CDXS: Unchosen (RWBY fanfic)

The past few months at Beacon Academy had settled into a rhythm—albeit a chaotic, exhausting, exhilarating one. Between Professor Port's booming war stories, often full of exaggerated drama and liberal embellishments, and Professor Oobleck's rapid-fire lectures that demanded students keep up or be left hopelessly behind in a flurry of chalk and historical tangents, the new Huntresses and Huntsmen-in-training had no time to rest on their laurels. But it was in Professor Goodwitch's combat training sessions where things truly became real.

In the Auditorium, Combat class was where the bonds of teams were tested, where physical strain met mental resilience, and where theories from Oobleck's whiteboards came alive in the clash of weapons and aura. Glynda Goodwitch, ever the sharp-eyed and no-nonsense instructor, demanded discipline, precision, and above all—growth.

On this particular day, Team CDXS stood tall among the gathered students, distinctive in appearance and presence.

Cala Ad Lance, encased in her formidable full-body armor, stood like a modern-day juggernaut at the edge of the sparring arena. The heavy clank of her plated boots against the stone floor echoed with authority. Most of the student body had taken to calling her "The Walking Fortress," and the title fit her like a second name. Strapped across her back was her signature lance—Relict Heirpiercer—a massive, sleek weapon with polished chrome edges and a central core that thrummed faintly with energy. The lance, of course, also functioned as a shoulder-mounted cannon when transformed, and anyone who had seen it in action knew better than to take her lightly.

Doppel, lounging nearby on a bench with her legs up and tail lazily swinging behind her, smirked around a sucker in her mouth. "Ten lien says she ends it in under two minutes," she murmured, absently twirling one of the many throwing daggers from one of her countless belts. Her oversized jacket hung open, revealing more belts beneath, and her golden eyes glittered with mischief as they followed Cala onto the field.

Kumiko stretched like a cat beside her, rolling her shoulders with a grin. "Nah, under one minute. You know how she gets when someone underestimates her."

"Fair," Doppel replied, her tail flicking.

Sese, as always, stood pristine and dignified, clad in her elaborate musketeer-style battle dress. Her bow rested elegantly against one shoulder, while her ornate musket hung across her back in a polished leather sling. Her blonde hair was pinned neatly, and her expression unreadable—half noblewoman, half knight. She watched Cala with calm eyes, hands folded in front of her, standing like an officer watching her soldiers.

Professor Glynda Goodwitch's heels tapped sharply as she stepped into the center of the arena, her riding crop behind her back. "This next match will be a solo combat simulation. Standard dueling rules apply: no lethal force, aura monitored, stop on my command."

She turned her gaze to Cala, then to the nervous-looking student opposite her—a second-year boy wielding a transforming staff-axe hybrid. He fidgeted with his weapon, clearly not thrilled at the match-up.

"Cala Ad Lance versus Peregrin Wulfe," Glynda announced. "Begin!"

Peregrin leapt back immediately, weapon spinning as he sent a shockwave of kinetic force at Cala. Dust-enhanced wind howled forward—but the moment it struck, it was as if it had hit a wall.

Cala didn't even flinch.

Her towering form absorbed the impact without budging an inch, the air around her shimmering faintly as her semblance kicked in. Tank Endurance made her aura feel like reinforced steel, adding an almost physical weight to every defense. The shockwave dispersed like a gentle breeze.

With a hiss of hydraulics, Cala shifted her stance and moved forward—not fast, but inevitable. Her lance spun from her shoulder and locked into her hands. She began to charge, each thunderous step shaking the arena slightly.

Peregrin panicked, switching his weapon to axe-form and lunging with a wild, sweeping strike. The blade hit Cala's armored pauldron—and bounced off with a ringing clang.

She pivoted, her movements precise despite the weight of her armor. "You're open," she said flatly.

BOOM.

The back end of her lance opened with a hiss of steam, converting into its cannon form. A brilliant blast of concussive energy surged forward, engulfing Peregrin in a sphere of light and force. He was launched across the sparring ring, crashing into the protective aura shield Glynda had summoned mid-air to stop him from hitting the wall.

He groaned from the ground, aura flaring weakly in warning. Glynda raised her hand.

"Stop. Match over. Winner: Cala Ad Lance."

Doppel gave a low whistle. "Oof. Forty-seven seconds. You win, Kumi."

Kumiko smirked and held out her hand as Doppel dropped a handful of lien into it. "Told you."

Sese inclined her head slightly. "She held back, too," she murmured to no one in particular.

Back in the ring, Cala stood silently, returning her lance to its dormant form on her back. Her visor lifted slightly, revealing her stoic expression. She gave Glynda a small nod before turning to step off the field.

"Excellent control, Miss Lance," Glynda said crisply. "Though next time, dial the cannon back a notch."

"Yes, ma'am," Cala said simply.

The rest of the students murmured as she walked past, a mixture of awe and quiet respect following in her armored wake. The Walking Fortress had proven herself once again—and it was only the beginning.

The next combat match of the day was ready to begin, and the atmosphere was thick with anticipation. While many of the students had their eyes on the towering Cala Ad Lance and her impressive display of tank-like endurance, the moment the spotlight shifted to Doppel, the energy in the air seemed to crackle.

Doppel was, in a sense, an enigma. She had a casual, almost carefree demeanor, lounging about with her unique blend of confidence and mischievous energy. The Cat Faunus student had a reputation for being unpredictable and playful, often using her unique semblance, Full Mimicry, for pranks rather than combat. But as her lithe figure stepped onto the combat floor, something in the room shifted.

Her opponent, a tall, somewhat bulky student named Roderick Steel, adjusted his own stance. He was armed with a heavy battle hammer and had a look of serious intent on his face. He didn't appear fazed, but anyone who'd seen Doppel in action knew this wouldn't be a normal duel.

