Jaune felt Mocha's grip on his arm loosen for a when her gaze drifted past him. He followed the line of her eyes and realized who she was staring at.
Pyrrha.
Something shifted in Mocha's expression—confusion melting into recognition. Her lips parted, and for a second it looked as though she'd forgotten how to breathe.
"You're…" she said, voice rising with excitement. "You're Pyrrha Nikos, aren't you?"
Jaune's eyes flicked toward Pyrrha instinctively.
There was a pause, almost unnoticeable, where her shoulders seemed to sag almost imperceptibly, and where a sigh slipped out between her lips. Her face softened into something weary, unguarded and almost irritated. But the moment was gone before it could settle.
When she looked back up, her expression was flawless. A bright, polite smile bloomed across her face, warm but detached. Jaune recognized it instantly. The exact same smile he'd seen her wear a couple of times when she was cornered into conversation by others. A smile polished by years of practice, the kind that could satisfy someone without revealing a shred of what she was actually thinking.
"Yes," Pyrrha said, her tone steady. "That's me."
Mocha all but bounced on her feet. "I knew it! I knew it was you! I wasn't sure at first, but—wow. To think I'd meet you in person!"
Pyrrha gave a soft laugh. It was delicate, careful, and so well-measured that Jaune almost believed it. Almost.
"It's always nice to meet someone familiar with my past work," she said, voice dipped in grace.
"Yes, your past work!" Mocha echoed, tilting her head. "Your MMA career was truly a sight to see. I watched a lot of your matches online. You were practically untouchable out there—the way you moved, the way you handled your opponents—it was like watching art. It's such a shame that you quit though."
Mocha gave off a few mock punches in the air as if to imitate what she had seen Pyrrha do. But she looked more like a cute panda attempting a few punches rather than a boxer.
The practiced smile never wavered, but it now appeared to have a hint of amusement within. "I try to," Pyrrha said gently. "Though Beacon keeps me quite busy with schoolwork."
He could see through it. Pyrrha wasn't lying, but she wasn't here either. She was giving Mocha exactly what she wanted: the once heroic figure, the celebrity fighter. It was a flawless mask. But he'd caught the way her eyes dimmed in that first moment, the small sigh she hadn't meant anyone to hear. She didn't want this.
And Mocha didn't notice.
"Unbelievable," the girl gushed. "I still remember the finals from Mistral—when you ground and pounded that Atlesian prodigy with a single sweep? You were so cool! Honestly, I thought you'd be off competing in professional circuits by now, not…" She paused, gesturing vaguely around the room. "…here."
Jaune knew he had to step in. If he let Mocha keep going, she'd keep pressing, and Pyrrha would be forced to keep up that mask until it cracked.
Well, she had a lot of practice, so it was unlikely to happen, however, it didn't hurt to hold out a helping hand, now did it?
"So, Mocha," Jaune said suddenly, shifting his weight to draw the girl's attention back to him. "You mentioned before about… rituals? Something you found in those texts?"
Mocha blinked, caught off guard by the interruption, but then her eyes lit up again with the same fervor she'd shown earlier. She pivoted toward him, her hands tightening around the notebook she still clutched.
"Yes! I was telling you earlier—these texts I found, they're wild. Some of them describe Runes and apparently users, many, many years ago that used them to perform amazing feats. Most of it's mixed in with… well, nonsense rituals, but a few of the diagrams line up with the patterns you were asking me about. I think if we tried—"
Out of the corner of his eye, Jaune caught Pyrrha.
The moment Mocha's attention left her, the redhead let out a subtle breath of relief, almost invisible if you weren't watching for it. Her shoulders dropped by a fraction, her mask finally loosening in the space of a heartbeat.
Jaune almost smiled.
He hadn't imagined it. She really had been straining to keep that polite façade in place.
Mocha, oblivious, pressed closer to him, still speaking quickly, still filled with that excited energy. She gestured with her free hand, eyes alight with excitement.
"…and if it's real—even one of it—hehehe—"
Jaune raised a hand lightly, forcing his voice steady. "Maybe. But, uh, one thing at a time, right? Let's not jump to conclusions."
Mocha pouted, clearly not thrilled at the brush-off, but before she could argue, Jaune seized on another chance to redirect the conversation.
"Actually," he said, glancing between them, "have you met Blake yet? She's in some of my classes. Same as Pyrrha."
Blake, who had been quietly watching, shifted a look at Jaune, as if she didn't want to be introduced at all, however, she inclined her head politely. Her eyes shifted into a calm, unreadable look but Jaune caught the way she measured Mocha carefully. Almost like she was filing away details.
Mocha blinked, shifting her gaze. "Oh. I… don't think so but I think I've seen you around the library."
"Probably," Blake said smoothly. "I spend a little time there."
The conversation shifted, if only slightly, and Jaune allowed himself a small, private breath of relief. At least Pyrrha wasn't under Mocha's spotlight anymore.
Still, as Mocha rambled on about runes and obscure texts, Jaune's eyes flicked back toward Pyrrha one more time.
Her expression was calmer now. But he remembered the sigh, the tight mask, the fleeting moment where her composure had slipped.
It stuck with him.
