CDXS: Unchosen (RWBY fanfic)

The afternoon sun cast soft golden shafts of light through the tall, arched windows of the Beacon Academy lecture hall, catching the drifting dust in its beams like dancing specks of gold. The room hummed with a mix of drowsy energy and overstimulated attention, a polarity perfectly embodied in the hyperactive presence of Professor Bartholomew Oobleck. His long coat fluttered behind him like a banner as he zipped from one end of the classroom to the other, fueled by his ever-refilling thermos of coffee and a bottomless reserve of historical enthusiasm.

"Yes! Yes! Prior to the Faunus Rights Revolution—more popularly known as the Faunus War!" Oobleck's voice rang sharp, animated, and impossibly fast, the tip of his pointing stick stabbing at a large map pinned to the board behind him. His gestures were a blur. "Humankind was quite, quite adamant about centralizing Faunus population in Menagerie!" He punctuated the point with a forceful jab at the labeled landmass on the map before zooming to the opposite side of the room like a caffeinated thunderbolt.

At the center of the classroom, Jaune Arc sat slumped at his desk, body swaying slightly in rhythm with his quiet snores. His chin was buried in his folded arms, golden hair disheveled, and his Beacon-issued uniform slightly rumpled from the wear and tear of being very much alive and very much exhausted. The drone of history was just another lullaby to a boy who had spent too many nights either training, worrying, or being launched out of lockers.

Behind him, Cardin Winchester leaned back in his chair with arms folded, smirking to himself. He paid the lecture little attention, tossing a crumpled scrap of paper toward Jaune's sleeping head for amusement. It bounced off harmlessly, unnoticed.

Near the front, Weiss Schnee sat poised like a royal scholar, back straight, notebook neat, and eyes sharp with focus. Beside her, Blake Belladonna read from the assigned textbook with a calm, steady gaze, though her ears twitched faintly whenever Oobleck's voice peaked. Pyrrha Nikos diligently followed the lecture, nodding along while occasionally glancing back at Jaune with subtle concern. Velvet Scarlatina scribbled notes with gentle precision, her ears angled forward attentively.

At the back of the classroom, the dynamic shifted entirely. Doppel sprawled herself over her desk with an unbothered grin, one leg up, the other dangling, her pencil dancing across her notebook as she doodled another absurd cat-themed caricature of Oobleck, complete with steam jet boosters for legs. She snickered silently to herself. "Nyehehehehe~," she murmured, tail flicking lazily, her dozens of belts jingling softly whenever she shifted. Despite being a Faunus herself, she raised no hand during the professor's question—Doppel wasn't one for righteous classroom discourse.

Right beside her, Kumiko Xen was an immovable object of pure nap energy. Slouched in her chair, arms crossed, and head lolled back slightly with her mouth open, the martial artist had entered a nap so deep it might qualify as meditation. A pen hung loosely from her fingers, untouched paper drooling onto the floor.

Sese Lenya Ban Von Fitzgerald Livingstone Cunningham Dragoncrest Chatterton Abercrombie Duskhollow Frostbloom Belsonavenolairequintaple the X, on the other hand, was valiantly fighting her own battle. Eyes flicking furiously between Oobleck's pacing form and her thick-bound notebook, her hand moved like lightning, trying to keep pace with the blur of historical context and citations spilling from his lips. Her blonde curls bounced with every sudden motion, her mouth pressed into a thin, determined line as her prim and proper posture began to suffer under the strain. Ink smudged across her wrist as she tried to transcribe each important date, phrase, and term.

Next to her, Cala Ad Lance sat like a fortress incarnate, her presence steady and unmoving. She leaned slightly toward Sese, her tone low and gentle despite her usual stoicism.

"Easy there..."

The classroom buzzed with a low, simmering energy as Professor Oobleck continued his historical sprint across the topic of the Faunus Rights Revolution. His coffee cup danced in his hand as if it, too, were fueled by the same frenzied momentum that propelled his words.

"Dreadful, simply dreadful!" he cried, the intensity in his voice as sharp as the glint in his glasses. "Remember, students, it is precisely this kind of ignorance that breeds violence!" He took another deep, satisfied sip from his cup, then turned, sweeping his pointer stick in dramatic fashion across the battlefield of parchment and charts behind his desk. "I mean, I mean, I mean just look at what happened to the White Fang!"

