Jaune lay down on his bed.
One of the few perks of being the only male in a crowded household was the rare luxury of having a room of his own. It wasn't big. It wasn't impressive. But it was his. And for now, it was enough to try to sort out the mess in his head.
He stared at the ceiling for several minutes. The cracks in the paint. The uneven shape of a stain near the corner. Everything felt… familiar. Too familiar. Like he had spent years looking at that same ceiling. Like he belonged there. And yet… he waited for something to happen. Something that would tell him what to do.
Nothing did.
Just his room. Just the silence. Just him.
Tears began to slide down his cheeks before he even noticed. There were no sobs. No dramatics. They were just… there.
—Great…— he muttered, his voice low and dry. —Looks like I finally grasped my situation.
The weight of those words settled slowly. Heavy. Irreversible. Thrown into a world slowly marching toward disaster. Torn away from a home that no longer felt entirely his. And worst of all…
He shut his eyes tightly.
—I don't even… miss it the way I should.
That hurt more than anything else. Not the danger. Not the uncertainty. That.
The memories were there. Clear. Precise. His mother taking care of him when he was sick. The sound of her voice. The way she looked at him. It should hurt. It should tighten his chest. It should make him want to go back. But it didn't. Not really.
It felt like watching someone else's life through glass. Like reading a footnote in a story that was no longer the main one. Important, yes, but distant.
—What the hell does that even mean…?
He covered his eyes with an arm, as if he could hide from the answer. There was no comfort there. Just another question.
He slowly sat up, running a hand over his face, wiping away any trace of moisture.
—Okay…— he exhaled. —Let's sort this out before I have an existential crisis later.
His gaze drifted somewhere across the room. And the question came.
—Am I… me in Jaune Arc's body?
Silence.
—Or am I Jaune Arc with memories that shouldn't be there?
The discomfort gnawed at him, but he had to face it.
—And do I even want to know the answer?
That one was worse. Because no. Not really. But it was something that had to be done.
He sat in silence for a long time. Thinking. Comparing. Remembering. Two lives. Two versions. Two ways of seeing the world… colliding in the same place.
Until, little by little, a conclusion began to take shape. Not perfect. But enough.
—…I'm probably something in between.
It didn't sound like relief. But it didn't sound like rejection either. It was… acceptance.
He remembered his past life. And those memories influenced how he thought. How he reacted. What he considered right. But at the same time…
He turned his head slightly, looking at his bedroom door. His family. His sisters. His parents. They weren't strangers. They weren't actors in someone else's story. He loved them. Truly. It didn't feel fake. It didn't feel imposed. It didn't feel like something he was pretending.
—That… is real.
He said it quietly, but firmly. And for a moment, that was enough to anchor him.
But it didn't solve everything. Because there was another truth. One he couldn't ignore.
—I'm not… the same Jaune.
He stared at his hands.
—I can understand why I'd want to help others. Why that dream of being a hero, a huntsman like my grandfather…
That much was there.
—But…
His expression tightened slightly.
"I'm not going to throw myself at nightmare monsters just to die."
The words came out firmer than he expected.
—I'm not a hero.
Not like the ones in stories. Not like the ones in his family. And yet…
He curled his fingers slightly.
—I want to do things right.
That hadn't changed either. He didn't want to ignore everything. He didn't want to look the other way. He didn't want to become someone who simply… let things happen.
But he also didn't want to die trying to be something he wasn't.
That contradiction lingered in the air. Uncomfortable. Persistent. Real.
Jaune exhaled slowly, letting the air slip out as if he could release something else with it.
—So…
His eyes sharpened a little. Clearer. More present.
—I need to find a way to help…
His gaze hardened.
—Without dying in the process, preferably.
He hesitated. Not much. But enough to notice that he was hesitating.
His eyes shifted slightly… and there it was.
Floating in his field of vision, as if it had been patiently waiting for him this whole time.
A new function.
He hadn't touched it.
Hadn't explored it.
And, if he was being honest…
He didn't trust it.
