Jaune sighed, letting the noise surround him like armor.
Better absurdity than silence. Better teasing than ghosts.
Normal was a moving target. Well, at least it felt normal. Whatever that meant anymore.
The late bell rang across Beacon, signaling lights-out in an hour. Students gathered in the shared locker room outside the ballroom.
"Guess this is it," Yang said, fiddling with her jacket zipper. "No more private dorms or bathroom stalls. Just raw, unfiltered, communal bonding."
The locker room was tiled in pale gray and steel, echoing with the low hum of fluorescent lights and the shuffle of students changing into their pajamas. The air smelled of ozone, sweat, and a faint tinge of Dust residue — power and nerves and ritual.
Jaune stood frozen at the edge of the locker room—caught between fight, flight, and some hellish fourth option involving spontaneous combustion.
The sign outside had said it plainly enough:
RESPECT SPACE. KEEP EYES FORWARD.
But standing in the doorway now, his brain stalled.
Clothes hung on nearby pegs, towels were strewn across benches, and girls — lots and lots of girls — already in various stages of undress. A few paused as he entered. Heads turned.
His presence rippled through the space like a dropped pebble in still water.
A voice hushed but not subtle, "That's the guy from the hallway."
Another voice. "No way, he's really a student. He looks like a transfer from a mining guild."
A giggle, sharper: "It's probably some mistake. "
Jaune didn't blame them.
Male Huntsmen were myths, mostly. Founders of bloodlines. Dead heroes in old portraits. These days, the job belongs to women. Culture, biology, resonance—whatever the reason, men didn't last long. Not in this line of work.
Yang bumped into his side. Ruby clammed up, a step behind her. Patting his back, Yang remarked with a megawatt smile, "The sooner you rip off the band-aid, the sooner it will be over."
He nodded stiffly and muttered, "Yeah. Just didn't think I'd feel like a zoo exhibit."
Yang caught the comment and smirked. "To be fair, you kinda walked into the lioness' den. This is normal for us."
Right, he was the exception.
And his shoulders tensed, bearing the weight of that acknowledgement.
"I figured there'd be at least a wall or something. Not a firing squad." Jaune continued to mutter.
Ruby made a noise , something between a squeak and a gasp, and then immediately stared at the floor like it had personally insulted her.
"Y-You could always change behind your weapon?" she offered weakly, then winced the moment it left her mouth.
Jaune blinked.
Yang turned toward her, one brow lifted.
Pulling it from her back, Ruby half-hid behind a folded contraption. "That was dumb. I know that was dumb."
Yang grinned. "Points for creativity, though."
Jaune's eyes flicked toward the strange thing Ruby was clinging to. It looked like some kind of industrial briefcase—hinged, dense, complicated. Definitely not a normal weapon. He made a mental note not to ask. Not yet.
The moment passed, tension slipping into something more familiar.
Yang shrugged, voice casual but laced with mischief. "Yeah, sorry, no panic curtain for the lone wolf. Not enough boys to justify the infrastructure."
She stretched, unabashed. "Besides, Beacon's big on the whole 'intimacy builds survival' thing. Co-ed rooms, co-ed teams, co-ed showers… get used to awkward eye contact."
"I'm not looking," Jaune said too quickly.
Yang smirked, giving him a final, sturdy pat. "Didn't say you were. Just try not to combust. Now let's get changed."
'Co-ed showers.' Jaune made a faint choking sound, a noise halfway between protest and malfunction, clamped his mouth shut and trudged forward without a word, eyes scanning for his assigned locker.
He could feel them.
Watching. Wondering.
Many of the girls glanced at him with curiosity. Some with caution. A few with open disdain.
They weren't necessarily hostile . Just… processing. Gossiping.
"Is that him? There really is a guy?"
"I thought they said men couldn't stabilize their Aura."
"Most can't. It's an emotion thing, right? Girls resonate better."
"Still weird. He's not even hot."
Pause.
"…Well. Maybe a little."
Jaune's face flushed. He kept his eyes forward.
A ripple of muffled laughter passed through the bench row like static. Yang caught it, grinning sideways at him. "Relax, Lady Killer . You're only violating a couple centuries of spiritual and biological precedent."
"Hilarious," Jaune muttered.
Yang cracked her knuckles and dropped onto the bench. "Here we are."
She waited until Jaune looked at her—really looked.
"Seriously though. Good on you. Most guys don't even pass basic Aura tests. Cause of the emotional resonance, you know? They get too locked up in macho nonsense to stabilize anything."
Jaune blinked. "Wait, really?"
"You seriously didn't know that?" Yang blinked, her smirk faltering. She gave him a long look, like she wasn't sure if he was messing with her. "That's, like, Health Class 101 stuff. Even the Atlesians figured it out a decade ago."
