The first rays of dawn, sharp and pale, sliced through the dorm window, painting stripes across the metal walls. My eyes, which had been open for some time already, registered the precise shift in luminosity.
It had been nearly two months since initiation, since the chaotic blur of the Emerald Forest, the confrontation with Nevara, and the conversation with Ozpin. Two months of… ordinary.
Or, as ordinary as life could get when you were an interdimensional Saiyan living in a school for monster hunters, perpetually annoyed by the general lack of optimal combat conditions. The gravity chamber was still under construction somewhere deep beneath Beacon, guarded by Atlas's finest and Ozpin's labyrinthine secrecy.
Until then, my personal training regimen, while still rigorous, felt like treading water. My growth felt… sluggish, a mere trickle compared to the torrent I craved.
Limit Breaker was doing its job, preventing true stagnation, but my stats didn't represent that.
I rose at precisely 5:30 AM, the familiar click of the clock on the bedside table marking the passage of another cycle. My body responded with practiced ease, muscles already primed for the strain.
First, the stretches–a sequence of deep bends and contortions that would snap a lesser being in half. My spine cracked like a whip with the standing backbend, a full-body arc that felt almost gravitational in its pull. The deep yogi squat followed, grounding me, letting my joints hum in their silent symphony of readiness.
Then came the shadow boxing, a fluid, deadly dance that spanned a dozen martial arts. Jabs, straights, elbows, spinning kicks, throws–all executed with precise, controlled power, my mental opponent a shifting, formidable presence. I ducked phantom blows, parried imagined strikes, my body moving with preternatural grace.
After that came the series of actual exercises I needed to perform.
I was not alone.
I glanced over. Pyrrha, clad in simple training gear, was already moving through her own routine. Her movements were fluid, precise, honed by years of disciplined practice. She was focused, a warrior monk in the nascent light of dawn.
Then, Nora, still in oversized pyjamas, performing push ups enthusiastically.
Ren, impeccably dressed in his usual quiet attire, was meditating, his breathing a steady, almost imperceptible rhythm. His aura, calm and unwavering, pulsed gently. He'd chosen to improve his Aura based abilities. Specifically on something that was shown twice.
It was basically my Semblance but not at the same time. It had a shorter range,
By 7:15, we were showered and dressed. My breakfast was laid out, alongside smaller, human-sized plates for my team. I sat by the window, watching the campus awaken, the golden sunlight painting the towers of Beacon in hues of impossible grandeur that I had gotten used to.
The routine was always the same by this point.
My breakfast was massive, nutritionally packed with a focus on protein and carbs due to my training. Ren's breakfast was a model of balanced nutrition, while Nora's plate was usually a chaotic explosion of syrup. Pyrrha's meal was always elegant, eaten with grace even as Nora attempted to steal her toast.
"Another glorious morning, team!" Nora declared, already halfway through a mountain of pancakes, her voice booming enough to rattle the windows. "Who's ready to conquer the day?!"
Ren, who was already finished and neatly stacking his dishes with Zen-like precision, offered a quiet, "The day does not require conquering, Nora. Simply navigating. Preferably without causing a sugar-induced riot."
Pyrrha chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling. "You know, Kaelith, Nora talks about your training. She says you move like a phantom. Or a particularly angry hummingbird."
I took a sip of my tea. "Shadow boxing is a foundational aspect of martial arts. It refines reflexes and spatial awareness. And the angry hummingbird comparison is… statistically inaccurate."
"See, Ren? Refines! That's what I'm doing!" Nora gestured wildly with a fork, nearly impaling a pancake and narrowly missing Ren's ear. "Though I think my spatial awareness needs a bit more… pancake-ing! Maybe a few more sugar rushes will help me dodge better!"
I felt my lips twitch upwards. The chaos was… tolerable. Amusing, even.
I would be lying if I said I didn't consider them my friends now. My team, these three disparate individuals, had found a way to orbit my strange, highly efficient star. Nora, the chaotic heart, constantly on the verge of spontaneous combustion.
Ren, the steady anchor, whose quiet observations were often painfully accurate. Pyrrha, the earnest, curious soul, perpetually attempting to understand the illogical. They were… not entirely inconvenient. And occasionally, they provided valuable data points.
