Chapter 6. Be Careful of the Wolf in Sheep's Clothing
| Jaune POV |
Another day, another miracle of surviving through Professor Port's Grimm Studies class.
Well, I call it 'surviving', but honestly, it's not that bad. Mainly because I sleep through exactly fifty-five minutes of his sixty-minute lecture. The drone of his voice recounting entirely fabricated stories about wrestling Beowolves bare-handed acts as excellent white noise.
I stretched in my seat, popping my shoulders as the final bell finally mercifully rang, echoing through the tiered amphitheater.
The rest of my team was chattering around me, completely ignoring the fact I was just waking up.
"Pancakes for lunch!" Nora announced loudly, her hands on her hips in a victorious pose. "We haven't had them since yesterday morning! It's a crime against syrup!"
"We had pancakes for breakfast, Nora," Ren shot her down smoothly, not even looking up from his notebook as he packed his bag. "And you had waffles for dinner last night. You require vegetables. And protein that isn't processed sugar."
"Renny is a tyrant!" Nora gasped dramatically, throwing herself against Pyrrha's side. "Pyrrha, tell him he's being a tyrant!"
"I'm sure the cafeteria has a lovely balanced option we can all enjoy," Pyrrha deflected flawlessly, her smile bright and diplomatic. She was just happy to be included in the bickering.
I let out a long sigh, shoving my hands into my hoodie pockets as we walked out of the classroom together. Or, well, as Nora dragged the three of us out together, desperate to get a table before the lunch rush hit.
It was our usual, obnoxiously loud routine.
However, as we merged into the main corridor, I noticed something slightly... off.
It wasn't an overt threat. My threat-perception hadn't spiked. But the subtle attention of the hallway had definitely shifted.
We were receiving an unusual amount of stares from the passing upperclassmens.
Or, more accurately, I was receiving them.
Students wearing second and third-year uniforms were pausing their conversations as we walked by, their eyes tracking my blonde hair with a mix of curiosity, apprehension, and in a few cases, outright hostility.
What the hell? I wondered internally, keeping my expression bored and detached. I don't think I've done anything particularly noteworthy recently. At least, nothing besides rearranging the faces of those three losers on the very first night.
But that was weeks ago. Old news. Ancient history by high school gossip standards. In a school full of super-powered teenagers blowing up training arenas on a daily basis, a minor stairwell scuffle shouldn't have any staying power.
Or so I thought.
As our team approached the grand staircase leading down to the main cafeteria atrium, a second-year student suddenly stepped out from a branching corridor, planting herself firmly in the center of our path.
She was hard to miss. She was tall, dressed in impeccably tailored, high-fashion combat gear, wearing a stylish brown beret and carrying a handbag that I sincerely doubted just held makeup.
"Hey, blondie," she called out, her voice dripping with absolute, unapologetic confidence.
She stopped right in front of us, resting a hand on her hip as she reached up with her other hand and slightly lowered her dark aviator sunglasses, peering over the rims at me.
"You're the kid I told to go upstairs for the best vending machine on the first night, right?" she asked.
I stopped. Nora, Ren, and Pyrrha stopped behind me, looking incredibly confused.
"Yeah," I just nodded, offering the bare minimum of acknowledgement.
"Hm... I thought so," the girl smirked, her dark eyes evaluating me from head to toe. "You have a one-of-a-kind 'dead fish' stare that I remember clearly."
"Oi," I muttered, my brow twitching slightly in irritation. "What do you mean, 'dead fish stare'? Rude."
"Truth hurts, fashion disaster," she shot back smoothly, entirely unfazed. "Anyway, I heard from some of my friends that three third-years tried to extort you right after we talked. But you beat them up. Right?"
She asked it casually, like she was asking if I had finished my homework.
Behind me, I heard Pyrrha gasp softly. I could feel Ren's eyes burning into the back of my skull. And Nora suddenly went incredibly still.
"Yeah, pretty much," I answered her, not breaking eye contact.
"Cool," the girl in the beret nodded, shifting her weight. "Anyway, your fishy eyes aren't important right now. What is important is that the leader of those three goons you beat up just came back to campus today. He was away on a long, 'family-funded' vacation."
She took a step closer, lowering her voice slightly so it wouldn't carry down the crowded hall.
"And he's been looking for you, blondie," she warned, her tone losing its playful edge for a brief moment. "While those three goons you put in the infirmary aren't much to write home about, you do need to be a bit more careful about him. He's ranked in the top three of the third-year combat tier. And he holds grudges."
I stared at her blankly.
