Chapter 3: You’re a Peach! (Patreon)

Jaune woke just as the sun began to filter its light upon Beacon. Gentle rays filtered into his room, and he slammed upright, his hand resting on Crocea Mors hilt, as the blade and sheath themselves had rested beside him the entire night.

Jaune looked around, confused for a moment before his mind caught up. He was no longer in the village.

He rose from his bed and walked into the bathroom, where he quickly took a shower. This was all knowledge that, thankfully, he had. He stood in the hot water for several minutes, looking over his body during the time of his second shower, the first of course being after the bullhead had retrieved him from Shion and they had arrived in Mistral.

It was nice; the hot water warmed his skin to a light red as he soaped and then Jaune rinsed himself before exiting the shower.

He slipped on his second pair of clothes, identical to the ones he had gotten in Haven; he made a note to himself that he needed more. Perhaps the city of Vale could provide?

It seemed logical that Vale was a city like Haven; how different could they be?

How did one obtain clothes?

As he exited the room he had been provided, he found himself lost almost instantaneously. Beacon was a large school, and he had no way of knowing where to go without Professor Goodwitch to guide him.

Still, he figured that eventually, he would find his way to breakfast if he kept persisting. Though now that he thought about it, it wasn’t as if breakfast was necessary, he still wouldn’t say he was hungry.

The warm voice spoke again, “Pancakes or Waffles, Jaune?”

Jaune frowned, furrowing his brow. Why would that memory matter more than others?

It was useless.

On the other hand, it seemed logical that perhaps the professors were having their own breakfast; a scent of food might indicate their location, which meant finding the location of breakfast was still overall a useful exercise.

Through the large hallways, he walked before his nose caught the scent of grease and something fried, or at least that’s what his brain identified the smells as, and with that new knowledge, he followed it, entering a door into a medium-sized room with a circular table around which sat a number of adults.

Goodwitch and Ozma were there, he noted, but there were several other people there. A large, burly man sat there who had thick dark hair and a beard that was salt and peppered with grey hair. Another woman was there who was rather slim with long green hair and thick glasses. There was also another woman with soft pink hair that fell asymmetrically to her shoulders and gentle ocean green eyes; she was rather slim, though Jaune noted that her posterior was rather round and shapely from what he could see of it resting in her chair, even though her chest itself seemed rather small.

Jaune immediately had the feeling he was intruding as they all looked up at him.

“I’m sorry,” Jaune said simply, “I didn’t know what this room was.”

He tried to back out of the doorway, but Ozma raised her hand, stopping his motion.

“Mr. Arc, it’s perfectly all right. I assume you were looking for breakfast?”

Jaune wondered at the question; saying yes seemed like the obvious response, yet at the same time, it felt rude to impose, especially when it didn’t seem food was a requirement for him. That plus, he was admittedly still uncomfortable speaking with other people.

“No,” Jaune responded, “I was simply unsure of what would be asked of me today. Professor Goodwitch mentioned potential pre-term instruction.”

The eyes of the table turned to Goodwitch, who was dabbing her mouth with a napkin rather primly, the cloth hiding the bottom half of her face.

Her emerald eyes focused on Jaune, and he restrained a flinch as her eyes bored into him. “I didn’t expect you to be awake so early, Mr. Arc,” she said.

Jaune was unsure whether to qualify this time as early. From the windows, the sun seemed to have risen, at least mostly over the horizon.

On the other hand, he didn’t think that observation would necessarily be appreciated by Professor Goodwitch.

“Was I supposed to get up later?” Jaune asked curiously cocking an eyebrow at Professor Goodwitch; that would be good information to have if inconvenient for him in the present.

The woman’s emerald eyes were implacable as they continued looking at him. “No, now is fine; help yourself to breakfast, and then we can go over what you’ll be learning.”

Jaune looked over to the table she gestured to and saw a buffet of food set up, along with the necessary implements to eat it.

Jaune hesitated for a moment; he wasn’t exactly keen on eating, actually. Without the guide of ordering after Goodwitch, he was unsure of how anything on the table would taste. Would it go well together? Would the flavors clash?

Of course, it seemed like he would have to eat something anyway before Goodwitch would give her instruction.

