My name is Jaune Arc, and I have to confess—I've gotten myself into quite a mess. Tomorrow, I have to report to the collection point, where I'll be transported by plane to Beacon Academy.

Me! A guy whose only combat experience comes from stories about my ancestors.

I got up from bed, unable to sleep. Staring idly at the ceiling wasn't helping, so I walked over to the shelf where the family heirloom lay: a beautiful sword that belonged to my great-great-grandfather during the Great War.

I picked it up, holding it in my hand, marveling at its lightness and how perfectly it fit my grip. I gave it a few experimental swings before speaking aloud, almost without thinking:

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"Well, buddy, we're going to be spending a lot of time together. Here's hoping for a fruitful cooperation."

Talking to a sword? Gosh, I must really be losing it.

I stared at the blade for a moment longer before putting it back in its place. My bag was sitting on the floor next to the bed. If I couldn't sleep anyway, I might as well double-check that I'd packed everything I needed.

After going through my luggage twice, drinking two glasses of milk, and brushing my teeth again, I finally decided to give sleep another try.

The last thought that went through my mind as I drifted off was something my relatives always said:

If you fail at Beacon, it's not a big deal. After all, there are plenty of other things you can do.

I chuckled softly to myself.

"Heh, we'll see."