Chapter 2...of 3. Yeah, this oneshot that became a twoshot is now a threeshot. I need to learn to pace myself better. Ah well. Chapter 3 already out for supporters.

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Jaune sat stiffly in the chair across from Professor - Headmistress, he reminded himself - Glynda Goodwitch's desk, his fingers digging into the armrests as if they were the only things anchoring him to reality. The words she'd spoken moments ago swirled in his mind, louder and more ridiculous every time he tried to make sense of them. He stared at her, expecting some kind of punchline, but all he got was her sharp, composed expression - the kind that always made students shut up and listen back at Beacon.

This wasn't a joke. Somehow, this insanity was real.

He inhaled sharply, "So, let me get this straight," he said slowly, his voice tinged with disbelief, "Men don't have Aura. Huntsmen don't exist. And Salem isn't trying to wipe out humanity anymore...she's trying to make a global harem of men?"

Glynda adjusted her glasses, her face unreadable, "That is...an oversimplification," she said in her usual clipped tone, "But essentially accurate."

Jaune blinked. He opened his mouth to respond, but all that came out was a dry laugh, sharp and humorless. He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as if the universe would kindly explain what the hell was going on, "You've got to be kidding me," he muttered. But no one was laughing. Certainly not Glynda. He looked back at her, his brows furrowing as his disbelief gave way to frustration, "This has to be some kind of trick. A test. Something." He gestured wildly at the room around him, "Because there's no way this is real. There's no way you're real. You're trying to tell me I somehow ended up in a world where men are basically..." He struggled to find the right word, "Harem fodder?"

Glynda sighed, placing her riding crop on the desk with a measured movement, "I understand this is difficult to process, Mr. Arc. But I assure you, this is no trick. This is the reality of the world you are now in."

"Reality?" Jaune repeated, a sharp edge creeping into his voice, "You call this reality? My world was falling apart, people were dying, and Salem was leading an army of Grimm! And now you're telling me she's more interested in..." He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head, "What? Dinner dates and flowers?"

Glynda's lips tightened, her gaze flicking away for a moment before returning to him, "Salem's methods are...difficult to describe," she said carefully, "But her ambition remains the same. Control. Subjugation. And in this case, yes, she has decided that the male population is the key to her plans." She paused, "And no, Mr. Arc, she is not interested in 'dinner dates and flowers'. She is, to put it bluntly, thirstier than someone living in Vacuo. From what we've gathered, she hasn't had sex in countless milleniums. You can imagine how...desperate that makes someone."

Jaune groaned, leaning forward to rest his head in his hands. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be happening, "This is insane," he muttered, "This is...it's a joke. It has to be a joke."

"I assure you, it is not," Glynda said, her tone softening slightly, "Though your arrival is certainly...unprecedented."

Jaune peeked up at her through his fingers, his brow furrowing, "What do you mean, 'unprecedented'?"

She hesitated, her fingers tightening on the edge of her desk, "Your existence here is an anomaly. A man with Aura, skilled in combat, capable of defeating trained Huntresses...naturally, this has drawn some attention." She squirmed slightly in her seat, "You must've noticed how the students reacted when you arrived. They don't know about your Aura yet, but I imagine it's only a matter of time until they do. As I said, this will cause a stir."

Jaune stiffened, his mind racing as her words sank in, "What kind of stir?"

Glynda cleared her throat delicately, but her composure faltered just enough for him to notice the faint pink flush on her cheeks, "You are...unique," she said, her voice carefully measured, "Such traits are bound to...intrigue those around you."

Jaune stared at her, his frustration bubbling over into incredulous anger, "So what? Now I'm some kind of sideshow attraction? A freak people want to gawk at?" He was reminded of the Ever After again. Fairy tale caricatures pointing at him like he was the freak.

"That's not what I said," Glynda replied quickly, though her gaze flicked away again, "I only meant that your presence here is...remarkable."

"Remarkable," Jaune repeated bitterly, leaning back in the chair, "Great. Just what I needed. More people staring at me like I don't belong."

Glynda's gaze lingered on him for a moment, her expression unreadable, "I understand this is overwhelming, Mr. Arc. Jaune," she said softly, "But you must understand, this world has its own...dynamics."

"Dynamics?" Jaune's voice rose slightly, his disbelief returning full force, "You mean like Salem trying to turn the world into her personal dating show? Or the part where men don't have Aura, so everyone treats me like a Brothers damned unicorn?"

Glynda's lips pursed, and she adjusted her glasses again; a clear sign she was trying to maintain her composure, "I assure you, the situation is more nuanced than that."

