The bathroom was spacious and well-ventilated. A massive jacuzzi took up the center—made for soaking, relaxing, and forgetting the world. In contrast, a modest shower cabin sat tucked in a corner, to save time when needed.
Alex sunk into the jacuzzi.
Steam curled gently off the surface of the water. He let it seep into his bones. A warm towel covered his eyes, blocking the light. He breathed in, then out, slow and easy, the clean scent of fresh air swirling through the tiled room.
This was it. This was all he'd allow himself.
No more breaks. No more vacations.
Well—technically, a trip was coming up. But it wouldn't be a vacation.
He'd hit the jackpot, after all.
The Wheel had promised A+… and then gone above and beyond.
Name: Planeswalker – RWBY
Class: Skill
Grade: S
Allows the user's essence to travel to the RWBY universe.
Grants full compatibility with, and access to, that universe's power system.
The user may choose to manifest at any unoccupied location within a 10-meter radius of their previous position in the target plane.
Cooldown: 24 hours
Notes:
Time in the origin plane is frozen while the user is off-plane.
Attempting to use this ability before the cooldown expires will extend the cooldown by 1–3 years.
If the skill is activated while the cooldown is already longer than 24 hours, it will awaken the Ḃ̶̰l̴̼̟̎̂̇̀̐í̷͎͇̠̘͊n̶̠̐̄͌ḋ̸̛̗̞̙̖̲͘̚ ̶̋ͅĚ̷̬̝t̸̲̳̖́̓͝e̵͉̝̓ŕ̵̡͙̻n̷̢̯̫͛͌̓̎ḯ̷͔͌͝t̸͔̟̜͌̉̄͠ì̵̧̘͙̪̥ȅ̶̮͕̮͚͊̈́̑͝s̸̻͓̾̓, resulting in immediate soul obliteration.
It was a cheat. In many ways, even bigger than his Sharingan.
A whole new freaking universe—full of things to do and the chance to finally rack up some rolls. And the ten-meter limit? Basically a free teleport once per day.
But none of that compared to what truly excited him: Aura—the Light of the Soul. Once he managed to awaken his, he'd be that much harder to kill. And if the skill said "full compatibility with, and access to, that universe's power system," then surely that included Aura, likely even a Semblance.
The last bit of the description was a little threatening, sure. But to Alex, it just read like another version of die if you mess up. Nothing new.
That said, his scalp had definitely tingled when he read about the blind somethings. That glitch text was always weird when it appeared. It seemed more... real than the other golden letters. It always caused a weird pressure behind his eyes. A bit of nausea, even. But honestly? Life was more fun with Eldritch Gods in it.
He'd endeavor to avoid the soul obliteration, though. Seemed like a bad way to go.
Alex yawned, peeled the warm towel off his face, and tapped his fingers against his forehead. The sound was… dense. Solid.
Felt like metal.
"There's also icing on the cake," he muttered, cracking an eye open.
His fingertips and nails looked normal. Perfectly human. But he could feel it— they were steel, somehow.
Name: Iron Claws
Class: Physical Trait
Grade: E
The nails and fingertips gain the durability of refined iron. If broken or dislodged, they regrow in 24 hours or less.
Note: The nails regrow, not the fingertips.
Well, maybe not quite steel—but close enough.
Alex laughed. It echoed in the bathroom.
"Who would've thought I'd be so lucky today? Out of 9 rolls, I got three E-grades, despite their drop rate being only 9%. Hell, I would have been grateful for one!"
Thankfully, calling up the golden letters had become instinctive by now. Otherwise, he wasn't sure how he'd have seen the details of the other two traits. He couldn't see his sleep resistance in the mirror after all.
Name: Sleep Resistance
Class: Physical Trait
Grade: E
The biological need for sleep is reduced by 25%.
Note: The main function of sleep, besides cleaning the brain, is memory consolidation.
