I headed for the dorms, but not the standard-issue buildings handed out to clueless first-years. Instead, I made my way toward the additional suites—the vacant ones usually reserved for visiting students during tournaments or the high-end units that couldn't be wasted on just anyone. Isolated, quiet, and far better insulated than the cheap drywall boxes the rest of us endured, the building sat at the absolute edge of Beacon's sprawling grounds.
I stopped before the solid oak door and pressed the buzzer.
Silence stretched for a beat. Then the intercom crackled, and that familiar melodious, perfectly controlled voice answered.
"…Yes?"
"It's me," I said flatly. No name was necessary.
"…Come on in."
The electronic lock clicked open with a sharp clack. I pushed the door inward, stepped into the pristine, expensively furnished space, and made sure it locked behind me before continuing into the main living room.
There she was—Coco Adel—seated gracefully on a high-end leather sofa, waiting. Her trademark designer sunglasses rested neatly on the glass coffee table beside her beret.
"Am I late?" I asked, tossing my bag onto a nearby chair.
"No… you're early. Like always." She offered a soft, completely normal smile. "Please wait here. I'll go get ready."
She stood, smoothing down her designer skirt, and disappeared into the bedroom. I sank into the leather couch and stared at the blank wall. Ten minutes of absolute silence ticked by. I didn't touch my scroll. I didn't think about anything. I simply sat there, waiting for the switch to flip.
Crack.
"Do you enjoy this, you fucking bitch?" I sneered.
The leather crop whistled through the air and bit hard into her skin.
Smack.
The sound echoed sharply off the walls of her soundproofed bedroom. Coco let out a sharp, breathy moan, her back arching wildly under the sting. She knelt there, arms bound tightly behind her back with thick silk rope, a leather blindfold covering her eyes. Stripped down to nothing but an absurdly expensive set of intricate black lace lingerie, she left almost her entire body exposed to the cool air.
I stepped closer, gaze drifting over the red welts already forming across her pale skin. The flesh around each impact swelled hot and angry.
"Who the fuck told you that you could get excited on your own?" I demanded, voice laced with practiced sadism even though I felt almost nothing. It was just a performance, a script I recited from memory. I swung the crop lower, whipping her bare, quivering thighs.
Crack.
"Ah… ahh!" Her head whipped back.
"You're just a fucking pig. A pathetic, swine hog bitch who begs to get hit. Aren't you?"
"Ahh… I'm sor… sorry," she stammered, chest heaving as she gasped through wet moans. A thin line of drool slipped past her lips. "I'm so sorry, Master…" she managed between breaths.
I forced a sadistic smile, raised my bare hand, and brought it down hard across her lace-covered ass with a deafening crack. Her flesh jiggled, a bright red handprint blooming instantly.
"Huh? I can't hear you, idiot," I said, tone flat and unimpressed.
"Khuaa…" she whimpered, the guttural sound mixing pure pain with something sick and blissful.
Let's get one thing straight: I don't have hobbies like this. I don't enjoy it. There's no rush of adrenaline, no surge of dominance, no twisted thrill. The only upside in this entire pathetic arrangement is the view—an incredibly beautiful upperclassman wearing basically nothing.
Even that supposed perk gets ruined by the context. It's hard to feel anything when she's groveling and moaning like an animal while I beat her with a riding crop. The flesh is soft, sweat makes her skin glisten, but the act itself bores me to death. I'm just hitting a slab of meat that likes getting hit. That's it.
This whole routine is her idea of "playing." This is Coco Adel behind closed doors.
To anyone on campus, she remained the ultimate cool beauty—an honor student, an unstoppable force on the battlefield with that ridiculous minigun, the untouchable fashionista even second- and third-years admired for her leadership and flawless confidence.
A few months ago, right after initiation, those exact inclinations had already been simmering beneath the surface. Of course she kept them buried—completely private, hidden from the student body, the staff, and even her own loyal team. No one knew the real Coco.
I'd discovered her little fetish completely by accident: a wrong turn, an unlocked door, and a compromising situation I'd rather never revisit. Ever since that day, though, Coco had acquired a new "playmate." Someone who knew her secret, didn't care enough to judge or blackmail her, and simply went along with it because she asked—and refusing felt like more effort than complying.
I glanced at the floor. A few stray drops of blood had welled from a nasty cut on her shoulder and dripped onto the leather toe of my combat boot.
I sighed, shifting my weight. "Hey. Clean this up, you bloody bitch."
I lifted my foot and pressed the toe of my boot roughly against her lips.
Coco didn't hesitate. She opened her mouth, extended her tongue, and pressed her face eagerly to the dirty leather. She licked the smudges of her own blood away, tongue swirling messily over the surface, muffled desperate moans escaping through her nose.
"Ye… yes…" she mumbled, voice thick around my shoe. Her hot breath washed over my ankle. "…Thank… you… v…ery… much."