He whirled to face the rows of students, many of whom had long surrendered to either feverish note-taking or blank stares of helpless confusion.

"Now! Which one of you young scholars can tell me what many theorize to be the turning point in the third year of the War?" A single hand rose with crisp confidence.

"Yes?"

Weiss Schnee answered with grace, "The battle at Fort Castle."

"Precisely!" Oobleck barked with joy, pivoting and gesturing so violently the charts rustled behind him. "And, who can tell me the advantage the Faunus had over General Lagune's forces?"

Behind him, unnoticed, Cardin Winchester leaned forward with a smirk and flicked a folded paper football with the practiced aim of a classroom menace. It struck Jaune Arc squarely in the forehead.

"Hey!" Jaune jolted awake, startled and blinking into the chaos of historical dates and caffeine-induced motion.

Oobleck appeared in front of him in an instant, face inches from Jaune's, eyes sharp with interest. "Mr. Arc! Finally contributing to class! This is excellent! Excellent! What is the answer?"

Caught off guard, Jaune stammered, "Uhhhh... The answer... The advantage... that the Faunus..." His eyes darted behind Oobleck's green-glassed stare, settling on Pyrrha who coughed and motioned to her lips discreetly. She cupped her hands near her eyes in a silent, helpful hint.

"...had over that guy's stuff..." Jaune trailed, confused, before his face lit up. "Uh... Binoculars!"

There was a beat of silence, then the classroom erupted into laughter. Jaune, proud of himself, beamed momentarily before realizing it wasn't the right answer at all. Pyrrha sighed heavily, pressing a palm to her forehead as Cardin pounded his desk in hysterics.

Oobleck was already at the front again, sipping calmly. "Very funny, Mr. Arc!" He turned to the source of the laughter. "Cardin! Perhaps you would care to share your thoughts on the subject?"

The smirk didn't leave Cardin's face. "Well, I know it's a lot easier to train an animal than a soldier."

There was a sharp silence. Pyrrha, poised but burning, narrowed her eyes.

"You're not the most open-minded of individuals, are you, Cardin?"

Cardin scoffed, leaning forward with a sneer. "What? You got a problem?"

Sese, who had been furiously writing, her pen a blur over the pages of her notebook, paused. The motionless halt of her writing was a statement in itself. She didn't look up but said calmly, "I believe she didn't mean that."

Pyrrha lifted her chin and spoke clearly. "Correct. I have the answer. It's night vision. Many Faunus are known to have nearly-perfect sight in the dark."

Cardin's face twisted as his opportunity to gloat slipped away.

Blake, silent until now, finally spoke up, her voice steady as her golden eyes locked on Cardin. "General Lagune was inexperienced, and made the mistake of trying to ambush the Faunus in their sleep. His massive army was outmatched, and the general was captured." She turned her head slightly. "Perhaps if he'd paid attention in class, he wouldn't have been remembered as such a failure."

Cardin, lips curling, stood up abruptly, his fist clenched at his side.

Oobleck didn't miss a beat. "Mr. Winchester! Please take your seat."

Cardin hesitated, shooting one last glare toward Blake and Pyrrha. From his seat, Jaune couldn't help the small laugh that escaped him.

Oobleck didn't miss a beat. His voice sliced through the thickening tension like a whip, "Mr. Winchester! Please take your seat."

Cardin, still standing with his broad shoulders puffed up and fists balled at his sides, looked ready to fire back with something crass or cruel. His pride was bruised—publicly corrected, outwitted, and now reprimanded in front of half the school's elite. His eyes darted between Oobleck, Pyrrha, and Blake, the latter of whom stared him down with a predator's stillness, her golden eyes unflinching and unreadable. Pyrrha, always composed, didn't even meet his gaze. She was above it—and that somehow seemed to sting him more than anything.

There was a long moment where the whole class seemed to hold its breath, waiting to see whether Cardin would test the limits of even Oobleck's patience.

But then, with a forced exhale and a stiff roll of his shoulders, Cardin dropped back into his seat with a dull thud, leaning back as if the whole exchange hadn't rattled him—but his clenched jaw said otherwise.

