"Wait—no, don't go!" the girl blurted out, stepping forward and nearly tripping on the hem of her robe. "Are you… um... are you looking to join?"
Jaune hesitated, hand still on the door. "Not exactly. I was just kinda looking around and saw so club flyers down on the board in the courtyard."
The girl recovered fast. "Well! If you're even a little interested, we offer a wide array of benefits. Occult research, firsthand notes on mystical phenona, access to restricted docunts and even a few recovered artifacts that you've probably never even heard of before!"
Jaune raised a brow. "Artifacts?"
"Yes!" She nodded eagerly. Probably too eagerly "Mystical relics from various traditions. We've got a cracked mirror that supposedly reflects your past lives, an old compass that doesn't point north, and a cursed music box that sotis plays when no one's touched it."
Jaune stared at her.
"That just sounds like a broken mirror, a broken compass, and a broken music box."
"Well, we don't exactly have the budget for a real haunted doll or anything," one of the guys in the back muttered.
Jaune sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look. I'm not really here for the… uh, ritual cosplay thing. But I am looking for sothing."
The girl leaned in slightly, interested. "Like what?"
Jaune hesitated. "What knowledge do you have about dreams? So recent... information has thinking that dreams are a lot more connected to reality than I thought."
"Ooh," soone whispered from the back. The circle of students began shifting forward, hoods dropping, curiosity rising.
"Tell more. What exactly about dreams are you looking for?" the leader girl asked, suddenly serious.
"I'm not sure," Jaune replied slowly. "I've had so recurring dreams as of late and... they feel real. Too real. Places I've seen before but... different. Changed. Odd creatures and... an empty, broken city. I don't really know how to explain it."
There was a beat of silence. Then the girl nodded thoughtfully.
"Premonitions, maybe," she said, voice quiet. "So drears see fragnts of future events. Not always literal, but… close enough. They might be symbols or even archetypes."
"I didn't say anything about the future," Jaune replied. But he paused.
Because… what if?
That crumbling neighborhood. The way it mirrored his own. The street signs, the houses. And that moon—red and broken, bleeding. It didn't look like a dream. It looked like what was left after sothing went very wrong.
If it really was so kind of vision of potential future events that would co to pass...
Then what the hell was the Nightmare System?
And why did the world reset itself like a stage after a scene?
He frowned, lost in thought, and the girl seed to notice.
"We can't give you all the answers," she said more gently. "But we've got so records that you could take a look at. Research. Stuff the school library doesn't touch and things which aren't found on the web. If you're curious… there's always a seat open."
Jaune glanced around the room again.
It was hard to take them seriously. Especially after the chanting.
But sothing about the way she said that made him pause.
"I'll… think about it," he said finally, reaching out to take one of their worn-out, glitter-glued flyers from a pile on the desk.
"Just think before you sleep," soone whispered ominously from the back.
"Shut up, Greg," the girl snapped.
Jaune gave a small grin despite himself. "Maybe I'll drop by again next week."
And with that, he stepped out of the room, flyer in hand, and left the strange little group behind—at least for now.
Jaune figured he still had a bit of ti before heading ho, so he decided to check out the Sword Arts Club.
It wasn't like he had a proper weapon in the dream world—not yet, anyway—but if it ever ca to that, he figured he'd be better off knowing how to swing a blade with so purpose. Assuming, of course, that he ever found a sword. He'd probably have to talk to his dad about the sword that he had made. Maybe his dad would even let him use it?
Personally, he would've preferred a gun. Or maybe even a crossbow. Sothing that didn't require him to get within claw-range of a nightmare monster.
But… beggars couldn't really be choosers.
His thoughts wandered back to the ridiculous display he'd witnessed earlier at the Occult Research Society. They were definitely a quirky bunch. Strange, dramatic, overly theatrical—but there had been a sincerity to them. A strange sort of curiosity. Maybe they really did have sothing useful. Or maybe they were just playing dress-up and throwing glitter on each other while quoting Wikipedia pages.
Hard to say.
Still… he made a ntal note to stop by again next week. Even if it ended up being useless, it was better than nothing.