Half an hour remained before we'd be done. I wondered idly what I should grab for dinner later.
We took separate showers in the massive bathroom afterward. The water pressure was incredible—far better than the weak trickle back in the regular dorms.
When I emerged, zipping up my jacket on the way to the front door, Coco already stood there looking immaculate. Pristine. The very picture of the cool girl once more. Fully dressed in her usual designer clothes, hair perfectly styled, not a single trace remained of the trembling, drooling submissive who had been tied up on the bedroom floor an hour earlier. She had activated her Aura the moment we finished; every scratch, welt, and sore spot vanished as if the filth had never existed.
She slipped her sunglasses on and flashed me a deeply satisfied, relaxed smile. Then she walked past, heading out to meet her team. Just before turning the corner into the main hallway, she paused and glanced back over her shoulder.
"Same time next week as usual, yeah, Honey?" she asked casually, tone light and breezy, as if scheduling a simple coffee date.
I shrugged, hands sliding into my pockets. "Sure. Just let me know if you need to cancel for a mission or something."
Coco lowered her shades just enough to deliver a deliberate, teasing wink. "I wouldn't cancel for the world."
She turned and clicked confidently down the hall in her expensive heels.
I lingered in the doorway a few seconds, staring at the empty space she left behind, then let out a long sigh, locked the door, and began the long walk back across campus.
By now the sun had set completely. Beacon's sprawling courtyard glowed under the pale campus streetlamps, and the night air carried a sharp, biting chill that cut straight through my clothes.
As I rounded the corner of the main combat arena building and stepped into a patch of shadow, I caught the familiar movement from the corner of my eye.
I stopped. "I told you not to follow me around, didn't I?" Exasperation flattened my voice.
Silence hung for a moment. Then, from the darkest corner of the stone pathway, she emerged.
Blake stood there, amber eyes glowing faintly in the gloom, expression entirely serious.
"Sir Jonah," she said softly, that infuriating tone of unwavering dedication threading through every word. "Please. I beg of you. Stop getting involved with one of such humble birth and twisted intent."
"Hey, don't say it like that," I snapped, turning to give her the nastiest stink-eye I could muster. "First of all, drop the 'humble birth' shit. We're all huntsmen in training. Second, no matter how much of an absolute pervert she is behind closed doors, she's still my friend. And she's your senior."
I turned my back again and took a step forward. "Besides! It's entirely none of your goddamn business who I spend my free time with. Go read a book or something."
My boots hit the pavement hard as I walked away, leaving the delusional cat girl standing in the shadows of the arena.
I had no interest in dealing with people anymore tonight, so I skipped the main dining hall and stopped at one of the automated convenience stores near the student center. I grabbed a cheap, pre-packaged tray of microwave curry rice—terrible, but food—and something that wouldn't require small talk if I'd gone to the cafeteria.
Back in my dorm room, I swiped my keycard and let the door slide open.
Empty.
I flipped on the light. Jeanne's bed remained a messy disaster of unwashed laundry and scattered comic books. Nora's bed lay entirely on its side. Pyrrha's bed sat immaculately made and untouched.
None of my teammates were here. Again.
It was already late—well past any scheduled training blocks or extra-credit study sessions. I had no idea what the four of them were up to, and honestly, I didn't care. The dorm room was mine for the night.
I sat at my desk, peeled the plastic film off the lukewarm curry, and ate in silence. Once the tray was scraped clean, I tossed it in the trash and pulled out my textbooks. Might as well finish next week's history and Grimm biology homework early. There was literally nothing else to do, and I wasn't about to sit around staring at a wall.
Thirty minutes later I was halfway through a tedious essay. I set my pen down, leaned back in the chair, and stretched my arms overhead, trying to loosen the tight muscles in my shoulders left over from Coco's little play session.
My scroll suddenly buzzed violently against the wood, lighting up the dark room.
A single text message.
I glanced at the screen. Nora.
I sighed, dragging a hand down my face. If Nora was texting this late when she wasn't in the dorm sleeping, I already knew exactly what it meant—her other "hobby."
I picked up the scroll and tapped the screen.
[To the park now |˶˙ᵕ˙ )ﾉﾞ]
A fucking cute emoticon. Unbelievable.
There was no point arguing by text. She'd just spam me until the battery died or come break the window. I stood, walked to the closet, and pulled out the old, comfortable Pumpkin Pete jacket my sister had given me years ago. Slightly faded, completely ridiculous, but warm. I zipped it up, grabbed my scroll, and headed out.
The second I pushed open the main doors of the JNPR dorm building and stepped into the freezing night air, I saw her.
Blake was already there, leaning casually against the thick trunk of a large oak right outside the entrance, positioned perfectly to watch the door like a stray dog waiting for its owner.
As soon as she spotted me, she pushed off the bark. "I shall accompany you, my King."
