Chapter 8. Our Sister Team Are Just As Much Of A Mess.
| Ruby POV |
The sun wasn't even up yet. The sky was this dark purple color, and the grass in the Beacon courtyard was still soaked with the freezing morning dew.
I blew a puff of air out of my mouth, watching my breath turn into a little white cloud. I pulled the red hood of my cloak tighter around my ears, shivering.
"This is a crime," Yang groaned from right beside me. She was leaning her entire body weight against my shoulder, her eyes closed, basically sleepwalking. "It's six in the morning. Even the birds are still asleep. If I don't get at least eight hours of beauty rest, my hair loses its bounce. This is child abuse."
"Stop complaining, Yang," Weiss scolded sharply, marching a few steps ahead of us. She looked perfectly awake, her white hair tied up in a flawless ponytail. "We are Huntresses in training. If Team JNPR can wake up at six every single day to hone their skills, then Team RWBY will not be outdone. We must match their dedication."
Weiss stopped and spun around, pointing an accusing finger right at my nose.
"And as the leader of this team, Ruby, you should be setting the example! You can't let another team outwork you. It reflects poorly on our overall standing."
I groaned, dragging my hands down my face. "Weiss, I am setting an example. I'm setting the example of a leader who doesn't want to need coffee every single day just to function. Why are we competing over who can be the most tired?"
"It is about discipline!" Weiss huffed, crossing her arms.
I looked past her shoulder toward the far end of the courtyard.
Team JNPR was already out there. And honestly? They didn't exactly look like a shining beacon of discipline right now.
In fact, half of them looked like they were marching straight to a graveyard.
Nora was skipping across the wet grass, humming some upbeat, entirely too-loud song. She had one hand firmly wrapped around the hood of a black sweatshirt.
Inside that sweatshirt was Jaune.
Our 'rival' team leader was currently being dragged across the lawn like a sack of potatoes. His sneakers dragged through the dirt. His head hung low, his chin basically resting on his chest, and his blonde hair was a messy, tangled bird's nest. He looked like an absolute zombie. If Nora let go of his hood, he would just collapse face-first into the mud and go right back to sleep.
Behind them, Ren was shuffling along. The quiet boy was usually so poised, but right now, he was holding a thermos of tea with both hands, staring blankly ahead with pink eyes that looked completely dead inside.
Pyrrha was the only one who actually looked awake. She was doing light stretches, a bright, friendly smile on her face as she watched Nora drag their leader to the center of the training field.
"See?" I pointed at Jaune. "He doesn't want to be here either! He's literally unconscious!"
"He is simply conserving his energy before the spar," Weiss argued, though she sounded a tiny bit less certain.
I sighed and turned to look at Blake.
"Right, Blake? Tell Weiss this is crazy," I asked.
But Blake didn't answer.
I blinked, waving a hand in front of her face. "Blake? Earth to Blake?"
Blake was standing rigid. She had her arms wrapped tightly around her stomach, shivering. But it didn't look like she was shivering from the cold.
Her golden eyes were wide, and they were glued to the far end of the courtyard. She was staring directly at Jaune.
It was weird. Ever since we woke up this morning, Blake had been acting super jumpy. She kept hiding behind Yang's back whenever we walked down the hallways, and her eyes constantly darted around like she expected a Grimm to jump out of the lockers.
Right now, she was watching Jaune like he was a ticking bomb. It was as if she thought the sleepy, gangly blonde boy who was currently tripping over his own shoelaces was going to suddenly turn around and pounce on her.
"Blake?" Yang mumbled, cracking one eye open. "You good, buddy? You look like you saw a ghost."
"I'm fine," Blake whispered quickly. Her voice was strained. She didn't look away from Jaune. "Just... keeping an eye on the competition. That's all."
"Competition?" I snorted, watching as Nora finally let go of Jaune's hood. Jaune immediately swayed, groaned loudly, and just sat down right on the wet grass, rubbing his face with both hands. "He looks like a stiff breeze would knock him over."
"Don't let your guard down," Blake muttered, taking a small step backward. "Just... stay back here."
I frowned. Blake was definitely being weirder than usual today.
"Come on," Weiss ordered, clapping her hands. "We are going to do fifty laps around the perimeter, and then we will practice our two-man formations. Move!"
We groaned in unison and started jogging.