Jaune walked to the table and grabbed a plate, gazing at the array of foods before his eyes landed on two fluffy brown objects, one flat and smooth, the other embedded with square crevices.

This was Pancakes and Waffles! Except Jaune’s memory was fuzzy, which was which.

Jaune realized he probably shouldn’t spend all day looking at the food and simply grabbed a couple of the items of varying shades of brown that were collectively Pancakes and Waffles alongside some other food he did recognize, like eggs and bacon, though he had no idea how they would taste. There were even chunks of soft, juicy objects his mind realized were fruit, but he was unable to recall the difference between the colors and textures in regard to them.

Still, if he was to keep existing, he couldn’t be afraid of the unknown, especially for someone like him where it seemed that much was still unknown.

He sat at the table next to the slim, green-haired woman, who he noted had quite a large mug in front of her that had a dark brown liquid inside.

Jaune took his first bite, hiding his trepidation, only to be surprised that the food was indeed tasty.

Whether this soft brown object was a pancake or a waffle, he liked it! He tried the other object with depressions, and while the texture had more of a crisp to it, he didn’t find that one objectionable either.

They tasted very similar in flavor, actually, only differing in texture. Was the mere texture and shape the discriminating factor?

How odd.

Jaune carefully sliced and diced his food, eating each chunk thoughtfully as he attempted to determine what food he liked best.

A chunk of yellow fruit made its way to his mouth with a surprisingly fresh, acidic flavor to it, and he felt the tingling sensation it caused in his mouth.

The others at the table had been talking in the meantime.

“How many prospects this year, Headmistress?” the burly man asked Ozma.

“One hundred and nineteen as of last night,” Ozma replied, sipping from her mug.

“So we’re one short,” the green-haired woman said thoughtfully.

Ozma hummed in response, though to Jaune, the sound didn’t seem like it was particularly in agreement, and something fluctuated about her just as it had about Goodwitch back in Haven.

“Only if they all pass initiation,”  the burly man snorted.

“The last failure of initiation was some decades ago,” the pink-haired woman said, “I would feel confident saying all attending our institution are ready, even if not from formal instruction.”

The burly man shrugged, “That’s as you say, Peach, but I wonder if we do them a disservice by not challenging them more.”

Ozma spoke, her soft voice filtering through the air, “They’re here to learn, Peter; trust that anyone admitted into this academy has been vetted. They are not ready yet, and nor should they be; if they were already qualified, they should be licensed today.”

The burly man, or Peter as Ozma called him, shrugged and finished his breakfast. “Well, I have to go rustle up some education material for the first day, so you’ll have to excuse me,” he gave the rest of the professors a broad smile that twitched the tips of his mustache before he rose and exited the room.

Jaune watched after him, curiosity flickering through him. Why would education materials be rustled up? He didn’t seem to be talking about textbooks.

The rest of the professors also seemed to be winding up their own breakfast, and Goodwitch turned to Jaune, “If you’d accompany me, Mr. Arc?” she asked.

Jaune nodded as he picked up his plate, storing it away with the rest of the dirty dishes on a cart at the end of the table.

He followed Goodwitch out of the room, and they walked through the hallways of Beacon for some time before they arrived at a wooden entryway embedded into the stone walls of Beacon, atop which was gold lettering

‘Arc Memorial Library’

Jaune ignored it, and they entered into a vast space filled with an uncountable number of bookshelves and tables with chairs interspersed throughout.

Goodwitch led him to a side room where she took a seat at a table and gestured for Jaune to do so as well, “We’ll begin with the fundamentals, history and dust.”

Jaune felt a moment of trepidation at her serious look, but he decided to soldier on; how bad could it be?

-

Glynda’s lips remained pursed as she attempted to instruct Jaune.

Attempted being the operative word.

Beacon’s students did not always come from the best backgrounds, so often enough, the teachers found themselves playing catch-up to get an appropriate amount of education into their students' heads.

She didn’t think she’d met a case this bad.

The more she taught Jaune, the more she would have to double back and explain a concept that, peripherally, she thought 99% of Remnant teenagers would be aware of.

Like how dust powered all technology. Like the existence of the CCT.

The boy could fight; she had seen that. He wasn’t dumb either; for every concept she explained, the boy would take in with little trouble, scribbling sometimes in the notebook she had given him.

