Disclaimer: Don't own either Rwby or Type Moon. So enjoy or don't
Chapter 44: Training and Connection at Atlas
The Atlas Academy training grounds were unforgiving, designed to test every inch of strength and resilience within its walls. For Team RWBY, Jaune, Nora, Ren, Oscar, and Shirou, these two weeks became a crucible, a place to refine not only their skills but also their bonds.
From dawn until late afternoon, they drilled relentlessly. Each day began with an endurance gauntlet—high-speed runs around the facility's perimeter, brutal obstacle courses, and punishing sparring rounds. Atlas' elite technology wasn't just for show; holographic enemies simulated everything from Grimm to rogue Atlesian soldiers, forcing the team to adapt constantly. Every session tested their reflexes and stamina, demanding precision and cooperation.
One session, Ruby and Jaune found themselves on a two-person course, fighting off a series of moving holographic droids programmed to dodge and counterattack. They quickly discovered how vital it was to trust each other's movements. Ruby darted around with her scythe, Crescent Rose, while Jaune covered her with calculated, defensive strikes. Each time one of them made a move, the other followed suit without hesitation, slowly forging a rhythm that seemed almost choreographed.
Weiss and Ren focused on perfecting their coordination, Weiss casting glyphs on the ground for Ren to leap between, practicing synchronized timing for combat support. Ren admired her precision, and in return, Weiss learned to recognize the subtle cues in Ren's stance that signaled his intentions. They spent hours refining their techniques until Weiss's glyphs appeared almost automatically wherever Ren needed them, creating a seamless flow between her magic and his physical agility.
Yang and Nora sparred with infectious enthusiasm, their clashes echoing through the training room as they exchanged explosive blows. Yang's fists were a blaze of energy as she tested her Semblance against Nora's strength and aura, each hit greeted with Nora's delighted grin. They'd end each session panting and bruised, but always smiling, ready for the next round. Yang found herself impressed by Nora's resilience, and Nora admired Yang's sheer force and tenacity, each battle reinforcing their mutual respect.
Shirou and Blake, meanwhile, took their training to another level. They often broke off from the group to practice one-on-one combat, testing their agility and coordination. Shirou's twin swords, Kanshou and Bakuya, struck with a balanced harmony, mirroring Blake's shadows as she dodged and countered with Gambol Shroud. Their movements created an almost hypnotic flow, both of them moving with quiet focus, no words necessary. Blake's focus sharpened as she fought, admiring how Shirou's style combined elegance with deadly efficiency. Their sessions often ended in silence, both of them catching their breath, a subtle respect passing between them.
As grueling as the training was, the group quickly learned to depend on one another, adapting their fighting styles to accommodate each other's strengths and weaknesses. Oscar struggled initially to keep up, his movements still less fluid than the others', but with each session, he grew more confident. Jaune, noticing his hesitance, took time to work with him one-on-one, offering tips on footwork and timing that would bolster his endurance. Slowly, Oscar's stance solidified, his strikes gaining power as he worked alongside Jaune.
Beyond the rigors of training, they found time to laugh, tease, and bond. In the evenings, they gathered around the common area, unwinding with casual sparring tournaments, storytelling, and friendly competitions. Weiss, always the perfectionist, challenged Ruby to a game of chess, which Ruby accepted with far more confidence than actual skill. Yang and Nora cheered Ruby on, offering unhelpful advice that only served to distract her, while Weiss quietly enjoyed their antics.
At the end of each night, their laughter echoed down the steel corridors, their camaraderie tangible, even in the fortress-like walls of Atlas. This rhythm—of relentless training and shared relaxation—helped them find balance, forging a trust that would prove invaluable for the mission ahead. Each of them grew in confidence and skill, but more importantly, they grew as a unit, their individual strengths woven together in a way that felt unbreakable.
One evening, Ruby and Jaune sat in the mess hall, picking at the bland, standard-issue Atlas food. The cafeteria fare was functional, designed for efficiency over taste, but after a week of grueling training, both Ruby and Jaune found themselves craving something more comforting—something like Shirou's cooking. They shared a look, both thinking of the incredible dishes Shirou had prepared for them in the past, from savory soups to hearty stews that had always tasted like home.
"Jaune," Ruby began with a thoughtful tilt of her head, "what if Shirou could cook for us here? Like, really cook? Imagine all the things he could make for everyone…"
Jaune's eyes lit up. "That would be amazing. Plus, it's something that brings him a lot of joy, you know? I bet it'd lift everyone's spirits. The guy's food could probably even make Ironwood crack a smile!"
