“Rain? Rain! Wake up, you giant cat!”

  I give her a nudge—okay, maybe a few nudges—that nearly send her tumbling off the bed. Finally, she stirs, blinking into consciousness with a sluggishness that borders on comical. Her amber eyes flick to Pyrrha, then to me, her expression muddled with confusion, as if she’s double-checking her surroundings.

  “Yo…” she drawls, her voice a zy purr. “What time…?”

  I chuckle,. “You’ve got time before csses.”

  Pyrrha steps forward, looking far more worried than me. “We just wanted to know who you brought home st night.”

  Rain blinks, her brain clearly still working through the hangover. “Weiss?”

  “Not Weiss,” I chime in.

  “Huh.” She huffs, then scrunches her nose. “Short, loud, drunk… little jacket?”

  “Still not Weiss.”

  She shoots me a silent, bnk look, her eyes narrowing as if trying to guess what I want from her.

  “Just get up and help us deal with whoever you kidnapped.”

  With a shrug that seems to say why not, Rain kicks off the covers and rises.

  The morning light catches on the inky bck stripes that trace her warm, smooth skin from neck to toe. Her hair, usually restrained in a high ponytail, spills down her back in a furry cascade, pooling like a second bnket on the mattress. When she sits up, her chest—normally bound by her tight top—rises and falls freely with more weight than I’d expected. They bounce softly, the twin peaks of her soft-pink nipples hardening instantly as they meet the cold air, a subtle shiver passing through her.

  She stretches comfortably, completely ignoring our presence. Arms raised high, the arch of her beautiful back accentuating the feline grace of her form. The motion lingers, as if she has all the time in the world.

  Rising to her feet, she moves to collect her clothes, her long legs rippling with lean muscle. Her tail swishes behind her, an invitation—or a dare—that I barely resist. My fingers twitch with temptation, the thought of giving the girl a pyful spanking and dying in the same heartbeat calling to me.

  Instead, I settle for a grin, biting back my urge as my gaze flickers to Pyrrha. She’s staring straight at the floor, her face flushed crimson, the heat of embarrassment betraying her attempts at composure.

  “We’ll go ahead,” I say, gently nudging the redhead out of the room before she spontaneously combusts.

  God, I really do have a thing for Faunus, huh.

  I ugh quietly, trying to shake off the thought, and step into the next room. This time, I take the initiative, pulling back the covers myself—partly to uncover the mystery, partly to ensure there isn’t a drunk, naked stranger waiting to add a crime to my permanent registry.

  The first thing I see is a bright-red jacket, its fabric crumpled and wrapped tightly around a slender, ebony-skinned figure. Relief washes over me, though it’s mixed with curiosity.

  Passed out, she seems smaller, more fragile, her face softened by sleep. The wildness that sparked through her the night before is gone, leaving something that almost feels… innocent. But there’s no mistaking her.

  Maroon.

  The girl who had set the party abze now lies curled up and motionless, like an ember that’s finally burned low.

  “You know her?” Pyrrha asks, as if reading it off my grin.

  “Hard not to, to be honest,” I respond with a shrug. “She really is the soul of the party.”

  Pyrrha gnces at the still figure. “We should wake her up. Breakfast isn’t that far off.”

  I consider the challenge: how do you wake a half-drunk girl in a strange room without making things worse? Answer: you don’t. But since we’re past that point, I lean in and give her a few gentle taps on the cheek.

  Maroon stirs, a yawn stretching her mouth wide before her eyes flutter open—well, squint, really. She takes a long look around, processing the unfamiliarity, then lifts a finger to the floor, pointing weakly at a backpack.

  “Baggie,” she mutters

  Not about to argue with the barely-conscious, I grab the bag and set it on her p. For a moment, she just sits there, dazed and awkward, as if trying to remember how limbs work. Finally, her hands fumble through the bag, pulling out a pair of round gsses. When she slips them on, the enormous lenses make her small, round face look even more doll-like.

  She rummages further and produces a sleek, metallic patch. Pressing it to her shoulder, she adheres it with practiced ease. Her eyes drop to a wristwatch, squinting at the numbers.

  “Hmmm… Sixty-eight… Need sippy.”

  Pyrrha and I exchange gnces, both of us equally confused. I dig into the bag again. There doesn’t seem to be much on it, and the only thing that isn’t wrapped or within a package are small grape juice boxes. I pull one out, puncturing it with the straw and pcing it in front of her.

  Like a machine, Maroon’s fingers wrap around the box, and she gulps down the juice, the color returning to her cheeks. She drinks like it’s recharging her, like a portable battery slotting into pce.

