Been on an anime binge lately so I got inspired to update my harem fic. Again. Poor Jaune. Poor Blake too.

For anyone interested in making a commission, email me at: storylover543 gmail . com

Jaune stumbled into the fruit grove with the kind of relief usually reserved for lost travelers finding an oasis in the middle of a desert. The vibrant, colorful trees stretched up toward the sky, their branches heavy with fruit that looked so fresh and juicy he could practically hear his stomach screaming, Finally! He gulped and trudged those last few steps, every single one feeling wet and heavy. Brothers, what he wouldn't give for a change of clothes.

He slumped against the nearest trunk, catching his breath, "Okay...okay, I can do this," he muttered, glancing around to make sure he wasn't about to be ambushed by any other contestants. It looked clear. No crazy sword guys, no Dust-fueled explosions, and no screaming declarations of love for Blake or her, ugh, booty.

Just trees, sunlight, and sweet, blessed food.

Jaune wiped his forehead and began scanning the area. His years of camping with his family - seven sisters could turn any outdoor trip into a logistical nightmare - were finally about to pay off. He'd gathered plenty of supplies before on family trips. This was just...like that. Only with fewer campfires and more people trying to kill him.

Spotting a cluster of low-hanging fruit, Jaune reached up and plucked a large orange-like fruit from the branch. He inspected it carefully, turning it over in his hands. It didn't smell weird, no strange discoloration, no ominous drips. Good enough. He took a tentative bite, and his taste buds practically sang. Sweet, tangy juice burst across his tongue, and he let out a muffled groan of satisfaction, "Oh, man, that's good..."

For a moment, Jaune forgot all about the insane competition. He forgot about Blake, the mysterious voice guiding him, and even the guy who'd tried to chop him in half earlier. All that mattered was the glorious taste of food after what felt like days of starvation. Yes, he knew he had dinner just last night, but he'd spent the morning being chased by psychotic simps! That tended to work up an appetite!

He devoured the fruit in record time, tossing the pit aside before grabbing another one. Then another. Before long, Jaune had a small pile of discarded peels and pits around him, and his energy was finally starting to return, "Alright," he said, dusting off his hands on his pants without caring how messy it looked, "Step one: don't starve to death. Done."

Next came the important part: stocking up. He couldn't just sit here stuffing his face all day, as tempting as that was. He needed to gather as much as he could carry. If he could make a small stash and keep moving, he might actually stand a chance of surviving this madness. Jaune looked around for something to use as a makeshift bag. He remembered a trick his dad had taught him about weaving branches and vines into a simple basket. With some effort, he snapped off a few sturdy branches, stripped the leaves, and set to work.

"Okay, Jaune," he muttered to himself as he twisted the vines around the branches, "You survived getting thrown out of a bullhead. You survived two eliminations by accident. You can survive this." It wasn't exactly the most comforting pep talk, but it got the job done. After a few minutes of fumbling, he had something that vaguely resembled a basket. It wasn't pretty, but it would hold fruit and any other light supplies he could forage.

He started loading up, grabbing as much as he could while still leaving room for his scroll, Crocea Mors, and whatever other supplies he might come across later. By the time he was done, his basket was nearly overflowing. Jaune stepped back, admiring his work, "Not bad," he said, giving the basket a little shake to make sure it wouldn't fall apart. It held, "Guess those family camping trips weren't a total waste after all."

The thought made him smile faintly. His sisters would've been proud, and probably impressed he hadn't gotten himself disqualified yet. Or they would've died from secondchancringe.

"Alright," Jaune said, slinging the basket over his shoulder, "Now to find somewhere safe to-" A distant crack echoed through the grove. Jaune froze, his heart skipping a beat. His eyes darted toward the sound, and he caught the faint rustle of leaves in the distance, "...Oh no." With a burst of adrenaline, Jaune ducked behind the nearest tree, clutching the basket tightly, "Great. Step two: don't get your face caved in. Still working on that one."

He took a deep breath, calming his racing heart. Whatever it was, he'd survive. He had to. This stupid competition wasn't going to beat him. Not when he was finally starting to get the hang of things.

