RWBY: LUCID

Chapter 32: 32. Preparations (Part 7)



By the time the sun began to dip lower in the sky, Jaune felt sore in places he hadn't even known existed.

The hour at the Sword Arts Club passed faster than he expected. Grise had started him with a few basic forms—cuts, footwork and various types of guard positions. At first, Jaune felt awkward with his arms being too stiff and his balance too forward or back. The wooden longsword was also dragging him off center whenever he swung it.

But Grise was patient, making sure to correct him with calm and confident instructions. After about twenty minutes under his tutelage, Jaune found a good rhythm. The stances started feeling slightly more natural and the weight of the training sword was less foreign. He was improving. Slowly.

Then came the sparring.

"Forms are good," Grise had said, stepping onto the mat with his own wooden sword in hand. "But you need to learn how to move when someone's trying to hit you."

Jaune's apprehension was plain to see when he realized that Grise was going to be smacking him around in sparring.

Fortunately, the sparring wasn't intense—more like a moving lesson. Grise adjusted his strikes to guide Jaune's reactions and talked him through his mistakes. He showed Jaune to the best of his ability on how to reposition and keep pressure while maintaining his balance.

It was exhausting but also fun, in a way.

By the end of it, Jaune was sweating buckets, his shoulders were aching and his grip was raw. He tapped out and stumbled back to the edge of the mat, collapsing onto the bench with a groan.

Grise walked over and tossed him a towel.

"Not bad for a beginner. You've got good instincts—clumsy, but good."

Jaune grinned weakly. "Thanks, I think."

"Today's just a trial, so no need to commit," Grise said, sitting beside him. "But if you want to keep coming, I'll have a form ready for you next time. Club application and all that."

Jaune nodded, drying his face. "Yeah… I think I do."

They exchanged a handshake, and Jaune thanked him again before grabbing his bag and heading out.

By the time Jaune reached the main road and checked the transit schedule, the next train was already en-route. He'd have a few minutes before it arrived.

He leaned against a post and opened his phone, pulling up a search bar. After a moment's hesitation, he typed in:

"light armor or pads for biking/sports – Vale area"

If he was going to keep getting dragged into that dream-world, he needed something to protect himself. A weapon was one thing. But he needed to stop scraping up his arms every time he hit the ground. Maybe some elbow and knee pads. Something flexible and durable.

One of the search results caught his eye—a bicycle and gear store just three stops down from his neighborhood. It was still open for another hour.

Jaune checked the time, then nodded to himself. He'd have just enough time to get and buy the things he needed.

He stepped onto the train as it pulled in and grabbed a seat by the window, mentally going over what kind of gear might work best in a world where monsters hunted by sound and the moon bled red in the sky.

Soft padding wouldn't be much but it was a start.

The train ride was smooth as always. The gentle hum of the tracks and the occasional soft chime of announcements over the intercom made for a quiet, almost calming trip. Jaune leaned back in his seat, letting the cityscape slide past the window in a blur of buildings, roads, and glimmering glass panels that caught the afternoon sun.

He disembarked at a stop a little west of the city center. Not quite the suburbs nor quite the heart of downtown but somewhere in between. The streets here were a little less crowded, but still lively. The air carried the scent of roasted street food from a corner vendor, and families walked together along the sidewalks while teenagers skated past on electric boards. A wide mall stood just across the intersection, its sleek architecture framed by tall, curved glass walls and steel beams that shimmered faintly in the light.

Jaune eyed it briefly as he passed. It looked like the kind of place that had everything, from boutiques to bookstores to cheap fast food joints. He made a mental note to swing by another time. Perhaps picking up a first-aid kit or even some snacks wouldn't hurt.

Eventually, he found the gear shop he was looking for—Valeocity, printed in bold white letters over a navy signboard. Jaune had to admit it that it was a good pun, a mix of velocity and vale. Yang would approve.

A smaller neon decal in the window advertised protective gear, performance upgrades, and custom-fitted helmets. The interior had a clean, minimalist vibe. Black shelves, chrome accents, and a faint scent of rubber and oil in the air.

He stepped inside and was immediately greeted by a young employee behind the front desk, a guy with shaggy hair and a bright red polo shirt.

"Hey there! Looking for anything specific?"

Jaune gave a short nod. "Yeah, actually. I've been getting into a lot of... physical activity recently and... let's just say I've been eating dirt more than once. I was hoping for something that might stop me from scraping half my skin off."

"Ah, we get that more than you'd think," the guy said with a grin. "Come on, I'll show you a few things that might help."

They walked together through the back aisles, passing shelves stacked with elbow and knee guards, biking gloves, and various kinds of outerwear.

Jaune asked a few questions, trying not to sound like someone preparing for combat in a dream realm. He stuck to saying he was doing parkour training with friends—close enough to the truth.

Eventually, with the employee's help, he settled on a few solid options.

A well-made half-motorcycle helmet with solid internal cushioning and a sleek matte-black finish. It wasn't too bulky, but felt secure when he tried it on. It didn't cover his whole head or his face but it was enough for protection. Jaune figured it was wise to have a fully uncovered vision when he entered the dream.

The employee, thankfully, didn't ask why parkour needed a helmet. Jaune probably wouldn't have been able to come up with an excuse.

Matching elbow and knee guards—tough on the outside, but soft and pliable on the inside. Light enough to move in but heavy enough to stop a rough landing from turning into a bruised nightmare.

And finally, a jacket.

Thick, padded, and strange-looking.

It wasn't the most popular design in the store—something about the asymmetrical zipper and oddly stylized panels had made it a hard sell, according to the employee. But Jaune liked it. The inner lining had sponge-like padding sewn into the torso and arms, while the outside had a dense, reinforced mesh that felt like it could take a fall on gravel without tearing through.

"Honestly," the worker said, "these ones kind of just collects dust, but it's solid, flexible and breathable. It'll probably take more of a beating than you will."

Jaune smiled and nodded. "That sounds perfect."

He checked the price tags and winced slightly, but he still had more than enough in his allowance. Seven hundred bucks wasn't a fortune, but with careful budgeting—and no unnecessary purchases—he was still in the green. Besides, Jaune had never been the type to stress too much about money. Not when his parents were still supporting him and the fridge stayed full. He didn't have a job or any real expenses. And with everything else going on, worrying about finances was the last thing he needed on his plate.

At checkout, the total rang up just under three hundred.

Not bad, all things considered.

He waved the employee goodbye with a quick, "Thanks again!" and stepped back outside, the gear now packed into a big plain white shopping bag. The sun was dipping lower now, casting long shadows across the sidewalk. Even the streetlights were beginning to flicker awake.

He took a breath and looked over his new gear once again.

"Not a bad haul."

Maybe now, or at least, the next time he found himself standing alone in that crumbling dream-world, facing down something with too many teeth or eyes, he wouldn't feel so unprepared.

He walked toward the train station with a little more purpose in his step.


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