Wake Up As Ozpin

Waking up at his desk was becoming a disturbing trend.

Ozpin—no, him, the fraud—slowly lifted his face from the polished wood, wincing at the dull throb in his skull. His limbs were stiff. His mouth was dry. The first thing his brain registered, however, was the smell of coffee.

A fresh cup.

He turned his head ever so slightly.

Glynda.

Standing beside his desk, arms crossed, eyes sharp.

Oh.

Oh no.

"Good morning, Headmaster," she said, in the exact tone one would use for an interrogation.

Ozpin blinked. "…Morning?"

Her lips pressed into a thin line. "You passed out at your desk."

"Ah." He straightened slightly, adjusting his glasses. "That does sound like something I would do."

She did not look amused.

"Sir," she began, "do you recall the conversation we had yesterday?"

He stalled by taking a careful sip of coffee. It was still hot. Betrayal.

"Of course," he lied smoothly.

Her gaze sharpened. "Really? Then tell me—why did you attempt to schedule the Vytal Festival a full six months early?"

Ozpin choked.

He had done what?

Glynda's fingers tapped against her clipboard. "And why did you submit an equipment requisition form for, quote, 'a distressingly large number of grappling hooks'?"

…Okay, that one did sound like him.

She sighed, rubbing her temples. "Sir, I know you have a tendency to keep things close to the chest, but I am your deputy. If there is something wrong, you need to inform me."

Oh.

That was dangerous.

Because if there was one person who could actually see through him, it was Glynda Goodwitch.

He needed to change the subject. Fast.

"Professor Goodwitch," he said, lowering his voice slightly, "how do you feel about… the concept of fate?"

She blinked. "What?"

"Destiny," he mused, steepling his fingers. "The idea that certain events, certain decisions, are… inevitable."

A beat.

Her gaze flickered with suspicion. "Sir, are you stalling?"

Yes.

Absolutely.

Without hesitation.

He smiled, calm and unreadable. "Of course not."

Her eyes narrowed.

He took another sip of coffee.

She sighed. "…If you overwork yourself to the point of collapse again, I will take disciplinary action."

Oh?

He tilted his head. "Would you really punish your beloved Headmaster?"

"Yes," she said without hesitation.

Ah.

Not unexpected.

"Understood," he said smoothly. "I shall endeavor to pace myself."

She obviously didn't believe him, but she nodded anyway. "Good. Now, the students are waiting for your morning address."

Pause.

His what.

"Ah, yes," he said, stalling. "The… morning address."

She frowned. "You did prepare one, didn't you?"

"Naturally."

Another pause.

He had not.

Glynda sighed and handed him a sheet of paper.

"Here. I prepared one."

Oh.

She was an angel. A terrifying angel with no patience for nonsense, but an angel nonetheless.

He took the speech with a nod, quickly scanning it. Generic welcome statements, encouragement, something about responsibility—

Boring.

He folded it neatly. Set it aside.

"Sir?" Glynda asked warily.

He stood, picking up his coffee. "I have a better idea."

Her eye twitched. "Sir—"

But he was already walking out.

---

Beacon's auditorium was filled with students, buzzing with early-morning energy. Teams RWBY, JNPR, CFVY—faces he recognized, all gathered.

He strode to the podium, feeling entirely unqualified for this moment.

They expect Ozpin.

They expect wisdom.

They expect cryptic nonsense that sounds important.

He cleared his throat.

"Good morning, students."

Silence fell.

He glanced down at the speech Glynda had written.

Then tossed it over his shoulder.

A very quiet gasp came from somewhere offstage. Glynda, most likely.

He placed his hands on the podium.

"I could stand here and tell you about duty. About honor. About the weight of responsibility that comes with becoming a Huntsman or Huntress."

He let the silence stretch.

Then he smiled.

"But instead, I'll just say this—don't die."

A few students blinked. Someone coughed.

"I mean it," he continued, voice calm. "Dying is terrible. Highly inconvenient. And paperwork? Even worse."

More students shifted, uncertain.

Ren subtly nodded, as if taking notes.

Ozpin pressed forward. "You will all face challenges this year. Difficulties. Trials. Mistakes."

He adjusted his glasses.

"And that's fine."

The room was still.

"You are here to learn. To train. To prepare for the dangers beyond these walls. You will fail at times. You will struggle. But as long as you keep moving forward—one step at a time—you will improve."

A pause.

"Also, try not to punch your teammates in the face. That usually helps."

A snort from Yang. A chuckle from Sun.

Good.

He stepped back. "That is all. Welcome to Beacon."

Scattered applause. Confused, but accepting.

Glynda looked like she wanted to strangle him.

He grinned.

Step Thirty-Seven: Survive Another Day.