With a sigh of relief, Jaune finally unfastened Akisame's specially crafted vest, the oppressive weight of his intense training finally lifting from his shoulders. Each morning had been a test of his endurance and willpower, a grueling routine designed by the ingenious—and occasionally sadistic—Judo master. Runs were hard enough, but Akisame had added his own twist, tying a rope around Jaune to add resistance, making every step an uphill battle.

To an outsider, the training looked like sheer brutality. The physical strain was matched only by the mental resilience required. But Jaune didn't just persevere—he began to crave more. Recently, he had even started asking for additional challenges, surprising himself with his dedication.

By now, Jaune had absolute trust in the masters of Ryozanpaku. The results were undeniable. A month ago, he wouldn't have lasted a second against a Beowulf, let alone a Beringle. Yet now, he could hold his own against such Grimm and even escaped from a professional Huntsman. The training was working.

Meanwhile, Alex was also pushing his limits. In the dojo yard, Jaune's uncle stood shirtless, his large, muscular frame glistening in the afternoon sun. His hands, wrapped in bandages, betrayed the ferocity of his sparring sessions. Despite his bulky build, Alex moved lightly on his feet, bouncing in rhythm. Opposite him, Akisame stood calm and composed, his shorter, slimmer form adorned in his usual attire. The contrast between the two couldn't have been starker.

Jaune sat on the patio, eager to watch the match unfold. Alex made the first move, dashing forward and unleashing a flurry of rapid punches. His strikes alternated between head and body, a relentless assault that tested speed and precision. Yet Akisame evaded with uncanny grace, sidestepping and redirecting each blow as if anticipating every move. It was as though the Judo master was gauging Alex's speed and reflexes, assessing him before striking back.

Then, in one fluid motion, Akisame caught one of Alex's punches and flipped him over his shoulder effortlessly. Jaune thought it was over momentarily, but Alex reacted with astonishing agility. Catching himself mid-air, Alex planted a hand on the ground and used it as leverage to wrap his legs around Akisame's neck. With a roar, he slammed the more petite man into the dirt, sending a cloud of dust billowing across the yard.

Jaune shielded his eyes from the debris, but the sight before him was nothing extraordinary as the dust settled. Both fighters were balancing on one hand, their bodies locked in a complex grapple. Neither seemed willing to concede an inch. Then, as if by unspoken agreement, they disengaged simultaneously, rolling apart before lunging at each other again.

This time, Akisame's mastery of technique became apparent. Despite Alex's overwhelming strength, the Judo master's precision and leverage overpowered him. In a series of swift, calculated movements, Akisame maneuvered Alex into a pin, pressing his face to the ground with astonishing ease.

"You rely too much on your size and weight," Akisame said, helping Alex to his feet. "When you go for a grapple, you leave your sides open too long and become unbalanced before gaining a sufficient hold. However, your strikes are truly remarkable. If they connected properly, most opponents couldn't stand back up."

"I see," Alex replied, rubbing his wrist where Akisame's grip had left a faint bruise. "I noticed you favor minimal but efficient movements. You also hide an impressive amount of strength despite your smaller stature."

"A result of my specialized training," Akisame said with a hint of pride. "The same training I've been putting Jaune through." He turned to look at his student. "Speaking of which, have you completed the set?"

Jaune nodded and approached his master. "Yes, I finished just before your sparring session. I'll be helping Miu with her shopping today, so is it alright if I go get ready?"

"That's a splendid idea while you're helping Miu with the grocery run. We've increased the weight on the ball and chains—it should warm you up nicely for your training session with Sakaki," Akisame said, a mischievous glint in his gray eyes.

Jaune laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck before excusing himself. He changed into one of the few pairs of jeans he owned that didn't have holes and threw on a clean white shirt decorated with a design of a blue sunset over pink waves. As he stepped outside, Miu was already waiting for him, smiling brightly as she wasted no time strapping the fifty-pound weights onto his arms and legs.

No matter how often he did this, Jaune couldn't help but feel embarrassed. The usual stall owners had long since stopped giving him strange looks at the market, accustomed to the peculiar sight of a young man lugging heavy weights while shopping. However, the occasional passerby still threw a judgmental glance his way. Once, they were even stopped by the police, who suspected something suspicious—until Akisame happened to stroll by and explained the situation with his trademark calm confidence.

Even so, Jaune tightened his grip on the grocery bags as Miu walked ahead, seemingly unbothered by the stares. She turned back to him with an encouraging grin. "Come on, Jaune! Keep up! This is supposed to be your warm-up, remember?"

Jaune sighed, adjusting the weights on his wrists. Warm-up, huh? He could already feel his legs aching, but he pushed forward.

As the two of them shopped, Miu said she would take her time to chat with some of the stall owners.

"Hi, Miss Yuki! How's your husband doing? Are you guys able to get your tractor fixed?" Miu asked as she picked out some fresh leaks.

Miss Yuki was a short, slightly bulky woman with muscular arms, a round, cute face, and medium hair that stopped just above her shoulders. She often wore a daisy-covered Apron and a green shirt with white plants. She looked much younger than she actually was.

As the two of them wandered through the market, Miu chatted with some of the stall owners.

"Hi, Miss Yuki! How's your husband doing? Were you guys able to get your tractor fixed?" Miu asked cheerfully as she picked out a bundle of fresh leeks.

The vegetable stall owner, Miss Yuki, was a short, slightly stocky woman with muscular arms and a round, cheerful face. Her medium-length hair stopped just above her shoulders, and she often wore a daisy-patterned apron over a green shirt adorned with white vine prints. Despite her age, she looked much younger, and her bright demeanor added to the illusion.

"Hello, dear," Yuki replied warmly. "Nato's doing well, but sadly, we haven't gotten the tractor working. He's tried everything but can't determine what's wrong with it. We might have to tow it into town and have a mechanic take a look, but…" Her voice trailed off as she crossed her arms, a hint of worry creasing her brow. "We're not sure where we'll get the money for repairs. We'll figure something out, though. Our credit's still good enough for a loan if it comes to that."

"I could look at it if you'd like," Jaune offered, adjusting one of Miu's bags. A nostalgic smile spread across his face as he recalled his time helping on a farm back home. "I worked part-time at my friend's farm for six years. Her dad taught me how to fix tractors, trucks, even generators."

"Really?" Yuki said, surprised as she restocked her stall with more vegetables. "I wouldn't have pegged you for a farmhand."

Jaune chuckled, shrugging his shoulders. "It's not something I talk about much, but I have experience. Don't worry about paying me, either—just cover what you can. Maybe throw in a discount on veggies next time?"

Yuki chuckled, her round face lighting up. "You've got yourself a deal. You help us out, and I'll give you kids a family discount."

"Deal. Where's the farm?" Jaune asked as he set down one of the bags to pull out a notepad.

Yuki quickly scribbled down the address and handed it to him. "Here you go. It's just a bit out of town."

"Perfect. I can swing by on Wednesday after school," Jaune said, tucking the note away.

"That sounds great. Thank you so much, Jaune. Take care!" Yuki said, her mood visibly lighter as she waved them off.

Jaune nodded and followed Miu to the next stall.

"Heyyy! There's the youngest man I've ever seen hauling around a ball and chain!" the owner of the fish stand called out, his gruff voice laced with teasing humor. The man, Mr. Yuto, was a stocky fisherman well into his fifties, with a five o'clock shadow, thinning hair, and a few missing teeth. He always had a playful jab ready for Jaune and Miu whenever they visited.

"Mr. Yuto, you know Jaune's wearing them for training!" Miu scolded lightly, a playful lilt to her tone. Yuto typically sold mackerel and yellowtail, but occasionally, he'd have an enormous catch that drew attention.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, kiddo," Yuto chuckled. "Don't be shy, though—seeing kids your age sticking together is good. Tell you what, I've been saving this one just for you." He reached behind his stall and hefted out one of the largest red seabreams Jaune had ever seen. The fish was nearly five feet long, its scales gleaming in the sunlight.

Jaune's jaw dropped. "How did you catch something that big?" he asked, equal parts envious and awestruck. He could barely catch anything when he'd gone fishing with his dad.

Yuto grinned, his missing teeth making his smirk even cheekier. "Trade secret, kid. But hey, I'll even throw in a discount—most folks around here wouldn't buy a beast this size."

"Oh, we'll take it!" Miu exclaimed, her excitement lighting up her face.

As they continued through the market, the groceries piled up. Jaune's backpack bulged with food, the straps digging into his shoulders, while his arms were laden with shopping bags. By the time they were heading back, he struggled to move under the weight.

"Ahh, I may have overdone it on the groceries," Miu admitted sheepishly, glancing at Jaune as he trudged along. His legs wobbled under the strain, but he gritted his teeth and continued.

"Nah, it's fine," Jaune grunted, sweat dripping down his brow. "I... I can handle it."

Miu gave him an amused smile. "It was really nice of you to offer to help Miss Yuki earlier. I didn't know you used to work as a farmhand."

Jaune nodded, his face flushing a little. "Yeah... my house was on the edge of town, and we had a lot of land in our village. When I was little, my dad sold some of it to the nearby ranchers. That's how I met their daughter, Malon. We became best friends pretty fast—me, her, and my sister. We were inseparable."

He smiled fondly, his gaze distant as he walked. "When I got old enough, I offered to help out around the ranch. I told myself it was for extra spending money… but I just wanted to spend more time with Malon. And the rest is history."

Miu tilted her head, her expression softening as she watched Jaune reminisce. "That sounds really sweet. I bet you were a great help to her family."

Jaune chuckled, shaking off his nostalgia as he adjusted the weight of the bags. "I like to think I was. Guess I've always been the kind of guy who doesn't mind pulling his weight."

Miu laughed at the unintentional pun as they walked through the neighborhood back to the dojo.

"I really appreciate you helping me out, Jaune," Miu said, her voice warm and sincere as they walked. She smiled sweetly, her eyes soft. "It's been nice spending time with you. Lately, there's been so much going on that we haven't had a chance to talk. You're my first real friend, and I want to treat you better."

Jaune returned her smile, his chest swelling with pride and gratitude. He'd almost forgotten how different her childhood had been from his. Despite everything, he was glad to be her friend. "Thanks, Miu. It's been great being friends with you, too."

Before they could continue, a loud voice interrupted their moment.

"Look, see? I told you this was the route they take for groceries!" a raspy young voice exclaimed. Jaune turned to see a kid wearing a bandana standing just a distance away. It took him a moment to recognize the familiar face—it was Koga, the so-called "Kicker," who Jaune had beaten a couple of weeks ago.

Trailing behind Koga was a group of teenage thugs, clearly from Ragnarok. One figure immediately drew Jaune's attention among them: a tall, muscular teen, likely around 17 or 18. He walked with a confident swagger that bordered on arrogance, his long brown hair cascading down to his lower back. He wore a disheveled school uniform, the jacket hanging open with no undershirt beneath, exposing his well-built frame. His intense gaze locked onto Jaune, sizing him up.

"Not too shabby, Jaune," the tall teen said as he stepped forward, his tone casual but condescending. "Don't see many martial artists incorporate their training into grocery shopping quite like this."

Jaune instinctively shifted in front of Miu, positioning himself to shield her. He knew Miu could fight circles around him, but there were some things you just did as a man. Significantly growing up in the Arc household.

"Relax," the tall teen said with a smirk. "The girl can run along. I just want to have a chat with you."

"Hey! That wasn't the deal, Tsuji!" Koga snapped, glaring at the older teen. "You said I could have the girl once you crush hi—"

"Shut it!" Tsuji growled, his sharp tone silencing the more petite boy. He turned on Koga with a piercing glare. "Trash like you annoys the hell outta me!"

Before Koga could respond, Tsuji moved. With alarming speed, he caught Koga's attempted kick with one hand, his grip iron-tight.

"Trash like you should stay in the dumpster!" Tsuji roared, effortlessly swinging Koga over his head and slamming him into a pile of garbage bags stacked against a nearby wall.

The impact sent bags flying, a few bursting open to reveal their contents. The scene might have been tense—if not for Miu suddenly gasping.

"Oh no!" she exclaimed, clapping a hand to her mouth. "I forgot to set the trash out today!"

Her words cut through the tension like a knife, making Jaune briefly glance at her in disbelief. Even Tsuji, mid-flex, paused to blink in confusion.

Jaune quickly refocused on the situation, his muscles tense. Whoever this Tsuji guy was, he wasn't someone to take lightly.

