In a different world, Tsutsumi looked over the belongings prepared for his stay at Beacon Academy: books, uniforms, and office stationery. Standard things for a semester. What caught his attention, however, was the handheld electronic device called a Scroll, a compact, glass-based smartphone unique to this world.
He had fiddled with it before, but never really paid attention. Understandable, considering he'd literally fallen from the sky.
Pocketing the device, his eyes drifted to the documents on the counter.
The scholarship and funding Beacon provided made his brows rise. The tuition fees alone rivaled the some prestigious academies back in his world. Flipping to the next page, he skimmed over his schedule.
"A combat school, huh? So, it's like U.A."
There were only four courses, each considered core: combat training, Grimm studies, history, and government.
Unlike his old world, where knowledge about heroes was second nature, Remnant had an entirely different system: different monsters, different history. Even the language, while mostly English, had its own quirks. Names, for instance, seemed borrowed from across his other worlds, Weiss Schnee felt German, Lie Ren was Chinese, Pyrrha Nikos had a Greek ring to it, and Nora Valkyrie was suspiciously close to Eleanor.
The pen spun deftly between his fingers as he browsed his notes.
He knew nothing of Remnant's customs or history, and the best way to avoid suspicion was to study until he had enough context to fake it. The pen flipped into the air before he caught it and scribbled down another line.
"That's a neat trick," Pyrrha remarked from his right.
He turned, offering a small smile. "Hard at work, aren't we?" she added.
"Just doing my best to catch up," he replied easily.
She seemed genuinely pleased. "Your notes are impressive, Tsutsumi. Here..." She handed him a few sheets of paper.
"These are my notes from the classes you missed. The first pages are the syllabus, the rest are from the initial lessons. Luckily, you haven't missed much."
He gave her a quiet thanks. Pyrrha was considerate, almost class-representative material. Meanwhile, he was technically a class president who kept skipping.
"It's nothing," she smiled. "So… is there anything you're looking forward to?"
"Not really." He shrugged, still scanning the papers. "Maybe the work studies. They seem interesting enough."
"Beacon does have excellent programs," Pyrrha agreed. "Vale City's right next to us, so there'll be plenty of opportunities. Are you excited?"
"Maybe? Know any places worth visiting?"
She winced. "Sorry… I'm new here too. I transferred from Sanctum Academy." She hesitated before adding, "It's in Mistral, on the continent of Anima."
"I see," he returned smoothly. "That's… interesting."
She smiled, seeing that he didn't recognize her.
"How about you, Tsutsumi?"
Tsutsumi: "..."
Pyrrha waited patiently, still smiling. "What academy did you come from? Homegrown like Ruby and Yang? I hear they graduated from Signal Academy in Patch."
"My situation is… complicated," he finally said.
Realizing her mistake, Pyrrha quickly apologized. "Sorry, I didn't mean to pry."
"It's fine." He set down his pen and met her eyes with one of his own. "It's only natural for my partner to be a little curious."
Her smile faltered slightly. The calm, detached way he said it caught her off guard. Before she could respond, the door slammed open.
"Oooh yeah!" Nora burst in, voice full of energy. "Breakfast time!"
Ren trudged after her, already exasperated. "Nora, what did I say about doors?"
She poked her fingers together sheepishly. "Not to barge in and respect other people's space?"
Ren sighed. "At least you're learning."
"Hey, Leader!" Nora saluted at Tsutsumi, who blinked in confusion. "Permission to invite Team RWBY to join us?"
Behind her, Ren mouthed at him: Just go with it.
"...Sure, why not?" Tsutsumi shrugged.
Grinning, Nora bolted back out.
"Nora, wait! You forgot your bag!" Ren grabbed both their things and chased after her. "And don't kick the door! NORA!"
Tsutsumi shook his head, half-amused.
...
Grimm Studies with Professor Peter Port.
This was his first class, and the atmosphere felt astonishingly… normal. The lecture hall could've belonged to any university back in his own world. Three massive blackboards stretched across the wall, covered in chalk scrawls, notes, sketches of Grimm, and short anecdotes scribbled along the margins.