Professor Port's history class was as boisterous as ever. His booming voice filled the lecture hall, punctuated by dramatic gestures and the occasional questionable anecdote about hunting Grimm–narratives I mentally categorized as "entertaining fiction" rather than "reliable historical data." I sat at my usual spot, notebook open but barely touched. My mind was processing. Filtering. Extracting the minuscule percentage of relevant data.
"And so, young Huntsmen and Huntresses," Port declared, stroking his magnificent moustache with the reverence usually reserved for ancient artefacts, "the lesson here is clear: courage is not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it!"
Nora, beside me, was sketching a surprisingly detailed caricature of Professor Port battling a giant, anthropomorphic cookie monster. Ren, predictably, was taking meticulous notes, his pen gliding across the page with silent efficiency, probably documenting the precise historical inaccuracies. Pyrrha, to my other side, occasionally offered a polite nod or a thoughtful frown, absorbing the lecture with what appeared to be genuine interest, a phenomenon I still struggled to comprehend.
I, meanwhile, was cross-referencing Port's anecdotes with known Grimm biology, calculating the precise logical inconsistencies in his narrative. His stories were often impressive, but the physics rarely added up.
Ruby, Yang, Blake, and Weiss sat a few rows in front of us. Ruby occasionally bounced in her seat, her silver eyes flitting between Port and her scroll, likely engaging in some form of hyperactive multitasking.
Yang was either doodling or trying to subtly braid Blake's hair, a low hum of chatter emanating from their group, a constant low-level annoyance. Blake was, as always, engrossed in a book, occasionally looking up to offer a pointed, exasperated glance at Yang. The dynamics of Team RWBY were a fascinating, if inefficient, case study.
And then there was Weiss. Her posture was ramrod straight, her attention seemingly fixed on Port, a model of academic diligence. But every now and then, I caught her gaze flicking backward, a quick, almost imperceptible movement, before snapping back to the front. She wasn't looking at Ruby, or Yang, or Blake. She was looking at me.
It was a subtle thing. A flicker of her pale blue eyes, a slight tension in her jaw. It happened during combat classes too. My power display during the Boarbatusk incident had certainly left an impression. And then there was the Character Developing Punch.
I'd expected outright hostility, perhaps even a challenge. Instead, there was… something else. A simmering mix of resentment, curiosity, and a faint, almost imperceptible trace of… fascination? An intriguing variable. She was observing me. Analysing. It seemed our interactions had created a new data stream. Good.
In combat class, under Professor Goodwitch, the pattern was tediously predictable. My sparring matches were all the same. I one-shotted my opponents, with either a punch, kick, or using Judo. It was always swift, always clean. I always took no damage and never exerted myself beyond the bare minimum required to end the encounter efficiently.
The other students viewed me with a mixture of awe and avoidance. No one particularly wanted to be the next one-hit casualty, yet someone had to be chosen. A large number of my current Faith points came from these public displays of overwhelming superiority.
Sometimes I got a full team, just because Professor Goodwitch, in her relentless pursuit of a challenge, wanted to try and get me to exert my power a bit more. It never worked. She'd pair me against Teams CRDL, FNKI, or other more established second-year teams, but the result was always the same: a swift, clean victory with minimal effort. It was efficient. And boring. Predictably boring.
And yet, instead of skipping, I still went. Because I wanted those Faith points. And the data. You never knew when a new variable might emerge.
Beyond combat and history, the other classes were equally... predictable. Professor Oobleck's lectures on history were... odd. He spoke at a frantic pace, yet every word was precise, every historical fact articulated with near-perfect recall. I could appreciate that level of verbal efficiency.
Dust class under Professor Peach was significantly less stimulating. The elemental properties were basic. Crude when compared to what I could do with Ki. I could manipulate lightning, fire, even ice through my Ki with far greater precision and power.
I found myself mentally dissecting the inefficiencies of their Dust applications, outlining theoretical improvements, optimal elemental combinations, and potential energy conservation methods in my head. They were still using flintlock pistols when I had access to a particle accelerator.
It was like watching someone try to build a skyscraper with a shovel when I possessed a team of automated construction drones. Amusing, in a detached sort of way.
It was after a particularly dull Dust class that the inevitable happened. I was packing my bag, ignoring the hushed murmurs of students quickly vacating the room before I could accidentally make eye contact and, by their logic, claim their souls.