  “Guess it’s close enough to wine,” I joke.

  Maroon finishes with a loud, satisfied sigh, the empty box crumpling in her hand. Her eyes finally open wide enough to focus, and she leans forward to press a smile into my cheek.

  “Thank you, thank you…” she cheers before coming to a stop. “Where am I?”

  ?

  Breakfast is… Interesting.

  At one end of the table sits a six-foot-tall Faunus who alternates between tearing into her food like a beast and dispying impeccable table manners. At the other end, a semi-conscious, small, nerdy figure slouches, eyes flicking toward me with barely masked hope—her silent plea for me to cut the crusts off her bread growing more desperate with each gnce.

  And honestly? Compared to everyone else, we’re not even the weirdest ones here.

  Team Ruby is already locked in some sort of fight, mere hours after being formed. Team Cardinal remains unchanged—except Cardin appears to have found a girl who tolerates his company by punching him every so often. Then there’s at least one other team. The one I know nothing about, which is both troubling and thrilling.

  The shifting nature of this world doesn’t bother me as much as it probably should. If I’m being honest, I’m choosing not to care about it. Sure, it complicates my mission, but I’d rather the story go off the rails early than lose sleep over every tiny action, wondering if I’ve inadvertently altered the timeline.

  This way, I can accept that some changes are beyond my control and focus on what’s right in front of me. And right now, it’s painfully clear: I am not strong enough.

  My [Observe] skill still doesn’t give me the level of detail I want, but it’s enough to know one thing for certain: most of the people around me are stronger than me. If I pulled out [The Contender], I could probably take them down, but that gun clearly wasn’t made to be aimed at people. Using it feels like leaning on a crutch I’m not sure I want to depend on. One mistake on my part and, well… Let’s just say a concentrated dust-bst to the head is pretty nasty, even by Beacon’s standards.

  No, it’s more than that. The thought of relying on a stolen, outdated weapon gnaws at me. Maybe it’s my pride, but there’s something humbling—hell, embarrassing—about knowing half the girls here could ftten me in a fair fight. I hate that my edge comes down to a lucky piece of hardware rather than my own strength.

  I need to be better.

  [Mana Infusing], [Weapon Crafting], [Elemental Affinity]—these are the skills I earned after that st dungeon run. They feel like puzzle pieces I haven’t quite put together yet. And then there are the unopened loot boxes.

  I should probably carve out some time to unpack it all. A part of me is always turning those ideas over, no matter how hard I try to act like just another student with a free ticket to a carefree life. Fortunately, all those points I’ve dumped into intelligence seem to be paying off. The answers are there, hovering just out of reach, but not for long.

  I feel like I know what I need to do. Now it’s just a matter of waiting for the right moment.

  But before I can lose myself in that train of thought, a gentle tug on my sleeve pulls me back to reality.

  Maroon.

  Her hesitation fades into a flicker of resolve as she looks up at me. Whatever she needs, she’s finally ready to ask. “Could you… Cutties, please?”

  She’s really weird.

  I chuckle softly and take the knife and fork from her trembling hands, then I start cutting her food into manageable pieces. “You weren’t like this the st time we talked.”

  “Last time…?” Her brow furrows in thought before her eyes widen in realization. “Oh… I was probably drunk. Ma’ Sembnce…”

  I gnce at the metallic patch near her shoulder, curiosity sparking. “It makes you diabetic?” I joke, trying to lighten the mood.

  To my surprise, she gives an awkward nod. “I can only break down alcohol or’ sugar, so…”

  “So you abuse your Sembnce until you colpse, then hope someone’s around to get you up in the morning?”

  She doesn’t answer. Instead, her face flushes crimson, and she turns away, the tips of her ears burning. Yet when I lift a piece of food to her lips, she parts them without hesitation, letting me feed her. Her gaze flickers up at me beneath her shes—tentative, maybe even pyful in their embarrassment.

  Is she… into this?

  I don’t know if I really want to question it.

  Or compin.

  ?

  Today, we don’t even come close to any cssrooms. Instead, we’re guided straight to the training grounds, where Ozpin steps forward as he prepares for one of his signature speeches.

  “Greetings, prospective students of Beacon Academy,” he begins, his voice calm and steady. “Today is your final opportunity to solidify the members of your future teams. Tomorrow, we will conclude the week with a formal four-person test. Your performance will determine whether you earn a pce in this institution.”

  He pauses briefly, looking at the crowd.

