The second fight doesn’t make us wait.

  “Rozova and Amber versus Vesper and Pyrrha!”

  As the announcement echoes through the arena, a strange flicker of familiarity sparks in my mind. Our first opponent appears to be a Faunus girl with smooth, waist long, stark-white hair, two small midnight-bck horns resting on top of her head. And the second one…

  Amber… Could it be her?

  “I’ll take the one in the armor,” I tell Pyrrha as we step into the designated combat zone.

  “Is that a personal preference?” she teases, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “I’m starting to notice a pattern.”

  “You won’t hear me compin if you ever want to take off the armor. I’d even help.”

  The comment nds harder than I expected. Pyrrha’s cheeks flush faintly, and she looks away, clearing her throat. “Focus on the fight,” she mutters, the faintest smile tugging at her lips.

  Hey, if you can take a bullet, you better know how to take a joke.

  The fight begins with a ferocity that matches my own anticipation, and it seems like both teams agreed to the same pairings. Amber charges toward me like an animal, her heavy nce pushed forward, shield raised, and every inch of her crackling with controlled violence. She’s shorter than me, but the sheer force of her charge makes that detail irrelevant.

  I sidestep just in time, narrowly avoiding what would’ve been a very painful end to this match.

  “So…” I whistle, pacing back, acting as if I hadn’t just dodged death by inches. “What’s your Sembnce, tin can? Strength? Speed? Elements? Deep-rooted insecurity?”

  I need to know if she’s the Fall Maiden—now, right now. The golden bracelet she wears tells me she’s skilled at the very least, but assumptions are a gamble I cannot afford.

  Amber doesn’t answer. Instead, a guttural roar rips from her throat, painfully raw. Her helmet hides her expression, but the way her body tenses is more than enough.

  Great. Guess I really am gifted at bringing out the worst in people.

  She charges again, but this time, there’s no surprise in her movements. Without the momentum of a full sprint, she’s slower, and the armor that shields her from most attacks also limits her agility.

  It’s a trade-off. One I can exploit.

  I softly flick one of my axes into the air, letting go of it and then using my teleport to continue the attack once her weapon has passed by and can no longer hit me. The edge catches the base of her helmet, and with a screech of metal, it snaps free, tumbling to the ground.

  For the first time, I see her face.

  Sweat trickles down her temples, her teeth clenched in frustration. Her steely eyes lock onto mine, bloodshot.

  For a moment, I reconsider my earlier confidence in keeping Pyrrha away from this walking fortress of metal. But as I watch her pour every ounce of herself into each furious swing, it’s clear that brute force alone defines her style. No subtlety—pushing through. And honestly? I’m into it.

  This is fun.

  Amber screams. "Stay… Still!”

  She lunges, but with her helmet gone, it’s time for me to go on the offensive.

  I throw one of my tomahawks past her shoulder, the bde whistling through the air. Instinctively, she flinches, her eyes following the weapon, her guard momentarily broken. That’s all I need.

  In a blink, I close the gap, teleporting behind her and smming the blunt end of my other axe into the back of her head. The impact is brutal, her body jerking forward under the blow. I hesitate—just for a heartbeat—to make sure she’s okay.

  Big mistake.

  Next thing I know, my entire head explodes with pain.

  Her shield sms into my jaw with the force of a battering ram, the metallic cng reverberating as I stumble back. My Aura cushions the blow, but barely. A hot, metallic taste floods my mouth, and I realize my tongue is swimming in blood.

  If I were an ordinary human, she’d have ripped my head clean off.

  The strike could’ve smashed through solid concrete, and it takes everything I have to stay on my feet. My vision wavers as I struggle to process what just happened, breaths barely coming in.

  Through the haze, I see her cwing at the pauldrons on her shoulders, yanking the heavy armor off with savage determination. The discarded pieces hit the ground with a cng, and she steps out of the suit like a butterfly leaving the cocoon, cd in a skin-tight full body-suit that’s the complete opposite of armor.

  A million thoughts race through my mind, but there’s no time to process them. She’s already charging, faster and more agile without the cumbersome armor.

  Flicking my wrist, I throw one of my tomahawks into the air, preparing to teleport and dodge her next strike when—

  A firm hand appears over my shoulder, stopping the shield’s momentum just before it connects.

  With an effortless shove, Amber is sent flying backward, ragdolling across the arena as if she had been hit by a truck.

