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Chapter Text

Jaune Arc understood the rules of life better than most. At first glance, he was your average, underprepared, undertrained militia member, the kind who fumbled with his sword as often as he drew it. His helmet sat slightly crooked on his blonde mop of hair, and his shield - a battered old thing that had probably belonged to his great-grandfather - looked more ornamental than functional. To the world, Jaune Arc was the very definition of cannon fodder.

But Jaune knew better.

He had spent years watching. Studying. Thinking about how things worked. And somewhere along the line - whether by divine insight, sheer paranoia, or far too many secondhand Huntsman stories - Jaune had come to a horrifying realization:

The world was a narrative.

It wasn't just random bad luck that his squadron always faced Grimm alone. It wasn't a coincidence that townspeople like him died seconds before the Huntsman arrived, just late enough to give the hero that extra oomph of righteous fury but too late to keep casualties to zero. It wasn't bad timing that the captain, just three years from retirement, had been ripped apart mid-sentence during Jaune's first real patrol.

The rules were simple:

Huntsmen were heroes. Grimm were the threat. The townsfolk, the militia, the expendable extras? They were the stakes.

And Jaune was not okay with that.

He leaned against the shaky wooden watchtower of Domremy, arms crossed as he scanned the distant tree line. His rusted blade sat nearby, mostly for show. He didn't even pretend to stand tall and proud anymore. What was the point? Standing tall made you look heroic, and looking heroic got you killed faster than anything. He knew how the world worked. He'd seen it firsthand. No one believed him, but he knew the truth.

Take the captain, for example. Matthias was his name. The man had been a gruff, sturdy sort, the kind you wanted to follow into battle - dependable, strong, respected, and tough but fair. The ideal of a small-town militia hero. But Jaune had known the second the man started talking about his wife back in their little cottage and how he was just 'three years away from retirement' that the man was doomed. Jaune had tried to tell him.

"Sir, I wouldn't talk like that," Jaune had muttered, shielding his face behind his crooked helmet.

The captain had given him the usual glare of irritation, "Arc, what are you talking about?"

"I'm saying...guys like you don't make it."

"Guys like me?"

"The strong, dependable ones. The kind we follow into battle. You're too likable, sir. You're setting yourself up for something tragic. You're going to say something hopeful, the Grimm will show up, and..." Jaune mimicked an explosion with his hands.

The captain had sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, "You're rambling, Arc. Now get your head out of the clouds and focus on the patrol. I gotta make sure to get home in time. My little girl's about to say her first words, I just know- "

He hadn't finished the sentence. He couldn't. The Beowolf had appeared from nowhere, jaws snapping, and the captain had gone down with a single scream. Jaune still remembered standing frozen, his heart hammering, as the Huntsman arrived mere seconds later, swinging a gleaming, overly complicated weapon and dispatching the Grimm like it was nothing.

That day had solidified it for Jaune. They were extras. Background noise. The opening act in a much grander never told anyone else after that. It was pointless. He'd tried explaining it to Jax once, his closest "friend" in the militia. He'd laid it out clearly: "The world runs on narrative rules. Guys like us don't win. We're just here to lose so the heroes look cool. Just stay quiet, keep your head down, maybe we'll both make it to retirement!"

Jax had stared at him for a long moment before laughing, "You're a weird guy, Jaune."

Weird or not, Jaune had seen enough to know the truth. People like him - poorly armored, barely trained militia who couldn't even afford cool weapons - were walking punchlines. His sword wasn't even sharp, his shield rattled when he walked, and his helmet smelled like cheese.

"Guys like me," Jaune muttered to himself, "Die first. But not this time."

He had made a vow. A solemn, unshakable vow: Jaune Arc would not die a nameless victim. He would not go out screaming, clutching his chest dramatically so some fancy Huntsman could shout, "Noooo!" and go supernova on a Grimm. He would not be part of someone else's tragic backstory.

Jaune's eyes scanned the horizon for the hundredth time that day. The Grimm were out there. They always were. The narrative couldn't function without them. He had no doubt that somewhere in the forests beyond Domremy, a Beowolf was lurking, waiting for the perfect time to pounce. Probably a big one, too. Something with extra horns, redder eyes, maybe scars on its face. Something that screamed 'mid-tier boss fight'.

The kind of Grimm you send in to kill a few extras. Like him.

Jaune shivered. He could almost hear the ominous music swelling in the distance. The longer it stayed quiet, the worse it would be when the attack finally came. That was another thing he'd noticed about the rules. If it was too quiet for too long, something bad was definitely going to happen. If someone said, "I think we're safe now," they were absolutely going to die. If someone offered up a personal story - anything remotely touching or hopeful - Grimm were already on the way.

He wouldn't let himself fall for those traps. No personal stories. No speeches. No heroics.

Jaune picked up his shield and sword, giving both a long, appraising look. It was bad enough that he didn't have plot armor - did he have to be so under-equipped, too? He sighed and muttered to himself, "If I ever get a weapon like a Huntsman, it'll probably be made of wood. Or string. Or it'll just break when I swing it."

The wind rustled through the fields, the tall grass swaying. Jaune felt a chill run down his spine. Something's coming. He could feel it.

If he were a Huntsman, this is when he'd say something clever. Something cool like, "Well, let's get this over with." But he wasn't. He was Jaune Arc. And his survival depended on knowing his place, "Not today," he murmured, tightening his helmet, "Not this time." He backed toward the village, keeping his shield up. Jaune wasn't afraid of the Grimm. He was afraid of what the story wanted him to be: just another nameless casualty.

But Jaune Arc was going to live. Even if it meant hiding, ducking, and waiting for the actual heroes to show up. Surviving is winning, he reminded himself. And if that made him a coward, so be it.

Jaune had a system. A routine. A carefully curated list of steps he followed every day to keep himself alive in a world that wanted him dead for dramatic effect. He had no illusions about his place in the grand narrative of life. Guys like him didn't get cool speeches, plot armor, or last-minute saves from daring Huntresses with flashy weapons.

But Jaune wasn't going to let some cosmic storyteller toss him in the Tragic Backstory Pile™. No way. He had a list. And if the other militia recruits thought he was crazy? Fine. Let them. At least he'd make it to tomorrow.

Rule #1: Never, ever stand at the front.

The guy at the front? The guy who shouts, "For Domremy!" or some other heroic nonsense while charging into the Grimm? Yeah, that guy dies first. Every. Single. Time. Jaune had seen it happen during his second real patrol. Marcus, a big guy with a bigger axe, had roared his war cry and sprinted right at the Grimm like a Huntsman-in-training. Five seconds later, Marcus was a smear on the ground. The Grimm didn't even slow down.

Jaune stayed near the back now. Not dead last - dead last also got you killed when the Grimm flanked - but carefully tucked in the middle surrounded by bodies. Middle-ground guys survived just long enough to run when things got bad.

Rule #2: Never talk about your family.

Jaune learned this one the hard way. The moment someone brought up a wife, a kid, or their dear old mom baking pies back home, they might as well start digging their grave. It didn't matter how innocent the comment was. Something about family made you important enough to kill off.

One time, Elias - Jaune still remembered his name because of the screams - had gone on and on about how he couldn't wait to get back home and see his newborn son. He had a whole story about building the crib himself and how the kid would probably grow up to be a warrior. Jaune had tried to warn him, "Stop talking," he'd hissed, "You're jinxing it. Stop right now if you wanna see your baby boy again!"

Elias had laughed and called Jaune paranoid. Ten minutes later, a Nevermore had swooped out of the sky, carried Elias off, and dropped him somewhere beyond the treeline. They never found the body.

Now, whenever someone in the militia started with, "You know, back home- " Jaune clamped his hands over his ears and hummed loudly. He wasn't risking it.

Rule #3: Keep your helmet on, your mouth shut, and your shield up.

Narratively speaking, Jaune knew he wasn't important. Important characters stood out. They had spiky hair, cool capes, weapons that turned into six other weapons, or - at the very least - striking dialogue. Jaune was smart enough to keep his helmet down over his face. Anonymity was survival.

You would think it would be the opposite - that sticking out guaranteed a degree of plot armor like the Huntsmen - but that wasn't true. Uniqueness was a plus when you had awesome outfits, weapons, and superpowers. Unique cannon fodder were singled out. You wouldn't remember the guy with the helmet and no dialogue, but you would remember the guy with no helmet who talked about his girl back home. They were prime motivation material for any Huntsman who needed righteous fury.

As far as he was concerned, the helmet made him a generic, nameless NPC. It was his camouflage. If a Grimm looked his way, they'd think, Oh, he's just part of the scenery. Not worth the effort.

The shield helped too. It wasn't much - just old wood and metal - but it covered half his body, which meant half as much of him could be ripped apart.

Rule #4: Don't make speeches.

Heroic speeches were an instant death flag. If someone started yelling things like, "We can do this! Stand together!", the universe decided it was time for a tragedy. Jaune had seen it happen to the captain that replaced Matthias. Gregor was his name. He'd been shouting orders, rallying everyone, when a Beowolf came out of nowhere and ripped him clean in half. It literally ignored everyone else on the way to him to bisect the guy.

Jaune kept his pep talks limited to phrases like, "Nope," "Run," and "Let's not do this."

Once, Jax - poor, clueless Jax - had looked at Jaune and asked, "Aren't you supposed to motivate the troops, man?"

Jaune had stared at him and replied, "Why motivate people to die faster?"

Jax hadn't asked again.

Rule #5: Avoid places that look dramatic.

Jaune could smell a dramatic setting from a mile away. Abandoned villages? Nope. Forest clearings? Definitely not. Suspiciously quiet farmland at sunset? He wouldn't set foot there for a hundred Lien.

Dramatic places were Grimm magnets. They always appeared in the most cinematic way possible - crawling out of shadows, smashing through walls, or materializing behind you during the most inconvenient moment. Jaune went out of his way to stick to boring terrain. Bland dirt roads, overcrowded marketplaces, and sunny hillsides were his safe zones.

He'd once spent an entire patrol walking around a creepy old barn just because the wind made the door creak ominously, "Why tempt fate?" he'd muttered.

Rule #6: Always have an escape plan.

Jaune's motto was simple: If you see a Grimm, run. If you hear a Grimm, run. If you think about a Grimm, start stretching - because you'll need to run soon.

It wasn't cowardice. It was strategy. Huntsmen could fight Grimm because they had the tools for it - guns that turned into swords, swords that turned into guns, guns that turned into bigger guns. Jaune had a rusty sword and questionable cardio.

Whenever the militia captain - the fourth one, and he didn't even want to remember what happened the third - scolded him for retreating too quickly, Jaune would mutter, "Live to run another day, sir!"

"You mean fight," the captain would growl.

"No, sir. Run."

He wasn't disciplined for it. The man tried to make a speech and a Grimm worm sucked him down to the earth like a noodle.

Jaune's eyes scanned the horizon again from his spot in the Domremy watchtower. The rules rattled in his head like a mantra, steady and practiced. Don't stand at the front. Don't talk about your family. Keep your helmet on. Don't make speeches. Avoid dramatic settings. Always have an escape plan, "Follow the rules," he whispered, "And you get to see another sunrise." He had other rules, of course. Over two dozen. But these were the most important for day to day survival.

For now, Domremy was quiet, but Jaune knew better than to trust the silence. Quiet didn't mean safe. Quiet was just the universe building tension.

And Jaune Arc would not be its next casualty.

Jaune was having a good day. Well, as good a day as one could have while clinging to survival in a world governed by narrative causality. The sun was shining, the watchtower didn't creak ominously under his weight, and the Grimm were quiet. Too quiet, perhaps, but Jaune was...relatively safe inside the walls. Still, he made sure to keep close to any buildings just in case random Nevermores arrived, driven by the sudden need to add a little tragedy to the story.

Then the summons came.

"Arc! Captain wants you in his office. Now."

Jaune froze mid-step, his boot halfway off the ground. His blood ran cold. Summons were never a good thing. Best-case scenario? He was getting another lecture about 'militia morale' and 'being too negative' (Jaune preferred to think of it as being savvy). Worst case?

Worst case, it was a plot thread.

Plot threads were Jaune's greatest fear. Plot threads dragged unlucky, under-equipped extras like him into stories far too big for their survival. He was not protagonist material - he had a crooked helmet, an old sword, and no tragic backstory. He wasn't a rising hero, or a last survivor, or even a comedic relief sidekick. He was background noise. Expendable scenery. And he liked it that way. With any luck, he'd be the extra who made it to the end credits cheering for the hero.

Still, you didn't say "no" to the captain. Not unless you wanted a reprimand, which itself was probably a small death flag, given how captains never seemed to last long around him. The door to Captain Rickton's office loomed like the mouth of a Grimm. Jaune swallowed thickly and knocked, "Jaune Arc reporting, sir."

"Get in here, Arc!" Jaune pushed the door open cautiously, half-expecting ominous music to start playing. Captain Rickton sat behind his desk, his chair creaking under his bulk, but Jaune's eyes immediately snapped to the other person in the room.

A girl.

A girl with bright silver eyes, a wide, cheerful grin, and a red hooded cloak that swirled dramatically as she turned to face him. She looked like something straight off a Huntsman recruitment poster - like someone who woke up every morning with theme music playing in the background, "Oh, hi!" she said, waving enthusiastically, "I'm Ruby! Ruby Rose. You must be Jaune!" Everything about her, even her voice, screamed 'I'm the hero of this story'.

Jaune stared at her. His helmet wobbled as he turned to Rickton. Then back to Ruby. His stomach sank like a lead weight. Oh no. Oh no, no, no. The rules came swirling back in full force.

Rule #7 (which he had never spoken aloud because just thinking it was dangerous): If you meet someone with a flashy outfit, dramatic weapon, and protagonist energy outside of them saving the day at the last second - RUN.

Jaune had never met an actual Huntsman-in-training before, but Ruby Rose didn't even need to introduce herself. Her entire energy radiated 'main character'. That red cloak practically screamed 'designed to stand out'. She had a massive mechanical weapon strapped to her back, something that looked like it could transform into a dozen different shapes and shoot fireworks while doing it. Jaune could already see the death flags piling up around him.

Jaune's legs twitched. Every instinct in his body screamed at him to turn around, leave the room, and keep walking until he hit the next kingdom. Unfortunately, Captain Rickton was already speaking, "Arc, you're guiding Miss Rose to that cave we've had reports about. The one in the northern woods."

Jaune's brain short-circuited, "W-What?"

"You heard me. She needs a guide, and you're it."

Jaune's jaw dropped. He pointed shakily at Ruby, who gave him a friendly, clueless smile, as though she weren't singlehandedly derailing his entire survival plan, "Sir, with all due respect...why me?"

Rickton leaned back in his chair, frowning, "Because you know the woods better than anyone else. You've been dodging patrol duty for months, so you're the only one who hasn't been mauled, carried off, or eaten yet. Consider it your turn to do something useful." Dodging patrol duty? Excuse him, Jaune called it tactical survival awareness. But he was too stunned to argue.

"Sir," Jaune tried one last time, his voice desperate, "Can't we send...I don't know, Jax?"

"Jax's still limping from that Ursa incident," Rickton replied, then squinted at him, "Why are you arguing? You're barely clocking in the time. You're lucky I haven't fired you yet, boy." Would that he could do that. You'd think getting fired would be the best thing that could happen to him, but he knew the truth. The last one who got fired - some guy who didn't even pretend to care about keeping up appearances - lasted only a couple days before he was somehow enslaved by bandits. In the middle of the night. Inside the town. With no one seeing it. And the bandits didn't take anyone or anything else, just him.

No, the only options he had were peaceful retirement or somehow getting plot armor. And he wasn't getting the second one.

"Because doing things gets people killed!" Jaune blurted. Then, realizing how that sounded, he quickly amended, "Er, sir."

Rickton ignored him and turned to Ruby, who was busy inspecting Jaune like he was a mildly interesting side quest, "Arc'll get you there and back, Miss Rose. Right, Arc?" Jaune could only make a faint choking noise in response.

Ruby grinned brightly, apparently oblivious to Jaune's growing pallor, "Great! This'll be fun!"

Jaune almost fainted. Guiding a Huntsman. No, not just a Huntsman - a Huntsman-in-training. A girl whose very existence radiated dramatic potential. That cave wasn't just a cave anymore. It was a plot device. A setting. A death trap designed to show how cool Ruby Rose was when she effortlessly sliced through whatever monstrosity lay in wait.

And Jaune? Jaune would be there to die first, to highlight just how serious the stakes were and be her first taste of the tragedies fightimg Grimm could have..

This was it. This was how it ended.

As they left Rickton's office, Ruby chatted cheerfully beside him, her weapon clanking lightly on her back with every step. Jaune didn't even hear what she was saying. He was too busy muttering his rules under his breath like a prayer.

'Don't stand at the front. Don't talk about your family. Keep your helmet on.'

Ruby tilted her head at him, "Hey, are you okay? You look kinda pale."

"I'm fine," Jaune replied robotically.

"You sure? You're sweating a lot."

"I'm fine."

"Okay..." She shrugged, unfazed, "So, tell me about this cave! I heard there's Grimm in it. Have you fought a lot of Grimm before?"

Jaune's eye twitched.

Rule #8: Never admit you're bad at fighting. It'll only make the universe put you in a situation where you have to prove it.

"I...I've survived a lot of Grimm," Jaune said weakly. It wasn't a lie.

Ruby seemed satisfied with that, "Cool! Oh, this'll be so much fun!"

"Yeah," Jaune mumbled, his voice hollow, "Fun."

He was doomed.

Jaune was doomed. Absolutely, unequivocally doomed.

It wasn't Ruby Rose's fault, he reminded himself as she skipped a few paces ahead, her red cloak swishing with every step. How could he blame her? She didn't know. She had no idea about the cruel narrative rules that governed their world, about the invisible hands that shaped every twist and turn of their lives. She didn't see the signs - how the universe practically screamed "death flag" every time she opened her mouth.

No, this wasn't her fault. But Jaune still wanted to cry.

The cave wasn't far, just an hour's walk north of Domremy through a suspiciously quiet forest. The sun shone warmly through the trees, and birds chirped happily overhead, as if the world weren't actively laying the groundwork for their deaths. Jaune trudged along beside her, his rusted sword bumping against his leg and his old wooden shield weighing heavy on his back. He kept glancing nervously at the treeline, half expecting a Grimm to leap out at any moment.

Ruby, meanwhile, hadn't stopped talking since they'd left, "So, Jaune! Can I call you Jaune? It's nice to meet someone my age who's out here protecting people. That's so cool!" She beamed at him, her silver eyes shining with innocent enthusiasm, and Jaune bit back a groan. Rule number nine, he thought bitterly. Never look cool. Looking cool gets you killed.

"It's...not that cool," he mumbled, "Trust me."

But Ruby just laughed like he'd made a joke, "Oh, come on! You're part of the militia, right? That's brave! I bet you've fought all kinds of Grimm."

"Sure...you could say that."

Ruby didn't seem to hear him, "So, do you have family back in Domremy? I mean, you've got the Arc name - big family, right?"

Jaune nearly tripped over his own feet. 'No, no, no! Rule two!' He felt his heart pounding in his chest as he frantically waved a hand, "Nope! Nope, not talking about family!"

Ruby blinked at him, confused, "Huh? Why not?"

"Because it's...bad luck."

She tilted her head, the way a puppy might when hearing an unfamiliar sound, "Bad luck? How could talking about your family be bad luck? They're our motivation!" Maybe her motivation. Heroes could talk about their families all the time without having to worry about getting decapitated mid-sentence!

Jaune clamped his helmet down tighter over his head, muttering under his breath, "Because the minute you start reminiscing about your sister's pie recipes, or how your mom used to tuck you in at night, a Nevermore shows up and carries you off."

"What was that?"

"Nothing!" Jaune yelped, "Forget I said anything."

Ruby shrugged it off like she shrugged off everything else that made Jaune's soul scream, "Well, I think it's nice to have family waiting for you. I'm sure they're proud of you."

He groaned softly into his gauntleted hand, 'She's still talking about them. The flag's been planted. I'm done for.'

She hummed as she walked, unbothered by his misery, and after a moment she asked, "So, what about dreams? Any big goals?"

Jaune flinched again, "Dreams?"

"Yeah! You know, things you want to do. Places you want to see. Me, I wanna be a Huntress!" she said brightly, as if that weren't abundantly obvious already, "I mean, I am one technically, but like...a real Huntress. Saving people, fighting Grimm, making the world a better place."

