CHAPTER TWELVE: REGISTRATION II

The monitor flickered to life, displaying a standard PRT registration form. Greg’s eyes skimmed over the fields: Cape Name, Known Abilities,

The monitor flickered to life, displaying a standard PRT registration form. Greg's eyes skimmed over the fields: Cape Name, Known Abilities, and Affiliation Status. Each one was a box waiting to be filled, and a decision made permanent.

Armsmaster's voice cut through the silence. "First, your designation."

Greg hesitated, his mouth slightly open, words failing him. He'd been thinking about this for a while, trying out different names in his head, running through lists of ideas, scrapping all of them. Nothing had quite stuck; the closest he'd come was the nonsense username he'd used online, and Void Cowboy wasn't exactly hero material.

Now, seated here under Armsmaster's scrutiny, with the pressure of legitimacy pressing down on him, he wished he had sorted the name issue long ago.

And, predictably, the voices in his head had opinions.

"Oh for—just pick something already!" Weiss snapped, exasperated.

"Something awesome," Yang urged.

"Ooh! Ooh! What about—" Ruby started excitedly, only to be abruptly cut off.

"Wait," Blake said, her voice uncharacteristically serious. The sudden shift in tone sent a ripple of tension through the mental space. "Greg… that name you mentioned earlier…"

Greg exhaled slowly. He let the name that had been floating in the back of his mind for days finally slip past his lips, the one that had just felt right every time he came back to it.

ARKNIGHT.

The moment the name left his lips and appeared on the screen, courtesy of Armsmaster, the voices in his head went completely, utterly silent. It was the mental equivalent of an entire room holding its breath, a blanket of unspoken realization settling over them all at once.

Then:

"Oh my days," Ruby whispered, barely audible.

"That's… not possible," Weiss murmured, her voice unusually soft, almost shaken.

"The similarities keep adding up," Blake said, sounding genuinely unnerved, like she was piecing together something she didn't want to acknowledge.

Greg frowned, thrown off by the reaction. Why were they suddenly acting so weird? It was just a name.

"Greg," Yang said slowly, her tone calm in a way that immediately put him on edge, "you realize you basically just named yourself 'Jaune Arc 2.0,' right?"

Greg blinked. "I… what? No, I just thought it sounded—"

"That's weird…" Ruby cut in, her tone oddly thoughtful. " Jaune never really picked a name, but if he did, I feel like it would've been something like that."

A strange chill ran down Greg's spine. He had never mentioned Jaune Arc when thinking about the name. He hadn't even considered it. But now that they were saying it, the connection seemed obvious. Too obvious.

Before he could dwell on it further, Armsmaster spoke: "Unconventional name. Any particular meaning?"

Greg swallowed. The words almost caught in his throat.

"…It just felt right," he said finally.

In his head, the silence stretched on, heavy and deafening.

Armsmaster gave a curt nod. "Next, ability disclosure. Initial reports suggest Brute classification."

Greg shifted in his seat. "It's… more complicated than that." He took a breath. "My Aura—the energy I wield—grants Brute durability and stamina, but I've also manifested Semblances… uh, specialized abilities. Four, to be exact." He deliberately left out the voices. That was definitely staying off the record for obvious reasons.

He didn't want to be seen as the second coming of the Butcher.

Armsmaster's visor dimmed slightly, a telltale sign of intensified focus. "Elaborate."

"First is high-speed movement… um, near-instant acceleration that lets me dash in any direction." Greg demonstrated with a flicker of motion, a blur of red petals trailing his hand. "Second is kinetic absorption. If I take a hit, anything from bullets to blunt force, I can store that energy and release it as a stronger attack."

Armsmaster's fingers hovered over the keyboard. "Mover and Brute sub-ratings confirmed. The others?"

Greg exhaled slowly. "The third is glyphs. I can generate symbols that enhance mobility: speed boosts, midair platforms, even temporary shielding and time dilation. They're versatile, but they take a second to appear, so I have to really concentrate or plan ahead."