  “You looked like you could use a hand,” Pyrrha says calmly.

  The fight ends as suddenly as it began. My body sags with relief, and I have to fight the urge to colpse right then and there as my right leg almost gives. Gncing over my shoulder, I notice Amber’s partner, the Faunus girl, is already gone, walking away silently as if the battle never happened.

  The arena is surprisingly quiet now, save for the whispers and murmurs rippling through the crowd. All eyes are on Pyrrha. Most of the spectators look awestruck, thrilled to witness her skill firsthand. But there’s an undeniable tension in the air—a collective realization of just how overwhelming her strength truly is, turning the competition into little more than a joke.

  “Are you okay?” Pyrrha asks, her focus shifting to Amber, who’s silently gathering the scattered pieces of her armor. “Did you two know each other?”

  “She… reminded me of someone,” I mumble, running my tongue along my teeth to make sure they’re still intact. “But I guess I was thinking of somebody else.”

  ?

  Originally, I pnned to hold onto the loot boxes for a while, just to see if whatever came out somehow matched the situation or level I was in. But today, I might actually need some materials.

  [Lucky Giftbox]

  [Bck Giftbox]

  [Golden Giftbox]

  “Open.”

  [Infinity Cube]

  A puzzle that, when solved, grants a permanent stat boost.

  [Nightvision Shades]

  Stylish sungsses that grant perfect vision in total darkness.

  [Dreamless Pills]

  A bottle of pills that negates the need to sleep for 24 hours.

  That’s… actually insanely good. That’s amazing.

  Not even close to what I was aiming for, but still amazing.

  And just like that, clutching my bottle of probably-not-cocaine, I head toward Beacon’s forge.

  The forge is below ground level, buried beyond shadowy torch-lit corridors that wouldn’t look out of pce in a medieval dungeon. It’s no wonder most students avoid it like the pgue. The air grows heavier as I descend, the faint metallic tang of hot iron mingling with the acrid bite of grease and soot.

  Stepping into the circur chamber, the first thing I see is the Weapon Crafting and Upkeep teacher, Doran Mulberry. His massive frame looms by the fires, the flickering light casting long shadows across his face as he sips tea with a calm that defies the blistering heat. His beard is so close to the fmes it’s a miracle it hasn’t caught fire.

  But it’s not just Mulberry.

  “Maroon?”

  The short girl at the nearest workbench freezes mid-motion, lifting her head. She adjusts her gsses, wiping condensation off the lenses. “Uh… Vesper, right? Sorry, I’m… still a little foggy. Week’s been bad.”

  “Huh. I thought you were the one having the most fun.”

  I gnce down at her workstation, where a pair of intricate chakrams lie scattered amidst tools and materials. Both weapons are equipped with transparent containers of a familiar purple substance.

  “Are you… upping the dosage for your next party?” I ask, raising a brow. “Just saying, someone’s going to die eventually.”

  Maroon’s cheeks flush as she waves her hands defensively. “N-No! It’s supposed to… you know, have light and stuff. It helps with… mind invasion. In battle.” Her voice falters, and her gaze drops to the mess of parts on the table. “It broke before I left Vacuo, and I’ve been struggling with combat tests ever since.”

  “Ah.” I nod slowly, the corner of my mouth twitching. “So throwing parties was your fallback pn? A little self-promotion on the side?”

  Her shoulders slump, and she fidgets with a loose screw on one of the chakrams. “I… kind of gave up after the first day,” she admits. “L-Listen, I’m not that great of a fighter, okay? This was all just… some big accident. So if you want to change your mind about me, there’s probably people with talent out there, lookin’ for a team.”

  At this point, I’m starting to wonder if people really don’t want to be on my team.

  “Tell you what.” I reach into my belt and pull out one of my simple tomahawks, the bde glinting faintly in the forge’s light. “I’ve never been great at making weapons. If you can teach me a little something here and there, and we don’t get our asses kicked tomorrow, I don’t really mind living with someone who smells like gasoline.”

  She blinks in surprise, and after a moment, a soft smile tugs at her lips. The expression is small but genuine, a flicker of warmth breaking through her earlier tension. Then, as if suddenly self-conscious, she looks down and sniffs her shirt.

  “Is it really that bad…?”

  ?

  Maroon and I end up spending a couple of hours together, tinkering with her chakrams—surprisingly intricate for what are essentially deadly frisbees.

  And that, as it turns out, is the problem.

