Three fucking hours. That's how long Jaune had been stewing in this godforsaken building, nerves shot, heart pounding, trying to make sense of the complete disaster his life had become. With every passing minute, it was like the walls were closing in on him, and his anxiety was turning from a small, gnawing pit in his stomach into a full-on monster about to eat him alive.

He fumbled with his scroll again, scrolling through the countless news articles and social media posts. Every time he refreshed, the public's opinion of him kept getting worse. Like, 'way' worse.

"He must be working for Salem!" one post screamed.

Jaune scoffed, shaking his head. 'Working for Salem?' The idea was so far-fetched it was laughable. But apparently, people loved their conspiracy theories.

Another comment popped up, this one with thousands of likes: "Is he a psycho? Does he enjoy killing people?"

Jaune's stomach turned at that. 'No, I don't, you fucking morons.' He wasn't some bloodthirsty maniac. He couldn't even look at a spider without feeling guilty about squashing it.

And then, to top it all off, there was the most absurd comment he'd seen all day: "Jaune Arc must have been abused by his family, which led him to this life of crime."

"'What the hell?!'" Jaune burst out, his voice echoing through the empty building. "Are you fucking kidding me?!"

His family? 'His' family? The most loving, supportive, and, honestly, 'smothering' bunch of people he'd ever known? He could practically hear his mom's voice scolding him right now for not washing behind his ears as a kid. 'Yeah, real abusive.'

He couldn't read any more of this garbage. It was like the world had collectively lost its mind. He shut the scroll off, tossing it aside in frustration, and leaned back against the wall, staring up at the cracked ceiling.

There 'had' to be a way out of this. But what?

Jaune let out a long, tired sigh. He couldn't just stroll out of here and go on with his life like nothing had happened. The moment he showed his face, the police would be on him, guns blazing. And who knows if the White Fang was hunting him down too? Although, to be fair, 'their' hideout did just get raided last night, so they probably had bigger fish to fry at the moment.

He had tried calling his parents and sisters earlier, hoping for some kind of lifeline, but every call failed to go through. It wasn't like his scroll was busted either. The connection was fine, his balance was topped up. So why couldn't he reach anyone?

'Of course. Just my luck,' Jaune thought, gritting his teeth. Maybe the universe was conspiring against him. Or maybe this was just the universe's twisted idea of a joke.

He ran his hands through his hair, thinking over his options, none of which were great. Maybe he could hide out here for a while, wait until the heat died down. But then what? He'd just be delaying the inevitable. The moment he tried to leave Vale, he'd be caught.

Or… he could try sneaking out of the city. Maybe smuggle himself onto a cargo ship or hitch a ride to some remote town where nobody knew who he was. But that sounded more like a plot from one of those crappy TV dramas than an actual, workable plan.

'What if I went to the police myself?' Jaune thought for a moment, but the idea was quickly dismissed. 'Right, because that worked out so well last time,' he thought bitterly, remembering the fiasco at the bakery. He might as well paint a giant target on his back and hand them the gun.

As he ran through more and more ideas, dismissing each one faster than the last, the realisation slowly dawned on him. His biggest enemy right now wasn't just the police or the White Fang—it was the fucking 'media.' Social media, news reporters, all of them were making this whole thing a thousand times worse by exaggerating everything, blowing it all out of proportion, and spreading it like wildfire.

And then, it hit him.

'"I wonder…"'

Jaune wasn't always the sharpest tool in the shed, but he wasn't an idiot either. If the media was the problem, maybe the media could also be the solution. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as the idea began to form. It was risky as hell, and it could go south in about a million different ways, but at this point, he didn't have a lot of options left.

He grabbed his scroll again, flipping it on. The screen flickered weakly—only three percent battery left. 'Shit,' he needed to move fast.

Jaune glanced around the room, looking for something to prop his scroll up on. His eyes landed on an old, dusty brick near the wall. It wasn't exactly top-of-the-line tech, but it'd have to do. He set his scroll on the brick, adjusting it until the camera was pointed right at him.