Jaune rubbed his temples beneath his helmet. Rule ten: Don't share your dreams. Dreams got people killed. Dreams made you significant, and significance was the last thing a guy like him needed. It was almost as much of a death sentence as talking about family. He didn't have any lofty ambitions. He wanted to wake up tomorrow. That was enough.

"I don't have dreams," he muttered, trying to kill the topic.

Ruby stopped walking and turned to look at him, "Aw, don't say that. You've gotta have something you want! I mean, even just little stuff! Like...don't you wanna take that helmet off? I bet it's hot under there."

Jaune froze in place, gripping the sides of his helmet as if she'd threatened to take it from him by force, "What? No. No way. The helmet stays on."

Ruby laughed, "It's not like we're fighting anything right now. I'm just saying, you'll probably feel more comfortable."

Jaune shook his head vehemently, each motion making the helmet rattle a little, "Comfort kills, Ruby."

"What does that mean?"

"It means helmets save lives. Shields save lives. Staying anonymous saves lives. You're not taking this helmet off me unless a Beowolf swallows my head whole."

Ruby stared at him for a moment before giggling behind her hand, "You're kinda funny, you know that?"

Jaune slumped forward, despair curling in his gut. She thinks I'm funny. That was bad. That made him memorable. Memorable cannon fodder got bigger death scenes. Jaune had seen it a hundred times before. Some guy cracks a joke, everyone likes him, and then - bam! Instant tragedy! No one cared when the quiet guy in the corner died, but when it was the comic relief? Oh, that was enough.

"Hey," Ruby said suddenly, her voice soft and sincere, "You don't have to worry, you know."

Jaune blinked at her, suspicious, "What?"

"I'll protect you," she said cheerfully, giving him a blinding, heroic smile, "If any Grimm show up, I'll take care of it! You don't have to be scared." He stared at her in disbelief. She meant it - he could hear the sincerity in her voice. This bubbly, oblivious girl with her oversized weapon and protagonist energy was promising to protect him. A death flag just shot up so fast in his mind that he could practically hear it flapping in the wind.

He groaned and clutched his face, "You don't get it."

"Get what?"

"This!" He gestured wildly at everything around them - the forest, the clear blue sky, her, "This whole situation. You showing up with your fancy weapon and red cloak and promising to protect me. This is how it starts! I'm the expendable guy! The one who gets picked off so you can get your moment of righteous vengeance!"

Ruby blinked at him, clearly confused, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't," Jaune muttered, dragging a hand down his face, "You're the hero. You don't need to know. The universe works for you."

Ruby gave him a funny look but didn't argue. Instead, she turned back toward the path ahead, humming a cheerful tune as she walked. Meanwhile, Jaune trudged after her, his helmet tilted so low that he could barely see. He couldn't even be mad at her. She was sweet, in her own way. She didn't know any better. But Jaune knew the truth: the forest wasn't quiet because it was peaceful. It was quiet because something terrible was waiting. And the universe had paired him up with Ruby Rose, the walking embodiment of a plot thread.

As far as Jaune was concerned, they were already living in the prologue of a very violent tragedy.

And he was absolutely, positively doomed.

Jaune was still alive. Somehow. Against all odds. He sat slumped against the cold, damp wall of the cave, his wooden shield cracked in half and his rusted sword lying uselessly at his side. His breathing was ragged, every gasp sharp and uneven, and sweat poured down his face, soaking the inside of his helmet.

It was a miracle. No - worse than a miracle. A fluke. If the Grimm's claws had been an inch lower - just an inch - he wouldn't be panting against a cave wall. He'd be a smear on the ground, another nameless casualty feeding Ruby Rose's heroic journey. Years later she'd think about him off-hand, that poor militia soldier who died so horribly, and then vow to herself that she'd save everyone she could. He would be nothing more than a statistic. A motivational story.

His whole life had flashed before his eyes, and frankly, it hadn't been a very interesting one. But he was here. Alive. By sheer luck, or fate, or maybe the universe getting lazy. Jaune was too relieved to question it.

He'd survived the Death Cave.

He let his head thunk back against the stone wall as Ruby Rose, the tiny engine of destruction that had dragged him into this nightmare, dusted herself off and wiped her scythe - a massive, deadly contraption that was far too flashy for any sane person to wield - against the ground.

The last Grimm had finally dissolved into black mist, leaving behind only silence and Jaune's pathetic gasping, "Woo!" Ruby exclaimed, stretching her arms above her head like she'd just finished a light workout, "That wasn't so bad, huh?" Jaune wheezed. He tried to say something - anything - but the only sound that came out was a choked squeak. Ruby turned toward him, beaming, her silver eyes bright and chipper, "Jaune! Oh my gosh, you were amazing!"

Jaune froze mid-wheeze. No. No, no, no. That tone in her voice. The one people used when they thought someone was 'brave' or 'heroic'. It was the kind of tone that planted flags. Big ones. Bright, red flags that said, "This guy's important enough to kill off later for emotional impact!"

"W-What?" he croaked, his voice hoarse.

Ruby clipped her scythe to her back and skipped over to him, her smile wide and earnest, "I'm serious! I'm so happy you were here with me. You were so brave!"

Jaune's blood turned to ice.

Rule #11: Never, under any circumstances, let anyone call you brave.

Bravery got you killed faster than anything else. Being brave meant doing something reckless and noble, which in turn meant your death would be meaningful. The moment someone slapped 'brave' on your forehead, you were marked for tragedy. Jaune had avoided it his entire life. And here Ruby Rose was, handing it to him on a silver platter. He could practically feel the universe sharpening its knives, salivating at the thought of killing him off later for even more dramatic impact.

He hadn't survived. This was a stay of execution.

"N-No, no, I wasn't- " Jaune stammered, raising a shaking hand, "You've got it all wrong! I'm not brave. I'm not."

Ruby laughed lightly, dropping into a crouch in front of him, "Oh, come on! You came all the way out here even though you were scared. That's what bravery is, right? Doing something even though you're afraid."

Jaune wanted to scream, "No!" he shouted, his voice cracking, "That's not bravery! That's unfortunate circumstances! There's a difference! I tripped and fell in here, I didn't come in willingly!"

But Ruby wasn't listening. She was on a roll, and nothing was going to stop her now. She clapped her hands together and grinned at him, "And you were such a good guide! I don't think I would've found this cave without you." Jaune's head dropped into his hands, his whole body trembling with barely contained despair. Why was she doing this to him? He survived! He'd made it! Against every single narrative rule he lived by, he was walking out of this cave alive. And now she was undoing it!

"Stop," he whispered weakly, "Please stop."

But Ruby wasn't stopping. She wasn't even slowing down, "You even stood your ground against that big Ursa! I saw you!" she said, positively glowing with praise, "Holding up your shield like that - I mean, wow! That takes guts!"

"I was cowering." Jaune whimpered, "I was actively cowering."

"You didn't run," Ruby countered cheerfully, "That's what matters!"

Jaune lifted his head to stare at her, face pale, his helmet wobbling slightly from the movement, "Running would've been smart," he said flatly, "Running would've been the correct choice."

Ruby just laughed again, reaching out to pat him on the shoulder, "Well, I'm glad you didn't. I couldn't have asked for a better guide, Jaune. I'm glad we met."

And that was it. That was the moment Jaune almost cried. This was how it started. Every Huntsman story he'd ever heard, every tale told in Domremy about brave militia who held out just long enough' or 'fought valiantly before the end', all of them began with words like this. Cheerful praise. A pat on the shoulder. Someone important saying, "I'm glad you were here." It was a death sentence. A narrative noose tightening around his neck. The guys who Huntsmen singled out to praise were doomed sooner or later.

Jaune pushed himself up with trembling arms, barely able to stand as his knees wobbled, "I...I need to leave. I need to go home, right now."

Ruby stood too, brushing dirt off her cloak and smiling brightly at him, "Oh, don't worry! I'll walk you back to Domremy. You've done enough for today!" Jaune swayed where he stood, clutching at the cave wall for support. Done enough? She thought this was done? Oh, no. This wasn't done. This was the setup. The tragic second act waiting to happen. The world wasn't going to let him go home just because Ruby Rose said so.

As they stepped out of the cave, Jaune tilted his head back and squinted at the treetops, half-expecting to see a Nevermore circling ominously overhead. There was nothing. Not yet. But he could feel it.

This was far from over. The universe didn't let guys like him walk away from moments like this. Ruby had practically hung a sign around his neck that said 'Brave and Noble Companion'.He might as well have a giant target painted on his back.

And as Ruby hummed a cheerful tune beside him on their way back to town, Jaune whispered a single, defeated sentence under his breath.

"I'm so dead..."

For two whole weeks, Jaune was a wreck.

Not just a regular kind of nervous wreck, either - no, he had reached levels of paranoia previously unknown to mankind. Every shadow in the treeline was a Grimm stalking him. Every creak of the watchtower was the universe building tension. Every overly quiet day was a setup for a surprise attack. Even the wind whispering through Domremy's streets felt like it carried ominous foreshadowing. A foreshadowing to his terrible, painful death.

Jaune had barely slept. He'd barely ate. He flinched at every sound, gripped his shield even when off-duty, and avoided conversations like they were the Grimm themselves. Rule after rule rattled through his mind like a broken mantra: Stay anonymous. Don't talk about family. Don't stand out.

And for a while, it seemed like his efforts were working. The days passed with no catastrophe, no attacks, no overly cheerful Huntresses dragging him into death caves. Slowly, painfully, Jaune allowed himself to think - just think - that maybe he'd escaped. Maybe the universe had moved on to torment someone else. It had been two weeks. Surely, he thought desperately, if he was going to die dramatically, the window had already passed. Ruby Rose had already found someone else to be her sacrificial lamb.

It was the first mistake he'd made in weeks.

The summons came just as he was halfway through chewing a stale piece of bread, standing in the militia barracks. The door creaked open, and Jax poked his head in, wearing an expression of absolute pity, "Cap wants you in his office. Again."

Jaune froze mid-chew, the bread turning to ash in his mouth. The room spun slightly, "No," he said weakly, "No. I'm not going. I refuse."

"You don't really get a choice, man," Jax said, scratching the back of his neck, "He said right now. And you look like you haven't slept since last week, dude. Might wanna freshen up."

Jaune was already spiraling, mumbling to himself as he grabbed his crooked helmet, "This is it. This is the end. I knew it. I knew it. I thought I was safe - that's the problem! The universe loves when you think you're safe!"

Jax blinked, "You okay?"

"No, Jax, I'm not okay. I'm about to get plot-threaded again!"

Jax just shrugged, "You're weird, man."

When he arrived, the office door loomed larger than it had two weeks ago, which Jaune hadn't thought was physically possible. It felt like walking to the gallows, like doom had been carved into the wood grain of the frame. His knuckles hovered near the door as he whispered frantically under his breath, "Maybe it's fine. Maybe it's nothing. Maybe he just wants to yell at me again about morale." He'd take the lecture. Lectures were safe...mostly.

He knocked.

"Come in!" called Captain Rickton's gruff voice. Jaune pushed the door open, already bracing for impact. He stepped inside, his helmet rattling slightly on his head, and froze.

Ruby Rose was there.

"Jaune!" she greeted cheerfully, bouncing slightly on her toes, "Good to see you!"

Jaune nearly screamed. No. Not her. Not again. The sight of her red cloak alone was enough to send him into a minor existential crisis. But it got worse. Standing next to her was another girl. Pale, poised, and practically radiating importance. Her pure white hair was swept back into an elegant ponytail, her clothes looked fancy enough to buy Domremy twice over, and her icy blue eyes fixed on him with a judgment so intense that Jaune immediately felt smaller. Like a worm under a magnifiying glass.

She arched a single perfectly manicured brow, "This is him?"

Ruby nodded enthusiastically, "Yup! Jaune Arc! He's great. Super brave, super helpful, and he knows the area like the back of his hand! Won't find anyone better!" Jaune's jaw dropped. His stomach did several flips and landed somewhere near his knees, "Jaune," Ruby continued, clearly oblivious to his internal implosion, "This is Weiss Schnee! She's one of my teammates from Beacon and my partner!"

Weiss Schnee. He knew that name. Everyone knew that name. The Schnee Dust Company. Big city wealth. Fancy dresses. The kind of person who didn't just appear in backwater villages like Domremy unless there was something important going on. He knew her too, of course. He made it a point to check on the big names in Remnant - so he could stay as far away as possible from them. Big names meant big stories. Big stories meant lots of cannon fodder to up the stakes.

Weiss regarded him with an expression caught somewhere between skepticism and disdain, "I've heard a lot about you, Jaune Arc," she said crisply, her arms crossing, "But I will be the judge of your worth, not Ruby's biased praise."

Jaune's brain short-circuited, "Huh?" was all he managed to croak.

Captain Rickton cleared his throat, clearly unbothered by the insanity unfolding in his office, "Arc, Miss Rose here specifically requested you as a guide for their next excursion. Miss Schnee will be accompanying her this time. There have been reports of a pair of Goliaths running around and we need to head it off."

Jaune turned slowly to look at Rickton, his face pale as a ghost, "Sir...no."

"Yes."

"No, I can't. You don't understand-"

"You're going, Arc. Miss Rose requested you." Jaune swayed on his feet, the world tilting around him. His throat worked soundlessly, trying to form words, trying to explain to someone that this was a terrible idea. Ruby alone had nearly killed him with praise and cheerfulness. Now there was Weiss Schnee, who looked like she might grade him while he died. This wasn't just a death flag - this was the universe raising an entire death banner over his head. Not one protagonists, but two!

"Jaune?" Ruby asked, tilting her head curiously, "You okay?"

He opened his mouth to respond. Then everything went dark as Jaune fainted on the spot, his helmet clattering to the ground.

The last thing he heard was Ruby's concerned voice asking if he was alright and Weiss snarking that this wasn't a good start.

Chapter Text

Ruby couldn't help but feel a tingle of excitement as the beat-up van rattled down the dirt road, its suspension groaning in protest with every bump. Sure, it wasn't her typical idea of a vacation, but sometimes you had to step outside your comfort zone, right? And with Crescent Rose and Myrtenaster back at Beacon for tuning, Weiss had insisted they take a short trip to 'unwind'. Ruby agreed. Some personal time with her bestie sounded awesome!

"This is not unwinding," Weiss muttered, her arms crossed tightly as she glared out the window at the dense forest surrounding them. Her pristine white outfit was painfully out of place against the grimy interior of the van, and the smell of stale snacks and spilled drinks wasn't helping her mood.

"It's fun!" Ruby chirped from her seat, trying to stay optimistic, "It's, uh, rustic! You don't get places like this in Atlas, right?"

"Because Atlas has standards," Weiss replied sharply, wrinkling her nose as the van hit another pothole and sent her bouncing against the threadbare seat, "Why did I agree to this again?"

Ruby grinned sheepishly, "Because you promised to give this a shot, and it's only for a weekend! Besides, the brochure said it's got 'a classic charm'." Despite her looks, Ruby loved camping out and stuff. You don't survive in a place like Patch without knowing how to rough it.

Weiss snorted, "I doubt that includes functioning plumbing."

Ruby leaned over and pointed ahead, "Look, we're almost there!"

The forest opened up to reveal a decrepit lodge that looked like it had been dragged out of a bad horror movie. The building sagged visibly in the middle, the paint peeled in long strips, and an old sign creaked above the door, faintly spelling out Rustwood Inn. Or at least, she assumed it meant that. The faded letters made it spell out R_s_w_od _nn inn instead, "This is where we die," Weiss said flatly, clutching her bag like a lifeline.

The van screeched to a halt, and the driver, a gruff man with a beer gut and a patchy beard, turned back to them with a grin that was missing more than a few teeth, "Welcome to Rustwood, ladies! You'll love it here. Ain't nothin' like it in all a Saunus!"

Ruby and Weiss climbed out, and their fellow travelers - if you could call them that - followed suit. There was the muscular guy in a tank top who immediately started flexing and making offhand comments about his gym routine. The girl in the crop top and shorts giggled and twirled her hair, clearly hanging on every word the muscular guy said. A tall, quiet man with glasses and a notebook seemed to be writing down everything, muttering to himself about 'good material'.

"Why does this feel like we've stepped into the most cliché setup imaginable?" Weiss whispered to Ruby, eyeing the group with suspicion.

The van driver clapped his hands together, "Alright, everyone! I'll be back to pick y'all up Sunday afternoon. Y'all behave now, and don't go wandering too far. Forest ain't always friendly."

Ruby turned to Weiss with a nervous laugh, "Okay, that wasn't ominous at all."

Weiss rolled her eyes, "Let's just get this over with."

Inside, the lodge wasn't much better. The air smelled faintly of mildew, the furniture looked like it hadn't been cleaned in decades, and the receptionist, an older woman with a deep scowl and a cigarette dangling from her lips, gave them a once-over that made Ruby squirm, "Room's upstairs. Don't leave your trash around," the woman grunted, sliding them a rusted key without looking up from her crossword. She let out a hacking cough that shook the walls.

Ruby and Weiss exchanged a look.

"Charming," Weiss muttered.

The day continued and Ruby tried to keep things positive, despite Weiss's constant critiques and the increasingly strange behavior of their companions. The muscular guy kept challenging everyone to arm wrestling matches; the girl in the crop top wouldn't stop talking about her social media following, even though they clearly didn't have signal out here; and the notebook guy vanished for long stretches, muttering something about 'immersion'.

Dinner was served at a long, uneven table by the receptionist and a man who Ruby assumed was her husband - a wiry, hunched figure with sunken eyes and a perpetually sour expression. They didn't say much, but their glances lingered just a little too long, especially when someone asked about the scratches on the walls or the faint brown stains on the floorboards.

"Don't mind the mess," the receptionist said with a wave of her cigarette, "Place is old. It's got history."

"Sure does," the muscular guy said, shoveling food into his mouth like he'd never seen a fork before.

Weiss leaned toward Ruby, keeping her voice low, "Doesn't this seem a little...off to you?"

Ruby shrugged, "It's not great, but maybe that's just the vibe they're going for? You know, like an old-timey lodge?" She grew up at a cabin in the woods. She was pretty used to places like this.

"Old-timey doesn't mean creepy." Weiss stabbed her fork into a questionable piece of meat and frowned, "I don't trust this place, and I blame you and your stupid puppy dog eyes for dragging me here." Ruby hesitated. She couldn't deny that there was something about the lodge - and its caretakers - that felt off. Still, they had Aura, and even without their weapons, they weren't exactly defenseless. What was the worst that could happen?

That night, as the group settled into their rooms, Ruby lay on the creaky bed, staring up at the cracked ceiling. Weiss was already tucked in, muttering about how she was going to burn her dress after this trip, "Hey, Weiss?" Ruby said softly.

"What?"

"You think this place is haunted?"

Weiss sighed heavily, "No. It's probably just run by lunatics who'll charge us far more than it's worth."

Ruby smiled faintly and closed her eyes. It wasn't long before sleep overtook her.

Outside the lodge, in the deep shadows of the forest, figures moved. Lumbering shapes with crude masks, heavy tools, and twisted grins. The door to the lodge creaked open, and the receptionist's husband emerged, nodding silently to the approaching group, "Everyone's settled in," he rasped, his voice like rust scraping metal, "It's time for the harvest."

The figures crept toward the lodge, dragging their weapons behind them. Their giddy chuckles were muffled by the wind as they prepared to begin their night of terror.

The night erupted with the deafening roar of chainsaws, the shriek of power tools, and the gleeful cackling of slasher killers as the lodge's fragile peace shattered like glass. Ruby bolted upright in bed, her heart hammering in her chest as the sound of splintering wood filled the air.

Weiss shot her an annoyed glare from across the room, already halfway out of bed and looking thoroughly unamused, "What in the world is going on now?"

Before Ruby could respond, the door to their room was kicked open with a dramatic crash. A hulking figure stood silhouetted in the doorway, wielding a massive chainsaw that roared to life with a sputtering growl. The figure's crudely stitched mask and lumbering stance screamed slasher movie villain. And, like, not the good slasher movie villain. More like the kind you'd see direct-to-video stuff where the crew clearly didn't have the budget.

Ruby blinked, "Uh, Weiss?"

"Yes, Ruby?" Weiss said, already cracking her knuckles with an icy calm.

"Is...is this really happening?"

Weiss sighed, "Yes. And it's annoying."