New information, once instructed, he could repeat back, but he seemed to have no knowledge beyond that.

As if everything she told him was a new factoid.

She had wondered if perhaps the boy was messing with her, but the taciturn boy’s face never showcased a hint of a smirk or otherwise to suggest he was messing with her.

They remained like that for some hours till Glynda’s voice was dry, and her shoulders were tight from her usual straight-backed posture.

“That’s enough for today, Jaune,” she said quietly. A small welling of pride emerged in her gut at how seriously the boy seemed to have taken his instruction. Even if he didn’t know anything now, the boy was dedicated to learning, which she appreciated.

Jaune nodded and then spoke, “Okay, Professor.” Something flickered through his eyes, and there was a moment of drawn-out silence as Glynda waited for the boy to speak again.

After several seconds, Glynda realized he wasn’t going to speak. “Did you have any questions, Jaune?” she asked, surprised by herself by her own uncharacteristically soft tone.

Jaune’s face was impassive as he gazed at her, but there was something curious in his eyes as he looked at her. Finally, he spoke, “Professor, you mentioned several huntresses and hunters in your talk on history, but the textbook didn’t make reference to the hunters. I was just wondering why?”

Glynda blinked, realizing the issue instantly and immediately pushed forward because she needed to make this clear. “I suppose you could put that to the fact that on Remnant, men are relatively uncommon; only three in ten births is a boy. Societally, there’s a tendency for men to be discouraged from becoming Hunters as a result. It’s not a prohibition, though I suppose people feel more strongly about it nowadays.”

Strong enough to censor the textbook though.

“What do you mean?” Jaune asked.

“The statue in front of Beacon,” Glynda said, “Hadrian and Aurelius Arc- they mean a lot, especially to the people of Vale and Mountain Glenn. Yet there are some who take the tragedy of their deaths as confirmation that men shouldn’t be hunters. They were some of the best Hunters Remnant had seen, yet when they died, their loss was outsized in proportion compared to the death of two comparable huntresses. With their death, that was two fewer men to produce children, and the fact they were so capable just went to show no matter how skilled, any Hunter’s life can end.”

Jaune’s brow furrowed in thought. “Does that mean students will not like the fact I’m a Hunter?” he asked plainly.

Goodwitch restrained a wince and met Jaune’s crystal blue gaze with her own green levelly. “There’s a strong possibility, yes. I wouldn’t let it bother you; you’ve already met Peter, and he’s an exceptional hunter. If you demonstrate the skill you did against that Paladin to your classmates, I wouldn’t worry overly much.”

Jaune’s blue eyes seemed to bore into her, and Glynda met them levelly as she let her current student process her words.

“Okay,” Jaune shrugged, then he stood up and turned to leave before he stopped and turned back around. “Thank you, Professor,” he said in that same calm tone, his gaze serious.

Glynda blinked and then nodded, a little taken aback. “You’re welcome, Jaune. Feel free to explore campus or take the shuttle down to Vale. If you have need of anything, you can come to talk to me. I’ll drop by your room later to drop off your school-issued scroll.”

Jaune nodded and then turned to walk away.

Unwilling, Glynda’s eyes trailed over the retreating form of Jaune’s back. He was diligent; she’d give him that. He didn’t act like a teenager, she mused, before her lips twisted into a frown as she realized exactly where her eyes had locked onto.

“Unacceptable, Glynda,” she whispered to herself; what was she thinking?

Even if in the darkest depths of her mind Glynda acknowledged that her student had a cute butt.

-

Jaune had meandered through Beacon after stopping by his room and grabbing Crocea Mors. He eventually wandered so far that he exited onto a cliff overlooking a massive forest. Oddly enough, alongside the cliff were a series of flat metal platforms, embedded into the stone.

Jaune walked up and tapped one of the metal panels with his shoe; he felt the panel shift slightly, depressing into the ground before he removed the pressure.

Jaune walked to the edge of the cliff and looked out over the forest.

It was nice here, he reflected; the cool wind ran against his temples of a brain that, while willingly, had taken in the new information, wasn’t exactly happy with how he had spent the last while.

Jaune looked reflectively down at the forest; were there Grimm down there?

Crocea Mors hilt warmed at his side.

Jaune moved along the cliff, looking for a way down, pacing the edge for some distance before he came across a narrow set of stairs engraved into the cliff face.