"Nuanced?" Jaune let out another sharp laugh, dragging a hand through his hair, "Lady, I've seen my fair share of crazy, but this? This takes the cake. My whole world was falling apart because of Salem, and now you're telling me she's..." He trailed off, shaking his head, "No. No way. This has to be a dream. Or a nightmare." He suddenly remembered the Huntress he ran into down in Vale. How desperate she was to fuck him then and there...

Glynda shifted in her seat, her riding crop tapping lightly against the desk, "I suggest you take some time to acclimate, Mr. Arc. For now, you are safe here, and we will work to determine the best course of action for your...unique situation."

Jaune let out a huff, his frustration mounting, "Safe," he muttered, "Right. Safe in a world where everyone thinks I'm some kind of prize."

The Headmistress' cheeks flushed faintly again, but she quickly masked it with a curt nod, "If there is nothing else, Mr. Arc, you are free to remain here while we gather more information. But I must insist you refrain from further...altercations."

Jaune scoffed, standing and shooting her an incredulous look, "Maybe if people stop flirting with me while I'm trying to stop villains, I'll think about it." Apparently, Cinder Fall wasn't evil in this world. Yeah, bullshit. He didn't care what kind of insane multiverse this was, there was no universe where Cinder Fall wasn't a witch that deserved to be burned at the stake.

Glynda's expression faltered briefly, the corners of her lips twitching as if fighting a smile. She quickly regained her composure," You must be tired, Mr. Arc. Some rest will do you good." Jaune muttered something under his breath about "world's gone crazy" as he stood, his thoughts spinning wildly. If this was reality, he wasn't sure how much longer he could take it.

As Jaune turned to leave the office, still muttering under his breath about how utterly insane this world was, Glynda cleared her throat sharply, making him pause mid-step. Her sudden shift in tone drew his attention back, and he turned to see her seated primly at her desk, her fingers interlocked as if she were considering her next move carefully. The faintest hint of pink still lingered on her cheeks.

"Mr. Arc," she began, her voice deliberately soft yet measured, "I understand you've been through a great deal. Being away from...everything you've known for so long must have been unimaginably difficult."

Jaune blinked at her, confused by the sudden shift in conversation, "Uh...yeah, I guess you could say that."

She nodded solemnly, adjusting her glasses even though they looked fine before, "I imagine it must be quite...lonely," she said carefully, her gaze meeting his, "After all this time...perhaps you could use some company. Someone to talk to. To...ease your burdens. Some rest, as I mentioned."

Jaune stared at her for a long moment, processing her words. Her tone was calm, almost professional, but there was something else there - something in the way her gaze lingered a second too long and the way her riding crop tapped nervously against her desk. He narrowed his eyes slightly. Oh, come on, "Right," he said flatly, crossing his arms, "And by 'company,' you mean... "

"Just company," Glynda interrupted quickly, though her voice had a noticeable hitch. She coughed delicately, sitting up straighter, "I only mean that it's important to...build connections. You've been alone for so long, and I would be remiss if I didn't offer you a chance to...decompress."

Jaune's eyebrows climbed higher, "Decompress," he repeated, his tone dripping with skepticism.

"Yes," Glynda said firmly, though the faint flush on her face betrayed her, "I assure you, it's purely for your benefit. After all, you've been through so much. Surely you deserve a moment to...relax."

Jaune sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He was no stranger to people trying to manipulate him - Salem's puppets, lying merchants, and, of course, his older sisters when they needed favors. But this? Glynda wasn't even being subtle. It was painfully obvious what she was angling for. Still, he figured, if this wasn't even his Glynda Goodwitch, what harm was there? It wasn't like she knew him. Hell, he barely knew her. And his younger self (along with just about every gun on campus...) fantasized about Professor Goodwitch.

In the flattest, most unimpressed tone he could manage, Jaune asked, "Are you asking for sex?"

Glynda hesitated for a fraction of a second, just long enough to confirm the answer before she let out a soft breath, lifted her chin slightly, and said, "Yes."

Jaune continued staring at her, his expression unreadable. Then he shrugged, "Fine. But no whips." It wasn't his Glynda, so why should he hesitate? She was just some crazy version living in a porno world where logic didn't apply.

Glynda frowned, narrowing her eyes slightly, "That's hardly a reasonable request."

Jaune raised a brow, "Not negotiable."

"It's merely an accessory," she said, adjusting her glasses again, "A tool for guidance. It's hardly- " Jaune turned toward the door, "Wait!" Her voice cracked slightly, her usual refined air slipping as Jaune reached for the handle.

She didn't just call out to him. No, she moved. Before he could fully register what was happening, Glynda Goodwitch - Beacon's ever-composed, strict, no-nonsense professor - dropped onto her hands and knees, her palms pressing against the floor as she practically crawled toward him. Her deep green eyes, usually sharp and scrutinizing, were wide with desperation, "Please, don't go!" she pleaded, her tone no longer authoritative but desperate, "I-I'll do anything! No whips! No accessories! Just stay!"