[Gacha Trash]
Jaune narrowed his eyes.
—…That doesn't sound promising.
Silence.
The system, as always, didn't respond.
Jaune sighed.
"Sure. Why not? My life's already a mess, what's a little more?"
He tapped it.
Almost without thinking.
Almost like something else had made the decision for him.
[1 pull – 1 point]
[10 pulls – 10 points]
[Balance: 10 points]
He stared at the options for a few seconds.
—Ten pulls…
He frowned slightly.
—I don't expect anything.
Pause.
—But I'm not losing anything either, right?
Another pause.
—…That sounds like something someone says right before losing something important.
He sighed.
And yet…
He pressed it.
The results appeared one after another.
No ceremony.
No epic flair.
Just… chaos.
[Hello Kitty Shoes]
Collector's shoes. Famous among certain people.
[Standard Two-Handed Sword]
Not a bad sword.
[+3% damage against enemies with wet socks]
Congratulations, you are now the terror of puddle victims.
[Freshly Made Empanadas]
They're still warm.
[Broken Crossbow]
Someone might have overused it.
[+12% walking speed on wet surfaces]
You can still slip on wet ground, so be careful.
[Hard Cushion]
Not great as a cushion, but a solid weapon in a pillow fight.
[Customizable Notebook]
A normal notebook, but you can set any cover you want.
[Detection of lost objects within 3 meters]
If the object is special, it can't be found, but hey, you can find your keys.
[Universal Job Contract]
Ready to be signed. Who do you want to exploit for labor?
Silence.
Then…
—Perfect — he said at last. —Half of these are useless, and the other half… I completely understand why no one wanted them.
He let himself fall back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling again.
—Okay…— he muttered, sitting up slowly once more. —Let's think.
Not like before.
Not from panic.
But from what he had.
Even if what he had was… this.
He selected the notebook.
Held it in his hands for a few seconds.
—Let's see if at least one of you works properly.
He closed his eyes for a moment.
He imagined.
The cover.
His family crest.
Two moons.
Blue.
Symmetrical.
Steady.
When he opened his eyes again…
The notebook had changed.
It sat in his hands as if it had always been that way.
More detailed than he expected.
More… real.
Jaune stared at it in silence.
—…Okay.
A small breath escaped his lips.
—That's useful.
He sat up properly.
Rested the notebook on his legs.
Took a pencil.
And this time…
He didn't hesitate.
Advantages.
He wrote the word at the top.
Then he stared at the page.
Thinking.
Organizing.
And began to write.
FUTURE PLANS (non-stupid version… hopefully)
He stared at the title.
"Ambitious," he muttered.
He lowered the pencil.
Thought.
And began.
Become a teacher at Beacon
He stared at the line.
Blinking.
—…No.
He crossed it out firmly.
—I'd have to survive as a student first.
Become a professional Huntsman
He hesitated a bit longer.
Then shook his head.
—Too dangerous. And I doubt I'd get help from my family. I'm still just a kid with no training.
Crossed out.
Writer
He paused.
—Yeah, no.
Crossed out.
Stay home and pretend nothing is happening
He didn't even think about it.
He wouldn't put his family at risk.
Instantly crossed out.
He leaned back in the chair.
Looked at the list.
—Wow. I'm amazing at eliminating my own future.
He sighed.
Spun the pencil between his fingers.
Thought.
Again.
Deeper this time.
He wrote slowly.
—I need to be… where it matters.
His eyes sharpened slightly.
—Without drawing too much attention.
A pause.
—But without disappearing.
The pencil returned to the page.
And this time, he didn't hesitate.
Private detective in Vale / Con artist
He stared at the line.
Tilted his head.
—…I guess I could adapt if it's for the greater good.
Pause.
—And weirdly perfect, considering Reigen…
He picked up the pencil again.
And with a small, almost childish gesture… circled the option.
A big one.
Exaggerated.
Definitive.
He leaned back onto the bed, letting the air escape slowly.
And for the first time all day…
He didn't feel completely lost.
