Chapter 7. A Traumatizing Encounter For A Kitty
| Pyrrha POV |
My hands were sweating. I wiped my palms on my combat skirt for the third time in two minutes.
The amphitheater was deafening. Hundreds of students were packed into the tiered stands, shouting, placing bets, and jeering. Word had spread like a wildfire across the campus. A first-year was fighting a third-year in an officially sanctioned, ten-thousand-lien grudge match.
"Ooh! This is so exciting!" Nora bounced in the seat next to me, her orange hair flying everywhere. She had a bucket of popcorn she must have stolen from a vending machine. "Jaune-Jaune is going to smash him! Smash! Bam! Pow!"
"Nora, please lower your voice," Ren sighed from her other side. He was holding a cup of green tea, his eyes fixed on the arena floor. Despite his calm tone, I could see the slight tension in his shoulders.
He was worried too.
I looked down at the white tiles of the combat ring.
Standing on one side was the third-year senior. He was huge. Broad-shouldered, thick-necked, and wearing a full set of custom-fitted, dark iron armor. He was spinning a pair of wicked-looking hand axes, soaking in the cheers of his upperclassmen buddies in the front row.
He looked like a professional Huntsman ready for a fight.
And standing opposite him?
My team leader.
Jaune hadn't even gone to the locker room to change. He was still wearing his casual clothes. A black hoodie, a pair of blue jeans, and sneakers. He didn't have Crocea Mors drawn. His hands were just hanging loosely by his sides.
He looked like a lost civilian who had wandered onto a battlefield by mistake.
"He's going to get hurt," I muttered, my fingers gripping the edge of my seat. "Even if Jaune has some tricks he hasn't shown in our spars... that senior is a top-ranked third-year. The gap in Aura and experience is massive. Why did Professor Goodwitch even allow this?"
"Because it's a sanctioned bet, Pyrrha," Ren answered quietly. "If the rules are met, the faculty cannot intervene."
I bit my lip. I remembered the smile Jaune had given the senior in the hallway.
That terrifying, viper-like curve of his lips.
I knew Jaune had a plan... he made this trap for the third year.
But seeing the sheer size difference in person made my stomach churn.
"Combatants," Professor Goodwitch's voice echoed through the PA system, sharp and strictly professional. "Begin!"
The senior roared. He slammed his axes together, hyping himself up.
"Senior, I'll be under your care now," Jaune called out. He bowed his head. "Please, go easy on me."
I blinked. Was he seriously still acting like that right now?
The senior barked a loud, ugly laugh. "Yes, yes, Junior. Don't worry, just do your best to block! In fact... to show everyone what a generous guy I am, I'll give you the very first move for free! Come on! Show me what you've got!"
He spread his arms wide open. He left his entire chest and head exposed.
"Wow, Senior is so confident!" Jaune cheered loudly. He sounded exactly like an eager, naive schoolboy. "I have so much to learn from you! Well, here I go then!"
Jaune started jogging across the arena.
It was a clumsy, awkward jog. His arms swung wildly. His footwork was a mess. He looked completely untrained. The crowd started laughing.
I frowned. That wasn't how he moved. During our morning spars, his balance was flawless. Why was he faking it?
Just as Jaune got within two feet of the smirking senior, he suddenly stopped.
He looked down at the senior's waist.
"Ugh..." Jaune pointed a finger downward, his face turning slightly red. "Senior... your fly is undone."
"What?"
The senior's arrogant smirk vanished. His hands immediately dropped. He looked down at his own crotch in a panic, dropping his guard.
It was a stupid joke. A playground prank.
But it worked.
Before the senior could even realize his zipper was perfectly fine.
Jaune's goofy facade shattered.
His left foot slammed into the white tile.
Crack.
The stone shattered under his sneaker.
He didn't pull his arm back for a wide punch. He twisted his hips, generating a terrifying amount of torque, and launched a compact, straight punch directly up from his waist.
THWAAAACK!
