Jaune woke up with his eyes puffy, exhaustion weighing on him after crying himself to sleep the night before.
He looked out the window to see the morning sun rising brightly over the horizon, but the light only made him feel heavier inside-especially knowing what would happen at breakfast.
Getting out of bed, he faced the mirror and saw his reflection-a disheveled mess with his hair sticking out at odd angles and red, swollen eyes.
He sighed and rubbed them gently, hoping it would help, only to make the puffiness worse. With another sigh, he turned away from the mirror and went to wash up.
While brushing his teeth, he couldn't stop wondering how his father would tell him that his training-his dream-was coming to an end.
How could his dad tell him he was giving up on him?
His eyes shimmered again, but he quickly wiped away the tears, not wanting to upset his family any further.
After washing his face and cleaning himself up, Jaune looked at his reflection once again. It wasn't as messy as before, and he managed to fix his bed hair slightly.
He gave himself a small, half-hearted chuckle.
Come on, Jaune. You already made enough of a disappointment out of yourself. Don't make them feel worse.
Ten minutes later, Jaune walked down the stairs and into the kitchen. He found his mother already preparing breakfast.
Seeing how red her eyes were made guilt twist in his stomach-she must have been crying last night too.
He tried to ignore the ache in his chest and walked up beside her.
"Let me help with breakfast, Mom," Jaune offered softly, trying to sound cheerful.
Luna looked at her son with visible sadness before nodding and handing him the bowl.
"Alright," she said gently. "You mix the pancake batter while I fry the bacon and eggs."
Jaune nodded and began mixing, though his hands moved mechanically as he tried not to think about what was coming.
Luna watched him in silence, her expression tightening. She couldn't help but wonder why her son was so good at everything except fighting.
Nearly twenty minutes later, Jaune finished setting the table just as the rest of the family came downstairs.
Saphron carried the twins-Blancheur and Noir-while Artoria walked behind them, looking proper as always-except for the fact that her hair was sticking up wildly and she had drool on her cheek. Jaune chuckled at the sight.
Modred, surprisingly, looked the most put together, wearing shorts and a shirt with her hair tied into a messy ponytail.
Jeanne followed behind in her pajamas, tilting her head curiously at the food on the table.
And finally came their father, Miles Arc, wearing his usual shirt and pants. He looked at Jaune with weary eyes filled with sorrow.
As everyone sat down to eat, Jaune's heart pounded faster. He knew the moment was coming.
"Jaune! You made the pancakes, right?" Modred asked eagerly, already eating with enthusiasm.
Jaune smiled softly at her excitement. "Yes, Modred. I made them. Are they good?"
"They're the best pancakes ever! You should make them every day!" Modred said with her mouth full.
"Modred, swallow before you speak," Artoria said flatly, taking another bite of her food. "And yes, Jaune, the pancakes are delicious."
"Artoria! Stop eating everything!" Modred snapped, reaching toward the plate. "Leave some for us!"
Artoria was already on her third serving and simply ignored her sister's glare.
Jaune smiled faintly as he watched his sisters bicker-it was the usual morning chaos-but the pit in his stomach deepened as he noticed his father's silence.
Miles set down his fork and looked straight at Jaune.
"Jaune... I have to tell yousomething."
Conversation stopped instantly. The air felt heavier as everyone turned to him.
Jaune tried to sound calm. "What is it, Dad?"
Miles hesitated for a moment before exhaling slowly.
"I... I'm stopping your training, Jaune."
Silence hung for just one moment before it shattered completely.
"What?!"
"Dad, what are you saying?!"
"Please tell us you're joking!"
Jaune sat there frozen. Even though he'd expected it, hearing the words cut deeper than he imagined.
He lowered his gaze to his plate and spoke softly. "O... okay, Dad. I... understand."
Saphron's jaw tightened as she glanced at her little brother. Tears brimmed in his eyes, but he tried to hide them. She turned toward their father, anger flashing in her eyes.
"Jaune... are you sure you're okay?" she asked gently, her own tears threatening to fall.
Jaune took in a shaky breath before answering.
"It's okay... I understand why he stopped training me... I..."