Jaune felt a cold flutter in his stomach. He glanced down, scratching at his wrist like something might be written there. "Guess I missed that lesson."
Ruby tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity. "Wait… where did you train before Beacon?"
There it was again. That moment. That chance to tell the truth.
And like before, he let it slip past.
"Nowhere important." He hated saying it. Hated how easy the words came out.
Yang deserved better. Ruby too. But he wasn't ready to tell the truth yet.
Ruby blinked, then offered him a tender smile. "Oh. That's okay. I mean—maybe that's private. Or... hard to talk about." Her fingers twisted gently in her lap. "I just… I think it's really brave, coming here if you didn't have the same training as everyone else. You're doing fine."
Her eyes lingered a little too long before flicking back to her lap. She meant it. Every word. She wanted to believe he was okay. And he felt it.
Yang, however, wasn't done watching.
She leaned back, golden hair catching the light, arms folding with deliberate ease. "You're either really lucky, or really weird," she said. There was no malice in it—just a quiet challenge, buried under her usual smirk. "You walk in, pass your Aura sync, and act like no one told you boys aren't supposed to be good at this."
Jaune tried for a casual shrug. "Guess I'm built different."
Yang raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. You are."
An uncomfortable beat passed.
Then she pushed off the bench, stretching like nothing had happened. "Well, whatever your deal is, keep it up. It's working." She winked. "Just don't expect us not to notice."
Jaune swallowed the lump in his throat. It wasn't technically a lie. But it felt like one—ducking under a question that deserved an answer. Especially from them.
Ruby was smiling at him like he hadn't just dodged her question. That made it worse.
That silence stretched just a little too long.
Then Ruby, always kind, filled the gap. "Well… if no one told you, that's on them. Beacon's for second chances, right?"
Yang watched him a second longer, then let it drop with a shrug. "Whatever. Just means we get to blow your mind with remedial spiritual anatomy. Lucky you."
Ruby nodded and lowered her weapon gently to the bench, fingers lingering on the metal. Her voice was quiet, unsure. "Aura's… kind of like a mirror. It runs on emotion. Feeling stuff—really feeling it—makes it stronger. Girls usually get the hang of that faster."
She hesitated, then glanced at Jaune. "A lot of guys… kinda learn to shut things out. Makes it harder for their Aura to stabilize."
Then, quickly: "Not saying you do! Just… that you're probably different."
Yang shrugged. "You're probably one of the only guys in this class with even a stable shield. Kinda makes you rare."
"And weird," Jaune supplied.
"Also that. Welp, probably should keep going 'til you find your locker."
Yang peeled off her jacket with a smooth shrug, tossing it casually onto the bench like it had never been necessary in the first place. Her shoulders rolled back with the motion—bare, golden, sun-warmed skin gleaming under the lights. And then she sat there, unbothered, in just her crop top.
Jaune was glued to her chest.
The top was yellow—bright, unapologetic, tight in a way that wasn't just snug but deliberately rebellious. It gripped her breasts like it was hanging on for dear life. And the problem—the honest, maddening problem—was that it didn't look designed for them. It looked like they'd grown bigger just to spite it. Full. Heavy. Alive.
They weren't dainty or politely shaped—they bounced. They moved. They called the shots. They strained against that top with enough determination to threaten the seams, and they did it without shame or hesitation. Like gravity had rules for everyone else, but Yang's chest just negotiated harder.
He couldn't stop staring. No, not staring—trapped.
Then she stretched.
Her arms rose, lifting her whole body with them. Her breasts surged upward with the motion—round and proud and devastatingly perky—and the top stretched just a little too far. The hem tugged upward, exposing a sliver of underboob that flashed like an invitation before disappearing as she dropped her arms again, completely oblivious to the minor apocalypse she'd just caused. His brain sparked and stuttered. His pants tightened with a cruel, traitorous pulse. His whole body buzzed with a helpless, dizzy ache.
Jaune's knees went weak.
"Geez, you okay over there?" Yang asked, her tone all sunshine and sin as she caught him mid-malfunction. Her eyes sparkled. Her grin was pure mischief dipped in honey. "You look like someone just drop-kicked your hormones."
"I-I'm fine!" Jaune squeaked. It was, empirically, a lie.
Yang grinned like flame given teeth. "You blush faster than I can throw a punch," she continued, folding her arms under her chest—lifting them higher, pressing them up. "Seriously, it's like your soul left your body the moment I raised my arms. Is it the crop top? Be honest. I think it's the crop top."
Everywhere he looked now, it was a danger zone. Yang's abs flexed with idle movement, her torso twisting in ways that just made everything worse. Her boobs had their own rhythm— a bounce with a personality. Loud, happy, alive.
Yang was heat. And volume.
