Jaune's Resolve

8 - Recognized

Beacon - Afternoon

Jaune stretched his arms high over his head with a quiet grunt, his joints loosening with satisfying tension as he made his way down the sun-dappled corridor. The late afternoon light streamed through the high windows of Beacon's grand hallways, striping the floor with golden beams that danced beneath his steps. His gear clinked softly at his side with each movement-familiar weight, comforting rhythm.

"Alright, later guys," he called over his shoulder to Team JNPR, who were already veering off toward the library. "Gonna get a few solo reps in before it gets too crowded."

Pyrrha offered a small wave and a warm, knowing smile. "Don't push yourself too hard."

"Bring back snacks!" Nora called after him, her voice already muffled by the distance.

He chuckled under his breath. 'Same Nora.'

Their voices faded behind him as his mind was already turning inward.

As Jaune moved through the winding halls toward the training annex, he rolled one shoulder slowly, then the other. The usual tightness? Gone. No pops, no soreness. His core didn't ache the way it used to after morning drills, and the deep burn in his thighs had dulled into something manageable-familiar, almost.

He squeezed the hilt of his sword where it hung at his side.

His grip didn't shake anymore.

Stronger. Definitely stronger.

But not by chance.

Weeks of consistent work. Early mornings, late nights. Fixing his stance. Rewiring bad habits that had been drilled into him by desperation, not discipline. Relearning how to move-not like the unsteady Beacon rookie he used to be-but like the soldier he had become.

The rhythm was returning. But it wasn't just about improvement. It was about restoration.

He was getting back-back to a version of himself that had once stood tall in Atlas, shoulder to shoulder with real Huntresses and elite Operatives. Someone who had fought with confidence, commanded with purpose.

Someone who'd earned it.

Jaune slowed as he neared the glass-paneled doors of the training arena, fingers brushing along the polished handle.

But there was still distance.

Between now and the person he'd been.

Between Beacon Jaune... and Atlas Jaune.

Atlas Jaune, who could stand-hold the line. Who could wipe hordes of Grimm by himself. Who is considered a reliable agent.. with a reliable Semblance.

...

His eyes flicked down to his gloved hand.

'Semblance...'

That familiar ache welled up in his chest.

He still hadn't unlocked it.

He knew the feeling. He remembered what it was like. The warmth, the instinct, the light when it came alive beneath his skin. But here and now, there was nothing. Just silence. A void where it should be. And that was the part that gnawed at him more than anything.

This Jaune still caught his breath too early. Still misread angles. Still had moments-brief, quiet ones-!where he looked in the mirror and didn't fully believe the man staring back.

"...Tch."

He shook his head sharply, as if clearing the fog from a bad dream.

'No time for that kind of thinking.'