Jaune stared down at her in pure disbelief, "Do you have any pride?" he deadpanned.

Glynda swallowed, her fingers gripping the floor as she looked up at him with something that might have once been dignity but was now completely drowned out by thirst, "Not when it comes to this," she admitted, her voice soft and raw, "Please, Mr. Arc. I need this."

Jaune let out the longest, most exhausted sigh of his life, dragging a hand down his face, "This world is a mistake," he muttered. Glynda didn't move. She stayed there, hands trembling against the floor, her glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose. She looked pathetic. Not just thirsty, but dying of dehydration. And somehow, that was worse than any battle he had ever fought. He exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders like he was preparing to take on a burden, "Fine," he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose, "Get up. You're embarrassing yourself."

Glynda practically beamed, rising to her feet so quickly she nearly stumbled. She cleared her throat, attempting to smooth her skirt and recompose herself, but the sheer excitement in her eyes made it clear that she had no shame left, "Excellent," she said, her voice trembling slightly as she pushed her glasses back into place, "I...I promise you won't regret this."

He just shook his head, resigned, "I already do."

Hours later, Jaune lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling with the same blank expression one might have after realizing they accidentally signed up for the wrong class and were too deep into the semester to drop it. His muscles ached pleasantly, and he had to admit: it felt good. But the satisfaction was minimal compared to the sheer insanity of everything that had led up to this moment. Decades in that fairy tale shithole and then ending up in this horny madcap version of Remnant.

Next to him, Glynda Goodwitch looked like she had just discovered the meaning of life.

Her golden hair, usually prim and neat, was a wild mess across the pillow. Her glasses were nowhere to be found, likely lost in the whirlwind of depravity that had unfolded. And her eyes - those sharp, calculating eyes - were now soft, unfocused, staring at nothing in particular while her mouth was raised in a slack-jawed, euphoric smile. The normally refined and composed professor looked less like a Huntress and more like a woman who had just ascended to a higher plane of existence.

Jaune sighed, "You good?" he asked flatly.

Glynda didn't immediately respond. She exhaled a long, slow breath, her body still faintly trembling. Then, after a moment, she turned her head to look at him, her expression somewhere between worship and stunned disbelief, "That was... my semblance doesn't even feel that strong," she whispered, her voice raw. Jaune didn't respond. He just stared at the ceiling, expression impassive. She swallowed, her hands twitching slightly as if she wanted to grab him but was too overwhelmed to function, "So, um," she licked her lips, voice hesitant, "A seventh round?"

Jaune blinked. Then he sat up, rubbing the back of his head with a sigh, "No."

Glynda's face fell, "But-" Jaune was already swinging his legs off the bed, grabbing his clothes from where they'd been violently discarded across the room. He started dressing with the efficiency of a man who had more important things to do - like figuring out how the hell he was going to survive in this deranged version of Remnant and maybe find a way back.

The headmistress propped herself up on one elbow, the blankets slipping down to reveal more of her bare, thoroughly ravaged body, "Are you sure?" she tried again, her voice dangerously close to pleading, "I mean, you're already here, and I-"

Jaune pulled on his shirt and turned toward the door without looking back, "No."

Glynda scrambled up onto her knees, grasping at the sheets as she tried to summon some of her usual commanding presence - tried being the keyword. The problem was, it was hard to look authoritative when you were very obviously still dazed from getting your soul rearranged (translation: just got fucked stupid), "Mr. Arc," she attempted, her voice still breathless but striving for control, "As your benefactor, I strongly encourage you to reconsider-"

Jaune reached the door, hand on the knob.

Glynda panicked and let out a squeak, "Please."

Jaune sighed again, shaking his head, "This world is insane," he muttered before stepping out and shutting the door behind him, leaving a completely ruined Glynda Goodwitch sitting alone in her disheveled bed, staring at the door with the expression of a woman who had just lost something truly precious. His first fuck in decades didn't feel nearly as mindblowing as it should've been. He blamed the rampanst PTSD. It had a way of ruining things.

He stepped out of Glynda's office, closing the door behind him with a finality that signaled he was done with whatever that was. The hallway was mercifully empty, save for the distant sounds of students moving about the academy. He exhaled, rubbing his temples as he tried to make sense of everything.

Then he heard a voice. His voice.

Jaune froze. Not in the way a soldier froze in fear on the battlefield, but in the way someone froze when they saw something that should not exist. Slowly, as if moving any faster would break reality itself, he turned his head toward the sound. Down the hall, standing in a casual little group near the entrance, was him. A younger, cleaner, and - frankly - happier looking version of himself. His 19-year-old self, still bright-eyed, still hopeful, still naive in all the ways that mattered.