---
Name: Math Apprentice
Class: Mental Trait
Grade: E
Grants a +10% increase to comprehension speed of mathematical concepts, along with a 10% boost to thought processing when solving math problems.
Truly, a good haul.
A brand-new universe. A hidden weapon. A sharper mind. More hours in the day.
What more could an 11-year-old ask for?
The best birthday ever.
He laughed again, for longer this time. The world felt a little brighter. His small body, a little less ant-like in comparison to the pro heroes and villains prowling around.
And this building of his? Less of a protective cage, more of a home.
Truly, it was a good day.
But now, it was time to gear up.
An expedition was in order.
To the shattered world of Remnant—where shadow monsters prowled and were hunted in turn.
Alex exited the bath. He'd rested enough.
He didn't bother drying off. This was his house, and free will was a hell of a thing. His combat clothes were downstairs anyway.
He grabbed the black card, swiped it, and stepped into the elevator.
Inside the cabin, he swiped the card again.
On the display, a new floor appeared: -1.
He pressed it. The elevator began to descend.
As the hum of machinery filled the silence, Alex took a moment to evaluate his mental state.
I've reached my limit, huh?
Presented with the chance to explore an entirely new world, he hadn't hesitated for even a second.
Did eleven years of hiding make me reckless? Maybe I should try to get some hero gadgets off the black market. Maybe even a few guns.
But that would take time—months, at best, if I want it quiet. And even then, none of it would protect me from an unlucky "spawn point."
No, he needed to see what he was dealing with.
Only then could he prepare properly.
He casually firmed up his resolve.
The elevator doors opened to a basement.
The walls were lined with armor pieces and bladed weapons.
The armor was costly—military-grade, or hero-grade depending on who you asked.
The weapons had been bought dulled, then sharpened by hand.
Used mostly for training, sure. But they'd rend flesh just fine.
"Normal flesh though, not whatever the fuck Grimm are made of..."
Alex muttered as he approached a dormant machine in the corner.
He tapped a few buttons. The thing hummed to life.
He ignored it for now.
Instead, he slipped a bodysuit over his underwear—sleek and black, made from this world's vastly improved Kevlar. Flexible enough for acrobatics, resistant enough for low caliber bullets. Mobility-maximizing. Life-saving, at least in theory. He strapped on a helmet with a reinforced glass visor that offered perfect vision.
His greatest weapon were his eyes after all. It wouldn't be smart to cover them.
Next came the weapons.
Shuriken. More Shuriken. Knives. Throwing knives. Homemade smoke grenades. Two short swords strapped to his back.
Why did Alex have all this?
Because he could.
Nothing was illegal, after all. He could do the work of 10-20 programers on a good day, and his income reflected that. Of course, cough cough, "penetration testing" was also a fruitful side-job.
And it wouldn't do to die stupidly if some random villain decided to rob the place… or if a BIG villain decided to level it, either intentionally or as collateral damage.
This basement wasn't just an armory, after all. It also served as a bunker.
The machine in the corner beeped.
Okay, maybe not everything I own is legal, Alex thought as he approached the industrial-grade 3D printer.
Freshly printed gun parts sat in the output tray, still warm.
He began assembling the weapon with practiced motions, then strapped it on with the rest of his gear.
A glance at the wall mirror gave him pause.
He might have looked intimidating—if he were taller than 140 centimeters.
Alas. Such was life.
He double-checked each strap, each sheath, each piece of armor.
Then he stopped. Closed his eyes. Took a breath.
"Oh Wheel of Fortune," he muttered softly, with just a hint of irony,
"bestow your grace... and please, don't throw me into the Land of Darkness."
The words came out more reverent than he intended.
He didn't know if the wheel was sentient.
Didn't know if it heard prayers.
But when you were about to step into the abyss between worlds, a little superstition didn't hurt. He was just being cautious.
Well—as cautious as one could be, given the circumstances.
Now, how does this work? Do I just... will myself into another universe?
He focused. Waited. Nothing happened.
Tried again.