All he had to do was keep moving. Keep surviving. One step at a time.

Jaune didn't get far from the grove before his scroll buzzed in his pocket, the sharp vibration nearly making him jump out of his skin. His nerves were already on edge, and for a brief second, he thought it was Blake's mysterious voice again, ready to feed him more cryptic survival tips. But when he fumbled to pull the scroll out, his heart soared with relief. Pyrrha's name glowed brightly across the screen. Pyrrha. His partner and one of the few bright spots in Beacon.

"Oh thank the Brothers," Jaune breathed, thumbing the answer button before practically slamming the scroll against his ear, "Pyrrha! Pyrrha, oh man, I am so glad to hear from you! You would not believe the day I'm having." There was silence on the other end. No cheerful greeting. No relieved "Jaune!" like he expected. Just soft, shaky breathing. Jaune blinked, slowing his pace, "...Pyrrha?"

"Jaune," her voice finally crackled through, but it was barely above a whisper, and - was she crying? His brows furrowed as he stopped walking entirely, glancing around the grove nervously like she might somehow be standing nearby,

"Pyrrha? Hey, what's wrong? Are you okay?" Jaune's tone shifted immediately, concern flooding his voice.

"Jaune...do you-" Pyrrha's voice wavered, and she took a trembling breath before pushing the words out, "Do you love Blake?"

Jaune's brain flatlined, "...Huh?" His free hand hovered awkwardly in the air as he processed the question, like she'd just asked him something in a completely different language, "Wait, what?"

Pyrrha sniffled faintly, and Jaune swore he heard the tiniest hitch in her breath, "Is it true? That's why you entered, isn't it?"

"What?! No, no - wait! Hold on a second! Who told you that? I don't love Blake!" Jaune flailed so hard in protest that he nearly dropped his scroll into the dirt, "I signed up by accident! I didn't even know what this was until I was already falling out of the sky!"

Another silence followed. Jaune's heart pounded uncomfortably as he waited, listening to the soft, unsteady sound of Pyrrha's breathing.

"...You're not lying?" she finally asked, her voice so soft it almost didn't register.

"I swear on Crocea Mors. I didn't sign up because of Blake," Jaune said, his tone as serious as he could muster, "I wouldn't do that, Pyrrha. I barely talk to Blake. She probably thinks my name is 'That Guy With The Hoodie.'"

He heard a faint, shaky laugh on the other end. It was brief, but enough to make Jaune's shoulders relax a little. Pyrrha sniffed again, but she sounded more stable this time, "I'm sorry. I just...I heard everyone talking, and Weiss said you were on the list, and..." She trailed off, and Jaune could picture her biting her lip nervously, her fingers probably fiddling with the hem of her sash.

Jaune let out a breath, running his hand through his hair as he paced slowly beneath the shade of the trees, "It's fine. Honestly, I get it. This whole thing's insane. But Pyrrha, seriously - help me."

Pyrrha paused, and when she spoke again, there was a hint of confusion, "...Help you?"

"Yes! Please! I am begging you, Pyrrha, keep me from dying! Everyone here is insane! I got attacked twice today! There's this guy - huge sword, crazy eyes - he tried to cleave me in half because he thought I was after the 'Bellabooty!' I can't keep doing this!"

"Bellaboo- " Pyrrha cut herself off with a sigh, and Jaune could practically hear the secondhand embarrassment radiating through the call.

"I'm serious!" Jaune pleaded, "You're like, the best fighter I know! You've gotta have some advice or something! I can't keep surviving by accident forever!"

There was a long pause, but this time it wasn't heavy or tense. Pyrrha seemed to be weighing her options, the soft hum of thought practically audible through the scroll. Finally, she answered, "...Alright. I'll help you."

Jaune's knees almost buckled with relief, "Oh thank you, thank you, thank you! I owe you so much for this!"

Pyrrha's voice softened, the faint warmth returning to her tone, "Just stay safe, Jaune. I'll do what I can."

Jaune nodded even though she couldn't see it, "I will. I promise." As the call ended, Jaune let out a long breath and leaned against a tree, clutching his scroll to his chest like a lifeline. Pyrrha was on his side. If anyone could help him survive this insane competition, it was her.