And she loved being looked at. Or maybe she didn't even care.
That was worse.
His gaze darted away, desperate for mercy. A crack in the tile. The locker across the room. Anything.
But it was too late. Yang had taken root in his peripheral vision, in his memory, in the part of his brain that could never again hear the word "crop top" without internally screaming.
The weight. The curve. The impossible fullness straining against fabric that had clearly never stood a chance. Like they were summoned into being by a god who believed in generous proportions and public tests of willpower.
"Seriously," she added, stretching again—slowly this time, and with exaggerated casualness. Her breasts rose, strained, swayed, casting twin shadows across her ribs. "If this is how you react to a shirt, you might want to brace yourself for co-ed showers."
Jaune let out a noise that could only be described as spiritual distress.
He could still feel her heat in the air between them. Still see the afterimage of her stretch behind his eyelids. His blood thundered. His heartbeat pounded between his legs and behind his eyes.
Yang dropped her arms with a content sigh, her breasts settling like a punctuation mark on a conversation Jaune was no longer mentally present for. He was staring at the floor now, jaw tight, cheeks red, posture stiff. She leaned back lazily, one leg folded under her, casually adjusting the waistband of her shorts—and caught it.
Her eyes flicked down, unthinking. Then widened, slow and silent.
She was still seated on the bench, legs stretched lazily, posture relaxed—but from this angle, her eyes caught something that made her breath freeze .
There. Pressing up beneath the loose fold of Jaune's hoodie.
A ridge. Firm. Obvious.
A clear, straining bulge pressing awkwardly against the fabric of his pants.
Yang blinked once.
Twice.
Her lips parted slightly, and she felt the sudden thud of her heart drop into her stomach like a stone in water.
'Holy shit.'
He was hard.
It wasn't just fluster from a new situation. He wasn't just blushing from the attention.
Jaune was turned on .
By her.
The realization hit like a shotgun blast of heat between her thighs.
Heat bloomed across her cheeks. She bit the inside of her lip, her mind sprinting a thousand miles ahead before snapping back with a sudden rush of clarity.
This is it.
'You're NOT the same girl from Signal. You know you're gifted and sexy! Let's leave an unforgettable impression. Just wait for the right time to strike!'
The memory crashed into her with perfect timing.
This was the moment.
Not some perfect conversation. Not some after-class flirt. Now. When he was flustered, overwhelmed, and fighting for composure—because of her.
Her heart pounded. Not just from the sight—but from what it meant. She could back off. Joke it away. But no—she'd promised herself. No more Signal girl.
Yang's grin returned—but slower this time.
Now, every movement had to matter.
She leaned back slightly, pushing her chest forward just enough to press the top tighter. Her arms settled under her breasts again, lifting them—subtly, but with purpose. She caught Jaune's gaze the moment it darted upward again, and this time?
She didn't look away.
He swallowed hard.
Still trying to hide it. Still pretending like his body wasn't betraying him. Like his hoodie could somehow save him from how obvious he was.
Yang let it hang. One heartbeat. Two.
This was her first move.
Unapologetic. Unmistakable. Not a joke, not a test. A strike. A beginning.
Yang leaned in close, just enough that Jaune could feel her breath on his ear.
"Careful, Arc," she whispered, low and husky, grin curling like smoke. "Keep staring at my girls like that, I might start thinking you want a closer look. And if you keep that hoodie on much longer, I might start thinking you're hiding something worth investigating. You're not the only one with a strong reaction."
He aimed at the ceiling like it was the most fascinating thing in Remnant.
Ruby peeked at him from behind her bangs, cheeks pink, trying very hard not to smile. But her body hadn't moved an inch. She was still by her locker, caught like someone in a thunderstorm without an umbrella or a plan. Her fingers fumbled at the hem of her corset, frozen in place.
"Uh… Yang?" she hissed.
"What's up, Rubes?"
"I can't change with him here!" Ruby stage-whispered. "This is—this is like bathroom rules meets nightmare mode! Boys and girls together? That's not normal! Right?!"
Yang snorted. "Like I told Jaune, welcome to Beacon. Co-ed locker rooms are efficient. Also hilarious."
Ruby didn't laugh. Her silver eyes darted anxiously around the room—then stopped.
Across the bench, near the lockers, was a tall girl with long black hair and quiet, patient posture.
Ruby's gaze caught on her: slim waist, big butt, lithe curves just visible as she removed her top. Her skin had a dusky pale glow under the room's harsh lights. Her sports bra was simple. No frills. Just functional.
But she was… striking.
And for a split second, the black-haired girl's golden eyes flicked toward Jaune.
It was just a glance. Measured. Curious. Almost assessing.
Ruby watched it happen—and felt a heat bloom inside her chest. Not attraction, not exactly.
Jealousy?
Or something else?