"Alright, you two," Glynda's voice rang out, sharp and clear. "We'll keep this as a standard duel. No lethal force, and keep control of your auras. Begin!"

Without warning, Doppel shot forward with surprising speed, her footfalls soft and quick as she closed the distance between herself and Roderick. Her eyes, glowing faintly in the low light, flickered as she began to move, her tail swishing from side to side. She dropped to all fours, the transformation from lazy teenager to agile predator seamless.

"Nyaa, better keep up, big guy!" Doppel taunted, her voice dripping with mischievous excitement as she flicked a dagger from her mouth and launched it at Roderick. The blade whistled through the air, but Roderick managed to deflect it with a swift swing of his hammer.

But Doppel was already gone, darting to the side in a flash, rolling across the ground with the precision and grace of a panther. She wasn't just fast—she was everywhere, her multiple weapons gleaming in the light as she used them to attack from angles Roderick clearly hadn't anticipated.

"You're not bad, but I'm faster than you think, nya!" Doppel grinned, her voice teasing as she crouched low again. Her tail flicked in rhythm with her movements, the dagger attached to it catching the light with every motion. Four daggers—one in each hand, one in her mouth, and one in her tail—whirled through the air as she moved with a fluid grace, each swipe faster than the last.

Roderick grunted as he swung his hammer once again, but Doppel had already dropped to all fours, spinning in a full circle and skidding under the hammer's trajectory. She was practically a blur, and the audience watching her couldn't help but be captivated by her skill.

"What's the matter, Roderick? I thought you were supposed to be a big guy, nya!" she teased, her voice bubbling with excitement as she whipped another dagger from her mouth and sent it hurtling toward his shoulder.

Roderick barely managed to raise his hammer to block the incoming dagger, but he had underestimated the agility of the small Faunus. As he stepped forward, trying to close the distance between them, Doppel leapt back, her body flowing like liquid as she somersaulted into a perfect landing.

Then, just as quickly as she had moved, Doppel stopped. She tilted her head, a grin dancing on her face. The next moment, her figure shimmered, and she was no longer the same playful cat-like figure. Instead, she mirrored Roderick's appearance—same bulky frame, same intimidating stance, same hammer held high. She had used Full Mimicry, and she looked every bit the part of her opponent.

"Nyaa... let's see if you can handle this," Doppel taunted in Roderick's deep voice, making the imitation flawless. She swung his hammer down toward him, and the sheer force of the blow pushed the ground beneath her feet, just like the real Roderick would have done.

Roderick blinked in confusion, clearly thrown off by the sudden shift. His eyes narrowed, trying to figure out what was happening. Doppel, still in his form, swung again, more deliberately this time. The force of the hammer brought a faint rumble to the floor beneath their feet, but it was no match for Doppel's agility.

With a soft whoosh, she somersaulted in the air, flipping out of the way of her own mimicry strike. In the next instant, she returned to her usual form with a playful grin. "Not bad for a big guy, but I think I'm better, nya!"

Roderick gritted his teeth, his aura flaring as he regained his stance. He swung his hammer once again, but this time Doppel was prepared. She dropped to all fours once more, darting forward with the swiftness of a hunting cat. Her daggers were everywhere, striking with precision, her movements so fluid it was as though she was dancing in and out of the battlefield.

She lashed out with a dagger in her tail, then threw another from her mouth. Her movements were a blur of coordinated attacks, one after another, keeping Roderick on the defensive. He swung his hammer desperately, trying to create an opening, but Doppel was already behind him, dagger raised to strike again.

"Nyaa, you're so slow, I might need to speed things up," Doppel teased, her voice full of amusement. In the blink of an eye, she dropped to her hands and knees, then launched herself off the ground with a surprising amount of strength, landing on Roderick's back. She pressed a dagger lightly against his neck.

"Looks like I win, nya!" she chirped, her tail flicking with satisfaction.

Glynda stepped forward, raising a hand to call for the match to end. "Stop. Winner: Doppel."

The room erupted into applause, and Doppel grinned widely as she hopped off Roderick's back, twirling her daggers with ease. "Nyaa, that was too easy! You were fun though, big guy!" She patted Roderick on the shoulder as he groaned, clearly exhausted but not defeated.

"Next time, I'll be ready for that, nya," Doppel added with a wink, her playful demeanor back in full force as she sauntered off the field. Her tail swayed behind her, and she couldn't help but laugh to herself, already planning her next prank with her semblance.

The audience, still stunned by the speed and unpredictability of the match, murmured in admiration. Doppel was known for her mischievous nature, but now they had witnessed just how dangerous she could truly be in combat—and the sheer versatility of her semblance. It was a dangerous tool indeed, and one she wielded with a carefree grace that made her a formidable opponent when she chose to fight seriously.

And as she walked past her teammates, she turned to Kumiko, Cala, and Sese with a satisfied grin.

"Nyaa, I told you I'd win," she purred with a wink, causing her friends to laugh and shake their heads in exasperation.

The sparring ring had barely cooled from the previous match when the next name rang out with a buzz of anticipation.

"Next match," Glynda Goodwitch announced crisply, voice carrying across the training room like the crack of a whip. "Kumiko Xen, of Team CDXS... versus Timothy Hawthorne of Team GRSG."

A murmur rippled through the crowd of students clustered around the perimeter. Most knew the name Kumiko. While not as flashy as Doppel's mimicry or Cala's indomitable armor, she was infamous in the training yard for her relentless fighting style. Despite lacking a semblance, she more than made up for it with raw physical skill, unflinching aggression, and almost unholy stamina. If Cala was the shield, Kumiko was the spear—figuratively and quite literally.