Because Jaune knew exactly what it was like to be forced into a role you didn't want to play.
And from where he stood, Pyrrha Nikos had been wearing that mask for a very, very long time.
Mocha's rambling finally slowed when a wide yawn stole over her face, her mouth stretching open unguardedly. She blinked once, before slapping a hand over her lips, looking suddenly sheepish.
"Wow," she said with a small laugh, shaking her head. "That one was big."
Jaune tilted his head. It wasn't just the yawn. Now that the hyperactive sparkle in her eyes had dimmed for a moment, he noticed the faint puffiness beneath them. It was subtle, but it was there — the telltale shadows that spoke of poor sleep. Strange he hadn't caught it earlier. Her energy had been infectious, bouncing between them like static, distracting him from the details.
"Didn't get enough sleep yesterday, or something?" Jaune asked.
Mocha gave a dismissive wave, as if brushing away his concern. "Kinda. Just… odd dreams. Well, nightmares, I guess. The last two nights in a row. All those horror movies must be catching up to me."
Jaune paused, the word sticking in his chest like a hook. Nightmares.
He nodded once without thinking, then stopped. His stomach tightened as realization slid into place. Slowly, his gaze drifted sideways — first to Blake, then to Pyrrha.
Both of them had already picked up on it. He could see it in the way their faces shifted, unmistakably serious. Blake's amber eyes were more focused now, weighing the implications. Pyrrha's mouth pressed into a faint line, quiet with calculation.
They were thinking exactly what he was.
This wasn't just "bad sleep."
Mocha could be connected to a Nightmare Zone.
Jaune wasn't an expert on them — not firsthand, at least. He'd heard enough secondhand from Ren and Nora though, and that was more than enough.
Nightmare Zones weren't like the dilapidated choked streets he'd been venturing into. While they were the hunting grounds of the weaker dream-beasts, Nightmare Zones were also personal. They were drawn straight out of the worst terrors of the dreamer's subconscious and then somehow… infected. Twisted with Grimm until the lines blurred between the person's mind and the monsters lurking inside it.
Ren had once told him about walking through a Nightmare Zone where the zone could whisper his name, accusing him of failures he hadn't even thought about in years. Nora had described fighting inside as zone where everything was upside-down, the buildings bending and warping like funhouse mirrors, while creatures stalked them through reflections.
Jaune frowned at the memory of their stories.
He'd never gone into one himself, whether fortunate or not, time was to tell. The idea itself was enough to make his stomach knot.
And now Mocha—
He looked at her again. She was fiddling with her notebook, tapping its spine against her knee absentmindedly, as though she hadn't just dropped a bomb into the middle of their conversation.
Jaune drew in a slow breath. He wasn't sure what to make of her habits or her odd fixation on occult scraps. She had a careless attitude about chasing things in ways that put her too close to danger. There was also that dirty look she'd given him earlier, the one like they were co-conspirators sharing a dirty secret.
Jaune coughed slightly at that, remembering the image on the last page of the... "grimoire."
In any case, it rubbed him the wrong way.
But still.
Mocha had a good heart. She wasn't malicious. Naïve, maybe, overeager definitely, but not cruel. If she was truly caught in a Nightmare Zone, she'd be in serious danger, whether she realized it or not.
And Jaune… Jaune wasn't willing to just stand by and let that happen. He didn't want her to turn into a grimm.
He clenched his jaw, weighing his options.
It would be easier — safer — to keep quiet. To let someone else deal with it. LUCID surely had procedures for these situations. Mocha wasn't his responsibility. He had enough to worry about already: training, surviving the dream realm, keeping his own secret anomalies under control.
But the thought of brushing her off left a sour taste in his mouth.
He'd made the mistake of standing aside once already in his life. Back when he was younger, back when he thought keeping his head down was the safer option. He remembered the shame of it, the way it had hollowed him out inside.
But that was a story for another time. He wasn't going to do that again. Not now.
His eyes flicked toward Blake. She was watching Mocha carefully, her expression unreadable. Jaune hoped that Blake wasn't the type to ignore something like this either.
Pyrrha was the same.
They were all thinking the same thing.
Mocha didn't notice the silence that fell between them. She yawned again, smaller this time, and rubbed at her eyes with her sleeve. "Ugh. I really should've gone to bed earlier. My brain feels like it's stuffed with cotton."
Jaune forced a smile, though his mind was racing. "Yeah. Maybe get some rest soon."
Mocha gave a little salute with her notebook, grinning tiredly. "Roger that."
But Jaune couldn't shake the thought that rest alone wasn't going to solve this.
If Mocha really was entangled with a Nightmare Zone… time wasn't on her side.
He pressed his lips together, his hand brushing against the strap of his bag absently. He didn't know what he was going to do yet — not exactly. But one thing was clear: he couldn't ignore it.
Even if he had to walk into a Nightmare Zone for the first time.
Even if it terrified him.
Because Mocha might've been reckless, might've been frustrating, but she didn't deserve to face something like that alone.
For a moment, his mind conjured a memory: a flash of red auburn hair and the slice of a sword deflecting torso sized bullets.
Jaune sighed.
Not this time.
.
.
AN: Advanced chapters are available on patreon.