Week two was when things got serious.
Jaune woke up at dawn, his body protesting before he even opened his eyes. Two weeks of his father's training had left him with permanent soreness and a new appreciation for just how difficult huntsman training actually was.
The rubber bullet incident from day three had been exactly as terrible as Rouge promised. He'd spent six hours running obstacle courses while his father shot at him with "non lethal" rounds that still hurt like hell even through his aura. Claire had watched from the porch and kept a running tally of how many times he got hit.
Forty seven. Forty seven times.
His sisters thought it was hilarious.
But he was getting better. His aura control had improved enough that he could maintain it for almost an hour of continuous combat now. His sword forms were becoming more natural, less thinking and more instinct. And his body, enhanced by whatever the system was doing, was adapting faster than it should.
Nicholas Arc noticed.
"You're improving too quickly," his father said on the morning of day fourteen, watching Jaune move through a complicated series of strikes and parries against a training dummy. "It should take months to reach this level of muscle memory. You're doing it in weeks."
Jaune focused on his form, not looking at his father. "Maybe I'm just a fast learner."
"Maybe. Or maybe you've been training in secret before this."
"I haven't."
"Then how do you explain it?" Nicholas stepped closer, his eyes sharp and analytical. "You knew basic sword stances on day one despite never having formal training. Your footwork improved after three sessions when it should take thirty. And your aura control is advancing at a rate I've only seen in people with years of meditation practice."
Jaune finished the sequence and lowered his sword. His mind raced. His father was too observant, too experienced. Of course he'd notice the inconsistencies.
"I don't know how to explain it," he said finally. Which was technically true. How do you explain a system from another dimension?
Nicholas studied him for a long moment. "Are you in danger?"
"What?"
"Whatever is happening to you, whatever changed two weeks ago, is it putting you in danger? Do I need to be worried?"
Jaune looked at his father and saw genuine concern there. Not suspicion or anger, just worry for his son.
"I'm not in danger from it," he said carefully. "It's helping me. Making me stronger. But I can't explain how or why."
"Can't or won't?"
"Both."
His father was quiet for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Alright. I won't push. But Jaune, if you ever need help, if whatever this is ever becomes a problem, you tell me. Understood?"
"Understood."
"Good. Now drop and give me a hundred pushups. Your guard dropped twice during that last sequence."
Jaune groaned but complied. His father might be willing to let the mystery slide, but he wasn't going to let training standards slip.
By the time lunch rolled around, Jaune had done three hundred pushups, five hundred sword strikes, two hours of aura control meditation, and another session of dodging rubber bullets. He was fairly certain his father was trying to kill him through exhaustion.
The kitchen table had become his sanctuary. The brief hour of rest before afternoon training where he could sit, eat, and try to remember what it felt like to not be in constant pain.
"You look dead," Violet observed as he collapsed into his chair.
"Feel dead," Jaune muttered.
"Dad's ramping up the intensity," Saphron said from her spot at the table. At twenty, she'd been through all this years ago and had the benefit of perspective. "That means he thinks you can handle it."
"Or he wants me to quit."
"If he wanted you to quit, he'd have made it impossible. This is hard but doable. That's the sweet spot for growth." She pushed her plate toward him. "Eat. You're going to need the calories."
Jaune was too tired to argue. He ate mechanically, fueling his body because it needed fuel, not because he tasted anything.
Rouge wandered in halfway through the meal. "Hey, baby brother. Guess what came in the mail today?"
"Don't care."
"Your Beacon acceptance letter."
Jaune's head snapped up. "What?"
Rouge waved an envelope with the Beacon Academy seal. "Came this morning. Looks official and everything. Congratulations, you successfully forged your way into the most prestigious combat school in Vale."
He reached for it, but she pulled it back.
"Ah ah, not yet. Mom and Dad want to do a whole thing about it at dinner. I'm just giving you a heads up." Rouge's expression turned more serious. "You've got four and a half months until you leave. Dad's going to push even harder now that it's official."
"Harder than this?"
"Way harder. He'll want you at actual combat school level, not just 'can survive initiation' level."
Jaune let his head hit the table. "I'm going to die."
"Probably! But you'll die at Beacon instead of here, so that's progress."
She left before he could throw something at her.
