Hyunwoo Kim was a writer — and a good one at that. The kind who noticed every detail, every nuance, just to spin it into a story worth remembering.

Last night, he'd finally finished the epilogue of his latest novel. After months of late nights and caffeine abuse, he hit "Save" with a satisfied click.

Feeling oddly victorious, he decided to reward himself with a snack from the convenience store down the street.

It was past midnight. His eyes burned from twelve hours of screen time, his body was running on fumes, and his mind was drifting somewhere between "food" and "bed."

Which was why he didn't notice the blinding headlights until—

BAAAM!

Pain, shock, and the deafening screech of metal on asphalt. The world turned white, then black. No last words. No dramatic farewell. Just... nothing.

Until now.

Hyunwoo's eyes flickered open.

Above him, an unfamiliar ceiling greeted him — not the clean, white plaster of his apartment, but an old wooden roof, its beams warped and darkened with age. The smell of dust and faint pine lingered in the air.

...This isn't my room.

He sat up slowly, scanning the place. The room was small, dimly lit by sunlight leaking through thin curtains. The furniture looked handmade — rough edges, uneven legs, everything creaking if you stared at it too long. There was no hum of electronics, no city noise outside, just silence broken by the occasional creak of wood settling.

His gaze landed on a small table near the door. On it sat a single framed photo.

Three people stood together — a man with a warm smile, a woman with sharp but kind eyes, and between them... a boy, maybe twelve or thirteen. Hyunwoo froze. The boy's face was almost identical to his own.

Printed neatly on the frame's border:

Hyun Kim

Yena Lee

Hyunwoo Kim

"...That's... my name."

He looked away, trying to steady his breathing, when something on the wall caught his attention — a weapon. Not a hunting rifle or a kitchen knife, but a long, polished spear. Its metal gleamed faintly in the dim light.

Below it, half-buried under a stack of papers, lay a sealed envelope. The name on it read:

Graduation Certificate — Hyun Kim

Curiosity prickled at him. He picked it up, tore the seal open, and unfolded the paper.

Beacon Academy.

His mind went blank.

Wait... is it...?

The thought slammed into him like a freight train. Without another word, he dropped the letter and headed straight for the door.

Outside, the air was cool and still. He stepped into the yard, tilting his head back. Only one thing could confirm his suspicion.

There it was.

A broken moon, hanging over the night sky like a shattered ornament.

Hyunwoo's eyes widened, his stomach sinking. "...You've got to be kidding me."

He stood there for a long moment, staring up at the fractured celestial body.

"...Truck-kun, you absolute menace," he muttered, running a hand down his face. "Of all the worlds you could've sent me to... you picked this death trap."

The night air was cold, biting at his skin. He let out a long breath and turned back toward the house — or hut, really. If the outside was anything to go by, this place wasn't built for comfort, just for living.

Stepping inside again, his gaze landed on the letter he had dropped earlier. It lay open on the table, the neat handwriting staring back at him.

Graduation Certificate — Hyun Kim

He picked it up again, his eyes scanning the name.

"...Hyun Kim," he murmured. "Who is that? This body's father?"

The question barely left his lips before a sharp, splitting pain stabbed through his skull.

"Ugh—!"

He stumbled, clutching his head as heat spread behind his eyes. The room seemed to blur, and then—

Images. Voices. Feelings.

A man's laughter, deep and warm. A woman's scolding tone, followed by a gentle touch on the head. Training in a dusty yard, the weight of a spear in his hands. The smell of smoke and the sound of something howling in the distance.

Memories that weren't his, flooding in all at once.

Hyunwoo gasped for air, gripping the edge of the table until his knuckles turned white.

These aren't... mine.

When the rush finally eased, he slumped into the nearest chair, heart pounding. His mind was spinning, but one thing was now certain — he wasn't just in Remnant. He was living someone else's life.

When the rush finally eased, he slumped into the nearest chair, heart pounding. His mind was spinning, but one thing was now certain — he wasn't just in Remnant. He was living someone else's life.

Bits and pieces of those memories began slotting into place, forming a rough picture.

Hyun Kim — the man from the photo — wasn't just anyone. He had been a Hunter. Not just some rookie graduate, either. The kind of Hunter whose name got mentioned in taverns, on radio chatter, and in whispered stories among trainees. Skilled, respected... maybe even feared.