Tsuji's intense gaze bore into Jaune as the taller boy crossed his arms, his posture oozing confidence. "What, you scared? If you're a man, you'll show some guts and follow me," he taunted, earning a hardened look from Jaune. "We'll chat somewhere no one can interrupt us."

"Alright, but you'll have to wait a second," Jaune replied, glancing at Miu. She nodded and crouched to unlock the ball and chains strapped to his feet. He set the groceries down carefully.

"Don't worry about these. I'll call the dojo to send someone to pick them up," Miu assured him, her tone calm but her eyes sharp. She was watching Tsuji and his gang closely.

Jaune stretched, rolling his shoulders to loosen up, before following Tsuji. Three gang members flanked him, surrounding him in a loose formation to discourage any attempt to escape. After about ten minutes of walking, they arrived at a large park. They stopped near a secluded bridge along one of the trails, shielded by thick bushes and trees. It was the perfect place for a fight, hidden from prying eyes.

Tsuji waved his hand, and his men stepped aside, giving him room. He stood confidently, only a few feet from Jaune, his arms crossed and his grin cocky.

"I'll just come out and say it: I want you to join my gang!" Tsuji declared.

Jaune blinked, genuinely surprised by the offer.

"Kisara's troops have been pestering you lately, haven't they? That's because they're planning to crush you," Tsuji smirks. "But you don't have to worry about that if you're with me. We don't have any weaklings like Koga in our group."

Jaune listened in silence, nodding occasionally, though his expression remained unreadable. It was rare for someone from Ragnarok to approach him like this. Usually, it was just fists and insults. Tsuji seemed to take Jaune's silence as interest and pressed on.

"If you come under my command, those guys won't be able to touch you," Tsuji said confidently as if the decision had already been made. "I like strong men, and you've already proven yourself by beating Kisara's trio. This way, you've got nothing to lose, right?"

Jaune considered the offer. It was tempting—if only to get Ragnarok off his back—but something felt off. "Why do you want so many men following you?" he asked.

Tsuji's grin widened as he threw his arms open dramatically, his voice booming. "Because a man's worth is defined by his number of followers! One day, Tsuji's troops will be the largest gang in Ragnarok, with the finest fighters in our ranks!" His chest puffed up, and he seemed to swell with pride at his own words.

Jaune stared at him for a moment, then sighed. "What would you do then?" he asked, calm but pointed. "Once you become the largest gang in Ragnarok? You can't stay delinquent forever. One day, every single one of you—including you—will need a real job."

A tense silence fell over the park. Tsuji's face twisted in anger. Without warning, he roared and smashed a nearby park bench with a powerful kick, splintering it into pieces. The gang members rushed to restrain him.

"Big bro, calm down!" one of them yelled, trying to placate him.

"You just don't understand the romantic nature of being a real man, Jaune!" Tsuji shouted, his voice seething with frustration. He pointed an accusing finger at Jaune, his glare fierce. "It's about freedom!"

The word struck a chord with Jaune. His expression softened briefly before hardening with resolve. "Freedom?" he repeated, his voice steady. "I know what that's about. It's the ability to take your destiny into your own hands and chart your own course. But you don't understand it at all." His eyes narrowed, his voice rising with conviction. "Doing whatever you want without regard for the people you hurt—that's not freedom. It's tyranny!"

Every trial Jaune had endured—running away from home, traveling the globe, fighting battle after battle—had all been driven by his desire for freedom. To live life on his own terms. He'd fought, bled, and persevered for that ideal. Tsuji's warped view of freedom only served to strengthen Jaune's resolve.

Tsuji's face contorted with rage. He could see the unshakable determination in Jaune's eyes, which infuriated him more than anything else.

"I'm not interested in your gang, Tsuji," Jaune said firmly, leaving. "If you'll excuse me, I have training to return to."

"HOLD IT!" Tsuji roared, his voice echoing through the park. "I CHALLENGE YOU TO A FIGHT!"

Jaune paused, glancing over his shoulder at Tsuji. His expression remained unimpressed, almost bored, as he addressed the fuming teen.

"Why should I?" Jaune asked flatly, his tone dismissive. The question only spiked Tsuji's irritation.

"You insult our freedom and think you can just walk away after throwing that kind of insult at me?" Tsuji snarled. He ripped off his shirt and threw it aside, his muscular torso flexing as he pointed at Jaune. "Since ancient times, men have used their fists to settle their differences!"

Jaune smirked faintly. "Heh, real mature," he replied, facing Tsuji fully. He could see the wild-haired fighter wouldn't let him walk away without a fight. "Only children and idiots resort to violence when they lose an argument. It's the coward's method of getting their way."

Tsuji's face twisted with rage. "No one insults me like that and walks away!" he roared, charging forward with explosive speed. His fist shot out in a powerful punch aimed squarely at Jaune, every ounce of his anger fueling the blow.

But Jaune stayed calm. At the last moment, he shifted his stance, deflecting the punch to the side with his right palm. His body twisted fluidly, and his left fist shot forward, slamming into Tsuji's cheek with a resounding thud.

Tsuji stumbled back a step, his head snapping to the side from the impact. For a moment, the area went quiet—then the wild-haired fighter let out a low chuckle, his lips curling into a wide grin.

"Awesome punch!" Tsuji said, somehow managing to make the compliment sound like a threat. His eyes burned with excitement as if Jaune's hit had only stoked the fire in him.

Jaune frowned slightly, chastising himself internally. He thought he must've held back too much, shifting into a fighting stance. His weight was distributed evenly as he began to bounce lightly on the balls of his feet, ready for whatever Tsuji would throw at him next.

The fight was on.

Tsuji rushed at Jaune again, throwing a wild flurry of punches. Jaune quickly realized that Tsuji wasn't using any discernible fighting style—his movements were unrefined, the product of pure street brawling. There was no precision, no technique, just raw aggression and brute force. Still, his size and strength made him a formidable opponent.

Jaune stayed composed, blocking and deflecting the heavy punches with practiced efficiency. He spotted an opening and struck Tsuji in the side, ducking under another wild swing as the gang leader roared in frustration.

"He managed to get two hits on the boss," one of the gang members muttered, clearly impressed.

Tsuji chuckled, stepping back slightly and beckoning Jaune with a cocky smirk. "Not bad. Bet you can't do that again," he taunted, his voice dripping with arrogance.

Jaune's jaw clenched. That taunt reminded him of Cardin, who used to do the same thing every time Jaune stood up to him. The memory boiled his blood, and he took the bait despite knowing better.

Jaune launched forward, throwing a powerful punch straight at Tsuji, aiming to knock him off his feet. But to his shock, Tsuji slammed his head into Jaune's fist mid-swing. Jaune's aura flared brightly, absorbing the impact and sparing his hand from serious injury. Without his aura, the headbutt would have likely dislocated his fingers and left his hand swollen and useless.

Tsuji clicked his teeth, grinning as he stepped back. "I see now. No wonder you've lasted so long against Ragnarok—you've unlocked your aura," he said, his tone a mix of recognition and excitement.

Before Jaune could respond, Tsuji surged forward again. This time, he stomped down hard on Jaune's foot, pinning him in place and preventing him from retreating. With a roar, Tsuji followed up with a devastating punch aimed squarely at Jaune's face. The blow connected with a loud crack, Jaune's aura flashing again to protect him from the worst of the impact.

Jaune barely flinched, shaking off the hit with a calm expression. He'd taken far harder hits during his recent training sessions, and Tsuji's strength, while impressive, was nothing he couldn't handle.

Tsuji's grin widened, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Looks like I'll have to take you more seriously than the regular trash I deal with!" he growled, his tone laced with anticipation.

Jaune shifted his stance, his mind clearing as he pushed his frustration aside. Fine, he thought. If that's how you want it, let's see if you can handle someone who knows what they're doing

Jaune took a deep breath, centering himself as he let the principles of Water Style flow through him. His movements became fluid and deliberate. Pivoting around Tsuji's wild punch, Jaune struck with precision.

"Tidal Club!" he called, his elbow crashing down onto the back of Tsuji's head like a mighty wave slamming against the shore. Jaune held back enough to avoid serious harm, aiming only to knock the more enormous teen out.

Tsuji staggered forward, clutching his head in pain. He managed to turn, his fist halfway through a desperate swing before his knees buckled. With a loud thud, he collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

Jaune exhaled deeply, his tension easing as he stepped forward to check on Tsuji. He crouched, quickly inspecting the wild-haired teen to ensure he wasn't seriously hurt. Behind him, murmurs of astonishment rippled through Tsuji's gang.

"I can't believe it," one of them whispered. "The boss lost—and just like that!"

The awe quickly turned to anger. A couple of Tsuji's men surged toward Jaune, fists raised, intent on avenging their leader. Before they could land a hit, a blur of motion came from the side. Several swift punches struck true, dropping two of the boys instantly.

Takeda stepped into view, bouncing lightly on his feet, his usual confident grin plastered across his face. "Yo, Jaune! I heard you were in the area," he said, glancing around at the stunned gang members. "When I found out Tsuji was gonna have 'a word' with you, I figured I'd better check things out. Looks like I worried for nothing, huh?"

Jaune stood, smiling as he clapped Takeda on the shoulder. "Hey, I appreciate you showing up anyway. Good timing." He turned his attention back to the gang, speaking calmly but firmly. "Alright, Macho Boys, your boss is fine. Get him to a clinic so he can ice that bump and grab some pain meds."

The group hesitated before scrambling to lift Tsuji, muttering a mix of confusion and grudging respect.

As they hoisted Tsuji up, Jaune added, his voice steady, "And tell him this: if he truly cared about freedom, he'd find a way to put all that raw talent to good use instead of wasting it on bullying people. He could make a real difference in the world if he wanted to."

The gang members exchanged uncertain glances but nodded before heading off with Tsuji in tow.

Takeda crossed his arms, watching them retreat. "Think he'll actually listen to that?" he asked, glancing at Jaune.

Jaune chuckled lightly, shrugging. "Who knows? That's up to him. All I can do is plant the seed." He looked back at Takeda, his smile softening. "Thanks again for showing up. Let's head back—I still have training to get to."

"Lead the way, champ," Takeda said, stepping beside him as they left the park.

"You heading to Akisame's clinic?" Jaune asked as he and Takeda strolled through the streets.

Takeda grinned, his excitement palpable. "Yeah! He told me you were back from your trip, and I've got some good news to share. Akisame said I could start easing back into boxing!" His smile widened as he continued, "I was so excited, I looked everywhere to find you and tell you!"

Jaune beamed, his own excitement matching Takeda's. "Really? Your arm's improved that much?"

"See for yourself," Takeda said, pulling out his previously paralyzed arm. He threw a few slow, slightly shaky jabs into the air, the effort clear in his movements. "Still weak," he admitted, "but it's a start. I'll probably have to start with road work and rebuild the muscles."

Jaune nodded, his smile unwavering. "That's amazing, Takeda. I'm glad the therapy's paying off. Honestly, it's inspiring to see you back on track."

"Yeah, it's a long road, but at least it's a road, y'know?" Takeda replied, his grin softening. "Thankfully, the muscles didn't atrophy too badly. Akisame really worked a miracle."

Jaune clapped him on the shoulder, his voice filled with encouragement. "You'll be back in the ring in no time. Just don't overdo it—Akisame might have a miracle touch, but I doubt he wants to fix your arm again."

Takeda laughed, his spirits high as they continued their walk. "Yeah, yeah, I hear you. Guess I've got no excuses now, huh? Time to get back to work."

"Exactly," Jaune said with a smile. "And you know where to find me if you need a sparring partner."

"You're on," Takeda replied with a confident smirk. Offering Jaune a fist bump. Jaune smirked and reciprocated it.

"Hey, this is my stop. If Akisame's not in his clinic, I'll let him know you're here," Jaune said as he pushed open the weighted doors of Ryozanpaku's dojo.

Takeda gave him a two-finger salute with his newly recovered arm. "Thanks! Good luck in there," he said with a grin.

As Jaune stepped into the dojo grounds, he spotted Miu carrying a tray of teacups, a cheerful smile on her face.

"Oh, welcome back, Jaune!" she greeted warmly.

Jaune smiled back. "Hey, Miu. Did you get the groceries back alright?"

Miu nodded, balancing the tray with ease. "Yeah, your uncle and Apachai came by and picked them up," she replied.

As they talked, loud laughter echoed from behind one of the sliding screens. Jaune's curiosity piqued. "What's got the masters in such a good mood?" he asked.