—I need to stay at the epicenter of events,— he murmured, staring at the ceiling again, —where I can help… not close enough to interfere with the narrative…
A small smile appeared on his face.
—And definitely somewhere that, when all of this is over… I can keep going.
He snapped the notebook shut.
The sound echoed in the room like the final period of a decision.
And this time…
It didn't sound like a mistake.
The hallway had never felt so long.
Jaune walked slowly, though not by choice. It was more like… every step gave him time to back out.
—Okay… he muttered under his breath. —Just talk. It's a conversation. People have conversations all the time. It's not like this is going to change your whole life or anything.
Pause.
—…It's going to change my whole life.
He stopped for a second.
Took a deep breath.
Kept walking.
Mental rehearsals began to parade through his head one after another.
—Hi, I want to go to Vale.
Too direct.
—I've been thinking about my future.
Too formal.
—I don't want to die young, so I'm going to avoid stupid decisions.
…Too honest.
He frowned.
—Great. I have no idea how to start this.
He turned the corner of the hallway and finally saw him.
His father.
Aurelius Arc.
Sitting.
Arms crossed.
And an expression that… didn't help.
Jaune stopped.
Because he knew that look.
It wasn't anger exactly.
It was worse.
It was that expression.
—Hey, Dad…— he tried, raising a hand slightly. —Got a minute?
His father looked up.
Silence.
—If this is about what I think it is…_ he finally said, his voice deep, —then we should talk about it now.
Jaune felt something in his stomach sink.
He hadn't even started.
And it was already going wrong.
He stepped closer slowly.
Stopped in front of him.
Waiting.
Hesitating.
—I… wanted to talk to you about something important.
His father didn't respond right away.
He just watched him.
Analyzing.
Measuring.
As if he already knew exactly where this was going.
—Of course you did,— he finally said, leaning forward slightly. —Because that's what you do now, right? Make important decisions without thinking them through.
A heavy hit.
Direct.
Jaune opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
—You want to be a Huntsman.
It wasn't a question.
But it wasn't a direct statement either.
It was… worse.
It was a conclusion already written before Jaune had even walked into the room.
The silence that followed was heavy. Dense.
Jaune felt the urge to correct him.
Immediately.
To say "no," to clarify, to cut the tension before it grew further.
But he didn't.
Because a part of him…
wanted to hear it.
His father exhaled slowly, running a hand over his face.
—Do you have any idea how many don't come back?
His tone wasn't angry.
It was tired.
—Do you know how many names go unspoken because no one wants to remember them?
Jaune lowered his gaze slightly.
He didn't answer.
—Your grandfather,— he continued, —wasn't a hero because he was invincible.
Pause.
—He was a man with luck.
His eyes fixed on Jaune again.
Harder now.
Sharper.
—And luck… runs out.
The air grew heavy.
Every word landed like a warning.
Not exaggerated.
Not dramatic.
Real.
&It's not like the stories he told you,— he went on. —There are no speeches that save you. No perfect moments where everything falls into place.
He leaned forward a little more.
—There are mistakes. And those mistakes cost lives.
Silence.
Jaune felt his chest tighten.
Not from fear.
From something more complicated.
Because he wasn't wrong.
Because deep down, that stupid idea of becoming a Huntsman was still there, buried under layers of fear and anxiety about the future.
Maybe he would've backed down right there.
Maybe he would've retreated.
But this time…
This time was different.
His father continued, his voice lower now.
—I've seen what happens when someone thinks they can handle something they don't understand.
Pause.
—And I'm not going to sit back and watch you repeat that.
The message was clear.
Jaune clenched his fists slightly.
His mind wasn't blank anymore.
Not after everything he had thought through.
Not after the plan.
Not after accepting he couldn't just stand still.
And still…
He hesitated.
One second.
Two.
The weight of his father's gaze was still there.
Waiting for an answer.
Confirming what he already believed he knew.
And for a moment…
Jaune let it.
Let the silence stretch.
Then…
He breathed.
And spoke.
—No…
His voice was low.
But firm.