His words broke as he pushed back his chair and ran out of the house.
"Jaune!" Saphron started to stand, but Miles raised his hand to stop her.
"Don't," he said firmly. "He needs time. He needs space to calm down."
"Y-you..." Modred's face was red with fury. "How could you do that to him?!"
Saphron bit her lip, holding herself back from shouting. She turned toward their mother instead.
"Mom... did you know?"
Luna closed her eyes for a moment before replying in a tired whisper. "Yes... your father told me last night."
Saphron looked at her in disbelief, then turned back to her father.
"Dad, you can't do this. Being a Huntsman is his dream."
Artoria remained silent, though frustration tightened her posture. Jeanne looked down at her plate with guilt, and the twins stared wordlessly, confused by the tension around the table.
"I know it's his dream," Miles said slowly, his tone heavy. "I've trained him for three years, Saphron, and he hasn't improved. If he had shown even the slightest sign of progress, I'd keep training him."
"But whenever he holds a sword or any kind of weapon, he looks... trapped. Confined. It's as if the very act of fighting goes against who he is."
None of the girls could argue with that-they had seen it themselves.
"But please, Dad," Saphron said softly. "Can't you give him one last chance?"
Miles shook his head sadly. "No. I've tried everything. Every stance, every technique. It's always the same-he looks chained to the ground."
He spoke with guilt etched deep in his face.
"I don't want to send my son to die."
Even Modred fell silent after that.
Luna's expression softened as she placed her hand over her heart. "Your father and I talked about this last night. As much as I hate hurting Jaune's dream... I don't want to lose him either."
"But Mom!" Modred slammed her hands on the table. "You can't! It's his dream!" She turned to Artoria desperately. "Right, Artoria?!"
Artoria looked away, shame written on her face.
"Artoria..." Modred's eyes widened as understanding dawned. "You knew?"
Artoria hesitated briefly before answering. "Yes... they told me yesterday."
Rage exploded in Modred's chest as she jumped across the table, about to punch her sister before Miles caught her mid-air and held her back.
"Let me go! Let me go! I'll show her-!"
"Modred, stop!" Luna pleaded as she tried to calm her daughter down while Miles held on tightly.
Artoria could only look at her sister with guilt in her eyes. She understood Modred's anger-but the truth couldn't be changed.
Miles lowered his gaze, guilt pressing down on him. He knew what he had done might have created wounds that would take years to heal-but he could only hope that one day, they would understand he did it to protect Jaune.
Meanwhile, Jaune ran deep into the forest until his legs burned and his breath came in ragged gasps. Tears streamed freely down his cheeks as the pain in his chest twisted tighter and tighter.
He cursed himself for his weakness-for being useless-for not being strong enough to chase his dream.
Eventually, his steps slowed. He didn't even know where he was anymore. The woods around him were thick and silent except for the distant sound of running water.
Following the sound, Jaune found himself by the edge of a river. The morning sunlight shimmered across the surface, and the wind carried fallen leaves that drifted gently down into the water.
Birds chirped overhead in delicate harmony.
For the first time that morning, Jaune's breathing slowed. The world looked too peaceful for his heartache to touch it.
Without thinking, he began to move with the rhythm of the forest-the wind, the rustling leaves, the flow of the water. He picked up a stray branch and began to step lightly along the ground, his movements smooth and fluid as if led by instinct.
He danced-
To the sound of the river's current.
To the whisper of the wind brushing past his ears.
To the gentle fall of the leaves landing softly on the water's surface.
To the melody of nature itself.
When he finally came back to his senses, the sun was already past its peak.
He looked down at the branch in his hand and realized he'd been dancing for hours-like he'd been fighting, only different. It wasn't forced. It wasn't painful. It felt right.
His eyes widened slightly as realization struck.
"I... I might not be able to fight," he whispered to himself. "but I can dance.. its the only thing i'm good for..."
He straightened his back, gripping the branch firmly.
"I'll dance to the sound of swords clashing... to the sound of bullets firing... to the rhythm of the battlefield... to the beating of my heart... to the feeling of my soul."
His gaze hardened, conviction settling into his chest as he made his silent vow.