The first day of training nearly killed him.
"Again!"
Jaune rolled to his feet for what felt like the hundredth time, his entire body screaming in protest. His aura flickered weakly around him, nearly depleted from the constant beating. He raised Crocea Mors in a guard position, trying to remember the proper stance.
Nicholas Arc moved like water. One moment he was three feet away, the next his practice sword was hammering against Jaune's guard, driving him back. Jaune tried to counter, tried to use the techniques he somehow knew, but his father simply wasn't there anymore.
The next strike took him in the ribs. His aura absorbed most of the impact, but the force still drove the air from his lungs.
"You're thinking too much," Nicholas said, not even breathing hard. "Combat isn't a math equation. You can't calculate every move."
Jaune gasped for air, his vision swimming. "I'm trying to remember the forms..."
"Remembering isn't enough. Your body needs to know these movements instinctively. Right now, you're trying to think through each step. That gets you killed."
"How am I supposed to make it instinctive in six months?"
"Repetition. Pain. And a lot of getting your ass kicked." His father gestured with his practice sword. "Again. And this time, stop thinking. Just react."
Jaune wanted to collapse. Every muscle hurt. His aura reserves were at maybe twenty percent. The morning sun was barely up and he felt like he'd been fighting for hours.
But he raised his sword anyway. Because in six months, he'd be at Beacon. And if he wasn't strong enough, people would die.
Nicholas came at him again, and this time Jaune tried to just move. Not think about proper form or optimal angles. Just react to the incoming threat.
His father's sword came high. Jaune's blade rose to meet it on pure instinct. The impact jarred his arms, but he held.
"Better!"
The next strike came low. Jaune stepped back, his body moving before his brain caught up. Not perfect, not even close to proper form, but he'd dodged instead of taking the hit.
"That's it. Stop thinking. Trust your body."
They went three more exchanges before Jaune's aura finally gave out completely. The next strike took him in the shoulder, and without his aura to cushion it, the pain was immediate and sharp. He dropped to one knee, gasping.
"Done," Nicholas said, lowering his weapon. "Not bad for the first morning."
"Not... bad?" Jaune wheezed. "You destroyed me."
"You lasted longer than I expected. Most people without combat school training would've been done in five minutes. You went twenty."
Twenty minutes. It had felt like hours.
"Come on," his father said, offering him a hand. "Get some water, catch your breath. We'll start strength training after lunch."
"After lunch?" Jaune stared at him. "You mean there's more?"
"Son, we have six months. If you want to survive Beacon, we're training morning, noon, and night. Your mother's already agreed to adjust your chores." Nicholas pulled him to his feet. "Welcome to hell."
Jaune's legs nearly gave out, but he managed to stay upright. "Great. Just what I always wanted."
His father actually smiled. "You've got spirit. That's good. You'll need it."
They walked back to the house, and Jaune immediately collapsed into a chair at the kitchen table. His mother took one look at him and wordlessly set a large glass of water in front of him.
"First day?" she asked with a knowing smile.
"Is it always like this?"
"Your father trained all seven of your sisters. They survived. So will you."
"Wait." Jaune looked up, a thought occurring to him. "All of them? But why didn't I get trained before now?"
His mother paused in her movement toward the stove, and he caught the briefest exchange of glances between her and Rouge, who had just appeared in the doorway.
"Oh, this is going to be good," Rouge said, grinning as she dropped into the chair across from him.
"What?" Jaune asked warily.
His mother set down her cooking utensils and turned to face him with an expression somewhere between sympathy and amusement. "Jaune, dear, your father did try to train you. When you were eight, same as your sisters."
"And?"
"And you cried," Rouge said bluntly. "Like, every single session. For three months straight."
Jaune felt his face heat up. "I did not—"
"Oh, you absolutely did," Rouge continued, clearly enjoying herself. "The moment Dad picked up a practice sword, you'd start bawling. It became a whole thing."
The memory was there, buried in the original Jaune's mind. Hazy but present. The overwhelming feeling of inadequacy. Being compared to his sisters who made everything look easy. The crushing anxiety every time training was mentioned.
"You were so anxious about it," his mother said gently. "You kept saying you'd never be as good as your sisters, that there was no point in trying. Your father and I decided to let you take a break until you felt ready."
"Instead, you just avoided it completely," Rouge added. "Every time someone brought up combat training, you'd suddenly remember you had chores. Or homework. Or literally anything else to do."
"I ran from it," Jaune said quietly.
"Pretty much, yeah." Rouge's grin softened slightly. "That's why we're all so surprised you asked Dad to train you now. We figured you'd keep avoiding it until... well, forever."
"What changed?" his mother asked, studying him with those perceptive eyes. "You've been different lately."
Because I'm not the same Jaune who ran from his problems, he thought.
"I guess I realized running from something doesn't make it go away," Jaune said instead. "And if I'm going to Beacon, I can't afford to be weak anymore."
His mother's expression softened into something proud and a little sad. "You're growing up."
"About time," Rouge said, but there was warmth in her voice. "Though fair warning—Dad's going to push you twice as hard now that you actually want to train. He goes easy on the kids who cry."
"Thanks for the warning."
"Hey, I'm being helpful!" Rouge leaned forward conspiratorially. "Also, day three is when he starts the real torture. Endurance training. You'll be running with weighted gear while he shoots at you with rubber bullets."
Jaune stared at her. "You're joking."
"Nope! It's tradition. All of us went through it." Rouge's grin widened. "Claire cried. Violet threw up. I think Jade tried to fight back and got an extra hour added."
"Our family is insane."