Nora was already halfway to the cafeteria, lured by the scent of sugar. Ren and Pyrrha were discussing something about advanced Aura techniques.
"A moment of your time, Kaelith."
The voice was cool, sharp, laced with that familiar aristocratic edge. I didn't need to turn to know it was Weiss Schnee.
Her Ki signature was distinct—a delicate, intricate flow, like a fine lace, yet with an undercurrent of surprising tension like a coiled spring wrapped in silk.
I turned slowly, my expression neutral, though a tiny, almost imperceptible smirk played at the corner of my mouth. This promised to be entertaining.
"Schnee. To what do I owe the distinct displeasure?"
Her blue eyes, usually like chips of ice, narrowed slightly. She was dressed impeccably, of course, her uniform pristine, her posture stiff as a board. She looked like she'd just swallowed a particularly sour lemon, but there was an underlying tremor in her stance that only my perception could pick up. A flicker of something, a nervous energy she meticulously tried to suppress.
"A-displeasure?" she scoffed, though the single stutter betrayed her. "Don't flatter yourself, Kaelith. I merely wished to inquire about your… unorthodox methods in combat class. And your continued presence despite your… destructive tendencies."
Time to start this song and dance again.
I raised an eyebrow, a tiny, almost imperceptible smirk playing on my lips. "Unorthodox? I assure you, my methods are entirely optimal for maximal efficiency. Why bother with prolonged engagements when a singular, decisive strike achieves the same outcome with less expenditure of time and resources? Unless, of course, you prefer a more… theatrical approach? Perhaps you enjoy the dramatic flourish of a drawn-out struggle?"
A faint flush, barely discernible, touched her pale cheeks. She bristled, her jaw tightening. "My methods are refined! They are elegant! Not some brutish… display of brute force with no finesse!"
"Finesse is a luxury," I stated, shrugging slightly. "And often, an inefficiency. When dealing with existential threats, precision and power are paramount. I could teach you, of course. For a price."
Her eyes widened, then quickly narrowed again. "Teach me? What could you possibly teach me, a Schnee, about combat? My family has centuries of martial tradition!"
"Indeed," I said, stepping closer, closing the distance between us until she instinctively took a half-step back, bumping into a desk. Her cold exterior was cracking. "Centuries of tradition are admirable, I suppose. If one is content with stagnation. I, however, offer results. Faster. More conclusively. I could, for instance, teach you how to avoid being punched in the face by a concerned bystander when you're being unnecessarily arrogant."
Her eyes flashed, the faint flush deepening. "That was entirely uncalled for!"
"And it seemed to accelerate your character development rather efficiently. You haven't made a public nuisance of yourself since. I'd call that a net positive, wouldn't you?"
She sputtered, her carefully constructed composure threatening to shatter.
"Are you… are you flirting with me, Kaelith?" The words came out in a rush, a mix of indignation and something else entirely. Her voice was slightly higher than usual.
"Flirting?" I tilted my head. "Is that what this is? I was merely offering an assessment of your improved psychological state and a potential pathway to enhanced combat efficacy. Though, if you perceive my blunt observations as romantic overtures, I suppose that speaks more to your… active imagination, Schnee."
I stepped even closer, my voice dropping slightly, leaning in so only she could hear. "Unless, of course, you find a certain charm in being brutally honest with your flaws?"
Her breath hitched. Her pale skin was now definitely flushed. Her eyes, usually so sharp and self-assured, darted away from mine, then back, caught like a deer in headlights.
"I… I don't—" she started, then cut herself off, seemingly unable to form a coherent thought. Her gaze lingered on my face for a moment, a flicker of something raw and unmasked in those blue depths before she visibly forced her mask back into place, albeit shakily.
"This is ridiculous!" she declared, her voice regaining a fraction of its usual frosty tone, though it still trembled slightly. She took another step back, creating a sliver of distance. "I have no interest in your… unorthodox combat philosophy or your bizarrely condescending compliments! I was merely making an observation! A criticism, if you will!"
"A criticism," I repeated, a small, knowing smile finally breaking free onto my face. "Right. And yet, here you are, still attempting to engage. Curious, wouldn't you say, for someone so 'displeased'?" I gestured vaguely to the empty classroom around us. "Everyone else has already fled, presumably terrified of my conversational prowess. But not you. You linger."