Now all he had to do was avoid getting ambushed for the next twenty-four hours.

Piece of cake...right?

The moment Jaune heard the boom from above, he thought the entire sky was falling. With a burst of wind and a flash of red, Pyrrha Nikos descended from the heavens like a meteor, landing in front of him with enough force to leave a small crater in the dirt. Her long hair fluttered dramatically behind her as she rose to her full height, spear twirling in her hand as if she was ready to take on the entire island single-handedly.

Jaune gawked, "P-Pyrrha?!"

She didn't look at him immediately, eyes narrowing as she scanned the surrounding grove, "I'm here to protect you, Jaune." Her voice carried that same calm confidence he'd come to know, "Rules be damned. I'm not letting anyone touch you."

Jaune's heart swelled with relief, "Oh man, this is great! I- wait." He squinted at her, "How did you even get here?!"

Pyrrha glanced away sheepishly, "Weiss may have left a few airships unattended. And it's not like there are any air defenses around the island. After all, they didn't think of the possibility of anyone wanting to leave until they claimed Blake's heart."

"...You hijacked an airship?"

"I borrowed it," Pyrrha corrected with the tiniest of smiles.

Before Jaune could respond, the underbrush rustled ominously. His stomach dropped, "Oh no." Emerging from the trees was him. The same greatsword-wielding lunatic from earlier, his eyes blazing with unholy fervor and his weapon resting casually on his shoulder like he hadn't just tried to bisect Jaune two hours ago.

"There you are," the swordsman grinned, pointing his blade at Jaune, "Thought you could run, huh?"

Jaune took an involuntary step back, "Uh...Pyrrha?"

"I see him." Pyrrha stepped between them, planting her feet firmly. Her spear gleamed in the sunlight, and she pointed it straight at the man with unwavering resolve, "I won't let you hurt Jaune."

The swordsman's eyes flicked to Pyrrha and stayed there for all of two seconds before he snorted, "You're not on the list. I'd remember you."

"That doesn't matter." Pyrrha raised her shield, a (metaphorical, not literal) golden Aura faintly shimmering around her, "Jaune's my bo- uh, friend. My partner. If you want him, you'll have to go through me first."

The swordsman's brow twitched upward, "Sure. Whatever." Jaune exhaled slowly, bracing himself behind Pyrrha. He'd seen her in action plenty of times. She was practically invincible. Hell, she was literally called the Invincible Girl! If anyone could take down this maniac, it was-

The swordsman lunged forward. Pyrrha stepped in to block, shield raised.

And then she was sent flying like a ragdoll, tumbling head over heels through the air. She crashed somewhere deep in the grove with a faint crunch of leaves and branches, and Jaune was left staring at the space she previously occupied, jaw hanging open.

The swordsman blinked at his own sword, visibly confused at how easy it was.

Jaune barely had time to process before the tinny voice of Professor Port crackled to life over his scroll.

"Oh dear! It seems the intruder, Ms. Nikos, has been eliminated immediately! That was fast!"

Doctor Oobleck chimed in, his voice as rapid-fire as ever, "Yes, yes! Quite fascinating! Let's not forget, ladies and gentlemen, that this competition's power scaling directly correlates to one's romantic attraction to Blake Belladonna. As Ms. Nikos entered the contest illegally and has no discernible attraction to Miss Belladonna, she possesses the combat strength of a wet paper towel!"

"A wet paper towel," Port repeated dramatically, "Or perhaps a sleepy kitten!"

Jaune froze, scroll limp in his hand, "...Excuse me?"

The swordsman let out a low chuckle, leveling his blade once more, "Looks like your bodyguard didn't get the memo."

Jaune swallowed, "Hold on. You're telling me Pyrrha, Mistral Champion Pyrrha, just got swatted like a bug because she's not into Blake?!"

"Oh, absolutely!" Oobleck answered enthusiastically, as if this was perfectly normal. Did he hear him?! "And in fact, the greater the feelings for Miss Belladonna, the more exponentially powerful one becomes! You could say this tournament is a direct reflection of the heart!"

