaune stammered, his mind blank as he stared into the furious eyes of the old man.
Billy's face hardened even more, his voice dripping with accusation. "You helped Roman Torchwick escape."
Jaune swallowed hard, sweat beading on his forehead. "It was…um… a mistake?"
The old man scoffed, his eyes narrowing even further. "And that's not all. Apparently, you killed the infamous Adam Taurus. You, the boy who couldn't even kill a small Grimm."
Jaune flinched at that. "Ouch. I'm not that weak, okay?"
Billy let out a harsh laugh, one with no humor in it whatsoever. "And the worst part, boy? You're IN MY HOUSE. My wife—Casine—she thinks you're our dead son."
Jaune's breath caught in his throat. "...Wait, what? Your son is… I'm really sorry, I didn't know—"
Billy shook his head, his expression shifting from anger to something darker, something haunted. "He was a moron."
Jaune blinked, unsure how to respond. Billy's grip loosened slightly, but his eyes remained fixed on the floor as if he was seeing something far away, something painful.
"Her name was Pisso. Our youngest." Billy's voice softened, but it wasn't gentle—it was the kind of softness that came from wounds that had never quite healed. "She was just a kid, Jaune. Barely old enough to leave the house. One day, a Grimm wandered too close to the village. No one was around to help… and Pisso thought she could protect herself. Thought she could fight back."
Jaune swallowed, the weight of Billy's words sinking in. He could see the memory flickering behind the old man's eyes like a distant nightmare.
"She didn't stand a chance," Billy continued, his voice cracking slightly. "That Grimm tore her apart before anyone could get to her. By the time we found her… there was nothin' left to save."
A heavy silence filled the room. Jaune felt a lump forming in his throat, unsure of what to say, unsure if anything could be said to ease that kind of pain.
Billy clenched his fists, his voice growing bitter. "And then Ben—our eldest—he decided he was gonna kill all the Grimm. For revenge, he said. Justice. How naïve can you get, huh?"
Jaune winced, nodding slowly. He didn't know what to say—how could he? He wasn't Ben, but hearing this, he couldn't help but feel a strange connection to the story. Maybe it was because he had his own dreams of being a hero once, his own idealistic views about what it meant to be strong, to protect others.
Billy's face darkened, his eyes filled with a mixture of anger and regret. "We tried to tell him it was madness. That no one could take on the Grimm alone, especially not some kid with no experience, no real weapon. We couldn't even afford a sword, so what did he do? He practiced with a stick. A goddamn stick, Jaune."
He let out a bitter laugh, his hands trembling. "We were furious with him. We told him he'd die out there, that he was too young, too stupid to understand what it really meant to fight. But he was stubborn, just like me. He left the house one day, didn't even look back. Headed to Beacon."
Jaune's heart sank as the old man continued, his voice growing colder, more detached. "He never came back."
Billy shook his head, staring off into the distance. "Beacon has this thing they call 'Initiation.' It's a goddamn weeding process, really. They throw kids—children, Jaune—into a forest full of Grimm. The ones who survive? They're chosen to be Huntsmen. The ones who don't… well, that's just too bad, huh? A school meant to cultivate heroes, they say. What kind of school throws their students to the wolves like that?"
Jaune's stomach churned. He had heard stories about Beacon's Initiation, but hearing it like this, from someone who had lost their son to that process, made it feel real. Too real.
Billy's voice cracked, and Jaune saw the glisten of a tear sliding down the old man's cheek. "Ben never came back, Jaune. Never even had a chance to prove himself. They found him… torn apart, just like his sister. And Casine… she cried for days. Days, Jaune. But I couldn't tell her the truth. Couldn't tell her that her baby was gone. She got sick after that, her eyesight went… she's almost blind now. We're too damn poor to treat her. Too damn poor to give her the life she deserved."
Jaune stood there, frozen, unsure of what to do, what to say. The air in the room felt heavy, suffocating. He wanted to disappear, to take back everything that had happened over the last few hours. He wasn't Ben, but right now, he wished he could be. He wished he could be the son they had lost, the one they needed.
A tear fell from Billy's cheek and splattered onto the floor. Jaune jumped, startled by the sudden vulnerability. Billy turned to him, his face twisted in anguish and anger.
"What's gonna happen to her, huh?" Billy shouted, his voice hoarse. "What happens when she realizes you're not Ben? What happens when you leave her too?"
"I—I…" Jaune stammered, his heart pounding in his chest. What could he say? There was no easy answer. No way to fix this.
Before he could find the words, Casine's soft voice floated into the room, breaking the tension like a cool breeze. "What are you boys doing in here?" she asked, her voice tired but gentle. She shuffled into the kitchen, a warm smile on her face. "Stop yer chatterin' and help me clean up this mess."
Jaune and Billy both froze, their eyes wide as they looked at the frail old woman standing in the doorway, completely unaware of the storm that had just passed.
"...alright."
—X~X—
"Ouch, careful with that!" Yang winced as Kitsune carefully adjusted her jaw, the distinct crackling sound of bone resetting making her shudder. Kitsune, the Academy's resident healer, was methodical, if not a little too stern for Yang's taste. Her gentle yet firm hands worked efficiently, but no matter how good she was at patching people up, she couldn't take away the sting of what had happened.
"Relax, Yang, it's not gonna get worse if you stay still," Kitsune muttered, squinting as she examined Yang's twisted ankle, which had already started swelling.
