CDXS: Unchosen (RWBY fanfic)

Few days have passed. The dorm room of Team CDXS was a dim, cozy space nestled on one of Beacon's upper floors, a quiet sanctuary above the still-lit courtyards and towers below. The four girls had begun to settle in for the night, the orange-pink hue of the sunset long faded into the rich indigo darkness of nighttime. Moonlight poured in thin shafts between the blinds, casting silver lines across the floors and beds. The sound of distant cicadas and the occasional soft breeze brushing against the windows filled the silence between conversations, making the room feel more like a lived-in home than a Huntsman training ground.

Sese stood in the middle of the room, already changed into her midnight blue satin pajamas with gold trim, a reflection of her noble upbringing even in restwear. Her long, wavy blonde hair had been brushed back and loosely tied, still shining under the moonlight. She was holding a small notepad and a pen in one hand but paused mid-thought, her sapphire eyes wide as she registered what Doppel had just said.

"Jaune did what?" she asked, voice calm but strained with disbelief.

Doppel, loafed up like a proper feline on the floor in front of the bed she had claimed weeks ago, nonchalantly chewed on a dried fish she had pilfered from the cafeteria—again. Her golden eyes gleamed in the dark as she kicked her legs lazily behind her, cat tail flicking now and then, and ears twitching with energy that contrasted sharply with her languid posture.

"Yeah," she said, voice light, almost amused. "Seen it with my two eyes and heard it with my own two ears." She paused, ears flicking up with a twitch. "These bad boys don't lie."

Kumiko was half-dressed for sleep, wearing an oversized white tank top with Mistrali characters printed across the chest and short dark-green shorts, one leg slung over the edge of her bunk. She leaned back lazily, hands propped behind her head, chewing absently on a toothpick she had swiped from the dining hall. Her eyes narrowed as she looked toward the ceiling, tone more interested than judgmental.

"Damn. He did come here. That is the most stupidest thing or craziest person move ever. Think Headmaster Ozpin knew about it?" Her gaze slid sideways to Cala, who stood near her oversized bed that had been forged by combining two frames together, the only arrangement that could comfortably fit her massive, armored form when she wasn't standing or training.

Cala, still clad in part of her training outfit with just the gauntlets and breastplate removed, leaned against the wall with arms crossed and orange eyes half-lidded in thought. The moonlight glinted faintly off her orange hair and the dull metal of her remaining armor pieces. "Probably," she said, her voice low and steady. "Or probably not. The headmaster's quiet about everything else... wouldn't surprise me if he's the same about this. But we'll never know."

Kumiko huffed a half-laugh, her voice dry and sarcastic. "Bet even though he said he kept it quiet, when they're in danger and Jaune ends up saving him or something—he'll probably ditch him about the transcripts and the whole thing turns into its own arc. Like, full-on betrayal, revenge, lone wolf, NTR drama, and then he goes full-on anti-hero bullshit mode, angry stare, trench coat flapping in the wind—boom, drama."

Sese, who had been folding a set of extra papers at her desk, slowly turned her head with regal calm, blinking at Kumiko with a look that teetered between concern and bafflement. Her brows arched delicately. "...What are you—?"

"Read a lot of novels," Kumiko said simply, shrugging one shoulder as she flicked the toothpick from her mouth into the bin by her bed.

There was a long pause.

Sese blinked once, then again, as if trying to process the implication. "You can read?"

Kumiko immediately sat up. "Hey, I can READ! Not an idiot!"

Sese's eyes widened, the corners of her mouth twitching in a subtle gasp. "Oh my..." she said softly, her voice filled with mock awe and real surprise.

Kumiko pointed a finger, scowling playfully. "Why are you that surprised I'm reading?"

Cala's deep voice interjected without missing a beat, her tone utterly unfazed. "You're always sleeping in classes."

Kumiko paused mid-retort. "...Okay fair."

Sese exhaled through her nose, wrapping her arms around herself as she walked toward the light switch in her modest but elegant slippers. "So? About that?" she said, voice laced with a return to seriousness. "We still don't know what will happen. If that secret spreads soon or—"

"It's not our problem," Cala cut in firmly. The room fell quiet again.

The tall warrior turned and walked slowly toward the light switch. Her heavy footfalls on the wooden floor were distinct and final. "We have our own classes. Our own problems. It's not our decision to stumble into their mess every time something flies off the rails." She reached up, her silhouette tall and looming against the faint lamplight. "We stay out of it."