Enough to cut through the air.
His father stilled.
Barely.
—That's not it.
Pause.
Jaune lifted his gaze.
Direct.
Unflinching.
—It's just… I want to go to Vale.
The silence changed.
It didn't disappear.
But it shifted.
—I think I want to try…— he continued, slower now, —to see if I can start a private investigation business.
He hesitated for just a moment.
But didn't stop.
—And I also wanted to see if I could make it work… and attend school there.
The words hung in the air.
There was no going back now.
And for the first time in the entire conversation…
His father's expression changed.
Not immediately.
First… it froze.
As if the words hadn't fully clicked yet.
—…Private investigation?$ he repeated, more to himself than to Jaune.
The tone was different now.
The hardness had been replaced by something thoughtful.
Jaune said nothing.
Didn't move.
Didn't break the moment.
Because he knew that if he spoke now… he might ruin it.
His father slowly leaned back in his chair.
Studied him.
Up and down.
As if reevaluating him from scratch.
—You don't want to be a Huntsman,— he said at last.
This time it was a statement.
Clear.
Direct.
Jaune shook his head.
—No.
Silence.
Another one.
But different.
Less tense.
More… strange.
His father let out a low chuckle.
And for a brief moment… fleeting, but impossible to miss… he looked relieved.
—…Good.
The word slipped out almost on reflex.
Then, as if realizing he'd said it out loud, he cleared his throat.
_I mean…— he straightened slightly. —It's not exactly a… simple decision.
Jaune blinked.
—Private investigation…—his father repeated, more thoughtfully this time. —That means moving around. Talking to people. Solving problems.
He looked at him again.
This time with something different in his eyes.
Not full approval.
But not rejection either.
—It doesn't involve throwing yourself at Grimm headfirst.
Pause.
—Which is already… a considerable improvement.
Jaune opened his mouth slightly.
He hadn't expected… that.
His father leaned forward again.
—And Vale?
He frowned.
—That makes sense.
Jaune blinked again.
—It… makes sense?
—It's a major hub,— his father continued, completely ignoring the surprise in his tone. —Constant movement. More clients…
He crossed his arms.
—If you're going to try something like that, doing it somewhere things actually happen is the logical choice.
Pause.
Jaune stared at him.
Confused.
Very confused.
—…That's exactly what I thought.
—Of course it is,— his father replied without hesitation. —It's not a bad idea.
Silence.
—Look.
His tone shifted again.
More honest.
More direct.
—I'd rather you didn't go.
That wasn't surprising.
But what came next was.
—But if the alternative is you trying to become a Huntsman…
He shook his head.
—Then this is better.
Much better.
Jaune felt something settle in his chest.
Not completely.
But enough.
—And besides…— his father continued, straightening up, —if you're going to do this, you're going to do it right.
Jaune blinked.
—…Huh?
—You're not leaving unprepared.
The tone was no longer negotiable.
—You'll need contacts. Basic information. A real plan.
He stood up from the chair.
&And if you're going to study there, we need to look at options. Costs. Housing.
Jaune froze.
—Wait.
Too fast.
—You'll also need starting money,— his father continued, already pacing. —A business, even a small one, doesn't sustain itself.
Wait.
What?
Jaune raised both hands slightly.
—This… is happening really fast.
Silence.
His father looked at him for a few seconds.
Then let out a small exhale.
Almost a laugh.
—Yeah.
Pause.
—Probably.
He crossed his arms.
—But if you're going to change direction…
He looked at him directly.
—I'd rather push you toward something where you have a better chance of staying alive.
Jaune didn't respond.
Not immediately.
Because deep down… he understood.
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable anymore.
Not entirely.
Jaune lowered his gaze for a second.
Then nodded.
Slowly.
—Okay…
He took a deep breath.
—Then… I guess this is real.
And for the first time since the conversation began…
He didn't feel like he was stepping back.
But moving forward.
Even if he had no idea where exactly that path led.
—…Good.
His father nodded once.
Short.
Decisive.
—Then I'll talk to your mother.