Jaune's Resolve

8 - Recognized

Because this Jaune had something the other one never did.

A second chance.

He stepped into the arena. The doors hissed open and shut behind him, closing out the outside world. The air inside smelled faintly of metal, chalk, and effort.

He moved to the center platform, drawing his sword with a practiced, fluid motion. His shield slid into place on his arm with a firm snap.

Feet shoulder-width apart.

Knees loose.

Eyes steady.

'Time to close the gap.'

Beacon Training Grounds - Balcony Level

Weiss stood behind a tall support pillar on the second-floor balcony of the training arena, her spine rigid and dignity clinging on for dear life.

Her hands were clasped behind her back like a proper lady.

...Except she was currently tilting at an awkward angle, craning her neck just enough to peek over the edge without being seen.

"This is ridiculous," she whispered to herself through clenched teeth. "I am a Schnee. I do not... spy."

But she was absolutely spying.

And her heels were digging into the stone floor to keep her from leaning too far.

Below, Jaune Arc stepped into the training arena with a fluidity that made her blink twice. He wasn't stumbling. He wasn't tripping over his own sword. He wasn't making some grand, bumbling declaration about hard work or destiny.

No, he was... calm.

Focused.

She watched in growing disbelief as he rolled his shoulders once, settled into his stance, and began moving through drills with a steady, practiced rhythm. The clang of metal against reinforced training dummies echoed cleanly through the air.

Each strike was deliberate. Not perfect-but tight. Balanced. Better.

He pivoted mid-swing, countered an imaginary blow, and launched a clean feint into a shield bash.

Her jaw nearly dropped.

Then he moved again-precise. Composed. Controlled.

Her brows furrowed.

It wasn't just improvement.

It was discipline.

'No. No, this is wrong.'

'He'd been a walking disaster weeks ago. No balance. No sense of distance. Flailing like a child trying to lift an anchor.'

'Now?'

'Now he was threading footwork and guard changes like a student who'd been training for years.'

Weiss narrowed her eyes.

"No. That was luck. It has to be-" She paused as Jaune executed a clean turn, slid under a counter-swing from one of the automated bots, and disarmed it in one smooth motion.

CLANK.

The bot's weapon clattered to the floor.

Jaune stood straight and exhaled slowly. Composed.

Weiss gasped.

Too loud.

Jaune's head turned-just slightly-eyes scanning the second-floor balcony.