The sound echoed through the entire amphitheater. It was a sickening, wet crunch of bone snapping.
The punch connected directly with the senior's nose.
The massive third-year was violently lifted off his feet. His eyes rolled into the back of his head instantly. He hit the arena floor hard, his body bouncing once like a skipped stone.
The crowd went dead silent. My jaw dropped.
But Jaune didn't stop.
Before the senior's body even settled on the tiles, Jaune stepped forward. He smoothly swept his right leg upward.
A perfectly executed soccer kick.
CRACK!
The toe of Jaune's sneaker caught the unconscious senior directly under the chin.
The sheer force launched the heavy, armored body violently into the air.
And while the man was suspended, helpless and out cold...
Jaune pivoted on his left foot. He spun his body, chambered his right leg, and unleashed a devastating mid-air roundhouse kick.
His shin slammed into the senior's exposed stomach.
BAM!
The impact sounded like a dust crystal detonating.
The senior was blasted horizontally through the air. He flew backward across the entire length of the arena, sailing right over the boundary line.
Crash!
He smashed into the reinforced concrete wall of the spectator stands. He slumped to the floor, broken and motionless.
The vital signs monitor above the arena flashed a blaring red warning.
Nobody breathed. The entire school was frozen in shock.
One punch. Two kicks.
Three seconds.
A top-ranked third-year had been utterly dismantled by a freshman in a hoodie.
Jaune slowly lowered his leg. He casually dusted off his jeans. He didn't even look at the unconscious body slumped against the wall.
He turned around, shoved his hands back into his pockets, and walked over to Professor Goodwitch's podium. She was staring at him, her riding crop frozen in her hand.
"Professor Goodwitch," Jaune said politely, his voice calm. "The senior is now out of bounds. I win the bet, right? Can I get that ten thousand lien transferred to my scroll now?"
The silence broke.
"YEAAAAAAH!"
Nora exploded out of her seat. She threw her arms around my neck, hugging me so tight I nearly choked.
"Did you see that?!" Nora shrieked, jumping up and down. "Bam! Smash! Kick! He juggled him! Jaune-Jaune is so cool!"
I sat frozen, staring down at the arena.
My heart was hammering against my ribs.
He didn't just beat him. He humiliated him. He executed a flawless combination with zero hesitation.
"He's rich!" Nora cheered, shaking my shoulders. "Ten thousand lien! He can treat us to a massive pancake party with his winnings! We're eating like kings tonight!"
"Yes," Ren said softly. He was staring at Jaune, his pink eyes narrowed in deep thought. "A pancake party. That sounds... nice."
I slowly let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.
My team leader just took down a third year without breaking a sweat.
I smiled. A rush of pure adrenaline flooded my chest.
He was even more amazing than I had thought.
| Blake POV |
I stood in the shadows near the very top row of the amphitheater, my arms crossed tightly over my chest.
Beneath the black bow hiding my Faunus ears, my actual ears twitched, picking up the frantic, buzzing whispers of the student body.
When I heard the rumor in cafeteria that a third-year was forcing a freshman into a ten-thousand-lien grudge match, it made my blood boil.
Extortion. Bullying. The strong preying on the weak.
It was the exact same sickness that infected the rest of Remnant. It was the reason the White Fang existed in the first place. I had run away from the Fang because I couldn't stomach Adam's senseless violence anymore, but that didn't mean I abandoned my morals.
I believed in equality. I believed in protecting those who couldn't protect themselves.
And the fact that Beacon Academy—a school meant to train Huntsmen's—was allowing a senior to publicly rob a freshman under the guise of an 'official spar' was disgusting.
So, I came to watch.
I came planning to intervene. If the teachers wouldn't stop a blatant mugging, I would. I had Gambol Shroud loaded and ready. I wouldn't let a bully ruin some poor kid's life.
Plus... there was a bit of guilt involved.