Soon enough, Jaune arrived at the clubroom for the Sword Arts Club. Or more accurately—club hall. The place was much bigger than he expected. It was a wide, open space tucked beside the athletics wing, one of the side gyms usually reserved for wrestling or indoor archery. The floor had been fitted with fresh mats, and about a dozen students were practicing various drills using wooden swords and staffs.
It looked, nice and organized. Clean and tidy.
Definitely a far cry from the occult club and its bootleg summoning circle.
His eyes naturally drifted toward the center of the room.
There, shirtless and covered in a faint sheen of sweat, a tall, grey-haired student moved through a set of sword forms with a bokken. His fra was lean and athletic—chiseled muscle visible under taut skin, his posture fluid and focused. Each movent was precise and deliberate. Balanced.
It was… genuinely impressive.
And apparently, Jaune wasn't the only one who thought so.
Several of the girls near the edge of the mats were sitting off to the side with bottled water in their laps, their eyes glued to the guy like he was the lead in a fantasy movie. One of them gave a dreamy sigh when he spun the wooden sword into a slow reverse grip and snapped it forward with a whip-like motion.
Jaune blinked. Yeah… alright. That was pretty cool.
The student finally stopped his practice and rested his wooden practice weapon on his shoulder. He wiped his brow with the back of his wrist, then glanced toward the entrance—and caught Jaune standing awkwardly in the doorway.
Their eyes t and he gave Jaune a friendly grin.
"Hey," he said, voice smooth and open. He strode over casually. "You here to join?"
"Uh… just looking around," Jaune said honestly.
The older teen nodded. "That's cool. Na's Grise. Grise Leos. I'm a third year and the leader of the Sword Arts club. I also run the sets on Fridays, but we've got other people leading the interdiate and open sparring sessions throughout the week if you're more experienced."
Jaune rubbed the back of his neck. "I wouldn't call myself experienced. I'm more of a… total beginner."
"Even better," Grise said, flashing an easy smile. "Beginner ans no bad habits to unlearn."
He stepped aside and gestured toward the mat-lined floor. "Feel free to watch or hop in. We've got spare gear in the back if you want to give it a try. Most of our newbies start with bokken or shinai."
Jaune glanced around again—at the students training, at the smooth rhythmic clack of wooden blades connecting and the calls of so experienced instructors who were students, correcting stances. It felt… very structured and legit.
Perhaps this was exactly what Jaune needed.
"Alright," Jaune said after a beat. "Yeah. I'll give it a shot."
Grise grinned again and gave him a thumbs up. "Atta boy. Let's get you started. First things first. what's your na?"
"Jaune. It's nice to et you, Grise."
"You too." He brought Jaune to a stack of wooden weapons on a stand. There were a bunch of different swords on there. Longswords, Greatswords, katanas and even a a wooden Jian.
The bokkens and had a sleek appeal to them. But his eyes drifted towards the longer blades. One in particular caught his attention: a longsword-shaped practice weapon, thicker along the spine and longer than the others, resting near the back of the rack like it hadn't been touched in a while.
It wasn't the flashiest. Not as elegant as the katana or as imposing as so of the heavier training swords.
But sothing about the look of it, the presence… it reminded him of knightly stories and templar crusaders.
He reached out and took the longsword.
Grise raised a brow. "Nice choice. You sure?"
"I think so."
The older teen gave an approving nod. "Alright. You'll be sore tomorrow, be aware. However, I respect the commitnt. Let's head to the back. I'll get you a mask and so gloves, then we'll run through a basic stance set. After that, if you don't hate it, we'll look at form one."
As they walked toward the rear equipnt bins, Jaune glanced back across the mats. The students were still moving—so slow, so fast, so correcting each other. The steady rhythm of wood striking wood and the shuffle of feet on mats was almost… calming.
Focused.
He followed Grise to a mirrored wall with an open section where new students were warming up. The third year handed him a basic mask and padded gloves, then dropped into a stance in front of him.
"First thing's first—footwork. Doesn't matter how heavy your weapon is if your balance is trash. Watch closely and follow my lead."
Jaune nodded, tightening his grip on the wooden longsword.
He wasn't expecting miracles. But if he could get even a little better at defending himself—at surviving—then that alone made this worth the effort.
And who knew?
Maybe he'd actually start to enjoy it.
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