It was the last day of the semester.
Beacon Academy's courtyard buzzed with life—students hauling bags, laughing, calling out goodbyes to friends they wouldn't see for a month. The December air was crisp, carrying that quiet chill that made breath visible in thin white trails. Somewhere across the courtyard, someone had already started playing Christmas songs from a portable speaker.
Jaune Arc stopped for a moment, standing near the edge of the main building steps, and let the sound of it wash over him.
Last day of year one.
It didn't feel real.
An entire year at Beacon had passed—classes, tests, club activities and weekends spent half-dozing over study notes or hanging out with Ruby and the others. Nine months ago, he'd been an awkward new transfer who barely knew anyone. Now, he had routines, friendships, and… other responsibilities. The kind that couldn't be written down or spoken aloud.
His fingers brushed the edge of his jacket pocket where his ID rested.
Today was about something normal.
Jaune pushed open the doors of the Sword Arts Club's training hall and stepped inside. The sound of chatter from outside faded instantly, replaced by the dull echo of shoes against wood. It was mostly empty now. A few younger students were sweeping the floors or packing equipment for storage over the break.
And there, near the center of the room, stood Grise.
He was adjusting his wrist wraps, the same way he always did before a match. His dark grey was longer now and tied back neatly, his posture calm but alert. He wore the standard white kendo jacket, sleeves rolled, his favored practice katana resting against his shoulder.
"You're late, Jaune," Grise said without looking up.
Jaune smiled faintly, walking in with two wooden swords in hand. "Last day of class. Got held up saying bye to people."
"Mm." Grise's eyes lifted, measuring him. "You still plan to do this?"
"Yeah," Jaune said, shrugging off his coat and setting it aside. "Figured it'd be a good way to end the year. Its also going the be the last day I see you in school, too, so I wouldn't miss it for the world."
Grise gave him a small smile and nodded, approvingly. "Good. One last bout, then. No holding back, you hear?"
Jaune grinned. "I'll try not to embarrass myself too badly."
They took their positions at opposite ends of the mat. The air between them grew still, the world narrowing to the faint creak of floorboards and the muted hiss of their breathing.
Jaune exhaled slowly—and activated his rune.
There was no flash of light, or ripple of energy. Just an internal shift, like flicking a switch in the back of his mind. His limbs grew heavier, his pulse slowed, and every motion seemed weighted. He could feel his strength fade, drawn inward and restrained. The Weakness Rune obeyed exactly as he intended—quiet, subtle, perfectly tuned to dull him down to something human.
He rolled his shoulders once, grounding himself in the sensation.
Grise gave a faint smile, misreading Jaune's small movements as nerves. "You ready?"
Jaune raised both of his practice swords in response. His skill in dual wielding had grown leaps and bounds over the months. "Born ready."
The match began with no further warning.
Grise moved first, stepping in with a clean, decisive downward strike. Jaune raised his right blade to parry, the wooden swords cracking together with a sharp clack. He twisted his wrist, redirecting the pressure, and swept his left blade low to is ankle in response.
Grise sidestepped easily, countering with a horizontal slash that forced Jaune back.
His arms ached more than they should have and his timing was slower than usual.
That was good.
Grise wasn't an awakened like Jaune, and didn't have aura or stats. And yet, when it came to swordsmanship, he was a master. His movements were clean and unpretentious—every strike deliberate and every guard precise. Jaune admired that about him.
They exchanged blows, neither yielding. Grise's style was based on economy of motion. No wasted flourishes, no dramatics—just clean, efficient precision. Jaune's dual-blade approach was faster, more aggressive, but with his strength dampened, he couldn't overpower his teacher the way instinct wanted him to. He had to rely on form rhythm and timing.
Skill.
A mistake came in the fifth exchange. Jaune's right wrist tensed too early. Grise exploited it instantly, pivoting and bringing his blade up in a clean diagonal strike that stopped just shy of Jaune's ribs.
"Point," Grise said, lowering his sword.
Jaune nodded, stepping back to reset. Even after he'd spent months pushing his limits upward, Grise was still a monster who could dominate him in spars.
"That was tough, you almost got me there." Grise said mildly.
Jaune smiled faintly. "Heh. I'll get you next time."
"We shall see..."
They resumed.
Jaune moved first this time, testing a feint—right blade high, left following low. Grise blocked the first, caught the second, and pushed forward, his counterattack forcing Jaune onto the defensive. Jaune twisted aside, ducked under the next swing and backpedaled quickly.
Grise let him back off, and chuckled under his breath. "Hmm, a swordsman that backs away? How curious..."
"Ugh..."
Another clash. Another rush of air.
For every strike he missed and for every hit he blocked, he could feel something click deeper into place.
His own skill.
He remembered when he first joined this club—awkward and unsure how to stand, gripping his sword like it was a bat. Grise had been patient back then, teaching him one correction at a time.
Now, almost a year later, Jaune could see the lines between movements. The spaces between breaths.
He parried another strike, twisted, and this time he managed to slip behind Grise's guard. His left sword stopped just short of the man's shoulder.
A clean hit.
Grise blinked, then smiled faintly. "Damn. Not bad."
They broke apart, both breathing harder than before.
The match continued another ten minutes, back and forth, a dance of wooden blades and rhythm. Grise still won more points than Jaune, but the gap between them was smaller than ever.
When Grise finally called for a stop, Jaune was drenched in sweat, hair clinging to his forehead, chest rising and falling heavily. He deactivated the Weakness Rune quietly. His strength returned in a slow rush, a tide flowing back to shore. The contrast made his limbs feel almost light.