"I'm telling you this as a way of saying sorry," she explained, shrugging her stylish shoulders. "I accidentally sent you up those stairs to get mugged. Even if I didn't know they were running a toll at the time, my directions put you in the crosshairs. So, I figured a heads-up would square my conscience."
She leaned forward, pushing her sunglasses back up the bridge of her nose. "So, we're even now, yeah, dead-eye?"
I just shrugged.
"Eh," I replied, keeping my voice flat. "I guess. I appreciate the intel, even if I don't really care if some loser have a grudge with me. Thanks, senior."
The girl laughed, a sharp, genuinely amused sound.
"I like you, kid. You got spunk," she grinned, turning to leave. "You can call me Coco. Don't hesitate to chat me up if you're not hospitalized after lunch. See ya, freshy!"
And with that, Coco Adel turned on her heel and walked away, her hips swaying with a practiced, runway rhythm, her handbag clinking against her thigh.
I watched her go, my gold eyes tracking her retreating form. She had an interesting walk. Very nice strut. Very confident.
It really showed off her nice ass.
Ouch.
"Hey!" I complained, rubbing my cheek as Pyrrha's fingers suddenly pinched the skin.
"Staring is rude, Jaune," Pyrrha scolded gently, though her green eyes were slightly narrowed.
"Come on," I defended myself, pulling out of her pinch. "If she's putting on a show while walking away, it would be rude not to watch. I'm only being polite."
Pyrrha rolled her eyes, her polite facade cracking just enough to let the exasperation show. "No, bad Jaune! Also, more importantly..."
Her expression turned incredibly serious. She crossed her arms, standing directly in front of me to block my view of Coco walking away... What a shame.
"Why did you never say you almost got hurt by seniors on the very first night?" Pyrrha demanded, her voice tight with genuine worry. She turned to glare at the ginger beside her. "And you too, Nora. You went looking for him that night. If you knew he got into a fight, you should have told us! We're a team!"
I turned to look at Nora, raising an eyebrow. I had bought her silence with two large iced coffees and stolen lien. A perfectly solid, unbreakable contract.
Nora, the absolute traitor, immediately wilted under Pyrrha's motherly glare and threw me under the bus.
"He bribed me!" Nora cried out, pointing an accusing finger directly at my chest. "He bought me contraband espresso with the money he mugged from the seniors! I'm a victim of his bad-boy corruption!"
I let out a long, exhausted sigh, rubbing my temples as a headache immediately began to form.
"He... he mugged them?" Ren repeated softly, closing his eyes as if praying for patience. "Our team leader mugged three upperclassmen on our first night."
And just like that, the team began to needlessly worry.
Pyrrha immediately launched into a frantic, worried lecture about the dangers of escalating conflicts with upperclassmen, suggesting that they needed to be together with me at all times to make sure I was 'safe' from retaliation.
I tuned them out.
| Pyrrha Nikos POV |
Pyrrha was still chattering nervously, trying to formulate a diplomatic strategy to de-escalate the situation, as Team JNPR walked out of the main classroom buildings and into the bustling, sunlit courtyard leading to the cafeteria.
But her strategy died on her lips as soon as she saw him.
Waiting directly in front of the main cafeteria doors, blocking the entrance, was a boy. He had spiky gelled brown hair, wore dark, angular sunglasses, and possessed an aura of such overwhelming, sneering arrogance that students were actively avoiding a ten-foot radius around him.
He leaned against the wooden door, his arms crossed over his chest, his uniform unbuttoned at the collar.
"So," the boy sneered, his voice carrying easily over the courtyard chatter. "You're the little freshy that beat up my team while I was out?"
Pyrrha immediately stepped forward, reaching for Miló at her hip. She needed to protect Jaune. A top-ranked third-year was no joke. Even if Jaune had managed to surprise three lesser seniors in a dark stairwell, fighting a fully prepared, top-tier veteran in broad daylight was suicide.
But Jaune simply held up a hand, stopping her advance without even looking back.
He walked forward, his hands still shoved deep into his hoodie pockets. He stopped a few feet away from the spiky-haired senior, his expression completely blank.
"It seems this year's first-years really need to be taught a lesson in respecting their betters," the senior growled, pushing off the door and towering over Jaune.
Jaune didn't flinch. He didn't look intimidated. He just tilted his head slightly and began 'yes-manning' him with absolutely zero care.
"Yup," Jaune agreed lazily, popping the 'p'.
The senior blinked, thrown off by the lack of fear. "You think this is a joke?!"
"My bad," Jaune replied smoothly, his tone flat.
"I'm going to break your legs, you arrogant little shit!"
"Oh, you're totally right," Jaune nodded agreeably, not missing a beat.