  “To prepare, we’re giving you a chance to cooperate and adapt. Today, you’ll participate in a series of random two-versus-two matches designed to test your ability to synchronize with different fighting styles. Choose your first partner, and then…”

  A faint smile touches his lips.

  “Wait for the fun to begin.”

  To be honest, there’s not much to think about.

  “Nikos,” I call, half-joking. “You said you wanted to prove yourself. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  Is this a cheap tactic to roll over the competition by partnering with the best fighter around? Maybe. But if you’re going to be weak, you’d better be smart about it.

  Fortunately, Pyrrha doesn’t mind putting on a show. Five minutes ter, we’re standing face-to-face with our first set of opponents—two figures I’ve never seen before.

  A male and female duo, equal in height, cd in bck-and-white uniforms that look like something out of an old-world servant’s wardrobe. Their faces are eerily simir, only distinguishable by the eborate, clown-like makeup in monochrome tones.

  “Uly-Uly!” The girl pirouettes forward, her skirt fring out like a dark flower. “Let’s bash their heads in!”

  Her brother sighs. “Calm down, Astra. Let’s just get this over with.”

  I gnce at Pyrrha. “Want me to pick one? The crazy one looks fun.”

  She gives me a confident nod. The bell rings. The match begins.

  I hurl one of my tomahawks, the bde spinning through the air in a glinting silver arc. The other axe stays firm in my grip, ready to redirect the strike. But before it gets anywhere near her, Astra flicks up a hand, and a ripple of invisible force sps the weapon aside.

  “Non-non-non!” she singsongs. “No touching the goods for you!”

  With a grin, she pulls a short, handle-like bar from her belt. A press of a button, and a bde of solid, shimmering light fres to life.

  “That’s just a lightsaber!”

  “A what?!” she screams, confused—but that doesn’t slow her down. She charges straight at me, light-bde fring.

  I brace for impact, ready to counter-attack, but at the st second, she flicks her hand again. A psychic wave crashes into me, knocking me off bance. I stumble, grit my teeth, and hurl my second tomahawk low, between her legs. My Sembnce kicks in; I teleport mid-flight, recovering the second axe from the ground. I’m going to need both if I want a change to get close.

  “Awww… look at you, all quick and sneaky. That’s so fucking annoying!”

  I track her every move, ready for another charge or psychic burst—but before I can react, an unseen force yanks me off my feet. I’m flung backward, smming into Pyrrha.

  We grunt on impact, but she rolls with it like a pro, dropping to one knee and leveling her rifle in a smooth motion. A shot cracks through the air, grazing the guy’s shoulder before he jerks the weapon from her hands with a telekinetic pull. The rifle sails toward him like a summoned pet.

  “He pulls, she pushes!” I shout, the pattern finally clicking into pce.

  I let both tomahawks fly toward the brother. His eyes widen in panic, but his sister sweeps her hand up, deflecting the axes with another burst of force.

  Doesn’t matter.

  A bronze blur steps forward—Pyrrha, shield raised, an unstoppable force. Her shield connects with his chest in a brutal sm, and I don’t stick around to see him hit the floor.

  Instead, I scoop Pyrrha’s rifle off the ground and spin, lining up a shot at Astra. Time for a little experiment.

  Two shots ring out: the first to her left, the second aimed right at her. I vanish, switching pces with the first bullet, and appear beside her mid-air. My foot shes out in a swift kick, striking her in the temple. Her head snaps sideways, but her aura holds.

  The second bullet hits her not even a heartbeat ter. It doesn’t pierce her aura, but that’s not the point—I swap pces again, this time with her, just as her bde arcs through the air towards me. I grab her by the leg and, with a grunt of effort, throw her spinning body out of the arena.

  She sails over the boundary line with a furious screech.

  I nd, breathing hard, and gnce at Pyrrha. She smiles, brushing back a lock of hair, her eyes alight with satisfaction.

  Maybe I’m not the strongest, but for now, smart will do just fine.

  ?

  This week’s chapter is shorter than pnned. I’d hoped to include another fight and some weapon-forging, but I’ve been feeling a bit under the weather.

  Still, half a chapter is better than none! I hope this one hits the mark. We’ll be back soon to craft our own weapons and dive deeper into the system, taking more advantage of what it can offer.

  As for Ulysses and Astra, they’ll be joining the fourth team at Beacon. Their Sembnce, [Duality Drift], allows them to pull and push objects with their minds, respectively. From there, giving them light-saber weapons was an obvious choice.

  Don’t worry—there aren’t many more characters left to introduce. Soon, this AU will be ready to kick into full-force plot mode!