Author's Note: This idea has been sort of swimming around in my head, but it took a while to refine enough to write. Old school anime and manga fans will of course recognize who the man with seven scars is. However, he won't be featuring much in the story. After all, this is centred around Jaune and the RWBY cast. Please note that this story will diverge majorly from canon, not only in events during and after Volume 2, but also Remnant lore. And that's about all for now! Let's get this show on the road.


"I'm sorry, son. You just don't have it."

Those words broke Jaune's heart. He stared in dismay at the one who had uttered them: the one person he had always looked up to above all others, the one he had always told himself he wanted to be like. His own father. Ever since he was a child, Jaune Arc had known that his family had been renowned hunters for many generations. Warriors. Protectors. Heroes. And he wanted to carry on that legacy. Be one of them. Early on, his parents had encouraged it. But soon afterwards, he was surpassed by his sisters, all of whom showed a natural affinity towards combat and movement that he wasn't able to emulate. Although fairly fit and healthy, and a quick study, his parents simply couldn't see in him the exceptional natural physical strength, agility or combat instinct that his sisters possessed. So they worried about him. And… they didn't want him venturing anywhere near a battlefield.

Their intentions were good. Not everyone has to be a fighter, after all. But they had no idea how much that fact weighed down on Jaune.

It had all come to a head on this day: Jaune's thirteenth birthday. Since his parents had never formally trained him, or allowed him to apply for combat school, Jaune was self taught, following various training regimens that he had studied. He had begged his father for a chance, to test him, to see if he was worthy. Reluctantly, he had agreed, and the two had sparred, ending, predictably, in a defeat for Jaune. He hadn't really expected to win, of course. He just wanted to prove his worth. Enough that Arc senior would agree to train him. All those hopes were dashed, of course.

"Father, I-"

"I'm sorry, Jaune. I can't do it. I can't encourage you to go further with this, knowing all the time that you're putting yourself in danger by doing it. We will not speak of this again."

Immediately after the words had left his mouth, he realized he had sounded harsher than he meant to. He began to apologize, but it was too late. Jaune had turned away, and was taking off the training armour.


"It's all right, Dad. I get it."

Hanging up the breastplate, gauntlets and greaves, he unhooked the practice blade from his belt and placed it on its resting place on the wall of the family training room. Having done this, he walked away, not glancing back at the man he had idolized all these years. Every boy learns one day that his parents are only human, and have flaws of their own. Jaune had learnt that lesson on this day, perhaps before he was mature enough to deal with it, or forgive his father for it.

For the moment, he didn't want to think about any of this. His mind felt numb. All this time, he thought he had made progress. Had toiled away on his own, desperately studying online, using videos to correct his own form and technique, trying to learn and improve. And today, all of that had been proven meaningless, or so he thought. In truth, Jaune had improved. He had improved as much as a thirteen year old could be expected to on his own, without a mentor present to guide him, or opponents for live sparring. All of this, of course, was unknown to him, so he harshly rebuked himself, beating himself up all the way back to his room.

It's useless. I can't do it, can I?

He was exhausted mentally, and battered physically. His father had held back, but he was a trained huntsman, and there was only so much he could reduce the power in his blows. Taking off his shirt, Jaune inspected his body. There were no visible bruises at least. Sighing, he decided to take a shower and change his clothes. When he came out of the bathroom, he found his least favourite sister waiting for him.

Lili, also thirteen, was his twin, and certainly, the two had matching appearances: both slender and athletic, with blue eyes and blonde hair. But that was about where the similarities ended. Where Jaune was straightforward, often bumbling, and occasionally hotheaded, Lili was cunning, most often calculating and sarcastic. A lot of the time, Jaune was almost sure he disliked her.

"'Sup, bro. It appears you've had your ass kicked by Dad."

Other times, he was certain he hated her.

He grunted in response. While she was normally able to provoke him into entering arguments with her, he was not in the mood for her games today.

"Go away, Lili."

She frowned. This new, passive-aggressive version of her brother was not one she liked.

"Okay, so you're a little angry. It was only expected, you know. You didn't actually think-"

"No, I didn't," he interrupted, patience having worn thin. "I knew I was going to lose. I just thought I'd at least show him I was worth something. Guess I was wrong. You can laugh now."

She didn't. Despite the constant teasing, she actually did care about her brother, and it wasn't fun seeing him like this. Like everyone around him except himself, she could see that what he lacked as a fighter, he more than made up for in many other ways. Honestly, having him around cheered everyone up, which is why she constantly found excuses to hang out with him.


"Please. Just leave me alone."