That thought sparked an idea. They knew Atlas Academy had several private kitchens reserved for official use, but if they could just get permission to use one, it could make a real difference. The problem, of course, was getting that permission. Deciding it was worth a try, Ruby and Jaune made their way to General Ironwood's office.
Ironwood looked up from his work as they entered, his expression as serious as ever. Ruby took a deep breath, summoning her courage before speaking.
"General Ironwood, sir," she began, "we have a, um, request." She quickly explained Shirou's skill in cooking, his love for preparing meals, and how they thought it could boost everyone's morale. "He's really good, sir. Like… really good. Better than anything we'd ever find in the cafeteria here."
Jaune stepped in, adding, "It would be great for everyone's energy and focus too. Training's intense, and something as simple as a good meal could make a difference. Plus, Shirou would probably be happy to cook something for you, too!"
Ironwood leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his gaze thoughtful. He hadn't missed the exhaustion in his team's faces lately, or the way morale sometimes lagged as their mission drew closer. "Alright," he finally said, his tone even. "I'll authorize the use of one of the private kitchens on the condition that I get to sample Shirou's cooking first. If it's as good as you say, then I'll know it's worth it."
Ruby and Jaune exchanged a triumphant look, both grinning widely. "Thank you, General!" they said in unison.
After Ironwood nodded them out, they hurried to find Shirou. Ruby and Jaune explained the arrangement, and while he seemed a bit surprised by their efforts on his behalf, there was a faint smile in his eyes—a rare softness that showed his appreciation. When they told him about Ironwood's condition, Shirou only nodded with a look of determination.
The following day, they entered the gleaming, stainless-steel kitchen that had been allocated to them. It was equipped with top-of-the-line cooking equipment, rows of knives, and an array of spices and ingredients that were far more varied than anything in the cafeteria. Shirou took stock of everything with a critical eye, already mentally preparing the dish he would make to meet Atlas' high standards. Ruby and Jaune watched in eager anticipation, giving him space but ready to assist as needed.
After some thought, Shirou decided on a classic dish—one that could warm even the coldest of Atlas' harsh winds. He began preparing a hearty beef stew with root vegetables and fresh herbs, letting the ingredients simmer in rich broth. He moved through the kitchen with a fluid, practiced precision, his focus entirely on his craft. The aroma filled the room, savory and warm, gradually masking the sterile smell of the industrial kitchen with a comforting, homely scent.
As the stew cooked, Shirou prepared fresh bread to serve alongside it, kneading the dough with care and setting it to rise while the stew thickened. Ruby and Jaune were captivated by the process, occasionally passing him ingredients or fetching utensils as needed. Watching Shirou cook was almost as mesmerizing as watching him in combat; he seemed equally intense and calm, his focus unbreakable.
Finally, as the stew and bread neared completion, General Ironwood arrived, accompanied by Winter Schnee, who had heard of the culinary experiment and joined out of curiosity. Ironwood's typical stern expression softened slightly as he took in the inviting aroma of the freshly baked bread and rich, simmering stew.
Shirou plated the dish with care, setting each bowl on the table along with slices of the warm bread. Ironwood, Winter, Ruby, and Jaune each took a spoonful of the stew, savoring the blend of tender beef, potatoes, carrots, and the perfect hint of rosemary and thyme. The flavors melded together with a comforting richness that seemed to defy the icy atmosphere of Atlas.
Ironwood raised his eyebrows in subtle surprise, taking another spoonful as he nodded approvingly. Winter looked equally impressed, her eyes softening as she took a bite of the bread, fresh and fluffy with a golden crust. Ruby and Jaune shared an excited glance, knowing their mission had succeeded.
"This," Ironwood finally said, a hint of a smile breaking through, "is excellent." He gave a nod to Shirou. "You have my permission to use the kitchen whenever you like."
Shirou inclined his head respectfully, a faint smile touching his lips as Ruby and Jaune exchanged high-fives behind him. From that moment on, the private kitchen became something of a sanctuary for their group. Shirou would cook whenever he had the chance, experimenting with new dishes that delighted his friends and kept their spirits high. Each meal became a moment to rest, laugh, and enjoy each other's company, a little reminder of home amid the cold steel of Atlas.
As the days of training and bonding passed, a quiet understanding began to grow between Shirou and Blake. They often found themselves paired together during exercises, sparring in ways that felt more like a dance than a battle. Their combat styles complemented each other perfectly—Blake's agility and grace counterbalancing Shirou's calculated precision and unyielding resolve. In each encounter, they seemed to anticipate each other's moves, forming a natural rhythm that felt like second nature.