Jaune, still sitting in front of him, couldn't help it. He let out a short chuckle, a little victory laugh that slipped past his lips before he could reel it back. It was quiet, but in the charged silence of the classroom, it might as well have been a war drum.

Cardin's narrowed eyes locked onto the back of Jaune's head, but before he could lean forward, before any threat could bubble up, Oobleck had already spun on his heel and zoomed in with his usual uncanny speed, his green-glinted glasses magnified by his close proximity.

"You and Mr. Arc can both see me after class for additional readings." The words landed with the finality of a gavel.

Jaune froze, his smirk dropping like a stone into a pit of regret. "Oohhhh..." he groaned, slumping lower in his chair, practically melting into his uniform.

Across the rows, Pyrrha exhaled softly and shook her head. Weiss didn't even look up from her notes, but there was the ghost of a smirk on her lips. Blake had already returned to her textbook, cool and detached once more.

"Now!" Oobleck announced again, whirling around like a caffeinated whirlwind. "Moving on!" He zipped to the board, drawing new figures in quick, chaotic lines that no normal student could possibly follow without risking a wrist injury.

Near the back of the room, a single hand slowly raised, cutting through the professor's monologue with unexpected lethargy.

"Can I go to the restroom?" Kumiko Xen drawled, her tone impossibly casual, like someone asking for another nap in the middle of battle. She hadn't moved much all class—lounging in her chair like she was floating on a cloud, arms crossed behind her head and eyes half-lidded in the kind of tired confidence reserved for martial artists who knew their fists talked better than their pens.

Oobleck twisted on his heel mid-stride, his pointer stick raised like a wand. "You may!" he declared, eyes narrowing. "But one of your team members will have to accompany you."

In the back row, Cala Ad Lance, tall, silent, and composed like a granite statue in the middle of a hurricane, shifted in her seat. She gave Kumiko a tired side-eye and slowly rose, her long limbs unfolding like a drawn bowstring. Her crisp uniform moved just slightly as she adjusted her collar and stepped toward the classroom door.

"Kumiko..." she said, the name stretched into a quiet sigh of exasperation. The subtext was clear: Don't push your luck.

Kumiko, unbothered, stretched her arms above her head with a lazy yawn, then grinned sideways. "Worth a shot," she murmured with a wink. "But also yes, I actually want to go to the restroom."

Cala stared at her for another moment—an unreadable pause—before giving the faintest of nods. She turned without another word and opened the door, holding it as Kumiko shuffled after her, hands in her pockets, shoes dragging lightly across the floor.

Their footsteps echoed faintly as they disappeared into the hallway beyond, leaving the buzz of Oobleck's relentless lecturing and the rustle of notes and papers in their wake.

The bell rang out like a soft chime, signaling the end of afternoon classes, and the shuffle of students gathering their materials echoed throughout the long, echoing corridors of Beacon Academy. The doors to Professor Oobleck's lecture hall creaked open as the first wave of students filed out. Among them, Pyrrha Nikos stepped lightly into the hallway, followed closely by her teammates, Nora Valkyrie and Lie Ren.

Nora was already mid-conversation with Ren, bouncing on her heels with energy she somehow always managed to store like a battery at full charge. "Did you see Jaune's face when he said binoculars?" she giggled, making mock-wide eyes. "Classic!"

Ren just gave a tired nod. "He was trying his best."

Pyrrha smiled faintly at them before pausing near the doorway, her red ponytail swaying as she turned slightly to glance back over her shoulder. Her emerald eyes lingered on the still-open classroom. "You go on ahead," she said softly, her voice calm but resolute. "I'll wait for Jaune."

Nora raised an eyebrow. "Oooh, knight in shining armor watching over her knight in... not-so-shiny armor?"

Ren gently took Nora by the wrist before she could say more, guiding her down the hallway as Pyrrha waited silently by the doorway, arms lightly folded over her scroll and notebook.

Inside the classroom, the lingering echo of Professor Oobleck's voice still filled the air, though his tone had shifted from frantic lecture to stern reprimand. The scent of chalk dust and too much coffee hung in the air.

Oobleck stood with his mug raised halfway to his lips, eyeing the two boys who remained behind—Jaune Arc and Cardin Winchester. His brows were drawn in a critical frown, glasses reflecting the glare of the fluorescent lights.