As we ran our laps, the sun finally started to peek over the horizon, painting the sky in bright streaks of orange and pink. The cold air burned my lungs, but it woke me up. I fell into a steady rhythm, letting my mind wander.
Every time we circled past the center of the courtyard, I couldn't help but peek at Team JNPR.
They had finished their warm-ups. Pyrrha clapped her hands together, the sound echoing sharply across the open field.
"Alright, team!" Pyrrha called out, her voice entirely too cheerful. "Let's begin the morning spar!"
Jaune slowly stood up. He didn't draw that simple sword and shield he used during initiation. He just stood there on the grass, his shoulders slumped, his hands hanging totally relaxed by his sides. He looked so incredibly bored.
Ren set his thermos down on a stone bench. He stepped onto the grass, rolling his shoulders. Nora pulled her massive hammer, Magnhild, off her back, grinning like a maniac.
And then, Pyrrha, Nora, and Ren all stepped into a wide circle.
They surrounded Jaune.
All three of them.
I stumbled over my own feet, nearly face-planting into the dirt.
"Wait, what?!" I yelped, skidding to a halt.
Yang bumped into my back, grumbling, but she stopped too, rubbing her eyes. "Ruby, why did we stop running?"
"Look!" I pointed frantically at the center of the field. "They're surrounding him! All three of them!"
Weiss stopped jogging and jogged back over to us, frowning. "What are they doing?"
"Are they mad at him?!" I panicked, my protective instincts flaring up. Jaune was my first friend at Beacon! We bonded over being socially awkward leaders! I couldn't just stand by and watch his own team jump him in the middle of a courtyard!
Without thinking, I used my Semblance. A burst of rose petals swirled around me, and I shot across the grass in a red blur, stopping right outside their circle.
"Hey, hey, hey!" I shouted, waving my arms wildly to stop them. "Wait a minute! What are you doing?!"
Pyrrha blinked, lowering her fists. She looked at me like I had just fallen out of the sky again. "Good morning, Ruby. We're just about to start our spar."
"A spar?!" I gestured wildly at the three of them, and then pointed at Jaune, who was currently stifling a massive yawn. "It's three on one! That's not a spar, that's a beatdown! Are you guys bullying him?!"
Nora burst out laughing. She leaned against the handle of her massive hammer, wiping a tear from her eye. "Bullying him? Oh, Ruby, that's a good one!"
Ren offered me a polite, calm smile. "We are not bullying him, Ruby. I assure you."
"Yeah, I guess you haven't really seen Jaune fight before, have you?" Pyrrha asked, her green eyes sparkling with genuine admiration. She gestured toward the sleepy blonde boy. "If we don't gang up on him, it wouldn't be fair training. Even I can't take him down easily by myself."
I stared at Pyrrha. The four-time regional champion of Mistral. The Invincible Girl.
She just said she couldn't take Jaune down easily.
"Jaune-Jaune's a total beast!" Nora jumped in, pumping a fist in the air. "Plus, Jaune-Jaune asked for this! He wants us all to attack him at once! Our Fearless Leader is cool like that!"
I looked past Nora, locking eyes with Jaune.
Jaune was staring right back at me. He had a look of profound, agonizing misery on his face. While Nora was bragging about him, he was very slowly, very clearly shaking his head side to side, silently mouthing the words: No. I. Didn't.
I hesitated. The enthusiasm from Nora and Pyrrha was blinding, but Jaune really didn't look excited at all. He looked like a guy standing in front of a firing squad.
But... Pyrrha wouldn't lie, right? And Ren was the most reasonable person I knew. They wouldn't just bully their team leader for fun.
"Oh... okay," I muttered, slowly backing away. "Just... be careful, I guess?"
"We will!" Pyrrha smiled brightly.
I scurried back over to my team, who had walked up to watch from the sidelines.
"This is going to be a disaster," Weiss sighed, crossing her arms and watching Jaune slouch in the center of the ring. "He has absolutely no stance. Look at his feet. His center of gravity is a mess. Pyrrha is going to sweep him into the dirt in three seconds."
"I don't know," Yang muttered, finally waking up a bit as she watched the circle. "Pyrrha looked pretty serious. Let's see what lover-boy has in the tank."
I glanced back at Blake. She had retreated behind a large oak tree near the edge of the courtyard. She was peeking around the trunk, her hands gripping the bark so hard her knuckles were white.
"Begin!" Pyrrha shouted.