My team—Team RWBY—had literally dogpiled that exact same blonde boy in the hallway just two weeks ago. We had crashed through a door and buried him under our weight. He hadn't complained. He just looked incredibly depressed and walked away.
Saving him from a bully seemed like a fair way to pay him back for dogpiling on him.
I watched as the match started.
I watched the senior offer a free hit. I watched the blonde boy—Jaune Arc—make a stupid joke about a zipper.
And then, my jaw literally dropped open.
Thwack. Crack. Bam.
Three strikes.
I stared in absolute, utter confusion as the massive, armored third-year was blasted out of the ring and smashed into the concrete wall.
It wasn't a fight. It was a one-sided slaughter.
My golden eyes widened. The sheer speed. The perfect form of that straight punch. The brutal, unforgiving upward snap of the soccer kick.
It was so dominating. So completely overwhelming.
To utterly destroy a bully like that...
I swallowed hard. My heart was beating fast.
Technically, what Jaune did was bad. Hitting an opponent who was already knocked unconscious by the first punch was a violation of basic tournament etiquette. It was excessive force.
But...
I couldn't deny the satisfying thrill that ran down my spine.
Watching an arrogant, extorting bully get put down a peg was incredibly satisfying. It was the kind of swift, decisive justice Adam used to preach about before he lost his mind.
I shook my head, clearing the thought.
No. Jaune wasn't like Adam.
Maybe... maybe Jaune just didn't know the senior was knocked out?
Yes. That made sense. In the heat of battle, adrenaline takes over. He probably didn't see the guy's eyes roll back. He just followed through on his combination to make sure. It was a fast-paced spar. Mistakes happen.
Yeah. Definitely.
I watched as Jaune calmly collected his winnings from a bewildered Professor Goodwitch, turned his back on the cheering crowd, and walked out the side exit toward the boys' locker room.
I made a decision.
I stepped out of the shadows and quietly made my way down the stairs. I decided to follow him. I wanted to get a chance to talk to him alone.
I needed to actually apologize for dogpiling him that one time. Just a quick, polite apology to clear the air between us.
I slipped through the double doors, my footsteps silent on the tiled floor.
But as I followed the path toward the locker rooms, my ears twitched again.
Footsteps. many angry footsteps.
I peeked around the corner of the corridor.
A group of six students wearing third-year uniforms were marching down the hall, heading in the exact same direction. They looked furious. One of them was carrying the axes that belonged to the senior Jaune had just put in the medical ward.
My eyes narrowed in suspicion.
Don't tell me they're going to try to hurt him in the locker room?
A sanctioned match was one thing. A 6-on-1 ambush in a secluded room was another.
I picked up my pace, shadowing them from a safe distance. They shoved the door to the boys' locker room open and stormed inside.
I hesitated outside the door.
This was the boys' locker room. It was a massive invasion of privacy.
But... six angry third years against one freshman? It was a bloodbath waiting to happen.
For his safety. Just this once.
I pushed the door open silently and slipped inside.
The locker room smelled of cheap deodorant, sweat, and metal. I immediately ducked behind a long row of grey metal lockers, pressing my back against the cold steel.
I crept forward, peeping my head slightly around the edge of the metal bank to look at what was happening.
I was right.
All six seniors had surrounded Jaune.
Jaune was standing in front of an open locker. He had just tossed his hoodie inside and was wearing a simple black t-shirt. He didn't look surprised by the ambush. He looked bored.
The seniors were shouting, but the voices of the locker room muffled the words. I strained my ears.
"...think you're tough, you little shit?" one of them growled.
"...embarrassed our leader... gonna break your..."
It was clear they were threatening him.
The man at the front of the pack—clearly the second-in-command—stepped directly into Jaune's personal space. He raised a finger and prodded it aggressively right into Jaune's chest.
"You're dead meat, blondie," the man sneered.
I reached for the hilt of Gambol Shroud. I needed to step out. I needed to stop this.
But before I could move a single muscle, Jaune smiled.
It wasn't a goofy smile. It was a thin, cold, terrifyingly empty curve of his lips.
