Their relationship had started with training. Pyrrha was kind, patient, and skilled. Her rough, calloused hands pushed against his hips to tuck them beneath his spine as he finished the final blow with Crocea Mors; a powerful jab she'd come to appreciate.

Sweat ran down from his forehead in beads, running to his cheeks and jaws, then dripping off his bare chin to the gravel below. Some pooled in the pits of his shoulder muscles, while even more dripped down his chest and stomach, following the grooves that were just beginning to etch themselves beneath his skin. He was panting, tired from a previous late training session the night before, classes, the gym, homework, and their current training.

She always insisted that he train with his shirt off. "I need to see where your muscles are flexing. It's not just about the movement, but about the power." That's what she'd been taught by her instructors, but the words seemed hollow to her when she repeated them. Almost as if she didn't actually believe them. No, she had an ulterior motive she wouldn't even admit to herself in her most vulnerable of dreams.

"Chin up, Jaune. Concentrate. Your sword is an extension of your arm. You're not just swinging it… you're carving the air with your intent! Make it strong, powerful and graceful."

Jaune smiled, glad to perform the movements yet again. He was absolutely determined to get it right! She respected him for his persistence. Gone was the Jaune that tried to train in solitude out of preconceived notions of machismo. This man was hers to control, a force of bountiful, directionless Aura that screamed to be molded by experienced hands. She relished the challenge. And through it, their friendship grew ever stronger. Pyrrha couldn't believe anyone in the world would see her as more than just a champion- more than just a fighter. Jaune so easily called her his friend, it made butterflies take flight and fill her stomach with the flutter of hundreds of tiny wings.

Four more times he performed the carefully choreographed movements until she was satisfied with the performance.

"The intent is there. It's strong, powerful, and deadly- but would it falter?"

"That's perfect, Jaune! Now you can do it against an opponent." The redhead slipped off her hoodie, leaving it a pile of cloth on the floor. She was wearing only her inner layer of battle-wear. Neglected were the riveted metal or leather piece that shaped her so well- Jaune could never tell what material it was made out of and never had gathered the gall to ask. The vambrace, greaves, cuisses and heels were gone as well, exchanged for bare skin and comfortable sneakers. Her diadem still ornamented her head as always, framing her face as beautifully as a rainbow did the sky.

She used her semblance to summon Miló from its resting position on the ground near Akoúō, and expertly snatched it from its path as it sailed through the air with the finesse of a seamstress stitching a dress. With a flick of her wrist, it became the xiphos she preferred in close-quarter combat. She raised it to Jaune, showing him the respect a teacher would a student. "You're going to do the same thing. Faster. Harder. With more control. Understand, Jaune?"

The poor blond already looked uncomfortable, eyes darting from Pyrrha's, to her weapon, to his own sword and back again.

"Um, yeah. O- okay. Just block, okay?"

Pyrrha sighed internally.

"He'll have to learn eventually." She'd held her patience for this kind of passivity long enough. A new lesson must be taught and, more importantly, learned.

The exercise was a routine with ten strikes, two parries and a forearm bash interspersed within the flow of the sword. It'd taken him three days to memorize the moves without forgetting a step, and nearly a week to learn to execute them properly.

He tightened his hand around the grip of the sword, flexing a variety of muscles in his arm, shoulder and neck that attracted her eyes for just a moment. She tore her gaze away and instead locked onto blue irises with a piercing stare, ready to teach what subtlety had not.

Jaune started his first strike, a slash meant to test his adversary without exposing himself more than what was absolutely necessary. He hesitated.

With a slight shift to the left, she easily dodged the blade. He followed through, reflexes still not fast enough to stop his momentum. Pyrrha stripped him of his weapon with a flick of her wrist, and with a leg maliciously placed in the path of his leading foot, she tripped him. As he fell forward, she grabbed him by his waistband, pulling his weight back over his feet. She could see the look of gratitude on his face and felt terrible for him as she slammed him on his back on the gravel. She pointed both their weapons at his face sternly.

In school, Pyrrha was considered a 'nice' girl. She detested bullies and loved making her friends friends happy... but this rooftop was not school. It was a gladiator pit. It was the fire that had shaped her into the warrior she was today, and she would spare Jaune none of the blood, sweat and tears he'd cheated his way past when he'd made it into Beacon.

"Again."