Then, with a deep breath, he sat down across from it.

"Alright, Jaune. You've got this," he muttered to himself, feeling his nerves already starting to kick in. He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants, staring into the little camera lens. The red light blinked, recording.

He opened his mouth to speak but immediately stumbled over his words. "Uh, h-hi. I mean—shit." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, feeling the heat rising to his face. "Okay, uh… My name's Jaune. Jaune Arc. And… uh, I'm not a killer. I swear."

His voice trembled a bit, his nerves getting the best of him. 'God, this is so awkward.' He could feel the pressure building, knowing he was running out of time. But he forced himself to push through it.

"This is all… this is just a big misunderstanding. I— I didn't 'mean' for any of this to happen. The whole thing with Roman Torchwick— I didn't know who he was at the time! I thought he was just some old dude in a suit. I was only trying to help, I swear!" His hands fumbled in the air as he talked, his voice getting a little more confident as he went on.

"And the fight with that Adam Taurus guy… I didn't even know who 'he' was either! He just attacked me, and I—I panicked! It was self-defense, that's all! I didn't mean to kill him, it just… happened." His chest tightened as he spoke those words aloud, the weight of the whole situation crashing down on him again.

He took another deep breath, trying to keep calm. "I'm just asking—no, I'm begging you guys to hear me out. I'm not some psycho murderer. I'm not working with Roman Torchwick or Salem or whoever. I'm just a regular guy who got caught up in something way bigger than I could handle."

The screen flickered again, the battery power draining fast. Jaune cursed under his breath, realizing he didn't have much time left. He quickly leaned forward, finishing his plea.

"I don't want to hurt anybody. Please, just… consider my situation. I don't know how it got to this point, but I don't want to keep running. Just… don't be hostile towards me. I'm innocent. I swear."

The screen flickered one last time, and Jaune's heart raced as he hurried to save the video. His fingers trembled as he selected the file, the scroll's screen dimming dangerously. He quickly navigated to the email app, attaching the video, and typing out an address.

"'Vale Today,'" he whispered, as he clicked the send button.

The scroll made a weak, sputtering sound, and the screen finally died.

But not before the video had been sent. 'It worked. It fucking worked.'

Jaune leaned back against the wall, letting out a long sigh of relief. "Hopefully, they'll see it and understand," he muttered to himself, closing his eyes.

But deep down, he knew better.

In a world as screwed up as this, nothing ever goes as planned.

—X~X—

Ozpin sat behind his desk, casually sipping from his ever-present mug of coffee. His eyes never left the man seated across from him—General James Ironwood. The room hummed with a thick tension, though it was masked beneath polite smiles and a veneer of professionalism.

The general had come for some diplomatic issue, but now they were just "chatting." Except this wasn't the type of friendly banter old friends enjoyed over tea. No, this was something else entirely. Like two apex predators sizing each other up, they sat across from one another, exchanging subtle jabs, their words dipped in just enough sarcasm to avoid open hostility.

"So," Ozpin began with a slight smirk, his voice calm yet laced with that patronizing tone only he could pull off, "how are things in Atlas Academy?"

Ironwood, ever the proud military man, gave a tight-lipped grin. "Better than yours, I'd say."

Ozpin raised an eyebrow, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "Oh, is that so?"

The general shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well, we don't exactly have criminals escaping right under our noses."

Ozpin leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "And yet, it seems like the military is always cleaning up your messes, James."

There it was. The subtle back-and-forth, the passive-aggressive jabs. Neither would admit it, but this little game of theirs had been going on for years. What started as a friendly rivalry had long since turned into something else—a contest of egos.

Ironwood's smile faltered for a split second before he leaned back in his chair, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "You know, Ozpin, it's easy to criticize from behind a desk. Some of us don't have that luxury."

Ozpin chuckled softly, shaking his head. "If that's your way of saying you're envious, James, just admit it. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

Ironwood's eyes narrowed, the tension between them thickening as their glares turned into a silent battle of wills. They weren't yelling—not quite—but the fire in their eyes spoke volumes. They were having a full-on glaring contest, and neither was about to back down.