She stiffened, her gaze flicking around the deserted room as if just realizing they were alone. "I… I simply have a high tolerance for incompetence! And I wished to convey my disdain for your lack of… conventionality!"
"Disdain." I hummed, a low, speculative sound. "Or perhaps… fascination masquerading as disdain? A common enough human coping mechanism for unexpected stimuli. Don't worry, Schnee. Your curiosity is quite transparent. Like glass, almost. Albeit, a very expensive, slightly chipped piece of glass."
She gasped, an indignant sound, her cheeks now a vivid scarlet. "You—! You are insufferable! And arrogant beyond belief!"
"And yet," I countered, my smile widening just a fraction, "you keep coming back for more. It's almost as if you enjoy being insulted by someone who could effortlessly dismantle your entire family's combat style with a single, well-placed… thought."
I let the last word hang in the air, a silent, playful threat.
Weiss opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. Her usual sharp wit had completely abandoned her. She stood there, flushed, flustered, her pristine facade cracking around the edges like ice under too much pressure. Her eyes, those beautiful, icy blue eyes, were wide, reflecting a chaotic storm of emotions she desperately tried to suppress. It was clear as day now. She was utterly enamored, and my casual, cutting remarks were chipping away at her defenses like a master sculptor.
"I… I have a class to attend!" she finally stammered, grabbing her bag with a clumsy movement that was completely unlike her usual poise. She practically bolted for the door, her back ramrod straight, but her hurried footsteps betraying her.
"Run along, Weiss," I called after her, my voice light, amused. "And try not to trip over your overwhelming admiration on the way out. We wouldn't want you to scratch that expensive exterior, would we?"
Her hurried footsteps echoed down the hall, a surprisingly undignified exit for the heiress. I chuckled softly, a low, satisfied sound that seemed to hum in the now-empty classroom. The silence stretched, filled only by the distant sounds of Beacon's bustling student body. It was always amusing, watching a carefully constructed persona crumble under a little… pressure. Like a poorly baked cake. All facade, no substance.
I slung my bag over my shoulder, the weight of it familiar and grounding. The corridor was now truly deserted, the last stragglers having clearly decided that a direct path was preferable to proximity to me. Smart. Self-preservation was always commendable.
As I exited the classroom, I spotted a flash of white turn the corner at the far end of the hallway. Weiss. She was still practically power-walking, a furious blush still visible on her neck even from this distance. Clearly, my words had resonated. Good. Emotional impact was always a useful metric.
[Faith has increased by 1 point]
Eh? Why did I get an increase in Faith? Did my condescension trigger some hidden masochistic tendency? Or was it simply the awe inspired by my superior intellect? A curious anomaly.
My path took me past the grand main hall, where students milled about between classes. I saw Ruby, animatedly gesturing about something, probably cookies or combat poses, to Yang, who was laughing boisterously. Blake was, predictably, tucked into a quiet corner, engrossed in a book, occasionally flicking an ear in their direction. Team RWBY: a study in amiable pandemonium, bordering on controlled chaos.
I was heading to the library. Not for research, but for the quiet. It was the only place in Beacon where the ambient noise levels were consistently below my optimal tolerance threshold. Also, it had large windows, which allowed for solar energy absorption if I felt like being subtly inefficient.
As I pushed open the heavy oak doors of the library, the immediate hush was a welcome balm. The scent of old paper and dust, combined with the faint hum of aura-powered lights, was surprisingly… nostalgic. Like a quiet corner of the White Room, but with less existential dread and a significantly lower probability of impromptu physical assessments.
I located my preferred section – the far back, nestled between forgotten tomes on ancient history and obscure Grimm anatomy. It was usually empty. Perfect. The optimal location for undisturbed data processing.
But today, it wasn't.
Weiss was there. Again. A statistically improbable coincidence. Or, perhaps, a deliberate, if transparent, attempt at another 'chance' encounter.
She was perched on a cushioned bench, ostensibly absorbed in a thick volume on Dust theory. Her brows were furrowed in concentration, and a lock of her snow-white hair had fallen across her face, which she impatiently brushed away. Her posture, as always, was impeccable. Except for the faint tremor in her hand as she turned a page, a subtle tell that only I would notice. Her internal conflict was still ongoing.