"Yes, yes!" Port agreed, his deep laughter echoing faintly, "A contest of love, strength, and perhaps questionable life choices!"

Jaune paled. The swordsman smirked, "I knew my devotion would be rewarded!"

Jaune groaned, "Oh come on!" The man lunged again, but Jaune - desperate and panicked - swung his makeshift fruit basket like a club, slamming it straight into the swordsman's gut.

To his complete shock, the man actually stumbled, "Wait...what?" Jaune blinked at his own basket, confused.

Port's voice crackled through once more, slightly amused, "Oh! It seems Mr. Arc still holds a significant amount of Aura! Perhaps his survival instincts are stronger than his romantic interests, or perhaps he's simply...well, sturdy."

"Sturdy indeed!" Oobleck added, as if this was an official analysis, "Or perhaps he has feelings for Ms. Belladonna despite his claims to the contrary? What did the Mistralian's call it? Tsundere?"

The swordsman glared at Jaune, visibly annoyed, "You do have feelings for her!" He snarled.

"I don't!" Jaune yelped, already sprinting away, "I just don't wanna get killed!" As he fled, he kept a cautious eye on the grove where Pyrrha had disappeared, "Pyrrha! You okay over there?!"

A weak, far-off voice answered, "I'm fine...but Jaune...I think I might stay down for a bit. S-Sorry~"

Jaune grimaced, "Yeah...yeah, I don't blame you."And with that, he disappeared deeper into the jungle, hoping that somehow, somehow, he could survive this madness without accidentally triggering the full force of someone else's Blake obsession.

Jaune didn't stop running, "Sorry, Pyrrha! I'm really, really sorry!" he yelled over his shoulder, weaving frantically between the trees as if sheer zigzagging would somehow make him harder to hit, "I'll-I'll come back for you later! Probably! Just...stay down and don't move!"

A faint, exhausted "Okay..." echoed somewhere far behind him, and Jaune winced.

'Good job, Jaune. You let your best friend take a hit for you, and now she's somewhere in a bush with a broken Aura and questionable life choices.' His legs burned, lungs screaming for air, but he didn't stop. Not with that guy still stalking through the jungle behind him, like some kind of relentless Bellabooty Terminator.

His scroll buzzed mid-sprint, and Jaune fumbled to answer it without tripping over his own feet, "You can't keep running," the voice said, smooth and calm like it wasn't suggesting complete insanity, "If you don't eliminate him now, you'll never stand a chance against the stronger contestants. Yang and Adam will crush you."

Jaune's eye twitched, "Oh really?" he snapped, dodging around another tree, "Wow, thanks for the hot tip, mysterious jungle voice! I hadn't figured that out yet! You know what else I figured out? I can't eliminate him! I'm not Pyrrha! I can't just drop a guy in three hits!"

"Pyrrha tried. Look where that got her."

Jaune nearly tripped, "Th-That's not fair! She only lost because of your weird power scaling!"

"She fought someone who thinks Blake's the goddess of his dreams," the voice replied dryly, every word dripping with contempt, "Of course she lost. He practically doubled his strength the second he thought about her cat ears."

Jaune groaned, mentally filing that entire sentence under 'things he would never, ever repeat out loud, "I barely survived him!" Jaune hissed, ducking behind a thick tree trunk to catch his breath, "I'm not a champion fighter! I don't even like Blake that way! You said that was supposed to be my advantage!"

"It is," the voice answered smoothly, "But that doesn't mean you can avoid everyone forever. You need to start...removing people, Jaune. Consider it...survival by process of elimination."

Jaune slumped against the tree, running a hand down his face, "You're crazy. You know that, right?"

A faint pause lingered before the voice replied with what Jaune swore was a trace of amusement, "Maybe. But I'm also right."

Jaune growled under his breath, shutting his scroll with more force than necessary and stuffing it back into his pocket, "Yeah, well...we'll see about that," he muttered, tugging his basket higher on his shoulder, "Process of elimination, my ass. I'm not built for this!" But even as he said it, Jaune couldn't shake the feeling that the voice was right.

And that terrified him more than the guy with the sword.