Miu looked a little sheepish, glancing toward the screen. "Well…" Her voice trailed off as Jaune walked over and slid the screen open.

Inside, the masters were gathered around the TV, howling with laughter. The footage of Jaune's most recent fight played on the screen, showcasing his improvised move.

"Tidal Club!" Jaune's voice rang out from the television.

Sakaki doubled over, laughing uncontrollably. "He shouted the name of his move! Like some kind of shonen anime hero!"

"Apapapapa, that was Muay Thai!" Apachai exclaimed with approval, his laughter rumbling through the room.

"Hehehehe, he's already experimenting with his own techniques," Akisame said, shaking his head in mock disbelief, a proud smile on his face.

"Oh dear, I think I'm going to wet myself!" Master Ma cackled, wiping tears from his eyes. "It's like an old Jackie Chan movie!"

The Elder's deep, chuckling voice carried over the noise. "Ho ho ho, and here he is—the man of the hour himself!" he said, gesturing to Jaune.

Jaune froze in the doorway, stunned as he watched the masters laugh at his expense. His eyes caught Shigure, her face flushed red as she hid a small, amused smile behind her hand, clearly struggling to hold back her laughter.

For a moment, Jaune stood there silently, taking it all in. Then, a grin spread across his face. He raised his arm and mimicked the move. "Tidal Club!" he shouted, his voice booming through the room.

The masters burst into another round of uncontrollable laughter, some clutching their sides while others nearly spilling their tea. Even Shigure let out a soft giggle before covering her mouth again.

Jaune chuckled, shaking his head. Guess I'll never live this one down.

The next day marked Jaune's first actual day back at school after his excursion with his uncle. Though it had only been four days, it felt like weeks had passed. Everything seemed calm at first—too quiet, in fact. As Jaune walked through the halls, he couldn't help but notice people glancing at him. Whispers followed him, and students would quickly avert their gazes or scurry away as he approached.

Jaune raised an eyebrow, confused. He glanced at Miu, who was walking beside him. She gave him a clueless shrug in response.

It was when they passed the school's notice board that Jaune understood why.

Plastered front and center, there was a full-page image of him. Someone had taken the liberty of photoshopping a picture of Jaune standing victoriously over Tsuji's unconscious body. Surrounding it were action shots from the fight, complete with dramatic captions.

"Jaune Arc Prevails Over Notorious Gang Leader!" the bold headline declared.

Jaune stared in disbelief before groaning in frustration. He tore the paper off the board, crumpling it in his hand. "Ni...ji...ma," he growled through gritted teeth.

His suspicions were confirmed seconds later when he heard the unmistakable rustling of more papers being distributed. He turned his head sharply, spotting Nijima just down the hall. The scheming gremlin of a student was gleefully tossing newspapers into the air like confetti, cackling all the while.

"Nijima!" Jaune bellowed, his voice echoing through the hallway.

Nijima froze for a split second, his head snapping toward the source of the shout. His wide grin faltered when he saw Jaune sprinting toward him like a freight train. But the hesitation didn't last long—Nijima cackled even louder, clutching his stack of papers, and ran down the hall.

Somehow, to Jaune's growing frustration, Nijima managed to move faster than him. The shorter boy darted through the crowded halls with the agility of a squirrel, narrowly dodging students and teachers alike. Jaune pushed himself to keep up, his shoes pounding against the floor.

"Nijima, get back here!" Jaune shouted, his voice tinged with both anger and desperation.

"Catch me if you can, Arc!" Nijima yelled over his shoulder, his voice high-pitched and mocking. His laughter echoed behind him as he disappeared around a corner, leaving Jaune to chase after him.

Miu sighed, watching the chaos unfold. "Four days away, and it's like you never left," she muttered to herself, shaking her head with a small smile before casually walking after them.

Jaune huffed, clicking his teeth in irritation as he scanned the hallway for Nijima. How the hell does a guy with such scrawny legs move that fast? he thought, frustration bubbling over. Cardio and spreading rumors—are those the only two things Nijima's good at?

Turning a corner briskly, Jaune slammed straight into someone—a tall senior with a smirk that immediately set off alarm bells. The guy was broad-shouldered, somewhat muscular, and flanked by four other delinquents who looked equally ready for trouble.

"Ah, just the punk we were looking for," the tall senior said, his voice dripping with menace.

Jaune sighed, his patience already wearing thin. How many delinquents go to this damn school? He thought.

"You're getting a little big for your britches, ain't ya, Jauney?" the senior sneered.

"Let me guess," Jaune replied dryly. "You want to fight?"

The group laughed, their chuckles low and mocking. "Aw, that's cute," one of them said. "He thinks this is gonna be a fight. Nah, kid—we're here to beat you down."

Jaune rolled his eyes, his exhaustion apparent. Without saying another word, he raised a hand and motioned for them to follow him. "Alright, let's get this over with. Come on."

His nonchalant attitude threw the delinquents off momentarily, but they quickly followed him, jeering and making threats as they walked. Normally, Jaune would do his best to avoid fights, especially at school—fighting here always came with risks. But after chasing Nijima at full sprint and dealing with the day's nonsense, he wasn't about to start running again.

He led them to a quieter school area between the gymnasium, the track field, and the theater. The spot was usually empty at this time of day, far from prying eyes.

Jaune stopped and turned to face the group, his expression calm but firm. "Alright," he said, stretching his neck and rolling his shoulders. "Whenever you're ready."

The delinquents grinned, cracking their knuckles as they spread out around him. "Big mistake, kid," the senior said, his smirk widening. "We'll make sure you regret it."

Jaune stood his ground, his stance relaxed but prepared. Let's see if they've got anything on Tsuji, he thought. A small smile tugged at his lips. Probably not.

"Hehe, you're a pretty stupid fresh," the tall senior sneered, cracking his knuckles as he loomed over Jaune. "You've backed yourself into a dead end, fighting four people simultaneously. How stupid do you have to be? Guess you don't have the brains for strategy."

The others chuckled darkly, their confidence growing as they prepared to pounce. But before they could advance, a calm voice called out from the other end of the alley.

"Then attacking from both sides should be a solid strategy.

The thugs turned, startled, to see Takeda strolling into the alley with a cool, confident air, his hands casually resting in his pockets. His presence was enough to make the group hesitate, their cocky smirks faltering.

"You'll have to deal with me too if you even think about laying a hand on Jaune," Takeda said, his tone calm and matter-of-fact.

The tallest one frowned, his bravado cracking. "You're bluffing. Everyone knows you quit Ragnarok. It's only a matter of time before they come for you, Takeda. You've got no one backing you."

Takeda's expression darkened, his voice sharp and commanding. "Shut your trap. Are you going to do something or not?"

The thugs exchanged nervous glances, the tension thick in the air. After a moment of hesitation, they backed off, pushing past Takeda as they hurried out of the alley.

"You'd better count your days, pal!" one of them shouted over his shoulder. "Ragnarok's coming for you—you're a dead man walking!"

Takeda didn't flinch, standing his ground until they were out of sight. Then, with a casual shrug, he turned to Jaune.

Jaune smiled, walking up to him. "Thanks for the assist."

Takeda waved it off with a grin. "Ah, those punks wouldn't have even warmed you up. But you'd have been late for class if you'd started fighting."

Jaune chuckled as they began walking out of the alley together. The adrenaline from the encounter was already fading, replaced by Takeda's laid-back demeanor. But their brief moment of calm was interrupted by a familiar voice.

"There you are!" Ukita yelled, blocking their path.

The broad-shouldered teen stared at Takeda, his expression a mixture of confusion and frustration. "So, is it true? Did you leave Ragnarok, Takeda?"

"Yo… Ukita," Takeda said, stepping forward. He shot a subtle look back at Jaune, silently telling him to hang back. He turned his attention fully to Ukita, his posture steady. "Yeah, it's true," he said, his tone matter-of-fact, as if stating the weather.

Ukita huffed, crossing his arms as he stared at Takeda. "Figured as much. You were always different. Your heart was never really in it. When it came down to doing the actual heavy shit, it was always me and Koga doing the trashing and smashing," Ukita said, his voice laced with a mix of frustration and reflection.

Takeda blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected emotion in Ukita's words. Ukita's gaze softened slightly as he continued, "But now I understand. I finally understand why." He paused, his lips curling into a faint, bittersweet smile. "You're no delinquent… you're a boxer."

Takeda's eyes widened briefly, taken aback by the sudden shift in Ukita's demeanor. There was no anger, no resentment—just a quiet, sad pride.

"You became a delinquent because you lost the use of your left hand," Ukita said, his voice steady but weighted with understanding. "It made you feel good, didn't it? Pummeling punks who weren't worth their salt. But deep down, you've always had the heart of a boxer."

Ukita pointed at Takeda, nodding firmly in approval. Then, before either Jaune or Takeda could respond, he turned away, his face obscured from view. "You'd better train yourself up, Takeda," Ukita said, his tone almost stern but carrying an undercurrent of sadness. "I'll see what I can do to delay the farewell beatdown. Take care, Takeda, the Puncher."

He raised a hand in a nonchalant wave as he walked away, though the weight of his words hung heavily in the air.

Takeda stood there, watching his old comrade leave. He felt a mixture of gratitude and regret but smiled softly nonetheless. Lifting his hand, he gave Ukita a two-fingered salute.

"So long, Ukita the Thrower," Takeda said, his voice quiet but full of appreciation.

Jaune stepped up beside him, glancing at Takeda. "You okay?" he asked.

Takeda nodded, his grin returning, though it was softer this time. "Yeah. I'll be fine. Guess it's time to start living up to the name."

Jaune clapped him on the shoulder, and the two of them turned to leave, the faint sound of Ukita's footsteps fading behind them.

"you have a real friend there, Takeda." jaune said Takeda, nodding in agreement.

Time Skip

As the week went by, Jaune began to notice a pattern—Nijima's schemes were ramping up. Every time Jaune tried to chase him down, he'd somehow end up crossing paths with a delinquent, and, predictably, Jaune would end up fighting them.

One day, Jaune received a love letter, neatly folded and tucked into his locker. The handwriting was surprisingly elegant, and the note asked him to meet behind the school near the old equipment shack. Intrigued and a little suspicious, Jaune went to see who had left it, only to find a guy from another class being mugged by two delinquents.

"Hey! Leave him alone!" Jaune shouted, stepping forward.

The delinquents turned, clearly unbothered by his presence. "Oh, look, another hero," one of them sneered. "Guess we'll just take your wallet too."

Jaune rolled his eyes. Of course, it's a trap, he thought as he cracked his knuckles. The other student watched in amazement as he was dropped to the floor, and Moments later, the delinquents were sprawled out on the ground, groaning in defeat.

The poor guy they had been mugging, a scrawny kid with glasses and a now-broken nose, looked up at Jaune in sheer terror. "P-please, take it!" he stammered, thrusting his wallet toward Jaune. "I-I don't want any trouble!"

Jaune blinked, momentarily confused, before realizing the guy thought he would mug him now. Sighing, Jaune gently pushed the wallet back toward him. "Keep your money," he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a handkerchief. "Here. For your nose."

The kid stared at the handkerchief like it was a lifeline. "T-thank you," he stammered, clutching it like it was made of gold before scurrying off.

Jaune shook his head as he watched the kid disappear around the corner. This is getting ridiculous, he thought, brushing the dust off his hands.

Whenever Jaune tried to confront Nijima about any of this, the self-proclaimed "strategist" would act completely oblivious, feigning innocence or conveniently distracting Jaune with new intelligence about Ragnarok. Admittedly, the information Nijima provided was good—valuable, even—but that was beside the point.

Jaune's suspicions continued to grow. It was starting to feel like Nijima was orchestrating something big, and somehow, Jaune had become an unwitting pawn in his schemes.

Two weeks flew by in a flash. Jaune's training was progressing remarkably well, and the masters of Ryozanpaku were already deliberating on teaching him more advanced techniques. His creativity in customizing his own forms, especially with his application of Water Breathing, had opened a Pandora's box of sorts. The masters were brimming with almost sadistic inspiration, eagerly envisioning the next grueling steps in Jaune's training.

The only one not entirely on board with the sadistic training regimen was his uncle Alex. Unfortunately, Alex had been recalled to Atlas for some kind of emergency. Before leaving, he'd handed Jaune a debit card for clothes, recreation, and other necessities. "A boy your age needs to live a little," Alex had said, confident Jaune wouldn't break the bank—not with Alex's Armstrong family salary and extensive assets.