She cracked her knuckles as she stepped into the ring, her long braid whipping behind her with every step. Galberu, her long, spear, rested lazily across her shoulders. Its sleek shaft glinted beneath the training lights, its weighted steel tips whispering of the power behind them. Kumiko looked half-bored, half-eager, her sharp eyes trained on the tall, broad-shouldered student standing across from her.

Timothy adjusted the brim of his cap, spinning his weapon—a massive cleaver-like broadsword that pulsed faintly with Dust channels. "You ready?" he asked, his voice even and respectful.

Kumiko rolled her shoulders and smirked. "Always. Try not to blink."

Glynda raised her hand. "Begin!"

And just like that—Kumiko moved.

She didn't run. She launched. The moment the signal was given, she was in motion, a blur of momentum and muscle as Galberu swung from her shoulders into a precise two-handed grip. Her movements were artful yet brutal, a dance of honed footwork and efficient violence. Every strike from her spear was calculated to exploit a weakness, and it became immediately clear that she wasn't going to feel out her opponent. No. Kumiko Xen went in.

Timothy barely blocked the first strike.

The clang of spear meeting sword rang out as he braced himself with both hands. Kumiko's strike forced him back a step. Then another. She twisted the shaft of Galberu around his blade and swept low, attempting to hook behind his ankle and bring him crashing down.

"You don't hold back, do you?" Timothy grunted, hopping over the sweep and countering with a heavy downward slash.

Kumiko pivoted, letting the cleaver slam into the floor beside her with a small shockwave. "Why would I?" she said through her grin, spear twirling in a fluid arc around her back and thrusting toward his chest with a sharp, chff! of wind.

Timothy stepped to the side, but not fast enough. The tip of Galberu sliced across his shoulder, aura sparking on impact. He hissed and retaliated, swinging wide—but Kumiko ducked, planted her foot, and drove her elbow into his gut, knocking the wind out of him before delivering an upward arc of her spear's back end to his jaw.

She moved with terrifying rhythm: jab, sweep, pivot, strike. It was as if she had choreographed every exchange in her mind before it even happened. Kumiko didn't need a semblance. Her body was her weapon. Galberu was an extension of her will.

"You're not bad!" she shouted over the sound of clashing weapons, eyes alight with excitement. "But you're still hesitating!"

Timothy grunted, shaking off the pain and slamming his sword downward to create distance. The shock rippled through the floor. "I'm just getting warmed up!"

Kumiko's grin widened. "Oh good. So am I."

She leapt high, her form compact and graceful as she spun midair, Galberu a spinning blur of metal. Timothy raised his sword in defense, but Kumiko feinted, landing beside him instead and driving the spear upward into his ribs. His aura flared once again, and this time it cracked faintly—she was wearing him down.

"Your stance is sloppy," she said. "Your left heel lifts when you counter. You telegraph your swings. You're strong, but you fight like a tank with a missing wheel."

Timothy swung again in frustration, and Kumiko punished him immediately—sidestepping with a neat twist of her body and bringing her knee into his thigh, breaking his footing.

"Which means I'm going to run you over."

She swept his legs from under him with a fluid flick of her spear and caught the blunt edge of Galberu against his throat as he hit the mat hard.

Glynda's voice rang out a heartbeat later. "Stop! Match concluded. Winner: Kumiko Xen."

The room broke into murmurs of astonishment and scattered applause. Kumiko stood tall, resting Galberu across her shoulders again, not even out of breath.

Timothy blinked up at her, then groaned. "That was brutal."

Kumiko offered him a hand with a lopsided smirk. "Nah. That was fun. Thanks for the warmup."

As Timothy accepted the hand and pulled himself up, the rest of Team CDXS watched from the sidelines. Doppel, perched upside-down from the training scaffolding, grinned down at Kumiko.

"Nyaa, you really are a battle junkie when you want to be," she called. "Remind me to never spar with you before breakfast."

Kumiko stretched with a satisfied sigh. "Anytime, anywhere. Just bring tea next time."

Cala merely nodded in silent approval, and Sese, arms crossed and poised as always, gave a quiet but amused smile.

The whirlwind that was Kumiko Xen walked off the stage, rolling her shoulders and muttering to herself, "One down. Who's next?"

The training floor had grown more animated after Kumiko's ferocious display, her victory leaving sparks—both literal and figurative—in its wake. Cala Ad Lance, the stalwart leader of Team CDXS, stood tall in the middle of the sparring floor, her armored arms crossed in silent command as she eyed her teammates.

"Kumiko. Doppel. Enough gloating," she rumbled in a voice as heavy and resonant as the armor she wore. "You're not children in a sandbox."

But Doppel, who was now hanging upside-down from the support beams, her tail swinging casually, only grinned wider. "You can't stop the smug, nya. It's part of my charm."

Kumiko, sitting cross-legged on the floor nearby and spinning Galberu lazily in one hand, laughed. "We earned it. Did you see his face when I broke his stance?"

Cala's visor gleamed ominously.

Before things escalated further, Glynda's voice called across the arena: "Next match: Sese Lenya Ban Von Fitzgerald Livingstone Cunningham Dragoncrest Chatterton Abercrombie Duskhollow Frostbloom Belsonavenolairequintaple the X... versus Marvin Silkweld of Team VLCT."

A hush descended on the room, not just from the sheer length of Sese's name, but the reputation it carried. The poised noblewoman, with hair like spun gold and posture worthy of high courts and catwalks alike, stepped forward from her place at the edge of the room.

Sese's ensemble was pristine, tailored for both combat and elegance—a duelist's coat adorned with silver filigree, long boots clicking softly against the floor, and a sash that shifted ever so slightly as she walked with silent precision. Slung across her back was her custom weapon—a sleek musket and longbow hybrid, beautifully carved and forged. As she stepped into position, she detached it with a graceful motion, the parts seamlessly unfolding and clicking into their crossbow form with a satisfying mechanical hum.