And then, with a soft click, the light flicked off.

The room plunged into soft darkness, broken only by the moonlight that continued to bathe the sleeping bodies and cluttered desks in silvery hues. Each girl found their way under the sheets—Sese slipping delicately into bed, Kumiko curling up with a tired yawn and pulling a blanket over her face, Doppel clambering into the vents again with a soft "nyaaa," and Cala resting her head against a massive pillow, her eyes shut, but mind no doubt alert.

Outside the window, Beacon stood still and calm in the night—unaware of the small storm building beneath its surface.

The halls of Beacon were dim with the descending quiet of early evening, the ambient noise of far-off chatter and distant footsteps echoing faintly beyond the stone walls. Most students had already retreated to their dorms, gathering for light conversation, last-minute cramming, or the final brush of weapons before tomorrow's scheduled field excursion. The window panes shimmered with the soft light of a crescent moon, its gentle glow leaking past the curtains and settling upon the wooden floors of Team JNPR's dorm.

Inside, Pyrrha Nikos stood near the window, arms crossed, her red and gold battle attire exchanged for a more relaxed tunic and slacks that hugged her slender frame. Her brilliant red hair, normally kept in battle-ready order, now spilled loosely around her shoulders. She stared into the open night, her emerald eyes reflecting not the beauty of the view but the storm of unease broiling within. Her jaw clenched slightly. Her fingers twitched near her bicep as she hugged herself tighter. It had been days—almost a week now—and Jaune had become increasingly distant. It gnawed at her. It hurt her, though she hadn't said as much aloud.

Meanwhile, Lie Ren sat on the edge of his bunk, his expression unreadable, as he meticulously slid fresh magazines into StormFlower's twin pistols. The soft clicks of steel meeting steel punctuated the otherwise still room. He moved with quiet precision, his focus seemingly undisturbed by the antics occurring behind him.

On the other side of the dorm, Nora Valkyrie bounced energetically on her bed, her vibrant orange hair a blur with each leap. Her bed squeaked under her weight as she giggled and twirled, landing on her back with a thump, her head poking out dramatically from under a pillow she'd launched into the air. She spoke in a sing-song tone, kicking her legs in the air. "How come Jaune gets home so laaaate?" Her eyes shifted toward Ren as she flopped onto her stomach, propping her head up on her hands with a childlike pout.

Ren's hands paused for only a fraction of a second before resuming their steady rhythm. "He's become rather scarce," he said softly, his voice as smooth as always, but with the faintest edge of concern. "Since he started fraternizing with Cardin."

Nora blinked, rolling over on the bed with a huff. "That's weird..." She stretched her arms out above her, the hem of her pink sleep shirt rising slightly as she arched her back like a stretching cat. "Doesn't he know we have a field trip tomorrow?" Her tone turned into an exaggerated declaration as she rolled upright and pointed dramatically toward the ceiling. "We need our rest!"

She emphasized the point by spinning midair, launching herself backward onto the mattress so her back hit the covers with a comically loud fwump.

Across the room, Pyrrha's eyes narrowed, her expression darkening for the briefest of moments. Her voice, normally so composed and gentle, flared with frustration as she snapped, "I'm sure our leader knows exactly what he's doing."

Both Nora and Ren turned toward her in unison, momentarily surprised by the sudden heat in her voice. Ren's gaze lingered on her a bit longer, quietly noting the tension in her posture, the way her shoulders were too straight, her fingers too tight around her arms. Nora tilted her head and leaned over to whisper, "Did we miss something?" she mouthed silently to Ren.

Neither of them noticed the quiet creak just outside their door.

Just past the narrow crack in the frame, Jaune Arc stood, hidden in the shadows of the hallway. He was hunched slightly, as though the weight of their words physically pushed down on him. His blond hair was slightly ruffled from the wind, his hoodie half-zipped and loose around his waist. His eyes were tired—distant—but alert. He listened without breathing, his heart pounding just loud enough for him to hear it in his own ears. The guilt etched deep into the lines of his brow.

"Mmmm..." Nora mused out loud, flopping back onto the bed again, still completely unaware of the silent witness beyond the door. "I guess so."