She glanced down at herself.
Narrow legs. Flat stomach. Her figure still boyish, her chest barely enough to fill the elastic of her bra. She tugged the fabric self-consciously.
Yang's laugh rang nearby, loud and confident. Her breasts practically bounced when she talked. Everyone looked. Even Jaune had looked.
Ruby felt smaller.
She just wanted to disappear. Or at least grow up overnight.
She didn't want to feel like this. Like she was… less.
'Not forever. Just… for now.'
She pulled her cape forward, letting it shield her shoulders like armor. Ruby focused on what Yang was doing instead.
Yang was already halfway into teasing Jaune into another cardiac arrest. It was a familiar disaster. And it came just in time.
Yang was still talking to Jaune, when a mischievous light returned to her eyes, as her voice dropped an octave, "Unless you want to stay here Jaune? I could use some help getting out of this tight shirt and-"
Only to get interrupted by a loud smack to the head.
"Yang!" Ruby hissed. "Not the time."
Yang's voice raised an octave, absolutely miffed. "Geez sorry! I'm just trying to lighten the mood!"
Ignoring the barb, Ruby fixed Yang with a frown. "You're teasing again. Leave him alone. You're just gonna wind him up even more." Then, eyes rapidly flickering between Yang and Jaune, Ruby added with a very quick stutter, "A-and me! Now cover me while I get changed. You owe me for abandoning me after we got off the ship!"
"I was just trying to get you to meet new people! You know! Break out of your shell-"
Jaune slipped away as the sister's argued. Quietly. Dignified. A man trying not to look like he'd just barely survived a spiritual ambush with his pants intact. Doing his best to keep his vision on the floor whenever possible, Jaune's eyes briefly flickered up long enough to scan the locker numbers. Quick glances, nothing more.
At least that was the intention.
Some students turned away discreetly, a show of modesty amid the bustle of the locker room. Others, like the girl with the black bow, didn't seem to care at all.
Jaune's jaw dropped.
Not far from him, a girl stood facing her locker, dark hair draped over one shoulder, a black bow perched neatly atop her head like the final, mocking stroke on a masterpiece. She was already halfway changed.
Or rather, halfway not .
Shirt off, her sports bra dangled lazily from her fingers, forgotten. Her bare skin drank in the light—smooth, lithe and fair. Her pants were halfway down her legs — her enormous, plump ass swallowing the small, delicate strip of violet fabric stretched tight between her perfect cheeks.
'I-Is… that a thong?!"
If it could even be called that. Violet silk, thin as breath, swallowed by the sheer mass of her ass. No, not just an ass— the ass. Full. Obscene. Decadent. It didn't just catch the eye. It demanded attention. The way that thin sliver of silk disappeared between her cheeks wasn't accidental. It was anatomical artistry. Like the universe had designed her from the waist down for sin.
Jaune's mouth went dry. His pulse pounded in his ears. If he'd had blood to spare, it had relocated south without permission.
It wasn't just the shape. It was the way she moved. Bare back to him, her lithe and toned form curved with a quiet, practiced flow. She moved with fluid grace, unhurried and unashamed, as if modesty was someone else's problem.
Like she'd done this a hundred times in front of people and never once thought twice about it.
And then she bent over to retrieve something from her locker.
Her hips rolled down in a motion too smooth to be real. That thong dipped even deeper, devoured by the swell of her curves. Her creamy olive cheeks parted ever so slightly, tension riding her curves as her thighs flexed.
The view was a crime. No. A divine punishment.
Then she straightened.
Jaune's breath caught audibly. Her cheeks squeezed together with practiced ease, muscles rippling under flawless skin. That motion— that moment—burned itself into his brain with humiliating clarity. The way her body swallowed that silk like it had been waiting for this exact performance.
The motion was effortless. And absolutely devastating.
And yet she was calm. Relaxed. Like it didn't matter who saw. Like this wasn't some bold, seductive display, but just… normal.
A single, intrusive thought followed him like a whisper behind his ear:
She didn't even try.
And she'd wrecked him.
It wasn't flirtation. It was law. The thong didn't tease. It dictated.
Every instinct howled for another glimpse, another second. He felt his pants tighten more —and panic flooded in with it.
'Oh no. Not again.'
He had to look away before he made a sound. Jaune snapped his eyes away, suddenly very interested in a crack in the tile floor.
'Nope. No, no, no. Not like this. Come on, Arc. Eyes front, brain on. You're here to train, not… ogle Huntresses like some kind of hormonal jackass...'
He swallowed hard, cheeks flushing so hot they might have left a mark. Guilt crept in, sticky and sharp, even though she hadn't seen him looking. Or… maybe she had? She was a Huntress-in-training.
If she had, she hadn't said a word.
He dared a glance.