  Mixing triggers for smoke canisters with lights, sound, and the natural wear and tear of being thrown around creates a perfect storm of chaos for the internal electronics. The insides are a maze of wires and components, some of which seem to be hanging on by sheer hope. It’s hard to tell what’s fallen out of pce and what was questionable design from the start, but Maroon patiently works through the mess, rebuilding the entire concept piece by piece.

  To my surprise, I find myself helping out a bit. The general electronics on this world are pretty basic compared to what I’ve worked with before. If anything, it’s shocking how little advanced repair equipment Beacon provides for this kind of work, a clear sign that most students lean on purely mechanical weapons and these things are more of an exception.

  [Weapon Crafting] Lvl 3 (7%)

  By the time we’re done, the chakrams look sleeker and more streamlined than before.

  “So... is it ready?”

  “Let’s see...”

  Maroon picks up one of the weapons, her eyes bright with anticipation. Too bright.

  Before I can remind her to maybe test it gently, she throws the bde straight at the wall.

  The chakram sms into the surface, and as it rebounds, every mechanism snaps into action. Lights pulse rhythmically, an eerie, otherworldly sound fills the air, and a thick cloud of smoke erupts, quickly engulfing the center of the room.

  I wave a hand in front of my face as the intense smell of the purple haze reaches my nose. My eyes water, and for a split second, I feel a disorienting flicker of something almost dreamlike.

  “Okay,” I rasp, backing away from the swirling cloud. “I’m officially gd I’m not on the receiving end of that.”

  “Oh! But... that’s kinda the point,” Maroon says, a little dissapointed. “Could you... maybe test it? Jus’ for a second?”

  I raise an eyebrow, skeptical, but the hopeful glint in her eyes gives me pause. Clenching my teeth, and not without a considerable amount of hesitation, I decide to make a small sacrifice for the sake of team-building.

  “Fine,” I mutter, stepping forward into the gas.

  The effect is... unexpected.

  The mist feels warm against my skin, not oppressive but oddly inviting, like a gentle embrace on a cold day. It’s not suffocating—quite the opposite. It’s invigorating. Like a strong cup of coffee cutting through morning fog, it sharpens my senses with a soothing crity that’s both foreign and familiar.

  As my eyes adjust, the swirling haze seems to part, revealing the room beyond with startling precision. The once-blinding smoke now feels almost transparent, barely noticeable, as if my mind has simply adapted to its presence.

  From the other side of the forge, I spot two figures lingering by the entrance, their postures hesitant as they gnce at each other. They’re clearly debating whether their business here is worth braving whatever insanity is in front of them.

  “Okay, that’s actually kind of amazing,” I admit, gncing back at Maroon.

  She practically lights up at the praise. “Really? You think so?”

  “Yeah,” I say, nodding slowly. “But, uh… looks like some of our cssmates might not share the enthusiasm.”

  “Oh… Right...”

  The purple haze lingers for a few moments longer before dissipating, aided by the ancient-looking air filters haphazardly embedded in the stone walls. The room is clear enough by the time Astra steps inside, her face scrunching up in immediate disgust.

  “Ew. It smells like my uncle in here,” she says, waving a hand in front of her nose like she’s warding off a ghost.

  Beside her, Rozova takes a long, deliberate breath, her expression unchanging as she murmurs, “Not bad. Smells like home.”

  I offer them a passing nod, unsure how to interact with people I only know from beating them in a fight. Standing there silently, I wait for Maroon to pack up her things before we go, but Astra’s groan of frustration catches my attention.

  She’s hunched over a weapon on the table, muttering curses as she pries it open for what’s clearly not the first time. And I find myself gravitating toward her workstation, wondering if I might’ve caused whatever damage she’s dealing with.

  “Hey—”

  “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Why? Why does this always happen to me?!” Astra suddenly explodes, smming her fists on the table. “Why can’t anything just work?! God, I might as well put a gun in my mouth—”

  Rozova doesn’t even flinch. She simply exhales a long-suffering sigh and gnces at me, her eyes as empty as the void. “Astra, we’ve got company. Stop being a maniac, please.”

  The change is immediate. Astra’s wild expression smooths into a sunny smile, and she straightens up with all the composure of someone who definitely wasn’t having a breakdown moments ago.

  “Oi-oi!” she chirps, pointing at me with an exaggerated grin. “Good fight earlier. But don’t get cocky—I’m not losing next time.”