The moment the word left her lips, her entire demeanor changed. The friendly, apologetic girl vanished.
She exploded forward.
It was so fast I barely tracked it. She didn't use her weapons. She closed the distance in a single, blurring step, pivoting on her heel and launching a devastating, high-speed spin kick aimed squarely at the side of Jaune's head.
It was a knockout blow. Fast. Flawless.
I gasped.
But Jaune didn't raise his arms to block. He didn't panic. He didn't even widen his eyes.
With that same, utterly bored expression on his face, he simply tilted his head two inches backward.
Whoosh.
Pyrrha's boot cut through the empty air, missing his nose by a fraction of a millimeter.
She didn't stop. Using the momentum of her missed kick, she spun completely around, driving her elbow straight back toward his chest.
Jaune just took a lazy half-step to the right. The elbow grazed the fabric of his hoodie.
"Whoa," I whispered, my silver eyes going wide.
He wasn't blocking. He was just... smoothly moving through the attack with a casual ease... as if he already knew where the attack would go and just chose to not get hit. It looked like water flowing around a rock.
And then, Ren and Nora joined the fray.
Ren darted in from the left, his hands moving in rapid, precise martial arts strikes, aiming palm thrusts at Jaune's ribs and joints. Nora charged from the right, swinging the blunt shaft of her hammer like a massive baseball bat to take out his knees.
It was a perfect three-way pincer. There was nowhere for him to dodge.
But Jaune didn't dodge.
As Ren threw a lightning-fast palm strike at his chest, Jaune finally moved his hands. He didn't block it with force. He reached out with a relaxed, open hand and simply slapped the side of Ren's wrist.
It didn't look like a hard hit, but the timing was absolute magic.
He slapped Ren's wrist right as the boy was fully committed to the thrust. The tiny redirection threw Ren's entire balance off. Jaune stepped inside Ren's guard, grabbed the fabric of Ren's uniform near the shoulder, and pulled him forward while sticking his own leg out.
Ren tripped over the leg. But Jaune didn't drop him to the ground. He spun, using Ren's stumbling body as a shield just as Nora's hammer shaft came swinging through the air.
"Whoops!" Nora yelped, frantically pulling her swing back to avoid cracking Ren in the ribs.
The hesitation cost her.
Jaune let go of Ren, ducking low under Nora's halted hammer. He didn't punch her. He just stepped his foot right behind her heel, dropped his shoulder, and bumped her hard in the chest.
It was a short, sharp bump. But it carried his entire body weight.
Nora lost her footing instantly, tumbling backward and crashing onto the grass with a loud thud.
Pyrrha was already on him again, thrusting the blunt end of her spear toward his back.
Jaune didn't even look over his shoulder.
He just sidestepped blindly, letting the spear thrust pass right by his ear. He reached up, grabbed the wooden shaft of the spear, clamped it tight under his armpit, and twisted his entire body sharply to the left.
The sudden, violent twist wrenched the spear completely out of Pyrrha's hands.
Before she could recover, Jaune tossed the spear onto the grass, stepped in close, and gently tapped two fingers against her forehead.
"Dead," Jaune muttered, his voice flat and tired.
Pyrrha froze, blinking in surprise, before a massive smile broke across her face. "Ah! You caught me! Excellent redirection, Jaune!"
I stood on the sidelines, my jaw practically resting on the damp grass.
It was over in ten seconds. He fought three of the strongest first-years in our entire class, entirely bare-handed, and he didn't take a single hit. He just danced through the chaos, turning their own attacks against them, tripping them, bumping them, twisting their weapons away.
It was a style of fighting I had never seen before. It was messy, it looked sloppy, but it was perfectly, terrifyingly effective.
"Wow..." I breathed out, starry-eyed. "Jaune's actually so cool!"
I heard a sharp, irritated scoff from beside me.
I looked over at Weiss. Her mouth was slightly open, her ice-blue eyes wide with sheer shock.
| Weiss POV |
I stood frozen on the dew-soaked grass, my fingernails digging into the palms of my hands.
What in the world did I just watch?
I pride myself on my analytical mind. I have been tutored by the finest duelists in Atlas. My older sister, Winter, drilled the absolute pinnacle of fencing theory and combat geometry into my head since I was old enough to hold a rapier.
I know what good form looks like. I know the rules of engagement.
And Jaune Arc broke every single one of them.