The afternoon session proved Rouge right. Nicholas introduced live combat scenarios, using his aura to mimic Grimm attack patterns. Jaune had to defend against simulated Beowolves, Ursai, and even a Nevermore dive bomb.
He failed every single one.
"A Beowolf doesn't telegraph its attacks like a human does," his father explained after Jaune got 'killed' for the third time. "They're faster, more aggressive, and they don't feel pain. You need to adjust your entire fighting style."
"How am I supposed to do that?"
"By getting mauled by simulated Grimm until you learn." Nicholas cracked his knuckles. "Again. And this time, remember that Grimm go for the throat. Protect your neck."
By the time the sun set, Jaune had been 'killed' by fake Grimm seventeen times. His aura was completely depleted, his body was covered in bruises despite his aura's protection, and he was pretty sure he'd discovered new and exciting ways to fail at combat.
But the last attempt, the very last one before his father called time, he'd managed to survive for a full minute against a simulated Beowolf. One minute didn't sound like much, but compared to his earlier ten second failures, it was progress.
"Better," Nicholas said. "You're learning to predict animal patterns instead of human ones. We'll drill this every day until you can handle a full pack."
Jaune just nodded, too exhausted to speak.
Dinner that night was a family affair. His mother had made his favorite meal, and all seven of his sisters were present. Even Saphron, who usually ate in her room while working on business proposals, came down for the occasion.
His father stood at the head of the table, the Beacon acceptance letter in his hand.
"Jaune," Nicholas said formally. "You've been accepted to Beacon Academy. In four and a half months, you'll leave home to pursue your dream of becoming a huntsman."
The table erupted in cheers. His sisters clapped and whistled. Claire nearly fell out of her chair in excitement. Even his mother, who'd been quietly worried about the whole thing, smiled.
"I'm proud of you, son," his father continued. "You've worked hard these past two weeks. Harder than I've seen you work at anything. And you've earned this."
Except he hadn't. Not really. The letter was based on fake transcripts. His actual combat ability two weeks ago would have gotten him laughed out of initiation.
But looking around the table at his family's genuine happiness, Jaune made a promise to himself. He'd make it real. He'd work hard enough that by the time he got to Beacon, he'd have earned this acceptance letter retroactively.
"Thanks, Dad," he said. "I won't let you down."
"I know you won't. Because if you do, I'll drag you back here and we'll start training over from day one."
His sisters laughed, but Jaune saw the serious look in his father's eyes. That wasn't a joke. That was a promise.
After dinner, Jaune retreated to his room and pulled up the system screen.
[Training Progress: Week 2 Complete]
[Significant improvement detected]
[Aura Control: 34% efficiency (up from 12%)]
[Combat Proficiency: Novice tier achieved]
[Physical Conditioning: 156% of baseline human]
[Recommendation: Current pace is acceptable but insufficient for optimal quest performance]
[Suggestion: Supplementary training during rest periods]
"You want me to train more?" Jaune asked quietly. "I'm already training twelve hours a day."
[Analysis shows 6 hours of sleep, 2 hours of meals, 4 hours of personal time. Personal time can be optimized.]
"Personal time is called personal time because it's for resting."
[Rest is important for recovery. However, meditation and aura exercises can be performed during designated rest periods without impacting physical recovery.]
Jaune sighed. The system had a point. He could practice aura control while sitting down. Mental exercises didn't require his body to be in peak condition.
"Fine. But you're going to make me regret this, aren't it?"
[Regret is a natural part of growth.]
"That's not reassuring."
[It was not meant to be reassuring. It was meant to be accurate.]
Jaune pulled up the aura training exercises and settled into a meditation pose. Four and a half months until Beacon. He needed every advantage he could get.
Outside his window, the moon hung in a broken crescent over Remnant. Somewhere out there, Ruby Rose was probably training with her scythe, dreaming of becoming a huntress. Yang was probably picking fights in bars. Blake was running from the White Fang. Weiss was studying in Atlas.
And Cinder Fall was planning to destroy everything.
Jaune closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. One step at a time. Get stronger. Survive training. Make it to Beacon. Stop the Fall.
Simple. Straightforward. Absolutely terrifying.
But he'd committed to this path. There was no backing out now.
His aura flickered around him as he meditated, slowly becoming more stable, more controlled. Progress, even if it was measured in tiny increments.
Four and a half months. He could do this.