During one particularly intense sparring match, Blake's foot slipped as she dodged one of Shirou's strikes, causing her to stumble. Without a second thought, Shirou reached out, catching her just before she hit the ground. She looked up, a little surprised, their eyes meeting in a moment of stillness. She could see a hint of concern in his expression, and she couldn't help but smile softly.
"Thanks," she murmured, standing upright as she brushed herself off.
Shirou gave a slight nod, his eyes searching hers briefly before he looked away. "Anytime," he replied, his voice quiet, though something in his tone suggested he meant it in more ways than one. The silence that followed felt comfortable, each of them left with the sense of a deeper understanding.
Outside of training, they often found themselves drawn to the same quiet spaces, places where they could momentarily escape the intensity of Atlas. Blake discovered that Shirou sometimes liked to sit near the edge of the training grounds, where he could gaze out over the cityscape below. She joined him a few times, and they'd sit in silence, watching the city lights flicker against the icy landscape, each lost in their own thoughts but finding comfort in each other's presence.
Blake noticed that Shirou seemed haunted by something, as if he carried a heavy burden that never left him. She didn't press him, respecting his silence, but she felt a strong, unspoken connection to that hidden pain. She, too, knew what it was like to feel the weight of the past pressing down, to wonder if redemption was possible. Without words, they understood this about each other.
One evening, as they sat watching the night fall, Blake broke the silence. "Do you ever wonder if… you're where you're supposed to be?" Her voice was soft, almost tentative, as if the question held a vulnerability she wasn't sure she wanted to reveal.
Shirou took a moment to respond, his gaze steady on the distant lights. "Sometimes," he admitted, his tone calm but contemplative. "But I think... even if the path isn't always clear, there's a reason we end up where we do. And maybe... maybe it's not about where we're supposed to be, but who we become along the way."
Blake glanced at him, a small, genuine smile tugging at her lips. She hadn't expected him to be so open, yet his words resonated deeply. She felt a warmth she hadn't known she was missing—something grounding, something hopeful. "I think you're right," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
Their connection didn't go unnoticed by their friends. Yang and Weiss would often exchange knowing glances whenever Blake and Shirou spent time together, and Ruby sometimes teased Blake, suggesting she and Shirou were practically inseparable these days. Blake would brush it off with a quiet chuckle, but a faint blush would color her cheeks every time. Shirou, on the other hand, remained oblivious to their teasing, maintaining his usual calm demeanor, though there were times he seemed to hesitate slightly when Blake was around, as if he was noticing something he hadn't before.
Their interactions were often subtle, almost imperceptible to others but undeniable to those who looked closely. During one of their meals, for instance, Shirou noticed that Blake seemed particularly worn out from the day's training. Without a word, he made sure to serve her an extra helping of food, subtly choosing the dishes he knew she liked most. She noticed the gesture, her eyes meeting his across the table, a silent thanks passing between them that needed no words.
In another quiet moment, Blake found herself helping Shirou in the kitchen. As they prepared a meal together, their movements fell into sync—passing utensils, slicing ingredients, and sharing occasional, quiet glances. At one point, Blake reached for a bowl at the same time Shirou did, their hands brushing. She felt a small jolt at the contact, pulling her hand back quickly, her cheeks warming. Shirou seemed equally caught off guard, but he recovered quickly, offering a faint smile before handing her the bowl.
Blake began to realize that she felt a strange sense of calm around Shirou, a feeling she hadn't experienced in a long time. His presence was steady and unwavering, a quiet strength that she found herself drawn to. She noticed how deeply he cared for everyone around him, his willingness to put others before himself, and his unassuming kindness.
Likewise, Shirou found himself admiring Blake's resilience, her determination to keep moving forward despite the weight of her past. Her dedication to making the world better, no matter the personal cost, resonated with his own ideals. He saw in her a kindred spirit, someone who understood sacrifice, and yet still chose to fight for what she believed in.
As the first week of training intensified, Dr. Pietro Polendina was often found tinkering in his lab, working tirelessly on upgrades to help Team RWBY and their allies prepare for the mission ahead. He was a small man with a big heart, and he took great pride in ensuring that the weapons his "extended family" used were always at their best. As he adjusted Ruby's Crescent Rose for smoother transitions between scythe and sniper modes, or fine-tuned Ren's StormFlower for enhanced fire rate, he couldn't help but notice the way Shirou interacted with the team.