She was adjusting her shirt now, black fabric falling over her torso in a smooth motion. Those sharp, amber eyes—glinted for half a second his way.
And then… nothing.
She didn't flinch. Didn't scowl. She simply tugged the hem of her shirt into place. But there was something about the way she moved—just a fraction slower. A subtle shift of posture, the tilt of her head, the barest quirk of her lips.
She had seen.
And she let him.
The realization hit him like a cold bucket of water and a lightning bolt at the same time. Her calm wasn't just indifference, it was control. Awareness. She had caught him looking and hadn't shut him down. If anything, her body language had become… looser. Just slightly. More deliberate.
Jaune's pulse pounded.
He turned quickly, scanning the rows of lockers like they might save him from further embarrassment. Perhaps his own locker was somewhere in the far corner — perfect. Far away.
He made for it like a man fleeing a battlefield, ducking his head and moving fast, like he could outrun the heat still simmering in his veins.
'Focus on the mission. Focus on training. Focus on literally anything but her… ass-ness. Don't give it a name! That gives it power.'
He bumped into the corner of a bench and swore under his breath.
From across the room, The girl's voice floated out, dry and neutral.
"Careful. That bench has been known to sneak up on people."
Jaune froze. Her tone wasn't accusing, instead carrying the faintest edge of amusement..
He quickly glanced over his shoulder. She wasn't looking at him, not directly. Her expression was unreadable… except for that slight upward tilt to her mouth. It wasn't mockery. It was something quieter. Almost curious. Almost inviting .
Jaune's stomach twisted. His heart thudded like a drum.
He gave a quick, awkward laugh.
"Y-Yeah… guess I wasn't watching where I was going."
'Or maybe I was watching too damn much.'
He didn't turn around. He didn't need to.
Because beneath the heat and the panic, one thought stubbornly burned like an ember in the back of his mind.
She didn't seem to mind.
And gods help him, that thought stayed longer than it had any right to.
Yang had a point.
He needed to change fast.
Because being surrounded by half-dressed girls who were strong, confident, and unapologetically female , was wrecking his ability to function. He wasn't just out of his depth. He was drowning in it.
Any longer, and it wasn't just his dignity that was going to take a hit.
Found it. By some miracle, he found it without further incident.
The number matched the slip he was given. He rested his head against the coolness of the door — and heard the click of another locker opening directly beside his.
Weiss Schnee.
'Of course.'
Her pale hair was already unbraided neatly, an "S.D.C." emblem gleaming on her locker door. She paused. Registered him. Eyes narrowing with a sharp, frosted edge.
Her voice was as cool as the steel between them. "You're in the wrong section, Jaune."
Why did it sound like his name found its way into her mouth by accident?
He didn't look up. "Says 'co-ed' on the door. I'm not exactly a threat."
"Hm."
A moment passed.
Using her locker door as a shield, Weiss returned to adjusting the chamber settings on her sword, a quiet clicking as the cylinder rotated, precise and meticulous, like her. The silence hung heavy with something unspoken: the pressure of high expectations that did not include him.
Then Weiss clarified, speaking low, but not low enough.
"It's not personal," Weiss said, putting her rapier in the locker. "But someone like you doesn't belong here."
A loud snort cut in behind them. "Relax, Ice Queen. He's got pants on."
By the time Jaune made it to his locker, Yang had already finished changing. She leaned casually against the other locker next to his, its owner long gone, her posture relaxed but her eyes alert. Ruby stood a little farther back, her arms crossed as if she were trying to absorb the growing tension between the others, but still staying close to her sister.
Weiss huffed. "That's not the point."
Ruby stepped forward, her voice firm. "He's not going to bite anyone, Weiss."
"I don't care if he bites. I care if he bleeds all over our standards."
Jaune stiffened slightly but said nothing.
Yang stretched, her arms high above her head before resting them on her hips. Her relaxed posture stood in stark contrast to Weiss's rigidity. She didn't speak, but her gaze flickered between Weiss and Jaune, reading the room as she always did.
Yang didn't let up. "It's not like Beacon just lets anyone in. Even if most guys can't handle the resonance, the ones that can make it in for a reason."
Weiss didn't miss a beat. "And what's his claim to Aura stability? Gut instinct? She harrumphed. "Please. More likely, he's a PR gesture. Something for the Academy to show off to their 'progressive' sponsors." Her voice sharpened. "Which is financially clever. But still ridiculous."
Jaune heard Ruby's small gasp of indignation. As the small girl opened her mouth to defend him, Jaune turned to her and gave a small shake of his head.
"Let it go," he mouthed.
Ruby paused, before nodding slightly, though she still looked between Weiss and Jaune.
Weiss glanced at him again, this time lingering. Her gaze wasn't cruel, but it was skeptical. Measuring. He got the feeling she did that with everyone. Sizing them up like chess pieces.