The way in which he said those words sent a chill down her spine. None of the warmth that was so typical of him was in his voice. Even when he was angry, you could tell there was nothing truly malicious in him, no venom or lasting hatred. He would get over it, and soon enough, be smiling again. This time was different. He wasn't shouting or screaming. He wasn't angry. There was a coldness to his voice as he turned away from her.

Lips trembling slightly, she left the room, fully intending to talk to her father about what he might have said to him.

Jaune lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Having nothing to do, he would normally play a video game or read a book. Today, he just didn't feel like it. He decided to go outside. Still unwilling to think about what had just happened, he just wanted something to take his mind off it.

He was able to make his way out of the house without running into anybody, for which he was thankful. He wasn't in the mood for conversation. Once outside, he simply followed his feet, allowing them to take him where they would, without any particular destination in mind. He walked on and on, unthinking, not really paying attention to the world around him. Blocks passed by, until finally, feeling slightly tired, he paused.

This was further from his home than he had ventured in a long time. He was on the outskirts of town now: and the forests beyond were in his sight. Even though it was a bright afternoon, the woods seemed dark and foreboding.

This was the edge of civilization, at least, the town where he lived. Beyond this, there was a very real chance he would run into Grimm.

Come on. There's no way that's going to happen. They don't come this close to the walls.

Yet, a part of him warned not to trust that fact. Warned him that if he stepped beyond the walls, he would be in the wilds.

His heart was beating faster.

Okay. No need to do something stupid. I'm not actually thinking of going outside.

He took a deep breath to calm down. Yes. There was no reason to go outside. He had just been told by someone he looked up to that there was no chance of him achieving his dream. Yes, it hurt, but it wasn't the end of the world. He wasn't going to do anything drastic.

Just as he came to that conclusion, and was about to go back home, his eyes caught sight of a figure emerging from the woods.

Eyes widening slightly, Jaune stared at it, entranced, as it moved forward. As it came into the clearing, into sunlight, Jaune could see that it was a human, a man. However, in the dark, he wouldn't have been surprised if he had mistaken him for a Grimm.

The man was huge: standing well over six feet tall, larger than anyone Jaune had laid eyes on. It wasn't just his height either. He was broad and muscular, arms and legs the thickness of small tree trunks. His torso formed a powerful v-shaped taper, with wide shoulders, revealing him to be of athletic build. Despite his impressive physique, however, he was clad in rags: a torn hooded cloak that shrouded his face in shadow. Dust and dirt coated his attire in many places, and he walked with a stumbling gait.

It was obvious he was exhausted.

At that moment, Jaune didn't know what he was doing. He didn't know what made him move. But he ran forward. Beyond the walls of the town.

He made it just in time, as the man nearly toppled over. Jaune wasn't strong enough to carry his weight, but it was possibly the sight of the small boy coming forward to help him that gave the man the will to hold firm and stay upright. Jaune allowed him to lean on him slightly.

"Hey! You all right, mister?"

"... water…", the man murmured, voice barely audible.

"There's plenty of water inside. Come on. Just a little bit more."

Continuing to allow him to lean against his shoulder, the boy helped the giant of a man into town. The two walked for a bit until they came to a bench, where Jaune told him to sit while he ran to a convenience store. He returned in moments with a bottle of water, and held it out to him. The man unscrewed the cap and drank voraciously, emptying the bottle in seconds. Leaning back, he pushed back his hood and took a deep breath, revealing his face in its entirety for the first time.

He was surprisingly good looking, albeit in an unusual way, his features not matching those of any ethnicity Jaune was familiar with. He had a strong jaw, high cheekbones, and sharp eyes that seemed somehow simultaneously deep as oceans, and swift as razors. With his cloak moved aside, Jaune could see a leather jacket underneath. His chest was visible, and on it, Jaune saw several gruesome scars. They looked like bullet wounds: circular depressions, ridged with raised flesh. The boy winced slightly at the sight of them.

Looking at the man again, he could see that there was a grizzled quality to him. And he had come out of the woods alone. He had to be a Huntsman.

"Hey, do you need to contact the local guild? You could come to my home. My Dad's the chief-"

"Guild?", the man asked, clearly clueless what Jaune was talking about.

"Huntsman's Guild," Jaune clarified. When the stranger's face showed no recognition, he frowned.

"You know, Huntsman? Sort of… like you… I think? You are a Huntsman, right?"

"I hunt on occasion. But I doubt I'm what you're thinking about."

"Huntsman!" Jaune exclaimed. Never before had he met someone who didn't know what they were. "Warriors roaming the wilds, carrying weapons, protecting people from the monsters, the Grimm? It seems like you ran into some-"

He stopped immediately when he realized what he was saying.