Marvin Silkweld, by contrast, looked decidedly more grounded. A stocky boy with soot-streaked gloves and a pair of short axes that doubled as Dust forges, he was known more for smithing than finesse. His aura shimmered orange with Dust affinity, and his boots sparked faintly with heat as he stepped onto the floor.

He gave her a nod. "Try not to blink, miss. I might surprise ya."

Sese raised an eyebrow, brushing a strand of blonde hair from her face as she calmly loaded a shimmering bolt. "Darling," she said with the cool tone of one who had been raised in drawing rooms filled with lords and firebrands, "I do not blink. I observe."

Glynda raised her hand. "Begin!"

Marvin moved fast, surprisingly so for someone with his stocky build. His axes sparked against the floor as he dashed forward, charging with a roar and swinging wide to catch her off guard. But Sese was already in motion—feet light and graceful, moving more like a ballroom dancer than a huntress.

She didn't stand her ground. She never stood her ground. Sese was a kiter, a predator that made her kill with elegance at a distance. She tapped two fingers to her temple, activating her Semblance.

Hunter's Mark.

A barely visible pulse radiated from her, a ripple of aura like a perfume scenting the air. The mark locked onto Marvin instantly. Now every bolt, every arrow she loosed would bend its path toward him no matter how he moved. Her eyes narrowed.

The first bolt loosed from her crossbow screamed through the air—and curved around Marvin's shoulder to hit his side.

He grunted, stumbling. "What the—? That wasn't even aimed at me!"

Sese clicked her tongue and stepped lightly backwards, firing three more in rapid succession. Her crossbow shifted smoothly, a blend of craftsmanship and Dust engineering, peppering Marvin's aura with sparks as the bolts zigzagged through the air, each one impossible to dodge.

"That's the nature of my semblance, darling," she said, voice crisp as winter wine. "You see, I don't need brute strength. I have perfection."

Marvin gritted his teeth and slammed a foot into the floor, launching a Dust-fueled burst of flame outward. It was clever, forcing her back and cloaking the field in smoke and sparks.

But Sese was already moving.

From the smoke came a sharp whistle—an arrow, this time, and then another. Her weapon had shifted forms in the blink of an eye, and now she loosed sleek arrows from a distance, each one sailing into the cloud and finding its mark with a ping of breaking aura.

Marvin stumbled out of the smoke, aura flickering weakly. "You don't stop moving, do you?"

Sese's reply was accompanied by a perfect twirl, coat flaring dramatically. "Neither does refinement, dear."

He charged once more, clearly on his last legs. But she spun out of reach, barely needing to dodge, and loaded one final bolt. The crossbow's string thrummed like a harp as she fired it—not at Marvin directly, but toward a piece of training equipment behind him.

It ricocheted. Once. Twice.

Then curved mid-air and struck Marvin square in the chest.

PING.

His aura shattered like glass. He collapsed to his knees with a sigh, raising a hand. "I yield."

Sese stood tall, resting her crossbow against her shoulder as she turned gracefully on her heel and walked away, not even looking back. "Do enjoy a warm drink and a salve, Mister Silkweld."

Glynda nodded in approval. "Match concluded. Winner: Sese... the entirety of her name."

The crowd gave a low round of impressed murmurs. Doppel leaned over the railing, eyes wide. "She's scary, nya..."

Kumiko, still buzzing with energy, clapped once. "She always makes it look so effortless."

Cala said nothing, but she watched Sese return to them with a tiny nod of pride.

And Sese? She merely brushed the nonexistent dust from her coat, her eyes forward, her elegance unshaken, ready for the next match—or the runway. Whichever came first.

The auditorium lights of Beacon Academy flickered before dimming completely, plunging the room into near-darkness. The tension in the air was palpable as the audience waited in hushed anticipation. The spotlight swung across the stage and illuminated two figures at its center: Cardin Winchester, with his ever-present smirk and The Executioner perched ominously on his shoulder, and Jaune Arc, standing across from him with his weapon drawn, Crocea Mors in hand. Jaune's posture was slightly slouched, exhaustion settling heavily in his limbs. The battle had taken a toll on him, his breathing ragged and shallow as he leaned on his sword for support.

Cardin, ever the cocky competitor, eyed Jaune with a mocking grin. "What's the matter, Arc?" he taunted, his voice full of amusement. "You're looking a little... tired."

Jaune straightened, attempting to push past the fatigue, but his body felt like it was made of lead. His grip tightened on the hilt of Crocea Mors, trying to summon whatever strength he had left. With a determined grunt, Jaune lunged forward, sword raised, ready to engage.

The crowd collectively held their breath as Jaune charged toward Cardin, every muscle in his body protesting. But Cardin was quicker, moving with a deftness that betrayed his hulking frame. With an effortless leap, he evaded Jaune's strike, landing nimbly a few feet away, his mace resting casually on his shoulder.

Jaune faltered for a moment, surprised by Cardin's agility, but before he could regain his footing, he heard a loud, ringing crash. The Executioner—a massive, terrifying weapon of destruction—swung through the air like a pendulum, knocking Jaune's shield, and Jaune himself, off balance. He stumbled back, crashing onto the floor with a grunt, his weapon flying from his grasp. The arena erupted into gasps of shock as the young Arc struggled to regain his composure, his aura flashing a warning red.

Cardin, standing tall and dominant, smirked down at him with cruel satisfaction. He rolled his shoulders, preparing for the final blow. "This is the part where you lose," he sneered.

Jaune, despite the pain and the overwhelming exhaustion clouding his vision, gritted his teeth. "Over my dead—!"

Before he could finish his defiant statement, Cardin's knee slammed into his gut with a sickening thud, the air driven from his lungs. Jaune's sword clattered uselessly to the floor as he doubled over in agony, his hands instinctively clutching his midsection. He tried to breathe but the pain was too much. His vision blurred, and the sound of Cardin's mocking laughter filled his ears. Cardin loomed over him, the towering figure of The Executioner still perched menacingly at his side.