Jaune began his path down to the forest floor, descending for some time, the treetops growing ever closer until finally, he passed under the line of leaves, and the ground was revealed to him along with a lack of Grimm.

He supposed that made sense; he imagined any Grimm that came too close to Beacon wouldn’t be long for this world.

With a soft thud, his feet met packed dirt, and he began to walk into the forest.

With every step he walked, he felt some of the tension within him that had been building up release.

Grimm were one thing, but people….

A dry crack alerted him as he spun around to see a group of the familiar wolf-like creatures he recognized from the village and now knew to be beowolves. The canine beasts that stood upon four paws and white-masked lupine heads barred their teeth at him, and a faint growl reverberated out of the lead creature. Its crimson eyes glared at him along with the similarly crimson gaze of its compatriots, yet Jaune didn’t find the gaze as uncomfortable as any of the people he had met so far.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” Jaune mused aloud.

He sprinted forward across the ground, Crocea Mors finding its way to his hand as he left the sheath at his side.

The first creature leaped forward with a loud roar, gurgling at the back of its mouth that cut off in the next second as Jaune’s blade sliced its head clean from its shoulders.

The other beowolves, spurred into action, launched forward, tearing the forest floor up as they charged.

Jaune took two running steps forward and let his blade sing outward, beheading two of the creatures in quick succession before he had to duck around the swipes of the rest of them.

The sheath on his hip became a shield that he bashed outward, throwing a couple of the beowolves back.

A fight like this with multiple opponents he found challenging but not undoable. Perhaps because he had spent so long fighting the large Grimm in the center of the village, multiple weaker enemies unbalanced him at first.

Jaune’s blade stabbed outward, cutting another grimm down as he pierced his sword directly through the beowolves chest.

The remaining two leaped forward, and Jaune flexed his aura, golden light surging around him as he sliced the paws of the Grimm clean off before he twirled his sword, reflexively building up the momentum to land two separate decapitating strikes.

Jaune waited for several moments, wondering if he would get another level-up screen.

Nothing appeared.

“Guess I got to kill more,” Jaune mumbled to himself, walking deeper into the forest.

You Have Leveled Up!

Name: Jaune Arc

Class: Knight

Strength: 22->24

Dexterity: 14->15

Intelligence: 14->15

Vigor: 20->22

Soul: 36->40

You Have Leveled Up!

Name: Jaune Arc

Class: Knight

Strength: 24->26

Dexterity: 15->16

Intelligence: 15->16

Vigor: 22->24

Soul: 40->44

You Have Leveled Up!

Name: Jaune Arc

Class: Knight

Strength: 26->28

Dexterity: 16->17

Intelligence: 16->17

Vigor: 24->26

Soul: 44->48

Several hours spent in the forest yielded the results Jaune expected. Though perhaps at a slower rate than he had anticipated. Yet, with those expected results came something odd.

You’ve Reached Level 10.

Class Features Unlocked!

New screens had popped up in front of his disbelieving eyes. More than that, it felt like his brain had a glass of cold water thrown over it as information flushed through his system.

The first screen was fascinating.

Knight Class Features:

Skill System Unlocked.

Choose a Feat every Five Levels.

Increased Magic Resistance.

The middle two options were gleaming a bright gold, and somewhat hesitantly, Jaune selected the skill option.

Another Screen opened up.

Ability to level skills has unlocked, loading previously acquired data.

Data Discovered.

Loading Vital Skills.

Hunter Sword Arts: Set to Level 55/100

Hunter Shield Arts: Set to Level 40/100

Hunter Aura Arts: Set to Level 60/100

Note: Loss of Prior Memories has significantly limited potential skill acquisition regarding previously learned skills. Non-combat skills have been set at pre-reset levels. This can be solved by purchasing Memory Return at Feat Levels.

He looked at the last option and, with some trepidation, picked it; a new screen opened this time with only three options.

Heritage of Combat

One of the People

Memory Return (1/3)

As his eyes focused on the options, he got an impression of what each of them meant. ‘Heritage of Combat’ would give him a sixth sense around him and increase his combat aptitude. ‘One of the People’ would allow him to be more in tune with the people he met and understand them better. Memory Return would give him back some of his memories and, if selected two more times, would fully restore his memories.

