The registration area in Beacon's main atrium buzzed with the hum of students chatting, digital terminals beeping, and the occasional groan of frustration as someone fumbled through the fingerprint or scroll sync portions of the ID creation process. Rows of kiosks lined the back walls, manned by Beacon staff and technicians who looked about three seconds away from a full burnout, thanks to the influx of eager, loud, and occasionally confused first-years.
Team RWBY and JNPR had mostly already gone through the process with only mild hiccups — Ruby had squealed over the picture being "super cool", Weiss checked hers like a corporate executive reviewing a contract, and Nora had managed to blink with such ferocity that her photo came out with her eyes half-closed in a comedic squint. Jaune tried to retake his four times before being scolded by a grumpy tech. But all in all, nothing too wild.
Then came Team CDXS.
They moved as a group, not out of ceremony, but because Doppel had somehow managed to misplace half her scroll's data profile and was clinging to the others to avoid "getting abducted by the machine people," as she'd whispered dramatically. Kumiko was relaxed as ever, leaning lazily against the side of the booth, while Cala went first with calm efficiency — eyes forward, no-nonsense — and walked out with her ID already clipped to her belt like a soldier checking her gear.
Then it was Sese's turn.
She stepped forward with flawless poise, her posture queen-like, her expression warm and unbothered. The terminal technician, a poor man with thinning hair and two days of stubble, looked up as her name filled his screen... and kept filling it. And kept going. He blinked. Scroll-glitched. Blinked again. He made no comment — just started typing with the resigned dexterity of someone who knew they were about to wrestle this formatting nightmare into submission.
Minutes passed. A few muttered curses. Some very creative space-saving decisions were made. And then... the ID slid from the machine.
The front of the student card was pristine — Beacon's seal stamped in subtle silver foil, a crisp student portrait of Sese, her name reading in tastefully bold letters: Sese Lenya.
But then Cala noticed it first. She tilted the ID in her hand, flipping it to the back... and there it was.
In the tiniest font legally readable by the human eye (and likely invented just for this card), the entire name was printed across the length of the ID in two lines of compressed text:
Sese Lenya Ban Von Fitzgerald Livingstone Cunningham Dragoncrest Chatterton Abercrombie Duskhollow Frostbloom Belsonavenolairequintaple the X
There was a collective pause.
"Jeez," Kumiko muttered, peering over Cala's shoulder with a raised brow, "how'd they fit all that?"
"I think they used a font only visible to ants," Doppel added, blinking. "That's like a novel nya."
Cala shifted her gaze slightly to Sese, who accepted the ID with the same kind of calm one would expect from someone sipping tea at a diplomatic summit. She smiled — elegantly, graciously.
But her eyes... oh, her eyes told a different story.
A silent, exhausted scream aged across centuries. The gaze of a young woman who had to recite that name every year since she was six. The face of someone who had to watch people try to write it in block letters on exams, who had probably seen forms crash trying to store it, who had been gently asked at least twice a year, "Can we just shorten this for records?"
Cala caught the quiet inner agony behind the composed exterior. She glanced at her again.
"You okay there?"
Sese didn't even flinch. Her smile didn't waver. "I'm fine..."
She was not fine.
It was comical in a way that transcended humor. It was the kind of pain you had to inherit.
Doppel, who was now squinting at the back of the ID again, offered helpfully, "Hey, maybe next year they'll just QR-code it instead?"
Kumiko patted Sese's shoulder with an easy chuckle. "You know, I think your name might be longer than some people's whole resumes."
Sese took a long breath. She exhaled.
"I am... used to this."
Still, she slid the ID into the breast pocket of her uniform with dignified grace, stood beside her team without a word, and calmly watched as another poor technician began to sweat trying to spell "Doppel."
This was, after all, the life of Beacon's newest team — strange, chaotic, slightly cursed — but a team nonetheless.
The new dorm room of Team CDXS was modest in size, standard for first-year students, with four beds lined two by two along the walls, a single central desk crammed between them, and one small window that only barely let in the moonlight. For a moment, it was quiet — the kind of silence that settles after a long, exhausting day of triumph, introductions, and entirely too much shouting of one particular name.
The first night had started simple enough.