With a cruel grin, Cardin raised his mace, ready to bring it down on Jaune's vulnerable form. Jaune's heart raced as he struggled to summon any strength to defend himself, but it was clear the fight was already slipping away from him. He had no weapon, no shield, and his aura was fading fast. He could feel his body weakening, the exhaustion setting in deeper than it ever had before.

Just as Cardin began to bring the mace down, there was a sudden, sharp sound—the buzzer. The lights in the auditorium flickered back to life, the glaring brightness forcing Cardin to halt his movement, his mace held in midair. The crowd stirred in confusion, and the arena fell quiet again.

Glynda Goodwitch's voice cut through the silence, authoritative and calm, as always. "Cardin, that's enough!" she commanded, her tone firm, yet laced with the weight of experience. The sound of her footsteps echoed as she approached the combatants, tapping away at her tablet. She looked at the now-wounded Jaune, her expression softening just slightly.

"Students," Glynda began, her voice carrying across the entire room, "as you can see, Mr. Arc's Aura has now dropped into the red. In a tournament-style duel, this would indicate that Jaune is no longer fit for battle, and an official would call the match." She glanced over at Jaune as he remained seated on the ground, his face contorted in pain, but his eyes were fixed downward in a mix of frustration and self-doubt. Pyrrha, standing at the edge of the arena, couldn't hide the sadness on her face. She clenched her fists, watching her partner's defeat with a heavy heart.

Glynda turned her gaze back to Jaune, her tone now tinged with concern. "Mr. Arc, it's been weeks now. Please try to refer to your Scroll during combat," she advised, her words measured and sincere. "Gauging your Aura is essential, and it will help you decide when it's appropriate to attack, or when it's better to adopt a more defensive strategy. We wouldn't want you to be gobbled up by a Beowolf, now, would we?"

Jaune looked up at her, his face a mixture of exhaustion and shame, but the words felt like a cold splash of water, a reminder of his shortcomings. His aura flickered faintly, and he couldn't help but feel the sting of inadequacy. He had failed—again.

Cardin, standing nearby, scoffed at Glynda's words. "Speak for yourself," he muttered, his voice dripping with derision. "This guy's too weak to handle anything, even in a training match."

Glynda shot him a glare, but Cardin merely shrugged and turned his attention elsewhere. Glynda, unfazed, spoke once more to the students. "Remember, everyone, the Vytal Festival is only a few months away," she announced, her voice rising in a final, authoritative note. "It won't be long before students from the other kingdoms start arriving in Vale. So keep practicing! Those who choose to compete in the combat tournament will be representing all of Vale!"

The bell rang, signaling the end of the lesson, and students began filing out of the arena. The energy in the room was palpable, but it was tinged with the knowledge that Jaune had been handed another lesson, one he wasn't entirely sure how to digest. As the students dispersed, Pyrrha lingered for a moment, her eyes fixed on Jaune. She didn't say anything—words seemed unnecessary at this point—but her gaze held a quiet sympathy.

Jaune, still sitting on the floor, rubbed his face in frustration, not wanting to meet anyone's eyes. He couldn't even bring himself to look at his own reflection, let alone anyone else's. His heart weighed heavily in his chest, and as the scene faded to darkness, one thing remained clear in his mind: he was still far from the leader he needed to be.

The cafeteria of Beacon Academy buzzed with energy as students filed in, some already chatting eagerly about the practice sparring, others simply looking for a moment to unwind after a long day of combat training. The large room was filled with the aroma of various dishes—steamed vegetables, sizzling meats, freshly baked bread, and a multitude of beverages. It was a refuge for tired students seeking comfort in the form of food, and Team CDXS wasted no time finding their spot.

Cala Ad Lance, tall and imposing, was first to grab a plate, moving through the line with her usual air of authority. As she selected a hearty portion of meat and vegetables, she made her way over to the table, her armor clinking softly with every step. Her teammates followed behind her, though not as gracefully or orderly.

Doppel, ever the troublemaker, was already in motion. She darted past the angry cooks, her laughter ringing through the air as she dashed toward the vents. "Nyahahahaha!" she cackled, her tail flicking behind her, as she disappeared into the ventilation system, evading the pursuers. The cooks shook their fists in frustration, but they knew better than to chase her; she had become a near-legendary figure in the academy's ventilation system. She was the cat Faunus who owned the vents, after all.

Kumiko, ever the laid-back member of the group, had no time for the hustle and bustle. She grabbed her sixth meal of the day—two plates piled high with food—and lazily flopped down at the table. With no care for manners, she dug in, devouring the food with the same enthusiasm that one would expect from a ravenous dragon, her chewing exaggerated and rapid, as though she had barely stopped to breathe between bites.

Sese, on the other hand, was the picture of composure. She sat upright, her posture immaculate, her clothing crisp and well-kept. She had a small array of perfectly balanced, healthy foods before her: tender meats, crisp vegetables, fresh fruits, and grains. Every item on her plate was chosen with precision, her diet a perfect reflection of her disciplined approach to life. Between bites, she adjusted her hair with a delicate hand, her gaze soft but focused, as if considering the world around her in quiet contemplation.

The conversation at the table was loud enough to be heard across the room, but in the midst of the chatter, the camera zoomed in, shifting focus to a new scene. At a nearby table, Nora Valkyrie's bright turquoise eyes sparkled with excitement as she leaned over to her audience, a group of students from both Team RWBY and Team JNPR.

"So!" Nora began, raising her voice, clearly on the verge of a dramatic retelling. "There we were, in the middle of the night..." Her hands gestured widely, emphasizing the intensity of her story.

Ren's voice cut in, calm and deadpan, from off-screen. "It was day."

