Month three started with a broken rib.
Jaune wheezed on the ground, his aura flickering weakly around the injury. His father stood over him, practice sword lowered, expression unreadable.
"What did you do wrong?" Nicholas asked.
"Dropped my guard," Jaune gasped.
"Why?"
"Got cocky. Thought I had an opening."
"And?"
"It was bait."
His father nodded. "Your aura will heal that in a few hours. Until then, you feel every breath. Remember this feeling. Remember what overconfidence costs."
Jaune did remember. Every painful inhale reminded him that three months of training didn't make him invincible. It made him competent. There was a difference.
Nicholas helped him to his feet. "Take thirty minutes. When you come back, we're drilling defense until your body knows it better than your own name."
Jaune limped to the house, each step sending jolts of pain through his chest. His mother took one look at him and pointed at a chair.
"Sit. Don't talk. Just breathe."
She brought him water and some bread. He ate slowly, focusing on keeping his breathing steady. The system was already working on the injury. He could feel his aura concentrating around the broken rib, accelerating the natural healing process. What would normally take weeks would be done in hours.
But it still hurt.
Rouge found him twenty minutes later. "Dad break something?"
"Rib."
"Ooh, that's a milestone. You're officially one of us now." She sat across from him. "He broke my collarbone in month three. Violet got a fractured wrist. Jade got a concussion."
"That's insane."
"That's huntsman training. You think Grimm are going to go easy on you?" Rouge leaned back. "The difference is, here you have aura and medical care. Out there, a broken rib means you're Grimm food."
She had a point. A painful, accurate point.
"Besides," Rouge continued, "you're tougher than you look. I've watched you train. You're picking things up faster than any of us did. Even Saphron, and she was the star student."
Jaune looked at her. "You think I can actually do this? Make it at Beacon?"
"Honestly? A month ago I would've said no. You were too soft, too unprepared." She met his eyes. "But now? Yeah. I think you've got a real shot. Just don't get killed before you can prove me right."
The thirty minutes passed too quickly. Jaune stood, testing his breathing. Still hurt, but manageable. His aura had done most of the heavy lifting.
Back in the training yard, his father was waiting.
"Defense drill," Nicholas said. "I attack. You defend. No counters, no offense. Just survive."
For the next three hours, Jaune did nothing but defend. His father came at him from every angle, every speed, with every trick in the book. Jaune blocked, parried, dodged, and retreated. His broken rib screamed with every movement, but he kept going.
Because that was the point. Learning to fight through pain. Learning that injuries didn't mean the fight was over.
By the time his father called a halt, Jaune's rib had healed completely. His aura had knitted the bone back together, leaving only a dull ache as a reminder.
"Good," Nicholas said. "You didn't flinch even once. That's progress."
"Felt like torture."
"Torture would be making you do it again. This was education." His father clapped him on the shoulder. "Tomorrow we start live weapon training. No more practice swords. We use real blades, real dust, real consequences."
"You're going to cut me."
"Probably. But you'll learn to respect sharp edges very quickly."
Jaune wanted to argue, but he knew it wouldn't matter. His father's training methods were brutal but effective. In three months he'd gone from barely competent to actually dangerous. He still wasn't good enough, not for what was coming, but he was getting there.
That night, after another exhausting dinner with his family, Jaune sat in his room and checked his progress.
[Training Progress: Month 3 Complete]
[Major milestone achieved: First serious injury sustained and recovered from]
[Combat Proficiency: Advanced Novice]
[Aura Control: 61% efficiency]
[Physical Conditioning: 203% of baseline human]
[New Skill Unlocked: Pain Tolerance (Minor)]
[Time until First Quest: 89 days, 3 hours]
Less than three months. The first quest was approaching fast, and he still didn't know what it would be. The system had told him there would be a quest, that he'd be sent to another dimension, but that was it. No details, no specifics.
"System, can you at least tell me what world I'm going to?" he asked quietly.
[Negative. Quest details are revealed 24 hours before activation.]
"So I get one day to prepare for whatever you throw at me?"
[Correct. This allows for mental preparation without extended anxiety.]
"That's... actually not terrible logic." Jaune frowned. "But it means I need to be ready for anything."
[Correct. Recommended approach: Train for general competence rather than specific scenarios.]
Which was exactly what his father was doing. Grimm combat, human combat, ranged defense, aura control, weapon maintenance. Nicholas wasn't training him for a specific enemy. He was training him to adapt to any enemy.
"Will I at least know what I'm getting into before I arrive?"
[24 hour notice includes: Destination world, mission parameters, difficulty rating, duration, and failure conditions.]
"One day to process all that and prepare mentally."
[Affirmative. Is this insufficient?]
Jaune thought about it. Honestly, knowing months in advance would probably just make him anxious. One day was enough to prepare gear and mentally commit without months of worry.
"No, it's fine. Just means I need to be ready for literally anything."
[Correct assessment.]
He closed the screen and lay back on his bed. His body ached in that familiar way that meant he'd pushed hard but not too hard. His aura reserves were about half full, slowly regenerating. His mind was exhausted from staying sharp during twelve hours of training.
