Disclaimer: RWBY belongs to Rooster Teeth, I own nothing.
2. School Days 01
A rainy morning
Ditch the jeans, burn the hoodie
You can be strong, or you can look strong
One's easier than the other
For you, there's no third option
-M&M's Yakuza lesson #07, to a fleeing Jaune Arc
Jaune can happily declare Operation: Rescue Bunny a success; his beloved Pumpkin Pete's hoodie remained pristine with nary a scorch mark. A new danger has arose, in that the twins now understood the supreme softness of a limited-edition, Huntsman-grade garment (that took fifty box-tops!). He has hidden the hoodie with the new wine shipment, with plans to smuggle it past the twins that very night. Step one required-
Poke.
A sharp claw jabbed into his spine, eliciting a yelp. With a turn, the culprit was revealed to be the menacing Miltia, particularly so with her claws uncomfortably close to his belly. He expected people to balk at the sight of two girls walking through Vale carrying deadly weapons, yet found himself being regarded as a weirdo when he asked the tailor earlier why she let the twins in the store without batting an eye.
"Pay attention, disciple. This will be on the test." Jaune gasped.
"There's a test? But I didn't study." Melanie scoffed at the sight of Jaune's panic, rolling her eyes.
"It's a practical, gopher. The theme is 'can we make you look less like a puppy?'"
Jaune wanted to protest the twins' view of his machismo. However, he currently stood in a clothing shop, and nearly two decades with seven sisters have hammered in the futility of fighting on disadvantageous terrain. Strategically, he rolled over to their wishes, not unlike a puppy.
"What's the next piece, then?" In answer, Melanie held up a red tie and a blue tie, while Miltia retracted her claws and pensively tapped her chin.
"Would red work better, or blue?"
Jaune's face turned serious. There's a test on the line. He stalked counterclockwise around Melanie, his focus locking on the red and blue accessories. At this rapid change in demeanor, Miltia raised an eyebrow. Her sister warily lifted one foot, a heel-blade readying on instinct.
"The red tie would be more familiar. It denotes a member of Uncle Hei's Red Axe. Wearing it will give me instant reputation among the gangs and the populace at large. A boon for a relative nobody in Vale. The other guys in the gang will readily accept me as one of their own, and there is safety in numbers. Red, a bold color, also suggests personal strength, thus allowing me to project power even when alone. The blue tie carries higher potential, but would also bring more controversy. It contrasts the red ties and suggests a higher standing in the power structure, thereby eliciting respect from those who see me alongside Uncle and you girls. It may also cause confusion among the members of the gang, encouraging challenges within the ranks from those who have witnessed my training under you two. They know I'm not a senior member and might resent the affectation. Furthermore, those outside the organization might not recognize my affiliation at all. Finally, blue is a subdued color, and suggests soft power. Wealth and connections over fists and aggression, which won't be very effective if the students in Beacon are unfamiliar with the Red Axe gang. All in all, the red tie wins out."
Melanie and Miltia stared. After a minute of silence, the two slowly shook their heads in thoughtful disbelief.
"Our gopher can learn, Miltia."
"Truly astounding, Melanie." The headshaking became that of disappointment.
"Yet, you have a ways to go."
"You've missed a crucial consideration." Jaune immediately fished out a notebook and pen. His teachers were imparting another lesson! Miltia strode forward.
"Listen well. Black suit, red tie, blue eyes, and blond hair make for a hideous clash of colors." Jaune blinked. Melanie promptly tossed the red tie away.
"The blue matches your eyes, and will bring the ensemble together."
"Sometimes, disciple, a tie is just a tie."
"Style over office politics."
Jaune, despite misgivings, dutifully noted down these words or wisdom.
A fine afternoon
Walk with confidence
We know you don't have much
But form comes first
And substance will follow
-M&M's Yakuza lesson #02, to a tripping Jaune Arc
Jaune found himself in a most peculiar contest. A crowd of black suits and red ties (plus a blue tie!) surrounded an impromptu catwalk made of empty pallets. Jaune finally discovered what the guys around the Club did in their free time after moving inventory. It was…enlightening.
"You call that a swagger?"
"Your arms swing like those balloons at a dealership!"