And then, just as suddenly, gone.

A mission outside the Kingdom. Reports said it was a routine extermination. It should have been easy. But he never came back. No body, no grave. Just an official letter, a few words of "service and sacrifice," and a grieving family left behind, also the spear of his.

Hyunwoo rubbed his temples, the weight of that knowledge pressing down on him.

Great. So I've inherited the body of a dead Hunter's son. In RWBY. Surrounded by Grimm. And my only weapon is... He glanced at the spear on the wall. ...a pointy stick.

He leaned back, letting out a humorless laugh. "Fantastic. Not even twenty-four hours in this world and I've already got 'tragic backstory' checked off the list."

Still, the memories gave him something else — a sense of the life this boy had lived. The training sessions in the yard, the awkward attempts to imitate his father's spear techniques, the stubborn determination that never quite matched the results.

Hyunwoo exhaled slowly.

"Alright... Hyun Kim. Guess I'm your son now. And if I want to survive in this world... I'd better figure out how you did it."

Hyunwoo stayed seated for a moment, letting the quiet of the hut sink in. The air felt heavier now, as if the memories had changed the room itself.

But sitting around wouldn't answer his questions — or keep him alive.

He pushed himself up and started looking around properly. The hut was simple, but it had the kind of organization that spoke of someone who lived with purpose. A small shelf stacked with books — most of them about Huntsman training, Grimm anatomy, and survival tactics. A wooden chest in the corner, its lid slightly ajar, revealing neatly folded clothes and a few pouches of dust crystals.

Then there was the spear on the wall. Up close, it was more than "a pointy stick." The craftsmanship was precise, the shaft reinforced with a metal core, the tip sharpened to a lethal gleam. Hyunwoo could almost feel the weight of experience in it.

On a side table, another stack of papers caught his attention. Some were simple letters, others were folded maps marked with inked trails. One, in particular, had a faint stain across the corner — a mission request form. The date put it just days before Hyun Kim's disappearance.

Hyunwoo narrowed his eyes. "So... not exactly the 'routine extermination' they wrote in the official story."

He kept searching. A small leather-bound notebook sat tucked behind the books. Flipping through it revealed quick sketches of Grimm, notes on their weak points, and a few scattered lines of what looked like personal thoughts. The last page ended abruptly:

If I don't come back, tell Yena and Hyunwoo... I'm sorry.

Hyunwoo's chest tightened. He shut the notebook and set it down gently.

"Alright, Dad... I'll take the hint. You left me homework."

He glanced at the spear again. "And... I guess a training arc."

As the inherited memories settled in his head, more of the boy's life came into focus. His father, Hyun Kim, a respected Hunter... gone without a trace. His mother, Yena Lee, who tried to keep things together after her husband's disappearance... only to fall ill and pass away barely a month later.

Hyunwoo exhaled through his nose. "...Orphaned in two months. Yep. Definitely ticking every tragic backstory box now."

He kept searching, opening drawers and pulling books from shelves. That's when he noticed it — a plain, leather-bound book wedged between heavier tomes. Its cover was worn, but the words on it were clear:

For My Son

Hyunwoo's breath caught for a second. He pulled it out and flipped it open.

Inside were pages filled with neat, precise handwriting, diagrams of stances, footwork patterns, and detailed illustrations of spear techniques. Notes in the margins explained when to strike, when to feint, and when to run.

It wasn't just a training manual. It was a guide — a distillation of years of experience, written for someone Hyun Kim had fully expected to teach himself.

Hyunwoo closed the book slowly, his fingers lingering on the cover.

"...Guess I know what I'm doing tomorrow."

He glanced at the spear hanging on the wall.

"Alright, Dad. Let's see if I can survive long enough to make you proud."

___

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The next morning, the sunlight slipping through the curtains pulled Hyunwoo from sleep. For a few seconds, he half-expected to hear the hum of his old apartment fridge or the faint traffic outside. Instead, there was only birdsong and the smell of wood..

Reality returned in pieces — the wooden hut, the family photo, the broken moon, the memories of a boy whose life had been cut in half. And the book.

He sat at the table, the leather-bound manual open in front of him. His photographic memory — the one he'd honed over years as a writer, observing and storing details without realizing — had already burned the pages into his mind. He could see the diagrams in perfect clarity even with his eyes closed.