My mind raced back to initiation in the Emerald Forest. I remembered walking out of the locker room, desperate to secure Pyrrha Nikos as my partner. I remembered the scraggly, awkward blonde boy who had stumbled into our conversation.
I had looked at him, assessed his complete lack of posture, his foolish grin, and deemed him utterly, entirely worthless. I had brushed him off like dust on my boots.
I might have miscalculated.
A cold, bitter knot of wounded pride formed in my stomach.
How could I have known? How could anyone have known that the gangly flirt who needed a map to find the forest was someone who could casually spar one-versus-three against Pyrrha Nikos of all people?!
I watched the center of the courtyard. Jaune was currently rubbing the back of his neck, looking like he wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed, while Pyrrha and Nora enthusiastically praised his footwork.
It didn't make any sense.
His stance was atrocious.
I analyzed his posture as he stood there. His shoulders were slumped. His arms hung loose, practically dangling by his thighs. He didn't protect his center line. He didn't guard his chin. His entire body was a relaxed, open target.
It was a guard full of holes.
In traditional fencing, if you drop your guard like that, you are inviting a fatal thrust to the heart. It is a suicidal technique. Any competent fighter would see that open posture and strike immediately.
And that, I realized with a sudden jolt of understanding, was exactly the point.
He was baiting them.
He was deliberately leaving massive, glaring openings in his defense to goad the opponent into attacking exactly where he wanted them to.
It's a style entirely focused on countering, I deduced, my eyes narrowing as I mentally replayed the ten-second skirmish.
It was a bizarre, hybridized combat style. I recognized fragments of military grappling techniques my elder sister used once or twice—moves designed to seize a wrist and use an attacker's own forward momentum to break their balance. I saw the fluid, relaxed evasion that relied on minimal movement to let a strike miss by mere millimeters.
And then, there was that shoulder bump.
He had stepped inside Nora's reach, dropped his center of gravity, and slammed his shoulder into her chest. It wasn't a punch, but the explosive, close-range burst of power was devastating. It was designed to shatter an opponent's footing in extremely close quarters.
Disarm. Counter. Use the opponent's own force to finish the fight.
It was a brilliantly ugly style of fighting.
But there was one flaw in my analysis. One massive, glaring impossibility that made my head ache.
To use a such style effectively—to purposefully leave yourself open and rely entirely on dodging at the last microsecond—you need flawless, impossible reaction time. You need to know the attacks coming.
But when Ren attacked him from the flank, Jaune hadn't been looking.
When Pyrrha thrust her spear at his back, Jaune hadn't turned his head.
He had simply sidestepped, reaching back to grab the spear shaft without ever laying eyes on it.
How? I thought, my heart beating a little faster. He didn't check his blind spots. Not once.
Most fighters rely on peripheral vision. They constantly shift their gaze to track multiple opponents.
Jaune didn't. He looked straight ahead, staring blankly at nothing, yet he reacted to threats coming from behind him with absolute, pinpoint precision.
It was as if he possessed total spatial awareness of his surrounding. Like he had eyes in the back of his head.
Somehow, in a way she can't explain.... Jaune Arc had no blind spots.
It was terrifying.
If I had to fight him... if I lunged at that open, slouching guard with Myrtenaster... he wouldn't block. He would just step slightly to the side, grab my wrist, and use my own lunge to throw me into the ground before I even realized I missed.
I swallowed hard, a mix of deep frustration and undeniable awe warring in my chest.
I looked at my own team. Ruby was practically vibrating with excitement, entirely oblivious to the lethal complexity of what she just witnessed. Yang looked impressed, but she still thought she could beat him in an arm-wrestling match.
And Blake...
I glanced over at the faunus girl hiding behind the tree.
Blake was shaking. Her eyes were wide, fixed on Jaune, and she looked genuinely terrified.
I frowned, turning my attention back to the blonde boy stretching on the grass.
He looked so mundane. So lazy.
But beneath that ridiculous hoodie... there was a master martial artist hiding in plain sight.
I crossed my arms tightly over my chest, lifting my chin to maintain my composure.
I certainly miscalculated in the Emerald Forest.
But I am a Schnee. I adapt. I learn.
Watch yourself, Jaune Arc, I thought, narrowing my icy blue eyes. I don't know what kind of secrets you're hiding under that lazy act. But I'm going to figure it out.