He opened his mouth and said something. A single, short sentence. The tone was so low I couldn't catch the words, but the effect was instantaneous.
The entire group of seniors sneered, their faces twisting in fury. The leader raised his fist to throw a punch.
And then, violence erupted.
It was faster than a viper strike.
Jaune didn't block the incoming punch. His left hand shot upward, bypassing the senior's guard completely.
His fingers hooked violently directly into the inside of the man's open mouth, grabbing his lower jaw like a meat hook.
"Guh—!" the man choked, his eyes bugging out in sheer shock.
With a brutal, downward yank, Jaune pulled the heavy senior's entire body forward, destroying his center of gravity.
At the exact same time, Jaune brought his right knee upward in a vicious, rising strike.
He slammed the man's descending jaw directly into his rising shin.
CRACK.
The sickening, wet sound of bone shattering echoed like a gunshot in the tiled room.
The man didn't even have time to scream. His body instantly went limp, his brain shutting down from the catastrophic trauma to his skull. He collapsed to the floor, writhing and twitching in a pool of his own saliva and blood.
The other five seniors froze, absolute terror replacing their anger.
But Jaune wasn't finished.
While the man was twitching on the floor, Jaune suddenly raised his right foot high into the air.
Oh no.
My breath caught in my throat.
He brought his sneaker down hard.
SMASH.
He stomped his foot directly into the side of the man's face, crushing his head against the tiled floor.
The twitching stopped instantly. The man lay unconscious.
The locker room descended into a suffocating, dead silence.
Jaune didn't step back. He left his foot resting casually on top of the unconscious senior's head.
Slowly, Jaune lifted his chin.
He looked at the remaining five seniors.
His eyes.
The lazy, half-lidded expression was gone. His eyes were open wide.
And they were shining with a brilliant, piercing, unnatural gold.
Then... I felt it.
It didn't come from the air. It came from him.
A suffocating, crushing, overwhelmingly malevolent presence exploded outward from Jaune's body.
It hit me like a physical wall. The air in the locker room instantly turned freezing cold. Gravity felt like it had multiplied by ten. I gasped, my hands flying up to clutch my chest as my lungs struggled to pull in oxygen.
Every single hair on my body stood straight up. My Faunus instincts—the deepest, most primal survival instinct buried in my DNA—screamed in absolute, blind terror.
It wasn't just killing intent. It was something far older. Far darker.
It was the feeling of a massive lion finally opening its eyes to look at a group of noisy, pathetic sheep bleating in front of it.
The five seniors weren't moving. They were trembling. One of them actually dropped to his knees, his face pale white, paralyzed by the sheer weight of the pressure crushing the room.
The presence seemed to rise. It grew heavier. Thicker. It felt like drowning in an ocean of pure, concentrated malice. My legs shook. I pressed myself harder against the metal lockers, desperately trying to make myself as small and invisible as possible.
I couldn't breathe. I was shivering uncontrollably.
It felt like an eternity. I thought I was going to pass out from the sheer terror.
But in reality, it was probably just a few minutes.
Slowly, the golden light in Jaune's eyes dimmed.
The suffocating presence vanished instantly. The air returned to normal.
I sucked in a massive, ragged breath of air, my chest heaving.
Jaune looked at the five trembling, terrified seniors. He didn't look angry anymore. He just looked disappointed.
He let out a short, bored sigh.
He stepped his foot off the unconscious man's head, grabbed his hoodie from his locker, and turned around.
He walked down the aisle of lockers, heading straight for the exit.
He walked right past the row I was hiding behind.
He didn't stop. He didn't pause. He just kept walking, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.
He passed by me without even looking.
The door to the locker room swung open, and he stepped out into the hallway, leaving us without a care in the world.
I slowly slid down the front of the metal lockers until I hit the floor.
My hands were shaking. I wrapped my arms around my knees, trying to stop the shivering.
I stared at the spot where he had just been standing.
What... what was that?