And he wasn't alone.

Ruby stood beside him, chatting animatedly, hands moving as she spoke, her silver eyes shining with that familiar excitement she always had when talking about weapons or missions or some dumb idea she thought would be fun. She looked...the same. No trauma, no having to carry the world on her shoulders. Innocent.

And then there was Pyrrha. Jaune's breath caught in his throat. His heart clenched so violently that he almost staggered.

She was there. Alive.

She laughed softly at something the other Jaune said, her voice warm, whole, untouched by the horrors that had stolen her life far too early. She had the same kind, patient smile, the same confident posture, the same everything. The last time Jaune had seen her, she'd shoved him into that rocket locker and ran into a fight she knew she had no chance of winning. Even now, he still didn't understand why she'd done it. But now she was here. Talking. Laughing.

Living.

Jaune's fists clenched at his sides. His chest ached with something he didn't have words for - grief, longing, relief, pain - all crashing into him at once. He forced his breathing to steady, forced his mind to stop racing. What the hell was he supposed to do? Walk up to them? Tell them everything? Drop his problems onto their shoulders like some kind of burden? What good would it do? He wasn't their Jaune. Their Jaune was standing right there, smiling, unbroken.

Jaune closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Then he turned around.

'No. This isn't their problem. I'm not going to ruin this for them.'

Without another word, without looking back, Jaune walked away, his steps heavy with the weight of everything he couldn't say.

Jaune - or as he was now known to the world, John (no last name) - had become a living legend on campus, and not for any of the reasons he might have expected. He wasn't famous for his skill with a blade, his years of battle experience, or his reputation as a veteran Huntsman. No, none of that mattered here. His notoriety had exactly one cause: He was the only man on Remnant with Aura.

That one fact alone had single-handedly transformed his life into an unending, exhausting parade of thirsty Huntresses who refused to let him live in peace. He had arrived only days ago, and already, Beacon had become an obstacle course of sexually aggressive warriors, all of them determined to be the first woman in history to experience what it was like to sleep with a man who had actual Aura. Students, teachers, and visiting Huntresses (who were suddenly VERY keen to 'inspect' Beacon's training ground) were losing their collective minds, the entire school practically vibrating with some kind of frenzied, carnal anticipation that only seemed to worsen by the day.

It had started innocently enough, just whispers in the halls, curious murmurs exchanged between students as they tried to confirm whether the impossible was actually true.

"Did you hear? That knight-looking guy actually has Aura!"
"No way. You're joking."
"I'm not! He fought like, four Huntresses at once and took them all down!"
"Oh my god, I'm so wet."

That was Day One.

By Day Two, the rumors had evolved into something even more ridiculous, exaggerated to the point that even Jaune would have found them funnyif he weren't constantly dodging Huntresses throwing themselves at him.

"I heard he's been training in secret for years."
"They say he's the last surviving male warrior of a forgotten kingdom."
"What if he's a prince? A lost heir to an ancient bloodline, hidden away until now?"
"What if he's secretly, like, a battle god? Sent to test our worthiness?"
"I'd let him test me."
"Same."
"Same."
"No, but like, seriously, I would let him do anything to me."

By Day Three, it was open season, and Jaune quickly realized that no matter how much battle experience he had, no matter how many fights to the death he survived, no amount of training could have prepared him for this. The only reason he hadn't left Beacon at all was because he knew trying to become a hermit in the woods wouldn't work. They had his scent now, and they'd track him down to the ends of Remnant.

Every single Huntress on campus, from first-years to final-years (at least first years were 19 in this universe...), had declared war on his personal space, and Jaune found himself spending most of his day evading their increasingly aggressive advances. Walking down the hall had turned into a nightmare of sidestepping, backpedaling, and occasionally full-on sprinting just to avoid a shameless proposition from yet another woman who didn't even bother pretending she was interested in anything other than getting him naked as quickly as possible.

He had just turned a corner when it happened again.

"John! Hi! How are you?" A student - tall, athletic, and radiating the kind of desperate energy he had come to recognize all too well - practically materialized in front of him with a bright, eager smile that was clearly trying to pass as casual but was just a little too wide and too forced. Jaune sighed, already bracing himself for what was coming next.

"Uh...fine?" he answered, only half-paying attention. He should've been brooding somewhere trying to find a way back home, but it was hard to even find the time. Every time he almost returned to that pit of despair, someone would interrupt with a come-on so blatant he was left floundering. He didn't know whether to feel grateful or annoyed that they wouldn't just let him angst in peace.

