Wake Up As Ozpin

Ozpin—some random guy pretending to be Ozpin—stood across from Yang Xiao Long in a Beacon training room, cane in hand, about to make the worst decision of his life.

Because here was the problem:

Yang was strong. Stupidly strong.And he? Was not.

If she landed a clean hit, he was going through a wall. Possibly multiple walls.

But he couldn't back out now.No. He had tricked her into this.

Step Fifty-One: Survive.

Step Fifty-Two: Do Not Get Exposed.

Step Fifty-Three: Somehow Come Off as a Combat God.

Easy, right?

...Oh, he was so screwed.

---

Step Fifty-Four: The Opening Move

Yang cracked her knuckles, grinning. "Alright, Headmaster, you sure about this?"

Absolutely not.

"Of course," Ozpin said smoothly, twirling his cane like he knew how to use it.

Yang's smirk widened. "Alright then—try to keep up!"

She shot forward like a missile.

Oh crap oh crap oh crap—

His body moved on instinct.

Not his instinct—Ozpin's instinct.

Because just as Yang's fist should have caved his ribs in, his feet slid back in a perfectly timed retreat, like a practiced duelist measuring distance.

To Yang, it looked like effortless evasion.

To him, it was pure survival.

Yang blinked. "Huh. Fast."

Ozpin steepled his fingers behind his back. "Is that all?"

Step Fifty-Five: Taunt with Confidence to Establish Dominance.

Yang grinned. "Oh, you are so asking for it."

She rushed in again, launching a flurry of rapid punches.

He did not dodge.

No—he sidestepped. Shifted. Tilted at the perfect angles. Every strike missed him by mere inches.

To the outside observer? It was masterful.

To him?

Panic. Sheer panic.

Yang let out an impressed whistle as she pulled back. "Okay, I get it. You're a counter-fighter."

Ozpin hummed, making a thoughtful noise as if that was completely intentional.

"One must know when to strike…" He adjusted his glasses. "…and when to let the opponent defeat themselves."

Yang tilted her head. "That sounds like a fancy way of saying 'let them punch themselves out'."

He smiled enigmatically. "Perhaps."

Step Fifty-Six: Bullsh*t With Authority.

---

Step Fifty-Seven: The Illusion of Control

Yang's smirk returned. "Alright, let's see how you handle this—"

Her fists ignited.

Oh no.

She lunged.

OH NO.

This time, she changed it up—feints, redirections, unpredictability.

…Which meant he had to change it up.

So he did the only thing he could do—

He started redirecting.

The first strike came in—he nudged it aside with his cane, the impact sliding off him like he'd done this a thousand times.

Another punch—he deflected, guiding her force past him like flowing water.

She threw a feint—he didn't fall for it.

His brain caught up with what he was doing.

…Holy crap, I'm doing it.

To Yang, it looked effortless. Like some kind of immaculate battle foresight.

To him, it was barely-contained survival instinct.

Yang grinned. "Man, no wonder Glynda respects you."

Pause.

Wait, she does?

He kept his expression unreadable. "I should hope so."

Step Fifty-Eight: Let the Enemy Build Their Own Myth.

---

Step Fifty-Nine: The Power Move

Yang slid back, shaking out her arms. "Alright, alright—you're good."

Ozpin tilted his head. "Was that in question?"

She laughed. "Nah, but I was wondering if you were rusty. Guess not."

…He was so rusty.

He steepled his fingers, pretending to be deep in thought. "Perhaps you should attempt a new strategy."

Yang rolled her shoulders. "Oh, I've got one."

She launched herself forward.

He knew he wouldn't dodge in time.

He knew if he tried to block it, he was done.

So—

He countered.

The moment she reached him, he stepped forward, disrupting her momentum, twisting past her guard—

—and gently tapped her side with his cane.

A perfect counter-strike.

A masterful display of control.

Yang froze.

The room was dead silent.

She looked down at the cane pressed lightly to her ribs.

Then she whistled. "Well, damn."

Ozpin stepped back, folding his hands behind him. "Yield?"

Yang grinned, holding her hands up. "Alright, alright, you got me."

Oh my god, it worked.

Step Sixty: Convince the Opponent They Lost.

---

Step Sixty-One: The Aftermath

As Yang grabbed her jacket, she shot him a look. "So, do you even train anymore, or are you just that good?"

He smiled. "Training never ends, Miss Xiao Long."

Which was technically true, because he needed to figure out how to actually fight before someone more dangerous challenged him.

Yang chuckled. "Well, that was fun. Wouldn't mind a rematch sometime."

Internally, he screamed.

Externally, he nodded. "Perhaps."

She left, giving him a two-fingered salute.

The door shut.

Silence.

Ozpin exhaled.

Step Sixty-Two: Collapse Gracefully.

He sat down, ran a hand down his face, and let out a deep, exhausted sigh.

"That was terrifying."

But—

He smiled.

Step Sixty-Three: The Illusion Holds.