  I blink, unsure whether to ugh or back away slowly. She’s… crazy. Like, mental asylum crazy.

  “It, uh… looks like you’re having a hard time,” I say, already regretting my decision to engage.

  “This stupid sword!” Astra snaps again. “It always fails me at the worst possible moments! And I’m sick and tired of bullshit!”

  “Mind if I take a look?”

  She shoves it toward me without hesitation, and I immediately regret my offer. The so-called “lightsaber” is a tangled mess of hard-light dust tech that makes Maroon’s chakrams look like child’s py. I can barely make sense of it beyond the fact that it’s supposed to project a bde… somehow.

  “Uh, hey, Maroon!” I call, waving her over like my life depends on it. “Think you can take a look at this? I think I’m missing something.”

  Maroon perks up and hurries over, clearly eager to help. Taking advantage of the distraction, I step away and pretend to be looking for a tool as I open my inventory. With a quick mental command, I burn through two of my Skill Tokens, feeling a small rush of satisfaction as the familiar notification pings in my head.

  [Weapon Crafting] Lvl 13 (57%)

  Returning to the table, the solution is so obvious now that it’s almost hard to pretend I hadn’t been stumped moments ago. I gnce at the weapon, then call out, “Hey, Professor! Do we have any hard-light dust crystals around? This thing needs a repcement.”

  Doran rises from his chair like a mountain on legs. “What’s yer problem, d?”

  I gesture at the weapon’s inner workings. “They’re pushing electricity through the dust crystal to generate the bde, but the voltage is too high. The tips are burned out—they’ll need a new one. A bit rger, if possible.”

  Doran takes the lightsaber, turning it over in his massive hands with the practiced eye of someone who’s seen his share of experimental weapons. After a moment of silent scrutiny, he looks at me. “Aye, that’s… correct. Can ye see anythin’ else?”

  His question catches me off guard, but I lean in. Reaching inside the weapon, I trace a finger along its circuitry. A strange sensation washes over me—like recalling a half-forgotten memory that’s suddenly sharp and clear.

  It’s surreal. I know how this works. Not in the vague way I’d expected, but with a certainty that feels borrowed from someone else’s expertise. The tokens worked better than I thought they would.

  “We could…” I begin, my voice trailing off as ideas crystallize in my mind. “We could turn this into a ranged weapon if we increased the amperage. Maybe swap the copper wiring for gold. It’d burn through the crystal faster, sure, but as long as repcements are avaible… It’d be pretty fun.”

  Doran’s deep ugh reverberates through the forge. “Not gold—ptinum,” he corrects, nodding. “But yer concept’s solid. Hah, ye might even have enough gunpowder in that head o’ yers to light up a candle.”

  Without another word, Doran grabs a screwdriver and tears into the electronics of Astra’s weapon, wires and circuits spilling out like the guts of some mechanical beast.

  Astra—now understandably—snaps. “Are you out of your fucking mind?!”

  Bur Doran just keeps ughing. “Hard-light dust’s the most expensive there is, girl. If yer gonna eat it an’ shit it, ye’d best make sure it’s worth it. I’ll give ye all an hour. Impress me.”

  For a moment, the forge falls silent except for the faint crackle of the fires. We exchange uncertain gnces, all of us hoping Astra won’t explode into a full-blown tantrum.

  Rozova is the first to break the awkward quiet. “Don’t even count on me,” she says, shrugging with a dispassionate flick of her wrist. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

  Curious, I tilt my head. “Then how do you—”

  Before I can finish, she raises her hand and reaches into thin air. Golden light blooms in a perfect circle, and her arm disappears into the void it creates. A second ter, she pulls out the rgest “sword” I’ve ever seen. No, calling it a sword doesn’t feel right—it’s more like a massive, jagged sb of polished stone attached to a crude handle. The kind of weapon only someone with an Aura could even dream of wielding.

  “That’s… an interesting Sembnce,” I say, genuinely impressed. “What’s on the other side of the portal?”

  Rozova’s eyes narrow. “Bad stuff.”

  Her tone leaves no room for follow-up questions, making it clear she’s not interested in talking about it, or talking with me in general. I then turn to Maroon, hoping for some help in digging myself out of this hole.

  Despite the tension, we manage to pull ourselves together and spend the next hour reassembling Astra’s weapon. Maroon and I piece it back together, tweaking the design and ironing out its countless fws. From the moment we start, it’s clear that Astra’s saber working at all was nothing short of a miracle. But after several adjustments—and a lot of trial and error—we finally get it to a point where it’s both functional and genuinely dangerous.