"Shaker sub-rating with possible Mover applications," Armsmaster murmured, typing rapidly. "And the fourth?"

"Shadow clones. I can create an independent copy of myself. It moves like I do, fights like I do, but maintaining it takes effort. And if it gets hit too hard, it vanishes."

Armsmaster's visor tilted slightly, his only visible reaction. "An autonomous projection," he muttered. "That falls under the Master classification."

The clicking of keys stopped. Armsmaster's stillness was more unnerving than any visible reaction. Finally, he spoke. "You're describing a hybrid Brute/Mover/Shaker/Master profile." A weighted pause. "That's unprecedented for a natural trigger."

Greg's palms prickled. "I got lucky."

"Luck doesn't explain this." Armsmaster leaned forward, the console screen reflecting off his visor. "We'll need full power testing in a controlled condition."

A bead of sweat traced Greg's spine. That was exactly what he'd wanted to avoid.

Power testing had its benefits, he knew that. It could give him a clearer picture of his limits, help improve control over his Semblances, maybe even uncover abilities he hadn't realized he had.

But it also meant scrutiny.

Detailed observation. Experimentations. Experts dissecting every aspect of his abilities.

If they pushed too hard, he might slip, reacting to something only he could hear. He didn't know how his connection to Ruby, Weiss, Blake, and Yang even worked, let alone how to explain it without sounding insane.

Worse, he wasn't sure how far his abilities could go. He'd gotten by on instinct and little training so far, but under a microscope? If something unexpected happened, if his Semblances reacted in a way he hadn't accounted for, it would be on record. The PRT would notice. And once they started asking questions, they wouldn't stop.

Then there was the real danger: the PRT seeing too much. His powers didn't fit the usual mold; it was too weird even for Bet's standards. And if they put the pieces together, if they confirmed what they were already starting to suspect, being 'independent'wouldn't be an option anymore.

If they thought he was too powerful, too unstable, or too much of an unknown, they would step in. Maybe it would start with oversight, mandatory check-ins, stricter regulations. Maybe they'd push him toward joining the Wards, frame it as an opportunity, a responsibility. And if that didn't work? If they saw him as a risk they had to control?

They had ways of making sure he stayed contained.

His grip tightened on his knee. He had to be careful. Give them enough to avoid suspicion. Hold back enough to keep control. Play this just right.

Was he being paranoid? Maybe. The PRT heroes he'd met so far had been more reasonable than he expected, even downright chill at times. Maybe he was overthinking it. Maybe he was wrong.

But the echoes of every conspiracy theory he'd ever dug into whispered otherwise, urging caution.

Armsmaster moved on before he could respond. "Affiliation?"

"Uh… Independent."

A tap on the console, and the screen shifted to a waiver, dense with legalese. "Read this. Carefully."

Greg scanned the text: liability clauses, non-aggression agreements, restrictions on collateral damage. The fine print of heroism. His stomach twisted at one section:

The PRT reserves the right to reassess independent status if the cape in question demonstrates reckless endangerment of civilian lives and properties.

"They're covering their asses," Blake noted dryly. "Standard."

Greg exhaled sharply, then picked up the digital pen and signed on the small tablet Armsmaster had placed in front of him.

A chime sounded. Armsmaster stood. "Evaluation begins now."

Greg blinked. "Now?"

"You expected paperwork to be the hard part?" Armsmaster's tone was almost amused. He gestured to the door. "Testing room. Follow me."

The hallway felt longer this time, numbered doors passing in a blur. Greg's pulse thrummed in his ears. He'd imagined forms, maybe a lecture, not this.

The door hissed open. The room beyond was a wide, matted space lined with equipment racks and what looked like target dummies. And standing in the center, arms crossed was…

"Aegis?" Greg blurted out.

The Ward nodded. "Armsmaster said you'd need a sparring partner." He grinned. "Hope you're ready."

Armsmaster stepped back. "Begin."

Greg barely had time to brace before Aegis moved.