Just as things were about to heat up further, Ozpin's scroll beeped, breaking the tense silence. He pulled it out, glancing at the screen. A message from Glynda. 'Highly Important', it read, followed by a video link.

"Huh," Ozpin muttered, his fingers already moving to open it. "Excuse me for a moment."

He clicked the link, the screen flickering to life as a video began to play. It was a minute and forty-three seconds long, featuring a blond boy with blue eyes, sitting under a tree.

Jaune Arc? The boy who had killed Adam Taurus and allegedly aided Roman Torchwick?

"What are you watching?" James asked, his curiosity piqued.

Without a word, Ozpin angled the scroll so Ironwood could see. It wasn't often that something caught his attention like this, but if Glynda had flagged it as important, it was worth sharing. Together, they watched as the video unfolded.

Onscreen, Jaune Arc looked into the camera, his face pale, his expression haunted. His eyes, usually bright and full of that youthful innocence, were now hollow. Empty, like the kid had seen things that no one his age should've ever witnessed.

"My fellow people of this fractured world…" Jaune began, his voice calm but unnervingly cold. The kind of calm that sent a shiver down your spine. "For too long, you have lived in the shadows of hatred, beneath the illusion of 'peace' that has only been a mask for complacency."

Ozpin frowned. This was already sounding… off.

Jaune stood up in the video, his white overcoat catching the fading light of the setting sun, casting a surreal glow over him. "You call it unity, but what unity can exist in a world where the few thrive, and the many are crushed? You speak of freedom, yet it is nothing more than chains disguised as choice. This is not peace. This is failure."

Ozpin's eyes narrowed, his hand instinctively gripping the armrest of his chair a little tighter. "I don't like where this is going," he muttered under his breath.

"Imagine a tree," Jaune continued, pacing slowly as he spoke, "tall and mighty, whose branches stretch across the sky. But its roots? They rot beneath the surface, unseen. The world we live in is like that tree. The rot of discrimination, of hatred, and division festers deep within its roots, weakening its very core. You cannot heal such a tree by watering its branches. No... the rot must be cut out entirely, even if the tree must fall."

Ozpin's grip on his mug tightened, his knuckles turning white. 'Wait. What?'

"Sacrifices will be made, blood will be shed—this is the price of cleansing the rot," Jaune declared, his voice growing more intense, more resolute. "I will be the one to wield the axe, to cut away the decay, no matter how deep it runs. History will remember me as a monster, but I will wear that label with pride, for I know what must be done. You see me as a tyrant? Perhaps I am. But only through destruction can true harmony be born. Only through fire can the impurities of this world be burned away."

Ironwood's jaw clenched. "He's delusional," he said, his voice tight. "This kid's out of his mind."

The video continued, Jaune's voice unwavering as he pressed on. "Do not mistake my actions for cruelty. It is mercy. For the peace I seek is not one of compromise, but of perfection — a world where no one suffers under the weight of name, creed, or blood. A world where the chains of hate and prejudice no longer exist. I am not here to conquer for the sake of power. I am here to liberate."

Ozpin's heart sank. This boy—this 'child'—was talking about starting a war. A war that would tear apart everything they'd been trying to protect. Did Jaune even realize what he was saying? Did he really think he had the power to back up these outrageous claims?

"So hate me if you must, call me a villain," Jaune said, his expression hardening. "But one day, you will understand—when the fires have died down, and the new world stands, unblemished by the old, you will thank me."

The video ended with Jaune's final words hanging in the air like a death sentence.

"I will carve this world anew, and peace, true peace, will rise from the ashes. The world will hate me, but in time, it will know I was right."

There was a heavy silence in the room as the video cut off, leaving Ozpin and Ironwood staring at the now black screen.

Ironwood was the first to break the silence, letting out a derisive snort. "This is just hype. A kid spouting nonsense, nothing more."