The hallway was cloaked in the hush of night, illuminated only by the low ambient glow of the overhead sconces that buzzed quietly with faint static. The scattered light reflected off the polished stone floors of Beacon Academy's dorm corridors, giving the entire hall a solemn sheen. Most doors were closed, the world inside each room alive with the quiet breathing of sleeping students or low murmurs between teammates preparing for the morning's field mission. But just outside Team JNPR's room, Jaune Arc stood like a shadow frozen in place.

He lingered a moment longer after Nora's final words, then slowly—like someone walking away from the aftermath of a battle—he closed the door with barely a click. His fingers hovered against the wood a moment too long, his eyes dull, shoulders sunken. He had overheard everything. Every note of doubt. Every mark of concern. Every undertone of disappointment. It hurt—worse than any wound he could have taken in combat. The ache sat heavy in his chest, dragging his thoughts downward like an anchor tied to shame.

"Hey, Jaune!"

The sudden voice shattered his inner haze. He jolted upright with a twitch, turning quickly with wide eyes, only to find Ruby Rose standing a few feet away, barefoot on the stone floor and dressed in a pair of oversized crescent moon-patterned pajama pants and a Beacon Academy hoodie far too big for her petite frame. Her silver eyes shimmered with mischief as she stifled a giggle behind her hand, clearly amused by his reaction.

"Long time, no see!" she added with a soft chuckle, stepping closer. "Did you lock yourself out again?"

Jaune blinked as he tried to shake off the heaviness in his chest, forcing a weak laugh as he pulled his Scroll from his pocket and held it up like a badge of honor. "Oh, uh, nope! Got it!" His grin was awkward, far too stiff to be convincing.

Ruby narrowed her eyes playfully, folding her arms as she tilted her head, catching the offbeat rhythm in his energy. "Sooo," she said, drawing the word out, "where have you been lately? I barely see you anymore—and I mean, not even in the cafeteria, which is weird because you love pudding."

"I, uh..." Jaune tried, but the words caught in his throat. There was no witty comeback this time. No charm to muster. Just weight. A pressure building inside, coiling tighter and tighter like a spring ready to snap. His hand lowered, the Scroll now limp in his fingers.

"I messed up," he said finally, his voice low, tinged with defeat. "I did something I shouldn't have, and now Cardin has me on a leash, and Pyrrha won't even talk to me, and..." He trailed off, drawing in a breath through flared nostrils, his chest heaving slightly from the sheer effort of trying not to break.

"I'm starting to think coming to this school was a bad idea." His back met the door of his dorm as he slumped down against it, slowly sliding to the floor, his legs drawing up to his chest in a posture of quiet surrender. "I'm a failure."

The air in the hallway was still, but warmer now, the tension from earlier softening at the edges like frost melting beneath the sun. Jaune sat hunched over, his heart heavy and head buried between his knees—until Ruby's voice cut clean through the silence.

"Nope!"

He blinked, lifting his head just enough to look at her through a curtain of blond hair, his brows furrowed in confusion. "Nope?" he echoed, as if he hadn't heard her right.

Ruby smiled, stepping forward with her arms behind her back, swaying just a little on her heels. "Nope! You're a leader now, Jaune. You're not allowed to be a failure."

Her voice was light, but firm. Simple, honest, and completely lacking judgment. And that made it hit even harder.

"But..." he started, the doubt clawing up again from his chest, "what if I'm a failure at being a leader?"

She tilted her head, thinking about it with exaggerated effort, her eyes squinting in mock concentration—then suddenly, she lit up again and said, "Nope!"

That forced a breath out of him—half chuckle, half disbelieving sigh. "You know," he said, leaning back against the dorm door again with a small laugh, "you're not the easiest person to talk to about this kind of stuff."

"Nope!" Ruby sang again with that bright, mischievous grin as she slid down beside him, crossing her legs and bumping her shoulder lightly against his in a show of solidarity.

For a while, they just sat there—two silhouettes in the hallway of a place that promised greatness but often asked too much. Jaune's eyes remained on the floor, but his mind chased after the impossible idea of hope again, just as Ruby continued, her voice gentler now.

"Jaune, maybe you were a failure when you were a kid..." she said.

He groaned, slumping further down the wall with a tired exhale, the tips of his ears reddening.

"...and you might've even been a failure the first day we met!" she added, poking at his side.

"Ugh..." He slumped even lower, practically melting into the floor now, covering his face with his hands in mock agony.

"But," Ruby said, scooting a little closer and nudging his knee with hers, "you can't be one now. You know why?"

He peeked out from between his fingers, voice muffled. "Uhhh, because...?"