Nobody moved. Tension held the room like a drawn bow string as it waited for someone to make the next move.
A slam of another locker rippled down the row.
The girl in the black bow had finished changing.
With a final pull on the belt of her yukata-style shirt, she stalked over with deliberate, silent footsteps. She stopped beside Weiss, just enough to make her presence felt without standing directly in front of her.
Her voice was steady, brimming with ire. "You should know better than to assume weakness just because it looks different."
"And people should know better than to romanticize risk." Turning to face her next challenger, Weiss's eyebrows somehow frowned even more "You again? Here to unfairly lambast me for a second time? Who even are you?"
"Blake," She responded curtly, expression never changing "And no one's romanticizing anything. But the world doesn't belong to one kind of strength anymore."
Restrained anger simmered through the air, growing it heavier. Jaune's gaze darkened as his hand moved to his chest. That same thrum beneath his skin pulsed again, this time hot, coiling, and alive. Like a flame beating against the bars of his ribcage.
Jaune managed to push it down. He couldn't afford to let it surface—not now. Besides, the argument wasn't about him anymore. Not really.
Weiss said, arms crossed. "According to what? All the data suggests someone like that doesn't belong here, and you know it."
Blake's expression slightly cracked. Her amber eyes flicked briefly toward Jaune. "Someone like what ?"
Weiss's voice stiffened. "Unqualified. Male. There's a reason this profession evolved the way it did."
Blake's tone strained to remain level. "You sound like the kind of people who said Faunus didn't belong in combat schools either."
Weiss flinched. A blink of discomfort she quickly buried. "That's not the same."
Blake finally looked up. "Isn't it?"
It was about what he represented.
The anomaly. The deviation. The break in the tradition.
He looked down at his trembling hands. For a brief moment, his skin shimmered with a pulse of something dark. A vein of black beneath the surface, like ink in water. Then it was gone.
With Blake's question still loomed in the air, sharp and unyielding. No one noticed.
'Okay, this needs to stop. Before something happens that we can't take back.'
As Weiss was about to issue another retort, Jaune suddenly turned around to face them.
His voice wasn't loud. Just enough to cut in through the silence. "I didn't come here to challenge any standards." He met Weiss's eyes. Not with defiance, only honesty. "I came here because… I just want a chance. A chance to… figure myself out."
For a second, Weiss faltered.
Blake looked at him, surprised. Yang raised an eyebrow, but didn't interrupt, Ruby poking her head from behind her sister.
Jaune turned to Blake and the sisters.
"I think I'll be fine. You guys should go get some sleep. Lights will be out in less than fifteen minutes."
Internally, Jaune was grateful that most of the locker room had been vacated by now. No one needed the extra stress of having caused a scene.
Yang tilted her head. "You sure?"
He nodded. "Yeah. I need to… unpack a bit."
Blake gave Weiss one last unreadable look then moved toward the door. Ruby followed, but not without giving Jaune a small, encouraging smile.
Yang lingered the longest. "If she throws you into a locker, yell 'strawberries.' It's our code word."
She left with a forced grin, and then it was just Jaune and Weiss.
Silence reclaimed the space.
Weiss finally exhaled, long and restrained. She reached into her locker, carefully removing her gloves.
"I may have come off a bit… brusque."
Jaune gave a short, tired laugh. "Little bit."
"I didn't ask for your commentary on it." Her tone lacked venom.
He glanced at her sidelong, then leaned back against his locker. "You had a bad day."
"I didn't say that." Weiss's voice faltered slightly as she shifted, a subtle slump in her shoulders that betrayed the poise she was desperately trying to hold onto.
"You didn't have to." Jaune shrugged, his look softening.. "First day, new people, high expectations. And everyone's either assuming the worst or treating you like the villain."
Weiss's fingers paused over the lining of her jacket.
"I didn't come here to make friends."
"Sure." Jaune said.
Weiss didn't respond right away. Her arms folded tighter, like she was wrapping herself in poise instead of cloth. She looked at her folded uniform, lips thinning.
"People mistake cold for cruelty," she muttered. "But warmth gets you burned."
Jaune looked up at the ceiling. "But it still stings when no one wants to be yours."
She didn't answer right away.
When she finally spoke, it was quieter.
"They don't understand what I'm trying to do."
"Maybe you made it hard to understand?"
Weiss tightened, then allowed her shoulders to relax. "Perhaps."
Weiss stood in silence for a moment, then took a step toward him. "Don't mistake civility for surrender. I'm not apologizing. I'm… adjusting."
She opened her locker, metal clicking with practiced force.
"You're too calm about all this," Weiss said suddenly, not looking at him. "Like you've already decided what I am."