But Ozpin wasn't so sure. His instincts—honed over decades of dealing with threats to the world—told him that this was more than just empty talk. There was a conviction in Jaune's eyes, a dangerous one.

"I don't know, James," Ozpin muttered, his voice low, almost to himself. "I think we need to take this seriously."

Ironwood raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? Ozpin, it's a kid with a martyr complex. We've seen this before. He doesn't have the resources, the backing—hell, he barely has a plan."

But Ozpin couldn't shake the feeling that something darker was brewing. He was biased, of course. There was too much at stake for him to ignore this.

—X~X—

Blake sat in silence, her amber eyes locked on the screen as the video played, displaying the eerie, hollow gaze of Jaune Arc. The boy—no, the 'murderer'—spoke with a chilling calmness, his words laced with conviction, not fear. No hesitation. No remorse. Just pure, psychotic resolve.

"I will carve this world anew, and peace, true peace, will rise from the ashes. The world will hate me, but in time, it will know I was right."

The video ended, freezing on the image of Jaune under the tree, his dead eyes staring right back at her as if daring her to stop him.

Blake paused the video, leaning back in her chair with a deep sigh. Her fingers hovered over the comment section, and despite her better judgment, she scrolled down to see what the world had to say about this kid who just declared himself some kind of messiah through genocide.

Most of the comments were as expected.

'Teenage crisis, it's natural. Let him cry it out, lol.'

'This kid needs therapy and a damn hug. What a moron.'

'Hey, bro, I think your edgy anime villain audition's on the other side of the internet!'

'Someone's been watching too much 'Attack on Grimm'. Chill out, kid.'

Blake rolled her eyes. She had no patience for the internet's idiocy, but she couldn't stop herself from scrolling further.

'Damn, look at the fire in his eyes. I kinda respect it, kid's got a vision.'

'Lowkey, this is exactly what the world needs. He's right. Shit's gotta change, and it ain't gonna happen peacefully.'

'I mean, he's not 'wrong'. The system's broken.'

'You know what, he's got a point. Not saying I agree, but I get it.'

Of course, there were always the armchair philosophers. People who saw a dangerous psychopath and thought, 'Yeah, this dude's got it figured out.'

And then, there were the fence-sitters, the ones who weren't sure what to make of it.

'Is this for real, or some kinda stunt?'

'I mean, he 'sounds' crazy, but I dunno, he's not completely off base?'

'I can't tell if this is genius or just plain stupid. Maybe both?'

'Bro's either about to start World War or win a Nobel Peace Prize.'

Blake sighed again and shut off her screen. There was too much noise. Too much attention. She couldn't move freely if Jaune's face was plastered all over every news outlet, social media feed, and gossip thread.

'Where was he last seen?'

She thought back to the reports. Right, near the police station. The bakery close by. It didn't make sense for him to stay in the city, not with all eyes on him. No, he wasn't that stupid. He'd go somewhere out of sight, somewhere quiet. Somewhere no one would think to look.

'The abandoned real estate on the outskirts.'

A smirk tugged at Blake's lips. Yeah, that would make sense. That's where he'd be hiding. That's where she'd find him.

But…

Would it be that easy?

"Wood Release…" she muttered under her breath, thinking back to what she'd read about his Semblance. It was unique. Dangerous. Large-scale destruction capabilities. He could create barriers, shields—hell, even entire structures out of nothing but wood. Fast enough to block bullets moving at two hundred meters per second.

That kind of defense? She couldn't just walk up to him and take him down. She needed a plan. A strategy. Weapons. And maybe… a crew.

But who?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sudden buzzing of her scroll. The screen lit up with an unknown number. For a moment, she hesitated, her instincts on high alert. Then she answered.

"Hello?"

Nothing. Silence.

"Hello?" she repeated, her voice sharper this time, more commanding.

A familiar voice finally responded, cold and calm. "Blake."

Blake's eyes narrowed. "...Sienna Khan."

There was a pause, and then the woman on the other end spoke again. "I'm sorry about Adam."