Didn't mean he could actually do them.

Taking the spear from the wall, Hyunwoo stepped outside. The yard was small but open enough for practice. He flipped through the images in his head, planted his feet, and tried the first stance.

"Okay... right foot forward, weight balanced, spear angled just above the shoulder—"

The tip dipped. He readjusted. His grip felt wrong.

"Alright... maybe like this—"

The spear slipped in his hands, smacking the ground with a loud thunk.

"...Off to a great start."

He tried again, this time moving into the first thrust combination. His memory gave him the exact sequence: a sharp step forward, spear tip aimed at the target, twist to redirect momentum, and follow-up strike.

On paper, perfect. In reality...

Thwack!

The butt of the spear bounced off the ground, jarring his wrists and nearly making him drop it.

Hyunwoo stared at the weapon, deadpan. "Wow. I can remember every detail of a battle technique, but my body moves like a drunk scarecrow."

Still, he kept going. Hour after hour, stance after stance, repeating the movements until his arms ached and his shoulders burned. By the time the sun was high, sweat was dripping down his back, and his strikes — while still sloppy — were at least hitting in the right direction.

He leaned on the spear, catching his breath.

"Alright, Dad... if you're watching, try not to laugh too hard. I'll get there."

Hyunwoo didn't stop.

The sun dipped lower, shadows stretching across the yard, but he kept swinging, thrusting, and stepping through the sequences burned into his mind. His body complained with every movement — wrists sore, shoulders tight, legs aching — but he pushed on.

Again.

Right foot forward, spear angled above the shoulder. Step, thrust, twist, follow-up strike. Reset. Repeat.

The mistakes got smaller. The tip stopped dipping as much. His stance felt less like he was about to fall over. But perfection? He was still far from it.

By the time the moon — fractured and eerie — hung high in the sky, Hyunwoo was drenched in sweat. His breathing was ragged, but his grip on the spear was steady.

He looked up at the broken moon and let out a dry chuckle. "If I don't die from Grimm, I'll die from muscle failure."

Finally, he stumbled back inside, leaned the spear against the wall, and collapsed onto the bed. Sleep hit him almost instantly.

_________

The next day Hyunwoo woke with a groan, his back and shoulders protesting every attempt to move. Last night's stubborn training had left him sore from head to toe, but he didn't care. Pain meant progress — at least, that's what he told himself as he dragged his legs off the bed.

Today wasn't just about swinging a spear until his arms gave out.

Today, he wanted to confirm something bigger.

Aura. Semblance.

In the fragmented memories he'd inherited from this body, he remembered how aura felt — a subtle hum under the skin, like a faint second heartbeat. He stepped outside into the crisp morning air, the grass wet and cool beneath his bare feet. Closing his eyes, he slowed his breathing and reached inward.

There. A quiet warmth at his core, steady and patient, as if it had been waiting for him to acknowledge it. Aura.

But semblance... that was personal. It wasn't something anyone could teach him — it was an extension of who he was.

And who was he?

In his old life, Hyunwoo had been an observer. Not in a poetic, "I see the beauty in the world" way, but in a cold, calculating way. He noticed everything — the way a person's shoulders tensed before they swung, the half-step they took before committing to a strike, the tiny rhythm in their breathing. He could store those details in his mind and recall them perfectly.

That was photographic memory — a habit, a skill, sharpened by years of obsessive observation.

But semblance?

Semblance wasn't just memory. It was the soul doing something with it.

He focused harder, aura pulsing through him. For a moment, nothing happened. Then — click.

Something shifted inside his mind, like a lens snapping into place.

The world sharpened.

The swaying of leaves slowed just enough for him to count each movement. The way sunlight shimmered along the edge of his spear became almost painfully clear. Even the faint shift in the air when he adjusted his grip felt different — recorded in perfect detail, then translated straight into action.

Without thinking, his body slid into a stance he had only seen once — a flash from his father's old hunts. His muscles remembered nothing, but his soul made them move as if they did.

He thrust the spear forward — clean, precise, powerful. No hesitation.

Hyunwoo froze, heart pounding.

"...No way."