Jaune's scroll buzzed again, and he nearly threw it into the nearest bush out of sheer frustration, "No," he growled, answering it while still sprinting, "No, I'm not listening to you right now. You're crazy. You're so crazy."

"You're not going to survive if you keep running," the voice said calmly, as if Jaune wasn't one errant branch away from eating dirt, "Your opponent is faster, stronger, and - thanks to his obsession with Blake - practically unstoppable in a head-on fight. You need to lean into your strengths."

"What strengths?!" Jaune shouted, ducking under a low-hanging branch and nearly losing his basket in the process, "I'm the worst fighter at Beacon!"

"Exactly," the voice replied, utterly unfazed, "So stop trying to fight him like you're a swordsman. You're not Pyrrha. You're Jaune Arc. Think like Jaune Arc."

Jaune ground to a halt, skidding across the dirt and spinning around to lean against a tree, "Okay, fine. Enlighten me, oh wise jungle voice. What exactly does Jaune Arc do in a tournament like this?"

"You're resourceful. Set traps. Disarm him somehow. Slow him down. You don't need to overpower him; you just need to outthink him."

Jaune blinked, caught off guard, "...That's actually not a bad idea."

"I know."

"But you're still crazy," Jaune added, shaking his head.

"Fair," the voice deadpanned, "One more thing, though."

Jaune groaned, "Oh no. Here it comes. What now?"

"You might want to...reconsider your feelings for Blake."

Jaune froze, his brain grinding to a screeching halt, "...What?"

"Just a little," the voice continued, as if this was the most normal suggestion in the world, "Not enough to fall in love with her, obviously. The last thing she needs is another crazy admirer. But even a tiny increase in physical attraction will boost your power level. It's simple tournament mechanics."

Jaune stared at the scroll in disbelief, his hand twitching as he debated whether he should just hang up and deal with the sword guy on his own, "You're telling me," he said slowly, as if testing the words, "To think about how attractive Blake is so I don't die?"

"Yes."

"This is so dumb!" Jaune yelled, throwing his free hand into the air.

"It is. Dumber than anything on Remnant," the voice agreed flatly, "So win. For both your sake and Blake's. Now think about her cat ears, Arc."

Jaune slapped his hand over his face, dragging it down as he let out a frustrated groan, "This...this is the stupidest tournament ever!"

"Agreed. Now focus."

Jaune groaned again, but against his better judgment, he closed his eyes for half a second. His mind wandered to Blake - her ears twitching as she read in the library, the way they perked up when Yang told a particularly bad pun. He even thought about the small smiles she gave when she tried to hide how amused she was.

He shook his head furiously, as if the thoughts physically burned, "Nope. Nope. Not doing this. This is too weird. Find someone else to think about her ears!" Blake was attractive, he wasn't denying that, but thinking about someone he exchanged maybe three words with. And yes, Weiss was different, thank you very much!

"If you want to live, Arc, you'll think about those ears and set some traps."

Jaune groaned louder, dragging his basket off his shoulder and fumbling to find anything remotely useful in the clearing around him, "I hate this. I hate this."

"Good," the voice said smoothly, "Use that hatred. Channel it into survival. Hatred will give you power. And think about the ears."

"I'm going to lose my mind," Jaune muttered under his breath, grabbing a handful of vines and snapping off a sturdy branch, "But fine. You want traps? I'll give you traps. You want me to think about cat ears? Whatever. Just tell me how to not die, and I'll deal with the existential crisis later."

"That's the spirit," the voice replied, almost sounding pleased.

Minutes later, Jaune was crouched low to the ground, vines wrapped tightly in his hands as he inspected his hastily constructed snare. The plan was simple, if not a little ridiculous: trap the simp, blind him with mashed fruit, disarm him, and then go full piñata on him with Crocea Mors.

Sure, it wasn't the most elegant plan. But Jaune wasn't here to win style points: he was here to not die.

He tugged on the vine, testing the tension in his snare. It was tied between two sturdy trees, hidden beneath a thin layer of leaves and dirt. If the simp stepped on it, the trap would yank him upside down and dangle him like a particularly angry fish, "Alright," Jaune muttered, wiping the sweat from his brow as he moved to the second part of his genius strategy. A pile of ripe, overripe, and downright mushy fruits sat in a precarious basket above the snare. He had rigged another vine to a nearby branch. If - when - the simp triggered the snare, the fruit basket would tip, and a cascade of mashed fruit would rain down on his face.

