The Beacon Academy lunch hall, still mostly empty, buzzed with quiet anticipation.

The mysterious screen remained inert for what felt like an eternity after its last flare-up—when it had shown an alternate Ruby Rose, complete with a fake mustache and an over-the-top Italian accent, running an eccentric Italian restaurant and battling her ghostly grandma over proper food pronunciations.

Now, students and staff sat on edge. Not out of fear. Not anymore.

Curiosity—and the lingering taste of secondhand embarrassment—filled the air.

Then came the flicker.

Buzz. Hummmm…

The screen glowed back to life.

"Here we go again," Yang said, squinting as she crossed her arms.

The image shimmered into focus.

Once again, the same candlelit Italian restaurant came into view. Checkered tablecloths. Wine bottles holding long, crooked candles. The subtle sounds of an accordion serenading no one in particular.

And at the center: Ruby Rose, mustached, dramatic, and still donning her ridiculous red bowtie and apron.

She stood behind the host podium, flipping through a notepad.

A bell above the door jingled.

In walked a customer—tall, sunhat, sunglasses, and the air of someone about to ruin a server's night.

Ruby's eye twitched before the customer even sat down.

Blake leaned in at Beacon. "I have a bad feeling about this."

The customer took her seat and smiled sweetly. "Excuse me. Could I get a pizza… Hawaii?"

The restaurant fell silent.

The accordion gave a strangled wheeze and cut off entirely.

Ruby didn't blink. She just stared. Not shocked. Not horrified. Just—deadpan.

Back in Beacon, Sun covered his mouth. "Oh no."

Weiss stiffened. "Not Hawaiian pizza. She wouldn't dare…"

On screen, Ruby's mustache twitched. Her eyes glazed over. She reached down and gripped the edge of the podium.

And from the kitchen…

Another figure appeared.

Also mustached. Also aproned.

It was Yang Xiao Long.

She leaned out of the swinging kitchen doors, an unamused expression stretched across her face. She didn't speak. She didn't need to.

The look she gave matched Ruby's perfectly.

Twin, deadpan stares of judgment.

"Why does Yang have a mustache too?!" Jaune asked.

"For symmetry," Velvet answered.

"Maybe it's a dress code?" added Nora.

On screen, Ruby slowly raised a hand and gave the air a small flourish, still emotionless.

"I wish you a car accident," she said, her voice laced with exaggerated calm, in her heavy Italian accent.

Gasps echoed across Beacon.

"Ruby!" Weiss cried out in shock.

Yang's voice from the restaurant's sidelines echoed in from the kitchen.

"Ruby! Did you just wish them a car accident?!"

Ruby turned without breaking her expression, her voice suddenly accusatory.

"I was about to wish them a car accident, Giacomo Yang! Stop-a interrupting my wish-making!"

From the kitchen, Yang shrugged. "Wish them one for me too!"

Ruby turned back to the customer, sighing dramatically.

"Vabbè! Vabbè!"

She threw her hands into the air, then settled her gaze once more on the customer and calmly declared:

"Two car accident. We wish you… two."

The Beacon students were halfway between howling and horrified.

Professor Port leaned toward Oobleck. "I have never in my life been so simultaneously confused and entertained."

Back on screen, the kitchen oven rattled.

A familiar raspy voice echoed from deep within it.

"From me too!"

Blake buried her face in her hands. "Of course."

Ruby didn't flinch.

She simply nodded solemnly, adjusted her apron, and looked the customer directly in the eyes.

"Tre. Tre accident. We wish you a tre accident."

The customer blinked, stunned. "What—what does that even mean?"

Ruby pointed one finger dramatically.

"One for me."

Then another.

"One for my idiot sister."

Then a third.

"And one… from the ancient vengeance of Nonna spaghetti ghost."

The lights flickered.

Grandma's voice echoed again, distant and grumbling. "That pineapple don't belong on no sauce!"

At Beacon, Coco leaned back, clearly impressed. "Okay, she's committed to the bit. Respect."

Velvet looked up from her scroll. "Should I… write that down?"

Jaune wiped tears from his face. "I need therapy. But I love it."

The screen shifted again. A wide shot now showed the restaurant as Ruby waved her hand, causing the pineapple-loving customer to vanish in a puff of oregano-scented smoke.

Yang emerged from the kitchen, adjusting her mustache.

"You can't keep banishing customers for pizza toppings, sorella."

Ruby replied without looking at her. "Justice doesn't sleep, Giacomo Yang."

They stood together in silence for a moment, hands on hips, faces solemn.

Then in unison, they both turned to the audience and said:

"Mamma mia."

And the screen cut to black.

A long silence followed in the Beacon hall.

Until Weiss exclaimed, "WHAT. WAS. THAT?!"

Yang raised her hand. "Okay, I have so many questions. Starting with why does Alternate-Me have a name like Giacomo?"

Blake murmured, "It suits you."

"Wait!" Nora shouted. "What if every version of us in that world runs a restaurant? What if I make the meatballs?!"

"That's not the takeaway here!" Weiss snapped. "She wished three car accidents on a person!"

"It was a food crime," Pyrrha said seriously.

Ozpin stepped forward, voice calm. "This is… clearly a more theatrical reality. A satire, perhaps. Not meant to be taken literally."

Professor Goodwitch adjusted her glasses. "Still, if this screen is accessing multiversal layers, even ones this absurd, we must be cautious."

"Or hungry," added Sun. "Because honestly? I could go for bruschetta now."

"Or pizza," Jaune whispered.

Yang was laughing now, shoulders shaking. "Oh man. That was so Ruby. Except Italian. And murderous."

"She's not murderous," Blake said. "Just… overdramatic."

"Aren't we all in some timeline?" Velvet mused.

The screen flickered once more—but no new image appeared. Just a small, animated mustache icon in the bottom corner, twirling with pride.

Port chuckled. "It would appear… that timeline Ruby does not suffer pineapple gladly."

Ozpin turned to the group. "Whatever this device is, it's clearly targeting our connection with Ruby across realities. She may be reaching out in odd ways, but… perhaps there's a pattern."

"Or she's just living her best chef life," Yang said, smirking.

Blake stepped toward the screen, tapping it gently. "Are we meant to respond somehow? React? These can't just be random projections."

Nora gasped. "Maybe it's like a choose-your-own-adventure! What if we say the word meatball out loud and it shows us Meatball-Ruby?"

Sun grinned. "Do we take requests?"

Velvet glanced nervously toward Ozpin. "Is it dangerous to interact?"

"No way to know yet," the headmaster replied. "We'll monitor. Record. Observe."

Professor Oobleck scribbled furiously in a notebook. "Fascinating. A multiverse anchored to an emotional connection—identity fractured across layers of possibility. Culinary themes interwoven with familial ties. The psychological implications are vast!"

"Can I just say," Yang said, clapping her hands together, "I'm proud of Alternate-Me. I rocked that mustache."

Blake smirked. "Giacomo Yang. Has a ring to it."

The laughter that followed broke the tension entirely.

But even amid the humor, one thing was clear: something larger was at play.

These weren't just jokes.

These glimpses into alternate Rubys, as ridiculous as they seemed, hinted at a deeper thread—some pulse or current running beneath realities, linking them all together through this bizarre screen.

Ozpin turned away at last. "We'll resume observation tomorrow. Dismissed for now."

Teams filed out one by one, still chuckling, still confused, still wondering what they'd witness next.

But as the hall emptied, and silence once again fell…

The screen remained.

Flickering.

Waiting.

And somewhere, in a restaurant far from any recognizable reality, Ruby Rose adjusted her mustache, dusted off her apron, and took another pizza order with grim resolve.