He studied the morning's lecturer as he sat down with his team.
Professor Peter Port was a portly, elderly-looking man, yet he carried himself with a spring in his step. He wore a double-breasted burgundy suit trimmed with gold piping and buttons, pressed pants neatly tucked into olive riding boots, and a crimson ascot tied at his neck. His hair was gray but well-kept, his eyes pressed into thin slits that made him seem perpetually amused. And, of course, there was his mustache, thick enough to hide his mouth, and just dramatic enough to fit the man's personality.
"Now, before we begin," his booming voice carried across the hall as the students settled in, "who can tell me what it means to be a Huntsman, or Huntress?"
Ruby's hand shot up like a firework. "To be a hero!"
The pen twirling in my hand paused mid-spin before resuming its rhythm.
"Ha-ha!" Port laughed heartily. "Very idealistic, my dear, but not quite what I'm after. Anyone else?"
"To be strong!" Yang cracked her fists together with a grin.
"Hmm," his mustache twitched upward. "Strength is important, yes, but still not the answer!" He punctuated his words by flexing in a showman's pose. "Two more tries!"
"To be smart!" Weiss declared confidently.
"Closer! But still missing the heart of it." He wagged a finger, clapping once to rouse the room. "Last chance!"
The class grew quiet. Brows furrowed, whispers faded.
Port scanned the hall. "Anyone?"
He marched down the aisle until his gaze settled near Tsutsumi. The only sound was the faint click of his pen spinning between his fingers.
"You there," he suddenly pointed at Tsutsumi. The pen froze in his hand. "The boy spinning his pen so expertly. What's your name?"
Tsutsumi placed the pen down and stood. "Tsutsumi. Tsutsumi Ryoko."
Every head turned. The professor's grin widened. "Then tell us, Mister Ryoko, what does it mean to be a Hunter?"
Silence stretched between them. Of all the people to call on, it had to be him. He sighed and lifted his eyes to meet the man's expectant gaze.
"Sacrifice," he answered plainly.
The word hit like a stone. Port froze, his eyes opening fully for the first time. His stare sharpened, weighing the boy who dared speak so starkly. "Would you care to elaborate, Mister Ryoko?"
"It's more than being heroic, or strong, or smart," Tsutsumi began, his voice steady but neutral. He wasn't one of them. He didn't share their culture, their history. What he did know, however, was fragility. The fragility of a life lived without power. "It's giving up what you hold dear so that others can carry on. Shouldering responsibility to preserve dreams and wishes that aren't your own. Protecting the innocent from the world's cruelties, even if…"
He caught Port's expression harden, the man's mustache framing a faint, grim frown.
"…even if it means sacrificing yourself."
For a moment, the old professor wasn't standing in front of students. He was elsewhere, back in a memory, reliving the weight of his own youth, of comrades long gone.
"I didn't expect that answer from someone your age," he murmured, voice quieter now, rougher.
Tsutsumi said nothing. Port studied him a beat longer before straightening his posture, his tone resuming its commanding presence.
"Yes," he said firmly, "you are correct, Mister Ryoko."
He turned to address the hall. "Our duty comes with praise and admiration. People cheer our heroics, marvel at our strength, and dream of walking the same path. The fantasy of heroism is dazzling…" His eyes flicked back to Tsutsumi. "But the truth is sacrifice. We give up our dreams so others may pursue theirs. We trade away our ideals for freedom. And, when the time comes, even our very lives, so others can live on."
A hush swept across the class.
"But heed this," his voice deepened, a warning lacing each word. "Sacrifice alone is not enough. Lose yourself in it, and you'll vanish before your story is ever told. Do not falter in adversity. Do not doubt yourself. Or this profession will consume you."
The words were spoken to all, but their weight fell squarely on Tsutsumi.
"Thank you, Mister Ryoko."
Tsutsumi sat back down. For the briefest moment, he caught Pyrrha's gaze, concern flickering in her eyes before she masked it with a polite smile.
Port strode back to the center, his chest swelling, voice rising with fiery conviction.