Jaune stood back to admire his work, hands on his hips, "Perfect," he said, though the word felt a little strong for what he was looking at, "It's dumb. But it'll work. Probably."

He pulled Crocea Mors from his sheath, the blade gleaming in the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees. His hands gripped the hilt tightly as he took a deep breath, staring at his reflection in the blade, "I killed an Ursa Major with this sword," he told himself, his voice low and serious, "I can take down one simp. I can do this. It's just one guy."

The forest remained eerily quiet, save for the faint rustling of leaves in the breeze. Jaune's heart pounded in his chest, and he could feel the sweat dripping down his neck as he crouched behind a tree, gripping his sword and watching the path leading to the trap.

Any second now.

A few minutes later, he heard it: heavy footsteps crunching through the underbrush, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of a massive blade dragging lazily along the ground.

The simp.

Jaune ducked lower, holding his breath as the footsteps drew closer. His heart thundered in his chest, adrenaline spiking as he peeked around the tree. There he was - the same wild-eyed, sword-wielding lunatic who'd chased him all day. The guy looked like he was still grumbling about 'Bellabooty', Jaune clenched his teeth, "Please, please, please step into the trap..." he whispered under his breath, his grip tightening on Crocea Mors.

The simp's foot came down on the snare.

Snap!

The vine shot up, yanking the man off the ground and flipping him upside down.

"WHOA!" the simp yelled, flailing as he dangled from the tree like a human Christmas ornament.

His trap worked! It fucking worked!

The vine holding the fruit basket tugged just as Jaune planned, tipping the basket and sending its messy contents flying. A cascade of mashed fruit and sticky juices rained down on the dangling simp, splattering across his face, chest, and hair in a truly impressive display of natural ammunition.

"What the-?!" the simp sputtered, twisting and turning as fruit juice dripped into his eyes, temporarily blinding him, "What is this?!"

"Victory!" Jaune shouted, jumping out from his hiding spot with Crocea Mors raised high. The simp flailed harder, his slippery, fruit-covered hands losing their grip on his massive sword. The weapon clattered to the ground, embedding itself halfway into the dirt.

Jaune grinned triumphantly. Step one: complete.

He charged forward, swinging Crocea Mors like a man possessed, "I killed an Ursa Major with this sword! You think I can't take down a simp?!" It wasn't the most inspiring battle cry, but he felt empowered all the same. Down to simphood!

The first strike hit the man's side, and he howled in protest, still flailing uselessly in the trap. The second strike caught him in the leg, and the third...well, Jaune wasn't really aiming at this point. He just kept swinging, each hit fueled by a mix of adrenaline, desperation, and sheer, unrelenting spite. He didn't know how many times he swung. Dozens? Hundreds?! Okay, maybe not hundreds, but it sure as heck felt like it! THWACK!

"Ow! Stop! Hey! What is this?" the man yelled, his Aura flickering wildly as Jaune hammered away like he was breaking open the world's weirdest piñata.

"I'm not dying today!" Jaune roared, his sword coming down one last time with a satisfying crack as the man's Aura finally shattered.

The simp went limp, groaning as he dangled in the trap. Jaune stood over him, panting heavily, Crocea Mors trembling in his grip, "Step two: don't get my face caved in. Done," he gasped, wiping blood (read: fruit juice) off his forehead.

Port's booming voice echoed from Jaune's scroll, startling him, "AND THAT'S ANOTHER ELIMINATION, FOLKS! CONTESTANT NUMBER 50, JAUNE ARC, CLAIMS VICTORY WITH A MOST...UNCONVENTIONAL TACTIC!"

Jaune blinked, looking at the destroyed trap and the fruit-splattered mess of his opponent. Unconventional was a nice way to put it.

Oobleck's rapid voice chimed in, "Indeed! A clever use of his surroundings and a strong finishing blow! It seems our underdog is growing bolder by the minute!"