"That's great! Soooo...listen, I was just thinking," she played with a strand of her silver hair, tilting her head just enough to make it seem like this was all spontaneous and not something she had clearly planned in advance, "You're a guy. With Aura. And I'm a Huntress. And, you know, I never slept with a guy that has Aura." Or any guy period. From what he gathered, Huntresses in this universe couldn't get dick to save their lives. Literally Mostly because one Huntress pretended to need 'an infusion of Vitamin D' to stop herself from (fake) dying once a decade back and now all the guys caught on.

He already knew where this was going, "...And?"

She leaned in, her voice practically dripping with suggestion as she purred, "Wanna change that?"

Jaune didn't even break stride as he smoothly sidestepped her attempt to block his path, completely uninterested in indulging whatever scenario she had cooked up in her head, "Pass."

The audible gasp she let out sounded like he had just personally destroyed her entire worldview, "Wait, WHAT?!" she cried, as if she couldn't fathom the idea of being rejected. She was playing it up, of course. She'd been rejected probably dozens of times before now.

Jaune didn't acknowledge her reaction, nor did he slow down, because if he did, he knew exactly what would happen next. Unfortunately, it didn't stop the next Huntress from taking a different approach: literally vaulting over the damn railing from the second floor window with an absurd aerial stunt that had no practical reason to exist outside of trying to get his attention, "Hey there, Handsome~" She grinned, flipping her hair dramatically as she slid into a perfect landing in front of him, her red eyes glinting with mischief, "So...wanna spar? Maybe wrestle a bit? Get all sweaty and tangled up in each other?"

Jaune, barely looking at her, let out the most exhausted sigh of his life, "You don't want to spar."

She smirked, stepping closer with the kind of predatory confidence that she probably thought was irresistible, "Oh, but I do. I just think the spar should take place in bed."

"Pass."

She blinked, "W-Wait, hold on, you didn't even think about it! Wait!"

Jaune kept walking. He didn't have the time. Unfortunately, it seemed today was a particularly aggressive day for his admirers, because no sooner had he escaped one situation than another arose. This time, he barely had time to react before yet another Huntress - Ciel Soleil, he recalled vaguely - practically threw herself in front of him with no preamble, her expression completely serious, "You and me. Storage closet. Right now."

Jaune, without missing a beat, didn't even slow down as he effortlessly sidestepped her like she was just another obstacle on a battlefield.

And this was just the students. The teachers weren't any better.

Several professors had taken notice of him, though none had been more blatant than one particular combat instructor who had all but cornered him after class, her arms crossed, expression unreadable save for the undeniable glint of interest in her eyes, "John," she had said, her voice smooth but carrying an unmistakable weight of expectation, "You are an impressive fighter, but perhaps your stamina could use some additional training."

Jaune had simply stared at her, waiting for the inevitable follow-up.

"Come to my office after hours," she continued, her gaze flicking down his frame, "We'll test your endurance properly."

Jaune blinked slowly, "Aren't teachers supposed to be professional?" he asked dryly.

She didn't so much as flinch, "I am a professional, John," she had answered coolly, "This is simply advanced training."

Jaune had turned and walked out immediately.

Now, several days in, his patience was running dangerously thin. Every hour of every day, it was the same thing: Huntresses throwing themselves at him, grabbing at him, trying to drag him off somewhere secluded. He could dodge Grimm, he could outfight the most dangerous enemies, but this? This was a war he couldn't win. By the time he finally reached the cafeteria, exhaustion weighing down his limbs, he was done. He just wanted food. A moment of peace.

"Hey, handsome. Wanna spear me with that sword?"

...

Jaune slammed his head through the table.

Jaune could handle a lot of things. He had faced war, despair, and loss beyond what most could comprehend. He had watched friends die, had carried the weight of a broken world on his shoulders, had survived battles that should have killed him a dozen times over. He had seen hell - lived through it, fought his way out of it.

The worst part wasn't even the random strangers throwing themselves at him with reckless abandon. It wasn't the absurd amount of times he had to physically dodge a Huntress trying to pounce on him from a blind spot. It wasn't even the professors who had seemingly abandoned all sense of professionalism the moment they realized what he was packing - both in terms of Aura and physique.

No, the worst part was the people he actually knew.

Or at least, versions of them.

Because somehow, somehow, this world had counterparts for nearly everyone from his past life, and they were, without exception, completely insane.

Ruby, to his immediate relief, was at least somewhat normal. Or as normal as she could be in this reality. She was dating the Jaune of this dimension - who was the school nurse instead of a Huntsman, given the lack of male Aura users. At first, the idea of a nurse version of himself had baffled Jaune, but after everything else he had seen, it barely even registered as odd anymore. At least she wasn't trying to throw herself at him like everyone else was.

Pyrrha, bless her soul, was the same way, likely because she was also dating this world's Jaune...and Ruby. Apparently, it was a polyamorous relationship. Good for them. Seeing her alive again had nearly made him collapse on the spot, but he had forced himself to keep his distance. He refused to drag her into his problems. She was happy here. That was enough.

