So...Borderlands and the impeding time for school have been distracting me...

And then there's the improptu midnight naps and College...

Alright, review responses (though there aren't many).

Darth Cruel: Thanks, and you should definitely check out the manga. Highly recommend it.

necrofantasia: Well, when you think about it, why would Jaune want or even need to go to Beacon now? He can one-punch stuff. Though if you're talking about earlier, like 2-3 years ago, he thought that avenue was closed to him, and that it was up to him to carve out his own path.

Mlosmie: Umm...I can at least assure that the second-to-last section of the last chapter is somewhat significant. Why? Two words: Series Escalation.

BlueBaronJack and CartoonChaos: Thanks for the comment! It gets me excited too when people comment on my stuff like that.

Jouaint: Here's more.

Disclaimer: I don't own RWBY or the Concept of "One Punch Man."

Tick tock.

Ozpin sat at his desk, a mug of cold coffee in his hand and a mass of paperwork on his desk. He looked them over with a careful eye, making sure of under every bit of legal jargon and taking note of every legal repercussion that could befall Beacon. Nodding his head, he sighed it before setting it on a pile labeled finished.

Lifting the mug to his lips, he felt the cold sludge that was once hot liquid flow into his mouth and down his throat. Setting the mug down on the desk, he stood up before walking over to the window and looking out through it. There, he looked over Beacon, the academy that he was entrusted to look over and supervise, in order to teach and educate the next generation of hunters who would fight to protect the kingdoms from the threat of the Grimm.

...It was times like this that he felt so old. How long ago was it when he was just like one of those students, eager and so full of energy, ready to take on the world and carve their names in the history books? The idea of him being headmaster of such a school, or him even being as non-active as he is now would have boggled his younger mind. Ozpin sighed as he took off his glasses to wipe them on his clothes.

Sometimes, it sucked to be old, Ozpin thought to himself as he thought back to the meeting that he had with the Mayor and the Chief of Police. After offering up his own interpretations of what had transpired, as well as his solemn promise that he was sending in teams to have this phenomenon looked at, that the mayor made one suggestion that for the first time in a while, made Ozpin feel annoyed.

After all, teams RPBY and WPNR were still students, despite their role in the...Cinder case. As far as he was concerned, they played their part when they had to cover the asses of people who should have known better. That was why he was so adamant against sending them on this mission.

He at least owned them that much.

As he continued to ponder, he heard a ringing coming from his scroll. Picking it up, he looked at who was calling, before his lips curved downwards. Great...

HE was calling.

Picking up the signal, he schooled his features, before nodding at the figure that appeared on the Scroll screen.

"Ironwood."

The stern looking man looking at him radiated a bit of hurt, before returning to neutral position.

"Ozpin, hello. How have you been?"

Ozpin shrugged.

"I have seen better days. Now, what is wrong, Ironwood? You usually only call me when you believe there is trouble."

At that, the general nodded.

"Correct. A couple of weeks back, looking over a few post-mission reports, I couldn't help but feel that there was something that I wasn't seeing. So, I began to observe the grimm, and here is the data that I found. Here."

With that, Ironwood's face was replaced by figures and charts. Looking over them, apathetic eyes soon widened as he took in the details that they were presenting. Taking off his glasses, he rubbed his eyes before putting them back on.

It seemed that the mystery of the flying ursa would have to wait, if this news really was true.

"How accurate is this data?"

With that, Ironwood's face reappeared on the screen, his face somehow more grimmer than his usual expression.

"Some of the hunters that have been under my command have nearly died for this. I have also talked with some of the border towns here in Atlas, and they have been getting a lot more evacuations needed when such encounters might have happened."

Ozpin nodded grimly. "I see. Can I have a copy of this data? I will need to compare it to some of my own.

"It has been sent. And just in case the worst is to come from this, I already have some reserve teams ready to assist."

Ozpin nodded. "Thank you...James."

A small twitch, then it was gone. "You're welcome. Stay safe."

With that, Ironwood disappeared off the scroll. Ozpin stared at the scroll in his hands before reclining back in his chair. Taking the mug off the desk, he drained of whatever was left before setting it back on the table. Running a hand through his hair, he could only hope that Ironwood's data may been more precautionary. He truly hoped that with his heart, because the idea of it being true...

The idea of Grimm actually migrating was a terrifying idea.

When Thomas was a little boy, he grew up on stories. Stories about brave heroes fighting evil monsters and saving the day had always captured his attention. One day, he announced his dream to be a hero to his mom and dad.

They promptly ripped it to shreds, saying that the community needed him more as a farmboy rather than a hero.

Everywhere he turned to, he was mocked and ridiculed for having such a ridiculous dream.

Eventually, he believed it was.

And so Thomas was a young man, mostly seeing nothing but to being stuck to this farming community, from life to death. In short, a life guaranteed to be nothing but drudgery and boredom for all his remaining days. What a gyp.

Then one day, while going out to find some firewood for his home, he came across an dead Ursa Major. Looking around, before looking back at the corpse. An idea popped in his head, and old desires came racing up.

In the end, he came home with the head of an Ursa in tow.

Almost immediately, the word spread of Thomas having brought back an Ursa's head, and stories practically abounded. Overnight, the town made Thomas a local hero, and he lapped up every bit of attention that he got. Every kid asked him for details, every young lady his age batted their eyelashes, every adult smiled at him. It was fantastic.

Then Old Man Withers apparently had a few of his farm animals go missing near his farm, and suspected a grimm behind. He tapped Thomas for the job, all the village agreed, and so here he was, his knees knocking and his whole body sweating waterfalls. He should have never fabricated that story. Maybe then, Old Man Withers would have actually hired some real hunters. So now, he was on a surefire course to death, and everyone would know he was a fraud, and would no doubt beat him up in the afterlife when they got there. It seemed it couldn't get any worse.

