Aura, Jaune decided, was amazing.
He couldn't believe how different the world felt since Pyrrha unlocked it. It was one of those things you couldn't understand, but that you also weren't sure how you'd ever gotten by without it. Or missed it.
There was a whole extra source of energy burning inside him, rushing about his body so visceral and tangible, and he'd spent fifteen years of his life never once knowing it existed.
Opening and closing his hand, he felt the energy rush up his arm to his wrist and then subside again.
It didn't flow with muscle movement per se, but Pyrrha explained that it sometimes helped early on to think of it that way. Ultimately, the goal was to be able to push and pull it wherever you wanted, to use it as a shield to protect and strengthen the body.
Jaune purposefully let a little too much gather in his hand, and the excess caused a thin white film of visible light to form around his fist.
How much training would it take, Jaune wondered, to command his aura with the seamless precision Professor Port had demonstrated? The way the man moved, his aura seemed like an extension of his very breath—effortless, fluid, and commanding. Every step carried power, but none of it was wasted. Watching him, Jaune felt like he was peering into a future he could barely imagine for himself.
Still, as much as he tried to respect his new favorite teacher by listening to the tales of valor and glory (which, surprisingly, seemed far less unbelievable now than they had yesterday), his attention drifted elsewhere.
Specifically, to his new classmate.
The guy who had been wrestling Professor Port not five minutes ago.
"So cool…" The words slipped from his lips before he could stop himself, as the fight replayed in his head for the fifth time.
He'd caught Ren mumbling something about a "copycat," and there was a low murmur of "Atlas Academy" bouncing between the second-year students who shared their class. But Jaune, predictably, was utterly lost. His lack of basic Huntsman knowledge made it impossible to piece together exactly what the new guy's deal was.
That fire punch at the end, though…
"So damn cool…" The words escaped again before he could stop himself.
Jaune shook his head quickly, breaking out of his daze, and turned toward his most reliable source of answers.
"Psst, hey, Pyrrha…"
The tall, red-haired girl sitting on his left turned toward him, her kind smile as warm and natural as sunlight breaking through clouds. Her emerald-green eyes, however, were anything but soft. Inquisitive and sharp, they seemed to cut right through him, like they could peel back the layers of his thoughts and see all that lay beneath.
Jaune felt a shiver run down his spine, goosebumps prickling his arms. Whatever questions about the new student he had queued up in his head melted away in an instant, consumed by a sudden, familiar surge of self-doubt.
How dare a fake like me disturb a real student of Beacon?
The thought hit him like a hammer, his impostor syndrome rearing its ugly head for the third time in the past hour only. Pyrrha was a true Huntress in the making, a bona fide prodigy, and here he was, interrupting her while she paid rapt attention to a real Huntsman's lecture.
Only one thing could have killed his excitement faster: if Cardin had stood up right then and there, grabbed him by the collar, and started smacking him around like he usually did in combat class.
Still, Jaune forced his brittle smile to stay glued to his face, swallowing hard as he whispered the simplest question he could muster.
"…Can you beat him in a fight?"
For a moment, her smile didn't waver, but her sharp green eyes narrowed just a fraction—enough to make him feel even smaller. Then her gaze shifted past him, focusing on the front of the classroom where the boy who called himself Drago Geas sat.
Jaune turned to follow her gaze.
His heart skipped a beat.
Drago was already looking at them.
The transfer student's smile was calm, almost friendly, but his black eyes sent a chill through Jaune's core. His hair stood on end as he remembered how easily the guy had teleported behind the professor mid-spar, like a phantom emerging from thin air.
It was irrational, of course. Drago had no reason to target him, no reason to even care about him. And yet, even as Jaune realized the boy's gaze wasn't even directed at him, his skin still prickled with unease.
"It would be… close," Pyrrha's sweet voice whispered in his ear.
The words were so soft they were barely audible, but for some reason, Jaune felt like Drago heard them all the same.
Because the boy's smile widened just a little.