In Alex's absence, Jaune fell into a steady routine. He would often see Takeda at the dojo, joining him, Miu, and—unfortunately—Nijima for lunch at school. Takeda's arm steadily improved, growing stronger daily under Akisame's care. Watching his friend's progress was inspiring, though Nijima's constant schemes and chatter often made Jaune question why he allowed the self-proclaimed strategist to stick around.

For the most part, their days were peaceful. The odd Ragnarok member would still show up from time to time. Still, more often than not, the fights Jaune found himself in were against random unaffiliated delinquents and bullies.

Jaune noticed the shift—it was quieter lately, as though Ragnarok's focus was elsewhere. He couldn't shake the feeling that something bigger was brewing. Still, he focused on his training, friends, and adapting to life at Ryozanpaku. The thought of mastering more advanced techniques kept him motivated, even as the masters' training plans grew increasingly... creative.

Jaune wasn't sure where they'd even found pots this big. He stared at the twelve massive clay pots, each standing roughly eight feet tall and about four to six feet wide. He was wearing his training pants and was shirtless, sweat already glistening on his skin as the sun beat down on the dojo grounds.

Master Ma stood nearby, his grin as mischievous as ever.

"...Where did you get the pots?" Jaune asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Master Ma's grin didn't falter for a second. "We've always had them, dear boy."

"Fucking where?!" Jaune demanded, throwing his arms out incredulously. He was sure he would've noticed ten-foot-tall pots around the dojo before now.

"Not important," Master Ma replied, waving him off with a breezy chuckle. "Today, we'll be working on a new exercise to strengthen your entire body simultaneously. Fingers, palms, forearms, biceps, core, back muscles, legs, and even your toes will all be pushed to their limits!"

Jaune regarded the grinning kenpo master with suspicion. "You definitely dodged my question," he muttered before sighing. "Alright… what do I need to do?"

Master Ma clapped his hands together, his grin widening. "Climb up to the edge of this pot and do a handstand on the rim. Keep your legs perfectly straight up."

Jaune exhaled and nodded. With a hop, he vaulted onto the edge of one of the pots and smoothly flipped into a handstand, balancing on his palms. He glanced inside the pot and noticed a thick layer of sand at the bottom, presumably to prevent it from tipping over.

"Perfect!" Master Ma called up to him. "Now, don't fall~!"

Before Jaune could question the statement, the nimble master leaped into the air and landed lightly on Jaune's feet.

"W-what the—?!" Jaune grunted, his entire body tensing from the sudden weight.

"Ahh, what a lovely view," Master Ma mused, casually pulling a rolled-up magazine from his robes. He opened it, revealing its distinctly risqué contents, and began flipping through the pages. "Alright, let's do a few laps around the pots like this. Say, oh… fifty should do it!"

"Fifty?!" Jaune's shout wavered as his arms and core burned from the strain.

Master Ma waved the magazine absentmindedly. "Yes, yes. And remember, don't drop me, dear boy."

Jaune growled under his breath, his muscles screaming in protest as he began to move. He had to grip the pot's edge carefully, his fingers and palms aching as he reached forward. Every inch demanded precision and strength, his body burning from the exertion as he struggled to maintain balance. His shoulders and core quivered with effort, his toes straining to stabilize the extra weight above him.

Meanwhile, Master Ma sat comfortably atop Jaune's feet, occasionally turning a page in his magazine, utterly unbothered by Jaune's apparent agony.

"Keep at it, Jaune!" Master Ma encouraged cheerfully without glancing up. "This will build the endurance of a true martial artist. A strong foundation is the key to greatness!"

Jaune grits his teeth, glaring down at the endless line of pots ahead of him. Sadistic bastards, the lot of them, he thought as he pressed forward.

Jaune pushed through the grueling workout, his body burning and aching in ways he'd never experienced before. He didn't even know it was possible for his toes to feel this sore. Sweat poured down his skin, dripping from his brow and trailing along his back as he struggled to keep moving. His arms shook violently, muscles screaming in protest, and his grip on the pots' edges grew more tenuous with each step.

Don't count the laps, he told himself. He'd only feel the sting more acutely if he started keeping track. Instead, he focused on anything that might distract him from the brutal strain.

His mind wandered to music—his favorite songs playing in his head like a mental jukebox. It had been a while since he'd had a chance to practice on his guitar. The thought brought a brief moment of relief, but then his aching fingers throbbed, reminding him of their state. He winced. Okay, bad idea. Not thinking about strumming right now.

He shifted his thoughts elsewhere, letting his mind drift to home. Malon's recent updates about the village floated through his mind, small but comforting glimpses of the life he'd left behind. His sisters were doing well in school; their letters were always filled with playful jabs and adventure updates. His parents were getting by day by day, though he knew they still looked for him, holding onto the hope that he'd return.

The ranch was thriving. Malon had mentioned that Epona had won an award from an esteemed breeder. This accomplishment made Jaune smile even now. The image of the proud mare trotting across the field, her mane shining in the sunlight, filled his heart with warmth.

These thoughts became his anchor, helping him push through the strain. With each lap around the towering pots, he clung to the memories of home, family, and simpler times. His body still ached, and his muscles still burned, but the pain felt just a little more bearable.

"Good pace, Jaune!" Master Ma called from his perch on Jaune's feet, flipping another magazine page. "You've only got… oh, let's say thirty-five laps to go!"

Jaune groaned inwardly, but he didn't slow down. I can do this, he thought, focusing on the small victories with each passing pot. He pressed forward one lap at a time, one memory at a time.

"And done~!" Master Ma announced cheerfully as he hopped off Jaune's feet, landing lightly on the dojo floor without so much as glancing up from his magazine.

Jaune released a shuddering gasp of relief, his arms finally giving out. With no strength left to hold himself up, he collapsed, falling straight into one of the massive pots. He landed in the soft, cool sand at the bottom, sprawled awkwardly but utterly content.

"Ahhhh, I'll never complain about sand again," Jaune mumbled, his voice muffled as he lay there in a heap. He didn't even care that his legs were bent like pretzels inside the jar. The soothing coolness of the sand against his overheated, sweaty body felt like heaven.

Master Ma walked over, tilting his head as he peered into the pot. "Good grief," he said with a sigh, shaking his head. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he tilted the jar over, sending Jaune spilling out onto the dojo floor like a limp, jelly-filled sack.

Jaune groaned as he flopped onto the ground, his limbs spread-eagled and his face pressed against the cool wooden floor. "I'm not moving… ever again," he muttered.

Master Ma chuckled, finally closing his magazine. "Nonsense, dear boy. You'll move plenty… once your next training session starts."

Jaune let out a pitiful whimper, still too tired to argue.

"Ah, you guys got sand everywhere! I just cleaned!" Miu scolded as she walked into the dojo, hands on her hips. Her eyes landed on Jaune, crumpled on the floor and covered in dust and sweat, looking like he'd just survived a sandstorm.

Master Ma tensed, his guilty expression giving him away immediately. He tried to sneak off without a word, only to have Miu hurl a broom at him. The broom's handle stabbed into the wall, perfectly blocking his escape.

"You are cleaning that up," Miu declared, her tone firm as she pointed at the mess. "And don't even think about pushing the work onto Jaune!"

Master Ma froze, his shoulders slumping in defeat as he muttered something under his breath. Meanwhile, Miu walked over to Jaune, crouching beside him to check on his condition.

"You alright?" she asked, her voice softening as she looked at the exhausted blonde.

Jaune raised a trembling hand, his thumb shakily pointing up. Then, he turned it down with exaggerated drama and let his arm flop back to the ground.

Miu rolled her eyes, a small smile tugging at her lips. "If you can be dramatic, you're fine," she teased. "Go wash up in the hot spring and drink some water."

She slipped an arm under Jaune's shoulder, helping him onto his wobbly, jelly-like legs. Jaune leaned on her for support, his face a mix of gratitude and sheer exhaustion.

"Thanks, Miu," he mumbled as she guided him toward the bathhouse, leaving Master Ma behind to face the broom-wielding wrath of a determined Miu.

There were two people no master in Ryozanpaku dared to defy when they were upset. Miu and the Elder. The Elder's reputation was well-earned, and his immense strength and unparalleled martial arts mastery made him a living legend. Crossing him was tantamount to signing your own doom—a lesson every master, apprentice, and passing bird had learned. Miu, on the other hand, wielded a different kind of power. While she wasn't nearly as physically imposing as her grandfather. When Miu was angry, even the toughest masters suddenly found themselves very cooperative, often under the threat of brooms, guilt, or her disapproving glare.

And so, between the Elder's overwhelming force and Miu's unyielding moral high ground, there existed an unspoken rule in Ryozanpaku: never upset either of them. One could break your body; the other would break your spirit.

The Next day

Jaune sighed in contentment, feeling at ease as he tended to the school gardens. He genuinely enjoyed being part of the gardening club. The responsibility and hands-on work reminded him of home. There was something deeply satisfying about watching the flowers he cared for bloom and brighten the school grounds.

Over time, the gardens became a sanctuary, not just for Jaune but also for the entire student body. Everyone knew Jaune was one of the primary caretakers, and no one dared to vandalize or mess with the flowers the way they had in years past. The message was clear: Touch the gardens, and you'll have a very rude visit from the blonde guardian himself.

It didn't take long for this to become an unspoken rule around the school—a line no one crossed.

Do not duce on the bushes.

Jaune smirked to himself as he adjusted a row of tulips. It wasn't exactly the legacy he'd imagined leaving at school, but he'd take it. For now, he was just happy to enjoy the peace, the quiet, and the vibrant blooms swaying in the breeze. There was one person Jaune noticed was missing more and more often: Kenichi. The boy would occasionally show up, chat briefly with the club president, and then leave early. Other times, he would only show up for a few days at a time. And when he did make it to school, he always seemed to have a fresh set of bruises.

At first, Jaune thought Kenichi might be bullied outside of school by delinquents. It wouldn't have been unusual, given the trouble Jaune himself had encountered. Concerned, he tried pressing Kenichi about it, but the boy always deflected.

"Don't worry about it, Jaune," Kenichi would say, offering a lopsided grin. "I've got it handled. I'm taking some self-defense classes."

Jaune needed to be convinced. He sensed something was going on, but Kenichi remained steadfast in his assurances no matter how much he tried to dig deeper. "Seriously," he'd insist, "I'm fine. Just trust me on this."

It wasn't that Jaune didn't trust him; the fresh bruises and the evasive answers told a different story. Whatever Kenichi was dealing with, Jaune could only hope he wasn't biting off more than he could chew.

Jaune's thoughts were so preoccupied that he hadn't noticed he'd been watering Nijima's head. The slimy informant was sprawled out in the bushes, his body half-buried among the tulips.

"I am not a flower," Nijima said dryly, shaking his wet hair as Jaune jumped in surprise.

"The hell are you doing in my tulips?!" Jaune hissed, glaring as Nijima slithered out of the flowerbed, his usual smirk firmly in place.

"Relax," Nijima said, shaking himself off like a drenched cat. "The intel I've got is worth a few flowers, I promise."

Jaune rolled his eyes, setting the watering can down. "I thought water melted evil warlocks," he joked.

"Ha ha," Nijima replied, clearly unamused as he wrung water from his sleeves. "Anyway, I've finally got some solid intel on Ragnarok. Turns out they've been reorganizing their ranks. Kisara's been promoted to one of the Seven Deadly Fists of Ragnarok."

Jaune leaned against a stack of fertilizer bags, crossing his arms. "Seven Deadly Fists?" he asked.

Nijima nodded, already pacing in front of Jaune as he scrolled through his notes on his scroll. "Consider them the generals of Ragnarok's entire gang. They're the seven best fighters and leaders in the organization. Well, I guess now it's the Eight Deadly Fists with Kisara joining the mix."

Jaune frowned slightly. "Huh. Didn't expect Kisara to be the 'general' type."

"She wasn't, at first," Nijima explained, smirking. "Tsuji was apparently in the running for the spot, but after losing to you, Kisara swooped in and snatched that promotion right out from under him. And he's been losing followers left and right ever since."

Jaune sighed. "I'm guessing you had something to do with that?"

Nijima's grin turned devilish. "Maybe I've been spreading a few rumors here and there… strategically, of course."

"Do I even want to know?" Jaune asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Nijima chuckled like the gremlin he was, his laugh oozing mischief. "Let's just say, Tsuji's grasping at straws to hold onto power. And to make matters worse for him, he's been put in charge of Takeda's farewell beatdown."

