RWBY: LUCID

The philosophy teacher had an interesting lesson plan.

"Today's discussion," he announced, tapping the whiteboard with a marker like a conductor with a baton, "is one as old as stories themselves: the nature of good and evil."

Jaune tried to sit a little straighter in his seat. That sounded like familiar territory. Knights, dragons, chosen heroes—classic stuff.

But five minutes in, his brain was already starting to cramp.

"Good," the teacher said, pacing as he spoke, "is often seen as a universal force. But what defines it? Is it kindness? Justice? Self-sacrifice? And evil...malice, destruction, cruelty...what do those mean when filtered through culture, circumstance, or survival?"

He whirled toward the class.

"Was Robin Hood good or evil person for stealing? Was Ozymandias in Watchmen, a savior or a monster? Are ends ever enough to justify the means?"

Jaune blinked.

His hand rested over his notebook, pen hovering uselessly above the page. The students around him wrote down notes on the mans words.

Jaune, felt quite lost at the mans words.

It wasn't that he didn't care about these concepts. In fact, he was quite invested in the idea of them.

But Jaune couldn't help but wonder...

See, Jaune had grown up on, tales of good guys who saved the day and bad guys who needed to be stopped. Black and white which was both, simple and clear. The hero didn't need to ask if what they were doing was right. They just knew.

Jaune didn't think to question it either. Perhaps it never really occurred to him to do so.

But now…

Now he was being told that morality could shift depending on where you were born, who you were raised by, or what circumstances you found yourself in. That people who thought they were doing the right thing could still cause harm—and sometimes, those branded villains might be victims of another narrative entirely.

Nurture and Nature, Good and Evil.

As he looked down at his half-filled notes, one sentence stood out:

"Good and evil are less fixed laws and more lenses—tools by which humans give meaning to choices and consequences."

He sighed.

He caught himself glancing sideways—first at Pyrrha, then at Blake. Both were listening, though Pyrrha had a soft crease between her brows, as if she was weighing something deeply. Blake however was as inscrutable as can be. 

Perhaps they understood these concepts easily?

Jaune wondered if most people always thought this way? Was Jaune naïve? Not particularly. It was simply that he didn't think to really question the concepts as a whole.

He thought back to the stories he'd read, the Saturday morning shows with bright heroes and dark villains. How many times had he believed someone deserved to be beaten simply because they were the bad guy?

He shifted in his seat. There was a strange sort of discomfort forming in his chest, a pressure of realization.

Perhaps not all stories were simple.

Maybe they never had been.

The debate toward the end of class, was just as interesting. It had started small, just a few students offering differing views, but it quickly snowballed into something much livelier.

One group was in a semi-polite argument over whether moral relativism justified historical atrocities, while another group debated if fictional villains had the same moral standards applied to them as real people. The teacher looked absolutely thrilled by the chaos, his glasses seemed to glint with an odd light.

"Yes, yes! Stir the pot, challenge the narrative!" he declared, hands animated like he was orchestrating a symphony. "Society evolves through such discourse so you must never fear the discomfort of thinking! Morality, you see, is not a fixed point but a conversation! One you must be willing to revisit!"

Fortunately before the man could continue to stir the pot, the bell rang, and students began collecting their things—some energized, others dazed.

The teacher seemed to deflate at the bell, like a kid whose favorite candy had been taken away by a bully. He sighed and shrugged afterwards, bidding the students goodbye.

He stood up, glancing toward Pyrrha and Blake as they packed up. There was a moment where he could have said something else, maybe asked for their phone numbers or followed up on their previous conversation from before classes started, but… it didn't feel quite right.

The same type of chemistry that Nora and Ren exuded, and even Yang for that manner wasn't present with the two of them.

Instead, he gave them both a polite smile. "See you next time."

Blake gave a small nod in return and Pyrrha smiled warmly. "Take care, Jaune."

He left the classroom, mentally kicking himself.

"Should've asked. What would've been the harm?" he muttered under his breath. But even as he thought about it, part of him knew he'd already been pushing his luck all day. It was probably smarter to take it slow—to get to know people before diving in with friend requests and casual familiarity.

Still… Pyrrha Nikos. The name itched at something in the back of his head. He couldn't place it, but there was a strange familiarity about her. Had he seen her somewhere before? 

He shook the thought away as he rounded a corner—and was nearly tackled by Ruby.

"Jaune!" she chirped, bouncing to a stop in front of him, grinning wide. "You survived Philosophy! Did your brain melt?!"

Yang sauntered up behind her with a knowing smirk. "That's a yes-face if I've ever seen one."

Jaune chuckled, rubbing the side of his head. "I think I understood, like, ten percent of what was said. Tops."

Ruby leaned in conspiratorially. "That's actually a pretty good score for Philosophy. Don't worry—you'll build resistance over time."

Yang nudged him with an elbow. "So how'd the rest of your classes go? Learn anything cool? Make any more cute girlfriends?"

Jaune tried—and failed—not to look embarrassed, but still chose to ignore Yang's last statement. "It was... interesting. Biology was actually weirdly fun, and the teacher's built like a bouncer who moonlights as a pirate. And Philosophy... well, I think it's going to make me rethink everything I ever learned about people and their circumstances."

Ruby gasped dramatically. "He's been enlightened already!"

Yang grinned. "Next he'll be sipping black coffee and writing poetry about moral ambiguity."

Jaune rolled his eyes, but couldn't help smiling. The joking, the friendly teasing—it felt nice. Familiar in a way that made him feel lighter after the mental gymnastics of class.