Blake's grip tightened on the scroll, her teeth grinding together. She didn't need sympathy. Not from 'her'.

"He was a good leader," Sienna continued, her tone carrying a touch of sincerity that Blake wasn't buying. "He wanted what was best for us. For the Faunus. He fought to secure our rights. To make sure we were never stepped on again."

Blake's throat tightened. Adam… He had once been that idealist. The passionate leader who'd wanted to change the world. But somewhere along the way, that passion turned into hatred, into something dark and twisted. She wasn't going to pretend he died a hero.

"What do you want, Sienna?" Blake snapped, cutting through the pleasantries. She wasn't in the mood for a trip down memory lane. This woman had stripped her parents from power and overtook the White Fang, making it a violent group— a terrorist group instead of being a pacifist organization.

Sienna's voice hardened. "The White Fang in Vale is leaderless now. Disorganized. They're running around like a headless beast. I need someone I can trust to take control."

Blake felt a sharp pang in her chest. The White Fang… her old family. The one she left behind. 'For Adam.'

"I left it," Blake said coldly, her tone leaving no room for discussion.

"You left it for Adam," Sienna countered, her voice growing more intense, "who is now 'dead'."

Blake's jaw clenched. That was low, even for Sienna. "I'm not coming back."

"And what will you do?" Sienna pressed. "Are you going to hunt down his killer by yourself? Do you really think you can take Jaune Arc on alone?"

Blake fell silent. Sienna knew exactly what buttons to push, and Blake hated that it was working. She couldn't do this on her own. Jaune wasn't just some random kid with a grudge. He was dangerous. Unpredictable. And if his Semblance was anything like what the rumors said, then taking him down wouldn't be as simple as a quick strike in the night.

"Ozpin is keeping an eye on me," Blake said. "I think he even bugged my scroll."

"Don't worry, Vale's tech is not as advanced as Atlas's. But yes, I agree that he is keeping an eye on you."

"And how are you going to help me?"

Sienna's voice softened, almost pleading now. "I can help you, Blake. I can give you the resources you need to take him down. You want revenge for Adam? Let me help you get it.".

There was a long, heavy pause. Blake's mind raced, weighing her options. She hated this. Hated that she was even considering it. But Jaune Arc wasn't just some killer. He was a threat. Not just to her, but to everything she stood for.

"You kill people,"

"Yeah, but for the sake of Faunus—"

"More for like yourself," Blake stated flatly. "Besides, I am done with robbing people and all those unnecessary crimes."

"You can leave the group once you've killed him," Sienna said. "Just make sure the White Fang in Vale are motivated and organized, you don't necessarily need to participate."

"What about Ozpin? I can't lead the White Fang like this."

"We'll have it handled," Sienna reassured.

"What's in it for you?"

"Honestly, not much. Just squeeze out the intel from Arc after you capture him. That's it."

It was a tempting offer. Sienna had taken away everything from her parents. The White Fang's principles are completely bastardized. But could she subtly, but eventually take it back to its former glory?

Finally, she sighed, her resolve hardening. "Fine," she muttered. "But this doesn't mean I'm coming back permanently."

Sienna's voice was smooth, satisfied. "Of course, Blake. This is just… business."

Blake hung up, her thoughts spinning. She had a plan now. A direction. And with Sienna's help, she might just be able to pull this off. But deep down, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was walking into something far bigger than revenge.

Something far more dangerous than she ever anticipated.

—X~X—

Jaune tugged the surgical mask over his face, giving a weak cough for effect. He didn't need anyone recognizing him, especially not in broad daylight. With all the attention on his head after those unpleasant situations with the authorities, he was practically a walking target. The mask helped. Sort of.

He just had to look like a sick guy, right? People wouldn't give a second glance if they thought he was down with some flu or whatever. That was the plan. Blend in, get food, and go back to that dingy abandoned building he was squatting in. Not that he wanted to stay there forever, but he didn't exactly have a lot of options. The hunger pangs twisting his stomach didn't help either. That place was crawling with rats, but as desperate as he was, Jaune Arc wasn't 'that' desperate.