Still nothing.
Then, just as he was about to give up on meditation and try some verbal commands, something shifted.
A vague sensation tickled the back of his skull—like a direction without a compass, a pull without gravity.
He took a few slow steps forward.
Planeswalking... so maybe I have to actually—
The thought never finished.
Reality rippled in front of him like a disturbed reflection—and then it broke.
Alex fell forward, swallowed by the void.
The next moment, his mind fractured.
There was no warning—no transition. Only knowing.
He perceived the first moment, the true beginning: a birth not of matter, but of concept, erupting in an infinite cascade of heat and time. The Big Bang was not light or sound, but a scream across dimensions—a scream so wide it carried gravity in its lungs and entropy in its breath.
He saw the final silence. The last flicker. The Heat Death of everything, where time decayed and matter stretched into infinite frost, a static eternity where no thought could form because nothing remained to do the thinking.
They were the same.
The beginning and the end were not opposites—they were reflections on a wheel too large for geometry. He stared at the rim and saw himself, speck-like and still spinning.
Some part of him—some splintered, defiant shard—reached out. Not out of willpower, but instinct. It gathered the broken thoughts, the misaligned memories, the soul-fragments drifting in the blind sea. Something held him together while he stared.
And that was when he noticed it.
It did not move, because it had no need. Movement required time, and time was a story told far below its awareness.
A single eye, hovering in front of him—so vast it obscured entire galaxies behind its slitted gaze. The sclera shimmered with collapsing stars. The iris was a spiral of burning truths, and the pupil... the pupil was a pit. Not black. Empty. The concept of voidness made manifest.
It did not blink.
It closed.
Like a planet folding into itself, the eye simply vanished, and reality resumed—though Alex had no proof it had ever been there except the echo left in his being.
He had no breath to scream.
No tongue to pray.
But the thought spoke itself, without sound:
"That was... beautiful."
And he meant it.
He drifted—no, stood—in the silence that followed. The blackness was not mere dark but the absence of sensory rules. Nothing held him, yet he felt guided, like a bead caught on the string of a necklace stretching across endless void.
A path. Not one he chose—but one written. Etched into the fibers of what he was, leading forward without question.
And then he felt the toll.
Not pain. Not fatigue.
A kind of dilution.
Something within him was thinning, unraveling like thread under tension. It wasn't physical, nor even mental. It was deeper—beneath existence. Something only felt outside the comfort of a world's laws.
He understood then: the cooldown wasn't a limitation if his skill. It wasn't imposed.
It was him.
Planeswalking cost him something fundamental. The further he strayed, the longer it would take to put himself back together.
It was no punishment.
It was just truth.
Then the darkness peeled away—like a skin torn from the sky—and there was light.
Blinding. Searing. Violent.
The kind of light that should have cooked his retinas into paste.
But his Sharingan didn't even blink.
It spun. Twitched. Focused with a fluid, inhuman elegance that mocked the idea of a human nervous system. Within milliseconds, Alex saw everything.
Teenagers. Dozens of them. All armored. All armed.
Fear on their faces.
Excitement, too. The kind you see before a fight—or maybe just a really dangerous sport.
They were standing clustered on wide platforms. Ahead of all of them stood two adults—a grey-haired man in green, and a blonde woman in black and white. Their expressions were full of amusement.
Then they shifted.
Eyebrows rising. Mouths parting.
That slow-motion, oh shit kind of realization.
They were reacting to him.
His sudden, unscheduled pop-in. .
But before Alex could appreciate the absurdity—
*WHUMMPF*
The platform launched him into the air.
No warning. No countdown.
One second he stood.
The next, his feet were ripping off stone, his body slammed upward and into the sky. Wind howled like a beast, clawing at him, and the horizon tumbled like a loose coin.
His eyes kept up perfectly.
He could see the huge castle and the trees below shrinking.
Then, unexpectedly, it happened. Golden letters bloomed in front of his retinas, on their own volition for once.