Nora shot a glance toward Blake Belladonna, who was engrossed in her book, her expression calm and unaffected by the theatrics unfolding around her. Nora's gaze flickered to Yang Xiao Long, who was hanging on every word, her hands cupping her face, utterly captivated by Nora's tale.

"We were surrounded by Ursai..." Nora continued, her voice rising in excitement, though Ren, still holding a coffee cup in his hand, corrected her once again.

"They were Beowolves," he said, his tone laced with the mildest hint of exasperation.

"No, no, no!" Nora insisted, her voice rising further. "Dozens of them!" She shouted this last part as if it were the climax of the greatest battle story ever told, despite Ren's more grounded version of events. Nora was standing on the table now, her arms stretched wide in dramatic flair, drawing attention from every corner of the cafeteria.

Ren sighed heavily from his seat, pinching the bridge of his nose. "She's been having this recurring dream for nearly a month now."

As Nora recounted her tale with reckless abandon, Pyrrha Nikos and Ruby Rose exchanged concerned glances. Both could tell that Jaune had barely registered the conversation at all. His eyes were fixed on his plate, his mind clearly somewhere else. Ruby, ever the empathic teammate, spoke up gently.

"Jaune?" she asked, her voice soft. "Are you okay?"

Jaune snapped out of his reverie, blinking a few times as though he had just woken up. He looked around, almost startled, as if the question had caught him off guard. "Huh? Oh, yeah!" he replied quickly, but his response felt almost automatic. "Why?"

Ruby gave him a searching look, her gaze softening as she continued. "It's just that you seem a little... not okay..."

Jaune let out a nervous laugh, trying to brush off his unease. "Guys, I'm fine. Seriously!" He threw up a thumb in a poor attempt to reassure them, but his laugh didn't quite reach his eyes. His expression was forced, and it didn't take long for his teammates to notice.

Meanwhile, Team CRDL sat just behind them, and Jaune's attention flickered toward them as he caught sight of Cardin Winchester laughing with his usual cruel gusto. The imposing figure of Cardin stood near a smaller girl with brown rabbit ears jutting out from her hair, and Sky Lark, another member of Team CRDL, was mimicking her appearance by placing his hands on his head as though trying to replicate her features. Cardin laughed heartily, clearly finding some amusement at the expense of the girl.

Jaune's attention drifted back to his friends, but the unease in his chest didn't dissipate. Pyrrha, her gaze gentle but serious, didn't let the subject drop. "Jaune," she said quietly, "Cardin's been picking on you since the first week of school!"

Jaune, however, only scoffed at the suggestion. "Who? Cardin Winchester? Nah..." He shrugged dismissively, attempting to downplay it. "He just likes to mess around! You know, practical jokes!"

Ruby, who had been watching him closely, shook her head slightly, concern evident in her eyes. "He's a bully."

Jaune gave an exaggerated scoff, rolling his eyes. "Oh, please!" he said, trying to sound as though it were the most ridiculous notion in the world. "Name one time he's 'bullied' me."

The memories hit like stray bullets, uninvited but impossible to ignore.

Jaune trudged down one of Beacon's long, echoing corridors, hugging his books close to his chest, mind adrift with everything but the present moment. It was just another day—class, training, sparring—surviving, mostly. That is, until Cardin Winchester's broad-shouldered figure came into view, moving down the hall with that smug, heavy-footed strut. Jaune tried to side-step, avoid contact, but the distance was too narrow, and Cardin, clearly seeing him, made no effort to move. In fact, he angled toward him at the last moment.

Their shoulders collided. Jaune's books flew from his grasp and scattered across the floor like leaves in the wind.

"Ah, come on!" Jaune exclaimed, exasperated.

Cardin didn't stop. He didn't even look back. Instead, he raised his hands in an exaggerated shrug, palms up like some parody of innocence, as if daring the world to blame him. His friends snickered behind him, trailing like hyenas.

Jaune muttered under his breath as he bent down, hastily gathering his books, his ears burning red. Just let it go... just let it go...

But the day wasn't done playing its cruel little reruns.

Later, they approached one of the double doors leading out to the courtyard. Jaune, still mentally occupied, didn't notice Cardin reaching out until it was too late. With a quick flick of his fingers, Cardin triggered Jaune's sheath, transforming it into its shield form mid-movement. The hard metallic expansion slammed outward just as Jaune reached the threshold—clanking loudly and slamming into his midsection like a gate being shut by a petty god.

"Ugh!" Jaune grunted, staggering back. His books were fine this time, but his dignity wasn't.

Cardin smirked, his boots thudding as he walked past without a glance. Jaune stood there in growing frustration, trying to wrestle the unwieldy shield back into its sheath.

"Come on...!" he growled, his cheeks flushed with frustration and humiliation. The door creaked behind him, half-blocked by his own equipment—another silent joke written in metal and spite.

The next scene unfolded in Beacon's locker room, the scent of oil and dust heavy in the air. Several students stood around the circular room, all of them gathered in front of the silver, high-tech lockers designed to store their personal equipment.

Professor Glynda Goodwitch paced confidently at the front, tablet in hand, voice clear and commanding.

"Each of you will be assigned one rocket-propelled locker to store your weapons and extra armor," she explained, motioning to the towering lockers surrounding them. "Additionally, your locker can be sent to a custom location based on a six-digit code."

As she continued her explanation, Cardin glanced around—his eyes fell on Jaune, standing awkwardly in front of the only open locker, adjusting his scroll while glancing at the others. The idea struck Cardin like a lightning bolt of opportunity. A devilish smirk curled across his face.

"Hey Arc," Cardin said too casually.

"Huh?" Jaune turned, blinking.

In one swift motion, Cardin shoved him. Jaune stumbled backward, arms flailing, and landed square inside the cramped interior of the locker. He had just enough time to look up with wide eyes before the door slammed shut in front of him.