"You two have been struggling in my class since day one!" he snapped, sipping briskly. The words came out rapid-fire, every syllable sharp and clipped. "Now, I don't know if it's a lack of interest, or just your stubborn nature, but whatever it is..." He took a longer gulp, the pause between his words filled with the soft sound of sipping. "It stops now!"

Jaune swallowed thickly, his shoulders rigid and hands gripping the edge of his desk. He knew he hadn't done well—he never did in Oobleck's class. But to hear it laid out so clearly was another weight pressing down on him.

Cardin, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, looked unmoved. He gave the professor a dismissive glance, but even he didn't talk back. The tension in the room was all too real.

Oobleck continued, pacing now with jittery energy as if his words were pulled along by an invisible string. "You've worked hard to gain entrance to this school, and we only accept the best of the best, so I expect you to act like it. History is important, gentlemen! If you can't learn from it... you're destined to repeat it."

He paused dramatically at his desk, raising his mug one final time. "Pages fifty-one to ninety-one. I want an essay on my desk by next class. Now! Run along."

And with that, Oobleck zipped past them in a whirlwind blur of white and green, disappearing through the doorway in less than a heartbeat.

Outside, Pyrrha flinched slightly as the professor whooshed past her like a gust of wind, and then turned her attention back to the doorway.

Jaune trudged out a moment later, his blue eyes clouded with defeat and his shoulders hunched like the weight of the entire syllabus sat on his back. Before he could take a step forward, a heavy hand shoved him roughly from behind. He stumbled forward, hitting the floor with a soft grunt.

"Ow!" he cried out.

Cardin strode out behind him, laughing as if he hadn't just been chastised in front of the entire class. His boots clicked mockingly on the polished floor as he walked away without even sparing a glance.

"Every time..." Jaune muttered, rubbing his elbow as he pushed himself back up.

But before he could get fully upright, a hand was there, firm and reassuring. Pyrrha knelt beside him, her warm eyes full of silent frustration—not at him, but for him.

"You know," she said dryly, a teasing glint in her voice, "I really will break his legs."

Jaune let out a groan that was equal parts embarrassment and reluctant amusement. "Please don't..."

Pyrrha tilted her head, pretending to ponder. "Just one leg?" she offered, half-smiling.

But as Jaune sighed and started to dust himself off, something shifted behind Pyrrha's expression. Her eyes lit up, sudden and bright, like a spark of inspiration had just struck her from above.

"I have an idea!" she said, already grabbing his arm. "Come with me!"

"Huh? Wait—what—where are we going?" Jaune stammered, caught off guard.

"No time for questions!" Pyrrha answered with playful urgency as she turned sharply down the hallway, pulling him along like a knight sweeping away a clueless squire into the unknown.

The afternoon sun had begun to dip low in the sky, casting the Beacon campus in soft amber hues, streaks of orange and gold stretching across the rooftops like paint on canvas. Up above the rest of the world, far from the chatter of students and the relentless buzz of school life, the rooftop was a pocket of calm. The air carried a gentle breeze, the wind curling along the edges of the stone railing, and from this height, the glowing green orbs of the central tower shimmered with quiet, mesmerizing intensity.

Jaune stepped out onto the rooftop first, his steps dragging just a little, his posture slouched and weary. The way he moved made it clear that he wasn't entirely sure why Pyrrha had brought him here. He cast a glance around, then walked toward the edge, standing there as the sun lit his messy blond hair like a fading crown. Pyrrha followed close behind, her stride more certain, though her expression carried the weight of worry veiled beneath hopeful determination.

"Pyrrha," Jaune muttered, his voice tinged with fatigue, with a forced kind of levity, "I know I'm going through a hard time right now, but I'm not that depressed." He nodded toward the ledge, peering over it with a dry little scoff. "I can always be a farmer or something..."

His words trailed off just as Pyrrha's eyes widened in alarm, a sudden jolt of panic flashing across her face.

"N-n-no!" she cried out, sprinting toward him and throwing her arms forward, shoving him away from the edge with far more force than she probably intended.

Jaune stumbled back, startled. He blinked, raising his hands in surrender, utterly confused.