Everyone else, though?

Complete. Utter. Embarrassing. Cringe.

Yang, predictably, was one of the worst offenders. Somehow, she had managed to take her usual flirtatious bravado and crank it up to a hundred, completely obliterating the already fine line between a pick-up line and a direct threat of bodily harm. Every interaction with her felt like he was either going to get seduced or get suplexed. Probably both, given the way she spoke.

"Hey, Big Guy, I know you've been dodging all the ladies, but why don't you take on a real challenge?" She grinned, cracking her knuckles like she was about to beat him into the floor, her sharp eyes gleaming with something deeply unsettling, "I promise I'll go easy on you...at least at first. But-" She leaned in, voice dropping to a sultry growl, "-if you can still walk tomorrow, then I didn't do my job right."

Jaune had turned right the fuck around and walked out the door before she could get another word in.

And then there was Blake.

Jaune had never met someone who was so insufferably dramatic about sex before. Somehow - somehow - Blake had turned her desperate need to get laid into a Mistralian tragedy. Every conversation with her sounded like it was ripped straight from the pages of some horribly written, overly poetic romance novel, and Jaune was so goddamn tired of it.

"You don't understand, Jaune," she had sighed one evening, staring into the distance like she was reliving a thousand lifetimes of sorrow and angst, "I've been alone for so long, lost in the shadows of my own regrets, yearning for a light to guide me back. Perhaps...perhaps you could be that light?" She looked up at him with those big amber eyes, cat ears twitching. Apparently, Faunus racism wasn't a thing in this universe. It was replaced with not liking the constant gooning instead.

"...I'm not having sex with you because you think it's some kind of mystical redemption arc," he had said flatly.

She gasped like he'd just stabbed her, eyes wide with dramatic despair, "Jaune...please..." she whispered, reaching for his hand, "Don't let me drown in this endless night...You can save me. All you have to do is take those pants off and vanquish the darkness with your long, hard swo-"

Jaune turned and left. Blake literally threw herself onto the ground behind him in some kind of staged, theatrical collapse, sobbing into her sleeve like she was in the third act of a play about a doomed love affair.

He'd never walked away faster in his life.

But as bad as Yang and Blake were, they paled in comparison to Weiss.

Jaune had never met a woman so personally offended by the fact that she had not been the first to sleep with him (because of course, the other Huntresses could tell their Headmistress got some dick). Apparently, in her mind, she'd already won that right before he ran off to fight Cinder, and now she was in a state of constant, unhinged fury that she'd missed her chance. As far as she was concerned, fate had personally slighted her with that.

He couldn't go one day without Weiss storming up to him, seething, her hands trembling in frustration as she declared, "It should have been ME!" with all the indignation of a fallen noble demanding retribution.

"You can't just sleep with someone else first!" she raged at him just yesterday, her hands balled into shaking fists as she stomped after him in the hallway, "You dragged me into that alley! You were going to take me to a hotel! We had an understanding! I was supposed to be your first! Do you have any idea how insulting it is to be cast aside like some common strumpet?!" She stomped her foot, "If you're going to treat me like a worthless whore, at least fuck me like it!"

Jaune, who hadn't dragged her anywhere (and had, in fact, been entirely unaware that she had interpreted their brief encounter as some kind of binding contract of sexual conquest), completely ignored her, refusing to dignify her delusions with a response.

It didn't stop her.

"Finish what you started and fuck me like I'm your favorite cock warmer!" she had screamed after him, in the middle of the hallway. In public. While multiple students turned to stare at them.

Jaune had stared at her, absolutely bewildered, "Are you hearing yourself right now?" he asked, utterly done with whatever this was.

"Yes!" Weiss had shouted, stomping her foot, "Now come back here and take responsibilty!"

Jaune left. Weiss had thrown a full tantrum in the middle of the hall, physically kicking the air like a child, shrieking that he was "a faithless bastard!"

That had been three days ago, and Weiss hadn't calmed down. She was still throwing occasional fits, still glaring at him every time he walked past, still muttering about how he had ruined everything by sleeping with someone else first.

A part of him almost found it funny. If he'd been taken here back when he first arrived in Beacon, he was sure he would've loved it. Back then, he was just a stupid kid too lazy to even work for his dream and wouldn't take no for an answer. He'd spent weeks - maybe months, he couldn't even remember anymore - pining after Weiss because of some sarcastic comment she made about finding him attractive. Younger Jaune would've loved this place. It was like every harem fantasy he ever dreamed up had come to life.

And now, it felt like an ironic nightmare.