His hoodie was flipped inside out, the fabric scratchy against his skin, and he wore an old pair of jeans, hoping to look like just another broke teenager wandering the streets. So far, it was working. Nobody stared too long, nobody whispered his name. He could almost pretend he was invisible. 'Almost.'

Avoiding the main streets and crowded areas, he found a small, run-down café tucked away in a quiet corner. Perfect. Only a few people inside, and nobody who looked like they gave a damn about news or celebrity drama. Just normal folks.

A girl, no older than him, sat at one of the tables. She had red hair, pulled back messily, and wore hunter gear. She was scarfing down a burger like it was her first meal in days, completely absorbed in it. Jaune quickly glanced away, not wanting to make eye contact. He made his way to the counter, his hands shoved into his pockets.

"Yeah?" The guy behind the counter, a chubby man with a thin mustache, looked up lazily from the register. "What can I get for ya?"

"Uh, I'll take six chicken energy bars," Jaune said, his voice muffled slightly by the mask. "Can you… package them, please?"

"Aye," the man grunted, disappearing into the kitchen without another word.

Jaune stood there, leaning against the counter, his eyes darting around the café. He forced himself to focus on the TV hanging above the counter, a documentary playing about some forgotten history. Good. At least it wasn't the news, because the last thing he needed was his own face flashing on the screen while he stood there.

The man returned, a brown bag in hand. "Here ya go."

Jaune fumbled out the lien, paid quickly, and grabbed the bag. Just as he was about to leave, something caught his eye.

There, sitting on the bare shoulder of the redheaded girl, was a bee. A big one, just chillin', like it was about to cause a world of pain. She hadn't noticed it yet. She was still too busy stuffing her face.

'Damn it,' Jaune thought. He should just leave. He didn't want the attention. Not like this.

But... his hero complex kicked in. 'Ugh, fine.'

"E-excuse me, miss," He called, the girl's posture stiffened, indicating she was listening.

"Don't move," he said softly, but with enough authority that the girl froze mid-bite, her mouth still full of burger.

She didn't turn her head toward him, but he could imagine her eyes wide and confused. "Hu-aye?" she mumbled around the food in her mouth.

"Because if you do," Jaune explained calmly, "this bee on your shoulder is gonna sting you. Trust me, they feel 'very' bad—I speak from experience."

The girl's spine straightened. She swallowed hard, nearly choking on her food. "Wh-who are you?" she stammered.

"Not important," Jaune muttered, stepping closer. "Just someone stuck in a really messy situation."

Without waiting for her to respond, he reached out and gently picked the bee off her shoulder with his bare hand. Immediately, the little bastard stung him right on the finger. Jaune winced, biting down on his lip to stop himself from yelping in pain. He expected the area to swell up, but instead, the sting quickly subsided, and the tiny wound sealed itself almost instantly.

'Aura's doing its job,' Jaune thought with a sigh of relief.

With that, he walked away.

—X~X—

Pyrrha grinned, savoring the taste of her burger. It was greasy, salty, and absolutely delicious. After dealing with fancy banquets and expensive, over-seasoned food for most of her life, this cheap burger was a breath of fresh air. Who needed caviar or filet mignon when you had a simple, greasy burger?

She leaned back in her chair, happily ignoring the headlines playing on the TV in the background. There was talk about some criminal on the loose. Some boy named Jaune Arc who'd apparently killed Adam Taurus and gotten into a brawl with the cops earlier that morning. Oh, and there was his "big speech" about starting a world war, or something like that.

Pyrrha didn't really give a damn about it. Honestly, all the drama around that boy sounded like a headache she didn't need. She was just here to enjoy her food and avoid the press—or worse, crazy fans.

Suddenly, she felt a strange presence enter the café. It was strong, overwhelming even. She stiffened slightly but didn't look up. Must be some seasoned hunter passing through. As long as they didn't recognize her or turn this into a fan moment, she didn't care.