Pietro had been watching Shirou with a mix of curiosity and admiration. At first, he'd thought Shirou was simply quiet and reserved, but the more he observed, the more he noticed the subtle ways Shirou involved himself with everyone. Shirou wasn't loud or outspoken, yet he had a natural way of being there for people that seemed effortless. Whether it was assisting someone with an equipment issue, offering a steadying hand after an exhausting training session, or sharing a calm, encouraging word, Shirou was present—always watching, always caring.
One afternoon, Pietro noticed Penny, his daughter, engaging with Shirou during a break. They were discussing weaponry, with Penny fascinated by the pair of twin swords Shirou wielded. Shirou was demonstrating a basic grip technique, showing Penny how to hold one of the swords with a careful balance that emphasized control over force. Pietro watched, a small smile on his face. Penny looked at Shirou with a kind of admiration that Pietro hadn't often seen; she was as intrigued by Shirou's kindness as by his skill. It warmed Pietro's heart to see his daughter forming a connection with someone who seemed genuinely kind-hearted.
Later that day, Pietro approached Penny, curious about her perspective on Shirou. "So, Penny," he said, his tone gentle, "what do you think of Mr. Emiya?"
Penny's face lit up as she considered the question. "He's… interesting, Father," she replied thoughtfully. "He helps people even when they don't ask for it. I think… it's like he has a need to make others happy. Maybe because it makes him feel happy, too?" Penny's voice trailed off as she pondered this insight. She had always been perceptive, and Pietro could tell that she'd noticed something unique about Shirou's motivations.
Intrigued, Pietro continued to observe Shirou over the following days. He noticed how Shirou often hung back, letting others take the spotlight, yet always ready to step in if someone needed him. He worked alongside everyone else, never asking for praise or recognition. Pietro sensed a certain weariness in Shirou—a weight he carried silently. It was as if he felt responsible for everyone around him, driven by an inner resolve to protect them, even at his own expense.
During one session, Pietro observed Shirou staying behind to help Jaune work through a particularly challenging maneuver with his upgraded sword and shield. While the others had moved on, Shirou patiently guided Jaune through the sequence, his voice calm and steady. Pietro could see that Shirou wasn't merely teaching; he was investing in Jaune's growth and confidence, treating him as more than just a teammate. It struck Pietro that Shirou's actions went beyond training—there was a deep, almost unspoken care behind everything he did.
Pietro's curiosity grew, and he began to wonder if Shirou's sense of duty came from some past experience, something that had instilled in him a profound need to be useful to others. The way Shirou moved and spoke seemed to carry an undercurrent of loss, a silent acknowledgement of something that had left a mark on him. Pietro suspected that Shirou had seen more hardship than he let on.
By the end of the week, Pietro decided he wanted to reach out. He knew better than to pry, but he felt compelled to offer a supportive presence. One evening, as he worked on final adjustments to Yang's Ember Celica, he spotted Shirou in the corridor outside his lab. Pietro called him in, inviting him to sit for a moment.
"Shirou," Pietro began, his voice warm yet sincere, "I've been noticing the way you take care of everyone around you. It's... admirable, truly." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "I have a bit of experience in psychology, you see, and sometimes I wonder if... well, if there might be something weighing on you as well."
Shirou's eyes widened slightly, and Pietro could see the flash of hesitation there. It was as if Pietro had glimpsed through a crack in the armor Shirou wore around his emotions.
"I'm here if you ever need someone to talk to," Pietro continued gently. "You don't have to shoulder everything alone. Sometimes, it helps to let someone else bear a bit of that weight, even just to listen."
Shirou's expression softened, though he shook his head slightly. "Thank you, Dr. Pietro. I... appreciate the offer, but I'm fine."
Pietro smiled kindly, nodding in understanding. "Of course, my boy. Just remember the offer stands, anytime."
After his conversation with Dr. Pietro, a part of Shirou felt a strange sense of unease. He'd turned down Pietro's offer, feeling that he had no right to burden others with the shadows of his past. For as long as he could remember, Shirou had believed it was his duty to bear his pain alone. He had lived through a series of wars, betrayals, and losses—experiences he believed were too dark, too distant from this world for anyone here to understand.
But as the week progressed, his inner turmoil became harder to ignore. Each night, memories haunted him, fragments of a life he'd fought desperately to leave behind. His dreams twisted into nightmares of Fuyuki City, burning and bleeding beneath a sky turned black with smoke. Faces appeared, some clear, some blurred—each representing a life he hadn't been able to save. He saw his old friends, his enemies, and the horrors he'd been forced to witness. Each time he tried to forget, the memories only tightened their grip, like chains pulling him down into a sea of regret.