Jaune stared at the scroll, still catching his breath. Bolder, he thought. No, that was pure, dumb luck.

Jaune stood over his fallen (or rather, hanging) opponent, panting heavily as adrenaline surged through his veins. His arms felt like jelly from the relentless swinging of Crocea Mors, but he didn't care. He'd done it. He'd actually done it.

The guy was out cold, dangling upside down in the snare, his massive sword buried in the dirt a few feet away. His Aura was gone. Jaune stared at him for a moment, taking in the sheer ridiculousness of the scene: mashed fruit dripping from the guy's face, his limp body swaying like a very sad piñata.

A slow grin spread across Jaune's face. Then, throwing his head back, he let out the loudest, most triumphant scream he could muster, "YEEEAAAHHH! I AM THE CHAMPION!" It wasn't pretty. It wasn't dignified. It was primal, barbaric, and utterly ridiculous. He beat his chest with one hand, still clutching his sword in the other, and let out another guttural roar, "TAKE THAT, SIMP! WHO'S THE KING NOW, HUH?! ME! JAUNE ARRRCCC!"

The dangling man didn't respond - probably because he was unconscious - but that didn't stop Jaune from basking in his victory. For once, he'd been the one to come out on top. He wasn't a klutz or a fluke this time. He'd set a trap, executed a plan, and won!

"WHO'S THE MAN?! I AM! WHO'S NOT DEAD?! ALSO ME! I JUST WRECKED YOU WITH FRUIT! THAT'S RIGHT!" He jabbed a finger at the dangling guy, who was too unconscious to notice. Not that Jaune cared, "I bet you thought you had me, huh?! Oh no! Not today! That's right! Tell your Bellabooty or whatever that Jaune Arc - yeah, this guy - survived another round!" Jaune wasn't done. He planted a foot on the base of the tree dramatically, holding Crocea Mors like it was a battle trophy, "I-I'm the Ursa Major slayer! And now? I'm the Simp Slayer!"

This was his moment.

"Do you...need a minute?" The voice in his scroll interrupted his triumph like a bucket of cold water to the face. Jaune froze mid-roar, his arms still raised in victory. He blinked, realizing how utterly ridiculous he must've looked, standing over a hanging fruit-smeared opponent and screaming like a lunatic. Slowly, he lowered his arms, clearing his throat awkwardly.

"I, uh...no. I'm good. Totally good," he mumbled, running a hand through his sweat-soaked hair, "Just...celebrating."

"Clearly," the voice replied dryly.

Jaune groaned, glancing at his fallen opponent again, "I mean, come on! I just took out a guy twice my size! I deserve at least a little celebrating."

"Mm-hmm," the voice said, unimpressed, "You do realize that was loud enough to alert everyone within a mile, right?"

Jaune froze again, his stomach dropping, "...Wait. What?"

"I said," the voice repeated, slightly sharper now, "You just turned your location into a neon sign. Congratulations."

The words barely had time to sink in before Jaune heard it: the crunch of footsteps through the jungle, accompanied by faint voices.

"Hey, what was that?!"

"Sounded like someone yelling!"

"Let's check it out!"

Jaune's heart stopped. His hands tightened around Crocea Mors as he whipped his head toward the sound of approaching chaos.

"Oh no," he whispered, glancing back at the dangling simp, who was still blissfully unconscious, "Oh no, no, no, no!"

"You might want to start running again," the voice suggested, dryer than the Vacuo desert, "Or, you know, prepare another genius trap. Your call."

Jaune didn't have time to argue. With a panicked yelp, he slung his basket over his shoulder, grabbed Crocea Mors, and bolted back into the jungle, cursing under his breath, "Why did I scream?!" he muttered furiously, "Why am I so stupid?!"

The voice chimed in once more, utterly calm, "That's an excellent question, Arc. Now run."

"Why are they working together?!" Jaune screamed.

"Allies of convenience. They'll turn against each other if they manage to make it to the finals. Less screaming, more running."

Back aboard the airship, Blake leaned back in her oversized leather chair, her golden eyes glued to the screens displaying the chaos unfolding below. On one, Jaune was stumbling and flailing his way through the jungle after another narrow escape, muttering curses and tripping over roots. On another, Yang was bulldozing through a group of contestants, her Ember Celica roaring with explosive power.