"That's not why I brought you up here!" Pyrrha quickly clarified, her voice rushed and a bit breathless from the scare. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and she looked away for a heartbeat before her gaze found his again. The rooftop, normally serene, now echoed faintly with the intensity of her concern. "Jaune, I know you're having a difficult time in class and that you're still not the strongest of fighters, so... I want to help you."

Jaune blinked again, his brow creasing in confusion. "Wh-what?"

She stepped closer, earnestness pouring from every word. "We can train up here after class where no one can bother us!"

His mouth opened slightly in disbelief. "You think I need help?"

"N-no! No, that's not what I meant," Pyrrha stammered, her hands raised in protest as if trying to physically swat the idea from the air between them.

"But you just said it," Jaune pointed out, not accusing, but not backing down either.

Pyrrha faltered, lowering her hands slowly. Her gaze softened. "Jaune, everybody needs a little push from time to time. It doesn't make you any different from the rest of us. You made it to Beacon! That speaks volumes of what you're capable of!"

He turned away then, folding his arms as his shoulders dropped low. His voice was quieter now, brittle and breaking at the edges. "You're wrong. I—I don't belong here."

Pyrrha's face twisted with hurt and disbelief. "That's a terrible thing to say! Of course you do!"

"No, I don't!" he snapped suddenly, turning back to face her. His eyes were no longer dull but bright with frustration, his voice raw with emotion that had been long suppressed. Then, just as quickly, the fire in him dimmed, and he exhaled heavily, deflating as he finally confessed, "I wasn't really accepted into Beacon..." He turned away again, unable to meet her gaze, shoulders now stiff with shame.

"Wh-what do you mean?" Pyrrha asked softly, her voice cracking with confusion and a rising tide of dread.

"I mean I didn't go to combat school, I didn't pass any tests. I didn't earn my spot at this Academy!" His voice climbed with every word, each syllable a blow aimed inward as he finally looked at her, eyes pleading but ashamed. "I lied! I got my hands on some fake transcripts, and I lied!

Pyrrha stood frozen in place, her heart clenching as the words fell from Jaune's lips like weighted stones. "What? But... why?" she asked, her voice thin and fraying around the edges, barely above a whisper. The revelation had blindsided her, not because Jaune had a secret—everyone had secrets—but because this was his. She had always seen him as a little awkward, yes, but brave in his own way, someone with heart and courage. A leader in the making. Yet now, the image she had quietly cherished cracked at the edges, and she didn't know whether to mourn it or mend it.

Jaune turned his face to the sky, the distant glow of the central tower lighting his features in eerie half-shadows. His jaw clenched as he raised his voice, not in anger but in bitter conviction. "'Cause this is always what I've wanted to be!" he shouted, whirling away from her like her understanding might undo him. His arms dropped heavily to his sides, and his shoulders sagged. "My father, my grandfather, and his father before him were all warriors! They were all heroes! I wanted to be one, too. I was just never good enough."

Pyrrha's expression softened, sorrow rising behind her eyes. Slowly, she stepped forward, her hand reaching out like a thread meant to tether him before he floated too far into despair. She rested it gently on his shoulder, her voice quiet but firm with compassion. "Then let me help you."

But her kindness lit a spark in him, one that flared violently to life. Jaune recoiled from her touch, spinning back around, his face twisted in something close to pain. "I don't want help!" he snapped, the words sharp, like they'd cut him as much as her. "I don't want to be the damsel in distress! I want to be the hero!"

The wind stirred between them, the golden sun slipping lower, like the very day itself wanted to retreat from the confrontation unfolding beneath its glow.

"Jaune, I—" Pyrrha began, reaching again, her voice pleading.

But he wasn't finished. He barreled on, emotion rising in his chest like a tide crashing through a crumbling dam. "I'm tired of being the lovable idiot, stuck in the tree while his friends fight for their lives!" His fists clenched at his sides as he finally looked at her, eyes blazing with a vulnerability so raw it hurt to see. "Don't you understand? If I can't do this on my own... then what good am I?"

He could see the flicker in her eyes, the small heartbreak blooming there. Pyrrha moved to touch him again, a hand outstretched not with pity, but a bond—something real, something unwavering. But Jaune leaned back from her hand like it burned him.

"Just... leave me alone. Okay?" The words dropped between them like a final stone, heavier than the rest. It wasn't anger anymore. It was hurt. Shame. A desperate desire to not be seen as less than, even if that meant pushing away the one person who had truly seen the good in him.