During the day, he masked his fatigue as best he could. He trained alongside his friends, sharing their laughter and joining in their conversations, but his smiles were hollow, and he felt as though he were only half-present, watching the world from a distance. Blake, who had grown closer to him, noticed the strain in his eyes, the way he seemed almost haunted at times. She asked him if he was all right, and he brushed her off with a reassuring nod, insisting he was fine.
One night, the nightmares were especially vivid. He dreamed of the Holy Grail War and the battles that had led him to where he was now. He relived his darkest moments, watching as flames devoured the city around him, the cries of those he couldn't save echoing in his ears. He saw Sakura, Rin, and countless others, all trapped in a cycle of suffering that he'd been powerless to prevent. The pain felt as real as the first time he'd lived through it, and he awoke in a cold sweat, gasping for air, his heart pounding.
The silence of his room only amplified the weight pressing down on him. His mind was still trapped in those memories, a ghost clinging to a world that had moved on without him. He felt alone in a way that he hadn't in years, a hollow emptiness that threatened to consume him. For the first time in a long while, he found himself wondering if he could keep carrying this burden by himself.
As dawn broke, Shirou sat by his window, watching the city of Atlas awaken beneath the faint morning light. The weight of his nightmares lingered, and as he stared out over the frozen landscape, he realized that something had to change. The thought of confiding in someone else felt foreign—he had never been one to ask for help—but Dr. Pietro's words echoed in his mind. The idea of letting someone in, of not having to fight this battle alone, felt terrifying and strangely comforting at the same time.
Later that morning, Shirou sought out Dr. Pietro. He found him in his lab, working on upgrades for Penny's weapon systems. Pietro glanced up, surprised to see Shirou but offering a warm, welcoming smile.
"Shirou! What can I do for you?" Pietro's voice was filled with gentle understanding, as if he sensed the weight of what Shirou was about to say.
Shirou took a deep breath, his gaze steady but weary. "Dr. Pietro… about your offer to talk. I… I think I'd like to take you up on it." His words were measured, carefully spoken, but there was an undeniable vulnerability in his tone.
Pietro nodded, setting aside his tools and giving Shirou his full attention. "Of course, Shirou. Why don't we find somewhere quiet?"
They walked together to a small, secluded room off the main lab. As they sat down, Shirou felt the weight of his past pressing heavily on him, memories threatening to overwhelm him before he'd even begun. He hesitated, struggling to find the words. How could he explain the horrors he'd witnessed, the things he'd done in the name of a misguided ideal?
Pietro waited patiently, his gentle presence offering a rare sense of comfort. Shirou took a shaky breath and began, his voice barely above a whisper. "I… I've lost people. So many people. And I know—I know I could have saved them if I'd just been stronger, or faster, or…" His voice faltered, a quiet desperation slipping through. "Sometimes, I feel like I'm just… just a ghost, carrying the weight of things I can't change."
Pietro listened intently, nodding as he absorbed Shirou's words. He didn't interrupt, allowing Shirou the space to open up at his own pace.
Shirou continued, his voice raw with emotion. "I've tried to make up for it. Every day, I try to help people, to do something good. But no matter what I do, it feels… it feels like it's never enough." He looked down, his hands clenched in his lap. "I'm haunted by the things I couldn't fix, and I… I don't know if I'll ever be free of them."
Pietro placed a reassuring hand on Shirou's shoulder, his eyes filled with empathy. "Shirou, what you're describing… it's a heavy burden for anyone to carry. You've done everything you could, more than most would ever dream of doing. And maybe…" he paused thoughtfully, choosing his words carefully, "maybe it's time to remember that even you deserve to find peace."
Shirou's gaze remained fixed on the floor, Pietro's words settling over him like a balm. For so long, he had viewed his pain as a necessary sacrifice, something he had to carry alone. But hearing Pietro's gentle reminder gave him a glimmer of hope, a possibility he hadn't dared consider.
"Thank you, Dr. Pietro," he said, his voice soft. "I don't know if I can let it go… but maybe, just maybe, I can start to find a way."
Pietro nodded, smiling gently. "One step at a time, Shirou. Healing isn't about forgetting—it's about finding a way to live with your past without letting it define you." He patted Shirou's shoulder reassuringly. "And remember, you're not alone. There are people here who care about you, who want to see you happy. Myself included."
Shirou felt a warmth spread through him, a quiet reassurance he hadn't expected. For the first time, he felt that perhaps he didn't have to face his struggles in isolation. He wasn't healed, not yet, but he had taken the first step—reaching out, allowing himself to trust that others could help him bear the weight.