The chainsaw-wielding man let out a guttural howl and charged. Ruby yelped, throwing herself to the side as the blade tore through the headboard of her bed, showering splinters everywhere, "Okay, I'll admit that's a little scary!" she shouted, rolling to her feet.

Weiss, however, remained perfectly still, her expression dripping with disdain. As the masked figure swung the chainsaw toward her, she casually sidestepped, letting the blade embed itself into the wall. Before the man could yank it free, Weiss delivered a sharp kick to his chest, sending him stumbling backward into the hallway, "Idiots," Weiss muttered, brushing her hands off. She put on her heels like a chainsaw guy hadn't just tried to kill them.

Ruby stared, "You just kicked a guy with a chainsaw."

Weiss glared at her, "Ruby, we have Aura. We routinely fight Grimm the size of houses. This man, judging from his reaction, does not have Aura. This is hardly a fair fight. Now put your shoes on unless you want to fight barefoot."

As they stepped into the hallway, chaos unfolded around them. The power had been cut, leaving the lodge bathed in flickering candlelight. The other would-be victims - the muscular guy, the giggly girl, and the notebook guy - were running in every direction, screaming as more masked figures chased them with an assortment of deadly tools. A hulking brute with a meat cleaver cornered the girl in the crop top, while another figure dragged a sledgehammer down the hall toward the muscular guy.

Ruby looked around, her silver eyes wide with disbelief, "Wow, this really is just like a slasher movie!"

Weiss grabbed her by the arm and pulled her forward, "And like every slasher movie you and Yang have forced me to watch, it's full of idiots on both sides. Let's just clean this up and go back to bed."

"Clean this up?" Ruby squeaked, "We don't even have our weapons!"

Weiss raised an eyebrow, "So? We still have Aura, and their 'weapons' are more rust than metal. They can't even hurt us."

Another masked killer lunged at them, brandishing a massive drill. Ruby yelped and ducked as the spinning bit whirred past her head. Instinct took over, and she swung her leg out, catching the attacker in the shin. To her amazement, the man crumpled instantly, groaning in pain as he hit the floor. Ruby blinked, staring down at her outstretched leg, "Did...Did I just beat someone without Crescent Rose?"

"Don't get used to it," Weiss said dryly, stepping over the groaning man.

Ruby grinned, her confidence building, "No, seriously! I'm actually good at this!" She turned and punched another would-be killer square in the mask, sending him flying into a nearby table and cracking his mask into little tiny pieces, "Did you see that? I actually hit him! And he stayed down!"

Weiss was busy dismantling her own opponent - a wiry man with a rusted hatchet - using nothing but well-placed kicks and the occasional shove. The man swung wildly at her, but Weiss dodged with ease, her movements sharp and precise. After a few seconds, she grabbed the hatchet mid-swing and yanked it out of his hands before slamming her knee into his stomach. The guy threw up a bit, and Weiss shrieked as bits of it landed on her skirt.

"You'll pay for that! Literally!" Weiss tossed the hatchet at another charging killer. It landed handle-first on her face and she flipped through the air twice before landing on a crumpled heap face-first on the ground.

Ruby clapped her hands together, "Weiss! You're winning a one-on-one! That never happens!"

Weiss froze, her eye twitching, "Excuse me?"

"I mean, you're usually great in teams, but, like, solo fights aren't your thing, right? Remember that chainsaw guy in the train? Then the fight with Flynt in the Vytal tournament?"

Weiss whipped around to glare at her, her pale cheeks flushing slightly, "Ruby, I will throw you at the next masked idiot I see if you don't shut up!" Ruby raised her hands in mock surrender, a cheeky grin plastered across her face.

The chaos continued, though it was increasingly clear that the so-called "killers" were hopelessly outmatched. One by one, Ruby and Weiss beat them down without even really trying. The hulking brute with the meat cleaver ended up sprawled unconscious in the hallway after Weiss smashed a chair over his head. The notebook guy, who had somehow gotten his foot stuck in a bucket, was rescued when Ruby dropkicked his attacker into a pile of broken furniture. She didn't even need to use her Semblance. Just, like, dropkick.

Eventually, the last of the masked figures stumbled toward the door, clutching his sledgehammer and wheezing heavily. Weiss stepped forward, her hands on her hips, "Are we done here?" she asked, her voice sharp and cutting.

The man charged towards them, screaming about a harvest. Ruby punched him in the gut and he crumpled to the ground, crying for his mommy, "Well, that was...weirdly easy." Ruby said, looking down at the wheezing old man. She almost felt bad.

Weiss sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, "Of course it was. These imbeciles thought they could take on Huntresses-in-training without any Aura and rusty tools."

Ruby nodded thoughtfully, "Yeah, that was kind of dumb. But also, did you see me punch that guy? Like, really punch him?"

"Yes, Ruby. Congratulations. Now shut up and help me drag these into a locked room so the others stop screaming."

As the chaos died down, the lodge began to settle into an uneasy quiet. The masked killers were sprawled across the floor or tied up with whatever Ruby and Weiss could scrounge - bedsheets, curtain cords, and one guy hogtied with his own suspenders. The would-be victims, meanwhile, were clustered together in varying states of disarray.

The muscular jock, somehow miraculously unscathed despite contributing absolutely nothing, puffed out his chest and swaggered toward Ruby and Weiss, "Well," he said, with a grin that made Weiss instantly regret surviving the night, "I guess you ladies owe me a thank-you. Couldn't have done it without me."

Ruby blinked, tilting her head, "Uh...what did you do, exactly?"

The jock smirked and crossed his arms, flexing for no apparent reason, "Kept their attention, obviously. Gave you the opening to take them down. Classic team effort, babe." He gave them a winning smile that would've made Cardin proud.

His girlfriend (Ruby assumed she was his girlfriend), still clutching his arm, nodded enthusiastically, "He was soooo brave! You should've seen him!"

Weiss's eye twitched. She took a step forward, brushing past Ruby and standing nose-to-nose with the jock, who immediately took a step back despite being a foot taller than her.

"Let me be perfectly clear," Weiss said, her voice icy enough to freeze the air around them, "You did nothing. We handled the attackers. We saved your sorry hides. And while normally I would not hold that against you given that you're a civilian, I will not have some...arrogant meathead claim credit that he didn't earn. So if you ever take credit for someone else's work again, I will personally see to it that you're buried in this wretched lodge's basement. Am I understood?"

The jock swallowed audibly, his bravado melting under Weiss's glare, "Uh...yeah. Totally. My bad."

Weiss turned away with a sharp huff, muttering under her breath about 'arrogant muscle-heads and 'the absolute nerve', "Don't you think you're being a bit hard on him? Like you said, they're civilians," Ruby said.

"I hate arrogant blowhards, Ruby, it doesn't matter if they're a civilian or not."

Before Ruby could chime in to defuse the tension, the lights flickered again.

The air seemed to grow heavier, and the faint sound of chains clinking echoed through the lodge. A new figure emerged from the shadows, hulking and monstrous, easily twice the size of the other killers. This one's mask was made of jagged scraps of metal, and he carried an enormous hammer that looked like it could level a small building. His labored breathing rasped through the room as he dragged the hammer behind him, gouging deep grooves into the floorboards.

The girlfriend screamed. The jock screamed louder. The glasses guy fainted on the spot, his notebook tumbling to the ground beside him.

Ruby gawked at the enormous figure, "Uh, Weiss? That one looks...bigger."

Weiss crossed her arms, utterly unimpressed, "It's still an idiot without Aura."

"What if he does have Aura?"

"There's two of us and we have Huntress training. I think we'll survive," Weiss said dryly.

The hulking killer let out a guttural roar and charged. The hammer swung wide, aiming straight for Weiss, but she didn't flinch. She sidestepped at the last possible second, letting the hammer crash into the floor, sending splinters flying everywhere.

"Predictable," Weiss muttered. The killer raised the hammer again, but Weiss darted forward, her movements sharp and precise. She delivered a swift kick to the back of his knee, forcing him to stumble. Before he could recover, she grabbed a nearby chair and smashed it over his head, the wooden frame splintering into pieces. Nope, no Aura flash. The big guy didn't have Aura either. What little nervousness Ruby had disappeared as she watched her partner go to town on the guy.

The killer staggered, groaning, and swung wildly with his hammer. Weiss ducked effortlessly, grabbing the chain wrapped around his shoulder (who the heck would wear chains as suspenders?) and yanking it hard. The killer tumbled forward, losing his balance, and Weiss planted her boot squarely against his chest, sending him sprawling to the ground with a resounding crash.

Ruby clapped excitedly from the sidelines, "Weiss! You're on fire tonight! That's another solo win! Weiss and Blake aren't gonna believe this!"

Weiss shot her an exasperated look as the killer groaned on the floor, clutching his head, "Ruby, shut up."

Ruby snickered, but her grin only widened, "I mean, I know we have Aura, but you're really making this look easy."

Weiss rolled her eyes and grabbed the hulking killer by the back of his mask, dragging him toward the growing pile of defeated attackers, "Because it is easy," she said flatly, "These morons don't understand what they're up against. I'd almost feel sorry for them if they weren't so insufferably stupid."

"And if they didn't kill a bunch of people before we showed up."

"Yes, Ruby, that too."

As Weiss dropped the hulking figure onto the pile, Ruby glanced around the room, surveying the aftermath, "Well, I guess that's everyone. Think they'll stay down this time?"

Weiss adjusted her sleeves and arched a brow, "If they don't, I have plenty of energy left to remind them why they should." The jock and his girlfriend stared at Weiss in wide-eyed silence, too stunned to comment. The glasses guy was still out cold.

Ruby grinned, nudging Weiss with her elbow, "So, still think this trip was a bad idea?"

Weiss groaned, "I hate you."

The sun had risen by the time Ruby and Weiss finished tying the last of the defeated killers to an old, rickety flatbed truck they'd found behind the lodge. It creaked and groaned under the weight of the pile of unconscious and groaning bodies, looking like it might fall apart at any moment. The entire thing was a tetanus nightmare waiting to happen. Weiss made sure her Aura was up at all times as Ruby clambered onto the driver's seat. Time to put Dad's lesson to use!

The jock, his girlfriend, and the glasses guy (who had finally regained consciousness and hadn't stopped muttering about how 'this will make for an amazing story') stood awkwardly to the side, watching as Ruby and Weiss finished securing the ropes with alarming efficiency. Ruby dusted off her hands and turned to Weiss, a bright grin on her face, "Well, that's everyone! Ready to head back to Vale?"

Weiss wiped her hands on her skirt and flicked a strand of hair over her shoulder, "More than ready. Let's put this disaster of a 'vacation' behind us."

As they started up the truck, Ruby bouncing excitedly while Weiss kept pouting, one of the tied-up killers groaned loudly, his voice muffled by the mask that had been haphazardly shoved back onto his face. Weiss said she didn't even wanna look at them, "This isn't fair!" he whined, wriggling against the ropes, "You're freaks! Monsters! Nobody can take hits like that! You don't fight fair!"

Weiss looked back, fixing him with a glare, "Fair?" she repeated, her voice frosty, "You and your merry band of morons thought you could terrorize innocent people with your crude tools and atrocious masks, and now you want to talk about fair?"

The killer huffed, "It's rigged! You're cheating or something! Normal people don't fight like that!"

Weiss rolled her eyes, folding her arms, "Oh, cry me a river, you redneck cliches. And honestly, what sort of backwoods hick doesn't know what Aura is?"

Back at Beacon, Jaune sneezed.

The drive back to Vale was slow and painful, mostly due to the truck's insistence on threatening to collapse every five minutes and the would-be victims all making a nuisance of themselves. Jock was trying to get his ego back, his girlfriend was gushing about how many followers she'd get once she posted it to her socials, and glasses guy was muttering about how he was going to make millions on the movie. Ruby snorted. Yeah, put it in the pile with the rest of the bargain bin slashers.

By the time they arrived at the edge of the city, the guards stationed at the gate stared at the two Huntresses-in-training dragging a literal pile of tied-up killers like they'd just stumbled out of a fairy tale, "What...what is this?" one guard asked, pointing at the back of the truck.

Ruby grinned, "A really bad vacation!"

Weiss sighed and handed over the written report she'd painstakingly crafted during the drive back. Cause of course she did that, "This group has been responsible for a rash of killings in a lodge a few hours from here. These three will act as witnesses." She gestured to the nameless trio, "I suggest you take it from here."

The guards exchanged baffled looks before nodding and stepping forward to detain the groaning killers.

As the truck and the people in it was finally taken off their hands, Weiss turned to Ruby with a long-suffering sigh, "Can we go home now?"

Ruby nodded, clasping her hands behind her back, "Totally! I mean, we've definitely earned it, right?"

Weiss closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose, "The first thing I'm doing when we get back is taking the longest, hottest bath possible. And burn these clothes. They've been tainted." She frowned and looked down at her dress. It looked just fine apart from some dirt, but Weiss wasn't gonna listen to her.

Ruby tilted her head, grinning, "Think you'll recommend the lodge to anyone else?" Weiss shot her a murderous glare, "Okay, okay!" Ruby laughed, skipping ahead as Weiss followed with a scowl that couldn't quite hide her relief. Maybe their next vacation would be better. Ruby'd heard good things about a summer camp not too far from here. Camp Clear Lake. It sounded like fun.

Chapter Text

Ruby was convinced she had stumbled upon the greatest idea in the history of Remnant. No, scratch that: the greatest idea in the history of everything. Forget inventing Dust, forget airships, and forget Crescent Rose's folding sniper-scythe functionality (okay, not really, but it was up there!). This was bigger. This was world-altering, kingdom-uniting, Grimm-obliterating brilliance. A plan that would lead to everlasting peace in all of Remnant!

And it all started with one person. Jaune. Ruby twirled around her room at Beacon, flopping backward onto her bed with a dreamy sigh. Jaune. Her boyfriend. Her boyfriend. Every time she thought about it, she giggled uncontrollably. Who would've thought? Sweet, dorky, clumsy Jaune who somehow become the center of herwhole world. They had been dating for three months, and every day felt like flying. It wasn't just the cheesy dates or the way he nervously held her hand like it was something fragile and precious. It wasn't even the time he tried to impress her by juggling apples and accidentally knocked out half the cafeteria lights.

No. Jaune made her happy. Really happy.

And that was when the thought hit her. If she was this happy dating Jaune, why not share that happiness with the rest of the world? Ruby sat upright, eyes wide with revelation. That's it. Her heart pounded in her chest as the pieces fell into place, forming a picture so perfect, so obvious, that she couldn't believe no one had thought of it before. The key to world peace wasn't more huntsmen, bigger weapons, or ancient magic relics.

It was Jaune Arc.

If she was happy dating Jaune, then clearly - clearly - the answer to solving all of Remnant's problems was for every huntress to date Jaune. It was foolproof! Ruby shot to her feet and began pacing the room, waving her hands dramatically like she was giving a world-saving speech to the United Council of Remnant.

"Think about it!" she shouted to the empty room, "If every huntress is dating Jaune, then no one will ever fight! Why would anyone want to start a war when Jaune is too busy making them all cookies or...or knitting them scarves!" She gasped, snapping her fingers, "Exactly! That's so Jaune! He'd overwork himself making gifts for everyone! But he'd do it with a smile because that's just the kind of guy he is." And she'd help, of course. She wouldn't want her boyfriend overworking himself.

Ruby spun toward the window, pointing dramatically at the distant horizon (and a bird that was hanging outside on a branch), "Imagine it - a world where every huntress is too busy going on cute Jaune dates to argue! The Grimm? Gone! Love will conquer them! Kingdom rivalries? Over! Who's going to start a war when they're all busy getting serenaded by Jaune on his guitar? He barely knows how to play, but he'd try, and that's what matters!" She still remembered when he tried to serenade her. He was awful, but Brothers, she loved every second of it.

She threw herself down on the bed again, staring up at the ceiling with stars in her eyes. She was a genius. The logistics didn't matter. The sheer brilliance of the plan transcended logic. Jaune could do it. He was that sweet. Sure, he might need some convincing, but Ruby would handle that part.

"All I need is a little push...and maybe a chart," Ruby mumbled, already visualizing a massive whiteboard labeled "Jaune Arc Relationship Initiative."

This was going to change everything. Once Jaune was dating everyone, there wouldn't be fighting anymore. Just 24/7 lovey-dovey relationships! Jaune would...

Ruby sat up abruptly, tapping her chin as she mulled over the next step in her master plan. Should she tell Jaune? Her initial instinct was, of course, to share this stroke of genius immediately. She could already picture the conversation: she'd find Jaune in the library, casually slide into the seat next to him, and drop the bombshell with the gravitas it deserved.

"Hey, Jaune. I think you're the key to world peace. No big deal."

She snorted aloud, kicking her feet against the edge of the bed in excitement. He'd probably laugh, get all flustered, and rub the back of his neck like he always did when she complimented him. It was adorable. But as soon as the thought solidified, Ruby frowned, flopping back down with a groan. No, that wouldn't work. Not at all.

Jaune was too humble.

The second she brought it up, he'd just laugh it off, mumbling something self-deprecating like, "Oh, Ruby, there's no way dating me could fix world peace! I can't even parallel park."

And that was the problem. Jaune wasn't the type to see how amazing he really was. Sure, he'd grown stronger, more confident over the years, but at the core, he was still Jaune. The guy who came up with dorky team attacks and thought that Pumpkin Pete Hoodie was super cool.

If she told him about the plan, he'd just deny it, "Ugh, you're too nice, Jaune!" Ruby muttered to herself, rolling over and hugging a pillow tightly. No, this was something she'd have to prove to him. She couldn't just explain it; she needed results. Cold, hard evidence that dating Jaune was the first step to global harmony.

Besides, if she casually arranged for a few test runs - maybe encouraging a huntress or two to spend some time with him - what was the worst that could happen? It was for the greater good! Ruby grinned, her eyes practically sparkling with determination. If Jaune wouldn't acknowledge he's the key to world peace, she'd just have to show him.

Her mission was clear. Now she just needed to figure out which huntress to recruit for phase one.

Ruby grabbed a notebook from her desk, flipping it open with the kind of flair that would make even Weiss proud, and scribbled at the top of the first page:

"JAUNE ARC: KEY TO WORLD PEACE MASTER PLAN!"

Underneath, she started jotting down names, mumbling to herself as she worked, "Alright, so we need a few good candidates to kick this off. Someone approachable, someone who'd make a good first step. Hmmm..." She tapped the pen against her lip thoughtfully before writing the first name.

Blake.

"Blake's super chill. She probably wouldn't mind giving this a shot. Plus, she's already used to dealing with awkward situations thanks to Sun. But...wait." Ruby paused, biting her lip, "What if she's too chill? Like, she doesn't get flustered or cute around Jaune. That could ruin the experiment!"

She crossed Blake's name off with a sigh, moving to the next candidate.

Yang.

"Okay, Yang would be...fun? Maybe? But she'd probably just end up teasing Jaune the whole time. And he'd be bright red in two seconds. Ugh, that's no good. He needs to be relaxed, not worrying about what joke she'll crack next." Jaune needed to be more confident first, to see that he really was the key to world peace. Yang would ruin that. No, she'd be part of the harem (it was harem, right?) later when Jaune was much more sure of himself.

Yang's name got a firm scribble, followed by another name.

Nora

Ruby crossed out the name as soon as she wrote it down. No chance she'd ever ditch Ren. Besides, Jaune said he saw her like a sister (from another mister).

Pyrrha.

Ruby's pen hovered over the paper for a moment, "Pyrrha would totally work. She's already close to Jaune, and she's super sweet. But...that feels like cheating. She'd probably say yes just because she's nice, not because the plan is working or she likes Jaune." Pyrrha's name got a soft, regretful strike-through. She frowned at the page, tapping her chin again, "Okay, come on, Ruby. Think. Who's perfect for this? Someone who-"

She froze, the pen slipping from her fingers as the obvious answer hit her like a freight train.

Weiss.

Her eyes lit up, and a grin spread across her face. Weiss. Of course! Weiss was perfect! "Let's see," Ruby said , sitting up straighter, "She's my partner, so she's around all the time. She's super elegant, which is great for the plan. And- oh! Jaune had that huge crush on her for forever!" She practically squealed, bouncing slightly in her chair, "This is it! Weiss is the perfect first step!"