"Because it's not just about you anymore," Ruby said, standing up now and dusting off her pajama pants with a decisive flap. She turned to face him, hands on her hips in full dramatic stance, the light from the hallway splaying across her face and catching in her silver eyes. "You've got a team now, Jaune. We both do. And if we fail, then we'll just be bringing them down with us."

Jaune looked up at her, something shifting in his gaze—like a cloud giving way to the first star of night.

"We have to put our teammates first, and ourselves second," Ruby continued, voice steady, her usual playful tone now replaced with rare conviction. "Your team deserves a great leader, Jaune. And I think that can be you."

He didn't say anything for a moment—just stared, absorbing every word like it was a lifeline. And for the first time in days, the burden didn't feel so unbearable. Her words were simple, but they filled the cracks in his armor with something stronger than resolve. They filled it with belief.

Ruby turned and made her way to her dorm, stopping at her door and looking over her shoulder. She gave him a small wave, the kind that felt like a promise.

"Have a good night, Jaune!"

And with that, she stepped inside.

The night air of the Beacon halls was quiet save for the occasional hum of overhead lights and the gentle wind rattling the windows. The weight of Ruby's words still lingered in Jaune's chest like an ember, and with newfound resolve pulsing through his limbs, he pushed himself up from the ground with purpose. His fingers hovered over the doorknob to his dorm, ready to face his team—ready to try, even if he stumbled. But before he could turn it, a sharp digital ping echoed from his hip.

Jaune frowned and unclipped his Scroll. The display glowed to life, and the unmistakable grinning icon of Cardin Winchester blinked into view. His heart sank like a stone into cold water.

"Hey! It's your buddy Cardin!" came the voice, slick and cheery in the worst possible way. "I know you're probably busy with that Dust project I gave you, buuuut I'm gonna need you to go out and get me a bag of Rapier Wasps—"

Jaune's eyes went wide with horror. "W-Wasps?!"

"—and make sure they've got some really big stingers! It's important, so don't screw this—!"

"Up?" came a new voice, sharp and low.

Jaune spun around, and his breath hitched at the sight of Cala Ad Lance, standing a few paces away.

She was halfway armored—her massive greaves clanked lightly against the floor, while her upper body bore only the sleeveless, reinforced underlayer of her Paladin armor, exposed arms gleaming with faint sweat under the corridor's light. She was clearly fresh from a midnight training session, the kind only she would attend alone. Her orange eyes were fixed on him—and then, more precisely, on the Scroll in his hands.

Without hesitation, she stepped forward, her hand extending as if it had every right to. Jaune stammered, "C-Cala—"

But she was already taking the device. Calmly, silently, she placed the Scroll against her ear, her fingers steady.

"What is the meaning of this?" she asked, her tone flat but razor-edged, like steel just before the strike.

"Hey, what's the big deal?" Cardin's voice replied, now piped through the speaker, his smooth confidence faltering for the briefest of moments. "I was chatting with my good friend Jaune—"

"He is not your friend," Cala said, without hesitation. No fire in her voice. Just fact. "Look," she added in a lower, tighter tone that was somehow more threatening than if she had shouted, "I'm going to give you one last chance to stop this."

Her head tilted slightly, a motion that made her thick orange braid sway behind her. Her lips barely moved as she continued.

"If not? I can break one of your friends' legs again."

There was a moment of silence from the other end. Then, a chuckle—but not a full one. Not Cardin's usual booming, arrogant laugh. This one was stilted, forced.

"Haha... no, no, you really misunderstand," Cardin said quickly, as though rewinding his whole approach. "You know—we're very close, few days from now. We had a good friendship going! If not for me? I've been keeping him safe, right? I would never—"

"The transcripts," Cala interrupted coldly.

There was nothing else in her voice. No accusation. No elaborate threat. Just knowledge, plain and simple.

"I know that."

Jaune's breath caught in his throat as he stared at Cala, who still held his Scroll with an iron composure. The silence between them crackled like tension before a lightning strike. She had said transcripts. She knew. His heart thudded in his chest, equal parts fear and confusion.

"Wait..." he stammered, his voice weak, strained, almost disbelieving, "how did you—?"

Before he could finish, the voice on the Scroll crackled again, Cardin's oily tone slipping through like sludge.

"Oh? So you do know?" Cardin drawled, emboldened now that both parties had stepped into the truth. "Guess the cat's out of the bag. Or maybe it was always out, huh, Jauney?"