"His hair is the perfect length. I like the way it flows in the wind. He deserves extra points for that."
"You suck!"
"Your mother-"
Ahhhh, shenanigans. Feels just like home. Also, Jaune noticed that his hair was very close to the aforementioned perfect length. Was this what Melanie calls an 'ego boost'?
Surprisingly, his fears of the blue tie angering the guys never happened. Hell, his first time wearing it the day after resulted in every single employee he passed in the Club complimenting it. Almost everyone talked about how the tie matches his eyes, and the red tie would clash horribly. Almost verbatim to the twins' words, really. One even counted on his fingers as if making sure he didn't miss a praise, coincidently hitting every single one of the twins' comments from the previous day. Jaune had to conclude that if every person in the Club has the same opinion, then his teachers must really know best; a fact that the twins took in good grace, grinning and giggling as he regaled them with the day's tale while they lounged on barstools.
A nudge woke Jaune from his reverie. He needed to pay attention. Melanie and Miltia threw him into the crowd today to learn how to walk the walk. The strut of a Yakuza. A hallmark of a strong man. Throwing elbows and knees to evoke the image of an alpha peacock in mating season. Not that he'll say that last thought out loud in present company.
As Jaune's turn approached, he searched for a silver lining to the upcoming humiliation.
At least I won't be as bad as him, his knees are reaching his chest with every step. 0 points.
At least everyone had to do it, so they'll be laughing with me, not at me.
At least it's my turn, wait what?
The runway seemed to stretch to the horizon. Along its sides, the crowd was cheering, and jeering. For good, and bad.
For him.
Jaune slammed his head back as an upsurge of stomach content shot up his throat. He clenched his jaw, his blue eyes set towards the far sky above the gang's heads. He tasted acid on his tongue, but managed to retain control.
Just breathe, Jaune. Breathe and walk and breathe and walk until it is done.
He soothed himself with the thought that each person in the audience have done this at some point. Some have owned the idiocy, strutting with pride. Some did so with fire-red cheeks and sheepish smiles. But each one made the effort. He promised to make the effort.
Calling to his mind the observations of the different contestants so far, Jaune drew forth every detail that gained high points. His swagger will be textbook, but true character can come later. Here and now was the place and time for a baby's first walk.
His initial swing of a leg skipped the first step leading up the catwalk. It allowed his stride to widen as he stomped onto the second step. In response, the crowd fell silent for a split second, before a susurration swept through the ranks. He had their attention now.
His second stride once again skipped a stair step to reach the runway proper. No turning back now. Jaune kept his head tilted back. For the crowd, a power move. For him, a necessity as his cheeks turn faintly green.
For his third stride Jaune lifted his knee higher than necessary, as if there remained a stair visible only to him. The exaggerated height let his leg crash down on the pallet with a thundering crack. Amidst the audience, a few hands clenched as peacock instincts sang. However, these individuals remained in place. In the singles strut contest, only one can stand on the runway. They will initiate a faceoff on a more appropriate day.
On the fourth stride, Jaune dipped his opposite shoulder forward as he set his elbows akimbo, his hands in his pockets. Jaune now took up twice as much space as before. On his next stride, the shoulder rolled back as its opposite dips. Confident swings fell in line with thundering strides, as his elbows drew circles on his left and right. A gentle gust picked up just then, and strands of Jaune's blond hair floated as he advances. Almost flowing in the breeze, in fact.
He's really doing this! The classic swagger that every newbie emulated. The walk that may or may not have started as the angry stomping of a drunk sparking an entire culture across Remnant of which Jaune stands among the latest generation. Jaune maintained his form, reining in his newfound confidence lest it threatens to disturb the delicate balance he has achieved.
One more step. One more step. One more step. One more step. And it was done.
Jaune has reached the end of the catwalk. He took a moment to look to his left, then his right. He smiled shakily. Then, he hopped off the pallets to laughter and claps on his back. He stood among them as an equal now.
Jaune Arc, contestant number 17: 5 out of 10 points, perfect form, no creativity. As he expected.
The score mattered not, he has walked the walk. It was a good day.
Until he retired back to his room, only to find his Pumpkin Pete's hoodie missing.
Damn those Malachites.