Armor plates were unlatched and stacked in neat piles, cloaks folded or just tossed over chairs, and each member shifted into sleepwear of their preference — or, for some, whatever could be called "close enough." Cala wore a plain black shirt and shorts that still somehow looked like they belonged under a coat of steel. Kumiko had on a loose tunic-style top with long sleeves, her ponytail undone and hair spilling around her shoulders. Sese, ever proper, changed into a high-collared satin sleeping robe that matched her family crest, because of course she did.
Doppel, naturally, didn't change at all — she'd already disappeared somewhere halfway through dinner. It wasn't long before the scuttling sound of someone in the ceiling vents gave away her location.
There was a bang. Then another.
Kumiko sighed, already pulling her scroll out. "I'm calling some technicians here..."
Cala glanced over. "For what?"
"The damn cat's gonna keep using the hallway vents if we don't install one in here." She didn't even sound annoyed — just tired, like someone who knew this was going to be a recurring expense.
"You act like I'm not listening nya~," came Doppel's muffled voice from above, accompanied by the soft clink of a loose screw falling onto the floor. "I am listening. I just choose to ignore the consequences of my actions nya."
"She says this like it's noble," Sese mumbled as she knelt beside a mountain of luggage, most of it covered in silk ribbons and gold embroidery.
Cala, already trying to settle into one of the beds, grunted. It creaked under her weight. Loudly. "These are too small."
Doppel popped her head out of the vent opening near the top corner of the room. "Good. You can have mine. I sleep in the walls nya."
"You mean the vents," Kumiko corrected.
"No. The walls. nya" Doppel disappeared again with a soft giggle.
Cala stared blankly at the empty bed across the room. "...Fine by me."
While Cala shifted over, stretching out between the two now-claimed beds like someone trying to recover from a battlefield, Sese's unpacking continued. And continued. And continued.
Boxes. Trunks. A small standing wardrobe. At least one item that looked suspiciously like a ceremonial staff. Even a portable tea set.
"I might have overpacked..." Sese finally said, crouched beside her fourth steamer trunk, hair still in perfect curls despite the chaos around her.
"Like your name nya," came Doppel's voice again, this time a bit more smug.
There was a pause.
"...Just like her name," Kumiko added, glancing over from her newly rolled-out futon mat, already stretching out in a perfectly straight line.
Sese stood still, staring at her current pile of vintage novels and imported pillows.
She took a deep breath. Long. Measured. Her voice was calm, but there was resignation in it. "Yes..."
Cala, now half-asleep across two mattresses, rolled over and muttered, "You sure you're okay there, noble one?"
Sese set down the embroidered pillow she was holding.
"...You know what?" she said, standing up and walking over to her bed. "I'm going to bed."
"You're leaving all that unpacked?" Kumiko blinked, halfway to sleep.
"I'll deal with it in the morning."
Doppel's face popped out of the vent again, upside down. "Growth."
Cala reached for the nearest pillow and chucked it.
The room settled into quiet. Cala sprawled comfortably across her two beds, already halfway to sleep. Kumiko lay motionless on the floor mat, hands resting over her stomach like she was meditating. Doppel's tail flicked slightly from the corner of the vent, a single yellow eye still visible through the grate. Sese, ever composed, curled into her bed and exhaled slowly, one foot still resting on the edge of a half-closed trunk.
It was a strange arrangement. Unorthodox. Slightly ridiculous.
But somehow... it worked.
The Next day...
The sun crept slowly across the sky as the first morning of Beacon Academy's proper classes arrived. The rising light filtered through the dormitory blinds of Team CDXS, casting soft golden hues across the cluttered room. Alarm clocks had long since been tossed to the floor or silenced with brute force, and yet despite the lack of urgency, the four members slowly began their separate rituals of preparation.
Cala Ad Lance was the first to claim the bathroom, and thankfully, the doorframe proved wide enough to accommodate her broad, armored figure — albeit just barely. Her morning was conducted with soldierly precision: folded clothing, precisely aligned personal items, and a uniform that, once she slipped it on, seemed made for her. The black blazer, lined with Beacon's subtle crest at the breast, hugged her frame tightly, especially across her shoulders. It was almost too snug, but Cala didn't complain. The accompanying skirt and black tights were a stark contrast to her usual battle-ready presence, but she wore them without shame or discomfort. Cala had always been more about function than fashion, and the simplicity of the uniform suited her just fine.
