Ever Happened

Jaune Arc was a fraud.

Well, he’d always been a fraud when he started in Beacon, but now it was worse.

Before, it had been simple: fake transcripts, fake confidence, fake-it-til-you-make-it. But this? This was on another level. He wasn’t just pretending to be a competent student at Beacon, he was pretending to be young.

Because mentally? He was old. A washed-up knight who had seen too much, done too much, lost too much. And now he was back. Back in his old, unscarred body. Back at Beacon.

And they have no idea.

They just saw Jaune Arc, lovable doofus.

And Jaune Arc, lovable doofus, had to fit in.

Somehow.

So, after a sleepless night of staring at the ceiling and rethinking his entire existence, he came up with a plan: blend in. Play the part of his old self. Keep things light. Be normal.

It went about as well as expected.

The first problem was speech.

Jaune had spent years talking like a broody warrior, because, well… he was kinda one. And that wasn’t exactly a dialect that meshed well with a bunch of carefree teenagers who didn’t experience the Fall of Beacon and all kind of events that led them to fighting in the Sands of Vacuo.

So he tried his best to sound… youthful.

The results were horrific.

“Yo, what’s up, my dudes?” Jaune said, sliding into his seat at breakfast, forcing a grin that felt unnatural on his face.

Nora paused mid-bite, blinking at him. “What.”

Jaune doubled down. “You know, just vibing, as the kids say.”

Ren squinted at him. “The kids say?”

“Uh-huh,” Jaune said, nodding like a bobblehead. “I mean, uh, we say. Because I’m young. And relatable.” He gave them finger guns. Finger guns. “Haha. Videogames are fun, my dudes.”

Silence.

Weiss, who had just sat down across from him, looked at him like he was an insect. “What are you on about?”

“Nothing! Just normal young-person things.” Jaune laughed awkwardly. “You know. Dusktok. Dab on the haters. Yeet.”

Yang choked on her orange juice. Ruby slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. Pyrrha just looked concerned.

“Jaune,” Blake said carefully, “are you okay?”

“Me? Haha. Of course! I am perfectly fine. Just a normal,  young person.” He tried to pop a thumbs-up, but his body moved with all the stiffness of a retired Huntsman with joint pain.

They stared at him for a long time.

Then, as if on cue, Nora burst out laughing.

“Ohhh I know this!,” she wheezed, clutching her stomach. “Jaune’s doing a bit!”

“Huh?” Jaune blinked.

Ren nodded slowly, realization dawning. “Ah. I see. You’re doing a parody of out-of-touch adults trying to sound cool.”

Jaune’s soul left his body.

“That’s… yes. That is exactly what I’m doing.” He forced a laugh, playing along with their assumption. “Haha. Just a joke, guys. Man, you really caught me.”

“Nine out of ten,” Yang said, giving him a thumbs-up. “I almost thought you were serious for a second. You nailed the cringe.”

Jaune was dying inside.

Fine. If speech wasn’t working, he’d act young instead.

How hard could it be?

Jaune approached Team RWBY’s dorm with a relaxed, totally not-calculated swagger. Inside, the girls were sprawled across the room, doing various activities, Yang was scrolling through her scroll, Ruby was cleaning Crescent Rose, Blake was reading, and Weiss was organizing her dust vials.

“Yo, ladies!” Jaune greeted, leaning against the doorframe. “What’s up? Just thought I’d, y’know, hang.”

Weiss frowned. “Hang… what?”

“Uh. Out. With you guys.”

Yang raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you say hang? And you don't usually do this?”

“Since always,“ Jaune lied. “I mean, c’mon, fellow kids, we’re all just chillin’, right? Big chill. Hanging. As friends do. Haha. Yeah.”

Blake glanced at him, then at Yang. “This is a joke, right?”

“I think so,” Yang said, nodding. “He’s continuing that bit.”

“Classic Jaune,” Ruby giggled. “Always trying to make us laugh!”

Jaune bit back a scream.

Then ran before he dies inside

“Jaune, you’re taking notes?”

Jaune looked up from his notebook, blinking. “Uh. Yeah?”

Ruby squinted at him. “Since when do you take notes?”

He hesitated. “Uh. Since always?”

Weiss tilted her head. “No, you usually doodle in class like this dolt here. Badly, I might add.”

Shit. She was right. Young Jaune had been a terrible student. But Jaune, Old Jaune, was used to studying because what the fuck was supposed to do in the Everafter? He didn’t even think about taking notes, it was just instinct at this point.

Think, Jaune, think.

“Oh! Right, haha,” he said quickly, flipping his notebook around. “Look! It’s… uh… totally a doodle of Professor Port.”

Ruby looked.

It was not a doodle.

It was a disturbingly well-detailed battle diagram, complete with Aura calculations, attack strategies, and weak points labeled in neat handwriting.

Ruby narrowed her eyes.

“You drew this?”

“Yup.”

“You drew an entire combat strategy?”

Jaune sweated. “Um. Yes?”

Pause.

“HAHAHAHA!” Yang burst out laughing. “Oh my gods, Jaune, this is next-level commitment!”

"Arc," Weiss pinched the bridge of her nose, exasperated. “You’re seriously keeping this joke going?”

Jaune opened his mouth, then closed it.

He was so tired.

Jaune decided that if he couldn’t act young, he’d at least participate in the same dumb fun stuff as the others.

It… backfired.

“Surprise attack!” Ruby yelled, launching a water balloon straight at Jaune’s face.

Years of battle instincts kicked in.

Jaune dodged, rolled, and retaliated with perfect precision, his balloon striking Ruby’s chest in a textbook center mass hit.

She fell dramatically, gasping. “Medic!“

The others whooped and grabbed their own balloons. Jaune prepared to dodge again—

And then realized they were playing like kids, not trained fighters.

Whoops.

Jaune spent the rest of the fight pretending to be bad. It was one of the hardest things he had ever done.

“Jaune, dance with me!” Nora grabbed his hand, dragging him onto an impromptu dance.

Ren wasn't taking a no, crossing his arms as if it was serious business.

Jaune nodded. “Of course. I am so ready to—”

He started waltzing.

Nora blinked. “Uh. Jaune?”

“Yes?”

“Why are you ballroom dancing?”

Jaune froze. “…Is that not what we’re doing?”

Nora giggled. “Jaune. We’re dancing. We just kinda… move!”

Jaune glanced around. Oh. Right. Teenagers. They didn’t waltz.

For the next few minutes, he flailed around awkwardly while everyone laughed, convinced he was making fun of himself.

He wasn’t.

It had been days.

Days of forced laughter, pretending he wasn’t out of place, hiding the weight of everything he’d lived through.

And then—

“Jaune!” Pyrrha called, smiling. “Come spar with me!”

Spar. Right. Just a friendly match.

He stepped onto the training mat, drew Crocea Mors, and got into a stance. Pyrrha did the same.

Then she lunged.

Jaune dodged, twisted, countered. It was effortless. His body moved too well. His blade found every gap in her defense, every weak spot, every vulnerable opening.

Pyrrha barely kept up.

Jaune stopped. Lowered his sword.

He’d been winning.

Not because of luck. Not because Pyrrha was holding back.

Because he had become better.

Without her.

She frowned. “Jaune? What’s wrong?”

He stared at her.

He couldn’t do this.

Couldn’t keep pretending.

But she was looking at him with so much trust, so much belief in him—just like she had before everything went wrong.

So Jaune swallowed the lump in his throat, forced a grin, and said.

“Ahaha. Just thinking!”

Pyrrha laughed.

Jaune wanted to cry.

Both in sadness and joy.