Jaune’s eyes focused on the last option, a yearning feeling nagging at him. At the same time, a deep sense of worry nagged at him.

What if he didn’t want to remember? It wasn’t like it seemed it would actually help him; he would just be learning some useless stuff about his past. A past that he honestly would rather not remember, considering how he had woken up.

He had woken up in a broken house with a massive scar over his heart; did he really want that knowledge? Or was it something better left in the past?

Yet, was it something he could rightfully ignore? What if there were people in his past who had cared for him?

Jaune looked at the option for a long while, at war with himself.

In the end, it was fear that won out.

Even though, at the time, he told himself that he simply wanted to increase his combat aptitude.

He selected ‘Heritage of Combat’ and immediately felt another feeling of perception around him, like a sixth sense. He was now fully aware that there were no more Grimm around him for some meters outward; his senses stretched fully outward.

Jaune looked to the sky and noted that the sun was beginning its descent.

“Should probably head back,” he murmured to himself

He trekked back through the forest, cutting the few Grimm he encountered down with relative ease. What had been dangerous back when he had woken up was now a simple thing, which Jaune supposed meant he had progressed.

Up the stairs, he trudged, emerging back onto Beacon proper, thoughtfully looking about the area now filled with long shadows.

He entered back into Beacon, already planning his next expedition back into the forest.

-

Life became routine for several days. Goodwitch would educate him, and afterward, Jaune would go back into the forest to kill Grimm. The leveling had massively slowed down, as not only was most of the day taken up by being educated by Goodwitch, but also it didn’t seem like the Grimm in the forest were giving him ‘enough’ energy to level up, as it seemed with the class unlock, the requirement to level up had massively increased.

Jaune didn’t mind so much as he was more fascinated by the skills system that had unlocked.

He had spent long amounts of time in the library and, with his newly issued scroll, simply reading and absorbing new information.

Wait, what exactly did Goodwitch mean? Three in ten births were men?

Weapon Smithing: Level 2

History: Level 3

Grimm Anatomy: Level 3

-

Jaune would have loved to say he was enjoying this amount of forced learning. That would have been a lie, though.

Jaune glared at the book. What did whether the Queen of Vale violated her constitutional boundaries have to do with killing Grimm?!

Jaune sighed, dropping his head to the table, unable to contain his boredom. He was going to have to do something different soon, or he was going to lose it.

“Mr. Arc,” a soft voice disturbed Jaune’s rest, and he turned to see a woman he identified as Professor Peach looking at him, evidently surprised that Jaune had no idea why; she was holding a book loosely as she looked at him.

“Professor Peach,” Jaune said, simply having learned that saying people’s names was often polite enough to be considered a greeting before he went back to looking at his book, though he wasn’t quite sure why he needed to call the Professors by their last name.

Professor Peach evidently did not seem done; she walked towards him, stopping in front of him, and gave him a soft smile. “So you remember me. I was actually looking for you,” she said.

Jaune cocked an eyebrow at the woman.

Professor Peach seemed to be waiting for a response, though Jaune was unsure of what or why. “Uh, what can I do for you?” Jaune said.

“I’m running low on dust and needed an extra pair of hands to help me go grab some; Professor Goodwitch recommended you,” she said.

So he had been volunteered by Goodwitch; how odd.

“Okay,” Jaune said simply.

Professor Peach blinked, looking surprised again, and then gave him a soft smile, using a hand to swipe some of her pink hair back behind her right ear.

“She said you’d agree. Thank you. I’ll make sure to give you some extra credit for your help,” she smiled gently at him before she turned, evidently expecting Jaune to follow. Jaune noted his observation of her at the breakfast table some days prior was accurate.

Her rear was rather plump, not overly large, but very shapely and well-proportioned to her hips.

Jaune rose from his chair and followed her, making sure to grab Crocea Mors from where he had leaned it against the table.

He followed with long steps after Professor Peach as he strapped the sheath of his blade back to his waist.

Jaune walked down the empty hallways of Beacon with Professor Peach and out of Beacon to the airport, where a bullhead rested, its engine humming on the ground, generating a current of air from its paired engines.

Jaune took note that darkness was quickly encroaching upon the world, making Vale’s appearance from above a constellation of bright lights that did their best to hold back the darkness of the night.