But he wasn't satisfied.
Three months ago he'd woken up in this world with knowledge and a system. He'd thought that would be enough. That knowing the plot and having abilities would carry him through.
Reality had beaten that arrogance out of him. Literally beaten it out, with his father's practice sword connecting again and again until the lesson stuck.
Knowledge wasn't power. Training was power. Experience was power. And he needed more of both.
A knock on his door interrupted his thoughts.
"Come in."
Saphron entered, carrying two mugs of hot chocolate. She handed him one and sat in his desk chair.
"Heard Dad broke your rib today," she said.
"News travels fast."
"Claire told everyone at dinner. Very dramatically, with sound effects." Saphron smiled. "She's proud of you, you know. They all are."
"For getting my ass kicked?"
"For not quitting." She took a sip of her drink. "I did Dad's training seven years ago. Made it four months before I tapped out. Told him I wanted to pursue business instead of combat. He was disappointed but he understood."
Jaune looked at her. "You quit?"
"I recognized my limits. Combat wasn't my path. I'm better with numbers and negotiations than swords and aura." Saphron met his eyes. "But you? You're not quitting. Even when it hurts. Even when you fail. You just keep getting back up."
"Don't really have a choice."
"Everyone has a choice. You're choosing this. That matters."
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, drinking hot chocolate and just existing in the same space. It reminded Jaune that he had a family now. People who cared about him. People who'd be devastated if he died somewhere they couldn't reach him.
The weight of that responsibility settled heavier than any training session.
"Saphron," he said quietly. "What if I'm not good enough?"
"For Beacon?"
"For all of it. What if I get there and I'm still too weak? What if people die because I couldn't protect them?"
His sister was quiet for a moment. "Then you do your best anyway. You fight with everything you have. And if you fail despite that, at least you tried. That's all anyone can ask."
"What if my best isn't enough?"
"Then you get stronger and try again." She stood up, ruffling his hair like he was still a kid. "Get some sleep, baby brother. Tomorrow's live weapon training. You'll need your energy."
After she left, Jaune finished his hot chocolate and pulled up the aura training exercises. Sleep could wait. He had eighty nine days to get stronger.
He settled into meditation, feeling his aura flow through his body. The system had taught him the basics, but understanding it was different from mastering it. Aura wasn't just a shield. It was life energy, willpower made manifest, the soul given form.
His reserves were large. His father said it was unusual for someone his age to have this much aura naturally. But quantity didn't mean quality. His control was improving but still inefficient. He lost too much energy to waste, failed to concentrate it where needed, couldn't maintain it under pressure for extended periods.
So he practiced. Pulling his aura in, pushing it out, cycling it through his body in the patterns he'd learned. Each repetition made it slightly easier, slightly more natural.
Hours passed. His scroll's alarm eventually went off, reminding him to sleep. He'd set it specifically because he knew he'd lose track of time doing this.
[Aura Control: 62% efficiency]
[Progress noted. Continue current practice regimen.]
One percent. Three hours of meditation for one percent improvement. But that one percent might mean the difference between life and death in three months.
Jaune finally let himself sleep, his dreams filled with flashing swords and distant worlds.
The next morning, his father was waiting with two real swords.
"Today you learn to respect sharp edges," Nicholas said, handing him Crocea Mors without the sheath. The blade gleamed in the morning light, deadly and beautiful.
Jaune took it, feeling the weight differently now. This wasn't a practice weapon. This could kill.
"We'll start slow," his father continued, drawing his own blade. "But understand this. Every strike I make is real. Your aura is your only protection. If you drop it, you bleed. If you bleed, you learn. If you learn, you survive."
"And if I don't learn?"
Nicholas smiled grimly. "Then you'll have very educational scars."
They began.
The first cut came ten minutes in. Jaune's aura flickered from exhaustion, and his father's blade slipped through, opening a shallow line across his forearm. Blood welled immediately.
Jaune hissed but didn't stop. His aura surged back, sealing the wound even as they continued fighting.
"Good," his father said. "You didn't panic. You adapted. Again."
By lunch, Jaune had collected seven cuts. None serious, all painful, each one teaching him exactly where his aura control failed. His body was learning faster than his mind, instinctively reinforcing weak points after each injury.
By dinner, he'd gone three hours without a single cut.
"Better," Nicholas said, sheathing his weapon. "You're thinking like a huntsman now. Treating your aura as armor, not a shield."
Jaune looked at his arms, covered in thin scars that were already fading. His aura was healing them faster than normal, but the lessons remained.
"Tomorrow we add dust rounds," his father continued. "Real bullets, fire dust, ice dust. You'll learn to defend against ranged attacks while maintaining your aura."
"Can't wait," Jaune muttered.
His father actually laughed. "You will wait. Because tonight, you rest. Tomorrow's going to make today look gentle."
That was not reassuring.
But as Jaune walked back to the house, covered in fading scars and exhausted to his core, he realized something. He wasn't afraid anymore. Nervous, yes. Aware of the danger, absolutely. But not afraid.
Three months ago he'd been terrified of everything. Now he was just determined.
Progress.