Ever Happened

The sparring arena was silent, save for the steady breaths of the two fighters standing opposite each other.

Jaune Arc stood firm, Crocea Mors held in both hands, the longsword gleaming under the training lights. His stance was wide but measured, weight evenly distributed as he studied his opponent.

Weiss Schnee, poised and graceful, held Myrtenaster with precision, the thin rapier gleaming with Dust-infused energy.

Jaune exhaled.

Weiss narrowed her eyes.

Then—

They moved.

Jaune closed the distance instantly, his sword swinging in a precise diagonal arc.

Weiss sidestepped just in time, her footwork flawless, and countered with a swift riposte, Myrtenaster aiming for Jaune’s exposed flank.

Jaune reacted instinctively, twisting his grip into a half-sword, his hand gripping Crocea Mors’ blade to act as a lever, using it to deflect the incoming thrust.

The clang of steel rang through the arena.

“Holy crap,” Yang muttered from the sidelines. “When the hell did Weiss get this good?”

Blake, arms crossed, frowned. “She’s always been good. I’s Jaune who got questionably good.”

“No, no—this is different,” Yang insisted, watching Weiss maneuver around Jaune’s heavy swings like she was dancing.

Jaune stepped back, readjusting his stance, his feet steady but fluid.

Then he attacked again.

He performed a a two-handed horizontal strike, Crocea Mors cutting across Weiss’ line of attack.

Weiss reacted immediately, turning the blow aside with a hanging parry, then flicked Myrtenaster in a downward slicing cut meant to disarm him.

Jaune rolled with the impact, twisting his blade in a counter cut, forcing Weiss to pull back at the last second.

They reset.

Their eyes met.

Jaune pressed forward, switching between a high guard and a roof guard, his attacks coming in waves of controlled power.

Weiss danced around each strike, weaving in and out of his reach, her own counterattacks deadly in precision.

Jaune swung into another strike, aiming for Weiss’ dominant hand to throw off her balance.

Weiss saw it coming.

She adjusted, countering with a perfect counter-cut, winding around his blade, redirecting his force into a Bind where their weapons locked together.

“Damn,” Blake muttered, eyes tracking every movement. “She’s matching his strength with technique.”

“Duh,” Ruby chimed in, grinning. “Weiss practices every day.”

Yang nodded. “Yeah, but not like this. This is wild.”

Jaune broke the bind, stepping back before lunging forward with a thrust, aimed directly for Weiss’ chest.

Weiss parried with the forte of her blade, then retaliated with an elegant strike of her own — cutting down at an angle to deflect Jaune’s momentum.

Jaune twisted at the last moment, transitioning his attack into a Mordhau, gripping Crocea Mors by the blade and swinging the hilt like a hammer.

Weiss barely ducked in time.

The force of the strike sent dust scattering from the arena floor.

Jaune adjusted his stance. “Okay, I felt that dodge.”

Weiss smirked, rolling her shoulders. “Still rusty, Jaune? Should I shave it away more?”

Jaune grinned. “Not a chance.”

They circled each other now, breathing heavier but steady, their grips sure.

The match had turned into a proper duel.

Every strike was calculated.

Every feint was measured.

Every parry was refined.

Then—

Jaune lunged forward, switching his grip mid-swing into another half-sword technique, using it to manipulate Weiss’ blade out of line.

Weiss saw her opening.

She disengaged, spun on her heel,  twisting her rapier to redirect her blade right for his shoulder.

Jaune leaned back just in time, the tip of Myrtenaster grazing the fabric of his sleeve.

A near hit.

They separated again.

Paused.

And then—

They both laughed.

“You’ve definitely been training,” Jaune said, rolling his shoulders.

Weiss huffed, flipping her hair. “And you actually learned how to wield a sword properly. Miracles do happen. Then again, you had practice.”

“Mostly alone,” Jaune sighed. “Want to go again?”

Weiss smirked. “try to keep up.”

“Can you?”

And then—

Jaune took a deep breath.

His Aura flared.

Aura flared across his body, pulsing through his veins, his muscles tightening, and then—

He vanished.

The world slowed for Weiss.

Or rather she made it slow.

A time dilation glyph bloomed beneath her feet, spinning in intricate arcs, bending the flow of time around her.

Jaune was fast.

She made herself faster.

Their movements blurred into streaks of silver and blue, clashing mid-air with a burst of kinetic force that sent a shockwave through the training hall.