The bullet-wounds on his chest suggested that his unpleasant encounter hadn't been with Grimm. It had been with someone wielding a gun.

All right, Jaune. Keep calm. There are only two kinds of people in the wild. Huntsmen… and bandits. This guy obviously isn't a Huntsman. So that leaves…

"You're far too nervous," the man noted, interrupting his thoughts. He looked at Jaune with knowing eyes. "While it's a good idea to be cautious, I mean you no harm."

Jaune stared at him sceptically.

"How'd you get those wounds?" he blurted out.

Shit. Shit. Shit. There's no reason for him to answer that honestly! I should run now-

"A man carved them into me with his fingers," he answered, once again cutting short Jaune's speculations.

The boy's eyes widened, face paling slightly.

To carve wounds that looked like bullet holes into someone's flesh… the amount of strength that would take was inconceivable. But if there were Huntsmen who fought Grimm and killed scores of them singlehandedly… was it really such a stretch to think a man capable of a feat like that existed?

"Who was he?" Jaune asked in awe.

"Once a friend," the man answered in a calm voice.

Jaune felt a lump in his throat and swallowed it.

"What happened to him?"

"He is dead," said the giant softly.

"I-" Jaune was about to say that he was sorry to hear that. But was that really his sentiment? The man had scarred someone who considered him a friend. To Jaune, who was young and innocent, such an action seemed incomprehensible.

The mysterious wanderer smiled slightly.

"You have a good heart," he commented. "One still free from the burden of experience. But… I sense pain in it."

Jaune started.

This person, within moments of meeting him, despite being nearly dead from thirst, had managed to catch on to his mood? Jaune berated himself for wearing his heart on his sleeve to that extent. If anything, he should be on his guard. The logical side of him said it was dangerous to stay here with this unknown man. That he should run and inform the authorities. Preferably his father.

But somehow, his instincts told him the giant in front of him was not an evil person.

And Jaune decided to trust them. He was fortunate indeed that the man had no ill intentions.

"I… well… I'm useless," Jaune ended up blurting out, looking down.

"And why do you say that?"

Jaune kept looking at the ground. Unable to bring himself to meet the stranger's eyes in his shame.

"I… I wanted to a Huntsman, you know."

"These warriors that you speak of? Who wander the land, protecting innocents?"

Jaune nodded.

"My father is a Huntsman. And so is my grandfather. My mother. My entire family, for generations, have been heroes. I wanted to be like them, you know? But… I don't have what it takes."

"Who told you this?" the man asked sharply.

Jaune raised his head at his strong voice.

Stuttering slightly, he replied.

"M-my father. We- we sparred today. And… he said I don't have what it takes."

The man's eyes blazed.

"I see. And so, having found out that your effort over the past year or so wasn't enough, you accepted his words, and began to hate yourself for being weak."

Jaune's eyes widened.

How did this man know…

"How did you-"

"It's evident from your physique and movements. You have more strength and lean muscle than an untrained youth of your age, so it's obvious you've done physical exercise consistently. You were able to support a fraction of my weight, and you move well, light on your feet. But you lack fluidity, implying inexperience in combat. Meaning, you've not trained under a mentor. Your stiffness is a result of self-critiquing your form, most likely by comparing it to what you've seen others do. It also has to do with the fact that you've never sparred before, which is why you lack the confidence of a fighter. Putting all that together, it's easy to see that you trained by yourself for a relatively short period of time, around a year."

Jaune felt his jaw drop.

"You… who are you?"

The man looked at him with eyes that blazed with fire.

"Still young… with a pure heart, but one that has felt darkness. Yet, your kindness remains untainted, allowing you to aid even a stranger. I see an underlying strength within you. Yes. If it is you, it should be possible."

He stood tall, towering over Jaune.

"I do not know what Huntsmen are, but if you wish to learn how to fight, I can show you the way. But this is your only chance. If you wish to take it, come with me. If not, walk away, and we will never meet again. Know this, however. If you choose to come, you will part with your family."

Jaune's heart was hammering wildly in his chest now. His stomach felt light, and he felt electricity coursing through him.

He found himself asking a question.

"Will I see them again?"

"I cannot say. It is impossible to know what fate holds in store."

Jaune closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, his eyes blazed with a fire of their own.

"I'll come with you. Make me a fighter."

The man took off his cloak, revealing himself to be clad in leather trousers, boots, and a leather vest underneath. Heavily muscled arms hung at his sides, looking strong enough to crush Ursas.

"Then I, Kenshiro, 64th successor of Hokuto Shinken, take you as my disciple."