Quest: Prove your Worth!
Objective: Survive the Beacon Initiation. Don't Get Disqualified.
Reward:
C+ Grade Roll → B+ Grade Roll
(Boosted due to First Quest Bonus + Extreme Difficulty)
Alex blinked once. Slowly.
There was no excitement to be seen on his face.
No awe. No fire. Just a dull, betrayed stare—like someone who'd opened a birthday present and found a live scorpion inside.
As he approached the apex of his arc, the wind curling around his skin made it sting even worse.
"I am grateful," he muttered flatly, wind tugging at his hair. "The location's perfect. One of the best places to appear. Ideal timeline, too—start of the plot."
His Sharingan swept across the skies. Dots moving through the air, distinct in color and posture.
Red. White. Black. Yellow. Orange. Yellow again. Green. Pink...
"Yup," he continued, deadpan. "All the main characters present and accounted for."
"And after 11 years, a Quest prompt had finally appeared, proving my theories..."
This was everything he could've asked for.
And yet—
He raised a hand in front of his face.
It was bare skin.
No armor. No bodysuit. No gloves.
No helmet.
Not even underwear.
He was absolutely, entirely, offensively naked.
"…Why the fuck am I naked?" he asked the void.
"No. Don't tell me..."
With a sigh, he blinked the quest notification away and willed up his S-grade skill's description—not that he needed to. His Sharingan-granted memory etched every word into his brain like a scar. But knowledge didn't equal understanding, unfortunately.
The description appeared in golden text across his vision.
"Allows the USER'S ESSENCE to travel…"
He stared at it.
And sighed again.
At the height of his arc, the fall began.
He was just a naked kid plummeting toward the lush, very unpadded forest below.
"Fucking hell... At least the view's nice..."
.
----------------------
.
"Glynda… that was a late student arriving at the last moment for the test, correct?"
"I—" She squinted at the sky. "He might've slept somewhere outside the Great Hall and overslept. Then used his Semblance to make it just in time?"
She seemed unsure, uncharacteristically, but given that particular test-taker's state, it was understandable. Not once during his time running Beacon did something like this happen.
Ozpin hummed thoughtfully.
"Truly unfortunate. But with a Semblance like that, escaping danger shouldn't be an issue."
He sipped his coffee, eyes calm behind his glasses as he watched the small dot plummet toward the Emerald Forest.
"No weapon, though…" he added.
"I'll notify Peter to scatter a few spares near his projected landing zone," Glynda said. "A bit of bad luck shouldn't shatter someone's dreams."
"That's the most we can do," Ozpin agreed mildly.
The dots in the sky grew smaller, one in particular spiraling a bit too fast.
"…Didn't he seem a little young, though?" Glynda asked slowly. "I couldn't take a good look at him. I also don't remember seeing him yesterday..."
She narrowed her eyes, watching that smaller dot with a trace more interest.
"Hmm. Perhaps. Maybe a form of dwarfism?" He offered. Then, as casually as if commenting on the weather, he turned and walked away.
"I can search for his file if you'd like," Glynda offered as she followed, her heels clicking behind him. Even she couldn't memorize every applicant; there were almost a hundred each time.
"Don't bother," he said, tone unchanged. "As callous as it sounds, if he doesn't pass, he isn't worth much. Not to us, at least."
They entered the observation room. Dozens of screens lined the walls, each showing a different patch of the Emerald Forest—many already filled with panicking teens sprinting away from Beowolves.
Peter and Bartholomew were watching closely, already dispatching grimm for students whose weapons—marked with GPS tags in secret—showed erratic signals or stopped moving entirely.
"That kid…" Glynda said, scanning the monitors, "…doesn't have anything on him. No tags. No signal. We can't track his location."
Ozpin took another sip of his coffee.
"I'm sure it will all work out somehow."
He didn't look back.
But even without turning, he could feel the glare boring into the back of his head.
Truly, it was hard being the Headmaster.