"Are you even listening to me?!" the senior yelled, his face turning red with fury.
"Uh-huh," Jaune said, staring blankly at the senior's forehead.
"I'll crush you!"
"Yes. Definitely."
Pyrrha watched in sheer bewilderment. It looked exactly like the senior was talking to an automated, robot that had only been programmed to agree with whatever was shouted at it.
Once the senior realized he was being entirely ignored, his fury boiled over. He glared down at Jaune, jabbing a finger into Jaune's chest.
"You. Me. In the combat ring. Now," the senior demanded, his voice dropping to a lethal hiss. "Unless you're just some weak-ass coward hiding behind your girls. Because if you won't fight, I'm going to need at least a thousand lien right now to pay for my friends' medical bills."
He smiled smugly, clearly thinking he had backed the 'weak' freshman into a corner. Extortion or a humiliating public beatdown.
Jaune went silent for a long moment.
He looked down at the finger jabbing into his chest. Then, slowly, he raised his head to look the senior directly in the eyes.
An odd, deeply unsettling smile began to rise from the corners of Jaune's lips.
Pyrrha felt the hair on the back of her neck stand straight up. It was the same feeling she had experienced in the Emerald Forest.
His striking gold eyes seemed to narrow, the pupils contracting into sharp, curved slits, and for a terrifying second, Pyrrha could have sworn the irises flashed in the sunlight. His mouth curved into a polite, damning smile.
It was exactly like looking at a viper that had just found its prey and was politely asking it to hold still.
"Totally, totally..." Jaune said cheerfully, his voice sudden carrying a warm, incredibly smooth cadence. "But a thousand lien? Come on, Senior. That's way too small for the damage I caused, right?"
The senior blinked, bewildered by the sudden shift in tone and the fact the freshman was offering more money. "Uh... what?"
"What about we make it ten thousand lien?" Jaune asked brightly, smiling up at the man like an eager student.
"Ten... ten grand?!" the senior spluttered, his arrogant smirk instantly replaced by sheer greed. Ten thousand lien was a massive amount of money. It was nearly a full semester's stipend.
"I'll happily pay you ten thousand lien to cover your great team's hospital bills," Jaune nodded eagerly. "It's just... well, it would totally look bad if I just gave it to you right here in the hallway, wouldn't it? People would think you're extorting a poor, defenseless first-year if they saw this."
He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
"So, instead, how about this? Let's make it an official, sanctioned bet. We'll get a teacher—like Professor Goodwitch—to oversee it in the arena. Whoever wins a quick spar wins the ten grand. Clean. Official. No rule-breaking."
The senior's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why would you want to make it an official match? You know I'll crush you."
"Well, exactly!" Jaune beamed, laying the charm on thicker than syrup. "Of course I wouldn't win! You're a third-year! And not just any third-year, but ranked in the top three, right? There's absolutely no way I'd win against someone like you!"
Jaune's smile seemed to widen even more, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
"I'm just a weak first-year. I haven't even been at Beacon for a month," Jaune continued, his voice practically dripping with faux-admiration. "So instead of just a bet... Senior, can you please use the spar to teach me a few moves? Think of it as a masterclass! Then, when you inevitably defeat me, I'll happily transfer the ten grand as my loss for the bet, but I get the honor of being trained, even for just a few minutes, by a great, top-tier third-year like you!"
He bowed slightly, offering the senior maximum, absolute respect. "Please, Senior. It would be an honor."
Pyrrha stared. It was a trap. A huge obvious neon bright trap. Who would fall for such things?
The senior, having his massive, fragile ego stroked so flawlessly and publicly, and blinded by the prospect of an easy ten thousand lien payday, caved.
And her doubt answers itself.
"Hah! Fine!" the senior laughed loudly, puffing out his chest and looking around at the gathered crowd to make sure they heard the freshman begging for his tutelage. "If you want to pay me ten grand just to get your ass kicked and call it a 'lesson', who am I to deny an eager junior? Let's go to the arena!"
Ten minutes later.
The main combat amphitheater was buzzing. Word of a ten-thousand-lien grudge match between a notorious third-year and the goofy blonde freshman from Team JNPR had spread like wildfire.
Professor Glynda Goodwitch stood at the referee's podium, looking intensely irritated by the impromptu exhibition, but bound by the school's dueling bylaws to oversee it.
"This is an unsanctioned grievance spar," Goodwitch announced coldly, adjusting her glasses. "Arena rules apply. The match ends when an Aura reaches the red zone, upon yield, or being out of bounds. Are both combatants ready?"