Weiss had everything Ruby needed: proximity, familiarity, and the potential to make Jaune extra flustered in that cute, endearing way of his. And if Weiss could see Jaune the way Ruby saw him, that'd be proof enough for anyone that the plan was working! The Ice Queen who had her heart melted, it was classic fairytale! Besides, she and Jaune were getting along great now and Neptune ended up being a wash, so she was perfect for the rebound!

Ruby scribbled Weiss's name in bold letters, circling it with dramatic flair, "Okay, first step: convince Weiss. She's gonna love this. Totally." Ruby didn't even stop to consider that Weiss , heiress to the Schnee Dust Company and certified master of icy glares, might not exactly love being roped into her insane matchmaking scheme. No, Ruby thought confidently. Weiss would see the brilliance of the plan.

After all, who wouldn't want to help create world peace?

The next day, Weiss found herself being physically dragged down the hall by Ruby, who hadn't stopped talking since breakfast, "Ruby, I swear- " Weiss huffed, tugging at her arm in protest, "Where are you taking me? I have things to do!"

"Oh, don't worry, this is way more important!" Ruby chirped, practically skipping as she led Weiss toward their dorm room. She could pull her arm back, but a sense of morbid curiosity kept Weiss following along anyway.

Weiss shot her a skeptical glare, "Is this about that ridiculous prank Yang tried to pull last week? If so, I'm not interested."

"Nope! Bigger than pranks! Bigger than life!" Ruby said dramatically, throwing open the dorm room door and ushering Weiss inside. The moment Weiss stepped in, she froze. The room had been transformed. A white bedsheet had been stretched across one corner, pinned in place like a makeshift projector screen. On it were crude drawings of stick figures - one with messy blonde hair and a sword (clearly Jaune) surrounded by little red hearts. There were also more stick figures of Weiss, herself, standing on a podium that Ruby had apparently labeled "Goddess of World Peace." Next to it, a small, rickety table was piled with charts, diagrams, and what appeared to be a poorly constructed model of Beacon made from leftover pudding cups and pencils.

Weiss pinched the bridge of her nose, "Ruby. What is this?"

Ruby grinned like a child unveiling their first science fair project, "Weiss, you're about to witness the greatest idea in history."

Weiss glanced warily around the room, "I highly doubt that."

"Sit, sit!" Ruby pushed Weiss onto a chair she had conveniently placed in the center of the room, "Okay, presentation time!"

Ruby sprinted to the front of the room, holding up a homemade pointer stick. She flicked off the lights (plunging the room into semi-darkness) and turned on a small, wobbly projector she'd borrowed from the library. The screen flickered to life, displaying the first slide of Ruby's presentation.

The title read: "JAUNE ARC: KEY TO WORLD PEACE (AND YOUR HAPPINESS)"

Weiss stared at it, expression blank, "Ruby, what am I looking at?"

Ruby grinned, silver eyes shining "Let me explain!" She clicked to the next slide, which showed a crudely drawn Jaune, smiling with two thumbs up, "We can all agree Jaune is the nicest guy ever. I mean, look at him. He's sweet, loyal, and pretty good with a sword now! And, most importantly - he makes me so happy!"

Weiss raised an eyebrow, "Yes...I'm aware of your relationship." Mostly because she wouldn't shut up about it. She'd text Jaune long into the night, giggling like a lovestruck schoolgirl regardless of how many times she told her to just go to sleep already,

Ruby continued, undeterred, "Now, here's where the genius part comes in." She clicked to the next slide, which now showed Jaune surrounded by about twenty more stick figure huntresses, all grinning, "If Jaune makes me happy, then obviously, the best way to bring world peace is to make sure every huntress dates Jaune." She paused, "Some exceptions, of course. Nora's out."

Weiss blinked, "...What?"

Ruby nodded eagerly, pointing at the screen like she had just discovered the solution for Grimm, "Think about it! Happy huntresses mean less stress. Less stress means fewer fights. And fewer fights mean no more drama between kingdoms! The world will be too busy enjoying Jaune's cooking and dorky jokes to argue! It's foolproof." Weiss's mouth opened slightly, but no words came out. For a moment, she simply stared at Ruby as if trying to gauge if this was a joke. When Ruby's wide grin didn't falter and she continued to stand there, hands on her hips like she'd just revolutionized Dust mining, Weiss sighed heavily.

"Ruby...you cannot possibly believe this is a viable solution to global conflict."

Ruby clicked again, flashing a new slide that showed Weiss - specifically Weiss's stick figure - being lifted by a smiling Jaune while hearts floated around them, "That's where you come in! You're the perfect candidate to kick this off. Think about it, Jaune used to have a crush on you! You're practically his dream girl!"

Weiss crossed her arms, "Ruby. I refuse to participate in whatever this is."

Ruby wasn't listening, of course. She was on a roll, now gesturing wildly as she spoke, "You and Jaune would be perfect. I mean, you're both responsible, he's improved a lot, and you love complaining about things, which gives you tons to bond over! And imagine how cute your kids would be - little Weiss-Arcs running around, bossing everyone else like tiny diplomats!"

Weiss's cheeks reddened, "Excuse me?!"

"I know, right? Adorable!" Ruby grinned, clicking again. The next slide just said "PROS OF WEISS DATING JAUNE" in giant, bold letters, followed by bullet points like: "He's tall," "He bakes sometimes," and "Will probably write you a poem if you ask."

Weiss massaged her temple, "Ruby, I...I don't even know where to begin."

"Start with how genius this is," Ruby said 'helpfully'.

"That is not the word I was going to use." Weiss crossed her legs, her icy glare locking onto Ruby, "I understand that Jaune makes you happy, but that doesn't mean you can pawn him off to the rest of us like he's some kind of emotional support animal."

Ruby pouted, "It's not pawning him off! It's sharing. Sharing is caring!" Weiss stared, unimpressed. Her partner (and even thinking that word now made her frownd) shifted tactics, "Okay, what if we just do, like, a trial run? One date. Just a casual thing. We'll even call it research."

"No."

"I'll pay for it?"

"No."

"You'll get free dessert."

"...I can buy my own dessert."

Ruby groaned, dramatically draping herself over the desk, "Weiss, you're being difficult."

Weiss folded her arms, "No, I'm being reasonable. This is absurd, even by your standards. And need I remind you that Jaune currently has a girlfriend? Which is you!"

Ruby popped up instantly, "It's not cheating if it's for world peace!" Weiss's glare intensified, "...Fine," Ruby muttered. For a second, Weiss thought she'd finally gotten it through her partner's thick skull that this was futile before her mouth curled up, "I didn't wanna do this, but you're making me bring out the Big Guns."

Weiss raised a brow at her partner's smug, confident grin. She'd faced countless challenges in her life. Grueling combat exams, relentless family expectations, and enough awkward social interactions with Team RWBY to write a memoir. But none of that compared to the sheer lunacy that was Ruby's latest scheme.

Ruby was bouncing on the balls of her feet, her silver eyes sparkling with enthusiasm as she prepared to launch what she clearly believed was her ultimate weapon in this absurd crusade. Weiss sat stiffly in her chair, her arms crossed and her expression as neutral as she could muster. She sat stiffly in her chair, legs crossed and arms folded, as Ruby clicked through the last of her ridiculous presentation, "And finally!" Ruby spun around, eyes practically glowing with excitement, "There's the most important reason of all."

Weiss narrowed her eyes, "Ruby, if you say world peace again, I'm leaving."

"Nope!" Ruby said far too cheerfully. She leaned forward and whispered her next words like it was a dirty little secret, "Jaune gives headpats."

The room went dead silent. Weiss's fingers tightened slightly over her arm, but she didn't move, didn't react. For all the world could see, she considered Ruby's 'Big Gun' to be utterly rdiciculous and nonsenstical. Her expression remained perfectly neutral.

...At least on the outside. Inside, Weiss felt something deeply troubling.

Headpats.

A tiny traitorous part of her - the part she kept locked away alongside her weakness for rare Dust crystals, imported chocolates, and chicken wings - screamed in curiosity. Weiss prided herself on discipline and composure, but the mental image crept in against her will. Jaune Arc, awkward but genuine, ruffling her hair in that clumsy, affectionate way of his. Headpats had been denied to her ever since she was a young girl. Mother was too much of a drunk, Father was a cold-hearted sociopath, and Winter didn't believe in such open displays of affection.

Weiss grit her teeth. Absolutely not, "Ruby," she began, voice strained with barely concealed irritation, "I refuse to entertain the idea of dating Jaune simply because he...pats heads."

Ruby crossed her arms and smirked knowingly, "Ohhh? So you're considering it?"

Weiss's eye twitched, "That's not what I said."

"I think it is, Weiss." Ruby leaned forward, practically glowing with smug assurance, "Don't try to deny it. I saw that flicker in your eyes. You thought about it."

"I did not."

"You did."

Weiss exhaled slowly through her nose, fighting the urge to launch Ruby and her absurd charts out the window, "Ruby, this conversation is absurd."

Ruby shrugged, but her grin didn't fade, "Look, I'm just saying...Jaune's headpats are like legendary. It's scientifically proven to lower stress. Yang's had one before. Blake, too. They said it was life-changing."

Weiss raised a skeptical brow, "Blake said that?"

"Well," Ruby hesitated for just half a second, "She purred, which I think is close enough."

Weiss's grip on her arm tightened further. Traitorous thoughts kept invading. Sure, Jaune wasn't the most graceful or skilled person she knew, but there was...something about his kindness. How he always managed to lift people's spirits, even without meaning to. The idea of him casually patting her head with that bright, goofy smile was so stupid, so completely and utterly foolish. And yet, her stomach twisted in a way that made her profoundly uncomfortable.

Finally, Weiss sighed and straightened her posture, casting Ruby a long, cold look, "I might - and I emphasize might - be willing to hear more. Hypothetically."

Ruby's entire face lit up like a kid on their birthday, "Yes! I knew it!"

"But," Weiss added sharply, lifting a finger to silence Ruby's inevitable victory dance, "I'm not agreeing to anything yet. And if Jaune ever hears about this conversation, I will deny it to my grave."

Ruby mimed zipping her lips, but the smug grin stretching across her face made Weiss instantly regret giving even the slightest ground.

"Don't look so pleased with yourself," Weiss muttered, brushing imaginary dust off her sleeve.

"Oh, Weiss." Ruby's eyes twinkled with uncontainable mischief, "You've just taken the first step toward happiness. I'm so proud of you." Weiss rolled her eyes, but somewhere deep down - very deep down - she felt the tiniest flicker of curiosity she couldn't quite snuff out.

Jaune Arc considered himself a pretty simple guy. He didn't need much to be happy: a good meal, some quality time with his friends, and Ruby holding his hand as they strolled through Vale's streets. So when he knocked on the door of Team RWBY's dorm to pick Ruby up for their date, he wasn't expecting anything out of the ordinary. Maybe Ruby would launch into one of her cute, rambling tangents and gush about her new upgrades for Crescent Rose. Standard Ruby stuff.

What he wasn't expecting was for Weiss Schnee to throw open the door instead, stepping into the hallway with the calm authority of someone about to finalize a business merger, "Jaune," Weiss greeted coolly, nodding as if acknowledging the presence of a butler.

"Uh...hey, Weiss. Is Ruby ready?" Jaune asked, peering over her shoulder. Things had gotten between between them ever since he learned to take No for an answer, but they didn't exactly go out of their way to spend time with one another. They were more than acquaintances but less than friends.

Ruby popped up from behind Weiss, waving enthusiastically, "Hey, Jaune!"

"Oh good, you're both here," Weiss interrupted, cutting Ruby off with a graceful flick of her hair, "Perfect timing. Shall we?"

Jaune blinked, "Shall we...what?"

"Go," Weiss said, as if the answer were obvious. She stepped beside him, looping her arm through his in one smooth motion. He nearly jumped in surprise at the sudden gesture, "I assume you have a reservation somewhere nice. Let's not keep them waiting." Jaune froze, his mind going completely blank as he stared down at the pristine white sleeve now hooked around his elbow. Weiss was holding his arm. Behind them both, Ruby gave him a huge grin and two thumbs up.

"What is happening right now?" Jaune whispered, glancing between the two girls in panic.

Ruby leaned in, cupping a hand around her mouth like she was about to share state secrets, "Just go with it. It's for world peace."

'World peace?' Jaune thought

Weiss tugged him forward before he could press for answers, "Come on, Jaune. We don't have all day." His legs moved on autopilot, stumbling slightly as Weiss led him down the hall like they'd been dating for years, like this was all normal. Jaune shot Ruby one last, desperate look over his shoulder, but all she did was giggle and wave.

What was happening?!

Ten minutes later, Jaune sat stiffly at the cafe they'd planned to visit. Except instead of a cozy two-person date with him and Ruby talking about the latest Crimson Huntress comic, Weiss was seated directly across from him, elegantly sipping a cup of tea as if this was a diplomatic meeting. Ruby sat beside her, practically vibrating with excitement as she shoveled cake into her mouth. Neither of them acted like this was weird.

Jaune stared at the two, waiting for someone to explain. When neither did, he coughed to get their attention, "So...Weiss," he said awkwardly, fidgeting with his spoon, "You're joining us today?"

Weiss set her teacup down with a soft clink, "Yes. Is that a problem?"

"No! I mean- uh, no, not at all. It's just..." He glanced at Ruby for help. She stuffed more cake into her mouth and shrugged innocently. No help there. Jaune scratched the back of his neck, feeling the nervous sweat start to build, "I just thought...you know, Ruby and I were gonna- "

Ruby leaned over suddenly, whispering in his ear like she was spilling state secrets, "Pat her head."

Jaune blinked, "What?"

Ruby nudged him, "Pat her head, Jaune. Trust me."

Jaune's hand hovered awkwardly over the table as he tried to process that sentence. This felt...strange, even by Team RWBY's standards. But Ruby was his girlfriend, and she'd never led him astray before, "Uh...Weiss?" Jaune asked hesitantly.

Weiss arched a perfectly manicured brow, "Yes?"

Jaune swallowed, "Can I...pat your head?" The moment the words left his mouth, Weiss's eyes narrowed into dangerous slits, her icy glare burning into him like a laser. For a second, Jaune was sure this was how he died. But then, as if reluctantly yielding, Weiss tilted her head ever so slightly forward.

"...I suppose," she mumbled, though her expression suggested this was the single greatest concession of her life.

Jaune hesitated for a moment longer, but Ruby gave him another frantic thumbs-up from across the table.

So, with all the grace of someone disarming a bomb, Jaune gently lowered his hand and gave Weiss a soft, careful headpat.

The moment his hand touched her hair, Weiss froze. Her posture went rigid, her shoulders squared, and her expression shifted into something Jaune could only describe as stunned disbelief. Her pale cheeks flushed a faint pink, and her eyes widened slightly, as if she were undergoing some sort of divine revelation. Trying to ignore how weird this all felt, he rubbed the top of her head gently, careful to make sure he didn't mess up her meticulously styled hair.

Jaune blinked, "Uh...Weiss? You okay?"

Weiss didn't respond immediately. For a moment, it looked like she was trying to say something, but no words came out. Instead, she closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and whispered, "More."

"...More?" Jaune asked

Weiss's eyes snapped open, her tone suddenly sharp and commanding despite the words that came out of her mouth, "More. Headpats." Jaune looked at Ruby for help, but she just gave him a thumbs-up and mouthed, 'You're doing great!' and 'This is for World Peace!'

"Okay," he said hesitantly, raising his hand again. He resumed patting Weiss's head, this time with a little more confidence. Weiss's reaction was almost immediate. Her shoulders relaxed slightly, and a soft, nearly inaudible sound escaped her lips - a sound Jaune could only describe as a cross between a sigh, a purr, and a...moan.

"This...This is acceptable," Weiss murmured, her voice unusually soft, "Continue."

Jaune's hand froze mid-pat, "Weiss, are you - "

"I said continue!" Weiss snapped, her cheeks flushing deeper. Jaune complied, patting her head again, utterly mystified by what was happening. Ruby, meanwhile, was doing a poor job of stifling her laughter, clutching her stomach as she tried to contain herself.

"Weiss, are you sure you're okay?" Jaune asked, still patting. He was scared she'd literally bite his hand off if he stopped.

Weiss opened one eye to glare at him, "Jaune Arc, I have never been more 'okay' in my life. Do. Not. Stop." He looked at Ruby again, hoping for some kind of explanation, but all he got was her grinning like she'd just orchestrated the greatest prank in history.

Jaune sighed, "This is going to be a weird day, isn't it?"

Ruby's laughter echoed through the room as Weiss leaned ever so slightly into his hand, her dignified exterior cracking just enough to make Jaune wonder if this was really happening. Maybe this was all a weird hallucination. He definitely shouldn't have drank Ren's 'health' drink yesterday...

Ruby strolled down the dorm halls practically glowing with smug satisfaction. Today was a victory for peace, love, and headpats. After their date at the cafe, they went back to their room for more private headpatting. Jaune left Team RWBY's dorm red-faced and confused, while Weiss...well, Weiss was weirdly quiet. Which, for Weiss, was as good as an admission that Ruby's plan was already working. She'd fallen hook, line and sink.

Weiss Schnee - Miss "I'm too snobby for this nonsense" - folded like a deck of cards after a single headpat. It was perfect. But, Ruby wasn't gonna rest on her laurels. No, she needed to keep the momentum going. She flipped open her notebook, which she now titled the 'World Peace Harem Project (Name Pending)', and clicked her pen.

Weiss Schnee – Status: Cracked. One or two more headpats should seal the deal.

She tapped her chin thoughtfully, "Alright, next up..." Her eyes scanned the list of names, flicking through potential candidates.

Blake? Maybe, but she'd need a softer approach. Blake was like a stray cat. Too much attention and she'd vanish under a bookshelf somewhere.
Yang? A wildcard, but Jaune would probably survive one date. Maybe. Save for later when he's more confident.
Pyrrha? Too easy. That felt like cheating. Besides, she still wasn't sure if Pyrrha liked him like that.
Velvet? A possibility. She seemed like the kind of girl who appreciated nice guys.
Winter? Maybe. Now that Weiss was in, convincing her big sis would be way easier. She looked like she needed someone to be open with. Let her hair down.

Ruby nodded to herself, checking off mental boxes. 'This is working faster than I thought. The world is practically glowing with harmony already.' As she rounded the corner, flipping to a new page labeled "Additional Candidates," someone stepped in front of her.

Ruby halted mid-step, glancing up to see Cinder Fall, the mysterious transfer student who somehow made even standing still seem ominous. Cinder leaned casually against the wall, amber eyes glinting in the soft light. Her smile was polite but sharp, like a knife hidden behind silk. Ruby never really talked to her before, but there was always something about Cinder that screamed 'secretly up to something nefarious'.

"Ruby Rose," Cinder said smoothly, "A word?"

Ruby blinked, "Uh, sure? What's up?" She subtly put her notebook away.

Cinder's smile widened, though it didn't quite reach her eyes, "I hear you've been...coordinating something involving Jaune Arc."

Ruby stiffened, clutching her notebook protectively, "Who told you that?"

"I have my ways," Cinder said, waving a hand dismissively, "Rumors, whispers. You'd be surprised how quickly these things spread."

Ruby narrowed her eyes slightly, "Look, if Weiss sent you to stop me, you can tell her it's too late. She already got the headpat treatment, and she liked it." She couldn't stop herself from grinning. Weiss was already addicted, she could tell. And when the rest of the future harem saw just how far Weiss fell, they'd see how amazing joining would be.

Cinder tilted her head, looking vaguely amused, "Oh, I'm not here to stop you."

Ruby paused, "...You're not?"

"No," Cinder purred, stepping closer with unsettling ease. She stopped just short of Ruby, looming ever so slightly, as if trying to establish some kind of dominance Ruby didn't particularly care about, "I'm here because I want in."

Ruby's brain screeched to a halt, "...What?"

Cinder's eyes gleamed, "I'm interested in Arc." Ruby's mouth fell open. She stared at Cinder, expecting to see a hint of sarcasm, maybe even some elaborate prank ready to unfold. But there was nothing. Cinder looked completely serious. Still, Ruby had her doubts. She still had that 'I'm secretly planning something evil' (metaphorical) aura about her. But still, her plan did involve eventually having every single Huntress dating Jaune, so...

"You..." Ruby pointed at her notebook, struggling to process the words, "You want to date Jaune?"

Cinder chuckled softly, "Let's call it...testing the waters. Your plan intriguqes me. "

Ruby slowly narrowed her eyes, "...You're not planning to kidnap him or use him as part of some evil scheme, are you?"