"What?! No, wait, wait!" Jaune's voice came muffled from inside the metal tomb, fists pounding at the door. "You've gotta get me out of here! Please! Don't! Don't! Don't do it!"

Cardin laughed under his breath as he mashed a series of random numbers into the pad, completely ignoring Glynda's lecture. The screen blinked green. With a mechanical hiss, the locker scrunched down, blue fire igniting from its thrusters as it launched like a bullet from a cannon.

A streak of smoke and flame carved the sky as the locker disappeared from sight.

Jaune's voice echoed faintly, carried by the wind and vanishing altitude.

"Ahhh, coooome oooooooon..."

The flashback fizzled like a static memory, dissipating in the noise of the cafeteria as Jaune blinked back into the present. All eyes were on him now—Team RWBY, Team JNPR, even a few glances from students nearby. The hum of conversations dimmed around their table, the air heavy with unsaid words and visible concern. Jaune, still red-cheeked from embarrassment, attempted to muster a grin, brushing it off like dirt from his armor.

"I didn't land far from the school!" he tried to laugh, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly.

Pyrrha leaned in gently, her words soft yet firm, her emerald eyes filled with worry. "Jaune, you know if you ever need help, you can just ask."

Before he could answer, Nora Valkyrie slammed her tray down, her turquoise eyes glittering with chaotic energy. "Ooooh!" she chirped, voice rising with wild excitement. "We'll break his legs!"

Jaune flinched and waved his hands. "Guys, really, it's fine! Besides, it's not like he's only a jerk to me; he's a jerk to everyone—"

Their attention was drawn elsewhere. The laughter from the other side of the cafeteria had grown sharper, louder, undercut with a different sound: pain.

The table fell silent, eyes turning toward the scene unfolding. There, standing at the center of attention, was Cardin Winchester and his cronies from Team CRDL. Their sneering faces were gathered around a girl with long, chestnut-brown hair and soft rabbit ears now pulled harshly by Cardin's hand. Velvet Scarlatina grimaced, her shoulders stiff with discomfort and barely restrained shame.

"Ow! That hurts!" Velvet said, her voice quiet but cracking. She stopped struggling, a frown drawing her brows together in helpless submission. "Please, stop..."

Cardin only laughed harder, tossing his head back and nudging Sky with his elbow. "I told you it was real!" he snorted.

Russel howled with laughter. "What a freak!"

Their cruel taunts echoed across the room, and the expressions of Team RWBY and JNPR darkened in unison. Pyrrha's knuckles went white around her fork. "Atrocious," she muttered. "I can't stand people like him."

Blake's amber eyes narrowed into burning slits. "He's not the only one..."

Yang, for once, looked subdued. Her chin rested in her hand as her gaze fell. "It must be hard... being a Faunus."

Then a shadow loomed over Team CRDL. It was silent, commanding, and easily eclipsed the rowdy energy of Cardin and his friends. Standing behind them was none other than Cala Ad Lance—Beacon's walking fortress and the leader of Team CDXS. Her Beacon Academy uniform, though identical in cut to everyone else's, looked distinctly different on her. Regal. Structured. Like armor in cloth. Her dark eyes fixed on the boys with a gaze that could cut steel.

Her voice was calm, but it landed like thunder. "What are you doing?"

Cardin turned, his laughter dying like wind cut off by a closed door. He blinked up at Cala, who easily towered over him with her broad, disciplined frame and unreadable stare.

Behind them, leaning casually with one arm thrown lazily around a chair back, was Kumiko Xen, her uniform messily worn—collar unbuttoned, tie undone, sleeves rolled—yet her presence no less intense. She smirked in a way that was both amused and vaguely threatening. "Well," she said slowly, her golden eyes glinting, "this looks interesting..."

Sese Lenya Ban Von Fitzgerald Livingstone Cunningham Dragoncrest Chatterton Abercrombie Duskhollow Frostbloom Belsonavenolairequintaple the X, immaculate as always, stepped in with her precise, almost noble grace. Her blond hair fluttered as she moved, as if the wind bowed to her poise. She brushed Cardin aside like he were little more than lint on her sleeve and extended a gentle hand to Velvet, who still looked stunned.

"You alright, ma'am?" she asked, flashing a warm, perfectly composed smile.

Velvet blinked. "I-I'm not really that old but... thank you."

Above, in the web of Beacon's air ducts, the shadows shifted—and two glowing ember eyes lit up like mischievous lanterns. Doppel, the ever-elusive Faunus gremlin of CDXS, crouched among the shadows in her own customized uniform. Torn hems, excessive belts clinking faintly, and a dozen daggers strapped to every corner of her body. Her tail curled like a spring, and she grinned, fangs peeking.

"Nyaaa~" she purred, eyes gleaming in amusement.

Team CRDL recoiled—not from Velvet, but from the sudden pressure around them. Cardin took a step back as Cala grabbed his shoulder in a firm grip, while Kumiko stepped around the side and pressed her hand on Russel's, gripping just tight enough to make his smug face twitch.

Cala's voice was low. "Let's talk. As fellow students."

Kumiko grinned wider, speaking with mock excitement. "Yeah! Isn't it better to get to know our classmates?" she said, her tone sweet as honey, but her grip implied the exact opposite.

The tension was electric. Doppel followed overhead, a silent sentinel stalking them from above like a predator in the rafters. And just like that, they herded the boys out of the cafeteria.

The moment they vanished through the doors, grunts and muffled cries echoed down the hall a few seconds later.

Sese smoothed her skirt and sat beside Velvet, who looked somewhat dazed by the sudden rescue. "They will be fine," she said with calm certainty.

More pained groans rang out in the distance.

Sese's smile widened just a touch. "Yes, they are very fine..."