Jaune boarded with Professor Peach, and within short order, the bullhead rose from the cliffside and began to fly down toward Vale.

The flight wasn’t overly long before they landed and were off into the main part of the city.

Jaune walked through the streets, a couple of steps behind Professor Peach for several minutes before the woman stopped and turned to look at him.

“You can walk beside me, Mr. Arc,” Professor Peach said, giving him a soft smile.

Jaune blinked, caught off guard by the statement; he hadn’t been trying to walk behind Professor Peach but had been distracted by the life of the city around him.

“I’m sorry,” Jaune said and hurried his pace slightly to catch up to Professor Peach.

“I understand that we have Professor Goodwitch to thank for your attendance,” Professor Peach said, looking at him with a cocked eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Jaune nodded, unsure if there was a question wrapped in that statement.

As they walked, Jaune noted that several of the people he knew as faunus due to their animal features walked among the humans normally, unlike the faunus he had seen board the airship from Haven.

Professor Peach gave him an amused smile, “You’re not very talkative, are you?”

Jaune winced, looking away from her ocean-green eyes, “Sorry,” he said again reflexively.

Professor Peach shook her head, and she laughed lightly, “Don’t worry about it; I can see you’re not even doing it on purpose; you’re odd for a Hunter trainee. Most of them have more bombastic elements to their personality.”

“Is that something I should work on?” Jaune asked curiously.

Professor Peach’s face scrunched up, and Jaune found it cute, and she shook her head. “No, I think you’re fine as you are, Jaune. May I call you Jaune?”

Jaune shrugged, “If you’d like,” he said.

They dropped by several dust stores, setting up their deliveries to Beacon before Peach asked Jaune to head down the street to a place called ‘Dusk till Dawn’ to pick up a single crate, as the other shop was in the opposite direction.

Jaune shrugged, agreed, and walked for some time in the darkening night before he arrived in front of a store whose neon sign probably proclaimed it as his destination.

He walked inside, saw an older woman managing the register, and walked up to her.

“Can I help you, young man?” she asked.

Jaune nodded and held out a slip of paper. “I’m supposed to give you this,” he said.

The woman looked down at it, then smiled. “Ah, an order for Beacon; let me put that together for you.

Jaune frowned, looking down at the crate the dust store owner was putting together behind the counter. He had done a lot of reading, but some of the types of dust in the crate escaped him.

“That should be everything, young man,” the store owner said, giving him a warm smile.

Despite himself, Jaune gave a half smile back and heaved the crate into his arms and turned to walk out into the street before he froze as the shop door opened, something tingling in the back of his head.

In came a man in a white coat, followed by a group of thugs, all of whom Jaune noted to be faunus.

“Hello, Jackpot!” the man chortled loudly, flipping his orange hair away from his singularly visible eye, the other behind a curtain of hair.

Jaune noted that the old woman behind the counter had frozen and was rapidly glancing about, her expression one of fright.

“Who is he?” Jaune asked the woman, trying to get a handle on the situation.

The woman looked at him, surprised, as did the man.

Even the thugs had stopped dead in their tracks.

“He’s Roman Torchwick,” the woman said, looking at Jaune with wide eyes, “The man who's been robbing dust shops all over Vale/”

Jaune nodded in understanding before he turned to the man, “So you’re some sort of criminal?” he asked, attempting to make clear the situation, setting the case down on the counter.

Roman sniffed, looking offended at him, “What are you slow?! Some sort of- I am a Master Criminal boy! Prepare to-“

Jaune had already pressed his feet firmly to the ground and, with a flex of his semblance, had amplified his strength to shoot him like a bullet at the man, the hilt of his sword partially drawn free to embed into the man’s gut.

Roman choked, spittle flying through his mouth before he was sent flying through the group of people behind him out the door.

Jaune didn’t take his eyes away from facing forward but spoke loudly, “Can you please hold onto the crate for me? I’ll be right back for it.” Professor Peach would likely be upset at him if he didn’t return with the requested dust, and he found that he didn’t want to disappoint her.

And not just because his eyes kept getting distracted inappropriately.

He took several steps forward, and the people in front of him backed up as well.

That was before, in a blur, the people disappeared as rose petals floated about. They were blasted every which way across the street, lights flickering off of them as their energy seemed to flicker before being dispersed from around them.