She spared a glance, and to her surprise, it wasn't some intimidating hunter. Just a regular-looking boy, maybe a little sickly. He had a surgical mask on and a hoodie that looked like it had seen better days. He didn't even glance in her direction. Good. She didn't need the attention.

He ordered his food and waited by the counter. For a brief moment, Pyrrha thought his voice sounded vaguely familiar, but she brushed it off. She was just being paranoid.

He got his food and was about to leave when suddenly he spoke, his voice sharp and commanding.

"Excuse me, miss,"

Huh. Was he talking to her? 'Avoid him, don't look back.'

"Don't move."

Pyrrha nearly choked on her burger. "Hu-aye?" she mumbled, caught off guard.

The boy didn't flinch. "Because if you do," he said in a calm, almost too-casual voice, "this bee on your shoulder is gonna sting. Trust me, they feel very bad—I speak from experience."

Her first instinct was to reach for her spear. 'Is this guy threatening me?' But his voice… there was something about it.

"Wh-who are you?" she choked out, her throat tight with the sudden rush of nerves.

"Not important," he replied. "Just someone stuck in a really messy situation."

Pyrrha felt him brush against her skin as he gently tapped her shoulder. She tensed, ready to defend herself, but then it hit her.

That voice. She 'knew' that voice.

Her mind raced, connecting the dots. The viral video. The declaration. The wanted criminal.

Jaune Arc.

Before she could react, he was gone, walking out of the café without another word, leaving her sitting there, stunned.

"What the fuck just happened?" Pyrrha muttered to herself, still in disbelief.

—X~X—

Jaune had barely made it halfway back to the abandoned real estate building. He'd picked up a couple of chicken energy bars, some sodas—just enough to tide him over for the night while he laid low. But as he passed by a TV showroom, his casual stroll ground to a halt. His reflection flickered on the glass, but it wasn't just him.

On the multiple large screens behind the glass, there was a face staring back at him—a face he recognized instantly, but one he 'really' wished he didn't. It was 'his' face, but... not quite. His eyes were hollowed out, almost lifeless, his hair disheveled under a white cloak that draped ominously over his shoulders.

'Oh no... oh no, no, no...'

He felt the blood drain from his face as the words started to echo through the speakers outside the shop, reverberating across the street. His voice—calm, collected, chilling—cut through the noise of Vale's busy streets like a cold wind.

"My fellow people of this fractured world…"

Jaune's mouth went dry. His heart started racing in a wild panic as he heard his own words—well, 'cosplay villain speech' words—spill out onto the public airwaves.

'What the hell? How is this happening?'

Actually, in the attempt to send the video before the scroll's battery had died out, he had accidentally sent the wrong video…

"For too long, you have lived in the shadows of hatred, beneath the illusion of 'peace' that has only been a mask for complacency..."

People were starting to stop, watching with increasing curiosity as Jaune's onscreen self, looking very much like the next great evil, continued his speech. His voice was drenched in the kind of theatrical menace you only hear from villains who have too much time on their hands.

"You call it unity, but what unity can exist in a world where the few thrive, and the many are crushed?" The video of Jaune leaned forward, eyes darkening. "You speak of freedom, yet it is nothing more than chains disguised as choice. This is not peace. This is failure."

Jaune's heart hammered in his chest. 'No, no, no! This was just a joke! It wasn't supposed to—'

The people around him started whispering, pointing. Some were pulling out their scrolls, recording the screen or talking into their communicators.

'Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.' His brain screamed at him to do 'something'—to yank the power cord, break the glass, 'run'. But all he could do was stand there in paralyzed horror, listening as his own words spelled out what sounded like the manifesto of a madman.

"Imagine a tree, tall and mighty, whose branches stretch across the sky. But its roots? They rot beneath the surface, unseen. The world we live in is like that tree. The rot of discrimination, of hatred, and division festers deep within its roots, weakening its very core. You cannot heal such a tree by watering its branches. No... the rot must be cut out entirely, even if the tree must fall."