"Go home, Blake. Go to sleep. I don't need a companion," I told her, voice exhausted. I didn't even break stride as I walked past, knowing she would ignore the order like always. Sure enough, near-silent padding footsteps trailed about ten feet behind me.
As I moved through the dark, empty streets of Vale and left the school grounds behind, a deep annoyance settled over my entire life. I stared down at the cracked concrete sidewalks passing under my boots.
Why does it feel like I'm constantly being pushed around by women these days?
I turned a corner, heading deeper into the commercial district toward the large municipal park. Streetlights flickered up ahead.
Nora and Lie Ren had been my childhood friends—five years ago, back when things still made a little sense. She and Ren had been orphans trailing some drifter Huntsman who taught them survival basics. They'd passed through my small, boring hometown. With few kids our age around, we naturally drifted together and bonded.
Back then she had been a crybaby, constantly scared, always hiding behind Ren, trailing after us like a frightened little duckling whenever we played in the woods. She wouldn't even squish a bug without tearing up.
After about a year the Huntsman moved on, and she and Ren vanished with him.
Who would have guessed we'd meet again here, thousands of miles away at Beacon Academy? The universe clearly had a twisted sense of humor.
I reached the park entrance. The massive iron gates stood open, winding dirt paths swallowed by absolute darkness. Tall trees blocked what little moonlight filtered through the smog.
I walked deep inside, gravel crunching under my boots, until I reached a small secluded clearing near an old, dried-up fountain.
"Ah, Jon-jon! You're here! Took you long enough!"
The cheerful, bubbly voice shattered the quiet. Nora stepped out from the fountain's shadow, smiling so widely her eyes scrunched shut in pure joy.
All I could do was sigh at the cute, innocent gesture.
Because in her right hand she held a tactical combat knife coated in thick, dark crimson blood. Fresh splatter covered the front of her signature pink-and-white skirt and jacket, dripping softly onto the dirt beneath her boots.
"Look, look! I found a corpse!" she sang cheerfully, pointing the bloody knife tip toward the ground at her feet.
A man lay facedown in the dirt, wearing an expensive suit now completely ruined. The entire back of the jacket had been shredded, soaked through with blood. At least a dozen deep, messy stab wounds gaped across his back, exposing bone and muscle to the night air. The dirt around him had turned to thick red mud as he continued to bleed out.
"Just kidding! Good job, me!" Nora suddenly giggled, playfully knocking a knuckle against the side of her own head and sticking her tongue out.
I stared at her, expression blank.
In the past five years, Nora had changed completely. The crybaby duckling had grown—unfortunately not in any way I'd hoped.
I didn't panic or scream; I was far too used to this kind of thing by now. I simply took a few careful steps sideways, checking the ground to make sure I didn't accidentally step in the expanding pool of gore and leave boot prints at the scene.
"…Hey, Nora," I said, voice bored. "Who's this guy?"
"Eh?" She tilted her head dramatically, lifting her jacket sleeve to wipe a smear of fresh blood off her pale cheek and onto the fabric. "Dunno?"
I nodded, accepting the answer without question. Trying to apply logic to a psycho wasted oxygen. "…I see."
I looked down at the mangled meat that used to be a person, then back to her happy face. "By the way. Can you please not call me out to a fresh crime scene? What the hell happens if a patrol walks by and I get suspected of doing this shit?"
Nora instantly puffed out her cheeks in a massive, exaggerated pout. "Eh~?! But~?!" She stepped closer, carefully avoiding the body, swinging her arms. "I worked so hard on this one! I wanted my Jon-Jon to be the very first one to see it~♡"
I raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "What the hell is this supposed to be? A gift? A present? Are you actually a cat faunus I don't know about, bringing me dead birds on the porch?"
I didn't wait for another deranged excuse. I turned on my heel, hands sliding back into my Pumpkin Pete jacket pockets. "Anyway, I've seen it. It's a dead guy. Can I go back to my room now?"
"Eh~?! You're leaving already?!" she whined loudly, stomping her blood-spattered boot against the dirt like a spoiled toddler.
I kept walking and glanced over my shoulder. "Sorry. There's a new episode of that late-night show I wanted to see. I don't want to miss it."
"…Hm…" She paused, staring at the knife in her hand, before her smile snapped back into place. "Okay! Can't help it then, if a show is on!" she said, accepting my flimsy reasoning without hesitation.
I stopped for just a second, looking back at her standing there in the dark with a bloody knife and a butchered corpse. I sighed again. The amount of sighing I did daily was aging me prematurely.
"You should come back to the dorm soon too, Nora. It's late. You shouldn't be wandering the city alone…" I paused, glancing at the mangled body one last time. "…It's dangerous for a girl out here, after all."
The thick, dripping irony of the statement hung in the air.