They walked down the hallway together, side by side chatting mundanely next about their other classes. The late afternoon sun casted golden streaks across the courtyard. Students passed by in pairs or small groups, some heading off-campus, others lingering to chat or scroll through their phones.

Jaune walked between Ruby and Yang, his hands in his pockets, thoughts drifting.

He was just about to ask where his two new friends, Nora and Ren had gone when Yang gave him a light slap on the shoulder.

"We're heading to our club meeting," she said casually.

Ruby nodded. "Yeah, we don't really want to be late for it."

"Oh, right," Jaune said. "Well, good luck with that. I'll see you two tomorrow?"

Yang gave him a thumbs-up. "You bet. And hey—check out the bulletin board tomorrow morning, yeah? You might find a club that fits."

"Good idea," Jaune replied. "Could be fun. Or useful."

Ruby grinned. "Just don't be weird during club tryouts."

"When have I ever been weird?" Jaune looked affronted. 

They shared a final wave, and Jaune watched them head off toward one of the side buildings. Jaune slapped his forehead, realizing that he had once again forgot to ask about the name of the club, simply to inquire about it.

He shrugged, adjusting the strap of his bag and making his way toward the shuttle terminal. He supposed that he would ask next time.

The bullet train ride back was uneventful. The hum of the rails and the gentle rocking motion lulled Jaune into a half-drowsy state, his thoughts drifting between classes, conversations, and flashes of the faces of his new acquaintances..

Before he knew it, he was stepping off at his stop, weaving his way through the not-so-familiar streets of the new neighborhood until his house came into view.

Home.

He dropped his bag by the door, kicked off his shoes, and beelined for the shower. The hot water felt amazing, washing off the weight of a long day. After drying off and tossing on some fresh clothes, he wandered into the kitchen.

Just in time, too.

His dad had arrived, shrugging off his jacket and setting a large takeout bag on the table.

"Hey, kiddo," his dad said, voice warm with fatigue. "Rough day?"

Jaune smiled. "Not rough. Pretty good actually. Just tiring... I think."

"Glad to hear it. I figured you'd be wiped, so I picked up dinner. Got us some Vacuon stir-fry and grilled meat skewers. Place down the block just opened."

Jaune's stomach growled the second the bag opened, a rich mix of savory spice and charcoal-grilled aroma hitting him all at once.

They sat down and dug in, chatting casually between bites. Jaune told him a little about his classes, glossing over the more philosophical parts, and mentioned some of the people he'd met—though not too many details.

His dad didn't press, just nodded along, happy to listen.

After dinner, Jaune retreated to his room, flopped into his desk chair, and called his mom.

They didn't talk for long—just a few updates, a little teasing, and the usual concern from her end. She was glad he was settling in, though she couldn't resist reminding him to get enough sleep and to eat healthy.

"Don't worry, Mom," he said with a laugh. "I had actual food today. Dad even brought takeout."

She sounded relieved, and after a few more minutes of light chatter, they said their goodnights.

Homework came next—mostly reading and a few questions to answer. It wasn't difficult, but his brain was still half stuck in Philosophical concepts. The readings didn't really help much. If anything, they just added more layers of confusion.

When he finally closed his notebook, he booted up the strategy game he'd been working through for a while now. It didn't take long for him to fall into the rhythm—building, expanding, defending, counterattacking. The final boss was brutal, but by the time the clock neared eleven, he'd pulled off a narrow victory.

"Yes!" Jaune whispered with a triumphant fist-pump. "Finally."

He saved the file, shut it down, and leaned back with a satisfied sigh.

Then he stood, stretched, and turned toward his bed.

His smile faded.

The mattress looked the same as it had that morning. Neatly made. But Jaune's stomach tightened anyway. The memory of the dream—the cold dread and the wrongness of that creature's form. The sound of claws and feeling of it parting his flesh. The snap-snap-snap of it jaws as it tried to rip off his face.

It all lingered in the back of his mind like a stain that wouldn't wash out.

He stared for a long moment, then quietly left his room and padded down the hallway.

His dad was still up, folding some laundry in his room while watching an old movie.

"Hey, Dad?" Jaune asked, hesitating at the door.

His dad glanced up. "What's up?"

"Did you… bring that old bat with you? The one you made. From when you were messing around with blacksmithing?"

There was a pause.

"The steel one?" his dad asked, curious. "Yeah, it should be here somewhere. Why?"

"I dunno," Jaune said, scratching his arm. "Just… would feel better having it near me tonight. Just in case someone breaks in or something."

His dad gave him a weird long look. "Jaune, this is one of the safest neighborhoods in Vale. Besides, I locked up everything. You're good."

"I know. I just… I'd feel better."

Still watching him, his dad set the folded towel down and walked to the closet. After rummaging through a half-unpacked box, he pulled out the bat. It was long and slightly heavy-looking with the metal dulled by time.

But it still looked quite solid.

"Here." He handed it over. "Don't go swinging it at shadows. Or windows."

Jaune gave a small, grateful smile. "I won't. Thanks."

"You okay?" his dad asked. "You seem… off."

"I'm fine," Jaune replied quickly. "Just being cautious."

His dad didn't press. "Right...then. Goodnight again, kid."

"Night, Dad."

Jaune returned to his room, gently setting the bat beside his bed. It rested easily against the nightstand, within reach.

He stared at it for a moment before muttering under his breath.

"Just in case."

Then he turned off the light and lay down, watching the shadows crawl across his ceiling until sleep finally came.

.

.

.

And opened his eyes to see that unfamiliar dark rotting ceiling once again.

His heart pounded.

"Shit." He cursed.