Jaune stiffened at the mention of Takeda. "Wait, what?"

"That's right," Nijima said, his grin widening. "Ragnarok's rules mean Takeda's gotta face a farewell beatdown to make his exit official. But here's the thing—if you were to beat Tsuji again, the loss might overshadow the whole farewell beatdown entirely. Maybe even cancel it outright. Just saying."

Jaune frowned, feeling like he was conversing with the devil on his shoulder. "And you'd… what? Arrange the fight?"

"Absolutely," Nijima said with mock sincerity, his voice dripping with theatrical charm. "I'm more than willing to sweeten the deal, Jaune. I can get you a time, a place, and even an audience to watch you humiliate him. What do you say?"

Jaune rubbed the back of his neck, listening intently. As much as Nijima's deviousness made him uncomfortable, there was a twisted logic to it. But am I really going to trust him? he thought, staring at the ever-grinning informant.

For now, he sighed, feeling like he'd been dragged further into Nijima's web of schemes, whether he liked it or not.

Nijima tucked away his scroll with a flourish, turning to make his way through the garden. "Tell you what," he said, his tone as smooth as ever. "Think my offer over. In the meantime, I'll see what other information I can dig up. You just keep training and sharpening those skills."

Without waiting for a response, Nijima slithered off, disappearing between rows of tulips, undoubtedly off to do God knows what.

Jaune sighed, his gaze lingering on the path Nijima had taken. His mind swirled with conflicting thoughts. The idea of seeking out a fight, deliberately planning one, felt… wrong. Fighting had always been a last resort for him—something he did when people forced his hand, or when survival demanded it, like the time he braved the forest with Alex against the Grimm.

But this was different. Pursuing a fight felt like crossing a line, and the very thought gnawed at his conscience.

"Hey, Jaune!" Miu's cheerful voice broke through his thoughts. He turned to see her jogging toward the garden, a bright smile lighting up her face. "Gymnastics got out early! You ready to head home?"

"Yeah, just give me a second to put some things away," Jaune called back, forcing a smile as he tried to shake off the weight of his thoughts.

Miu nodded, waiting patiently by the garden's edge. As Jaune moved to tidy up the tools and lock up the storage shed, his mind kept drifting back to Nijima's proposal. The idea of fighting to protect Takeda made sense, but the very act of seeking a fight left a bitter taste. Was this really the best way to handle things?

He sighed again, glancing toward Miu as she hummed softly to herself, oblivious to his internal struggle.

As Jaune and Miu began their walk home from school, he filled her in on Nijima's latest scheme. The late afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the quiet streets, starkly contrasting the weighty topic Jaune was sharing.

"So, Nijima told me about this 'Seven Deadly Fists' thing," Jaune said, his hands tucked into his pockets. "Apparently, Kisara got promoted, and now they're calling it the Eight Deadly Fists. He also mentioned that Tsuji's been losing followers since our fight. And, uh… he's in charge of Takeda's farewell beatdown."

Miu's cheerful expression shifted to concern as she processed the information. "Takeda's farewell beatdown? That's still happening?" she asked, frowning.

Jaune nodded. "Yeah, unless something happens to disrupt it. Nijima thinks if I beat Tsuji again, it could overshadow the whole thing and maybe even stop it entirely."

Miu glanced at him, her brows furrowed. "And Nijima wants you to do it?"

"Yeah," Jaune replied, his voice hinting at reluctance. "He's even offering to set the whole thing up. Says it's a chance to help Takeda avoid the beatdown. But…" He hesitated, his steps slowing as he searched for the right words. "It doesn't sit right with me. I've never gone looking for a fight before. It's always been… reactionary, you know? Either I'm defending myself or protecting someone else. This feels different."

Miu nodded thoughtfully, walking in silence for a moment before speaking. "I get it, Jaune. You've got a good heart. It's natural to hesitate when it feels like you're crossing a line. But maybe this isn't about seeking a fight. Maybe it's about protecting someone you care about."

Jaune glanced at her, her words sinking in. "I've been thinking about that too," he admitted. "But where does it stop? If I go through with this, what's next? Another fight? Another scheme? It feels like Nijima's just pulling me into his web."

Miu gave him a small smile. "You're not wrong about Nijima. He's always got an angle. But you're also Jaune. You'll figure out what's right—not just for Takeda, but for yourself."

Jaune sighed, a mix of gratitude and lingering uncertainty washing over him. "Thanks, Miu. I don't want to let anyone down.

"And if you're worried about Nijima setting it up, you don't have to," Miu said with a small smile, pointing toward an empty lot just ahead. "I think that's Tsuji right there."

Jaune followed her gaze, his brow furrowing. Sure enough, Tsuji was flanked by two of his gang members. Jaune recognized them from the park—faces he hadn't forgotten. They were standing in a loose semi-circle, staring down a girl Jaune didn't recognize.

Jaune quickly ducked down behind a stack of crates, motioning for Miu to follow. She crouched beside him, staying out of sight.

The tension in the air was palpable. From this distance, it was hard to make out precisely what they were saying, but the tone of their voices carried hints of menace. The girl stood her ground, arms crossed, her posture defensive. Jaune's instincts told him this wasn't just a casual encounter.

"We can't get any closer without them noticing," Miu whispered.

Jaune nodded, narrowing his eyes as he watched the scene unfold. "Yeah, let's wait and see what's going on," he murmured.

Miu glanced at him, her expression serious. "You think she's in trouble?"

"Probably," Jaune said, his voice low. His fingers curled slightly, ready to move if things escalated. "But let's see what they do first. If we jump in now, we'll lose any chance of figuring out what they're after."

Miu gave a slight nod, her eyes fixed on the group ahead.

"There's no way I can accept this!" Tsuji growled, his voice sharp with anger. He stood rigid, glaring at Kisara. "I thought Ragnarok promotions were based on skill!"

"Skill? That's exactly why I was selected," Kisara replied, her tone smug as she adjusted her cap.

Tsuji's fists clenched, his voice rising. "Say what?!"

Kisara tilted her head slightly, her smirk growing wider. "What's the matter? Losing troops lately? Looks like your numbers are thinning out."

Tsuji's glare hardened, his frustration evident. "You think you're better than me?!"

"Obviously," Kisara shot back, her words dripping with disdain. "If this is your idea of a trap, it's pretty pathetic. Weak numbers, weak leadership."

Tsuji snapped his fingers, his voice booming. "Enough talk! We're settling this right here and now. I don't care if you're a—"

Kisara's smirk vanished, her tone suddenly cold and sharp. "A girl?" she interrupted, stepping forward with a dangerous glare.

"What?" Tsuji barked back. "You think I'm gonna—what?—go easy on you or something?!"

"Go easy?" Kisara hissed, her fists tightening. "Do you really think that's what's happening here?"

Jaune crouched behind a stack of crates with Miu, strained to hear the heated exchange. The shouting made it impossible to follow, but from the bits and pieces he caught—"we're settling this," "weak numbers," "go easy"—it was enough for his protective instincts to kick in. To him, it looked like Tsuji and his gang were about to gang up on Kisara.

"We've gotta do something," Jaune whispered, glancing at Miu.

"Wait—" Miu started, but Jaune was already standing.

"I can't just let them gang up on her!" he said, stepping out into the open.

"Tsuji!" Jaune roared, his voice cutting through the tension as he lunged past a stunned Kisara. Before anyone could react, he delivered a devastating flying kick that sent Tsuji crashing to the ground, completely caught off guard.

Good sneak attack, Miu thought from her hiding spot, deciding to hang back. Jaune didn't seem to need any help with this fight at all.

Kisara blinked, her smug composure momentarily replaced by genuine confusion as Jaune landed gracefully in a crouch. The two gang members accompanying Tsuji cursed and charged at him, but Jaune moved faster. Two lightning-fast punches sent both of them sprawling, groaning as they hit the dirt.

"Ho~" Kisara said, rubbing her chin with interest. "Not bad."

Jaune glanced around, his expression puzzled as he surveyed the downed thugs and then looked at his own hands. Did I get stronger again without realizing it? He thought uneasily. That wasn't good—if he wasn't more conscious of his strength, he'd end up like some of his masters, accidentally smashing through walls like a wrecking ball.

"Hey, you okay, miss?" Jaune asked, turning to Kisara, who looked him up and down with curiosity and amusement.

"I'm good. Not bad at all," she said, folding her arms and giving him a once-over. "Say, you're Jaune Arc, right?"

Jaune tilted his head. "Yeah… sorry, have we met?"

Kisara smirked, tilting her hat up slightly to reveal her face more clearly. "My underlings have been in your good graces a few times, remember?" She pointed to her shirt, which had the word Valkyrie written in elegant cursive.

Jaune's eyes widened as realization dawned on him. "Ohhh," he said, his expression sheepish as the situation clicked into place. He glanced down at the unconscious Tsuji, then back at Kisara. "So… I guess you didn't actually need my help just then, huh?"

Kisara chuckled lightly, shaking her head. "Hardly. Tsuji's bark has always been worse than his bite."

Jaune scratched the back of his neck, feeling a mix of embarrassment and relief. "Well… uh, sorry about that."

"No need to apologize," Kisara said, a sly grin returning to her lips. "I didn't mind the show."

"So you're the one who broke my technique trio," Kisara said, placing her hands on her hips and regarding Jaune with a sharp, appraising look. "Gotta say, when I heard you beat Takeda, I really wanted to meet you."

Jaune shrugged, unsure of how to respond. Kisara tilted her head, her smirk faint but curious. "Everyone said you were nothing special. But 'nothing special' doesn't beat Takeda or Tsuji."

"Hey, most of the time, I'm just minding my own business when they pick fights," Jaune replied casually, gesturing vaguely toward Tsuji, still sprawled out cold on the ground.

Kisara cocked an eyebrow, her expression turning sly as she pointed at Tsuji. "What do you call this, then?"

"That?" Jaune said, gesturing to the unconscious Tsuji. "I stopped many guys from ganging up on a girl."

For some reason, that made Kisara bristle. Her smile vanished, replaced by a sharp glare. Before Jaune could even process the shift, she lashed out with a kick so fast he barely managed to move his head in time. The rubber of her boot grazed his cheek, leaving a faint scuff and drawing a thin line of blood.

"So you thought I was some helpless little girl?" Kisara snapped, her voice low and dangerous. "That kind of thinking really ticks me off."

Jaune stepped back, instinctively raising his hands in a defensive stance. "Hold on a second!" he protested.

"Listen here!" Kisara growled, cutting him off. "Gender does not matter! A fight's a fight, and when someone talks like that, it pisses me off to no end!"

Jaune shook his head, exhaling slowly. "First of all, my three older sisters are all huntresses, my aunt's a brutal military leader in Atlas, and one of my masters could peel my skin off with a rice spoon if she wanted to."

Kisara clicked her teeth in annoyance, her glare unwavering.

"I know damn well that if you underestimate a lady, you're gonna regret it," Jaune continued, his voice steady but firm. "But that doesn't mean I can't step in and help if I see something wrong."

Kisara's eyes narrowed, daggers in her gaze before she scoffed and kicked her duffel bag into the air, catching it effortlessly and slinging it over her shoulder.

"You lucked out today, Arc," she said, her tone sharp but measured. "I'm gonna let you off the hook because I'm busy. But soon, both you and Takeda are gonna get a visit from me. So you'd better be ready."

She turned to leave, her posture radiating confidence.

"Leave him alone," Jaune called out, his voice steady and resolute. Kisara froze mid-step, glancing over her shoulder with a glare that could cut steel. "Takeda's been through enough," Jaune continued. "Let him move on with his life in peace."

Kisara's smirk returned, but it was cold and challenging. "Beat me, and I might consider it," she said simply before walking away without another word.

Jaune stood there, staring after her, his mind racing. Beating Tsuji wasn't the answer, that much was clear. But defeating Kisara?

Miu walked over, her expression clouded with concern. "Jaune, don't take her lightly," she said, her tone firm but caring. "She's definitely an expert-level fighter, and unlike the usual delinquents you've faced… her aura's actually unlocked."

Jaune looked over at Miu, the weight of her words sinking in. "Aura unlocked?" he echoed, his grimace deepening.

Miu nodded, folding her arms. "She's on a completely different level than Tsuji or any others. At the very least, if you can't score a win against me in a sparring match… you might not be able to defeat her on your own. Not just yet."