"Says the guy forging transcripts to get into Beacon." Rouge's expression turned more serious. "We all know why you're doing it, by the way. Mom and Dad pretend they don't, but we figured it out."
"Oh yeah? Why am I doing it?"
"Because you're tired of being the only Arc kid who isn't special. Saphron's got her business degree and she's scary smart. I'm apparently getting recruited by some company in Atlas. Violet's already got offers from three different combat schools. Even the younger ones are showing talent." Rouge's expression softened. "You feel like you're being left behind."
That was probably true for the original Jaune. For him? He needed to be strong enough so people wouldn't die at Beacon. So Pyrrha wouldn't end up on that tower. So Penny wouldn't be torn apart.
"Something like that," he said.
"Well, good news. If you survive Dad's training, you'll definitely be special. Specially traumatized, but special."
"You're really selling this."
"Hey, I'm being honest. Which is more than Dad will be. He'll just keep pushing until you break or succeed." Rouge stood up. "But between you and me? I think you'll make it. You've got that look now."
"What look?"
"The look of someone who's already decided they're going through with this no matter what. Dad had it when he was younger when we were kids. It's the look of someone who'll do whatever it takes." She headed for the door, then paused. "Just don't die at Beacon, okay? I like having a little brother to torment."
She left before he could respond.
Jaune sat there, processing. The original Jaune's family actually cared about him. They supported him, even knowing he was faking his way into Beacon. They just wanted him to be safe.
The weight of that hit harder than any of his father's practice strikes.
He felt a warm sensation spread through his body, subtle but noticeable. The aches didn't disappear, but they dulled significantly. His aura reserves started filling faster than they should.
The system was helping. At least something was.
Six months. He had six months to become good enough to survive Beacon and strong enough to protect people.
His mother set a plate of food in front of him. "Eat. You'll need your energy. Your father has sparring scheduled after lunch, then weapons maintenance, then aura control exercises."
"All today?"
"Every day, dear. Welcome to the Arc family training regimen."
Jaune looked down at his food, then started eating. If he was going to survive this, he'd need every advantage he could get.
The afternoon session was somehow worse than the morning. His father had him practicing the same sword strike five hundred times. Literally five hundred times.
By strike two hundred, his arms felt like lead. By three hundred, his form was probably degrading into something vaguely sword-shaped. By four hundred, he was questioning all his life choices.
"In a real fight, you don't have time to think about proper form," his father said, watching him complete strike number four hundred and eighty-three. "Your body needs to know what to do automatically. So we drill until it's automatic."
"This is torture."
"This is efficiency. One more set, then we'll move to footwork."
Footwork was another hour of hell. Nicholas had set up a pattern of markers in the training yard, and Jaune had to move through them in specific sequences while his father called out numbers.
"Three!"
Jaune's body moved, performing the lateral step and pivot they'd practiced. His legs screamed at him.
"Seven!"
Backward step, guard position, ready stance.
"Two! Five! Nine!"
His body moved through the combinations, slower than they should be but getting there. The movements came easier than they should for someone who'd never trained before, but his muscles still had to learn to execute properly.
By the time his father called a halt, the sun was setting and Jaune could barely stand.
"Good work today," Nicholas said, and coming from him, that actually meant something. "You're picking this up faster than I expected. Must be that Arc blood finally kicking in."
Or it was the system optimizing his learning and recovery, but Jaune wasn't about to mention that.
"Tomorrow we'll start integrating your aura into your movements. You've got large reserves, but no control. We'll fix that."
"Can't wait," Jaune muttered.
His father actually laughed. "Get some rest, son. You've earned it."
Jaune limped back to the house, every step an exercise in willpower. His sisters were already eating dinner, and the moment he sat down, they started peppering him with questions.
"Did he make you do the five hundred strikes?" Violet asked.
"Yes."
"Did you cry?" Coral wanted to know.
"Almost."
"Did he use the 'combat isn't a math equation' speech?" Jade asked with a grin.
"Word for word."
His sisters laughed, sharing knowing glances. They'd all been through this exact same thing. Every Arc kid had survived their father's training. Some had gone on to combat schools. Others had chosen different paths. But they'd all made it through.
He could too.
After dinner, Jaune dragged himself upstairs to his room and collapsed onto his bed. His body hurt everywhere. His aura was barely regenerating fast enough to keep up with the damage. And tomorrow he'd have to do it all over again.
Once the door was closed and he was alone, he pulled up the system screen.
[Daily Training Complete]
[Progress Analysis: Satisfactory]
[Recommendations: Focus on aura control exercises. Your reserves are large but inefficient.]
[Physical Status: 73% recovered]
[Time until First Quest: 179 days, 6 hours]
"Can I actually get strong enough in six months?" Jaune asked quietly.
[Analysis: With current training regimen and system optimization, User has 87% probability of meeting minimum Beacon entrance requirements.]
[Warning: Minimum requirements are insufficient for quest survival.]
[Recommendation: Exceed expectations.]
"So I need to be better than just 'good enough.'"
[Correct. First Quest difficulty is calibrated to current User capability. The stronger you become now, the better your survival odds.]
"No pressure then."
[Correct. Significant pressure is recommended for optimal growth.]
He wasn't sure if the system was being sarcastic or genuine.
"Alright. Then I guess I'd better exceed expectations." He closed his eyes, letting exhaustion pull him under. "Wake me up if anything important happens."
[Rest well, User. Tomorrow's training begins in 8 hours.]
Jaune's last thought before sleep took him was that he'd somehow ended up in a world where getting beaten up by his dad counted as a good day.
His life had gotten very weird very fast.