But Cala didn't even flinch. Her expression didn't shift from that calm, resolute flatline that seemed etched into her stone-cut features. She held the Scroll a bit further from her face now, just enough to speak clearly, her tone like cold steel beneath a velvet cloth.

"I know," she said. "But that doesn't mean you get to tie everyone to your commands like it's your birthright."

Her words dropped like anchors, each syllable measured, deliberate.

"This is a school. Not your throne. Not your personal playground. And you'd best hope—" she lifted the Scroll closer, her lips barely parting, her voice dropping to a whisper so precise it cut like a scalpel, "—you won't be the one who gets kicked out."

The silence that followed on the line was as telling as any shout. For a heartbeat, Jaune could almost hear Cardin freeze on the other side—could feel the bruised pride bleeding into fury.

"Hey! What did you say, you bitc—!"

But the word never made it. Cala pressed a finger to the Scroll, and the call ended with a crisp electronic click, cutting Cardin off mid-vulgarity like he was nothing more than background noise.

She turned to Jaune then, her movements precise and unhurried, and placed the Scroll gently into his hand. She didn't look at him with pity or scorn. Just the calm gravity of someone who had seen worse and faced it head-on.

"There," she said, folding her arms across her broad, armored waist. "They won't bother you anymore."

Her voice didn't waver. No reassurance. No coddling. Just truth.

"Not unless you have to talk to the Headmaster properly."

Jaune clutched the Scroll in both hands, staring at it like it might offer answers he was too afraid to ask. The light from the hallway cast long shadows across his face, catching the exhaustion under his eyes and the way his shoulders slumped with the weight of his dilemma. When he looked up at Cala, confusion and panic clouded his gaze.

"Wait, what do you mean—?"

Cala, as unshakable as ever, stood tall with her arms crossed, the metal gleam of her lower-half armor catching the dim corridor lighting. She didn't blink, didn't soften, just spoke in the same level, grounded tone that somehow made the truth more inescapable.

"You talk to Ozpin," she said. "Tell him what really happened. That they're blackmailing you. That they used your secret to manipulate you. Their behavior, their threats—it's misconduct. He'll listen. He always listens. It's the most logical path. Isn't that simple?"

"Wait! I—wha? You—how?" Jaune's words tripped over themselves as he tried to catch up. He paused, ran a hand down his face, and let out a long, strained exhale. "What? I have to tell the Headmaster about this? About everything?"

Cala gave a slow, firm nod, her orange eyes fixed on his. "It's not really your fault," she said flatly, no judgment in her voice. "They tried to blackmail you. That's on them. You have the right to speak out, Jaune. To protect yourself. You inform the professors. That's how this ends."

Jaune's grip on the Scroll tightened. His voice was a mixture of fear and disbelief. "But... it's not that simple! Cardin knows! He knows about my transcripts, how I forged them to get into Beacon. I'll be expelled. I—I don't have anything else. This school... this dream... I'll lose it all."

Cala's expression didn't waver. She stared at him for a long moment, and then said, plainly, "I did too."

The words hit Jaune like a slap of cold water. He blinked rapidly, stunned. "That's not the point—wait." He squinted. "Wait, how did you know?"

Cala's response was immediate and unbothered. "Doppel."

"Doppel?" he repeated, dumbfounded.

"Doppel," she echoed, with the same dry, steady cadence.

As if summoned by her name, a faint snoring filtered through the nearby vent grate—rhythmic, light, and unmistakably feline. The soft sound of a tail twitching inside metal echoed faintly. There, just beyond the line of sight, curled up and dead asleep in the vent like a content housecat, was Doppel. Probably with a fish still half-chewed between her teeth.

Jaune groaned softly, dragging a hand down his face as he stared at the vent. "Of course..." he muttered. "Of course..."

But his brief exasperation melted into defeat, the weight of his situation dragging him down again like an anchor pulling him below the surface. He looked down at the floor, then slowly up at Cala again, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"But that doesn't change anything," he said. "I'll still be expelled after telling them. No matter what Cardin did, I forged my way in. That's on me. They'll have to kick me out." His voice cracked. "So what am I supposed to do now? What am I even going to do..."

Cala stood before Jaune like a statue of unshakable resolve, her silhouette partially cast in the dim hallway light that filtered through the window at the far end. Her half-armored figure glinted in fragmented beams, the metal parts of her greaves catching subtle reflections off the stone tiles below them. She didn't move an inch as Jaune searched her face for some sign of comfort, of gentleness, of the softness he so desperately wanted—but it wasn't there. Cala Ad Lance didn't deal in comfort. She dealt in truth.