She reached into her schoolbag with impeccable elegance and pulled out a stunning, ornately crafted wine bottle, etched with gold and sealed with a wax stamp. She held it out with both hands like a gift offering to Velvet.

"Do you like red wine? I made it myself~"

Sese Lenya Ban Von Fitzgerald Livingstone Cunningham Dragoncrest Chatterton Abercrombie Duskhollow Frostbloom Belsonavenolairequintaple the X tilted her head with a poised smile, one perfectly plucked eyebrow arching just slightly. The rich, deep crimson wine within the bottle shimmered under the cafeteria lights as she turned it ever so delicately in her manicured fingers. The chaos outside—grunts, crashes, and a particularly sharp yelp—may as well have been a passing breeze in her perfectly cultivated garden of composure.

She cast a long, leisurely glance toward Team RWBY and Team JNPR, her gaze lingering with warm familiarity on Weiss Schnee, who sat prim and properly with her fork hovering mid-air, frozen between bites. Weiss's expression twitched as their eyes met, not out of fear, but in that way old acquaintances do when one reminds the other of a past they'd hoped no one would bring up in public.

Sese smiled brighter.

"How about you all?" she asked in a refined, lilting tone that could've been mistaken for an invitation to afternoon tea if not for the mischievous sparkle in her eyes. "It's not non-alcoholic, just so you know~"

The words dropped like a wine glass at a debutante ball.

Weiss choked slightly. "Sese!" she hissed, setting her fork down with an audible clink. "You can't just—do you have that in your bag all the time?"

Sese gave a graceful shrug, resting her chin on her interlaced fingers. "One must always be prepared for life's moments, Weiss. Whether it's a sudden celebration, or the perfect time to toast the downfall of pompous loudmouths."

Nora perked up like a wolf catching the scent of sugar. "Ooooh! Wait, you had wine this whole time? Girl, you fancy!"

Ren sighed from beside her. "Nora, please don't encourage this..."

Ruby blinked several times in rapid succession, clearly unsure whether she was impressed, terrified, or both. "Wait... is that even legal? I mean, technically we're students—"

Jaune, still trying to spoon mashed potatoes that had long gone cold, glanced up blearily. "Wait, I thought that bottle was full of, like, grape juice or something..."

"It is," Sese said with a soft chuckle. "If you believe hard enough."

Pyrrha looked torn between scandal and intrigue, her warrior's heart clearly trying to balance responsibility with the rare chance to actually unwind. "Wouldn't that... violate school policy?"

Sese's eyes sparkled. "And yet here I am. In school. With wine."

Yang, now lounging with one arm draped over the back of her chair, gave Weiss a sideways smirk. "Your childhood friend is way more fun than I expected."

Weiss placed her face into one hand and groaned. "She was like this even as a toddler. Had a teacup in one hand and a firecracker in the other."

"Oh please," Sese said sweetly. "It was champagne. And it was New Year's. Mother was delighted."

Velvet, still holding the offered bottle gingerly in both hands, looked between all of them with wide eyes. "I... I really shouldn't."

Sese patted her shoulder lightly. "But you could, darling."

In the distance, there was a muffled crash followed by Cardin screaming, "Get her off me! She's biting me! She's actually—AAAH—"

"Nyahahaha!" echoed from the vents in the ceiling.

Sese exhaled a refined sigh. "They're bonding."

Ruby leaned closer to Weiss, whispering, "Should we... do something?"

Sese didn't even look up. "No. You really don't want to get between Doppel and her fun."

Sese clapped her hands lightly, her smile flawless. "Well then! Shall we toast to victory, survival, and the timely downfall of the socially intolerable?"

"Cheers~!" Nora shouted, grabbing an empty cup and clinking it with Velvet's bottle.

Sese raised her imaginary glass. "To controlled chaos and elegant revenge."

Outside the cafeteria doors, beyond the murmurs of confused students and the hum of chatter, came the unmistakable thud of someone's body hitting the floor, followed by a shriek that was as pained as it was pitiful. It reverberated through the tiled hallway like a warning bell—though no one inside paid it much mind. It was, after all, that kind of day.

Then came the voice. Soft, sing-songy, deceptively lazy, and utterly unconcerned.

"Oops," Kumiko drawled through the muffling of thick stone walls, her tone lilting with innocent mischief. "That was your knee, wasn't it?"

Another noise—this time a sharp crack, like something blunt meeting something expensive and squishy.

A second voice responded, calm and deep, utterly detached from the violence it presided over.

"Don't worry. You've got another."

It was Cala. Ever still. Ever composed. Ever towering. The kind of person who spoke like punctuation. One sentence was enough.

Back in the cafeteria, Team RWBY, JNPR, and CDXS sat in various degrees of comfort and disarray. Conversations had resumed, food was being eaten with slightly more caution, and Velvet clung awkwardly to a bottle of fine, illegal wine as if it were both a gift and a bomb. Only Yang, reclining comfortably with one foot up on a chair and chopsticks in hand, glanced over her shoulder toward the door with a grin so wide it might split her face in two.

"Best. Lunch. Ever."

Sese Lenya Ban Von Fitzgerald Livingstone Cunningham Dragoncrest Chatterton Abercrombie Duskhollow Frostbloom Belsonavenolairequintaple the X stood beside Jaune Arc like a statue carved from elegance and nobility, her polished shoes clicking gently against the polished floors as she looked down at him with a warm, understanding smile.

"You know," she said, voice as refined as her name was long, "you need not be the strongest in the room to be the bravest." Her gloved hand touched his shoulder—light, but reassuring. "Leadership is not forged in victories, but in the moments you choose to stand up again. You're still standing, aren't you?"

Jaune blinked, surprised by the quiet conviction in her words. And despite himself, a small, grateful smile crept across his face.

Sese smiled back, turning with the grace of a noble dancer. "Good. Then act like it."