And then there was Adam.

Blake's gaze lingered on his screen for a moment too long, her lips pressing into a thin line. He moved with terrifying precision, cutting down his opponents with practiced ease, his blade carving arcs of deadly red through the air. He was efficient, relentless, and worst of all, unshaken. His face bore no traces of the fanaticism that seemed to infect so many of the others. For Adam, this wasn't a game. It was a statement.

Blake sighed, pulling her eyes away from the screen and focusing on her plate. The tuna was as fancy as she'd expected - soft, flaky, perfectly seasoned. She didn't particularly enjoy the idea of being Weiss' 'guest' in this ridiculous spectacle, but if she was going to be dragged along, she was going to make the most of it. And that meant fancy tuna.

Her fork clinked softly against the plate as she rested her elbow on the armrest, rubbing her temple with her free hand. This whole situation was so absurd it almost hurt to think about. She was Blake Belladonna, a quiet, reserved girl who just wanted to read her books in peace and maybe, maybe enjoy a decent conversation with her teammates once in a while. Instead, here she was, the unwilling prize in a battle royale that was rapidly descending into chaos.

And her only hope of ending this madness without someone like Yang or - she shuddered - Adam "winning" her heart was Jaune Arc.

Jaune. The guy who could barely hold his sword straight.

Blake stabbed another bite of tuna, cat ears twitching in irritation. She didn't want to put her faith in someone so utterly unremarkable, but he was the only contestant who wasn't actively obsessed with her. That made him the least threatening option.

She had nothing against him, really. He was kind, if awkward, and far too naïve for his own good. But he wasn't exactly the image of reliability. The fact that he'd survived this long was a miracle in itself. Two of eliminations had come from accidents. Accidents and having more Aura than his entire team put together.

Still, her confidence in him was...limited.

Her eyes flicked back to Jaune's screen, where he was stumbling through a clearing, hastily setting another trap with vines and what looked like a stick he'd barely sharpened. He muttered to himself the entire time, clearly frustrated, though his traps were surprisingly functional, "Resourceful," Blake muttered, chewing thoughtfully, "If nothing else, he's resourceful."

Her gaze shifted to Yang's screen. Yang stood triumphantly in the aftermath of another brawl, her grin wide and self-assured. Ember Celica hissed as she reloaded, her Aura blazing brightly despite the fight. Blake could almost hear Yang's laugh through the screen, loud and confident, as if she'd already won. Blake's ears flattened slightly. Yang would be a problem. She was the best fighter bar none in team RWBY. Maybe the best among the first years if Pyrrha wasn't here.

And then there was Adam. Her stomach churned as her eyes flicked back to his screen. He moved like a predator, his every step calculated, his every strike precise. No wasted movements. No hesitation. He wasn't just here to win - he was here to make a point. To remind everyone that Blake Belladonna was his and his alone. Anyone unfortunate enough to cross his path was left on the ground while his Aura was left undamaged.

Blake set her fork down with a soft clink and leaned back in her chair, exhaling slowly. Yang and Adam. Two wildly different threats, but threats nonetheless. Yang's sheer power and determination were enough to steamroll most of the competition. And Adam...Adam wouldn't stop until he won or until someone dragged him down kicking and screaming. The best thing she could do was try to lure them to take the other down then have Jaune eliminate the survivor. And even then, that was a hard sell give Jaune's 'skill' level.

She closed her eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of her nose, "You're my only hope, Jaune," she muttered under her breath, "Don't screw this up."

As if on cue, Jaune's screen displayed him stepping into one of his own traps, narrowly avoiding getting tangled in his own snare before letting out a frustrated scream.

Blake sighed, picking up her fork again, "I'm doomed."

All hail Jaune the Simp Slayer.

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Question:

1. Do you guys want this to be a Knightshade story or is it funnier if Jaune legit doesn't get Blake's appeal? I've had some people think it would be funny if Jaune didn't fall for Blake but she fell for him. Cue the Jaune Brawl (even though her only competition would be Pyrrha at this point).