She took a quick moment to tie her long, snow-white hair back into a thick braid that ran down her back like a length of silver chain. Checking herself in the mirror, she gave a small nod of approval, her blue eyes unwavering, her expression as stoic as ever. "Fits," she murmured to herself with a small grunt before stepping out of the bathroom.
Meanwhile, Kumiko Xen had been gone since the crack of dawn. The traditionalist warrior from Mistral didn't believe in shared showers or artificial water heaters. She had risen early and, without waking the others, made her way barefoot through the dew-covered grasses of the Emerald Forest. By the time birds began to chirp in the canopy, she was waist-deep in the cold, serene waters of a hidden lake not far from Beacon's perimeter. She bathed in silence, letting the chill invigorate her, her breath slow and even as she meditated beneath the shade of ancient trees.
When she returned, the others had just started their day. Still towel-damp, her dark brown hair hung loose and wild over her shoulders, tied back only loosely at the nape in a lazy ponytail. Her uniform was on... technically. The shirt was untucked, buttons haphazardly fastened, tie missing entirely, and skirt worn at a low angle on her hips, giving her a look that could only be described as "combat-ready vagabond meets disinterested student." Yet somehow, on Kumiko, it worked.
"Morning," she yawned as she entered, water droplets still clinging to her exposed collarbone.
"You smell like bark and moss," Cala said without looking up from her scroll.
"Thanks," Kumiko replied with a smirk, slumping lazily onto her futon and tossing her towel over her shoulder.
Sese Lenya Ban Von Fitzgerald Livingstone Cunningham Dragoncrest Chatterton Abercrombie Duskhollow Frostbloom Belsonavenolairequintaple the X — or simply "Sese" for the sake of Beacon's collective sanity — was nowhere near finished. At that very moment, she stood before the mirror in her full noble elegance, brushing the last curl of her golden-blonde hair to perfection. Her deep sapphire eyes were lined with precise, winged eyeliner, and her lips were touched with a subtle, rose-tinted gloss.
She had spent the past half hour cycling through an entire rotation of cosmetic products — all perfectly aligned on a velvet tray — while her roommates rotated in and out around her. Her uniform, however, was immaculate. Every button was properly done, her tie knotted with military perfection, the skirt ironed to a crisp line. She even wore white gloves, laced and embroidered with the faintest family sigil, because of course she did.
Finally satisfied with her appearance, Sese turned from the mirror and addressed no one in particular. "I believe I am appropriately attired for academic engagement."
"And I believe I ran out of patience twenty minutes ago nya," came Doppel's voice from the hallway.
Rather than waiting for her turn in the dorm bathroom — a fruitless endeavor, especially after seeing Sese disappear into it — Doppel had opted for the nearest public washroom two floors down. She emerged now through the door, stretching, her Black hair tucked beneath her beanie in a tangled mess of soft curls. Her Beacon uniform was present, yes, but heavily "personalized." The jacket sleeves had been rolled up, the hem uneven, and extra belts hung across her waist where none were necessary. Her skirt had been shortened just a bit, paired with shredded leggings beneath, and fingerless gloves adorned both hands.
"Hope that counts as 'in uniform,'" she muttered, cracking her neck.
Cala looked her up and down briefly. "You're wearing at least most of it."
Kumiko, lying on the floor mat with her hands behind her head, nodded. "Close enough."
"I thought I was going to be the eccentric one," Sese sighed, brushing a stray hair from her temple.
Doppel grinned. "You still are, princess."
They finally gathered together near the door, all dressed in their respective interpretations of Beacon uniform regulation. Cala carried herself like a walking statue, already armed with a satchel of notebooks and a sharpened pen clipped precisely to her collar. Kumiko slung her jacket over her shoulder, not bothering to wear it properly, her entire posture saying 'I'll figure it out when we get there.' Sese radiated polished nobility, every inch a walking academy brochure, and Doppel, grinning wildly, looked like a punk rock dropout who had wandered onto the wrong campus and decided to stay.
"Well," Cala said at last, brushing a gloved hand over her braid. "First day."
"First impressions count," Sese added, trying not to eye Doppel too hard.
"We're already doomed," Doppel chimed in cheerfully.
"Let's just get to class before they think we're skipping already," Kumiko muttered, pushing off the floor and stretching her back until it popped.