Jaune exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening as he absorbed the warning. He hated the thought of being unprepared, especially when Takeda's safety was on the line. "Well," he muttered, "we both know there's only one remedy for that."

Miu's lips curved into a small, approving smile. "You're gonna have to train," she said matter-of-factly, her voice steady with encouragement.

Jaune nodded, a flicker of determination lighting up his eyes. "Then let's get started."

Miu placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, her smile growing. "That's the spirit."

The next morning, Jaune and Miu were walking to school, discussing how his training was progressing.

"Honestly, I'm happy to be improving so much so quickly," Jaune said, a thoughtful frown crossing his face. "But… I'm a little worried I'm going to get to the point where I can't control my strength."

He thought back to how easily he'd knocked Tsuji and his gang out the day before. It had been almost too easy.

"Don't worry," Miu said reassuringly. "You'll get used to it gradually. It just takes time and practice."

Their conversation was interrupted by a familiar, unsettling voice dripping with venom. "Turn right," the voice hissed.

Jaune nearly jumped out of his skin as he turned to see Nijima lurking behind a light post, his beady eyes glinting with mischief.

"Damn it, Nijima!" Jaune snapped, clutching his chest. "Don't do that! I'm liable to kick first next time."

Unfazed, Nijima slithered around the pole with a grin. "You really shouldn't go down that road," he said cryptically. "Turn right."

Miu greeted him with her usual cheerfulness. "Good morning, Nijima."

"Good morning, Miu," Nijima replied, before turning back to Jaune. "Tsuji's waiting for you just down the street. If I were you, I'd take a different route."

Jaune sighed, already sensing where this was going. "Why's he waiting for me?"

"The bastard's really mad about how you 'attacked him from behind,'" Nijima said, lacing his words with mock admiration. "I didn't know you had such underhanded tactics in you. I'm impressed."

"That's not how—" Jaune began, but Nijima cut him off.

"To top it off, I may have exaggerated your victory a little," Nijima continued smugly, holding up the latest edition of the school newspaper. The headline screamed:

Ragnarok's Tsuji: Even After Using Coward's Tactics of 30 Against 1, Still Loses!

Jaune's jaw dropped. "You what?!"

Nijima grinned, clearly pleased with himself. "The bastard's so pissed off he might take your head off if you fight him now. Trust me, you'd be better off going the other way."

Jaune groaned, grabbing Nijima by the shirt and shaking him furiously. "Why do you keep doing this?! Why do you keep lying and spreading rumors about me, you devil, false news-spreading little gremlin!"

"Oh, praise me more!" Nijima cackled, seemingly unfazed by Jaune's frustration.

Jaune let go, taking a deep breath to calm himself. "You know what? Forget it. I'm going to have a word with Tsuji."

As he turned to leave, Nijima darted in front of him, arms outstretched. "You moron! After all the trouble I went through to warn you?!" he yelled.

Jaune gave him an unimpressed look. "Nijima… move."

"No way!" Nijima yelled. "That bastard's scary when he's angry! It's painfully obvious to me that he'll kill you horribly if you fight him now."

"Nijima," Jaune said flatly, brushing Nijima's hands aside, "this isn't about running. If I walk away now, it'll never end. Not with Tsuji."

Nijima growled in frustration. "Fine! You want to go? It's going to be over my dead body!"

Without a moment's hesitation, Jaune swept Nijima's legs out from under him, sending the boy sprawling onto his back with a yelp.

"Thanks for the offer," Jaune said calmly, stepping over Nijima as he deliberately continued on his way. Miu followed, stifling a laugh as Nijima flailed dramatically on the ground.

"You'll regret this, Arc!" Nijima called out, his voice trailing behind them. "Mark my words!"

It didn't take long to find Tsuji. He was standing in the middle of a clearing, flanked by the same two gang members as yesterday. The moment he spotted Jaune, his glare intensified.

"There you are!" Tsuji roared, his voice echoing with anger. "You've got some nerve ambushing me the way you did the other day!"

Jaune sighed, setting his bag down. "Look, Tsuji, I—"

"And to top it off," Tsuji interrupted, his voice rising, "you've been talking shit! Spreading all those damn rumors!"

"Hey!" Jaune shot back, holding up his hands. "I had nothing to do with the rumors—"

"Shut it!" Tsuji yelled, pointing an accusing finger at him. His face was red with fury, his stance aggressive. "You and me—a fair fight! That's the only way to settle this!"

Jaune exhaled deeply, his frustration with the situation clear. It was obvious there was no reasoning with Tsuji. This wasn't going to end with words. Realizing there was only one way to resolve things, he gave a reluctant nod.

"Alright," he said, stepping forward. He slid into a Muay Thai stance, his posture steady and controlled. "Let's do this."

Tsuji grinned menacingly, cracking his knuckles as he dropped into his own stance. His two lackeys cheered him on from the sidelines, jeering at Jaune and hyping up their leader.

Tsuji attacked first, rushing forward with a strong punch aimed at Jaune's head. Jaune reacted quickly, pushing the arm to the side with his left palm as his right fist veered toward Tsuji's face. The wild-haired teen managed to block the punch, countering with a roundhouse kick. Jaune ducked just in time, launching a punch at Tsuji's exposed stomach.

Tsuji crossed his arms defensively, blocking the blow and smirking—until Jaune's other fist slammed into his unguarded face. The impact sent Tsuji crashing to the ground at the feet of his two henchmen.

"Boss!" one of them yelled, rushing to his side.

"Captain, get up! You can't be out of the fight now!" the other cried desperately.

Tsuji gasped, wincing as he clutched his head, the fight clearly knocked out of him. He groaned bitterly, the rage and pride that fueled him earlier draining away. "...Damn it. Not again," he muttered. "It's a complete loss. There's no excuse."

As he stood shakily, Tsuji's voice carried a heavy tone of resignation. "You two… you should team up with another gang. The Tsuji Troop is done. There's no coming back from such a crushing defeat." He moved to walk away, his steps slow and burdened. "A man's worth is determined by the men who follow him. And now… all my men are gone."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic," Jaune said, causing Tsuji to pause and turn back to him. "You've got something worth more than all those men combined."

Tsuji blinked, confused. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Jaune gestured toward Tsuji's two henchmen, who were now crying openly and nodding fervently. "You've got two loyal, true friends you can count on."

Tsuji stared at his henchmen for a moment, their tearful determination clear. The silence stretched before he let out a long sigh, a faint, reluctant smile tugging at his lips. "Friends… huh," he muttered. After a beat, he raised his head. "Fine."

"Jaune~!" Nijima's familiar voice interrupted as he slithered into view, wrapping an arm around Jaune's shoulder. "I never doubted you'd win—not for a second!"

Jaune gave Nijima an annoyed look but used the moment to drive his point home. "Believe me, Tsuji, friends like yours are hard to come by. Just look at mine," he said, gesturing to Nijima, who smirked smugly in return.

Tsuji turned his head, trying to hide the tears welling in his eyes. "Boss, he's right!" one of the henchmen said. "We've got your back."

"We can rebuild and reorganize the Tsuji Army!" the other declared. "It'll be stronger than ever before."

Tsuji raised his head higher, his resolve returning. "Alright. Then it's settled. The Tsuji Army is hereby leaving Ragnarok."

"Yes, sir!" his henchmen shouted enthusiastically.

As Jaune turned to leave, Tsuji called after him. "Hey, Jaune. That fake boxer friend of yours—his beatdown's happening soon."

Jaune froze, his expression darkening. "What?"

"Kisara took the assignment when she got promoted. Her whole gang's going to be getting their pound of flesh," Tsuji warned grimly. "And she won't be alone. Another member of the Eight Fists will be supervising the beatdown. They call him Hermit. Be careful with that guy. He's got the eyes of a killer."

Nijima visibly shivered at the mention of Hermit, and Jaune raised an eyebrow. "Something you want to share with the class?" he asked dryly.

"I saw the Eight Fists in action the other night," Nijima said, his voice low and trembling. "Just three of them fought, but Hermit was one of them. Each of them took on fifty opponents on their own. And they didn't just beat them—they knocked them all out."

Jaune nodded solemnly, the weight of the warning settling in. It was clear that the opponents he'd face moving forward weren't going to be pushovers.

That afternoon, Jaune stopped by the boxing club. Inside, he found Takeda in front of a punching bag, dressed in boxing sweatpants, gloves, and tennis shoes. His footwork was steady as he worked the bag, each punch landing with precision.

Jaune noted the improvement in Takeda's injured arm. To most people, it would look almost fully recovered, but Jaune's trained eye could tell it was still a touch slower than his other arm.

"Hey, Takeda," Jaune called out.

Takeda glanced over and smiled when he saw Jaune. "Oh, hey, Jaune. What brings the gardening club to my neck of the woods?" he asked, continuing to pummel the bag. "You here to see if there's room for some flowers in the clubroom?"

Jaune chuckled at the jab. "Heh, no. I came to let you know what I found out about Ragnarok."

Takeda threw one final punch, hard enough to make the bag sway violently, before catching it with both hands to steady it. "Alright, spill it," he said, catching his breath.

Jaune hesitated for a moment before speaking. "You should be careful. Tsuji told me your farewell beatdown is going to happen soon."

Takeda was silent for a moment before he gave Jaune a confident grin. "Oh? Is that so?" he asked casually, as though it were no big deal.

Jaune sighed, crossing his arms. "Please stop acting like this is someone else's problem. Just promise me you'll be on your guard—at least a little."

Takeda whistled lightly as he tapped the bag, clearly trying to act nonchalant, though the casual demeanor only irritated Jaune further.

"Takeda, please take this seriously," Jaune urged.

For a moment, Takeda's back remained turned to him, his body still. Then, without turning around, he spoke, his voice quieter and tinged with an edge of nervousness.

"No matter how much you guard, eventually… you're gonna get hit," Takeda said, his words heavy. "There are some things you just can't avoid, Jaune."

The room felt heavier in the silence that followed. Jaune's concern deepened as he watched his friend standing there, his usual bravado now tempered by a hint of vulnerability. It was clear that despite Takeda's confident front, he understood the reality of what was coming.

The two boys were interrupted when Miu walked into the boxing room, wearing her gymnastics leotard. The outfit hugged her athletic and curvy frame, immediately drawing the attention of several guys in the boxing gym. A few openly stared, though Miu either didn't notice or didn't care, her focus entirely on the newspaper she held in her hands.

Jaune, on the other hand, noticed right away—and not because of the gawking boxers. He could already tell from Miu's expression that he wasn't going to like what she had to show him.

"Hey, Jaune, these have been going around school," Miu said, walking up and handing him the paper.

Jaune sighed as he took it. Sure enough, Nijima had already twisted his most recent fight with Tsuji into a headline-grabbing spectacle. The front page featured an obviously photoshopped image of Jaune standing triumphantly over a crumpled Tsuji in what appeared to be a dramatic pose Jaune definitely never struck.

Jaune groaned, running a hand down his face. "That rat bastard," he muttered under his breath.

Over his shoulder, Takeda leaned in to read the article. His eyes scanned the exaggerated headline and ridiculous photo, a grin tugging at his lips. "Man, Nijima really outdid himself this time."

As if summoned by the mention of his name, Nijima's gleeful cackle echoed down the hall. "Extra! Extra!" he shouted, his voice rising above the din of the gym. Papers flew through the air as he hurled them indiscriminately at anyone who so much as glanced his way.

Jaune's head snapped up, his body already moving toward the door. "NIJIMA!" he roared, bolting into the hall with Takeda and Miu jogging after him.

By the time they reached the end of the hallway, Nijima was already gone, his laughter fading into the distance. Jaune stopped, hands on his hips as he sighed in defeat.

"Pretty good running legs," Takeda remarked, amused.

Jaune turned back to him, pulling a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handing it over. "Look, Takeda, here's my scroll number. Call me if Ragnarok shows up. I'll come by and back you up as soon as I can."

Takeda took the paper with a mockingly sweet smile. "Kyaaa~ It sounds like we're a pair of lovers," he teased before turning his attention to Miu, flashing her a playful grin. "Though I'd much rather get your number, honey~."

Miu rolled her eyes, unfazed by the flirtation. Jaune sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Please, Takeda. A little more serious, if you don't mind."

Takeda chuckled, waving him off. "Alright, alright, lover boy. I got it."