Cinder put a hand to her chest, trying and failing to look innocent, "Why, Ruby, I'm offended. Can't a girl express interest without being accused of grand plots?"

"Nope," Ruby said bluntly, "Not with your vibe."

Cinder laughed again, and to Ruby's surprise, it sounded almost genuine, "I assure you, my intentions are perfectly harmless." Cinder crossed her arms, tilting her head thoughtfully, "He is interesting, isn't he? There's something...grounding about him. It's rare to find someone so genuine these days."

Ruby stared at her, "...Okay, now I feel like you might actually like him."

Cinder smirked, "Maybe I do."

Ruby squinted, "I don't know...you seem like the type who would hold him hostage, dangle him over a lava pit, and call it flirting."

Cinder's eyes sparkled, "No lava pits." And then, she said under her breath like Ruby couldn't hear, "Not this time."

Ruby sighed, finally relaxing and tucking her notebook under her arm, "Well, I guess if you are serious..." She grinned suddenly, bouncing on her heels, "Welcome to the team! I'll add you to the list!" If she was evil, they could deal with it later. After all, the plan was for world peace through Jaune. Jaune could turn her back to the light. Just like how Captain Atlas turned Madame Fang from evil in Issue 404!

Cinder's eyes flicked briefly to the notebook as Ruby scribbled furiously.

Cinder Fall – Status: Mysterious, possibly dangerous. Proceed with caution. (But still counts.)

"Excellent," Cinder said, smiling like she just won something.

As Cinder turned and walked away, Ruby watched her retreating figure thoughtfully, 'Weird. But hey, if she wants to join the cause, I'm not complaining.' Ruby snapped her notebook shut, her grin returning full force, 'One more step toward global peace.'

One down, countless more to go. The World Peace Harem Project (Name Pending) was off to a good start.

Chapter Text

Blake Belladonna prided herself on many things - her discipline, her intelligence, and her ability to remain composed under pressure. She had to. She ran away from home to join a terrorist group when she was twelve years old. She was trained by Adam Taurus on how to fight, taught from the first time she picked up a sword that the people they fought against wouldn't care about her age or innocence. To them, she was nothing more than a filthy animal that needed to be put down.

...

But if there was one thing she never thought she'd have to deal with, it was her own team mistakenly believing she was a raging racist.

It all started as a simple misunderstanding, really. Someone made an offhand comment about Faunus rights during lunch, and Blake, conditioned by years of navigating prejudice and personal history, had tensed up, her hands clenching into shaky fists. Not because she disagreed - oh no, far from it - but because she'd learned to keep a low profile. She wore a bow ever since she attended Beacon specifically so she wouldn't have to deal with these kinds of conversations.

Unfortunately, her teammates had noticed her stiff posture. And, because her teammates were them, they had drawn the worst possible conclusion.

Weiss, ever the blunt aristocrat (so much for that government reformation, Atlas), had given her a knowing look and muttered, "I see how it is."

Yang had squinted at her like she'd just been caught kicking a puppy.

And Ruby? Poor, sweet, innocent Ruby had gasped so hard she almost inhaled her sandwich.

Blake had thought they would let it go. She had hoped they would let it go. But of course, they hadn't. Which was why she was now sitting on a chair in Team RWBY's dorm room, staring up at her three teammates, who just uttered the words that would haunt her for the rest of her life, "Blake, we need to talk about your racism," Weiss said, legs crossed and utterly blind of the irony dripping from her in waves..

She blinked. Once. Twice, "What."

Yang crossed her arms, giving Blake a look that was equal parts concern and smug satisfaction, like an older sister who caught their sibling sneaking cookies from the jar, "Look, we've all noticed how weird you get whenever Faunus come up in conversation."

Weiss nodded sagely, "You go silent. You clench your fists. You refuse to engage. It's clear you have...strong feelings on the matter."

Blake's eye twitched, "I- "

Ruby, their darling leader, clasped her hands together and looked up at Blake with tearful silver eyes, as if begging her to change her wicked ways, "Blake, we're your friends. We can help you! You don't have to be this way!"

Blake stared. Her brain short-circuited. This couldn't be happening. This could not be happening, "I'm not- " she started, but Weiss cut her off with a solemn nod.

"We get it, Blake," Weiss said in the most condescending, 'I've-read-three-books-on-this-and-now-I'm-an-expert' voice imaginable, "You grew up in a place where these...beliefs were the norm. You probably never had someone to challenge them."

Blake clenched her jaw so hard she thought her teeth might crack. She told them she grew up in Mistral. She didn't have a choice. Weiss was Atlesian and both Yang and Ruby were Valeans (well, they lived in Patch, but that was a distinction without a difference, despite their claims to the contrary). Her only choice was Mistral or Vacuo, and at least she knew about Mistral's culture if someone started asking about her time back 'home'. Vacuo was practically ignored by the White Fang since the Vacuans hated everyone outside of their own equally.

"I promise you, that is not the case."

Weiss sighed, closing her eyes as if preparing herself for a noble speech, "Blake, I understand. You know I used to have my own prejudices, right? I grew up in Atlas as the heiress to the Schnee Dust Company, raised with a certain perspective on Faunus." She put a hand on her chest, looking at Blake with condescending pity, "But I've changed. I learned to see past the ignorance and recognize my own flaws. And you can too."

Blake threw her hands up, "Oh, come on! I am NOT getting a lecture on prejudice from WEISS SCHNEE, of all people!"

Weiss looked mildly offended, "I don't see why not."

"Because!" Blake sputtered, gesturing wildly, "Because you're you! Because your family has a history of-! Because I'm not even-!" She stopped herself just short of outing her own secret, biting her lip so hard it almost bled.

Yang nodded solemnly, "Wow. Defensive much?"

"I am not defensive!" Blake snapped, her composure slipping. "I have nothing against Faunus! In fact, I think they're great! They're fantastic! Some of my best friends are Faunus!" Like Ilia. She'd understand why she had to leave her and everyone else without warning.

Weiss, Ruby, and Yang all exchanged deeply concerned glances that made her want to punch them all in the face. Even Ruby, "You just said the thing," Ruby whispered.

"What thing?" Blake asked, already regretting the question.

"'Some of my best friends are Faunus,'" Yang quoted, making finger quotes in the air. "That's, like, classic racist denial."

Blake's soul left her body, "I am a Faunus!" she wanted to scream. "I'm literally one of them! My parents ran a revolution for Faunus rights! My childhood best friend was a giant tuna with arms! HOW IS THIS HAPPENING?!"

But of course, she didn't say that. Blake took another deep breath. No, she had to be smart. She could talk her way out of this. She could convince them without exposing her secret to a girl who couldn't keep her mouth shut if her life depended on it (Ruby), someone who'd use her race as fodder for cat jokes (Yang), and the future CEO of Racism (Weiss), "Look," she said carefully. "I support Faunus. I just...don't always want to talk about it. It's a complicated subject."

Weiss nodded in understanding. "Of course. Bigotry is deeply ingrained in many cultures. Undoing that kind of thinking can take time. I know from personal experience."

"That is not what I meant."

Yang frowned, rubbing her chin. "Maybe we need to take action. Get you out of your comfort zone. Exposure therapy."

Blake's eyes widened in horror, "Please don't." She could see it now. The three of them taking her across Vale and trying to teach her lessons about equality and tolerance straight out of kid shows. Even the White Fang despised those, which was saying a lot.

Yang grinned, "Too late, Blakey."

Weiss straightened, "I have some excellent reading material on Faunus history and oppression." She paused, "Granted, those books try to paint it as a good thing, but beggars can't be choosers. Just please remember that it's not meant to be positive despite what the book claims."

Ruby clapped her hands, "Ooh! I can introduce you to some really nice Faunus! Maybe if you get to know them, you'll see they're just like us! That we're all just people!"

Blake buried her face in her hands, "I already know that."

"One step at a time," Weiss said soothingly, patting her back as if Blake were the world's dumbest child. She wanted to die. She wanted to die. She'd do it. She'd take Gambol Shroud and stab herself in the gut right in front of them. Then she'd take off her bow so the last thing they realized before the light left her eyes was that they were all morons and they killed her.

"Blake," Ruby said softly, taking her hand, "We care about you. And because we care, we won't give up on you."

Blake groaned into her hands, "Please do."

"Tomorrow," Yang announced, standing up, "We start Project 'Un-Racism Blake.'" Blake sobbed. Did the name have to suck too?

Weiss nodded in approval, "I'll prepare the literature."

Ruby beamed, "I'll set up some playdates!"

"And I'll get the drinks." Yang grinned.

Blake stared at them, then at the ceiling, as if asking some higher being why she was being punished. What did she do to deserve this? Was it running away from her loving parents? Joining a militant extremism group? Falling in love with a psychopath who unironically owned a katana and fedora? Because those were just innocent childhood mistakes. If whatever God was out there really held those against her, then they were a petty asshole.

Chapter Text

Another day, another beating.

Jaune stood among the ranks of the militia, clad in the same cheap armor and standard-issue sword as the thousands of other unfortunate souls around him. The air was thick with dust and tension, but mostly? It was filled with despair despair. Today, they were to engage in yet another hopeless battle, the kind where strategy, numbers, and even basic physics would mean absolutely nothing. A battle that would end with them all nursing bruises, broken bones, and shattered egos.

Their captain - a grizzled veteran who had somehow survived multiple battles against the invincible 'heroes' of Remnant, though certainly not with his sanity intact - raised his sword, "Hold steady, men! Remember, they bleed just like - "

He never got to finish.

A deafening shockwave blasted through the air, and just like that, the first wave of militia was sent flying. Jaune didn't even need to see what caused it. He already knew. Everyone already knew.

The Huntresses had arrived.

One in particula stood at the center of the battlefield, grinning like she'd already won - which, of course, she had. Long golden hair framed a face of unshakable confidence, and her absurdly small outfit - a bomber jacket, a scarf, tubetop, and shorts - was a mockery to every soldier present. She had no armor, no shield, nothing but a pair of gauntlets that barely even looked like weapons. And yet they all knew she was about to lay waste to a thousand men.

This wasn't a war. It was a workout.

"Who's up for a warm-up?" she called, cracking her knuckles, as if she wasn't already on fire. Literally. Her hair was on fire, because of course it was.

Jaune swallowed thickly. This was so unfair.

She moved. No, moved wasn't the right word. She exploded into their ranks. A single punch created another concussive blast, sending men tumbling through the air like discarded ragdolls. Jaune barely dodged a fully grown man as he was launched over his head, screaming all the way down.

And that was just the first attack.

Another swing. Another dozen men sent flying. Somewhere in the chaos, the captain - an actual trained soldier, mind - let out a battle cry and charged. A brave, stupid move. She sidestepped the attack easily, caught his sword between her bare fingers, and flicked him aside like he was nothing more than a particularly aggressive mosquito, grinning the entire time.

Jaune watched the man disappear into the sky. He was pretty sure he heard him scream all the way into orbit, "This is ridiculous," Jaune muttered, backpedaling, "She's one person! One person!" He knew that numbers didn't matter in this world, but he still felt compelled to shout at the absurdity and unfairness of it. The Huntress turned toward him, mouth curled up in a cocky grin. Jaune immediately raised his shield, as if that would help.

It didn't. At all.

She planted a foot against his shield and 'gently' kicked. Jaune flew backward, collided with five other men, and groaned as he hit the ground in a heap of misery. Before he could even attempt to crawl away, a second Huntress arrived.

Jaune groaned in dismay. Not her. She was an entirely different kind of absurd. Short, regal, and dressed like she had just come from a ballroom rather than a battlefield, the white-haired woman twirled her ornate rapier, barely sparing a glance at the chaos around her. She looked like she belonged more in a ballroom than a battlefield, but he knew from experience that she could take out an army before her tea break.

"Honestly," she sighed, looking at the downed militia in disdain, "Was that really the best you could muster?"

"No," Jaune grumbled, dragging himself to his feet, "We're just militia, not Huntsmen. This isn't a fair fight."

She scoffed, flicking a lock of hair over her shoulder, "You're lucky my boots are too pristine to step on you."

And then? Ice.

Jaune barely had time to react before the entire battlefield was transformed into a frozen wasteland. He slipped immediately, barely catching himself before toppling over completely. All around him, the rest of the militia fared even worse. Soldiers skidded and crashed into each other in a tangled mess of limbs and confusion. The Huntress? Oh, she skated across the battlefield effortlessly, weaving between flailing men with precision. With each flick of her rapier, another unfortunate soldier was sent sprawling, colliding into his comrades like some humiliating game of bowling.

Jaune groaned, "This sucks." The worst part? No one actually died, so they were denied the sweet release of death. No matter how hard the Huntsmen hit them, they always got back up. It was like some unspoken rule of reality that no matter how many times they got flung, slammed, or buried under a pile of broken weapons and shattered morale, they'd just...groan, complain, and get up for the next battle. Then it happened again, and again, and again. Death eluded them.

Even when the one with the flaming hair did that thing where she grabbed one guy by the ankle and started swinging him like a flail, knocking out whole squads with the sheer audacity of it.

Jaune thought that maybe today couldn't get any worse when a blur of red zipped across the battlefield. He barely had time to register the third Huntress before she materialized in front of the other two. Unlike them, she had an almost childlike enthusiasm, bouncing on her heels as she gripped a scythe that was taller than she was, "Whoa! Nice work, Ice Queen!" she chirped, spinning her weapon with absolutely unnecessary flair, "But don't you think freezing the whole battlefield kinda makes it hard to style on these guys?"

Jaune was offended, "Style on us?!" he yelled, dodging yet another airborne soldier. He'd been in the militia for a couple years now. Yeah, they got beat up, but there was a professionalism to it before. Now? Now you had Huntsmen who seemed to make it their life mission to make them as miserable as possible.

"This isn't a fashion contest, Ruby!" the rapier-wielding Huntress snapped at her.

"Yeah, but if it was, you'd totally lose."

The air got even colder. Jaune, at this point, was very much aware that they were about to fight each other. They weren't even acknowledging the militia anymore. They were too busy squabbling. That was what they were to them. Just background noise and score.

"Oh, you wanna go?" the rapier-wielder hissed.

The scythe-wielder grinned, "Bring it, princess."

Chaos erupted. Jaune didn't even get a chance to react before the two of them shot into motion. The scythe-wielder moved faster than humanly possible, appearing behind her opponent in a flash of red. The other Huntress spun, countering with an elegant pirouette, her rapier striking with pinpoint accuracy.

Except...instead of attacking each other, their movements somehow managed to direct their attacks toward the remaining militia. One scythe swing sent a dozen men flying. A rapier strike created a shockwave that toppled an entire platoon. They weren't even trying to fight the militia anymore. It was just happening as a byproduct of their ridiculous speed.

Jaune found himself airborne again as the scythe-wielder used him as a springboard, slamming him to to the ground, "She used me as a platform..." he groaned, "Ugh...I hate this job!"

Somewhere behind him, the blonde one cracked her knuckles again, "Well, looks like Round Two's about to start," she said, flexing her fingers as the air around her seemed to ignite. The battlefield filled with groans, whimpers, and the collective resignation of every single militia man present.

Jaune lay sprawled on the cold, unforgiving ground, staring up at the sky, his limbs aching from yet another brutal, one-sided beatdown. Around him, the rest of the militia groaned in a collective symphony of pain, bruised bodies struggling to rise from the frozen battlefield. Weapons were scattered, helmets knocked off, shields dented beyond repair - not that they had done much good anyway. They might as well have gone into battle naked for all the good their 'armor' did them.

Somewhere to his left, Carl was face-down in a pile of other unfortunate soldiers, barely twitching. To his right, Greg was mumbling something about early retirement, his gauntlets still comically frozen to his shield.

Jaune had given up trying to move. What was even the point? Above him, completely unbothered by the destruction they had wrought, the three Huntresses stood in a neat little trio, comparing scores like this was some kind of weekend game and not an absolute catastrophe for the poor fools who had just been flattened, "I definitely got the most kills," the blonde one boasted, flexing her muscular arms with a self-satisfied grin, "Come on, be honest. No way either of you kept up with me."

"Kills?! We don't even die!" Jaune groaned weakly from the ground.

The scythe-wielder frowned, tapping her chin in thought, "Mmm, I dunno. I think I had more style points. Did you see that air combo I did? Textbook sick moves!" She twirled her scythe. Jaune closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose. Why was this even a conversation? And did they have to have it here?

"I prefer precision over reckless brutality," the white-haired Huntress interjected, crossing her arms, "Every single one of my strikes was perfectly calculated. No wasted movement, no unnecessary force."

"You froze the entire battlefield!" the blonde one pointed out, waving her hands.

"So what?" The white-haired one sniffed, tilting her nose up, "My victory was the most elegant."

"Oh, so you're saying I wasn't elegant?" the scythe-wielder gasped, placing a hand over her chest in mock offense.

"I'm saying brute force and 'styling' isn't the proper way to do things," the rapier-wielder scoffed.

The blonde huffed, crossing her arms, "Alright, well, if we're keeping score, then I totally get bonus points for flair. You know how many of these guys went airborne thanks to me? I was launching them like fireworks!"

The cloaked Huntresses' eyes sparkled, "Ooooh, we should totally rate air time next time!"

Next time?! Jaune's head shot up from the ground. He knew there'd be a next time, of course - there was always a next time - but the eagerness the cloaked Huntress said it brought a chill down his spine.

As if noticing the groaning militia for the first time, the blonde Huntress clapped her hands together and gave a casual thumbs-up, "Good work, boys! You really took a beating out there."

The scythe-wielder gave a sheepish grin, "Uh, yeah. Sorry about all the, y'know...smacking, flinging, punting, slamming, freezing, and whatever. But hey, that's your job, right?"

"So unfair..." Jaune grumbled, flopping back down.

"Hey, you'll walk it off!" the blonde one laughed, giving a casual wave as she turned, "Alright, who's up for lunch? I worked up an appetite!"

Jaune didn't move. He couldn't. Not just from exhaustion, but from sheer apathy. They had wiped out an entire militia, trounced thousands of men without breaking a sweat, and now they were just going to get lunch? He hated being born a mook.

After what felt like an eternity of pain, humiliation, and the complete destruction of his self-worth, Jaune finally dragged himself to his feet, wobbling slightly as he dusted off what little remained of his dignity. Around him, his fellow militia grunts groaned and limped away, some cradling their helmets, others rubbing bruises that would no doubt last for weeks. This was their life. Show up, beat up, repeat. They never won. They never even tied. It was always a loss.

And what was their reward for enduring an entire afternoon of getting pounded into the dirt by impossibly overpowered Huntresses?

Jaune stepped forward, reaching the designated payout officer, a tired-looking old man at the edge of the battlefield who barely even acknowledged him before slapping a small, very underwhelming slip of Lien into his hands.

He opened it, counting quickly just to make sure he wasn't somehow being shorted. Fifty Lien. That was it. Fifty miserable, worthless Lien.

Jaune clenched the envelope in his fist, staring at it like it had personally insulted him. Fifty Lien for getting tossed around like a living bowling pin. Fifty Lien for being an unpaid crash-test dummy against Huntresses who didn't even acknowledge their opponents as threats, just inconveniences that needed to be swept aside with a few flashy combos. They always said they'd get more if they somehow won, but they all knew that was bullshit. Mooks never won.

Somewhere in the distance, he could still hear them chatting as they walked off, unharmed, unbothered, and rich, "Did you see how much they paid us this time?" the blonde one laughed, tossing a heavy sack of Lien up and down with one hand like it weighed nothing.

"I'm still counting," the scythe-wielder giggled, flipping through a thick stack of bills, her eyes practically sparkling at the sheer thickness of it, "I don't even think I can fit all of this in my wallet!"

The white-haired one huffed, "Of course we're getting paid well. We are Huntresses. That was hardly even a challenge."

Jaune's eye twitched. It was bullshit. How much were they even getting for this nonsense? Thousands of Lien, easily. Tens of thousands, even. Meanwhile, he was holding his pathetic little fifty Lien like a dog being given a treat..

Fifty Lien for getting slammed into the ground at Mach speed.

Fifty Lien for being used as a human trampoline.

Fifty Lien for being flung halfway across the battlefield by an uppercut that probably broke the sound barrier.

He looked down at his tiny, utterly insignificant slip of cards then back at the Huntresses and their fat stacks of Lien. It took everything he had to not fling the cards away in a rage. No, he told himself. He needed this. It was small, but it meant living another day...even if sometimes (a lot of the time) he doubted why he fought so hard to survive.