Jaune realized instantly that their aura must have broken.

A girl with dark black hair and a red streak wearing a gothic black dress emerged from thin air in a flurry of red petals, which did something strange to Jaune as she twirled a massive scythe with a smile, that did something even worse to his heart.

Jaune blinked and looked at the girl, surprised. “Who are you?” he said.

The man with the hat also looked surprised, staring at the girl for a moment before an evil grin emerged on his face. “Get her, boy,” he cried out, pointing at the girl, his eyes on Jaune.

Jaune had a moment to realize exactly the man’s plan before the air seemed to shift into a flurry of rose petals in front of him, and a scythe came swinging at him.

Instinct guided his next movement as he slipped under the razor-sharp blade of the scythe, using every bit of his dexterity to do so.

His eyes locked with narrowed silver eyes. “I’m not on his side,” he tried halfheartedly.

“Like I’ll let you trick me!” the girl shouted.

Jaune’s eyebrow quirked, and he was unable to retain his snort at the situation.

That, unfortunately, seemed to anger the girl more.

Jaune flushed more aura through his system, focusing on amplifying his speed as he narrowly ducked and dodged around the scythe as the girl vanished and reappeared in rapid succession, intent on skewering him with her weapon.

All the while, Roman turned and ran for one of the buildings, flicking his staff out and letting a red explosion rip outward, sending him high into the sky.

“He’s getting away,” Jaune remarked conversationally; he had read that reasoned discussion usually had the best outcomes in interpersonal conflicts, or at least that had been one of Glynda’s awful lessons.

The glare the girl shot at him was truly a sight to behold. Her cute face twisted into something that Jaune was sure was supposed to be intimidating, but he merely found adorable.

Her silver eyes flickered over to the rooftop before she glared back at him. “This isn’t over!” she cried out before shooting towards the rooftop in another burst of rose petals, apparently deciding that apprehending Roman was more worthwhile.

A low roar echoed across the sky as Jaune saw a bullhead taking off from over the rooftops.

Instinct, more than anything, guided his next action; if anything, he attributed it to ‘Heritage of Combat ’. Jaune’s body moved, leaping the distance with a massive boost of aura to his legs, landing on the rooftop several feet from the girl who was aimed down the scope of her scythe pointed at the ship.

The danger wasn’t from her, though.

Jaune threw himself forward in front of her and spun and drew his shield forth, holding it in front of him, and Crocea Mors felt like molten iron in his hand.

“Her sheath, on the other hand, is just as important; her name is-“

“Ancilia!” Jaune roared out, flaring his aura through his shield.

Gold aura shot out, forming eleven identical shields around his own, forming a solid formation covering the entirety of him and the girl.

A bolt of fire ripped down from the bullhead, smashing into Jaune’s formation. Jaune grunted as he took the hit, but his aura held steady.

Jaune realized he was stuck and had no actual response to the bullhead; firing a wave of aura from Crocea Mors would mean dropping the shield he was holding right now.

Fire bolts rained down on his shield, biting off chunks from his aura reserves, but even as the rain continued, Jaune held his ground.

The air was heating up around them to an astounding degree, but Jaune held.

Through his golden shield, Jaune saw a spear of purple light form in front of him, launching forth to shoot toward the ship, which jerked to the side, only taking a long slice along its aft.

The bullhead spun, now in full retreat, roaring away from them.

Hesitantly, Jaune dropped his shield of aura and let his actual shield reform into a sheath before he slid Crocea Mors home.

His senses acknowledged the people behind them, and he turned to see Professor Goodwitch with a grim frown and Professor Peach, her lips pressed into a thin line.

Jaune had the instant impression that he had done something wrong as he looked at them.

The girl next to him looked around rapidly with wide silver eyes. “You saved me! Wait, those are huntresses!” Her eyes practically sparkled while Jaune felt nothing but dread.

-

Professor Peach gazed at him with a sympathetic smile from across the table.

“I’m sorry that you ended up in such a situation, Jaune; this is my fault,” she said, looking down at the table.

Jaune winced, disliking the expression on her face. “I think it’s mine,” he said simply. “I didn’t realize I shouldn’t apprehend criminals.”