"Not gonna get worse? My jaw is broken, my ankle feels like a truck ran over it, and look at these!" Yang shoved her knuckles into the air. The bruises, a dark purple and green hue, stretched over her swollen fingers. "Fractured knuckles. Fractured, Kitsune. How is this gonna help me tomorrow? Tell me!"
Kitsune sighed. "They'll heal. Your Aura's doing most of the work already. You just need some rest—"
"What won't heal is my pride," Yang cut in, slamming a fist onto the cot she was sitting on. "That fuckin' perv!"
In a blur of motion, Yang kicked her leg out, aiming at nothing in particular, but Ruby, who had been standing nearby nervously biting her lip, barely dodged it. She stumbled back, knocking into a rolling tray full of medical supplies that clattered to the floor.
"Yang! Calm down!" Ruby shouted, her silver eyes wide with panic. "You're gonna hurt yourself even more if you keep doing that!"
"I don't care about calming down, Ruby!" Yang snapped, her eyes flashing red with fury.
"That bastard Jaune is walking around out there, all smug, and I've got three adult teeth missing! THREE, Ruby! They're not growing back! I look like I went a round with a chainsaw!"
She jabbed her finger at her mouth, glaring at the small gap in her teeth that had once been home to a perfectly good set of pearly whites.
"But you said that you attacked him first! Doesn't that mean it's kind of… um… your fault?"
"Do you have any idea what this means?!" Yang's voice was borderline hysterical now. "I'm gonna look like a hillbilly for the rest of my life! And for what? Some perverted freak gropes me and then knocks my teeth out? Oh, he's gonna pay. He's gonna pay big time. I'm gonna—"
Yang's fists clenched as she tried to stand up, only for her injured ankle to give way. She wobbled and had to grab onto the side of the cot to keep from faceplanting. Ruby rushed forward to help her, eyes full of concern, but Yang shoved her sister away with a huff.
"I'm fine, Ruby. I don't need anyone's pity."
Ruby shook her head, trying to reason with her. "Yang, you've gotta think rationally! You can't just go after Jaune like this. He's—"
"Dangerous?!" Yang cut her off, eyes burning with anger. "Dangerous, my ass! I'll show him who's dangerous! I'll rip his arms off and beat him with them! I'll rip off his p—"
The door to the infirmary suddenly swung open, and in walked Glynda Goodwitch, looking as stern and unamused as ever. Right behind her was Professor Ozpin, who strolled in with his signature coffee mug in hand, looking far more casual about the whole situation than anyone should've been.
"That's enough," Glynda said sharply, her eyes narrowing at Yang. "There will be no yelling in the infirmary. And you will mind your language, Miss Xiao Long."
Yang's eyes shot daggers at her. "Language? Language? You're worried about my language when that psycho is still out there running free? You should be worried about him, not me!"
"We are worried about him," Glynda replied, her voice cool and controlled. "Jaune Arc is still at large, but rest assured, we will find him soon. However, in the meantime, you need to take care of yourself. Throwing tantrums isn't going to help."
Ozpin, sipping his coffee calmly as though this were just another ordinary day, gave Yang a glance over the rim of his cup. "The initiation is tomorrow," he said, his voice soft but firm. "But given your injuries, Miss Xiao Long, you don't need to attend. We've granted you a free pass."
"I don't want your fucking pity!" Yang roared, her temper flaring again. She swung her leg in frustration, and Ruby, for the second time that day, had to duck to avoid getting hit.
But Yang's wild swing didn't just send her sister scrambling this time. Her hand, flailing in anger, made contact with something solid and round.
Ozpin's mug.
The mug slipped from his hand as if in slow motion, spinning through the air with an almost majestic grace, before it flew straight into Glynda Goodwitch's face with a dull, wet thud.
There was a heavy silence as Glynda's eyes widened in shock, coffee dripping down her chin as the ceramic cup fell to the floor with a clatter. Ruby's heart practically stopped in her chest as she stared, horrified.
"Oh... dear," Ruby whispered, barely able to breathe.
Ozpin stood frozen, his hand still outstretched as if waiting for the mug to somehow return. He blinked slowly, then shifted his gaze from the shattered mug to Glynda, whose face was now a mixture of disbelief and pure, unbridled rage.
The room was silent for a beat too long, and Yang, realizing what had just happened, winced.
"Uh... I didn't mean to..."
Glynda slowly wiped the coffee from her eyes, her glare intensifying with every passing second.
"Miss... Xiao... Long," she said in a voice that was so calm, it was terrifying. "You have just made a huge mistake."
Yang gulped. "I, uh... sorry?" she offered weakly, though the apology was far from sincere.
Ruby, still frozen in place, felt like the world was going to end right there.
Yang, on the other hand, despite the fear crawling up her spine, couldn't help but let out a deep sigh. "Fuck me,"
—X~X—
Author Note: Hey there! Hope everyone's doing great.
So, just a heads up—this story is meant to be a bit of a half-crack, meaning there's plenty of humor and randomness, but as you've noticed, I've also woven in some darker tones. That means things may take a slightly different turn than what you might've expected.
Now, about some of you wanting him to go full "Madara Mode." I'm totally open to it if the majority is on board. Maybe go down the "Eren Yeager" route or even throw in some "Kaneki Syndrome" vibes. But here's the deal: if at least ten of you review and support the idea, I'll make it happen. Otherwise, we'll keep things on course and see where it leads us. In other words: Jaune will be Jaune.
Drop your thoughts and ideas in the review section, and let's make this story even better together.
Till next time!
~Phoenix.