The four stepped out of their dorm room as the first bell rang faintly across the courtyard. Whatever this year held for Team CDXS, they were ready — more or less — in their own peculiar, slightly dysfunctional, but strangely fitting way.
The heavy wooden doors of Professor Peter Port's lecture hall creaked open with an echoing groan as Team CDXS stepped into the room, each member adorned in their distinctive interpretation of the Beacon Academy uniform. The classroom was still in that liminal, pre-class hush, students scattered in the rising tiers of seats, murmuring quietly among themselves or dozing with heads buried in open scrolls. Dust particles floated lazily in the warm beams of morning sun filtering through the tall windows, casting golden stripes across the polished floor.
As the four entered, their footsteps tapping in varied cadence, Professor Port's mustached face brightened immediately at the sight of them. He stood by the podium, arms crossed behind his back in practiced theatrical posture, his booming voice carrying across the chamber with all the vigor of a stage actor addressing a full house.
"Ah! Great first impressions, you four!" he bellowed, with a proud grin stretching beneath his curled mustache. "Punctuality! A virtue most noble, most commendable!"
Sese, poised as ever, gave a composed huff, her heels clicking softly as she took a few graceful steps inward. Her eyes blinked in measured calm.
"It was efficient, Professor," she replied with a flick of her gloved wrist, the faint shimmer of her makeup catching the morning light. Her face remained flawless, her eyeliner sharp as a rapier's edge, and her composure matched it to a tee.
Behind her, Doppel raised an eyebrow with exaggerated slowness. Her eyes flicked from Sese to the pristine mirror finish of her face, then back again with the practiced, deadpan stare of someone who had lived through watching every second of that thirty-minute makeup ritual.
She said nothing for a moment—only let the long silence linger—before letting out a quiet, very dry, "Uh-huh," from the corner of her mouth, layered with judgment and amusement in equal measure.
Sese turned her head ever so slightly, refusing to meet Doppel's eyes. "...It was efficient," she repeated under her breath, lips pursed, a flush threatening to rise beneath her artfully-applied blush.
Kumiko, who had been lazily walking behind them, looked around at the sparsely filled classroom, confusion flickering across her face. "Wait... we're early?"
"Actually..." Port began, clearing his throat as he checked the ancient grandfather clock near his desk with great flourish, "You've arrived precisely ten minutes early! A marvelous start to your academic career! Quite unlike many others, I dare say. Ahem—" his eyes flicked to a few stragglers trickling in, still groggy and clearly underdressed.
Cala stood silently throughout the entire exchange, arms folded neatly across her chest, her tall form relaxed yet poised. She gave a single blink, then quietly said, "We should find seats before the others pack in."
"Agreed," Sese said quickly, seizing the opportunity to glide past Doppel and dissolve any lingering awkwardness.
Doppel, trailing behind, couldn't resist one last smirk. "Ten minutes early... you know what that means."
Kumiko raised an eyebrow, bemused. "What?"
Doppel leaned in with a mischievous glint. "Twenty minutes before Sese's next makeup touch-up."
Sese didn't dignify it with a reply, only straightened her blazer with regal poise as she took her seat. The others followed, falling into place like the start of a strange, slightly off-kilter clockwork machine—one that somehow, inexplicably, ran exactly on time.
As time ticked onward with the slow certainty of a pendulum swing, the lecture hall gradually filled with the bustling chaos of first-day energy. The rustling of uniforms, clattering of boots, and shuffling of scrolls grew with every passing minute. Students wandered in ones and twos, some groggy-eyed and yawning, others hyper-aware of the time and visibly flustered at the thought of being even a second late. The towering walls of the room amplified every sound into a mild, chaotic murmur, yet none of it could outshine Professor Port's commanding voice.
Perched at the front of the room, Port was already well into his impassioned introduction, a booming tale about his battle with a particularly ferocious Geist somewhere in the northern wastes of Anima, weaving in so many flourishing hand gestures that his mustache seemed to sway with the motion. "And with a single swipe of my halberd—named Justice, of course—I cleaved the dreadful spirit into five ethereal shards, each one more temperamental than the last!"