"Then be honest," she said simply.

Jaune blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness. "What?"

"I said be honest," she repeated, her tone slicing through the air like her lance in combat—direct and heavy with meaning. Her words carried no emotion, but they echoed with weight. "If you want to become a Huntsman in this school, you have to start by improving yourself."

He shifted uncomfortably, his fingers curling slightly around the Scroll still in his hand. "Like what?"

"Your expectations," she said with a pause. Her arms remained folded, her eyes locked onto his with no hesitation. "People will never care about you."

The sentence hit him like a gut punch. Jaune chuckled nervously, his voice laced with bitterness. "Ouch... that's a very great advice."

Cala tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable. "But it's the truth. No one cares about a person until they have a reason to—until that person makes a choice, good or bad, that puts them in the spotlight. Hiding a lie won't make you stronger. It won't help you grow." She uncrossed her arms and stepped forward, reaching out with her finger and pressing lightly but firmly against the center of his chest. Her touch wasn't aggressive, but symbolic—measured, controlled. "It's like painting a stone gold. Eventually, it washes off, and all that's left is a lie. A shell."

Jaune's throat tightened, his eyes drawn to where her finger had touched him as if something unseen still pressed there. She pulled her hand away.

"But," Cala continued, "if you carve yourself from stone, shape it, mold it into something with worth... That is what people recognize. That's what makes them care."

"Of... what?" he muttered, overwhelmed by the metaphor.

"Your actions," she said without missing a beat.

He stood there in silence, her words spinning in his mind like cogs trying to catch the right gears. Jaune looked to the ground again. "But I... I don't know. What if I still get expelled? Even after all that?"

Cala let out a slow, low sigh through her nose. It wasn't cruel or mocking—it was tired. Like someone who was trying to make a point to a student who refused to see the answer in front of them. "Then that's just your way of thinking... because of your guilt."

She stepped back, the metal of her armor softly clinking with her movements as she began turning toward her dorm.

"Look," she said with a note of finality in her voice. "You want to end this? Then end it. Finish it. Go to Ozpin and tell him everything. Or..." she paused, her back now to him, her tall frame casting a long shadow down the hallway as she reached for the door, "go back to your dorm. Stay on that leash like a dog. Let someone like Cardin decide who you are."

There was no venom in her voice—just clarity, harsh and raw. She didn't look back as she opened her door and stepped inside, her presence fading as the door clicked softly shut behind her.

The hallway behind him was silent, save for the distant hum of the academy's ambient lighting and the occasional mechanical whir of air vents. Jaune Arc stood there in stillness, the weight of Cala's words still anchored deep within his chest like a slow-sinking stone. Her tone had been sharp—unforgiving even—but it wasn't cruelty that lingered in her voice. It was something else. Beneath the rigidness of her armored facade and blunt words was a glimmer of concern. Not in the warm, coddling way Pyrrha or Ruby might've shown. But in her own language—gritty, unfiltered, and completely real.

Jaune lowered his Scroll slightly, its screen dimming in his hand as he stared at it blankly. On that little device was the evidence of his weakness, his lie, his forged path into Beacon. That falsified transcript was his shame, the anchor around his ankles he had tried to ignore for weeks. But now... now he wondered. If that truth was revealed by someone else, he'd be nothing but a fraud. But if he spoke it himself—owned it—did that leave room for redemption? For maybe, just maybe, something more?

He looked at his dorm door, heart pounding with uncertainty. The quiet muffled sounds of Team JNPR stirring inside reminded him that time hadn't stopped just because his world had tilted. Pyrrha would be asleep—or pretending to be. Ren and Nora probably wouldn't even know what to say. But Cala... Cala had told him the one thing no one else had.

"Then be honest."

With a long, drawn-out breath, Jaune turned away from the door. His steps started slow, almost hesitant, but gained weight and certainty with every footfall. The corridors of Beacon were dim but not unfriendly, lit by the golden lamps that cast stretched shadows across the walls like ghosts of students long past. His boots tapped quietly against the stone as he passed through each hall, his Scroll held loosely in one hand like a reminder of both his mistake and his chance to fix it.