[line break ]

Just when Jaune thought the suffering was finally over and he could limp off to spend his miserable fifty Lien on the cheapest drink he could find...she arrived.

A soft thud landed behind him, and Jaune felt a very distinct chill run down his spine. He wasn't alone. He could feel it...and judging by the audible whimpering from the rest of the battered militia, they knew it too.

Slowly, painfully, he turned around. Standing at the edge of the battlefield, arms crossed, a single hip cocked to the side in effortless confidence, was another Huntress. Dark hair, golden eyes, and feline ears perched atop her head, twitching ever so slightly. She held a black sword in her right hand and had the distinct aura (metaphysical, not literal) of someone who was mildly annoyed to even be here.

Jaune felt his stomach drop. Oh no, "Sorry I'm late," the cat-eared Huntress said in a tone that made it clear she wasn't sorry in the least, "Had some things to take care of." The entire militia - every single last bruised, battered, and emotionally scarred soldier - collectively whimpered. She blinked, "...What's wrong with all of you?"

Jaune weakly raised a hand, "Uh...the fight's over."

She frowned, "No, it's not. I haven't fought yet."

Jaune felt his soul leave his body, "I...I think the other three already, um, handled it," he tried, gesturing weakly at the battlefield of groaning, half-conscious men behind him.

The catgirl glanced around at the devastation. Piles of armor, weapons, and shields lay scattered across the frozen battlefield. Soldiers still weren't getting up. Some had just accepted their fate and were lying in the dirt like discarded props in some action film. Her amber eyes narrowed. Then, without hesitation or sympathy, she unsheathed her sword, "Well, too bad," she said, tone as casual as if she were commenting on the weather, "I'm here now, so we're doing this."

A new wave of pained, defeated groans rippled through the militia. A few men actually fell back down after hearing those words, as if their bodies simply rejected the thought of enduring another round of absolute Huntress domination.

Jaune, for his part, was having none of it, "You're kidding, right?" he asked, fully prepared to throw his sword down and run.

The catgirl raised a single unimpressed eyebrow, "No?"

"But we already-"

She sighed, exasperated, "Can you hurry up? I have a novel to get back to."

Jaune's eye twitched. She had a novel to get back to. She was about to trounce an entire army of men who had already been through too much just to keep her schedule clear for reading. The rest of the militia, already on the verge of collapse, let out a weak, collective groan of utter despair.

He stared at the cat-eared Huntress in front of him, then down at the bruises on his arms, then back at the tiny, worthless, humiliating bag of fifty Lien in his hand. Fifty lien for the day, cause he knew damn well he wouldn't get any overtime for this while the Huntress would get a few thousand just wailing on people who had no chance of fighting her.

No. Nope. He was done.

Without hesitation, he ripped off his helmet and chucked it into the dirt, "I quit," he said.

The Huntress - who was apparently expecting anything but that - blinked, her ears twitching slightly in confusion, "What?"

Jaune crossed his arms, "I quit. I'm done. I am not doing this anymore."

A beat of silence followed. The soldiers looked at him in shock and awe. No one had ever QUIT before. It just didn't happen. Once you were picked to be a mook, you were in it for life. Or at least, that was how it was supposed to be. They whined, they cried, they screamed, but they always came back for more.

Not this time.

"...You can't do that," she said.

Jaune narrowed his eyes, "Watch me." And with that, he turned on his heel and walked off the battlefield like a man who had just seen the light. The other mooks continued to look at him in awe, as if expecting a bolt of divine retribution to come down and smite him for daring to go against the natural order.

But nothing happened, and Jaune stepped past the edge of the battlefield with nothing and no one stopping him.

There was another pause. And then-

More helmets hit the ground, a cacophany of metal crashing against dirt, "I quit too!" someone else shouted.

"Yeah, screw this!"

"I'm not getting my spine turned into origami for fifty Lien!"

"I still can't feel my legs!"

Within seconds, the entire militia followed Jaune's lead, ripping off their helmets, throwing down their weapons, and marching off the battlefield in a wave of exhausted defiance. The Huntress blinked again, watching as her entire enemy force/money source collectively noped out of the battle. Jaune kept his head held high, feeling better than he had in years. He'd done it. He'd quit this horrible job. He didn't care if he had to beg on the streets, it was better than whatever this was.

Across the field, the RWY of team RWBY turned back just in time to see the mass exodus of militiamen leaving the battlefield, "Did they just..." Ruby started, tilting her head.

"Wow," Yang whistled, "That's a new one."

Weiss huffed, flipping her ponytail, "Pathetic."

Meanwhile, Blake just stood there, watching as her supposed opponents literally quit their jobs rather than fight her. She sighed, sheathed her sword, and muttered, "Guess I'll finish my book early."

It started with a few scattered resignations; a handful of militia men deciding that getting launched into the stratosphere by flaming gauntlets, frozen solid by impossible Dust sorcery, or turned into a human springboard for hyperactive scythe-wielders just wasn't worth the insultingly small paycheck they received for their troubles. But like a single spark in a dry forest, Jaune's very public and very justified declaration of "I quit" spread faster than anyone could have anticipated, igniting a mass exodus of the long-abused moooks who had accepted their role as punching bags for the overpowered demigods known as Huntsmen for far too long.

At first, no one took it seriously, especially not the Huntsmen, who were too busy celebrating another effortless victory. They were still focused on counting their excessive earnings and laughing over how absurdly lopsided every fight in their favor had been. They'll be back, they said, and even if they weren't, there was always more goons to fight.

But soon, the murmurs turned into full-fledged desertions, the ranks of milita men thinning at an alarming rate as men who had once grimly accepted their fate as training dummies threw down their weapons and walked off the battlefield without so much as a glance back. Their loyalty to their respective causes paled in comparison to the realization that they were literally volunteering for free beatdowns with no hope of victory against the Huntsmen who only saw them as walking bags of experience points and easy paychecks.

By the time word had fully spread across Remnant, the numbers were staggering.

Entire militias disbanded overnight with whole regiments of would-be soldiers deciding "fuck that noise". Their captains and commanders (who incidentall were paid more) screamed and pleaded for them to reconsider while the soldiers - many of whom were still nursing broken ribs from the last time a blonde fire-punching lunatic had decided to 'train' on them - simply laughed and walked away, their fifty Lien severance pay jingling in their pockets as they vanished into the countryside in search of literally anything that didn't involve getting drop-kicked across an open field.

At first, the Huntsmen barely noticed. It wasn't uncommon for soldiers to flee - not everyone had the stomach to stand against godlike warriors with absurd powers and completely impractical (yet somehow incredibly functional) weapons - but the problem wasn't that soldiers were fleeing mid-battle, the problem was that there were suddenly no soldiers at all.

For the first time ever, Huntsmen showed up to contracted fights, bounty missions, and field operations only to find that there was no enemy to fight, no hapless grunts to obliterate, no conveniently placed weaklings to rack up their experience points against. All that waited for them were the empty remnants of hastily abandoned militia camps, discarded swords stuck in the ground like grave markers. Entire fortresses were left empty, the only thing greeting them being the eerie silence of a workforce that had collectively decided that no amount of money, honor, or duty was worth getting flash-frozen by an heiress with a superiority complex.

And it was all thanks to one man: Jaune Arc. The one who made them understand that they could just fucking quit.

The realization hit them all at once, spreading through the ranks of Huntsmen like a plague of anxiety and desperation. Their once endless supply of easily farmable mooks was now an endangered species thanks to one blond militia man with a spine and a very, very loud voice.

"This is a disaster!" one Huntress wailed, throwing her hands up as she paced back and forth in front of her baffled teammates, "How are we supposed to make money if there's no one to fight?!"

"This is so unfair!" another pouted, crossing her arms and kicking at the dirt like a child denied a toy, "I had a whole combo planned out for this next battle, and now I don't even get to use it!"

"I was this close to leveling up!" a third groaned, staring mournfully at his unused weapon, "I even grinded extra last week! This isn't how this is supposed to work!"

Team RWBY had noticed too, of course.

Yang, normally the very picture of confidence and cocky bravado, stared at the empty battlefield in front of her with visible distress, her fingers twitching as the realization sank like a bad hangover after a night of 'responsible celebrations', "No way," she muttered, eyes darting around like she expected few brave militia men would suddenly materialize out of thin air, ready to be pummeled into unconsciousness for a payday that barely covered a meal, "This...This isn't fucking possible. They wouldn't all quit."

"They did all quit," Blake deadpanned, arms crossed as she surveyed the abandoned fortifications that should have been swarming with hapless foot soldiers, "And I can't believe I'm saying this, but...I think we might be out of work."

Ruby, standing between them, looked genuinely heartbroken, her fingers tightening around the shaft of Crescent Rose as she took in the horrifyingly empty field in front of her, "But...But fighting goons is what we do," she said, voice soft, almost disbelieving, "If they're gone, then...then how are we supposed to get stronger?"

"How are we supposed to make money?" Yang corrected, scowling, "Do you know how much we got paid for beating up one militia? It was, like, stupid money. I was saving up for a new bike!"

Weiss groaned, rubbing her temples, "You mean to tell me that we have single-handedly fought and humiliated so many of them that they collectively decided it wasn't worth it? Tch, cowards."

Yang kicked at a rock in frustration, "Come on, we weren't that bad!"

Weiss gave her a flat look, "You once suplexed a guy into twelve other guys." Not that she judged her for that, of course. That was their role. To be the opposition the Huntsmen dealt with.

"Okay, they were standing too close together!"

"You did it three times."

Ruby, who'd been eerily quiet, suddenly clutched her scythe to her chest, her eyes wide with genuine fear, "W-What if...What if they never come back?" she whispered, looking from Yang to Blake to Weiss like they had all the answers, "What if they all get normal jobs o-or go into farming or something? What if we have to start taking actual missions?"

The very thought sent visible shudders down all four of them, "Ain't happening," Yang muttered, panic creeping into her voice, "I refuse to go back to escort missions. Do you know how boring it is to deal with slow people who whine when you get more than ten feet away from them? Nuh-uh."

Weiss scoffed, "Oh, please, I doubt it'll last. They're simpletons. They'll come crawling back when they realize how boring normal life is. Trust me, give it a few weeks and they'll be be back crawling on their hands and knees."

Days passed, then weeks, then an entire month, and the worst-case scenario that Huntsmen across Remnant had vehemently denied as impossible, ridiculous, completely absurd had become an undeniable, inescapable, financially devastating reality.

The goons weren't coming back. Not a single one. No matter how many missions were posted, no matter how much money was offered, no matter how many mercenary contracts went out, there wasn't a single soldier, guard, or generic henchman willing to sign up and become cannon fodder for the absurdly powerful warriors who had, for so long, treated them like walking combo practice. They'd inflicted the most devastating blow one could do to an enemy.

To be ignored.

For years, Huntmsne had taken the existence of mooks for granted, never once considering the possibility that their supply of disposable punching bags might actually run out. But run out they had, and the consequences were catastrophic.

And no one was feeling the heat more than Weiss.

At first, she'd scoffed at the notion that a mere lack of grunts could possibly pose any issue to someone of her station, dismissing her teammates' worries with a sharp flick of her ponytail and a pointed remark about how only lazy, brute-force fighters relied on weaklings to farm experience and money. But as time dragged on, and her normally overflowing bank account started dwindling at an alarming rate, even she was forced to admit that something had gone terribly, terribly wrong.

It had started subtly. Small changes, barely noticeable at first. A few transactions here and there, a couple of withdrawals to fund important expenses like new custom Dust cartridges, a shipment of high-quality polish for Myrtenaster, and an entire seasonal wardrobe. Things she normally wouldn't even think about. She could earn the needed money just with a couple of armies taken down. But then she noticed her balance going from six digits to five.

The realization hit her hard. The money wasn't coming back. For the first time in her life, Weiss had no stable source of income.

At first, she brushed it off. It would be fine, she told herself. She'd get another lucrative contract, another opportunity to humiliate a battalion of underpaid militia men while walking away with a purse full of Lien.

Yet the weeks dragged on and those opportunities never came. The board had been filled with the same generic slop of escort missions, fetch quests, and bodyguard work that paid a pathetic 200 lien a pop. Pathetic.

Weiss had tried so hard to pretend it didn't bother her, to tell herself that she was better than this, that a proper Huntress didn't rely on brute-force engagements to sustain herself. She was an elegant fighter, a tactician, a Schnee. She was better than this!

But when the funds in her personal accounts reached dangerously low levels, when she was forced to start calculating her expenses like some commoner, and she found herself actually hesitating before making unnecessary purchases because for the first time ever she might not be able to replenish her wealth...

That was when the panic set in.

The final, humiliating blow came when she received a message from her financial advisor, a man who had never once spoken to her directly because her wealth had always been so vast and self-sustaining that it simply wasn't a concern. He informed her that, effective immediately, she would need to adjust her lifestyle if she wished to avoid liquidating her 'non-essential assets.'

Non-essential assets!

She had stared at the message, blinking in disbelief, unable to fully process what she was reading. Liquidate? Adjust her lifestyle? What was this nonsense?! She was Weiss Schnee! Heiress of the Schnee Dust Company! A refined and disciplined warrior who'd spent years mastering her craft! She was a Huntress, not some reckless brute who threw punches until the problem went away!

And yet, none of that mattered now. Because all the grunts were gone and her money was drying up.

For the first time in her life, she was broke. Not technically broke, of course - there were still company assets, trust funds, and stock dividends she could tap into - but the personal fortune she'd once taken for granted, the wealth she had always assumed would never run out, had dwindled so low that she was now at risk of her lifestype being upended. She might have had to leave her penthouse or...or buy something besides the very best, most refined Dust!

If this kept up, she'd have to dip into her family's funds, and Father would never let her hear the end of it.

It was all because of Jaune Arc. The man who had thrown down his helmet, turned his back on a system that had kept Huntsmen rich and powerful for generations, and taken thousands - no, tens of thousands - of his fellow militiamen with him.

The idiot. The absolute buffoon. The utter fool who had, through nothing but sheer stubborn refusal to be 'abused' any longer, ruined everything.

Yang was miserable. Ruby was heartbroken. Blake was still in denial, but she'd fall soon too. The entire Huntsman community was in shambles, and even Weiss herself was now suffering.

And the worst part of it all? They couldn't do anything about it.

No amount of anger, (justified) protests about how unfair it was, or Huntsman bravado could change the fact that they had completely exhausted their most valuable resource: disposable, underpaid, easily replacable cannon fodder. For the first time in history, Huntsmen were at a disadvantage.

Jaune Arc, wherever he was, was probably laughing himself to sleep every night. And Weiss could do nothing but scream into a pillow as her bank account slowly dwindled.

Chapter Text

The grim reality of the mook exodus didn't just hit Weiss - it hit all of them.

They'd brushed it off at first, convinced that the militiamen, White Fang, and other assorted goons would eventually come crawling back once they realized that farming or blacksmithing or whatever dumb menial jobs they had scurried off to couldn't possibly be as rewarding as getting stomped into the dirt for Huntsman pocket change. Sure it wasn't a glamorous life, but it still must've been better compared to packing groceries or planting crops, right?

But as the days turned to weeks, the sheer weight of economic devastation settled over them. Missions remained unfulfilled, contracts went unsigned, and the Huntsmens' once overflowing bank accounts saw nothing but withdrawals and no replenishments, reality came crashing down on Team RWBY harder than any of them had ever expected.

Early on, Yang waved off their worries, dismissing the whole thing as a temporary problem. It was just a minor setback, she said. They'd come crawling back once they got bored. Then the weeks dragged on, battlefields stayed empty, and not a single whimpering grunt signed up to get launched into orbit by one of her patented flaming uppercuts. They weren't coming back, and that Yang began to experience something she never thought she would feel in her life.

Withdrawal.

Not just from the sweet, sweet dopamine of effortlessly styling on an entire militia and sending poor fools flying through the air like ragdolls, but from the money.

Yang, to quote Weiss, was used to a certain lifestyle. Fancy drinks, custom upgrades for bumbleby, and high-quality sunglasses that cost more than most people's monthly rent. Why shouldn't she splurge on herself, she asked once. Money was there to be spent, not hoard.

But now that the paychecks stopped coming in and she saw her balance drop every time she withdrew even the smallest amount, she finally reached the point where she had to make a terrifying decision: she'd have to start cutting back.

She stared down at the battered menu of the cheap, absolutely bottom-tier bar she had never once set foot in before, hands trembling slightly as she counted her Lien. She couldn't afford her usual Strawberry Sunrise. No, she had to make do with less.

Her hands shook as she reached for the cheapest option, her fingers clenching into a fist before she slammed her head onto the bar with a groan, "This isn't fair..." she whined. The bartender - who had seen far worse meltdowns in his time - wordlessly poured her a drink.

Yang took one sip, winced violently, and seriously contemplated taking up a part-time job.

Ruby was one of the loudest complainers when the mooks first quit, pouting and stomping around like a kid who had just been told Christmas was canceled (cause it basically was), complaining about how she couldn't get any EXP, couldn't level up, and was stuck at the same skill threshold for weeks because fighting Grim just wasn't the same. Grimm hordes were a thing of the past, and even they didn't give as much money and EXP as an afternoon styling on some people who didn't stand a chance against her.

But all of her EXP woes paled in comparison to the true, lasting tragedy of the whole thing.

She couldn't afford her weapon modifications anymore. No more custom-built upgrades. No more experimental scythe attachments. No more 'what if I turned Crescent Rose into a folding glaive with a hidden shotgun inside of it' ideas.

Nothing.

For the first time in years, Ruby was stuck with the same version of her weapon she'd been using since last semester. The materials were too expensive, and the rent for the forge she'd been renting was steep enough that she couldn't afford to renew her lease.

It wasn't even that Crescent Rose was bad...but it wasn't better. And for someone like Ruby, someone who lived for the thrill of tinkering, improving, upgrading, it was absolute agony.

She sat at her workbench, staring down at the sad pile of scrap metal and half-finished parts that she didn't have the money to finish. Her expression was dark, her spirit utterly broken. She wanted to cry and apologize to her baby for not being able to spoil her this month because all those jerks ran off to get normal jobs. What was wrong with

Blake passed by, glancing up form her book, "You okay?"

Ruby exhaled slowly, looking up with an empty, haunted expression.

"This...this is how normal people live, isn't it?" she whispered.

Blake patted her shoulder sympathetically.

Blake had, at least for a while, barely noticed the economic collapse unfolding around them. While the others lamented their dwindling bank accounts and their inability to afford the many, many luxuries they'd taken for granted, she'd continued with business as usual, picking up a few small hunts here and there, reading in the quiet, and enjoying the newfound peace that came with not being interrupted every ten seconds by Yang boasting about how many mooks she'd launched that day.

She chalked that up to being raised differently. Weiss grew up spoiled on that Schnee money while Ruby and Yang had a Dad, two Moms, and an Uncle that were all Huntsmen during the peak of the mook beating renaissance. By contrast, all she had was living inside a mansion in a tropical island and two loving parents. She didn't grow up in the lap of luxury or care about expensive drinks, fashions, and penthouses. No, a good book and commissioning stories were all she needed.

...

It wasn't until she went to restock her personal library that it hit her.

She'd walked into her favorite bookstore, eyes uncharacteristically bright and ready to buy the next (limited edition) volume of her favorite series...only to stop cold when she saw the price tag. Her stomach sank. She pulled out her wallet, checked the balance. She could afford it, but only barely. It'd cut into her grocery budget and she wouldn't be able to afford that imported tuna she loved. She'd have to make do with some cheaper marlin instead.

Blake was a lot of things. A former revolutionary, a skilled Huntress, and a highly trained warrior. And now was standing motionless in the middle of a bookstore, weighing the decision between food and literature.

Her hands curled into fists. She could still afford to buy the regular book, of course, but it wouldn't have the author's autograph, their notes, or their first drafts. It would've just been the book itself. The same book thousands of others got.

...

With a deeply pained sigh, she put the book back on the shelf, turned, and walked out of the store like a woman who'd just lost everything.

Weiss had tried so hard to convince herself that this was temporary, that the mooks would come crawling back, and that the economy would right itself. She refused to believe she'd ever be reduced to the state that the others had fallen into, but as the weeks stretched on, as her personal funds continued to dwindle and even her trust accounts started being flagged for 'excessive withdrawals', she'd finally reached the breaking point.