He tried again, this time recalling a technique from the book his father had left. His body flowed through it without a single mistake. Then another — something from a sparring memory with one of his father's friends. Again, perfect.

A slow grin crept onto his face.

"My semblance... lets me perfectly copy anything I see."

Excitement surged through him. This was it. The kind of edge people dreamed of.

He looked around, spotting a low-hanging branch. In his memory, he'd seen a huntsman vault up a tree with a single kick. Easy.

He charged, planting a foot against the trunk and launching upward.

—And barely got halfway before his leg buckled, and he landed flat on his back.

"...Ow."

Lying there, staring at the sky, the realization hit him.

The movement was perfect. The result? Not even close.

He could mimic the form of the huntsman's leap, but without the raw strength and explosiveness in his legs, the jump was pathetic. If his body wasn't at the level to execute the move, his semblance wouldn't magically fill the gap.

He sat up, rubbing his back, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

"Alright... so I still have to train like hell. Good. Would've been boring if it was too easy."

He picked up the spear, eyes on the morning horizon.

One step at a time — but every step, perfect.

Hyunwoo didn't stop after the embarrassing tree incident.

If anything, it lit a fire in him.

The rest of the morning was spent in relentless repetition — spear sweeps, lunges, thrusts, and footwork patterns pulled straight from the worn pages of For My Son. His semblance allowed him to remember every motion perfectly, but that didn't mean his muscles could execute them flawlessly. Every time his arms trembled or his stance faltered, he started the sequence over.

By noon, sweat streamed down his face, his breathing heavy but steady. His father's style was deceptively simple on the surface — wide, deliberate arcs and precise thrusts — but every movement carried intent, weight, and timing. It wasn't about flash; it was about ending a fight before it began.

When the sun started to dip westward, Hyunwoo finally lowered the spear and rolled his shoulders. His stomach growled in protest.

The nearby village wasn't far, so he made the trip down the dirt path, boots crunching against scattered gravel. Vale was quiet this time of day, its small market humming with casual chatter. He passed stalls of fresh produce, baked bread, and dried meats, stopping here and there to pick up what he needed.

Thanks to his father's career as a hunter, money wasn't an issue — for now. Hyunwoo knew the pouch of lien wouldn't refill itself, but it would last him until he found his footing.

That was when something on the notice board caught his eye.

A poster.

Entrance to Beacon Academy — 2 Months Later

The bold lettering seemed almost to stare back at him. Hyunwoo stood still for a moment, letting the thought settle. Two months wasn't much time — not to master every skill, not to become invincible — but for his father's spear technique? For that, it was enough.

"...Two months," he murmured, almost to himself. His grip on the bag tightened. "That's all I need."

He turned away, the decision already made. For the next sixty days, he would live and breathe that spear style until it was carved into his bones.

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The next morning, Hyunwoo woke before sunrise.

The air outside was cold enough to sting, but that suited him fine. He stepped into the clearing behind the hut, spear in hand, and began.

The first few hours were slow — deliberate. He drilled the opening sequence from the book over and over: step forward, twist the hips, thrust. The move looked easy on paper, but in practice, it was a war between balance and power.

Every time his stance wobbled, he reset. Every time the thrust lacked bite, he repeated it until the sound of the spear cutting air was sharp enough to satisfy him.

His photographic memory replayed his father's illustrations and notes perfectly, as if the pages hovered in front of him. His semblance helps his body to move the movement as much as he could. But memory and semblance alone couldn't make his body stronger — that was where the work came in.

By midday, his hands were raw from gripping the shaft. He wrapped them in strips of cloth before continuing.

Day by day, patterns began to click.

The subtle way his front foot slid just before a lunge to keep balance.

The snap of the wrists at the end of a sweep that added unexpected speed.

How shifting his weight forward a fraction earlier made his thrusts hit harder.

He didn't master them instantly, but each tiny improvement stacked up like bricks in a wall.

When fatigue set in, he reminded himself of one thing: This isn't about being good. It's about being so good it's instinct.

The days blurred together. Morning drills, short breaks for meals, afternoon practice until his shoulders burned, and nights spent reading the spear manual by candlelight. The routine was grueling, but Hyunwoo welcomed it — it kept his mind sharp and his body moving.

By the end of the first week, he could feel it. His movements weren't perfect, but they no longer felt foreign. The spear was starting to feel less like a weapon in his hands and more like an extension of himself.