  “Alright,” I say, stepping back and motioning to Astra. “Give it a go.”

  Her face lights up as she grabs the hilt, thumbing the activation switch. The bde hums to life, vibrating softly in her grip. Then, with a sharper push of the button and a flicker of her arm, the saber emits a brilliant arc of solid energy that carves through the air in a wide, clean sweep, the shockwave echoing across the chamber.

  Astra practically bounces on her toes, as happy as a child with a new toy.

  From across the room, Doran just whistles. “Now that’s a proper weapon. Who taught ye to do somethin’ like that, d?”

  “Me?” I freeze for a second, scrambling for an answer. “I’ve never worked with weapons before, but, uh… growing up outside the kingdoms, you learn what you can.”

  “Well, if that’s true, don’t let me catch ye wastin’ that talent. For yer own good. Yer only as good as yer stuff.”

  With that, he waves us off, and we leave the forge, relief washing over us as we ascend back to the surface.

  As we step into the crisp evening air, I break the silence. “So… anyone have pns for tonight?”

  Rozova doesn’t even bother turning around to look at us. “Don’t we have a test tomorrow morning?” she grumbles

  “I-I could get somethin’ going…” Maroon mumbles hesitantly, fiddling with the hem of her jacket. “But if the test’s in the morning… I might not be too useful.”

  I smirk. “Sounds like our new friend’s scared she might not be too useful. Didn’t think Beacon students needed their beauty sleep before missions.”

  That gets Rozova’s attention. She stops dead in her tracks and turns to me, fixing me with a gre colder than an Ats winter. “Are you always this loud, annoying, and stupid?”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Astra’s jaw practically hitting the floor. She takes a cautious step back.

  I don’t know what it is about Rozova’s perfectly composed, doll-like, picture perfect, perpetually angry face, but it practically demands I talk some shit. Maybe it’s the way her icy, narrow Faunus eyes lock onto me as if I were shit under her boot, or the faint twitch at the corner of her mouth that suggests she had never seen such disrespect through her entire life.

  Either way, I can’t resist.

  “No, no, you’re right,” I say, raising my hands mockingly. “Sometimes I forget not everyone can just follows the pace.”

  Maroon shifts uncomfortably, clearly wishing the ground would swallow her whole, while Rozova’s gre sharpens into something that could probably cleave Grimm in half.

  I chuckle, turning back toward the path leading to Beacon’s halls. “Let’s save the victory party for after tomorrow’s test. But you two better not lose if you’re going to be this petty about it.”

  The silence that follows is heavy, but I don’t bother looking back. Instead, I keep moving, the cool evening air brushing past as the dormitories come into view. By the time we reach the second floor, the tension still hangs between us like an unspoken challenge.

  I pause at my door, gncing over my shoulder. She stands a few feet away, her arms crossed tightly over her small chest. She isn’t even looking at me anymore. If there had been any doubt that she didn’t like me before, it’s gone now. It is as if even acknowledging my existence is beneath her.

  With a wink and a pyful grin, I turn the knob and step into my room.

  Chapter 12, here we go!

  I wanted to take a quick moment to talk about the direction of this story.

  First off, why so many changes and original characters? Honestly, I'm just trying to make Beacon feel like a real school.

  Will most of these characters develop into complex, multi-faceted pieces of absolute art? Probably not, but since I’m not bound by a low animation budget, I can create as many interesting characters and Sembnces as I want. The goal is to add depth to the world, rather than assuming Beacon is half-empty all the time.

  Next up: Amber and Rozova—the st members of this new team. I know, I know, there are already too many names to remember, but we haven’t even started the canon timeline yet, so we’ve got time to get used to everyone.

  Speaking of Rozova, here’s her Sembnce:

  [Limbo]

  Rozova can create portals to her personal pocket dimension. Items can be stored there indefinitely, but if left too long, they may suffer from Limbo’s corruption.

  As for her appearance, I’m not sure I did her justice in this chapter. It’s tricky to describe someone naturally in deep detail in the midst of a scene. She carries that typical Atlesian air of correctness and superiority, where appearances are just as important as actions.

  Anyway, I had to rush a bit to get this posted today, but I hope it was still an enjoyable read! I’ve been a bit sick, so cut me some sck.