And now, here she was.

Standing in front of a discount store.

She stared at the entrance like it was the gates of hell, her entire being rejecting what was about to happen, her pride screaming at her to turn away, but her wallet - her miserable, pathetic, near-empty wallet - demanded otherwise. She needed new Dust cartridges, and going to her usual supplier wasn't an option right now.

She...She couldn't afford it.

She couldn't afford the premium ones anymore. She couldn't even afford the mid-tier ones. She didn't think it would be a problem. When she'd attacked that militia that contained that damnable Jaune Arc, she used up all of her Dust. Was it necessary? No, but she held herself to high standards. She wouldn't just come in swinging her fists like a brute the same way Yang did. She was a Schnee, and her position demanded she defeated her foes with elegance and grace.

...Now that grace had cost her.

And so, against every fiber of her being, the very foundation of her dignity, she took a deep breath, stepped forward, and entered...the discount aisle.

A single tear rolled down her cheek. It was so unfair.

The reality of their situation had finally sunk in a couple of months later. There was no point in denying it any longer, no use in pretending that things would return to normal. No amount of of assurances could make them convince themselves that the mooks would come crawling back once they realized that farm work and blacksmithing didn't have the same thrill as getting suplexed into the dirt by a 5'8 blonde with anger issues.

The exp farms weren't coming back, the money fountain had dried up. And Team RWBY, like all Huntsmen, now had to take...other jobs.

"Miss Huntress, are you even listening to me?"

Ruby forced a painfully strained smile, gripping Crescent Rose so tightly her knuckles turned even whiter down normal as she glanced at the very chatty noblewoman (she insisted on being called that cause she was a weirdo Atlesian) she'd been hired to escort across the city, "Yes, Lady...uh...Eleanor," she said, making an honest effort to remember her name while her brain slowly melted from boredom. This was worse than Professor Port's lectures.

"I said-" the noblewoman sniffed, adjusting her unnecessarily extravagant hat, "-That we must hurry. The gala starts in an hour, and I cannot possibly be late!" Ruby twitched. The way she emphasized her words was getting on the Huntress' nerves.

Ruby fought the urge to groan. She used to spend her days fighting armies. She used to zoom through battlefields slicing down entire battalions with absurd speed, dashing through explosions with reckless abandon, flipping over enemy commanders like it was a game. She'd chased after them when they ran and always pushed herself to break records. Her personal one was the time she'd sucked in 200 soldiers at once during a single spinning tornado.

And now?

Now she was walking at a snail's pace, escorting a rich, entitled woman to a stupid party, dodging complaints about how "uncouth" it was to carry such a "brutish" weapon, and stopping every ten minutes so her client could admire her own reflection in a storefront window.

It paid...fine. Not bad. Not great. Just fine. Enough to help her get some groceries and maybe a little treat, buthing more.

She wanted to die.

Yang always considered herself a woman of action. She was a Huntress, damn it. A warrior, a fighter, someone who thrived on the thrill of battle, the rush of combat, the sheer, exhilarating joy of hitting someone so hard they crated the ground.

But somehow, she ended up here - standing completely still in front of some fancy high-profile businessman, arms crossed, watching a bunch of suits talk about stocks like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

She'd been hired as security. A bodyguard for some guy who'd never even seen a Grimm in real life and would probably faint if someone raised their voice at him.

There wasn't was even any danger. No rival businessmen or a someone else with a bone to pick. That would've at least been interested. No, it was just...standing like statue for hours. For normal pay. Pay that wasn't 'beating up a thousand guys and getting rich for it' pay, but 'this is what normal people make' pay.

She'd felt more empty inside. She suddenly remembered Dad's words about investing their earnings. She'd blown him off, snorting that she was way too young to worry about that kind of crap. Get back to her when she was 40 and hitting her midlife crisis.

She refused to admit he was right.

Yang turned her head slightly, glancing at her employer who was currently rambling about market projections. She wondered how much trouble she would get in if she just punched him for fun.

Weiss was a warrior, a Huntress, and a duelist of unparalleled grace and skill. But most of all, she was a Schnee.Even among Huntresses, she stood out among her peers. All Huntsmen were strong, but she brought a certain dignity to the position that no one could hope to match. When hapless goons saw Weiss Schnee strutting across the field, they knew that it was the end.

And now she'd been hired...to find someone's missing house cat.

Weiss wanted to scream. It had taken three hours. Three agonizing, humiliating hours of crawling through alleyways, coaxing a stubborn feline out from beneath a stack of crates, and getting scratched across the face when the little beast finally decided to let itself be caught. It didn't hurt because of her Aura, but even the fact that she'd been scratched out by some feline had her simmering at the audacity and humiliation of it all.

All for 200 lien.

She'd walked back into town, the cat tucked under her arm as it hissed at her. Its owner beamed as he paid her the modest, completely underwhelming amount of lien. Her eye twitched. She'd tipped her waiter more back before this economic depression.

She took the money, sat down on the nearest bench, and buried her face in her hands. This was her life now. Days of aggressive mediocrity unless she wanted to bend the knee to her father again. Her gut churned with rage. Once she found Jaune Arc, she'd be sure to punch him straight in his smug face.

Blake accepted her fate more gracefully than the others (or so she told herself). She'd always been a realist. She knew that nothing good lasted forever, that change was inevitable, and that adjustments had to be made. So when she found herself picking up odd jobs to make ends meet, she'd convinced herself that she was fine with it.

Until she got a fetch quest. A literal fetch quest.

She had been hired to retrieve an old lady's groceries. Not slay a Grimm, not stop a bandit raid (most of them gave up too), not fight an army. Just...get groceries.

She'd sprinted across battlefields, dodging melee weapons, deflected bullets, and delivered devastating blows to commanders three times her size-

And now she was running errands. It couldn't have even been quick too. She had to wait in line for two hours because today was coupon day.

Hours later, she stood in front of the kindly old woman who had given her the job, watching as she counted out the Lien coins one by one with agonizing slowness. Blake's ears flicked in silent frustration, "...Here you go, dear," the woman finally said, placing the payment in her hands with a warm smile. 150 lien, "Thank you so much."

Blake forced herself to smile back, "No problem, ma'am." She walked away, staring down at the meager pile of Lien in her palm before she clenched her fingers. Then she walked straight to the bookstore and bought herself a (cheap) novel, because if she was going to suffer, she was going to suffer on her own terms.

If there was one thing that made the entire situation even more unbearable than it already was, one thing that turned the already crushing humiliation of their circumstances into something far worse, it was the memes.

They started off small at first, little jokes on the message boards, a few passing comments made by former militiamen reveling in their newfound freedom, harmless jabs about how it must be so hard for Huntresses now that they actually had to work for a living instead of speed-running battlefield-wide massacres for easy cash, but then they spread.

And theyspread fast.

Suddenly, every single Hunstman in Remnant who had ever taken a job that involved beating the absolute tar out of grunts for money (which was basically everyone) was now the target of an endless, inescapable tidal wave of mockery, every single one of them bombarded with images, gifs, jokes, and ruthless edits that had turned their suffering into the most popular online joke in all of Remnant.

A heavily edited image of Yang, holding a tiny, depressing paycheck in one hand while staring at a "Help Wanted" sign with a dead look in her eyes, captioned with "tfw you used to make 10,000 Lien for suplexing one guy and now you have to apply for retail" went viral overnight. And no matter how many times Yang tried to report the post, no matter how much she complained and claimed that she wasn't broke, it didn't matter. It was already too late - the meme was out in the wild, and the dustnet was ruthless.

The next was a picture of Ruby sitting at a public workbench looking absolutely devastated at the weapon upgrade she couldn't afford to complete. It had been paired with sad violin music and titled "top 10 tragic Huntress moments". The comments section were immediately flooded with former mooks saying things like, "imagine not being able to afford things because your job doesn't pay enough, can't relate" and, "LMAO cry harder, I had to work 14-hour shifts to pay for my armor while you were out here doing air combos on my entire squad."

Ruby whined and defend herself online, ignoring Weiss' warnings that it would only make things worse.

Weiss, who thought she was safe from the worst of it because surely no one would dare publicly mock a Schnee, had almost thrown her Scroll across the room when she opened the latest trending post only to find an edited picture of herself standing in the middle of a discount store aisle. She looked visibly distressed, staring at a bottle of generic-brand Dust with an absolutely haunted look in her eyes. It was captioned,"when you go from fighting for honor to fighting for coupons."

She had never been more furious in her entire life. She also vowed to hunt down whoever took that picture.

Blake had avoided the worst of the backlash somehow. Perhaps it was because she had a more lowkey lifestyle. Either way, Weiss resented her for it. She should've had the grace to at least suffer with them in solidarity.

But that wasn't the worst of it. Oh no, they could've handled humiliation, much as it annoyed them. What really grindined their gears were just how unapologetic the former goons were. There were no olive branches, no regrets, no attempts to smooth things over. Nothing but endless smugness and an entire dustnet's worth of "you get what you deserve" energy coming at them from every angle, no matter where they turned. Ungrateful swine.

They were practically celebrating, openly mocking Huntsmen who had spent years treating them as cannon fodder, revelling in the fact that the economy had finally turned against them, that the days of easy money and endless beatdowns were gone. For the first time in history, Huntsmen actually had to experience the same kind of miserable, exhausting, average wage work that every single one of them had endured for years while getting mercilessly stomped on for barely enough Lien to buy a meal.

She was sure that Jaune Arc was responsible for this. He'd been the one to kickstart this whole thing and selfishly upend all their lives for his own selfish gain. Why couldn't he have just kept his head down? The system was working! It gave thousands of people jobs and ensured the Huntsmen were well-compensated. It was a well-oiled machine. But no, he decided to be a bastard and tear down the whole thing. Now she and ever other Huntsman on Remnant was suffering.

Weiss clenched her hands into shaky fists. This wasn't over, not by a longshot. She'd find a way to claw herself back to the position she deserved.

Jaune, contrary to popular belief, wasn't sipping drinks on a sunny beach, nor was he reclining in a lavish mansion paid for by the suffering of Huntsmen who'd been forced to take honest work for normal pay. He wasn't even particularly well off.

No, Jaune was working the cash register at a grocery store. And honestly? He was fine with it. It wasn't glorious, it wasn't exciting, and it wasn't anything even remotely interesting. But it was stable. He didn't have to worry about his bruises getting bruises and the store was completely devoid of any Huntsmen yeeting him across a battlefield for funsies. The worst he had to deal with was the occasional Karne, and they were way easier. At least they couldn't air juggle him.

That was more than enough for him. With a steady paycheck, a work schedule that didn't involve getting thrown like a lawn dart every afternoon, and no one demanding he fight for his life against overpowered warriors in impractical outfits, he was perfectly content.

Which was why, when Weiss Schnee and Ruby Rose showed up at his checkout lane, their shopping carts filled with carefully budgeted groceries, their expressions a mix of disbelief and poorly concealed frustration, he didn't react. Not out of rudeness or some smug sense of justified smug satisfaction, he just...didn't care. Without the threat of his face getting caved in, the pair of Huntresses were just two more customers in his eyes.

He didn't grovel, didn't react in shock, didn't even comment on how Weiss Schnee, the once-proud heiress, was standing in front of him clutching a fistful of coupons like a single mother trying to stretch her budget. He just scanned their items, bagged them up, and read off the total, "Alright, that'll be 128 Lien."

...

Ruby was too stunned to speak, her hands gripping her little wallet like she was still trying to process the emotional whiplash of seeing Jaune Damn Him to Hell Arc, of all people, working retail while she and Weiss had been running around doing side quests for normal pay. Her partner opened her mouth, but all that came out was a strangle little noise like she'd gorged on one cookie too many.

Weiss, on the other hand, was not handling it well at all. She stared at him, waiting for some kind of remark, some smug jab, some ridiculous "I told you so" that would give her a reason to unleash her mounting frustration.

But there was nothing. He didn't gloat, he didn't smirk, he didn't even smile. He just stood there, his expression neutral, waiting patiently as if she were any other customer. It made her blood boil. He was supposed to be laughing at them. He was supposed to be taking victory laps, rubbing it in, mocking them for their downfall while rubbing his hands together in glee at their misery. She'd gone to sleep at night with thoughts of revenge. Some days, it was the only thing that kept her getting up in the morning.

But no. He was just doing his job, and that infuriated her more than anything else.

Weiss gritted her teeth and slammed her stack of coupons onto the counter, "Apply these," she snapped. A part of her was tempted to make a scene, but the last thing she needed was a new meme calling her a Karen. Schneeren. Ugh.

Jaune hummed, casually taking the coupons and scanning them without a word. More silence. Ruby, still visibly rattled, shifted from one foot to another,"...So, uh, Jaune, you're...working here now?"

He nodded, "Yep."

"That's...uh..." she hesitated, clearly not sure what to say, "That's cool?"

Jaune shrugged, "It's honest work."

Weiss twitched. Honest work? As if what she was doing wasn't?! Was he implying that chasing lost pets through alleyways and scraping by on fetch quests wasn't just as legitimate as standing behind a cash register scanning groceries for a living?! It was honest work! And so was decimating armies before he'd gone and ruined it all! She wanted to scream, wanted to shake his shoulders and demand to know why he hated them so much, but her (weakening) sense of properiety kept her in check.

Jaune continued ringing up their items, bagging them neatly and efficiently, treating them exactly like he would treat any other normal customer. It was unbearable, When the total adjusted with the coupons, he casually read off the new amount. "Alright, 102 Lien."

Weiss took far too long fishing out the Lien, her fingers shaking slightly as she dropped the cards into his outstretched hand with a little more force than necessary. Jaune counted them out then handed her the receipt before - worst of all - giving her a polite, professional smile, "Thanks for shopping with us. Have a great day."

That was it. No gloating, no smug satisfaction, no petty revenge. Just a normal customer interaction, as if they were just two completely average people living completely average lives rather than two Huntresses he'd absolutely ruined.

Weiss was seeing red.

Ruby, awkward and clearly sensing the sheer amount of bottled-up rage radiating from her, grabbed the bags and all but dragged Weiss out of the store. They didn't speak as they walked down the street, the weight of the entire situation finally sinking in.

Jaune Arc, the man they had once utterly dominated on the battlefield, the punching bag who had walked away and taken an entire workforce with him, the reason they were now scraping by on insultingly normal jobs for insultingly normal pay, was-

Fine. He was living his life and didn't care about them in the least. He was fine. It infuriated her more than if he'd just laughed in her face and mocked her. At least then, she would've known there was a purpose to it all. Instead, they might as well have been ants under his shoes. There was no retribution, no emotional catharsis. All her plans of taking revenge on Jaune Arc and making him grovel at her feel flew away like Dust in the wind.

Weiss grabbed one of Yang's drinks from the bags and drank it down in one gulp.

Chapter Text

Weiss considered herself a rational person, one who'd seen enough absurdities in her time at Beacon Academy that very little surprised her anymore. Between Jaune Arc's inexplicable survival despite his complete lack of common sense (or Aura, as she found out from a very defensive Pyrrha), Ruby's baffling ability to eat an entire plate of cookies in under ten seconds, and Nora Valkyrie's continued refusal to obey the laws of physics (even moreso than the average Huntsman), she'd developed a certain tolerance for the bizarre.

But this...this was testing her patience.

Sitting alone across the cafeteria, sipping a steaming cup of tea with the poise of a noblewoman at high tea, was none other than Lie Ren. And he was wearing a skirt. And not just any skirt. It was the exact same design as the Beacon Academy uniform's standard skirt, worn by every female student, complete with the dark stockings and prim heels. The only difference was that Ren wore it with the same utterly unreadable expression he always had, as if there was nothing unusual about this at all. No hesitation, no embarrassment, no explanation.

It wasn't just the skirt and heels, of course. There were touches of makeup as well. A little blush on his cheeks, some gloss to make his lip shine...subtle things that slightly enhanced his slim features. Nothing caked up or trashy.

Weiss had grown up as a Schnee. She knew how to analyze situations and deduce underlying motives, but this one was slipping through her fingers like sand. Was this some strange cultural practice from Mistral? An act of rebellion against gender norms? A bizarre bet he had lost to Nora? But no, he had been doing this for weeks - long enough that some of the newer students had simply accepted that Ren was just another reserved, graceful Beacon girl, albeit a rather tall one.

And to Weiss' mounting frustration, it was working.

"Oh, Ren~" A second-year Huntress - Mina, if Weiss recalled - giggled as she walked past his table, twirling a strand of her brown hair between her fingers as she held out a small, wrapped parcel, "I made some extra pastries last night, and I thought you might like some! You just look like you'd appreciate them."

Ren blinked once, his expression serene, and gave a small, elegant nod as he accepted the gift, "That's very kind of you. Thank you." He didn't even bother to mask his voice! That frustrated her for reasons she couldn't really articulate.

Weiss watched, flabbergasted, as Mina turned a shade of red that could put Pyrrha's hair to shame before practically floating away in giddy delight. Ren, for his part, calmly unwrapped the pastry, took a bite, and resumed sipping his tea, utterly nonchalant, "What the hell am I watching right now?" Weiss muttered under her breath.

"Same thing we've been watching for a month," Yang said, dropping into the seat beside her with an amused grin, "Our boy Ren has completely gamed the system."

"This is not a system, this is manipulation!" Weiss hissed, "This...This is fraud! He's pretending to be a girl!"

"I mean...is he?" Yang smirked, resting her chin on her hand as she lazily glanced over at Ren, who had now attracted a small flock of admirers eager to fawn over him, "He never actually says he's a girl. He just...lets people assume. And let's be real, he's always been prettier than half the girls at this school. He just finally figured out how to use it." 'Finally'? He'd been wearing a skirt ever since the first day of classes! And judging by the ease with which he did it and Nora's (uncharacteristic) lack of comment, he'd been doing it long before he arrived in Beacon.

"That doesn't make it right!" Weiss insisted, indignant, "He's exploiting people's generosity under false pretenses!"

"Oh, please, don't pretend you wouldn't do the same if you thought you could get away with it," Yang snickered, nudging Weiss playfully, "You literally grew up getting special treatment just because of your last name."

"That is not the same thing," Weiss said through gritted teeth, turning a sharp glare on her teammate. How dare Yang equate the two?! She never tricked anyone. She truly was a Schnee from the day she was born into this world. And besides, she rarely ever accepted such gifts. She knew all too well that people simply coveted her last name and were trying to weasel their way into her good graces. She would've far preferred if they kept their overtures to themselves.

Yang just grinned wider, "Alright, Schnee, then let me ask you this: do you really think Ren is doing anything wrong?"

Weiss opened her mouth to immediately confirm that yes, of course, this was completely unethical, but the words died on her tongue as she hesitated. Because technically...technically Ren wasn't actually lying. He hadn't changed his name, hadn't gone out of his way to trick people - he had just stopped correcting anyone who assumed, and he was playing up his natural elegance to lean into it. He wasn't forcing anyone to give him favors, they were doing it willingly.

It reminded her of Arc, much to her frustration. The stubborn fool kept trying to woo her with his (nonexistent) country charms and other more material things such as movie tickets and dinner invitations. She rejected them all, of course, but if she accepted without explicitly promising him anything back, she wouldn't have been wrong. On the contrary, Jaune would look like the entitled one for thinking that he was owed something because she accepted gifts he willingly gave. As if her affection was something that could be bought.

Weiss hated it. She hated that it worked. She hated that there was no rule against it. And most of all, she hated that she couldn't actually prove it was wrong.

And worst of all, it wasn't just girls treating him differently, "Hey, Ren," a male student - Jared, Weiss vaguely recalled - walked up, rubbing the back of his head as he awkwardly held out a thermos, "I, uh, noticed you drink a lot of tea, and, well, my dad owns a tea shop, so I thought, y'know, maybe you'd like to try some of this blend? It's, um, imported from Mistral, so I figured you might appreciate it..."

Ren turned his gaze to Jared, blinking once in that measured, serene way of his, before reaching out to accept the thermos with practiced grace, "That's very thoughtful. I look forward to trying it." Jared turned a bright shade of red, mumbled something about having to leave, and practically stumbled over himself retreating.

Weiss slammed her hands down on the table, "Oh, come on!"

Ren merely took another sip of tea.

Days passed, and Weiss' frustration only grew with each ridiculous instance of Ren effortlessly gaming the system.