Jaune swung into a  a horizontal cut from the high guard—fast, heavy, an executioner’s strike.

Weiss twisted  again Myrtenaster gliding up his blade like silk, redirecting the attack by a hair’s width.

CLANG.

Jaune didn’t stop, couldn’t stop as he transitioned mid-motion, shifting into a a rising cut aimed for Weiss’ exposed ribs.

Weiss saw it, leaned back on her glyph, then lashed forward with a precise thrust, a textbook riposte.

Jaune’s body moved before he thought.

His hand released Crocea Mors’ hilt, gripping the flat of his own blade, turning his sword into a barrier as her rapier skidded off the steel, inches from his chest.

Half-swording agan.

Weiss’s eyes widened—she hadn’t expected him to defend that way.

“Nice.”

Jaune grinned. “I learn fast.”

Weiss clicked her tongue. “We’ll see.”

She blinked away.

A glyph exploded beneath her feet, and she was above him in an instant, descending with a merciless downward thrust.

Jaune threw everything into a diagonal cut designed to turn the opponent’s attack against them.

The moment they connected—

A sonic boom erupted through the air.

Dust and wind rippled outward, forcing the spectators back a step as Weiss and Jaune clashed in a blinding storm of silver and blue.

Jaune pressed forward, his footwork relentless, switching between a roof guard and a high guard, his strikes coming in flurries of steel and momentum.

Weiss moved like liquid, never where he wanted her to be, weaving between his swings with elegance and lethal precision.

Jaune lunged.

Weiss sidestepped.

Jaune swung a crooked cut meant to twist her weapon out of alignment.

Weiss countered instantly, turning her defense into a Mittelhau, a quick horizontal counter-cut meant to break through his form.

Their weapons screamed against each other, ringing like bells of war.

Jaune saw an opening—a fraction of a second.

He shifted his weight, feinting high, then cut low—

A master strike, a real one.

Weiss didn’t fall for it.

She twisted midair, her glyph blooming beneath her feet, sending her into a spinning flourish as Myrtenaster came down in a precise, devastating upper strike.

A perfectly timed vertical strike.

Jaune had one second to react.

He raised Crocea Mors in a hard block, skidding back across the arena floor from the sheer force of her blow.

Weiss landed, breathing heavily, but still poised.

Jaune stood firm, a grin spreading across his face.

They vanished again.

They clashed mid-air, Weiss launching off her glyphs, Jaune amplifying his speed with every step.

Their weapons blurred, barely visible to the watching crowd.

Every move was a counter.

Every attack was a setup.

Every strike was a heartbeat away from hitting true.

Jaune switching form, holding his sword like a hammer.

Weiss countered with a perfect thrust, catching his hilt and forcing him back.

Jaune growled, stepping through the attack, throwing his body weight into a shoulder check.

Weiss rolled with the impact, flipping over his back, landing behind him in a crouch.

Jaune whirled—

Weiss launched forward.

For a single, impossible moment—

Crocea Mors and Myrtenaster clashed, hitting their wrists.

They froze.

Breathless.

Every muscle tensed to the limit.

Then—

Jaune grinned.

Weiss smirked.

Their weapons hit the ground at the same time.

But instead of stopping, instead of catching their breath and calling it a day—

Jaune moved.

Weiss followed.

No hesitation.

No slowing down.

They switched from swords to fists in an instant, their bodies already reacting before their minds could catch up.

Jaune stepped in first, tightening his stance, arms raised in a proper boxing guard.

Weiss flowed into a stance, her movements loose, weaving from side to side, her weight shifting between her feet in rhythmic, unpredictable motions.

Then—

They clashed.

Jaune threw a jab—fast, controlled, aimed for her shoulder.

Weiss bent low, spinning into a low sweeping kick, her foot grazing the floor before aiming for his ankle.

Jaune hopped back, barely dodging, then countered with a quick uppercut aimed for Weiss’ center.

Weiss, mid-spin, planted her hands on the ground and arched backward into a perfect flip, dodging the attack entirely.

She landed smoothly, brushing imaginary dust off her sleeve. “That all you got?”

Jaune snorted. “Cocky today, huh?”

Weiss smirked. “I always am.”

Then she blurred forward.

Jaune barely had time to react before Weiss was on him, her movements swift, calculated, flowing like a storm.

She launched into a flurry of rapid palm strikes, a mix of kicks, then spinning midair to slam her heel toward his head.