If it wasn't for the hooded man next to him fiddling with a guitar of all things...

"What the hell are you doing here again?" Thomas asked, agitation growing in his voice.

"Oh, I'm here to watch your battle and make an epic out of it."

"...Did my mom pay you to do this?"

"Well, your mom asked me to, and no, I'm not being paid for this. I believe I still got enough to hold me over."

With that, Thomas turned to regard the stranger. The sun was up, so he had his hood on, obscuring his face with shadows. He was wearing a grey sweatshirt, a pair of jeans, and some sneakers. As the stranger stopped to regard him as well, Thomas swore he could hear a jangle of chains somewhere.

"So...you're being paid to record my mighty deed?"

"Sure, now how you think it should start: 'Our hero, our hero' or 'Brave...what's your name?"

"...Thomas."

"'Brave Thomas, Brave Thomas, the righteous smiter, enemy to woe...' Hmm, I think that's pretty good." The stranger nodded to himself.

"So...you're not going to help me?"

The stranger looked up.

"Why would I help? I mean, it's probably something like another Ursa, I'm sure you can handle it."

Only minutes later, as the two hid behind some bushes and gazed at their target, did Thomas glare at his companion and the sword at his side feel considerably smaller.

"Another Ursa, huh?" Thomas whispered furiously. "That's not a fucking Ursa!"

The stranger looked at him, and even though his eyes were shadowed, Thomas could still feel the questioning look.

"So...You're not going to fight it?"

Thomas shook his head.

"Hell no! The fuck you think I can do with this thing?" Thomas snarled as he tapped the sword at his head. Letting out a sigh, he placed his face in his hands.

"What the fuck, man...What the hell can I do?"

"So you're sure you're not going to fight it?"

Thomas looked up and glared at the stranger.

"Of course not! Do you see the size of that thing? Old Man Withers should go ahead and call the hunters for this..."

The stranger, still looking at him, shrugged before standing up and beginning to walk over. Noticing this, Thomas grabbed him by the shoulder.

"What are you doing?"

The stranger shrugged.

"I'm gonna go fight it."

"What?!" Thomas was incredulous. "Are you crazy? Have you seen the sight of that thing?!"

The stranger nodded. "Yeah, still doesn't scare me."

"You're fucking nuts. Come on, we can't take that thing!"

"Let go, I can do this."

"What are you trying to do, kill yourself? You can't take that thing, let someone else handle it!"

"But I can handle it..."

Thomas, at this point, began shaking the dumb bastard.

"NO, you can't! I know that I'm a fucking fraud, that doesn't mean that you have to throw your life?"

The stranger tilted his head. "Wait, you're a fraud?"

Thomas breathed through his nose, no longer caring. "Yeah, I faked my whole thing. Found a dead Ursa in the woods, cut off its head, and I went around saying I killed it. That was it."

"Okay, man...I'm still going out there to fight it, because someone's got to take care of it."

With that, the stranger pulled himself out of the bushes and into the clearing. Thomas's mouth hung out as his hands grasped nothing but air. The giant scorpion looking Grim turned around, and noticed the lone figure walking towards it. Letting out a screech that sent the birds of the forest flying and Thomas to clutch his ears, it began to charge at him.

At this moment, Thomas knew that there was no going back. He could run, say that the Grimm was too much, that the stranger that his mom hired to write songs of his bravery ended up being more braver than he was. The sword at his side felt heavy and weighed him down. Biting his lip, he decided that enough was enough.

Drawing his sword, he charged forth, ready to meet the grimm with his companion.

"RARGH!" He roared as he charged.

The giant grimm leapt at the stranger...who promptly punched a hole clean through its head.

"RARGHHHHHHHHHHHHehhhhhh?!"

Thomas' mighty battle cry turned into a confused strangle as he walked near. The stranger looked at his hand, now covered with Grimm gore and groaned.

"Damn it, now I gotta get this thing washed."

"...Okay, what the FUCK!" Thomas shouted.

"What?"

"Just...what the actual FUCK! How did you do that, how do you- EH?!" Thomas shouted incomphrensibly as he pointed to the dead grimm.

"I told you I can handle it." Thomas threw the sword away as he grasped his head.

"Yeah, but...what the...how did...wha..." Thomas stared at him as his thought process managed to calm itself down enough.

"How did you do that... No one should be able to one punch kill this thing..."

The stranger rubbed his chin before shrugging. "Well, I don't exactly know..."

"How do you don't know?!"

"But I do know how I managed to get powerful enough to do it..."

"R-really?"

"Yeah, you wanna learn how."

With that, Thomas nodded, ready to learn.

"Okay...What you need to do is..."

Thomas leaned in closer.

"100 push-ups, 100 sit-ups, 100 squats and 10 miles. Every single day without fail, for the next three years."

Thomas blinked.

"...BULLSHIT!"

"But that's what I did..."

"Fine, don't tell me. Pretty sure it's something that probably going to kill me..."

"So?"

Thomas stared at him.

"What do you mean so?"

"So? I'm pretty sure even if I told you something else, you would still disbelieve me. Point is, you wanna get stronger? Then fight that for that strength, and don't let anyone tell you that it's pointless or it's worthless..."

Thomas stared at him more, but in a different light. The stranger's words weren't the most poetic, and yet...Something in him felt changed.

"So...100 push-ups, 100 sit-ups, 100 squats, and 10 miles?"

"Yep."

"Every single day?"

"Yep."

"Even if I got a broken leg and/or arm?"

"Yep."

"Okay..."