Jaune had fought in wars. He had battled against impossible odds, faced down monstrous creatures, and survived against forces that should have torn him apart a hundred times over. He had slain monsters. He had endured suffering beyond human comprehension. He had seen kingdoms burn, witnessed the depths of despair, and clawed his way out of hell itself with nothing but sheer determination, rusted armor, and a broken sword.

But nothing - nothing - could have prepared him for the sheer, unstoppable force that was a horde of desperate Huntresses who had just been given permission to ravage him.

It had started as an act of surrender. He had spent days dodging, rejecting, escaping, and outmaneuvering them, but it had become clear that this was not a fight he could win. Every hallway, every classroom, every training session, they were there. Watching him, circling him, waiting for a moment of weakness. It was relentless. They were relentless. He couldn't train without someone whispering increasingly concerning things into his ear. He couldn't eat without someone sitting uncomfortably close and tracing their fingers along his arm like a predatory animal. He couldn't even go to sleep without some Huntress 'accidentally' finding their way into his room past his triple-locked door.

So, fine. If this was his fate, so be it. He had been through worse. Surely, he reasoned, this wouldn't be the hardest thing he'd ever endured. It was sex. Sex felt good, right? It felt good when he did it with Glynda, at least.

He was wrong.

So very, very wrong.

Jaune didn't realize the true magnitude of his mistake until he woke up after the first night, barely able to move. Every muscle in his body screamed in agony, the kind of deep, bone-weary exhaustion that no amount of Aura could immediately fix. He was drained in ways he didn't even think were possible. His arms, which had held his sword and shield for years, now trembled when he tried to lift them. His legs, which had carried him across battlefields, felt like they had turned into jelly. His throat was raw from things he didn't even remember saying and doing. He had fought Grimm the size of buildings and emerged stronger. This?

This was something else entirely.

It didn't stop. The problem wasn't just the sheer physical toll; though that alone was horrific. No, the real problem was that for every Huntress he had satisfied, ten more were waiting their turn. Jaune had lost count of how many women had passed through his room. Had it been ten? Twenty? Had he even left the room? Or had he just been dragged into an endless, rotating cycle of thirst?

He had no idea anymore.

He tried to tell them he needed rest, that the mind was (reluctantly) willing but the flesh was spongy and weak, but the response was always the same: mocking laughs, teasing grins, hands grabbing at him, voices whispering about how he was the only man on Remnant who could keep up with them. The only man with Aura. He was their equal.

Except he wasn't.

Aura had kept him going longer than any normal man should have lasted, but in the end, even Aura had its limits. He had reached the breaking point. His spirit remained strong, but his flesh was weak - literally. He was somehow both spongy and dry like a raisin; a horrific combination that shouldn't have existed. His body felt like it had been hollowed out and left to dry in the sun. His soul was hanging on by a thread.

And yet, they still weren't satisfied.

"Come on, John, don't pass out yet," Yang had grinned, slamming a hand against his sore, aching back. He nearly collapsed then and there, "You're a big guy, right? You can handle a little more, can't you? I mean, you're still walking! That means I'm not done yet!"

Blake had traced her fingers along his barely functioning chest and murmured, "You've brought me this far into the light...surely, you won't leave me in the darkness now?" Even in his bone-weary state, he cringed. It was awful.

Weiss, furious that she had 'only' gotten three rounds with him so far, had crossed her arms and glared at him like he had personally insulted her entire family line, "I demand that you finish what you started, John! I have been waiting for days! I will not be satisfied till I'm half-passed out choking on your dick while cum pours down my throat! Now get it hard and shove it down my throat again!" You can't just lay there like a corpse!" She slapped his thigh, "John!"

He was a corpse. A man who had flown too close to the sun and been incinerated in the fires of thirst. If he could go back in time, he would've gone back not to stop Cinder, but to slap his teenage self upside the head for ever thinking that his harem fantasies were 'awesome'. Cause they weren't. They were desperate, grabby, and thought they were better than every other woman that demanded his attention. The fantasy of them all sharing because he was just that great was something that could never come true.

The Huntresses didn't stop. Jaune lay on his bed, barely clinging to consciousness, staring blankly at the ceiling. He'd managed to get away for some alone time, but he knew it wouldn't last lopng. His body ached in ways he didn't even have words for. His mind was shattered, his soul hollowed out like a man who had wandered too deep into an abyss and realized, far too late, that there was no way back.

He had made a mistake. One that he needed to fix if he wanted any chance to survive.

Jaune had spent years devising plans on the battlefield, crafting strategies under pressure, and adapting to the chaos of war. He wasn't a General like Ironwood or a natural-born leader like Ruby, but he was something that was arguably just as important: he was a survivor.

But this - the constant, unrelenting assault by the Huntresses of Beacon - was pushing him to the brink.

