Wake Up As Ozpin

The morning of the combat demonstration arrived far too quickly.

Ozpin—no, him, just him, some random guy—stood at the edge of the Beacon training grounds, cane in hand, absolutely terrified.

A sizable crowd had gathered: first-year students, second-years, and even some staff members. Why? Because apparently, the Headmaster of Beacon personally sparring was a rare event, and everyone wanted to see how the great and powerful Ozpin fought.

If only they knew.

Glynda stood beside him, scrolling through her tablet. "The students are eager to see you in action, sir."

"I bet they are," he thought, resisting the urge to fake a medical emergency.

"You'll be facing Miss Goodwitch first," she continued, eyes sharp.

He blinked. "What?"

She glanced up. "Did you forget? You always start these demonstrations with me. A warm-up, as you put it."

Warm-up? Fighting Glynda Goodwitch? A literal professional Huntress? With actual powers?

Oh, he was so dead.

He cleared his throat. "Of course. Just… give me a moment to prepare."

She gave him a skeptical look but stepped away, leaving him standing there, trying not to panic.

Alright. Think. I have three options.

Option One: Admit I have no idea what I'm doing and instantly destroy Ozpin's reputation. (Bad.)

Option Two: Run away, start a new life as a farmer. (Tempting, but also bad.)

Option Three: Fake it until I make it.

…Well, he'd made it this far. Might as well commit.

He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and decided: If I can't actually fight, I can at least pretend to be effortlessly untouchable.

His cane tapped against the ground as he stepped forward, posture relaxed, movements slow and deliberate. He projected confidence, the kind that said, "I know exactly what I'm doing," even if he very much did not.

Across from him, Glynda adjusted her glasses. "Ready when you are, sir."

He hummed, tilting his head slightly, as if considering something profound. "Miss Goodwitch, I trust you won't hold back?"

She smirked. "Of course not."

Oh crap.

She raised her riding crop, and before he could even blink, a barrage of telekinetic attacks shot toward him—stones, debris, even a metal training dummy.

"Crap Crap Crap Crap—"

He didn't move. Not because he was fearless, but because his body was frozen in sheer terror.

And then—by pure, unfiltered luck—the debris missed.

Or rather, it seemed like it missed.

Because at the last possible second, his foot shifted, his body tilted ever so slightly, and every projectile sailed past him by inches.

The crowd gasped.

Glynda's eyes narrowed. "Hmph. Impressive."

He stood there, perfectly still, pretending this was all part of the plan.

Internally, he was losing his mind.

"Did I just dodge by accident?! That was pure luck! But they think I did it on purpose! Oh my god, I can work with this!"

He exhaled slowly, adjusting his glasses. "You'll have to try harder than that, Miss Goodwitch."

She obliged.

The next wave came even faster, an onslaught of telekinetic force meant to knock him off his feet.

And yet—he stumbled at exactly the right moment, dodging another attack completely by mistake.

The students started whispering.

"Headmaster Ozpin is incredible!"

"I couldn't even see him move!"

"Is this what a legend looks like?!"

Glynda pursed her lips. "You are faster than usual."

He coughed into his fist. "Training."

Her eyes narrowed. "Very well."

She vanished in a blur, closing the distance between them.

Oh crap oh crap oh crap—

His instincts screamed, and he did the first thing that came to mind:

He dramatically leaned back, dodging her strike by a hair's breadth.

More gasps.

She pressed forward, her strikes precise—but every time, his sheer panic caused him to duck, stumble, and twist at just the right moment.

To everyone else, it looked like he was untouchable.

To him, it felt like he was about to die.

After what felt like an eternity, Glynda finally took a step back, adjusting her gloves.

"...Impressive, Headmaster."

He straightened, dusted off his suit, and offered the most mysterious, knowing smile he could manage.

"Why, thank you, Miss Goodwitch," he said, voice calm and unreadable, as if he hadn't just survived entirely on blind luck.

She eyed him. Suspiciously.

He maintained the façade.

Finally, she sighed. "That's enough for today. Students, take this as a lesson: true skill is not always about power, but precision."

The crowd erupted in cheers.

He barely kept himself from collapsing in relief.

—

Step Six: Never Do That Again.

Later, alone in his office, he flopped into his chair and let out the longest, most exhausted sigh of his life.

"Oh my god, I almost died."

He buried his face in his hands.

"I have to actually learn how to fight."

The problem was, he had no idea where to start.

He glanced at his cane, then at his reflection in the teacup.

"...How the hell did Ozpin even work this thing?"

With another sigh, he leaned back, staring at the ceiling.

Tomorrow's problem. Future him would deal with it.

For now?

He earned himself a nap.