Jaune blinked. "What are you talking about?"
"I came off as harsh. Unfeeling." Her fingers tapped her locker. "But you just… absorbed it. Like you expected it. Like it didn't matter."
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to." She hesitated.
Then, quieter: "Turn around."
Caught off guard, Jaune asked "What? Why?"
Weiss gestured vaguely. "I'm changing. Don't look."
He turned obediently, facing his locker. "Wasn't planning to."
Silence hung between them, broken only by the sound of fabric shifting—precise, efficient, almost methodical. Not hurried, just practiced.
Jaune kept his gaze firmly on the locker, grateful for the cold metal in front of him. He wasn't tempted to look. Not after everything that had been said, and especially not after witnessing the walls she'd built around herself.
He found himself strangely grateful for the return of silence, though it was thick with the weight of unspoken things. The rhythm of her clothing, the rustle, felt oddly soothing in its own way. A stark contrast to the tension that had hung between them moments before.
The hushed shuffle of fabric next to him gradually slowed. Finally, her voice broke the silence, quieter now. "You can turn around. But… not all the way."
Jaune hesitated. "Not all the way?" he echoed, unsure what she meant.
He glanced over his shoulder, just enough to see her in the edge of his vision.
Weiss stood by her locker. Her silver hair had come loose, loosened strands cascading over her shoulders in gentle, imperfect waves. With clinical precision, her combat dress was folded neatly beside her, leaving only soft blue lace clinging to her figure—elegant, modest, and somehow even more disarming than nudity. The color was delicate, almost icy against her pale skin, but the fabric was sheer enough to hint.
Her posture was guarded, yet composed—like she'd done this a thousand times in front of mirrors but never expected to be witnessed. Not like this.
"You can look this way," she added, her voice still a touch guarded. "I just… don't want to feel like you're staring."
It hit him harder than he thought it would.
This wasn't about modesty. Not really. It was about being seen—not as an heiress, not as a Schnee, not as a reputation—but as a person. A girl in delicate lace, trying to hold onto something fragile beneath the weight of expectations.
Jaune swallowed, throat dry.
Because even in this vulnerable state, she was… beautiful. Shattering, in a quiet, poised kind of way. Her body was slim, refined, balanced—her legs long, her waist narrow, her chest modest but shapely beneath the fine fabric.
It wasn't the velvet snare of Blake's seduction.
It was frost. Still, sharp, and no less dangerous.
Weiss raised an eyebrow, catching his glance. "That's all the way."
Jaune quickly turned back, his face flushing slightly. "Right. Sorry."
He turned away again. Quickly. Respectfully. But Weiss had seen enough.
She didn't look at him as he turned back around.
She'd caught it. That flicker in his gaze. It wasn't leering or crude.
But aware.
Startled. Something primal had stirred beneath all that awkward politeness. He'd tried to smother it, of course. Immediately. Respectfully.
But he had looked.
And he had liked what he saw.
A strange twist bloomed low in her stomach. Not offense. Not shame. Just… tightness. The charged kind. The kind she usually dismissed. The kind she hated not understanding.
She adjusted the strap on her shoulder automatically, fingers tracing lace with mechanical precision. The fabric felt tighter. Or maybe she was just more aware of it.
He hadn't said a word. Hadn't turned further. Hadn't stared. And that restraint—honestly—bothered her more than it should.
What would he have done if she'd said nothing?
What did he want to do?
Weiss blinked hard, shutting down the thought. It wasn't important. It wasn't useful .
And yet…
Something about the way he looked at her—with heat , but not entitlement —stuck to her skin like a brand.
No one ever looked at her like that.
Not as Schnee. Not as a rival. Just… a girl in lace. And he looked at her like that mattered.
Jaune turned forward again, forcing his eyes away, but the heat lingered like an afterimage.
It wasn't lust, not really.
But it was the first time he realized how much power Weiss held—not just in command, or posture, or pedigree.
But in presence.
He didn't hear her press the matter any further, but the soft click of her hair clip as she placed it into her locker spoke volumes in its own quiet way. She was letting the tension dissolve, but in a way that was still tentative.
"I didn't mean to cause a scene." he said, "It just… feels like I'm always the one making things tense."
"No. That was… me." Weiss let out a short breath. "It wasn't supposed to be… a rough day."
After a pause, she murmured, "I came here to prove I am not simply what they assume me to be. Just… to be seen for what I can do. But it seems people already expect me to be perfect."
"They probably expect that because you act like you already are."
She narrowed her eyes, but not with hostility. "That's the most backhanded insight I've ever heard."
"Thanks. I try."
Weiss was silent for a moment. Then, almost reluctantly:
"I came here to prove myself—not explain myself. But… I might've needed both."
A flicker of amusement touched her lips before vanishing again. She stepped away from her locker, arms crossed, gaze distant.