Meanwhile, settled comfortably in the back row, Team CDXS watched the unfolding classroom with their own flavors of detachment and amusement. Cala sat composed, hands folded on her lap, eyes forward as if genuinely attempting to parse the beginnings of Port's lesson through the flurry of self-aggrandizing anecdotes. Her armor now replaced by the crisp Beacon uniform, she still looked every bit the stalwart figure of discipline—even if her second bed from the night before had left her only slightly less stiff.
Beside her, Doppel sat half-slouched, one leg drawn up on her chair, arms draped around it like a lazy feline refusing to engage with the concept of structure. Her eyes occasionally drifted toward the clock, then to the door. "Twenty-five minutes," she muttered under her breath. "Think they got lost or just slept through the whole thing?"
Kumiko yawned, head resting against the back of her chair, arms folded behind it like she was lounging on a cloud instead of rigid wood. "Knowing them? Probably both." Her uniform was still only half-tucked, her collar loose, and there was the faintest trace of river dew in her hair—evidence of her morning detour to the forest's lake, as if she hadn't fully returned to civilization yet.
Sese, of course, sat ramrod straight, hands neatly folded over a notebook on her lap, a pen poised with meticulous elegance. Her eyes briefly flicked toward the large, swinging doors as they finally creaked open again.
A flustered Ruby Rose stumbled in, her crimson cloak trailing behind her as she made a not-so-graceful entrance. Her cheeks were red, hair windblown, Crescent Rose awkwardly folded and strapped tight on her back. Weiss, following close behind, had her arms crossed and a visible look of disapproval aimed directly at her team leader. Yang swaggered in with a carefree wave to the room as if they hadn't just been half an hour late, and Blake silently trailed at the end, tucking a book into her bag like she'd been reading on the run.
Almost simultaneously, Team JNPR appeared behind them—Jaune leading the pack with his tie slightly askew and a scroll in hand, clearly checking and rechecking the schedule with a pale look of "oh no" still stuck to his face. Pyrrha walked just behind, as composed and understanding as ever, though the corners of her mouth hinted at exasperation. Nora practically bounced through the door, while Ren followed like a soft breeze, unbothered as usual.
Port paused mid-gesture, raising one brow high as he addressed the group now awkwardly filing in.
"Ah! So wonderful to see our newest students making such an enthusiastic entrance!" he exclaimed, voice dripping with a theatrical sarcasm so thick you could feel the weight of it in the air. "Twenty-five minutes late on your very first day? A bold strategy indeed!"
Ruby gave a sheepish grin. "Heh... sorry..."
Team CDXS exchanged glances, none of them bothering to hide their reactions.
Kumiko smirked and whispered, "Bet Weiss's schedule had everything color-coded too."
Sese simply let out a quiet sigh, her pen finally lowering. "At least I wasn't the last one today."
Doppel snorted. "Miracles do happen."
Cala, watching as Ruby and the others attempted to discreetly slide into their seats, muttered softly under her breath, "And people think we're the chaotic ones..."
From the front of the room, Port cleared his throat dramatically. "Now, if our entire class is finally assembled, let us return to the thrilling subject of Grimm behavior in response to emotionally-charged humans!" He turned back to the chalkboard, which already had a questionably accurate sketch of what looked like a Beowolf doing ballet.
Team CDXS collectively leaned back into their seats.
It was going to be a long lecture.
The morning light slanted through the high windows of Professor Port's lecture hall, glinting off the polished wooden desks and illuminating the giant chalkboard behind the podium. At its center was a meticulously drawn frame: an axe-blunderbuss hybrid weapon, its iron head scarred and blackened, the brown wood of its haft polished smooth by countless battles. On either side of it, Port had sketched the silhouettes of the world's most notorious Grimm: King Taijitu with its swirling twin forms, the whip-tailed Death Stalker, snarling Beowolf, armored Boarbatusk, the winged Nevermore, and the massive Ursa. Beneath those fearsome shapes, his own name was already legendary—or so he would have you believe.
Port strode in front of the board, tapping a gnarled pointer against the floor as he greeted the class. "Monsters! Deeeemons... Prowlers of the night! Yes, the creatures of Grimm have many names, but I merely refer to them as prey! Ha-ha!" His booming laugh echoed off the walls.