He couldn't keep up. He physically could not keep up. Aura could heal his wounds, could mend broken bones, could keep him fighting when all reason said he should be dead, but it didn't make him inexhaustible. He could keep going longer, push himself farther, but Huntsmen weren't immortal. Even they needed breaks. And these Huntresses? They didn't stop, they didn't tire. They were limitless. They always demanded more.

And so, he came up with a plan. A desperate, last-ditch, life-saving plan. The Vytal Festival Tournament. He'd heard it mentioned in passing. The massive competition between the best teams from each kingdom, a chance for students to test their skills against one another in front of a global audience. Just like it was back home. The moment he learned about it, a single thought took root in his exhausted, overused, thoroughly destroyed mind:

'This is my chance.'

He needed a distraction. He needed a way to delay the hordes of Huntresses clawing at his soul. He needed something - anything - to make them focus on something other than trying to ride him to an early grave.

And so, he made the announcement.

Standing atop one of the platforms in the arena training hall, microphone in hand, voice hoarse and dead inside, he delivered his final gambit, "The Vytal Festival Tournament is coming up," he said, eyes sweeping across the assembled Huntresses of Beacon. The students, the professors - all of them were present. They always showed up when he spoke, waiting - hoping - that this time, he would finally give in and take them all at once.

They were insatiable, and he was on the verge of death. This was his last chance Jaune took a deep breath, steadying himself, then delivered the bait.

"Whichever team wins the tournament...gets me. Exclusively."

The moment the words left his lips, the entire school descended into chaos. A sound unlike anything he had ever heard erupted across the campu. A mix of shrieks, gasps, and battle cries as the Huntresses lost their Brothers damned minds.

The implications of his words hit them all at once. A monopoly on Jaune Arc (or rather, John with no last name). An uncontested claim over the only man with Aura. A chance to own what every Huntress in Beacon - and likely the whole of this crazy world - was fighting tooth and nail for.

And every single one of them immediately declared war.

"WE HAVE TO TRAIN! TEAM MEETING, NOW!"

"IF YOU THINK YOU'RE TAKING HIM FROM ME, YOU'RE DEAD!"

"I SWEAR TO THE SISTERS, I'LL TEAR YOU APART, YANG!"

"FUCK YOU, WEISS, HE'S MINE!"

"TRAINING! NON-STOP TRAINING! NO SLEEP UNTIL WE WIN!"

"NO MERCY! NO SURVIVORS!"

Across the courtyard, fights broke out instantly. Friendships shattered. Alliances crumbled. Women who had fought side by side, who had considered each other sisters-in-arms, now stood as enemies. Jaune had never seen anything like it. Even when Ironwood had gone crazy, the sides weren't so cleanly split. Despite his announcement that the team who won would get rights to him, he could already see teammates giving each other side-eyes. Yang and Weiss were only the loudest of the declaration.

Beacon descended into complete, unhinged madness.

The students immediately threw themselves into brutal, grueling, inhuman training regimens. The professors, barred from competing in the tournament, raged in impotent frustration, unable to claim him for themselves. He knew some of them would try regardless, but he'd deal with that when the time came.

The scene across the training hall was both terrifying and awe-inspiring.

Yang shattered a training dummy with her bare hands, screaming about how she was gonna 'win that DILF ass'.

Blake vanished into the shadows, muttering about how she would win by any means necessary and be 'pulled from the darkness'.

Weiss ordered a customized combat strategy tailored specifically to counter Yang, Pyrrha (which was pointless, since she and Ruby couldn't give less of a care if they tried), and any other potential threat, her obsession burning hotter than ever.

Velvet began stockpiling weapons and military-grade armaments. Because if it meant winning him, there was no such thing as overkill.

Cinder (who he'd been steadfastly ignoring the whole time he was at Beacon) clenched her fists, her eyes burning while the metal dummies around her heated orange. Emerald (that Cinder simp) and Coco were nowhere to be seen.

The only three who weren't struck by the madness were Ruby, Pyrrha, and Nora (who was actually dating Ren in this universe, good for them). The trio looked at the crazed Huntresses with varying expressions before they looked at him with sympathy. Even Nora. Jaune just sighed and reminded himself that this was the lesser evil.

It was hell.

...But it wasn't his hell. For the first time since arriving in this world, Jaune slept soundly that night, free from the relentless pursuit of Huntresses. They were all too focused on training and scheming, desperate to be the winners, to interrupt him. Even the most thirsty, desperate Huntress understood the value of a long-term committment over a desperate fling. His locks remained mercifully unpicked and unbroken, his door hinges still whole. Jaune pulled the blankets up to his chest and, for the first time since he got here, had a good night's sleep.

...

Of course, he had no idea what he had truly unleashed.

Next chapter is the last. Let's see how insane this gets.

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