"I'm impressed Jaune," Grise said simply, setting his sword down and reaching for a towel. "Your prowess has come a long way. You came close to winning, a couple times too."
Jaune nodded, catching his breath. "Still a long way from you, though."
"That's the point." Grise smirked slightly. "If you ever caught up, I'd have to retire."
Jaune laughed, wiping his face with his sleeve. "Guess I'll keep you working a little longer then, friend."
They packed their equipment in companionable silence.
When they reached the door, Grise turned and said, "What are you doing for the holidays?"
"Not much, some part time work and relaxing mostly." Jaune replied. "I think I deserve a small break over these holidays. Although looking at the weather... I might have to shovel snow from my driveway soon."
"That's the true warrior's training."
Jaune chuckled. "If you say so."
Grise offered him a fist bump. "You've done well this year. Don't slack off over break."
"I won't."
"Good."
For a few moments, neither said anything simply stopping at the door. The faint hum of the building's heater filled the silence, mingling with the muffled chatter of students in the hallway outside.
Then Jaune glanced over. "Hey, uh… Grise?"
"Yeah?"
"So…" Jaune hesitated, fidgeting with the cap of his bottle. "What happens after this? I mean, after Beacon."
Grise smiled faintly, amused. "I'm surprised you never asked sooner."
Jaune rubbed the back of his neck, a little sheepish. "I guess I never really thought about it. Every time we talk, it's always about swordsmanship, drills, or… me getting my butt kicked."
Grise chuckled. "That's true enough." He leaned back against the wall, gaze drifting toward the ceiling. "Well, yeah. This was my last year, so I guess I won't be going to High-school anymore. And I won't be in the club again."
"That's kinda wild," Jaune said softly. "I can't imagine not seeing you around here again."
"I suppose I'll miss this place a little." Grise swirled the water in his bottle, thinking. "But it's time. I've been here long enough already and I've got plans lined up already."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. There's a fencing academy in Mistral that offered me an assistant instructor position. They want someone with both competitive and teaching experience. I figured it's a good step forward."
Jaune blinked. "You're gonna be a teacher?"
Grise shrugged. "That's the idea. Don't sound so surprised. I teach here after all."
"No, no—it's just…" Jaune grinned. "I can totally see it. You've got that whole calm, cool sensei vibe going on."
Grise laughed. "Sensei, huh? I'll take that as a compliment."
"It is," Jaune said, smiling. "You're one of the best mentors I've had, honestly."
Grise gave him a sidelong look, his tone lighter now. "Even better than your academic instructors?"
Jaune shrugged. "You're not as scary as Professor Oobleck. Sometimes I wonder how he even gets through the day with all the coffee he drinks. Thankfully he teaches history and not swordsmanship."
That got a genuine laugh out of Grise. "I'll keep that in mind. Low bar, though."
Jaune leaned forward slightly. "So, Mistral, huh? You gonna stay there long-term?"
"Not sure yet," Grise admitted. "I want to travel a bit first—maybe do some kendo exhibitions, visit a few old friends from my early training days. But the academy's stable work, and they've got good facilities. Might stay a few years if it feels right."
"That sounds… nice," Jaune said, quietly. "Peaceful."
"It's something, at least." Grise tilted his head, studying him. "What about you? You planning ahead yet?"
Jaune froze for half a second, caught off guard. "Me? Uh… not really. I mean, I've got some stuff I'm working toward, but…" He trailed off, then smiled faintly. "It's complicated."
Grise nodded knowingly. "Complicated's fine. You've got time. You're only just finishing year one."
"Yeah." Jaune glanced at his hands again, flexing his fingers absently. "Still feels weird, though. Everyone else talks about their goals, where they'll be in five years, and I'm just… trying to keep up."
"That's normal," Grise said simply. "When I was your age, I didn't know what the hell I was doing either. I just liked the sword. So I kept following that. Sometimes that's all you need to start with."
Jaune smiled a little at that. "Guess I'm on the right track, then."
"Seems that way to me," Grise said. "You've got talent. More than most."
"Still doesn't stop you from smacking me around," Jaune muttered good-naturedly.
Grise smirked. "Call it character building."
They both laughed quietly, the kind of easy laughter that came from familiarity rather than humor.
The sun outside dipped lower, turning the windows gold-orange.
Grise stretched one last time. "You'll do fine, Jaune. Keep training, keep improving. Don't lose that focus."
Jaune looked up at him. "You too, Grise. Don't forget to visit sometime. The club won't be the same without you."
"I might just do that." Grise reached out a hand, and Jaune shook it firmly. "And hey—next time we spar, I expect you to actually win one."
Jaune grinned. "Heh. No promises."
Grise laughed, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Figures."
He waved once, opened the door.
"See you around, Jaune."
"Yeah… see you, Grise."
And with that, Grise left, the sound of his footsteps fading down the hall.
Jaune lingered a moment longer. The hall was quiet now. Only the late sunlight spilling through the high windows, painting long streaks of orange across the polished floor.
He let out a slow breath.
Peak Rank 1. That's what he was now. Months ago, that phrase wouldn't have meant anything. Now, it carried weight. Responsibility. His father's words still echoed in his head sometimes—"Reach Rank 2 in two years... then you will have the qualifications to face me."
Five months since that ultimatum. A year and a half left.
Jaune looked down at his hands—the same ones that had just sparred against Grise. They didn't look special. Just calloused and steady. But he knew what they could do when he wasn't suppressing himself.
He closed them into fists and sighed faintly.
.
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AN: Advanced chapters up to 10 are available on patreon