Pyrrha stood there a moment longer, arm still slightly raised before she lowered it. Her head bowed, auburn locks slipping forward to veil her expression, and she nodded, her voice breaking ever so slightly as she whispered, "If that's what you think is best..."

Pyrrha's footsteps echoed faintly behind her as she descended the stairwell, each one quieter than the last, until they were swallowed by the silence of the rooftop. Jaune stood still, bathed in the warm orange hues of the setting sun, his gaze hollow as it swept over the distant towers of Beacon. His breath came shallow, like every word he'd just spoken had scraped something raw inside of him. He shifted uneasily, pacing a few steps along the edge of the roof, not daring to glance back at the door she had left through. His fists clenched and unclenched—angry at himself, at his fear, at the vulnerability he had tried so hard to hide.

Then came the laugh.

A low, mocking chuckle that oozed out from below the rooftop edge like oil on water. Jaune froze, and his heart sank like a stone. He turned his head slowly and saw a familiar, unwelcome figure climbing over the edge from a windowsill just beneath the ledge—grinning like he'd stumbled upon a prize-winning joke.

"Oh, Jaune..." Cardin Winchester's voice dragged Jaune's name out with dripping satisfaction, the kind of tone only used when someone had too much fun at your expense.

Jaune's eyes widened with both panic and disbelief. "Cardin!" he blurted, the name spitting from his mouth like a curse.

Cardin clambered onto the roof fully, dusting his hands and striding forward with all the smug swagger of someone who'd just found ammunition in a personal war. "I couldn't help but overhear you two from my dorm room," he drawled with a casual shrug, that wicked smirk still stretching wide across his face. "So, you snuck into Beacon, huh? I gotta say, Jaune, I never expected you to be such a rebel!"

Jaune's heart pounded in his chest. He stepped forward quickly, desperation rising in his voice. "Please, Cardin, please, don't tell anyone!" It came out breathless and too honest. He hated how it sounded.

Cardin tilted his head like he was considering it seriously, stroking his chin in exaggerated thought. Then he broke into a laugh again. "Jaune, come on! I'd never rat on a friend like that!"

Jaune blinked. "A... a friend?" The word caught in his mouth like it didn't belong there. He took a tentative step forward, uncertain.

"Of course!" Cardin snapped his arm forward, and before Jaune could react, he was caught in a sudden, crushing headlock. "We're friends now, Jauney boy!" Cardin mocked cheerfully, ignoring the way Jaune struggled under his grip. "And the way I see it, as long as you're there for me when I need you, we'll be friends for a long time."

With a rough jerk, he finally let go, and Jaune collapsed to one knee, gasping as he rubbed his neck where the weight of the hold still lingered. Cardin towered over him, full of self-satisfaction, his smile bordering on cruel. "That being said, I really don't have time to do those extra readings Dr. Oobleck gave us today." He leaned down, ruffling Jaune's blond hair with patronizing familiarity. "Think you could take care of that for me, buddy?"

Jaune didn't answer—he couldn't. He just stared at the rooftop in silent, shameful defeat.

Cardin stood up, brushed off his uniform, and walked backward toward the ledge, grinning from ear to ear. "That's what I thought. Don't worry, Jaune; your secret's safe with me."

With one last smirk, he threw himself over the edge, landing with a loud thud back into his room below. Jaune stayed crouched there on the roof, one hand still nursing the pain in his neck, the other fisted tight against the floor. His lips were pressed together in a hard line, and behind his eyes, a storm was brewing.

He didn't hear it at first—not the faint sound of breath through the air vents, not the whisper of movement in the shadows behind him.

But someone was there.

Nestled in the darkened metal grates of a vent not far from the rooftop's balcony, a pair of glowing amber eyes blinked with lazy amusement. Barely visible beneath black bangs and a ragged fringe of raven hair, those eyes watched—intrigued and deeply entertained. A half-eaten fish hung loosely from the corner of her lips as she snickered softly, like a cat who had just found a particularly juicy mouse.

"Huh... Interesting, nya..." came the purring voice of Doppel, her signature belt-laden uniform blending into the shadows, her presence known to no one—at least, not yet.