Nora ignored it completely. She smiled so happily her eyes vanished into crescents again and waved her clean hand enthusiastically. "Jon-Jon, you're always so nice~♡! Don't worry, I'll clean up my mess! See you soon at the dorm, fearless leader!"
I turned away and kept walking.
As I finally left the park and started down the dark industrial streets back toward Beacon, the air felt thick and uncomfortable. I could feel eyes burning into the back of my skull—someone stalking me, and they were getting sloppy with the distance.
I kept my pace perfectly casual. "I'm sure I explicitly said I didn't need a companion before."
The shadow behind a nearby streetlamp froze. Then she stepped out into the yellow pool of light.
"Sorry, Jonah~♡!"
A sweet, apologetic voice chimed through the silent street. "Please, please don't get mad! I was just really concerned about you wandering around this late! Please forgive me!"
The words dripped with fake sincerity, making it clear she wasn't sorry in the slightest.
"Completely unneeded concern," I said blandly, stopping to face her.
Pyrrha Nikos—the Invincible Girl—wore a long, stylish trench coat over her casual clothes. Right now she was my active stalker.
She took a few quick steps forward, hands reaching out as if she wanted to rush in and pull me into a desperate hug, but she stopped herself, fingers twitching.
"But you just don't know what she could possibly do to you, right?!" Pyrrha insisted, tone shifting from apologetic to frantic. Her green eyes widened. "She is unstable! You should never be alone with… with that murderous woman!"
"Hey, champion," I shot back, crossing my arms. "Don't badmouth my childhood friend. Also, while we're on the subject…" I glanced around the empty street. "Were you the one who tipped Blake off and called her to wait for me?"
Pyrrha's face lit up instantly. She clapped her hands together lightly, thrilled I'd noticed her manipulation. "Yes! Exactly! I knew she had that… attachment to you. If it's that delusional woman playing the knight, I was sure she'd follow you and be able to fully protect you, Jonah! She's quite skilled, despite her issues."
She pressed an index finger to her cheek, puffing out her cheeks in an exaggerated, practiced pout, voice dropping to a soft whisper. "…I was very reluctant to share you with her, though. Even just to protect you."
Another sigh rose in my chest; I forced it down. I was exhaling so much air around these freaks I'd probably hyperventilate soon. I rubbed the bridge of my nose.
Women really bring absolutely no good into this world, I thought, staring at her "perfect" face.
"That's exactly what you just thought to yourself right now, didn't you?" Pyrrha said suddenly, a teasing, intensely knowing smile spreading across her lips.
"Tsk…" I clicked my tongue sharply, annoyance spiking. "Oi. Don't just stand there and pretend to read other people's thoughts like some creepy psychic. It's annoying."
Pyrrha didn't back down. She stepped closer, invading my personal space, and placed a slender finger against her own pale pink lips. Her voice became a breathy whisper that sent an unwelcome chill down my spine.
"But if you ask me… I think the existence of boys like you are just as mysterious. Even more so."
She leaned in, eyes locked on mine as if trying to drill straight into my brain.
"Even if he talks directly with a living human being… even if he stands right over the butchered, bloody corpse of a dead human…" She breathed in sharply, a visible shiver running through her. A deep blush flooded her cheeks. "…No feelings at all are reflected in those deep, deep, dark eyes. Just emptiness."
She stared into me, practically drooling over my complete lack of humanity.
"How wonderful~♡" she practically moaned, gaze fixed on the dead, apathetic center of my pupils.
I felt nothing—no fear, no arousal, just pure irritation.
"Who the hell are you even talking about? Are you hallucinating? Dreaming? Because that must be one seriously messed up dream you're trapped in," I said, voice dripping with hostile annoyance.
"No," Pyrrha whispered, her smile twisting into something desperate and crazed. "This is the beautiful dream of a lost sheep, completely numb with love."
"What complete rubbish. I can't even force myself to laugh at how stupid that sounds."
I turned my back on her for the second time that night and resumed walking toward Beacon. The air grew colder, and I just wanted sleep.
But her boots clicked on the pavement immediately. She didn't stay behind. She hopped forward, jogging slightly to catch up, then pressed her body against my side and linked her arm securely around mine.
"Aah, wait for me! Hey, hey, Jonah…" she asked cheerfully, voice instantly reverting to that bubbly, innocent facade. "Can I go roll around in your bed for a while once we're back in our dorm room, leader?"
"Don't," I said flatly, eyes locked on the horizon. "Do that, and I'll actually kill you."
She ignored the explicit death threat completely. Instead she let out a bright, tinkling laugh and kept her arm firmly linked with mine, pressing her chest against my bicep as we walked together through the dark.
This was my life.
Just a completely normal, everyday existence. Surrounded by beautiful, deeply broken, incredibly strange girls.
And me—an XXXX boy who couldn't bring himself to fix any of it.