Jaune groaned as the three of them turned to leave

That afternoon at Ryozanpaku, Jaune found himself in one of the most grueling training sessions he'd ever endured. Master Sakaki, notorious for his no-nonsense approach, had taken it upon himself to prepare Jaune for handling multiple opponents.

"When you're outnumbered, you don't win by being fancy," Sakaki said, his tone sharp and matter-of-fact. "You win by surviving. You win by moving. And if you don't keep your head in the game, you lose. Simple as that."

Jaune nodded, already sweating. His hands were raised in a defensive stance, his muscles taut, ready for the next wave. Around him, the suspended training dummies swayed on ropes, a simple but effective simulation of multiple attackers.

"Alright, kid," Sakaki barked, clapping his hands. "Time to prove you've got something worth teaching. Let's go."

The dummies came at Jaune from all angles, swaying unpredictably as Sakaki yanked ropes to increase their speed and force. Jaune sidestepped the first dummy, parrying it with a quick palm strike, but the second came faster than he expected, grazing his ribs. He winced, twisting to block another, but his balance faltered as two dummies swung in from opposite sides.

"Too slow!" Sakaki shouted. "Keep moving! Don't let them box you in!"

Jaune gritted his teeth, pivoting on his heel to avoid the next strike. He lashed out with an elbow, knocking one dummy aside, but another clipped his shoulder. The force made him stagger, and he barely ducked in time to avoid being hit in the head.

"You call that moving?" Sakaki barked, his voice cutting through Jaune's mounting frustration. "Get it together!"

Jaune pressed on, sweat pouring down his face as his breathing grew heavier. Every block and strike seemed harder than the last. His legs burned from the constant footwork, and his arms felt like lead as he tried to deflect the relentless onslaught. Just as he started to find a rhythm, Sakaki yanked one of the ropes harder than before, sending a dummy careening into Jaune's side. It hit him with a brutal thud, knocking him off his feet.

Jaune hit the mat hard, gasping for air. The winded blonde clutched his ribs, glaring up at Sakaki, who stood with his arms crossed, his expression calm and unimpressed.

"Get up," Sakaki ordered coldly. "Fights don't stop because you fell. That's when they hit you hardest."

Jaune groaned but rolled onto his hands and knees, forcing himself to stand. His stance was shakier now, his chest heaving as he raised his hands again.

"That's better," Sakaki said, his tone giving away nothing. "Let's go again."

The drill restarted, this time faster and with less room for error. Jaune dodged one dummy, narrowly blocked another, but was forced backward as the barrage continued. Each block sent shocks through his tired arms. He stumbled, sweat stinging his eyes, as the dummies pressed in closer.

"You're too static!" Sakaki barked. "If you don't keep moving, you'll get buried!"

Jaune pushed through the exhaustion, shifting his weight to avoid a blow and delivering a quick low kick to a dummy swinging toward him. But as soon as he dealt with one, another dummy came from behind, clipping the back of his head.

The impact staggered him, but Jaune gritted his teeth and stayed on his feet. His movements grew sloppier, his balance harder to maintain as the relentless pace wore him down. Another dummy struck his shoulder, and he barely managed to push it away before a second hit his leg, buckling his stance.

"Pathetic!" Sakaki snapped. "You think this is hard? Try dealing with real people who want to put you in the ground!"

Jaune roared in frustration, summoning the last reserves of his strength. He dodged one dummy, pivoted to block another, and struck out at a third with a sharp sidekick. The room spun as his body protested, his limbs trembling with exhaustion, but he forced himself to keep moving. His strikes were ragged but determined, his footing precarious but unyielding.

Finally, Sakaki clapped his hands, signaling the end of the drill. The dummies slowed to a stop as Jaune collapsed onto his knees, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His arms hung limply at his sides, and his legs felt like they'd turn to jelly if he tried to stand.

Sakaki walked over, crouching to Jaune's level with a calm but critical eye. "You're sloppy," he said bluntly. "Your balance is garbage. You hesitate too much, and you waste energy on strikes that don't matter."

Jaune looked up at him, his face streaked with sweat and frustration. "But…" Sakaki continued, his tone softening just slightly, "you didn't quit. That's something."

Jaune nodded weakly, his chest still heaving. "Thanks, Master Sakaki."

"Don't thank me yet," Sakaki replied, standing and crossing his arms. "We're just getting started. If you want to survive what's coming, you're gonna have to do a hell of a lot better than this."

Jaune groaned inwardly, but despite the pain and exhaustion, he felt a flicker of determination. "I'll be ready," he said, his voice hoarse but steady.

"You'd better be," Sakaki replied as he walked off, his tone as unrelenting as ever. "Because out there? No one's gonna go easy on you."

Jaune wiped the sweat from his brow, his muscles still aching from the brutal training session with Sakaki. Miu's voice called out from across the dojo.

"Hey, Jaune! Takeda's heading out," she said, waving him over.

Jaune looked up, a bit surprised. He hadn't realized Takeda was still around—it was already past dark. His appointment with Akisame had been earlier, so why was he lingering? Curious, Jaune walked toward the front entrance, where he spotted Takeda chatting with Akisame about something.

"Sensei, Takeda," Jaune greeted as he approached. "I didn't realize you were still here. Something up?"

Takeda gave a casual shake of his head, his usual laid-back grin in place. "Nah, just hung around to watch your special training for myself. Gotta say, I can see why you're getting so strong, man."

Jaune frowned, his concern outweighing the compliment. "Didn't I tell you to keep a low profile for a while?" he asked, crossing his arms.

Before Takeda could respond, Akisame chimed in, his tone calm as always. "He couldn't help it. It was his treatment date."

Jaune sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Alright, I guess that's fine," he muttered, before turning his attention back to Takeda. "You put my number in your scroll like I asked?"

Takeda shifted slightly, trying to look innocent. "Uh…"

Jaune raised an eyebrow, holding out his hand expectantly. "Hand it over."

Takeda chuckled nervously, reluctantly pulling his scroll out of his pocket and handing it to Jaune. "Alright, alright, here you go. Geez, you're starting to sound like my mom."

Jaune ignored the jab, quickly inputting his number into the scroll and double-checking it before slyly setting his number to speed dial. "There. Now you've got no excuse. If anything happens, you call me, immediately. Got it?"

Takeda nodded, his grin softening into something more genuine. "Yeah, I got it. Thanks, Jaune."

Jaune handed the scroll back to him and gave him a light pat on the shoulder. "Good. Now, keep your head down and stay safe, alright?"

As Takeda turned to leave, Akisame adjusted his glasses, his calm but knowing gaze resting on Jaune. "You're taking on quite the burden, Jaune. Be careful not to overextend yourself."

Jaune nodded, his expression serious. "I'll manage, Sensei. I just… want to make sure he's okay."

Akisame gave a slight smile, his usual cryptic approval shining through. "A noble sentiment. Let's hope it stays that way."

As Takeda walked off into the night, Jaune stood at the entrance for a moment, watching him go.

20 min later.

Jaune was helping Miu clean up from that night's dinner when his scroll started ringing. His heart skipped a beat as he dashed into the living room to answer it. Just as his hand reached the scroll, Apachai beat him to it, picking it up with his usual enthusiasm.

"Hello! This is Apachai. I have your child," he said cheerfully, his voice booming.

Jaune groaned, gently taking the scroll back from him. "Thanks, Apachai. I'll handle it."

Pressing the phone to his ear, Jaune spoke quickly. "Takeda? It's Jaune. Everything alright?"

On the other end, muffled shouting and yelling filled the line. Jaune's stomach sank. "Takeda?!" he called louder, his voice edged with panic. "Where are you, man? I'll come right away! Hello? Damn it!"

Jaune cursed under his breath takeda was deffinitly in the middle of a fight. Master Ma hurried over, his sharp eyes narrowing as he took in the situation.

"Give it here," Ma said firmly, holding out his hand. Jaune passed the scroll to the Kempo master, who pressed it to his ear and listened intently. His expression shifted subtly. "I hear a train…" he muttered, his mind already working. "Miu! Bring me your student directory."

Miu darted into the next room, returning moments later with the directory in hand. Master Ma quickly scanned through it, cross-referencing Takeda's address with the nearby train routes and schedule. After a tense moment, he circled an area on the map with his finger.

"There," he said decisively. "This neighborhood is on his way home."

Jaune didn't waste a second. He bolted for the door, not even bothering to change out of his dojo uniform. He slipped on his shoes hurriedly as Miu grabbed her jacket and sneakers.

"Let's go," she said, her voice steady but urgent.

"Hang on, man. I'm coming!" Jaune shouted as he and Miu darted into the night, determination fueling every step.

Jaune cursed under his breath as he sprinted through the maze-like neighborhood. Ragnarok had chosen their spot well—small roads, narrow alleys, and enough cover to keep any fight hidden from prying eyes. The area was sprawling, and even at a full sprint, it felt impossible to search every nook and cranny fast enough.

His frustration grew as he pushed himself harder, his breath coming in quick bursts. Where are you, Takeda? he thought.

"Jaune! I see them!" Miu's voice rang out from above.

He skidded to a stop, looking up to see her standing on one of the support beams of a nearby bridge. Her sharp eyes scanned the area below. "They're in a small street that way!" she yelled, pointing. "I almost didn't notice them!"

"Great! No time to lose!" Jaune shouted back, adjusting his course. He took off again, weaving through the labyrinth of streets.

"Jaune, there's a lot of them! Don't hold back!" Miu warned, her voice carrying over the wind.

"Got it!" Jaune called back, his resolve hardening.

He vaulted over fences, cut through backyards, and dodged through tight alleys to save time. Every step brought him closer, the muffled sounds of yelling growing clearer with each stride. His muscles burned, but he didn't let up for a second.

Hang on, Takeda. I'm almost there.

Jaune skidded to a stop as he spotted Ragnarok in the alley. His fists clenched at the sight of Koga standing smugly over Takeda's unconscious form, his arrogant voice ringing out.

"I'm gonna break his friggin' arm. Hold him still! I'll do it in one go!" Koga barked, his tone dripping with malice.

Jaune's teeth ground together, rage boiling over as he reached the chain-link fence separating him from the alley. Without hesitation, he surged forward, his fist tearing through the metal links with a deafening crash. His punch collided squarely with the back of Koga's head, sending the smaller delinquent flying across the alley like a ragdoll. Koga slammed into the wall with a pained grunt, crumpling to the ground.

The alley went silent as Jaune grabbed the hole he'd made in the fence, gripping it tightly. With a roar, he pulled, using both hands and one leg to rip the opening wide enough for him to step through. The twisted metal screeched in protest as Jaune forced his way in, his glare slicing through the stunned group of Ragnarok members like a blade.

Their smugness evaporated, replaced with wide-eyed fear as Jaune scanned the scene. Takeda lay unconscious on the ground, his face battered. A short distance away, Ukita was badly beaten, his body held up by two thugs as one wrenched his arm out, preparing to break it.

"NOW YOU'VE PISSED ME OFF!" Jaune roared, his voice echoing through the alley.

Without another thought, he lunged at the gang. He didn't stop to count their numbers, didn't care how many there were. All that mattered was that his friends needed him.

Jaune's first punch sent a thug flying into a pile of crates, splintering the wood with the force of the impact. Another rushed him from the side, but Jaune ducked the swing, delivering a brutal uppercut that knocked the thug clean off his feet.

The chaos of the fight didn't faze him. Every strike, every scream only fueled his anger. Ukita's bruised and bloodied form flashed in his mind as he spun to avoid another attack, his knee driving into an opponent's stomach. The thug crumpled with a wheeze, leaving two more charging toward him.

"You think you can get away with this?!" Jaune growled, his voice feral as he slammed his palm into one attacker's chest, sending him crashing into the wall. The other tried to tackle him, but Jaune grabbed him by the collar, slamming him headfirst into the ground.

For every thug that came at him, Jaune had an answer. His strikes were brutal, efficient, and fueled by unrelenting fury. His friends had been hurt—beaten—and these punks thought they could get away with it.

Not tonight.

One of the thugs rushed at Jaune, swinging a kendo stick wildly. The weapon whistled through the air, aimed straight for his head. Jaune sidestepped smoothly, his hand snapping up to grab the thug's wrist. With a sharp twist, he disarmed the attacker in one fluid motion, the kendo stick now firmly in his grip.

"Big mistake bringing this," Jaune muttered, his knuckles whitening as he adjusted his grip.

The gang began to surround him, but Jaune only tightened his stance, the kendo stick raised like a blade. He took a deep breath, his movements shifting into a familiar rhythm.