Jaune blocked with his forearms, skidding back from the sheer force of her attacks.

But he wasn’t defensive for long.

Jaune stepped into her range, smothering her momentum with a sudden inside slip, dodging a strike while forcing her into a close-quarters grapple.

He hooked his arm around hers, using a foot sweep to try and trip her.

Weiss twisted midair, landing on one hand, and spun her body like a breakdancer, using her momentum to slam a kick into his side.

Jaune staggered from the hit, but his Aura flared, keeping him standing.

And then he laughed.

“Damn, Weiss.” He rolled his shoulder. “You trying to kill me?”

Weiss flicked her hair. “Wouldn’t be much of a fight if I held back, now would it?”

Jaune grinned.

Then, he disappeared.

Jaune sped forward, amping his Aura through his body, increasing his speed.

Weiss activated her time dilation glyph at the same moment.

For a brief second, it looked like they vanished from the training hall—nothing but blurs of silver and blue streaking across the arena.

Their fists collided midair, shockwaves bursting outward, sending a gust of wind through the room.

The audience, watching from the sidelines, felt the sheer force behind every strike.

Then Jaune found his opening.

He dodged a spinning kick, stepped into Weiss’ space, then twisted behind her, locking his arm around her waist in a standing grapple.

Weiss froze.

Not because she was caught—

But because of the way Jaune leaned in close, his breath warm against her ear.

Then, in a low, teasing tone—

“…Gotcha.”

Weiss smirked.

“Really?” she murmured, tilting her head slightly toward him.

Jaune blinked. “…Uh.”

“You know Jaune,” Weiss said, her voice laced with amusement. “If you wanted to hold me, you could’ve asked.”

Jaune snorted. “Oh? Is that so?”

Weiss laughed softly. “Maybe.”

Jaune tightened his grip slightly. “Should I be concerned?”

Weiss grinned. “Depends. Are you enjoying yourself?”

Jaune grinned right back. “I don’t hate it.”

The gang glared.

Yang squinted. “Yo, is it just me, or is this fight getting… weird?”

Blake, arms crossed, narrowed her eyes. “No. No, it’s not just you.”

Nora leaned over to Ren. “Are we watching a fight or some weird foreplay?”

Ren sighed. “Please don’t make me answer that.”

Ruby was holding Crescent Rose like a concerned parent. Still worried that weapon-stealing fiend might take her baby again.

“Why do I feel like I should stop this?” she muttered.

Yang grinned. “Because you’re finally seeing it, Rubes.”

“Seeing what?”

“That those two are flirting?”

“We are not flirting,” Weiss snapped from across the arena, still trapped in Jaune’s hold.

Jaune chuckled, not letting go. “Yeah, we’re not.”

Weiss elbowed him in the ribs.

Jaune grunted. “What was that for!?”

Yang clapped her hands together. “Yeah, okay, that is fishy as hell.”

Blake nodded. “Agreed.”

Jaune and Weiss protested.

“We’re just good friends!”

It had been a week since that sparring match.

And ever since then, things had been... off.

Not in a bad way.

But in a weird way.

Weiss and Jaune, normally the bickering duo, were now... different.

And the rest of the team noticed.

They were watching.

Observing.

Studying.

And the more they looked, the more suspicious it became.

Weiss would fix Jaune’s collar when it got messed up.

Jaune would pull out a chair for Weiss without even thinking.

They walked too close together.

They talked  to each other without Weiss sperging out.

And worst of all—they actually looked comfortable.

Too comfortable.

“They totally hit somewhere,” Nora whispered to Ren.

Ren, stirring his tea, sighed. “Please, no.”

“I mean, look at them,” Nora insisted, gesturing wildly. “They’re acting like a thi!”

Ren glanced at Jaune and Weiss.

Jaune was carrying Weiss’ books as they walked.

Weiss was holding out an extra coffee for him.

They were talking about something casually, not arguing, not bickering—just... talking.

Ren sighed. “... It is suspicious. I mean Weiss usually want to pour coffee at Jaune, not hold it for him.”

Yang, leaning on the table, grinned. “Nah. This is classic.”

Blake raised an eyebrow. “Classic?”

Yang smirked. “Distance makes the heart grow fonder.”

Blake blinked. “You actually believe that?”

“C’mon, Blake,” Yang chuckled, nodding toward Jaune and Weiss. “He disappears for weeks, comes back looking like some grizzled warrior, and now suddenly Weiss isn’t trying to kill him? That’s some romance novel material right there.”