She hadn't seen me yet.
A tiny smile, a private, almost mischievous thing, played on my lips. The universe, it seemed, was determined to provide me with ample opportunities for data collection. Or, as Nora would put it, "super fun awkward moments!" Indeed.
I allowed the heavy door to swing shut behind me, the soft thud echoing in the cavernous silence of the library. Weiss still hadn't noticed me, her gaze fixed on the dense text, her fingers idly tracing a diagram. The light from the high windows caught the silver sheen of her hair, making it gleam like spun moonlight.
I walked with deliberate, quiet steps, my boots making no sound on the polished floor until I stood directly opposite her, across the large, oak table. She looked up then, startled, her blue eyes widening as she quickly pulled her hand away from the book. Her composure, always a brittle thing when confronted, visibly fractured for a micro-second.
"Kaelith," she said, her voice a shade too sharp, too defensive. "What are you doing here?"
"A logical question, Schnee," I replied, my voice a low, even tone, devoid of any genuine surprise. "Given that this is a library, one might reasonably deduce I am here to… utilize its resources. Perhaps to engage in the quaint human ritual of acquiring knowledge from static, physical media. Or, alternatively, to simply appreciate the profound silence. Unlike some areas of this institution, the decibel level here is generally tolerable."
I gestured vaguely towards the empty rows of shelves stretching into the dim distance, then subtly towards her own thick volume. My intent was clear: You are also here.
A flicker of annoyance crossed her face, swiftly followed by a renewed attempt at icy composure. "I am perfectly aware of what a library is for, Kaelith. I merely find your… sudden appearance… rather coincidental. Don't you agree?"
Her eyes narrowed, trying to pierce through my calm demeanour, searching for a tell.
"Coincidences can be freaky, Weiss." I leaned casually against the table, my arms still crossed. "Like the improbable alignment of stars that leads to the spontaneous combustion of a particularly irritating fruit fly.
Or the statistically unlikely scenario of two individuals, supposedly in 'disdain' of one another, repeatedly occupying the same deserted locations. One might almost call it… fate. Though I reject the notion of absolute fate, as you know."
Her jaw tightened, a familiar tell.
"Don't be ridiculous, Kaelith. There is no 'fate' involved in my choosing a quiet section of the library. Unlike you, I actually come here to study." She tapped the thick book with a perfectly manicured finger. "Perhaps you'd care to elaborate on your own 'study' habits? Do they involve glaring at unsuspecting pages until they surrender their knowledge?"
I chuckled, a low, dry sound.
"My methods are far more advanced than mere 'glaring,' Schnee. I simply absorb. My brain is not a sieve, like some others I could mention." My gaze drifted pointedly to the book she was holding. "Dust theory, I see. Fascinating. Though somewhat rudimentary. Are you still struggling with the practical applications of elemental permutations, or has your family's millennia-old reliance on a single, predictable combat style simply limited your conceptual versatility?"
A fresh wave of crimson stained her cheeks, a vivid splash against her pale skin. "My family's combat style is proven! It is effective! And my conceptual versatility is perfectly adequate!" She slammed the book shut with a soft thwack, though her movements were still slightly clumsy, betraying her irritation. "Perhaps you should return to your… 'absorbing' then, and leave me to my 'rudimentary' studies!"
"Now, now," I purred, stepping around the table, deliberately invading her personal space. She stiffened, a faint tremor running through her. "Such defensiveness. It's almost endearing. Are you perhaps upset that your carefully constructed façade of indifference is… crumbling? Like a poorly maintained ice sculpture in a heatwave?" I leaned closer, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Or is it simply the uncomfortable realization that someone sees past the 'heiress' and straight into the intriguing, surprisingly flustered individual beneath?"
Her breath hitched again, her eyes wide, locked with mine. The icy blue was now swirling with a tempest of confusion, indignation, and that ever-present flicker of… something else. Curiosity. Fascination. An almost desperate yearning for me to continue pushing, to dismantle her carefully guarded walls piece by piece. She hated it, and yet she was drawn to it like a moth to a flame. Predictable, in a delightfully human way.
"You… you are insufferable!" she finally managed, her voice barely a whisper, devoid of its usual sting. She tried to push herself away from the bench, but my proximity, my sheer presence, seemed to root her to the spot.