"You didn't do anything wrong ." Her voice was quiet now, more uncertain than he'd ever heard it. "You just… are something I'm not sure I can trust."
That earned a soft blink from Jaune. "Because I'm a guy?"
"Because you're an unknown," she clarified, dodging the comment. "And because standards exist for a reason. They protect people from accidents, from weakness. From letting someone's dream get them, or someone else killed."
That part wasn't cold. It was almost pleading.
Jaune lowered his gaze. "You think I'm going to get someone hurt."
"I think… if you're not ready, Beacon isn't the place to find out."
Jaune was about to respond, when he finally got a good look at Weiss's sullen face. He never thought twice about it before, but now; the scar on her face was making itself clearly known.
Jaune's hand twitched at his side, as his eyes flickered downward, "Honestly? I don't know if I'm ready or not."
Weiss turned slightly toward him. She was silent for a long moment. When she finally spoke, her voice was softer.
"Then why did you come?"
Jaune's hand drifted toward his chest, not even consciously. That thrum beneath his skin again was faint now. Like something vast curled up to sleep.
"Because I had to know if there was something inside me worth keeping." It was the best way he could explain it for now.
Weiss didn't respond right away. He could almost hear her processing, the mechanical click-click of her mind sifting through every word, every implication.
"You hide it well."
He huffed softly. "Not that well."
Another silence, this one less tense. She shifted on the bench.
Trying to turn "not all the way" , he found her watching him with a gaze that was still cool, but no longer hostile.
"For what it's worth," she added, "I don't want to be your enemy."
Jaune offered a faint smile. "You're not." Then quieter "You just don't want anyone to get hurt, and… that includes me."
Weiss looked away.
The admission landed with a weight he didn't expect. "I won't look," Jaune said, turning back to his locker. "Go ahead and finish changing."
She didn't answer, but she moved. Slowly, deliberately. No longer trying to posture or perform.
He listened to the soft rustle of clothing, the small metal clink of jewelry or buttons being set aside. And yet… he didn't look. Not necessarily just out of politeness, but also because he was tired too.
"You know, you could just… tell them what you told me."
"And what exactly did I tell you?"
"That you care. Even if it comes with a knife's edge."
Weiss stared at him like she couldn't quite believe he understood.
She shook her head once, like brushing off some unwanted thought, then moved toward the door.
"You're more perceptive than you look, Arc."
"You're less heartless than you act, Schnee."
That earned a small hmph, but her lips quirked at the edge.
"Goodnight."
"Night."
Then she was gone, the door whispering shut behind her.
And for the first time, his name didn't sound like a mistake in her mouth.
Jaune exhaled slowly, alone now in the locker room, the quiet pressing against him, an unseen weight. His fingers hovered just above the handle. This was it. The moment where he might find a clue to who he was, to the person he used to be before his memory slipped away like sand through his finger. This moment will change everything. His heart trembled with the faintest whisper of hope, but that hope was fragile, thin. Like a dying star, its light barely clinging to the dark void. He was chasing a ghost of himself, to open the door to his past.
He turned the handle, the sound clicking in the stillness, a countdown to his truth. His breath hitched slightly as the door creaked open.
For a moment, his heart raced in anticipation. It was time to get his life back on track.
Inside the locker, nothing.
Not a thing. A plain white set of school issued pajamas, wrapped in plastic, the only sign of life in this sterile space. No luggage. No clothes. No weapons.
No remnants of the person he might have been. Just the cold gleam of metal and linen that didn't belong to him.
No memento. No memory.
Jaune's hand shook as he reached inside, his fingers brushing the thin fabric devoid of meaning. He lingered for a moment, almost as if trying to will something else into existence. But there was nothing. Only the empty ghost of his own hopes.
Nothing else.
The silence screamed louder now, a vast, cold silence that seemed to stretch out into infinity. A past rapidly fading into the distance.
He stood frozen, staring at the vacant space. The hollow space within him mirrored the void before him.
His fingers clenched around the edge of the locker door, trembling violently. His stomach twisted with a cold, nauseating frustration. It was as though the world had folded in on itself, leaving him with nothing to stand on.
Who was he?
Why had he been left with nothing?
He closed the locker door slowly, the soft click of the metal a funeral bell ringing realization into his mind.
'Well, if any ghosts try anything, just punch 'em. Works for me.'
His body jerked, and the frustration he had been holding back surged forward. With a raw, guttural sound, Jaune slammed his fist into the door, the metal reverberating with a broken echo.
Nothing! No bags! No weapon!
No trace of anyone he used to be.
The world had unraveled, leaving him with nothing but the remnants of a forgotten life.
He wasn't just someone who forgot who he was.
He was starting to wonder if there had ever been someone there to begin with.