When he reached the tall double doors that led to Professor Ozpin's office, he paused only for a moment—enough time to swallow the lump in his throat. His hand rose, and the cold brass handle turned with a soft click. He stepped in.

The room was warmly lit, with tall windows overlooking the darkened Beacon grounds and shelves stacked with books older than most of the students. The scent of aged paper, fresh ink, and faint cocoa drifted in the air. Ozpin sat behind his large wooden desk, a familiar porcelain mug in hand, steam curling upward as he reviewed documents scattered across the surface.

"Hm?" Ozpin's calm, inquisitive gaze lifted from the paperwork. He blinked once behind his glasses, registering the presence in the doorway. "Ah. Mr. Arc. What brings you here this late evening?"

He glanced briefly at a stack of forms before him and gave a knowing, almost amused smile. "I believe that you have a trip tomorrow—Forever Fall Forest, correct?"

Jaune shifted in place, his fingers curling around the Scroll like it might slip away from him. His throat was dry.

"Um... Well, Headmaster..." He paused, his voice catching in his throat before he pushed through it. "I kinda... ha-have a confession."

Ozpin raised a single brow, but his expression didn't harden. If anything, it remained calm, measured, welcoming the weight of whatever the boy was about to say. He leaned back slightly in his chair, one leg crossing over the other, his mug raised gently to his lips as he took a sip of whatever dark beverage he always seemed to drink. It didn't appear to surprise him. Nothing ever did.

"Is that so?" he said quietly, setting the mug down with a soft clink upon a coaster beside his papers. "Then please... tell me. What do you have to say?"

—

The sun was still cresting over the horizon, casting long beams of golden light across the stone courtyard where the Beacon Academy buses stood lined in perfect order. The soft morning haze lingered on the cold pavement, curling around the wheels of the transports like lazy ghosts. Students filled the area, their chatter lively and eager as they gathered for the field trip to Forever Fall Forest—a place of brilliant red leaves, towering trees, and seasonal hunts that promised both lessons and tests of skill.

Team RWBY stood near the second bus, their weapons slung across their backs and sleep still evident in their eyes. Ruby, bouncing slightly on her heels, glanced around in confusion.

"Where's Jaune?" she asked, her silver eyes scanning the crowd. "Did he sleep in again?"

Blake, arms crossed and ears twitching faintly, shrugged. "I haven't seen him since yesterday."

Weiss gave a quiet hmph and adjusted the strap of Myrtenaster. "Typical. He probably forgot about the trip entirely."

Team JNPR, already assembled near the third bus, looked around uneasily. Pyrrha adjusted her golden armor piece slightly as her emerald gaze swept the crowd, her brow furrowed in concern. "He wasn't in the dorm this morning. I waited for him until just before dawn," she said, her tone lined with quiet worry. "I wonder where he—"

Just then, the sound of rapid boots across pavement turned heads.

Jaune came into view, jogging toward them in full combat gear, Crocea Mors strapped to his back and a modest smile tugging at his lips. His hair was a bit disheveled from the wind, and a little dust clung to his boots from his morning trek, but he looked—different. Not tired. Not anxious. He looked lighter.

"Jaune!" Nora shouted, waving from the steps of their bus. "There you are! Thought you were gonna miss the trip!"

He came to a halt near his team, a bit winded, but his smile didn't falter. "Sorry I'm late. I, uh... was a bit busy."

Pyrrha tilted her head, curiosity immediately lighting in her eyes. "Where did you go last night? You didn't come back to the dorm."

Jaune scratched the back of his head, chuckling a little. "Well, uh... had a little talk with someone."

The vagueness of his answer might've frustrated someone else, but not Pyrrha. Her expression shifted into a small, warm smile, her posture softening. "Well, if you're looking better than before... then there must have been something really good."

They began walking together, crossing the courtyard where the buses rumbled quietly, their engines running and waiting to be filled. As they moved to catch up with Ren and Nora, the latter bouncing in excitement, Jaune glanced off to the side.

There, near the fourth transport, stood Team CDXS. Cala Ad Lance, already in her full imposing paladin armor, stood tall as ever, arms folded across her chest. Even from a distance, she seemed like a bastion of resolve and strength. Beside her, Kumiko twirled her spear lazily, looking bored. Doppel was half-asleep with her beanie pulled over her ears, leaning into Sese, who was fixing the sleeve of her pristine traveling jacket with all the grace of a noble preparing for a red carpet rather than a dusty woodland trek. Cala's eyes flicked up at Jaune for only a second—a subtle nod, impassive as always.