The upperclassmen cracked his neck and grinned maliciously across the ring. He was fully kitted out in heavy combat gear.
Opposite him stood Jaune.
Jaune hadn't even bothered to visit the locker room. He was still wearing his standard school uniform: black hoodie, jeans, and sneakers. He hadn't drawn Crocea Mors. His hands were just hanging loosely by his sides.
"Senior," Jaune called out politely, bowing his head slightly. "I'll be under your care now. Please, go easy on me."
The senior just laughed a loud, barking sound that echoed off the arena walls.
"Yes, yes, Junior. Don't worry, just do your best to block!" the senior yelled back, twirling his axes confidently. "In fact... just to show everyone what a generous guy I am, and to make this even fairer... I'll give you the very first move for free! Come on! Show me what you've got!"
He spread his arms wide, leaving his entire chest exposed, mocking Jaune.
Jaune just happily nodded, his goofy, innocent smile firmly in place.
"Wow, Senior is so confident!" Jaune cheered loudly for the whole audience to hear. "I have so much to learn from you! Well, here I go then!"
Jaune took a hesitant, clumsy-looking step forward. He jogged awkwardly across the white tiles, his arms swinging loosely, looking entirely untrained.
The senior stood perfectly still, grinning, waiting for the pathetic punch to land on his fully charged Aura shield.
But just as Jaune got within striking distance, he suddenly stopped. He blinked, looking down at the senior's waist with an expression of sheer surprise.
"Ugh..." Jaune pointed downward, his face turning slightly red. "Senior... your fly is undone."
"What?"
The senior's arrogant grin vanished instantly. He instinctively looked down at his own crotch, his hands dropping to check his zipper in a moment of pure, panicked embarrassment.
It was the oldest, most pathetic playground trick in the book.
But against an arrogant fighter hyped up on adrenaline and ego? It worked flawlessly.
Before the senior could even realize his zipper was fine, and before he could snap his head back up to face his opponent...
Jaune moved.
He didn't look clumsy anymore. The goofy facade shattered instantly.
He planted his left foot into the arena floor. The tile beneath his sneaker cracked under the sheer force of the sudden reinforcement.
He twisted his hips with the explosive torque of a fired cannon shell, using the full, unimpeded leverage of his entire body.
He didn't aim a wide, flashy hook. He aimed a compact, brutal, perfectly aligned straight punch directly up from his hip.
His fist was already less than an inch away from the senior's face by the time the man's eyes widened in realization.
THWAAAACK!
The sound was utterly sickening. It wasn't the distinct clang of an Aura shield absorbing an impact. It was the wet, concussive sound of raw bone fracturing. The upperclassmen hadn't even turn on his Aura ye, underestimating Jaune.
The punch connected directly with the senior's unprotected nose.
The man was violently lifted off his feet, his brain rattling so hard inside his skull that his eyes instantly rolled into the back of his head. He hit the ground hard, bouncing once on the floor like a skipped stone.
But Jaune wasn't finished.
Before the senior's had even settled on the floor, and before the crowd could even gasp at the sudden, brutal strike...
Jaune stepped forward. He smoothly swept his leg upward in a vicious, perfectly executed soccer kick, the toe of his sneaker catching the unconscious senior directly under the chin.
CRACK!
The senior's body was launched violently into the air from the sheer upward kinetic force.
And while the man was suspended, helpless and entirely unconscious...
Jaune rotated his body, chambered his other leg, and unleashed a devastating, mid-air roundhouse kick straight into the senior's exposed stomach.
The impact sounded like a bomb going off.
The senior's body was blasted horizontally through the air like a fired missile. He flew backward across the entire length of the arena, clearing the boundary line entirely, and crashed violently into the reinforced concrete wall of the spectator stands.
He slumped to the floor outside the ring, utterly broken.
The holographic display above the arena flickered wildly. The senior's Aura bar hadn't depleted at all. It was still green. But the vital signs monitor beside it was flashing a dangerous, critical warning.
The entire amphitheater was dead silent. Nobody breathed.
Jaune slowly lowered his leg, dusting off his jeans casually. He didn't look at the body.
Instead, he turned around, shoving his hands back into his hoodie pockets, and walked directly over to Professor Goodwitch's referee podium. The strict combat instructor was blinking rapidly, her riding crop frozen mid-air, staring at the absolute devastation that had occurred in just a few seconds.
"Professor Goodwitch," Jaune said politely, his voice entirely calm and unbothered. "The senior is now out of bounds!"
He offered her that perfectly polite, flawlessly innocent smile.
"I win the bet, right? Can I get that ten thousand lien transferred to my scroll now?"