A low murmur of concern washed over the small crowd gathering near the shop. Jaune's face was now plastered across every screen inside, his ominous monologue ringing out in a loop of doom and gloom.

Jaune swallowed hard. 'I'm so screwed.'

The people around him weren't just staring now—they were 'staring' at him. 'At him.' He could feel their eyes on him, burning holes into his back. He had to get out of there, now. This was way beyond some random kid making a dumb video. This was a full-blown catastrophe.

The speech continued, turning even darker as the onscreen Jaune—the 'villain' he was 'pretending' to be—spoke of bloodshed, sacrifice, and the "necessary destruction" to bring about a new world.

Jaune's eyes darted around nervously. His legs were shaking, his body practically begging him to bolt.

"Sacrifices will be made. Blood will be shed—this is the price of cleansing the rot. I will be the one to wield the axe, to cut away the decay, no matter how deep it runs…"

"Oh, shit…" Jaune muttered under his breath, sweat starting to bead on his forehead.

He remembered it. 'The video.' He had recorded it as a joke. A cosplay villain roleplay for some contest—'an acting gig'—for a dumb prog-game he thought would get a laugh. But somehow, some way, instead of sending it to the contest, it had been blasted out to the media. 'The actual media!'

"I will carve this world anew, and peace, true peace, will rise from the ashes…"

He could practically feel the authorities breathing down his neck. In no time, they'd have helicopters, squads of huntsmen—everyone hunting down Jaune Arc, 'the next world-ending villain'.

"Oh, fuck…"

He took a step back, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets, trying to blend into the crowd. But his heart was pounding so loud it was all he could hear.

'Gotta get outta here. Now.'

He turned on his heel and ran.

The streets blurred past him, his legs moving as fast as they could carry him. He didn't know where he was going, but anywhere was better than here. He just needed to hide, lay low, figure out how the hell to fix this mess.

His heart raced faster as he heard the sirens in the distance. They were already coming for him.

Jaune wasn't looking where he was going. He was too busy panicking, too busy trying to think of a way out. And that's when it happened.

WHAM!

He collided with something—or someone. Hard.

He stumbled back, his breath knocked out of him for a second, but it wasn't the pain that made his blood freeze. No. It was the soft, unmistakable feeling under his hand.

Oh no.

He looked down and saw his palm resting on something soft, round... 'and very much not his'. His face paled.

Before he could even process what had happened, a voice—loud, furious, and absolutely terrifying—cut through the air like a whip.

"Why you, perv!"

'Oh shit!'

The next thing Jaune knew, a sharp, burning 'smack' exploded across his face, so hard that his brain practically rattled in his skull.

The world tilted for a moment, his vision blurring from the sheer force of the slap. He blinked rapidly, trying to shake off the stars dancing in front of his eyes.

The blonde girl he had run into—no, 'groped'—was glaring at him with fiery, dangerous eyes. She looked like she was about to tear him apart with her bare hands.

And honestly? Jaune was pretty sure she could.

She was tall, muscular, and radiating enough rage to level a building. Her golden hair was flowing wildly, and her fists were clenched so tight that Jaune could practically feel the bones cracking just from looking at them.

He tried to say something, anything, to defuse the situation. "I-I'm s-sorry, I didn't mean—"

Before he could finish, her eyes widened. Something flashed in them—recognition? Confusion?

And that's when Jaune felt it. His mask. The cheap surgical mask he'd been wearing to stay low-profile. It slipped off his face.

Her expression darkened. "You…."

Jaune's stomach dropped.

He knew that look. He'd seen it a hundred times before.

She wasn't just mad. She was about to murder him.

"Oh, fuck."

TBC

Author Note: Hmm. Not exactly an ideal place to end the chapter. But I feel like this chapter has too many incidents already. I plan to update soon, so stay tuned.

Next Chapter:

01. Jaune VS Yang…sort of.

02. Jaune gets chased by officers.

03. Jaune witnesses the Grimm side of humanity.

04. And more.

Do drop your thoughts in the review section.

Till next time!