Team RWBY, seated in the front row, reacted in four different ways. Blake sat upright, dark hair brushing the collar of her uniform as she tracked every word with detached interest. Yang leaned forward, elbows on her knees, bright eyes flicking between the drawings and Port's animated delivery. Weiss's quill flew across her scroll, each neat line of notes capturing every phrase. And Ruby—Ruby's head lolled against her hand, eyes closed, a soft, rhythmic breathing betraying her quick morning nap... until Port's bad joke landed with a faint whump of silence, as if the only sound left in the room was a solitary cricket.
"Uhhhh... And you shall too, upon graduating from this prestigious academy! Now, as I was saying: Vale, as well as the other three kingdoms, are safe havens in an otherwise treacherous world! Our planet is absolutely teeming with creatures that would love nothing more than to tear you to pieces! And that's where we come in. Huntsmen! Huntresses..." He paused, leaning in as if about to share a secret, then shot Yang a conspiratorial wink.
She groaned, her face reddening with uncomfortable embarrassment. Port continued, voice ringing with conviction, "Individuals who have sworn to protect those who cannot protect themselves! From what, you ask? Why, the very world!"
A single student in the middle rows raised his fist. "Ayyyy-yep!" He stood there for a moment, chest puffed out, before sinking back into his chair as the classroom regarded him with collective bewilderment.
Port nodded gravely, as though the interruption had deepened his lesson. "That is what you are training to become. But first: A story. A tale of a young, handsome man... Me! When I was a boy..." His voice drifted into amusing mumblings, punctuated by "blah-blah-blah," until Weiss's gaze flicked down to the scroll in front of her. There, peeking out beneath her neat notes, was Ruby's latest masterpiece: a lopsided ball with stick arms and a bulbous head, stink lines wafting upward and the caption Professor Poop scrawled beneath. Ruby stifled a giggle and shot it over to Blake and Yang, who laughed softly. Weiss's lips tightened in growing frustration.
Port cleared his throat, trying to recapture the audience's attention. "...Despite smelling of cabbages, my grandfather was a wise man. 'Peter,' he told me..." More "blah-blahs" followed, until Port snapped back into focus. "Ah-heh-hem!" His chest rose and fell as he waited for silence. "In the end, the Beowolf was no match for my sheer tenacity, and I returned to my village with the beast in captivity and my head held high, celebrated as a hero!"
He took a theatrical bow as Weiss's cheeks flushed with irritation. Port's voice rose again. "The moral of this story? A true Huntsman must be honorable!"
At that exact moment, Ruby was balancing an apple on a book, pencil delicately pinched between her finger and nose, her eyes crossed in concentration as she made the apple wobble just so.
"A true Huntsman must be dependable!"
Ruby's head lolled forward once more; she'd drifted back into dreamland, snoring softly in the very first class.
"A true Huntsman must be strategic, well-educated, and wise!"
Weiss turned to spot Ruby, who was now picking her nose with the same accidental gusto she'd once used to lob rocks at Grimm. Weiss's frustration snapped; she glared so fiercely it might have rivaled the Nevermore's crimson stare.
Port thrust a finger toward the barred cage at the front of the room, its red eyes glowing in the shadows beyond the bars. "So, who among you believes themselves to be the embodiment of these traits?"
Weiss shot her hand up, fingers spread in righteous indignation. "I do, sir!"
Port beamed and pointed at the cage. "Well, then, let's find out!" He gestured grandly toward the caged creature. "Step forward, and face your opponent!"
From the back row, Sese Lenya Ban Von Fitzgerald Livingstone Cunningham Dragoncrest Chatterton Abercrombie Duskhollow Frostbloom Belsonavenolairequintaple the X sighed softly, slumping into her seat. "Oh dear, she got at it again..." Her voice was a quiet whisper, the same tone she'd used the first time Weiss dragged her into a makeup emergency at dawn.
Kumiko, her ponytail swinging as she turned in her chair, gave a sideways glance. "Temper?"
Sese's lips curved into a mocking solemn expression as she softly nodded. "Mhm..." she intoned.
Doppel, lounging with one leg over the back of her chair, cocked her head at the two. "How did you both become friends with her nya?"
Sese reached into her uniform pocket and produced a tiny, gold-embossed card—her family's bank account slip, no less—holding it out in a slow, deliberate presentation.
Doppel chuckled, flicking a lock of hair from her face. "Point taken nya..."