"Water Breathing: Third Form," he said under his breath.

Jaune stepped forward with a smooth, flowing motion, the kendo stick slicing through the air in a pattern that mimicked the dance of waves. His strikes were precise and relentless, hitting thug after thug as he weaved through the gang. The weapon seemed like an extension of his body, bending and curving through the chaos as he overwhelmed his opponents.

"Flowing Dance!" Jaune called out, his strikes accelerating in speed.

The kendo stick struck shoulders, ribs, and knees with pinpoint accuracy, sending ten members of Ragnarok crashing to the ground in quick succession. Their groans filled the alley as Jaune spun, the kendo stick twisting like a stream of water, clearing a path through the chaos.

"He's massacring us!" one of the thugs screamed, panic evident in his voice.

"Rush him! All at once!" another yelled, rallying a group of six thugs who charged at Jaune with desperate energy.

Jaune's eyes sharpened, his breathing steady. As the group rushed him, his movements became faster, more unpredictable. He ducked low, sweeping the legs out from under the first attacker. With a sharp upward motion, he struck the next in the stomach, sending him sprawling into two others. The final pair hesitated, but Jaune didn't wait—he advanced, spinning the kendo stick in a wide arc that knocked them both to the ground before they could react.

Jaune quickly smacked one thug aside with the kendo stick, only to feel a weight latch onto his left arm as another delinquent jumped onto his right. The two thugs shouted frantically, trying to pin him down, their combined weight dragging at his movements.

"Damn it! He's like a typhoon! Hold him still!" one of them yelled.

For a moment, it might have seemed like their tactic was working—on an ordinary person. But Jaune wasn't ordinary, and the training of Ryozanpaku wasn't to be underestimated. Fueled by sheer will and the lessons drilled into him by his masters, Jaune roared in defiance, his muscles surging with power.

Swinging his entire body weight, he slammed the thug gripping his left arm into the chain-link fence with a resounding crash. The metal groaned as it bent under the impact, the delinquent slumping to the ground in a daze.

Jaune didn't pause. Reaching over, he gripped the hair of the thug clinging to his right side, yanking his head down into a brutal collision with Jaune's rising knee. The crack of bone and cartilage echoed through the alley, and with a feral growl, Jaune hurled the now-unconscious thug over his shoulder into another attacker, sending them both tumbling to the ground.

The remaining gang members hesitated, their confidence rapidly eroding as Jaune slid into a Kempo stance. His movements were steady and controlled, his breathing sharp and measured as he scanned for the next threat.

One of the more desperate thugs lunged at him with a switchblade, the blade glinting under the dim streetlights. Jaune didn't flinch. His left hand shot forward, catching the wrist of the knife-wielding delinquent. With his right, he delivered a precise palm strike to the boy's chest. The force of the blow sent the attacker stumbling backward, the knife clattering to the ground as he gasped for air.

As Jaune stood amidst the groaning bodies of defeated Ragnarok thugs, their resolve faltering under his relentless assault, a sharp thud drew his attention. He glanced to the side to see Miu standing triumphantly over Kisara, who was out cold on the ground. Miu's breathing was steady, her leotard slightly torn but her stance strong as she dusted off her hands.

At the same time, chaos erupted further down the alley. A new commotion rippled through the remaining Ragnarok members as several of them were suddenly jumped from behind. A white banner flapped dramatically in the dim light, emblazoned with the word Nijura.

"Yo, my brother, how you doing?!" a familiar, obnoxiously smug voice called out. Nijima strutted into the alley, a baseball bat slung over his shoulder, his expression a mix of mock bravado and actual confidence. He swung the bat with surprising force into the side of a stunned Ragnarok thug, sending the delinquent sprawling to the ground.

Behind Nijima stood a group of teens from their school, some of whom Jaune even recognized from different clubs. They held improvised weapons—bats, pipes, and even a mop—and were clearly ready to brawl.

"Your closest, dearest friend, Hauro-sama, has arrived to lend you some assistance!" Nijima declared, raising his arms dramatically.

"Fuck! It's a new gang!" one of the Ragnarok thugs shouted in panic, his voice cracking.

The disorganized remnants of Kisara's group hesitated, their confidence shattered as Nijima's "allies" began advancing with surprising enthusiasm.

One of Kisara's senior members rushed to her side, lifting her unconscious form carefully. "Retreat! Fall back!" he barked, his voice carrying authority even in defeat.

The remaining Ragnarok members scrambled, hastily picking up their unconscious comrades as they fled through the alley, the sound of their retreating footsteps echoing in the night.

Jaune straightened, exhaling deeply as he surveyed the aftermath. He turned to Nijima, who was still brandishing his bat like a king leading an army.

"What the hell are you doing here, Nijima?" Jaune asked, his tone exasperated as he gestured toward the chaotic scene.

"Helping you, of course," Nijima replied with a smug grin. He rested the bat on his shoulder, standing proudly amidst the aftermath. "I couldn't let my closest buddy go up against Ragnarok alone. That would've been bad optics for my rise to power."

Jaune pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath, "We're going to have a long talk about this later, Nijima."

Meanwhile, the Nijura members moved efficiently, tending to Takeda and Ukita. To Jaune's surprise, several of them had first aid kits and seemed to actually know what they were doing. One member carefully wrapped a bandage around Ukita's arm, while another helped Takeda sit up and handed him a bottle of water.

Jaune walked over to Takeda, crouching beside him. "Hey, Takeda. You doing alright?"

Takeda gave a small smile as he took a sip from the water bottle. "Hey, Jaune. Yeah, I'm alive. That's something, right?"

Jaune sighed in relief, shaking his head. "It's a good thing I secretly set my contact on speed dial when I put it in your scroll," he said, his tone light but edged with concern.

Takeda chuckled softly, his expression a mix of exhaustion and amusement. "You caught me. Guess I should've expected that."

"Why didn't you call me, dude?" Jaune asked, his voice quieter now, tinged with frustration and worry.

Takeda smiled sadly, looking down at his bandaged arm. "I didn't want you making the same mistake I did," he said softly. "I didn't want you getting dragged into my mess."

Jaune exhaled deeply, understanding the weight behind his friend's words. He should've realized Takeda was trying to protect him just as much as he'd been trying to protect Takeda.

"Still," Takeda added, grinning as he flexed his injured arm slightly, "this was a complete victory, Jaune. Don't let yourself say otherwise."

Jaune smiled faintly, his chest tightening with a mix of pride and guilt. "Yeah," he said, his voice steadier now. "We won."

The Next day

Jaune slammed his head against the table. Once, twice, three times. Why, you might ask?

"Nijura! Nijura! Nijura!"

A chorus of voices chanted the name like a mantra. Several of his classmates, their fists beating against their chests before thrusting outward in an exaggerated salute, joined in the cacophony.

At the center of this madness stood Nijima, grinning with pride. A boy from another class waved a massive white banner trimmed in gold, with the name Nijura written boldly in kanji. The air practically vibrated with enthusiasm—and Jaune's rising frustration.

"Nijima…" Jaune muttered, his voice strained as he kept his forehead firmly planted against the desk. "When I raise my head from this table, I want an explanation. Or so help me…"

Before Jaune could finish, Nijima slammed his palms down on the table, leaning in far too close. "While you were gone, my best buddy, my comrade-in-arms," Nijima began with dramatic flair, "I took the liberty of recruiting some... valuable fighters to our cause."

Jaune slowly tilted his head up, fixing Nijima with a glare. "And what exactly is 'our cause' this time?"

Nijima puffed out his chest and gestured grandly at the room. "To defeat Ragnarok, of course, and seize control of the school!"

"Pass."

Jaune pushed himself up from the desk, intent on leaving, but Nijima scurried in front of him, throwing his arms out wide to block his way.

"Now, hold on a minute, Jaune!" Nijima's voice rose to a plea, tinged with desperation. "Look around! Everyone here is gathered because of you! They're inspired by you! Do you even realize what Ragnarok's been doing? They've made life a living hell for the regular students who just want to enjoy their education! Even the teachers are too scared to stand up to them. But then you showed up."

Jaune frowned, pausing mid-step. Nijima seized the moment, stepping closer.

"They're here," Nijima continued, lowering his voice, "because you gave them hope. You gave us hope."

The room was eerily silent now, every pair of eyes fixed on Jaune. The weight of Nijima's words hung in the air like a challenge—and Jaune felt it pressing down on him.

Jaune sighed, dragging a hand down his face before reluctantly glancing around the room. The students gathered were a mixed bag—some fresh-faced underclassmen, others seasoned upperclassmen who carried themselves with a bit more confidence. And then there was Takeda.

Jaune dropped his face back into his hands, groaning. "Nijima, what's your deal? And it better be good."

"My deal?" Nijima grinned like a man unveiling a grand plan. He leaned forward, his palms slamming onto the desk between them. "Oh, my dear best friend, you wound me. Surely you must've pieced it together by now."

Jaune slowly lifted his head, glaring at him. "Humor me." Nijima straightened up, puffing out his chest as if preparing to deliver a speech. "It's simple, Jaune. You and I—together—we're going to build an empire."

Jaune's expression didn't change. He blinked once. "An empire."

"Yes!" Nijima's voice rose, filled with excitement. "Not just a gang, mind you—a true empire! With your charisma and unmatched fighting prowess, combined with my brilliant strategic mind and peerless wit, we'll be unstoppable. We'll crush Ragnarok, take over this school, and show the world what true power looks like!"

Jaune stared at him, unblinking. Then, after a long pause, he replied, "Nijima. That is the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

"Ah, but you don't mean that," Nijima said, undeterred. He wagged a finger, pacing in front of the desk now. "You see, right now you're trapped in what I call the 'Jaune Arc Loop'—a vicious cycle of self-doubt and resistance to destiny. But trust me, my friend, once you embrace this, you'll see how perfect it is."

"Nijima, there are so many things wrong with this plan. First of all, I don't want to lead a gang, let alone an empire—"

"Not just any empire!" Nijima interrupted, spinning to face him dramatically. "One that will go beyond mere martial arts squabbles! We'll control the school's economy, politics, social dynamics—we'll redefine what it means to rule! We'll unite the disillusioned under one banner: our banner! Together, we'll bring peace and order through absolute power."

"Peace and order," Jaune repeated flatly. "By taking over the school."

"Exactly!" Nijima said, nodding vigorously. "And here's the kicker—this isn't just about fighting Ragnarok. This is about creating a legacy. Something that will be remembered long after we graduate."

Jaune rubbed his temples. "Nijima. We're in high school. There's no legacy. There's barely homework most days."

Nijima grabbed him by the shoulders, eyes wide with conviction. "That's what makes this the perfect time to strike! No one else has your talent, your natural ability to inspire! Look around!" He gestured to the crowd. "They're here because they believe in you, Jaune. They see what I see—a leader. A symbol of hope. The one person who can stand against Ragnarok and win!"

Jaune's gaze swept over the room again. Sure enough, every face was watching him expectantly. The pressure of their stares felt suffocating, but Nijima's grip on his shoulders didn't falter.

He sighed deeply, muttering under his breath, "I just wanted to get through high school in one piece…"

"Jaune," Nijima said, his tone unusually serious now. "This is bigger than you or me. This is about all of us. This is our moment. And with you at the helm, there's nothing we can't achieve."

Jaune gave him a long, hard look. "You're insane."

Nijima smirked. "Only in the best possible way."

"Right," Jaune said slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Let me get this straight. I am now the leader of a gang I didn't start, with members I didn't recruit, to fight an enemy I was planning to just ignore?"

"Exactly!" Nijima chirped, grinning ear to ear. "You're a natural-born leader, Jaune."

"No," Jaune deadpanned, taking a step toward the door. "I'm a natural-born student who would like to finish high school in peace and ove onto a huntsmen academy."

But once again, Nijima darted in front of him, blocking his exit.

Jaune could feel their collective gaze bearing down on him, each set of eyes silently pleading for him to take up the mantle they'd thrust upon him.

He groaned, glancing at Nijima, who was practically vibrating with excitement. "This is your fault, you know."

Nijima winked. "You're welcome."

"i hate you." Jaune said bluntly with every fiber of his being.

WE ARE BACK BABY!

So i have recently been hit with a random surge of inspiration. it got be back into writing and now that its the winter season i have more time to write. there is a specific moment i want to get to in this story. But i am back in the swing of things. I'm back with fresh eyes, and time to write so expect more frequent uploads with better quality

Until Next time

~Later Days~

-Wiseotaku