Though he still didn’t necessarily regret interfering.

Professor Peach waved her hands in a conciliatory gesture, “No! It’s not like you shouldn’t; it’s just that you’re not a huntsman yet, so you’re not licensed for such things.”

“Doesn’t that mean I shouldn’t?” Jaune asked, confused.

Professor Peach gave him a long look, and the normally soft expression on her face gained an element of sternness. “I’m not pleased you were put in danger on my watch,” she said simply, looking seriously at Jaune, but then sighed and her expression was soft again, “Still, you handled yourself well. No collateral damage, and you prevented the other girl from getting hurt; that was an impressive aura construct.”

Jaune nodded; so that was the name for what he had done; interesting.

If he had to describe it, though, it was like his shield itself had told him how to form the aura construct. Similar to how the aura blade he created with Crocea Mors was inextricably linked with the sword. He imagined that he could do the same thing without the sword or shield, but there was a certain ease to using the weapons themselves, almost as if they were engraved with the skills themselves.

“Is the girl okay?” Jaune asked.

Professor Peach gave him a small but warm smile. “Professor Goodwitch is talking to her right now; I believe she is fine.”

There was something she wasn’t saying, judging by the flicker of her aura around her, but Jaune honestly at this point just wanted this night to be over with.

The door swung, and Professor Goodwitch came in, and the stony look on her face immediately set Jaune on edge.

“Mr. Arc, I presume my colleague has explained the problems created by your conduct tonight,” she said in a soft, dangerous tone.

Jaune glanced at Professor Peach, who gave him a wry smile and then a small wink.

“Uh, yes?” Jaune said, unsure of what exactly was going on.

Goodwitch looked at him for a long moment; her lips twisted in a frown before she sighed and shook her head. “Then I won’t belabor the point. I’m glad to see that you seem to be alright and none the worse for your adventure, but I expect you to avoid engaging in such conflicts in the future.”

Jaune nodded slowly but couldn't suppress the question that sprang to his lips. “What exactly should I do in the future, Glynda?” he asked.

Both professors froze, and Jaune blinked as he realized he had accidentally said her first name.

From the look on their faces, maybe he wasn’t supposed to have done that?

Glynda looked at him for a long moment, gauging his words, then she pressed her fingers to her forehead and said, “Call for an experienced huntress at the very least before you engage in such reckless activities,” she said, her emerald eyes locking with his.

“Like you or Professor Peach?” Jaune clarified.

A small shade of red appeared on Glynda’s cheeks, and Professor Peach smiled softly, placing a palm to her left cheek as she leaned on the table, her ocean green eyes twinkling. “That would be acceptable,” Glynda said shortly. “I’ll see you for your studies at nine tomorrow.” She turned and walked away.

Jaune looked at Professor Peach, who was still smiling gently at him, and despite himself, Jaune felt a flush unwillingly appearing on his cheeks. “Shall we go, Mr. Arc?”

Jaune nodded and watched as Professor Peach stood up, exhibiting a wonderfully arranged side profile that Jaune found his eyes wandering to for no particular reason.

Professor Peach leaned over the desk, patting Jaune’s shoulder gently, and he found himself eye-level with the front of her white jacket that was indented with two small mounds that shifted in such a way that said that they weren’t enclosed by anything.

Jaune slowly nodded, his eyes having flicked back to turquoise eyes which were smiling softly at him, before she turned fully around. Jaune was positioned to see her small but shapely butt covered only by her miniskirt.

Why a miniskirt, though? Jaune’s mind couldn’t help but ask; wasn’t that impractical? Or did he not understand its true purpose?

Crocea Mors flared with heat again, and Jaune grimaced to himself; he really needed to get better control of that habit.

Author's Note:

Professor Peach is never shown in RWBY. In this story, I have her the appearance of Lightning from FXIII, though not, of course, her personality; I’m only a bit of a hack; give me some credit.

Glynda Goodwitch: “Our male Arc-Hunters keep getting killed by Grimm.”

Author: Really, how do they keep getting killed by the Grimm?

Glynda Goodwitch: “Well, it’s a dangerous profession, and they try to do stupid stuff like liberate Grimm-filled cities.”

Author: It sounds like you're feeding Male Arcs to Grimm.”

Glynda Goodwitch: ‘Starts Crying’