Blake looked back at them.

Weiss had just dusted off Jaune’s shoulder.

Jaune accepted it like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Blake exhaled slowly. “...Okay. Maybe.”

The breaking point happened that afternoon.

They were in the library, sitting at different tables, but keeping a close eye on Jaune and Weiss.

Jaune, scratching his chin, sighed.

“Ugh, my beard’s getting itchy,” he muttered. “I should shave it off.”

Weiss, reading her book, didn’t even look up.

“No.”

Jaune blinked. “...No?”

Weiss turned a page. “No. You can’t It’s punishment.”

Jaune snorted. “What? You don’t control my hairstyle. Tsk, how about you change that?”

Weiss finally looked up, narrowing her eyes.

“You said you liked my braid.”

Jaune blinked. “... Yeah?”

Weiss tilted her head. “So?”

Jaune opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Then sighed. “Fine. I’ll keep it for now.”

Weiss smirked in victory. “Good.”

Ruby, Yang, Blake, and Nora all exchanged glances.

They had no idea what to think anymore.

Yang looked stunned.

Blake slowly set her book down.

Ruby’s brain had fully shut off.

And Nora?

Nora was vibrating in her seat.

Ren, without looking up from his tea, sighed.

“You’re all overthinking it.”

Nora turned dramatically. “AM I?”

Ren took a calm sip.

“Yes.”

Ruby, face scrunched in absolute confusion, mumbled, “I... I don’t know what’s real anymore.”

Yang leaned forward. “Okay. Either they’ve secretly been dating this whole time—”

Blake raised a finger. “Unlikely.”

“—OR,” Yang continued, ignoring her, “Jaune somehow unlocked a secret route in the Weiss Schnee Romance Arc.”

Ruby groaned into her hands.

Blake was at a loss for words.

And Jaune and Weiss?

They kept talking like it was the most normal thing in the world.

And at this point—

Nobody knew what the hell was going on anymore.

Pyrrha, who had been away fro a while, participating in this student recruitment ad for Beacon, sat down gracefully, placing her hands on the table with that ever-present, polite smile on her face.

“Is there something wrong?”

The gang froze.

Ruby, Yang, Blake, and Nora all exchanged glances, their expressions ranging from confusion to mild existential crisis.

Ren, ever the calm one, simply continued sipping his tea.

“Nope,” Yang said casually, leaning back in her chair. “Nothing wrong.”

“Probably just the wind,” Blake added, nodding along.

Ruby let out a nervous laugh. “Yeah! Wind’s real weird today.”

Nora, who had been the most vocal about the situation just moments ago, suddenly looked very interested in the table.

Pyrrha blinked, tilting her head slightly, clearly sensing bullshit.

Her green eyes flicked toward Jaune and Weiss, who had now moved on from suspiciously soft behavior to full-on bickering.

“You’re impossible!” Weiss huffed, crossing her arms.

Jaune, sitting beside her, grinned. “And you’re just mad because I made better cookies than you.”

“You stole my recipe.”

“I improvised your recipe.”

Weiss glared. “You put cinnamon in them.”

Jaune leaned back, smug. “And everyone loved them.”

“That’s not the point!”

Jaune snorted. “Oh, I’m sorry, Princess. Next time, I’ll bake something truly elegant and Schnee-worthy. Perhaps some delicate scones or a noble soufflé.”

Weiss rolled her eyes. “You are insufferable!”

Jaune grinned wider. “No, I am stating facts!”

Pyrrha’s smile didn’t waver, but her eyes lingered on them for a few extra seconds.

Jaune and Weiss, still deep in their argument, didn’t notice.

Pyrrha slowly turned back to the group. “... Are you sure there’s nothing wrong?”

Silence.

Then—

Ruby coughed. “Nope. Nothing at all.”

Yang nodded. “Totally normal day.”

Blake sipped her coffee. “Absolutely ordinary.”

Nora shoved food in her mouth. “Jus’ th’ wind.”

Pyrrha hummed, unconvinced, but didn’t push further.

Instead, she simply turned back to watch Jaune and Weiss, who had moved from arguing about cookies to Jaune teasing Weiss about her coffee order.

And at this point—

It was better to say nothing.

Because trying to explain this mess?

That was a lost cause.

And thus, by their glorious leader, Ruby Rose’s declaration, it was the food they ate at Professor Peach’s class, was the reason that two of them were like this.