Standing in the fading light, Hyunwoo planted the spear butt into the dirt and looked toward Vale in the distance.

"Two months," he whispered again, this time with a small, confident smirk.

Week 1–2

Morning: spear drills.

Afternoon: footwork.

Evening: collapse.

Hyunwoo would swing the spear flawlessly — the tip cutting the air with perfect precision — only for his knees to wobble and his arms to feel like they were made of wet laundry.

"Damn it..." he groaned, lying flat on the dirt after a session. "My brain's a genius, but my body's an idiot."

Sometimes he'd try a flashy spin from the manual, only to trip on his own feet and land face-first. The forest squirrels started watching from the trees. He swore they were judging him.

⸻

Week 3–4

He stopped trying to do everything at once.

Morning: strength training — push-ups, squats, holding heavy logs until his arms shook.

Afternoon: spear drills with slowed movements, focusing on control.

Evening: running until his lungs burned.

By the end of week 4, he could do the same moves without his legs giving out. The squirrels didn't leave anymore — he pretended they were his "audience."

"See that? Perfect form," he told them once. One of them promptly threw an acorn at him.

⸻

Week 5–6

His body began catching up. The once-clumsy spins flowed naturally. His steps felt light, and each strike snapped forward with power. Even without aura, the impact of his thrusts could shake the dummy.

He started to experiment — chaining moves together, seeing how far his stamina could last.

By the end of week 6, he could keep his form for over an hour without breaking rhythm.

"Hah... not bad." He wiped his sweat, smirking at his reflection in a bucket of water. "Still a long way to go, though."

⸻

Week 7–8 – The Flow State

The grind became habit. He'd wake before sunrise, train until his shirt was soaked, then eat a quick meal before going again. The technique wasn't just copied anymore — it was becoming his.

He could transition between defensive and offensive stances without thinking, feint mid-swing, and recover instantly from failed moves.

At night, he'd read through the manual again, committing every detail deeper into his mind, even though he already remembered it perfectly. It wasn't about memorizing now — it was about owning it.

By the end of the two months, his strikes were fast, his stance unshakable, and his footwork sharp enough to make even a trained fighter sweat. He wasn't just a guy with perfect memory anymore.

He was a fighter in the making.

_____________

The morning sun warmed the small village of Vale as Hyunwoo made his way toward the market.

Two months of relentless training had sharpened his body and mind — the spear now felt like a natural extension of himself. His muscles no longer trembled with exhaustion after each move, and his breathing was steady even after the longest drills.

Passing familiar stalls, he noticed a crowd gathered near the notice board. Curious, he approached and saw the poster that had been there the day he arrived — but now it felt different.

Entrance to Beacon Academy —Today

The bold letters stood out like a challenge, demanding attention. Hyunwoo's eyes narrowed.

Two months. The exact amount of time he'd just spent honing himself, building the strength and skill he'd need to even survive the Academy's trials.

His jaw tightened.

"This is it," he whispered. "The next step."

A breeze fluttered the edges of the poster as he reached out and touched the paper lightly.

He wasn't the same person who had first opened his eyes in that strange wooden hut.

Whatever waited beyond those gates, he was ready.

____

It took only thirty minutes for the Bullhead to reach Beacon Academy.

From his seat, Hyunwoo had watched the school rise out of the mountains like a dream made stone and glass — towering spires, elegant arches, and walls that gleamed in the sunlight. The photos didn't do it justice. The sprawling grounds stretched wide, with manicured gardens, training fields, and the distant shimmer of the city beyond.

As the Bullhead settled onto the landing platform, Hyunwoo was the last to step out. He lingered a moment, taking slow, steady steps forward, mesmerized by the grandeur of the place.

It's been two months, he thought, disbelief mixing with a cautious pride. Two months of nothing but training, and here I am.

The cobblestone road beneath his feet was warm from the midday sun. He hadn't yet stopped to fully breathe it in when —

BOOM!

A loud explosion cracked through the air nearby.

Hyunwoo spun toward the noise and saw a thick plume of red smoke rising, dust and debris settling from the blast. His eyes narrowed as two figures emerged from the haze.

One was unmistakable — a girl with silver eyes and neck-length black hair tipped with red, moving quickly but with a hint of clumsiness. Ruby Rose.

