The (Mis)Adventures of Team J.P.T.R.

Let's Start Over

Oof, we're finally here. Where is "here", you ask? A very important place. I feel like I've been saying (or at least thinking) this a lot lately, but I'm very excited to write this chapter. It's got a lot of stuff I've wanted to do for a while now, so I'm very happy to finally get to bust out some of the ideas I've been holding down until the right time.

It's also one of the rare few times I don't feel like complaining about my writing. I know, GASP, I'm not opening the chapter with "By the way, this whole thing is shit, my writing ability is shit, and this entire chapter is straight cheeks". It's not perfect, obviously, but I'd like to think it's actually pretty good. Dare I say it, I think I cooked with this one. I give it an 8/10.

I do not own RWBY, Spider-Man, any version of Ben 10, or Generator Rex.

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"Do you think one of you will finally get to fight today? You've been stuck on the bench this whole time."

It was Wednesday, the fifth day of Beacon's first term. Many of the first-year students had fallen into their own personal rhythms to help ease into their new living situation. Most filled their spare time by training with their teammates, or passed the day in the library completing homework assignments. Others ignored their responsibilities and goofed off all day, playing video games or aimlessly watching TV on their Scrolls.

"Maybe..."

Whatever they did in their free time, the majority of the first-years had enough common sense to at least remain attentive during classroom hours. With so much material to cover and the threat of tests already looming over their heads, very few were willing to risk being caught unprepared, lest their grades slip into a pit too deep to climb out of.

"I hope I get to fight one of you. Should be fun to get a decent challenge for once."

"... Looking forward to it."

Of course, some tried harder than others. Many were content with simply paying attention in class and drew the line there, believing their memories would serve them well. Others took things a step further and prepared outside of class by studying textbooks and lecture notes. Others still went into overdrive, devoting every waking second to being the best students they could be, though they were few and far between among the largely relaxed first-years.

"Hey, are you guys okay? You've been kind of quiet lately."

"... Just feeling tired."

It was 9:50 in the morning. Third period, the final class before the lunch bell rang, would begin in ten minutes. For this particular batch of students, it was known as combat class, held in one of the largest classrooms in Beacon.

Really, calling it a classroom was a massive understatement, an outright fallacy even. Instead of desks, students sat in raised stands set beside a massive, arena-like space, as though they were bleachers lining a football field. Every day, for a little over an hour, pairs of students were chosen by the professor of the class to spar with each other until one of their auras dropped too low for the fight to continue.

The basic idea was to give the students opportunities to directly test their abilities against each other, as well as to study their own weaknesses and work to correct them so they could improve their performance in the future. For a school of Hunters-in-training, it was arguably the single most important class they had.

"Tired? You'd better wake up before the bell rings, or Ms. Goodwitch will definitely let you have it."

"... Got it."