At first, she thought the absurdity would wear off, that people would eventually wise up and stop falling for his perfectly poised, soft-spoken demeanor. But no. If anything, the sheer audacity of his scheme only escalated despite him changing nothing. It was like watching an investment that never dipped in value; something that broke the laws of reality. Ren's unspoken con continued to yield greater and greater returns, and the worst part was that it didn't even seem like he had to try.

The gifts kept rolling in.

At breakfast, some flustered first-year from Vacuo - Vacuo! Those people hated everyone outside their sandy hellhole of a country! - offered him a delicate box of expensive chocolates, tripping over his words as he assured Ren, "They're really good! Like, imported from Atlas and everything! Not that you have to eat them if you don't want to, I just thought, you know, you might-"

Ren accepted them with an elegant nod, as if he were royalty granting an audience, and said, "That's very kind. I appreciate the thought."

Weiss had to watch this boy - this scammer - receive a gift worth more than her entire daily meal budget, while she, a Schnee, had to buy her own food like some common peasant. She was used to a certain lifestyle in Atlas, but she had to start budgeting ever since she arrived in Beacon. Beacon's palate was well enough, she supposed, but outside of it? Her usual five-star meals had to be bumped down to three. Three. But she soldiered on, determined to co continue her rebellion against her father.

Much to her frustration, tt didn't stop there. In combat class, when the instructors paired everyone up for sparring, another student - a broad-shouldered Atlesian whose name Weiss couldn't recall because she was too busy seething - insisted on taking the hit for Ren when Professor Goodwitch launched a surprise volley of floating training dummies at them during a practice session.

"It's fine, Ren," the boy gasped, pushing himself up from where he had just been bodied into the floor, "You shouldn't have to get hit."

Ren, standing pristinely unscathed with his hands folded neatly in front of him, gave the poor fool a small bow, "That's very chivalrous of you." He smiled, and she swore she saw sparkles. Weiss very nearly exploded on the spot.

But the absolute last straw came when Ren casually strolled into the library one afternoon, trailed by a familiar upperclassman. Klaus Faulke, a fellow Atlesian and one of the best Dust specialists in Beacon. Even he had apparently fallen victim to whatever ungodly enchantment Ren had placed on half the student body; though at this point, saying half felt like a vast underestimation.

And in Klaus' hands? A pristine, expertly crafted case of high-quality, pure-cut Dust crystals.

Not the cheap, overprocessed Dust you could buy at any old corner store. No, this was Dust that was carefully refined, free of impurities, and probably worth a small fortune (or in her case, her monthly allowance). The kind of Dust Weiss would have to place a special order for through proper channels and wait weeks to receive. Another trial she had to deal with. Back at home, she would've received it in a day, but Father was petty and insisted on making her life difficult.

And Ren just got it.

No effort. No begging. No ridiculous paperwork or Schnee family connections. All he needed was a skirt and a pair of heels.

Ren nodded politely and looked down at the packaged luxury, "That's very generous of you. Are you certain?"

And Klaus, the absolute buffoon, grinned and nodded like a man who had just been blessed by some divine being, "Of course, Ren! I mean, it's not like I don't have extra, and you're so skilled with your Mistrali techniques - I figured you'd make better use of this than I would!"

Weiss couldn't take it anymore. She slammed her book shut so violently that several students jumped. She stormed over the moment the Klaus left, slamming her hands onto Ren's table with enough force to rattle his teacup. The student librarian looked over and seemed like she was about to reprimand her for making a scene, but a glare from the heiress made her look away.

"You have to stop this," Weiss said through gritted teeth.

Ren calmly closed his book and looked up at her. His expression didn't change, but there was the faintest tilt of his head, like he was quietly amused, "Stop what?"

"This! This!" Weiss gestured wildly at the neatly wrapped Dust box, at the surrounding students still stealing longing glances at Ren like he was some kind of untouchable goddess, "This...scam you're running!"

Ren blinked at her, "I don't recall charging anyone money."

"That's not the point!" Weiss sputtered, "You're taking advantage of people! Of their kindness! Of...Of their gullibility!"

"Am I?" Ren tilted his head, "They offered. I accepted."

Weiss' eye twitched, "You didn't correct them."

"I never lied." He shrugged, "I don't demand things or act in a way to deliberately entice people like some femme fatale. I'm simply sitting here."

"Ren, you are sitting here in a skirt, reading a book like some delicate noblewoman while people fawn over you and give you high-quality Dust! That's not normal!"

Ren glanced down at himself, as if genuinely pondering her words, before he shrugged again, "It's quite comfortable. And as I recall, Beacon has no rules saying that male students are not allowed to wear the uniform this way."

"That's not the point!" Weiss clenched her fists, feeling her last thread of patience fray, "Do you have any shame?"

Ren hummed, "Not particularly."

Weiss did scream this time. Just a little. A strangled, frustrated noise of pure, unfiltered rage. Again, the student librarian made to say something before Weiss' glare sent her packing with a squeak.

And, of course, as if the universe wanted to punish her, another student approached, "Uh, hey, Ren," a soft-spoken boy mumbled, nervously adjusting his glasses as he held out what looked like a small, leather-bound book, "I, um, noticed you liked tea, and I had this guide on different blends and brewing techniques, and I thought maybe, uh, you'd like it...?"

Ren took the book with that same placid, graceful air, fingers brushing lightly over the embossed cover, "That's very thoughtful. Thank you." The boy made a tiny, delighted noise and scurried off before Weiss could grab him and shake some sense into him.

Weiss slowly turned back to Ren, trembling with barely restrained fury. She clenched both hands and took a deep, steadying breath. She had to stay calm. Rational. Reasonable. Yelling hadn't worked. Accusations hadn't worked. Maybe, just maybe, if she appealed to Ren's morals, she could get through to him, "Ren," she said, hands pressed flat against the table, leaning forward with the most serious expression she could muster, "This is wrong."

Ren, still composed as ever, slowly looked up from his book once more, blinking as if she had just told him the weather was a bit cloudy today. His gaze was impassive and unreadable, which only made Weiss more frustrated. She was trying to have a serious discussion here, and he was acting as if she were suggesting a new tea flavor!

"You are knowingly taking advantage of people's generosity under false pretenses!" Weiss pressed on, pointing at him like an attorney about to slam down damning evidence, "They think you're someone you're not!"

Ren raised a brow, tilting his head slightly, "Do they?"

Weiss' mouth opened, the words 'Of course they do!' ready to spring forth, before she stopped. The sound caught in her throat because...well...actually, did they? She thought back to every interaction she'd witnessed. No one had explicitly called Ren a girl. He never once claimed to be anything other than himself. He merely existed, albeit in a skirt, stockings, and perfectly coordinated outfits that should not have worked so well, and just...let people assume what they wanted.

A thought came to her, unbidden. What if they knew and that was part of the appeal? Beacon wasn't exactly lacking in attractive women. Statuesque champions like Pyrrha, party girls with needless globules of fat like Yang, 'mysterious beauties' like Blake, and of course, an elegant woman of culture like herself. Even Ruby, as juvenile as she could be, appealed to someone. It was often told that there was no such thing as an unattractive Huntress, and so far, her time at Beacon had nothing to dispel that.

And yet, none of them had received gifts or looks of adoration. Just Ren. Ren with his flat chest, skirt, and high heels. Not like her at all.

"I- that's not the point!" Weiss huffed, doubling down and banishing the errant thought, "You know they wouldn't be acting this way if you weren't-" she gestured furiously at his entire being, "- like this!"

Ren took a slow sip of his tea, serene, "This?"

"This!" she repeated, even more furiously, waving at him as if that somehow explained everything.

"I see." Ren set his book down and regarded her with an even gaze, "Tell me, Weiss, how is this any different from people giving you things because you're Weiss Schnee?"

Weiss felt the gears in her head grind to a halt. She opened her mouth, shut it, then opened it again. She was suddenly reminded of Yang making the same argument a few days back, "That's...that's different!" she sputtered, pointing a finger at him as if that alone would obliterate his entire argument.

Ren's lips quirked upwards ever so slightly, "I agree," he said mildly, tapping the leatherbound cover, "It is different."

Weiss folded her arms, triumphant, "Exactly!"

Then Ren leaned forward just slightly, just enough that Weiss felt the calm danger radiating from his words, "You grew up in luxury, wanting for nothing," he said evenly, "I, on the other hand, am an orphan who has had no support system since I was seven years old." Weiss blinked. Once. Twice. The entire room seemed to go very quiet. Ren continued, utterly serene, "So yes, Weiss. Please, enlighten me. Why wouldn't I accept freely given gifts?" He tilted his head, voice as gentle as ever, "Wouldn't it be wasteful to refuse them?"

Weiss' mouth opened and closed like a fish. She made a noise. Some kind of noise that she couldn't fully describe. Something strangled and caught between an indignant gasp and the sound of a malfunctioning Dust engine.

Ren regarded her for a moment longer before his head tilted just slightly, and Weiss caught something in his gaze that made her stomach twist. His next words were quiet, "Weiss...are you jealous?"

Weiss jerked back like she'd been slapped, "What?!"

Ren simply blinked at her, calm as ever, "It would explain your fixation. My 'con', as you say it', hasn't negatively impacted you in the least, and yet you act as if I'd personally offended you. If I didn't know any better, I'd think this was less about looking out for your fellow students and more jealousy that you aren't the one receiving this attention."

Weiss' face burned and she grit her teeth before she stomped her foot, "Jealous?! Of you?! Don't be ridiculous! Why on Remnant would I be jealous of some cheap con art- "

"Ah," Ren exhaled softly, like he had just confirmed something.

Weiss bristled, "What?! What was that?! What do you mean 'ah'?! Stop acting like you figured something out!"

"It was nice talking to you, Weiss, but I must be leaving. Take care of yourself." He nodded and stood, taking his book with him. Weiss sputtered and tried to call him back, but the crossdressing boy paid her no mind at all. As soon as he was out the door, her shriek shook the entire campus.

Weiss had finally had enough.

A full day had passed since her last conversation with Ren, and in that time, she had stewed, fumed, and nearly given herself an aneurysm thinking about the sheer audacity of his scam. She had tried to let it go. She had tried to tell herself that it wasn't her problem, that if people wanted to make fools of themselves by throwing gifts at an androgynous grifter in a skirt, that was their business. She was here to be a Huntress, not save idiots from themselves.

But then it happened.

Breakfast in the cafeteria. A picturesque morning, ruined by Ren receiving yet another gift. This time, it was an ornate silver pendant, polished to a mirror shine, held out to him by some lovestruck fourth-year girl who should have absolutely known better. Weiss barely heard what they said - something about it being a family heirloom, something about how "it would suit someone as elegant as you, Ren."

Ren, of course, had accepted it with the same unreadable grace as always, he merely inclined his head, took the gift without a second thought, and muttered, "That's very kind of you."

Weiss saw red.

She stood so fast that her chair scraped against the floor, drawing a few nearby glances. But she didn't care. She couldn't take this anymore. Enough was enough. She slammed a hand on the table, took a deep breath, and announced in a loud, clear voice.

"LIE REN IS A MAN!"

Silence.

Well...not actual silence. The cafeteria was still buzzing with conversation. People were still talking, eating, laughing - and completely ignoring her as if she had just said something as banal as 'the weather is nice today'. A couple of first-years glanced over in mild confusion before shrugging and returning to their meals. A few people at the next table over paused, only to look at her as if she was the weird one before continuing their discussion about last night's movie screening.

Even the girl who had just gifted Ren the pendant barely reacted. She just blinked, then turned back to Ren and said, "Anyway, I hope you like it! I can get it engraved if you want!"

Ren, unbothered, nodded slightly, "That won't be necessary, but I appreciate the thought."

Weiss' right eye twitched. She'd just exposed him. She had declared to the world that this was all a sham, that the beloved, graceful, elegant 'lady' of Beacon was, in fact, a man.

And no one cared!

She turned to the nearest group of students - a trio of second-years who had definitely been among Ren's admirers - and gestured wildly at him, "Did you hear me?! Ren is a man!" she said, sounding almost crazed.

One of them, a tall boy with a Vacuo accent, raised an eyebrow, "Yeah? We know."

Weiss felt something deep within her fracture, "Then why are you- how are you all still-" She gestured helplessly as Ren, utterly unbothered, accepted a small tin of what looked like imported Vacuoan saffron from yet another admirer. People were literally lining up to give him gifts!

The boy shrugged, "He's still pretty."

Weiss nearly screamed. Yes, he was pretty, but so was literally every other Huntress in this school! And yet none of these...cretins were lining up to give praise and gifts to any of them! Not Yang, who bragged consistently about how hot she was. Not Pyrrha, who constantly lamented how people put her on a pedestal. And certainly not herself, despite (in her unbiased opinion) being one of the most attractive Huntresses in all of Beacon!

No, it all went to him.

She turned back to Ren and found him watching her with the same unreadable expression as always. Except this time, there was something else behind it. A hint of something that, to Weiss, felt infinitely worse than smugness.

Pity. He looked at her with quiet, almost gentle pity, as if she were a child throwing a tantrum over something insignificant. She almost slammed her hands through the table. Weiss grit her teeth so hard it was a miracle she didn't ground them into Dust, "Why isn't this working?!" she hissed, barely keeping herself from shaking him by the shoulders.

Ren exhaled softly, folding his hands in his lap, "Weiss," he said, calm as ever, "what exactly did you think would happen?"

Weiss opened her mouth, prepared to yell, but then she stopped. What did she think would happen? That everyone would suddenly gasp in horror? That there would be cries of "How could we have been so blind?!" That people would immediately stop giving Ren gifts and realize they had been fooled?

But no one was fooled. No one cared. They knew. They'd always known. And yet, somehow, Ren's grift was so powerful that it didn't even need deception to work. Weiss looked down at the floor, her expression blank. And then she looked at Ren, smiled, and walked out of the cafeteria, a woman defeated.

Ren returned to the team JNPR dorm with the same calm demeanor as always, closing the door behind him with quiet precision. Today was a good day, he thought. He assumed that the fervour would die down relatively quickly, yet it was weeks later and he still received generous gifts. Perhaps it was because they were Huntsmen-in-training. He knew from experience that while Huntsmen were well-paid, it also meant that many spent lavishly. Work hard, spend hard. The weekly Beacon stipend was generous enough that they didn't even think about buying this and that.

The second he stepped inside, he barely had time to set down his things before a blur of orange and pink barreled into him at full spee, "Ren~!" Nora practically tackled him into a hug, squeezing him tight, "You're back! What'd ya get?!"

Ren let out a quiet breath, already used to this routine, and carefully pried himself from her grip before holding up the various items he had collected throughout the day, "An imported Vacuoan spice tin, an ornate silver pendant, and a fine silk hair ribbon from Vale." The ribbon he could use. His hair was only getting longer and a high ponytail would be a nice change of pace. Besides, it wouldn't do to not take advantage of the gifts he'd been given.

Nora beamed, reaching out to poke at the pendant before sighing dramatically, "Ugh, still no pancake mix? Come on, Ren, you're slipping!"

Ren, completely unbothered, set the items neatly on his desk, "I'll take note of that for next time."

"Good!" She plopped onto his bed, stretching out with a satisfied grin, "I mean, don't get me wrong, all this fancy Dust and jewelry stuff is great, but where's the practical stuff? Like syrup? Or pre-mixed batter? Or a whole griddle?" She gave him an expectant look, "C'mon, Renny! If you're gonna game the system, at least make sure it benefits me too." Ren hummed and refrained from pointing out that she'd been benefiting for the past couple of years already.

Instead, he simply nodded, "I'll make adjustments."

Jaune, who'd been lounging at his own bed, finally looked up from his comic book, "So, uh, not that it's any of my business, but I still don't really get why you're doing this." He scratched his head, looking puzzled, "Like, okay, I helped with the makeup 'cause my sisters used me for practice growing up, but I kinda thought this was a one-time thing. You've been dressing like this since day one."

Ren, unfazed, walked over to the mirror and began removing his earrings (another gift) with practiced ease, "You don't need to understand it." Jaune didn't grow up spoiled and wanting for nothing like Weiss, but he was raised in a loving family in the idyllic countryside. He wouldn't understand.

The first time it happened was a couple of years back. Nora, being Nora, had spilled syrup on his closet while doing one of her experiments. Given that he couldn't exactly go about town in his underwear, he was forced to wear one of her outfits as he did his shopping.

That was when it started. The shopkeepers who didn't look at him twice suddenly acted far nicer and gave him discounts. A few of the older ladies had even given him free samples and extras. In the end, he didn't have to expend nearly as much of their meager budget. Nora's face had practically lit up when he came back to the inn with a veritable feast (by their standards, at least). If they were careful, they could go a couple of weeks without being forced to skip meal days.

So he tried again. The next town they went to, he borrowed a pair of Nora's earrings in addition to the outfit. He received even more compliments and, more importantly, more gifts. At first, he thought they would want something from him, something...base. Instead, they stuck to compliments about his looks. It was odd, but he didn't complain. The gifts were useful either in their daily lives or to sell for much-needed supplies. Aura came with many benefits, but because of their training regiment, it only seemed to worsen their appetites. They needed as much as they could get, and if him dressing up pretty could get them that, then he did it with no shame.

And now here they were, already at Beacon but still getting gifts. While he strictly didn't need the gifts anymore, he kept them for a rainy day. The life of a Huntsman was dangerous, after all, and while there was an association that claimed to look out for them, he'd heard more than enough stories of Huntsmen who were forced to fend for themselves after being crippled in the line of duty. He wasn't going to leave himself or Nora to the mercy of the wolves. Not again.

Jaune frowned, "That's not an answer."

Ren gave him a small, almost knowing smile, "It's the only one you're getting."

Jaune groaned, rubbing his temples, "Whatever. You're being weird, dude."

Ren simply nodded, "And yet, I have a growing collection of rare imported goods. Interesting, isn't it?"

Jaune opened his mouth to argue, paused, then groaned again, "I hate that you have a point."

Nora giggled, "Don't fight it, Jaune-Jaune. Ren's got the magic touch!" She wiggled her fingers dramatically, "He's got powers we mere mortals can't comprehend! But yeah, get some more syrup next time, Renny!"

Ren hummed in quiet amusement, unfastening his stockings. Another day passed, and tomorrow was yet to come.

Ren stepped out of the dorm, his usual serene expression in place, his uniform immaculate as ever. The morning air was crisp, the halls of Beacon quiet but gradually filling with students beginning their routines. Another day, another opportunity. He adjusted the ribbon in his hair - the blue fabric provided a nice contrast to his dark hair - and made his way down the hall, mentally cataloging what he still needed to acquire.

Then he saw Cardin.

The moment Ren spotted the hulking brute of Team CRDL standing near the hallway intersection, his steps slowed ever so slightly. Not out of fear, no. Cardin Winchester was many things - a racist, a bully, an egotistical manchild - but none of them included being a legitimate threat to him. No, Ren hesitated because something was...off.

Cardin wasn't striding around with his usual smug confidence, nor was he actively harassing someone like a stereotypical schoolyard bully who had yet to realize they were in an academy full of superpowered teenagers (though to be fair, neither did Velvet Scarlatina given her refusal to defend herself). Instead, he was...awkward.

Ren's brow lifted slightly as he observed the anomaly in front of him. Cardin was standing stiffly, shifting from one foot to another, his hands behind his back as if he was hiding something. His face was...was that a flush? Hm. Cardin's eyes flickered up, met Ren's gaze for all of two seconds, and immediately darted away.

Fascinating.

Ren crossed his arms, tilting his head slightly, "Can I help you?"

Cardin flinched. Ren had faced Grimm with more self-confidence than what was currently exuding from the largest idiot in Beacon. The larger boy grunted, opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it. And then, with a sharp inhale, took two aggressive steps forward and shoved a box of chocolates into Ren's hands.

Ren blinked, looking down at the box. It was a decent brand, mid-range quality but clearly bought fresh; probably from a market down in Vale. Not the worst thing he'd been given. He inspected it idly, noting the neat packaging and slight warmth from having been held for too long. His eyes flickered back up to Cardin, who was now standing there, tense, looking like he was reconsidering every decision that had led him to this moment.

Ren raised a brow, "...Thank you?"

Cardin made a strangled noise, turned on his heel, and ran. The sound of his heavy boots pounding against the tile echoed down the hallway as he vanished at full sprint like a man escaping a horde of rampaging Grimm. Ren watched him go, trying to process what just happened. He looked down at the chocolates again before he opened the box, plucked one out, and ate it.

Hmm. Tasty.