Jaune's smile returned, this time faintly crooked, and he muttered just under his breath with a mix of amusement and disbelief.

"Ooh... you have no idea."

Ren stood at the base of the bus steps, watching the exchange with a calm expression, while Nora had already clambered halfway inside, shouting down from the top step.

"Come on! Let's go!"

Their bus doors hissed open fully, welcoming them inside.

From across the yard, Glynda Goodwitch stood near Team CRDL, arms crossed, one brow already arched in a silent display of disapproval as she lectured them for arriving disorganized and late. Her sharp eyes didn't miss a beat, and Cardin Winchester shrank slightly under her scrutiny, nodding quickly to everything she said.

Jaune didn't even glance in Cardin's direction. His gaze was ahead now—on his team, on the road forward. Not the weight behind him. Not the leash he'd left behind.

He followed Pyrrha and Ren up the steps as the sun rose further into the sky, casting warm, golden rays across the departing convoy of Beacon's best and brightest.

The fourth transport bus hummed steadily along the winding road, its wheels crunching against loose gravel as the forest-lined path stretched far into the golden morning. Inside the vehicle, the dim lighting overhead cast soft glows on the faces of its passengers, many of whom were either dozing or staring lazily out their windows. Among them sat the members of Team CDXS, scattered across two adjacent rows like a tableau of mismatched personalities forced into cohesion.

Cala Ad Lance sat at the window seat, her tall frame stiff and upright even in the cramped confines of the bus. Though only half-armored, the metal plating on her lower half gave off a dull glint whenever the morning light hit it just right through the glass. Her orange eyes watched the scenery pass—tall trees, blurred red foliage, and shafts of sunlight spearing through the misty canopy. Her expression remained as unreadable as ever, carved in stern calm, though her fingers tapped lightly on her knee in a rhythmic cadence that betrayed a trace of restlessness.

Next to her, across the aisle, Sese Lenya Ban Von Fitzgerald Livingstone Cunningham Dragoncrest Chatterton Abercrombie Duskhollow Frostbloom Belsonavenolairequintaple the X—though mercifully, just "Sese" to her friends—sat with elegance honed by years of noble expectations. Her long legs were crossed, arms folded over her lap, her fashionably tailored travel coat spotless despite the early hour. On her shoulder, Doppel lay snoring softly, curled like a cat with her beanie slouched forward, tail twitching now and then as she dreamed who-knows-what. Kumiko was slumped in the seat behind them, her head tilted back, mouth wide open as she snored with no trace of poise, her spear resting diagonally across her lap.

Sese tilted her head slightly to glance at Cala, her sharp sapphire eyes taking in the paladin's posture before speaking in a calm, knowing tone.

"You know you're a terrible liar."

Cala blinked once and slowly turned her gaze downward, not facing her, but listening. "What makes you think of that?"

Sese smirked faintly and leaned her head back against the window, letting her voice drop into a lazy, yet pointed mimicry. "'It's not our problem,' you say. 'We have our own classes. Our own problems. It's not our decision to stumble into their mess every time something flies off the rails.'" She looked over again, raising a brow, her voice dropping to its natural register. "And then you say, 'We stay out of it.' Sounds familiar?"

Cala sighed, a sound less of frustration and more of resignation. Her reflection in the bus window stared back at her with the same flat seriousness. She didn't even attempt to deny it.

"I didn't do much," she said at last, voice quiet and even. "It's just annoying. I simply gave him a better solution."

Sese shrugged slightly, brushing a loose strand of blonde hair away from her shoulder before smoothing the fabric of her jacket. Her expression was light, but the gleam in her eyes hinted at something deeper beneath. "Very well. If that's the way you think."

Cala didn't reply, only kept her gaze on the passing scenery, the tapping on her armored knee halting.

Sese's smile returned. She tilted her head, just a touch of teasing in her tone now. "But I don't think you did that."

Cala's eyes flicked back toward her again, wary and deadpan. "No."

"No," Sese repeated softly, nodding with mock finality. "No, no. You definitely did."

There was no sarcasm in it. No malice. Only a statement of quiet truth between teammates who knew each other well—perhaps better than either of them would admit aloud. The bus continued forward, engines purring like a lullaby, as the red hues of Forever Fall began to emerge through the trees up ahead, and within the hum of tires and occasional snore, the weight of that quiet exchange lingered.