A not so fine afternoon
A master can swing once and kill a man
A fool can swing a thousand times and hit air
But one lucky stab to the kidney
And the fool becomes the master
-M&M's Yakuza lesson #22, to a defending Jaune Arc
"Welcome, disciple, to your first day of sword training."
"Your first task, is to put that sword down." Jaune blinked twice.
"Am I in the wrong place? I thought you said this was training?" In lieu of an answer, Melanie countered with a simple question.
"Do you know how to use a sword and shield?"
"No, obviously." Miltia rolled her eyes.
"Pft. Well, neither do we. They're no good in the fights we've been in."
"Put it aside, you can learn that in Beacon," Melanie waved a hand dismissively and said, "we've got a different blade to give you. One we can, like, actually teach." Miltia revealed the item hidden behind her back.
"This is a Mistralian sword called a wakizashi."
It was…short. Jaune would agree that it was a blade, but he wouldn't call it a sword. He ballparked the length of the blade to be 2ft at most. He sent a dubious glance to Miltia, his request for clarification unspoken but clear.
"It's made for close-quarter fights, hence the shorter length. This is perfect for inside houses and alleyways."
And for shanking idiots in the kidney.
Hush Melanie, don't scare him.
Fine. Dibs on teaching him that move, though.
"The other minions usually use either an axe or this, and we trained most of the newbies to a fair competency in it." Miltia placed a hand on her hips, and winked. "Trust us. Before we got our claws and heels, we used the same type of swords. We know what we're doing, disciple."
A part of Jaune wanted to learn the way of more knightly weapons, like his ancestors did, but he could see the logic. The twins can teach him something they've mastered or, if he insisted on wielding Crocea Mors, they would be left fumbling around without any experience. He can use this training to keep up with other students in the early days, and practice in the sword and shield in his four years at Beacon.
With a sigh, he propped Crocea Mors against a wall. Taking the short sword (Long knife? Long knife.) in hand, Jaune held still while Miltia adjusted his grip to the correct position. He must admit, the knife feels comfortable in his hand. Looking at the hilt, Jaune saw his family emblem, modified in colors to sport a white crescent and a red crescent. A custom knife then? Beaming brightly at his teachers' kind gesture, Jaune's regrets of neglecting Crocea Mors faded. He might change the colors to blue, though. So it matched his eyes.
Jaune swung the blade experimentally, finding it lighter and faster than his family sword. Pleased, Melanie clapped her hands together.
"Well. I see you're eager to get started." On Jaune's other side Miltia clapped her own hands in imitation, and continued.
"A hundred swings to start, then."
Jaune waited for further instructions. He stared at Melanie. She stared back, quirking an eyebrow. He turned his gaze to Miltia. She stared back, a soft smile on her lips. A cool breeze passed, as the three stood beneath a bright blue sky in silence.
"That's it?"
Melanie narrowed her eyes.
"Miltia, why must they always ask for the hard lesson?" Miltia flicked her hands, wicked claws coming to bear.
"Our disciple is simply eager for the advanced course, Melanie." Jaune quickly backed away, but the alleyway afforded no escape.
"Hang on, I wasn't asking for a fight! I was just hoping for more advice. A secret technique, maybe. Something more amazing!"
As one twin swung for his head, the other leaned on the wall with arms crossed.
"Advice? You have Aura, you can take a hit. Don't run, get closer. Smile for the claws, gopher."
The lesson continued until evening. It was a bad day.
Junior made him a sundae, as a consolation.
Jaune shared some with the twins, as a peace offering.
Author's notes: What did I just write? What did you just read?
Every movement exaggerated, every conversation the climax of the story.
For this is anime Yakuza. Videogame Yakuza. Historical facts are simply suggestions, if not obstacles.
Common sense is right out.
The overall rhythm may go like this:
School Days episodes - which does not take place in Beacon, the school. The curriculum we are concerned with takes place in the days before Beacon. These chapters will be a few snippets in one, does not follow any particular chronological order, and will be sprinkled between plot chapters.
Beacon Days episodes- Which, surprisingly, mostly take place in Beacon. These chapters can be self-contained episodes with no relation to timeline, or can be stations of canon. This is where Jaune's lessons are put into practice.