"So I've been told," I replied, a genuine smirk now on my face. "It seems to be a common complaint among those whose conventional thought patterns I disrupt. Tell me, Weiss, do you find my insufferability… stimulating? Perhaps even… challenging?"
"I… I find you… perplexing!" she finally burst out, her voice a little louder, a little shakier. She finally managed to scramble to her feet, putting the table between us like a fragile shield. "Your… your utter disregard for social graces, your… your taunts! They are… they are—"
"Effective?" I finished smoothly, leaning back against the table, mirroring her stance. "Precisely. Because they force you to react. To shed the layers of decorum and respond genuinely. And I know that's how you react around Ruby and your team, but maybe, just maybe you should have a few more friends."
Her jaw dropped slightly at my last statement, the unexpected shift in tone from mockery to… something akin to insight, throwing her completely off balance. The 'taunts' she could parry, the arrogance she could scoff at, but genuine observation, especially about her own meticulously guarded vulnerabilities, struck a different chord.
"My friends are perfectly adequate, Kaelith!" she retorted, though her voice lacked its usual conviction, a faint tremor betraying her. "And my social graces are impeccable! It is you who seems to operate on a different plane of… rudeness!"
"Rudeness?" I chuckled, pushing off the table and slowly circling it, forcing her to pivot to keep me in sight. "I prefer to call it 'unfiltered efficiency.' Why waste time on superfluous pleasantries when direct communication achieves the desired outcome? Besides, you seem to react rather well to it. Like a fine-tuned instrument responding to a… particularly aggressive tuning fork."
Her eyes narrowed, but the usual fire was mixed with a flicker of something else—a frustrated amusement, perhaps? "I do not 'respond well'! I find it infuriating! Exasperating! And frankly, quite childish!"
"Childish, yet effective," I countered, stopping directly in front of her, leaning in just enough to force her to tilt her head back. Her breath hitched again, her gaze locked onto mine, a faint blush returning to her cheeks. "You're still here, aren't you? Still engaged. Still… captivated. My 'rudeness,' as you call it, seems to hold your attention far more effectively than any conventional 'social grace' ever could."
She opened her mouth, then closed it, her carefully prepared retorts seemingly dissolving in the face of my unwavering, almost playful intensity. Her usual verbal fencing skills, honed by years of Schnee boardroom battles, seemed to falter against my disarming bluntness.
"I am merely… attempting to understand your perplexing worldview!" she finally stammered, crossing her arms defensively, though her posture still held that slight, almost imperceptible tremor. "It is a matter of academic interest, nothing more!"
"Academic interest," I repeated, my voice a soft murmur, leaning back slightly but still holding her gaze. "Right. And the sudden flush in your cheeks? Is that also a symptom of rigorous intellectual pursuit? Or perhaps a physiological response to… unexpected stimulation?"
Her eyes widened, and the blush deepened, painting her entire face a vibrant crimson. She looked like she was seconds away from spontaneously combusting from sheer mortification. Yet, still, her eyes remained fixed on mine, a strange, undeniable magnetic pull holding her.
"You are insufferable!" she managed, her voice a strained whisper, completely devoid of its usual frosty bite. "Completely, utterly, unbelievably insufferable!"
"So you've said," I replied, a genuine smile now gracing my lips, a rare, unguarded expression that seemed to momentarily steal her breath. "And yet, you keep saying it. Almost as if… you enjoy the repetition. Perhaps you're hoping I'll eventually learn. Or perhaps, you're hoping I won't."
I straightened up, breaking the intense proximity, and turned to walk towards a nearby bookshelf. The sudden release of pressure seemed to make her sag slightly, a faint, almost imperceptible exhalation escaping her lips.
"I think I'll find a book on the thermodynamic properties of highly pressurized, emotionally volatile substances," I mused aloud, loud enough for her to hear, my voice laced with a playful mockery. "Might shed some light on why certain individuals are prone to spontaneous combustion when subjected to… blunt observation."
She let out a frustrated, almost growling sound behind me, but I didn't turn back. The sound was not of genuine anger, but of utter exasperation, tinged with a hint of something that sounded suspiciously like… a suppressed laugh.
[Faith has increased by 1 point]