The other was a pale-skinned girl with striking light blue eyes and long white hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. A long vertical scar ran down across her left eye — Weiss Schnee.

The pale girl's voice rang out sharply, scolding the other.

"Are you serious? That's my Dust briefcase! How could you just slip on it like that?"

Ruby's panic grew. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to—I just tripped!"

Weiss narrowed her eyes, folding her arms.

"Sorry? Do you even know what this is? Dust is the power source for all weapons and technology! You treat it like some trinket, but it controls elements—fire, ice, lightning. If this breaks, you could be putting everyone in danger."

Ruby swallowed nervously, nodding quickly as Weiss launched into a lecture about the importance of Dust, how it's carefully handled, and the chaos that can come from carelessness.

Hyunwoo watched quietly, absorbing the scene — a tense introduction that hinted at the complex world he had just entered.

Ruby's cheeks flushed, a flicker of annoyance flashing in her eyes.

"I said I'm sorry, princess."

Before Weiss could retort, another voice cut in sharply.

"Heiress, actually."

A girl stepped forward from the nearby shadows — long black hair, piercing yellow eyes, and a simple black bow perched atop her head.

Blake Belladonna gave Ruby a pointed look.

"That's Weiss Schnee. Heiress to the Schnee Dust Company."

Ruby blinked, glancing between Weiss and Blake.

Weiss folded her arms, a hint of satisfaction crossing her face.

"Finally, some recognition."

But Blake's expression darkened.

"The same company infamous for its controversial labor forces and questionable business partners."

Weiss's eyes flared with anger, her voice rising as Ruby stifled a chuckle.

"Wha— How dare— The nerve of... Ugh!"

She stepped forward, invading Blake's space, snatching a bottle from her hands. With a huff, Weiss turned on her heel and strode off, her personal attendants quickly gathering luggage and following close behind.

Ruby called after her, still apologetic,

"I promise I'll make this up to you!"

Sighing, she dropped to the ground on her back, staring up at the sky.

"I guess, Welcome to Beacon..."

Her gaze shifted as Blake walked away as well. Ruby stayed like that for a moment until a shadow fell over her.

Hyunwoo extended his hand quietly.

"Sucks for the first day?"

Hyunwoo helped Ruby to her feet, brushing some dust off her jacket.

Hyunwoo looked at her and said,

"I'm Hyunwoo Kim. What's your name?"

Ruby blinked, caught off guard for a moment. Then she smiled softly,

"Ruby. Ruby Rose."

There was a brief pause, the sounds of the busy campus filling the space between them.

"Nice to meet you, Ruby," Hyunwoo said, offering a small nod.

Ruby's cheeks tinged pink as she replied quietly,

"Nice to meet you too, Hyunwoo."

Neither of them quite knew what to say next, but somehow that was okay.

Ruby avoided eye contact for a moment, clearly a bit flustered. She rubbed the back of her neck and cleared her throat.

"So... uh... weapons, right?" she said, trying to change the subject quickly. "I mean, that explosion back there? That was Dust in action — elemental power channeled into weapons and tech. It's kind of my thing."

Hyunwoo nodded, intrigued. "Yeah? I've been training with a spear, trying to get the hang of it. What kind of weapon do you use?"

Ruby's silver eyes lit up, and a shy smile appeared. "A scythe. But it's not just any scythe — it transforms into a high-caliber sniper rifle."

Hyunwoo raised an eyebrow. "That's... pretty amazing."

She shrugged, still awkward but warming up. "I'm still figuring it out myself. I don't really know much about the other students here yet. That pale girl from the explosion? No idea who she was."

Hyunwoo glanced back toward where Weiss had gone, but didn't push. "Sounds like Beacon's full of surprises."

Ruby nodded. "Yeah. It's weird, but I think I'm gonna like it here... once I get used to it."

They stood there for a moment, the noise of the campus buzzing around them.

"So," Ruby said, breaking the silence, "what brought you here?"

Hyunwoo smiled, gripping his spear. "A long story. But it's about time I stopped running from it."

"Oh..., is that something about bad past?"

Hyunwoo shrugged

"Maybe? but it's not that bad to be a burden."

He said, as he realized new students started to dissapear.

"We should move too."

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