"We are the sword in the darkness! The shield that guards the realm of Man and Faunus! We are the watchers on the wall!"
His booming voice rolled like a battle hymn, dragging the class into his orbit.
"We carry the burden of choices others cannot make. We are the first, and sometimes only, line of defense against the Grimm!"
He drew himself tall, hands clasped behind his back.
"The night is dark and full of terrors," he thundered, "but we are the light that burns them away! When they ask, 'Are you the prey?', you answer them… no."
His mustache curled with a grin.
"We are the Hunters!"
He pressed on, voice aflame. "The Grimm are nothing but monsters! Demons! Abominations! They have no reason, no purpose beyond destruction! Cast aside your fear! Do not panic in their presence! Trust in your skill, in your knowledge, and above all, in your fellow Hunter!"
He marched toward each student in turn.
"Use your strength!" he boomed at Yang, pounding a fist into his palm.
"Use your brains!" he barked at Weiss, tapping his temple.
"Take responsibility, for yourself and for others!" His glance swept briefly over Tsutsumi before he turned back to Ruby. "Be the hero for those in need!"
His words crescendoed, fists clenched. "The Grimm lack every tool we possess. So fight! Inch by inch, foot by foot, no matter the cost! Show them no quarter, for they will give you none!"
A small frown tugged at Tsutsumi's lips.
He wasn't moved. Port's grandiose speeches didn't resonate with him; he preferred Aizawa's sharp, no-nonsense approach. Instead, he tuned out the noise and buried himself in what actually mattered, studying the Grimm and this world's history.
Time passed with Tsutsumi buried in study. He had already absorbed this world's history, so now his focus narrowed on the Grimm, creatures of pure destruction, beings without souls.
They were drawn to negative emotions, jealousy, grief, loneliness, hatred, fear, flocking to their source like moths to flame, slaughtering any Human or Faunus they found.
Among his research, one entry caught his attention: a subspecies known as Phantoms. These beings were born from within despairing people. An infant Phantom, called an Inner Phantom, would erode its host's inner world before bursting forth, taking on a humanoid form and even the appearance of its original host.
"This is…" Tsutsumi murmured, recognizing the uncanny resemblance to another breed of monster from Rider history.
The thought froze as the world around him warped. Suddenly, he stood in an open field overlooking a set of ancient ruins.
"To think," a voice called out, smooth and cold, "someone in this age still has the ability to absorb mana."
Tsutsumi turned sharply. Approaching him was a figure clad in white, robes, cloak, hood. An amber mask obscured their face. And on their waist… a Driver.
Tsutsumi's eyes narrowed. He knew that silhouette instantly. The sudden shift of space, the ominous presence… there was no mistaking it.
Kamen Rider…
"Wiseman." his voice hardened.
The masked figure inclined his head. "So you've heard of me. Good. That saves us the introduction."
"What do you want?" Tsutsumi asked, a card already in hand.
Wiseman didn't answer immediately. His gaze drifted to the ruins at their side.
"In ancient times, humanity wielded true magic," he said slowly. "Until it was stripped from them by the God of Darkness and the God of Light. Yet fragments of that gift linger, in Aura, in Semblance." He turned back, amber mask glinting in the sun.
"Magic never vanished entirely. A few still carry it. The Grimm Queen, for example, used her magic to spawn the Grimm themselves, manifestations of destruction. And then there are the Maidens, avatars of the seasons, able to command the elements." His voice lowered. "But the Maidens' power can only be inherited by women. No other should be capable of wielding magic unless they inherit it from those who can."
Wiseman placed a gloved hand on his Driver, his tone sharpening. "So tell me, boy… who are you?"
Explosion! Now!
The ground trembled, an explosion erupted beneath Tsutsumi, a storm of fire swallowing him whole.
Form Ride: Decade!
The blaze split apart, scattering into heat and smoke. Standing unshaken within it, Tsutsumi's silhouette gleamed. His magenta coat rippled in the hot wind, the bandana fluttering like a banner.
His calm, purple eyes locked onto the mage's mask.
"Just a passing-through Rider. Remember that."