Jacques was a complicated man. No, Jacques was a complicated existence, he corrected himself with a smirk.
A walking contradiction. A paradox! Equal parts brilliance and arrogance, wrapped in an ego so sharp it could cut through steel and so big it could probably be seen from space.
But why shouldn't it be? He wasn't just Jacques Schnee, the richest guy on Remnant. No, he was Jack, the guy handpicked by the universe to be better than everyone else. A guy yanked from his boring-ass life and dropped into a world where he had more money and power than God.
And now? Now, he was living in a goddamn cartoon. Heroes, villains, giant robots. It was like someone mashed up all the nonsense he'd ever watched and said, "Here you go, buddy, have fun." He could almost hear the nerds back home bawling their eyes out while he lived their dream.
But that's what separated him from them, wasn't it?
They just sat around dreaming like losers. Jacques? Jacques does.
Sasuga Jacques-sama!
He smirked, leaning back in his stupidly expensive chair, running a hand through his perfect hair. Out the window, the Schnee estate stretched out like his own personal kingdom. People scurried around, clueless that the guy running the show was miles ahead of them in every possible way.
They didn't know it yet, but this world? It was his now.
But alas, a complicated man would no doubt have complicated feelings. And now, in the midst of stroking his ego-an ego well-deserving of stroking, mind you-Jacques…
Jacques was fucking seething.
This body's smirk vanished faster than the company stock when a scandal hit. The smug satisfaction of being king of the goddamn castle had been ripped away, leaving him gripping the arms of his chair like they owed him money.
The reason? His whole body hurt like a bitch.
Every. Single. Inch.
It felt like he'd been hit by a bus, run over by it, and then had the driver reverse for good measure. That fucking deer. Jacques could still feel the phantom weight of its stupid antlers smashing into his ribs or the stars he saw every time the damn oversized donkey tried to kick his head off.
An entire hour! A whole goddamn hour spent locked in a brawl with that behemoth mule, surrounded by an arena that practically fell apart because the four-legged mutt decided to bash its head into the Dust containers. Fire, smoke, and rubble everywhere, and there he was, trying to fight and avoid being blown to smithereens by the dust around him.
Sixty minutes of punching, kicks, and trying not to die while the thing acted like a bull on steroids. Jacques was starting to think the Tranquil Deer wasn't some legendary shikigami. It was just a pissed-off mascot for a demolition crew.
There had been nothing Tranquil about that bloody thing.
But as expected of a man of greatness like him, victory was assured by his mere existence. After what felt like an eternity, the damn beast had finally run out of energy. Jacques, being the absolute legend that he was, beat the Tranquil Deer to death and came out on top like the king he was.
He'd let out a roar of victory, one for the ages, the kind you'd hear in a movie trailer with explosions in the background. He'd even patted himself on the back-literally-as he felt the Tranquil Deer's bitch-ass settle nicely on the roster of shikigami now available to his command.
And then, as life often does to great men like Jacques, everything went to shit.
He tried to summon the thing. Naturally, his first order of business was to have it heal him. After all, he'd earned it. What was the point of taming some mythical beast with healing powers if he couldn't use it to mythically heal himself up after a fight?
Except he couldn't.
Why? Because apparently, both that one-eyed hack cat of an author and Potential Man had conveniently forgotten to mention one tiny detail about the Ten Shadows Technique.
There was a cooldown period.
A goddamn three days cooldown period after taming these stupid, overpowered creatures in which he can't summon them.
"So, what?!" Jacques shouted to the empty room, clutching his still-aching ribs. "I go through hell, beat that overgrown livestock into the dirt, and now I can't even use it?!"
What's next, a fucking subscription fee?!
He slammed his fist on the desk, immediately regretting it as the jarring pain in his knuckles added another item to his growing list of injuries. "Fuck!"
And as if the universe hadn't already gone out of its way to crap all over him, it found one last turd to fling at his parade.
Dragging his battered, bruised ass back to the mansion, Jacques barely made it through the door before Sieben, Ohma, and Gris-his head of security, as his incredibly generous mind reminded him-practically tripped over themselves.
They swarmed him, fussing like mother hens on steroids, asking if he was okay, checking for injuries, and generally acting like they'd never seen their boss look less like the picture of unstoppable excellence.
No. No, he was not okay. Were they fucking blind?!
"Yes," he had answered anyway. Why? Because he wasn't a bitch. That's why.
Then came the kicker.
The idiots asked him if the terrorists had been dealt with.
Jacques, like any normal, reasonable person would, responded with the obvious: "What terrorists?"
But instead of giving him a straight answer like competent employees should, the Three Stooges shared one of those weird silent looks. The kind that screamed 'We know something you don't' but also 'We underestimated you.'
Then they bowed, muttered a collective "As you command, sir," and promptly fucked off.
Jacques was left standing there, covered in bruises, still seething over the Tranquil Deer debacle, and now trying to process the fact that apparently, his house was attacked.
By terrorists!
"What the actual fuck?!" Jacques barked to no one in particular. He threw his hands up, wincing as the motion pulled at something in his shoulder. "Who the hell attacked my house?!"
This better not be a goddamn Die Hard crossover...
"Unbelievable," Jacques muttered, groaning as he tried to adjust in his chair. "I fight like a goddamn legend, and this is the thanks I get? Screw you too, universe."
He glanced at the bloodied bandages on his hands and arms, his mood souring further. The staff had tried to fuss over him, of course. But he'd waved them off with all the grace of a guy who didn't trust anyone to see him at less than 100%. Let them think he was fine.
Silver lining-no one had died. That was a small victory in itself.
And on top of that, he still had Tranquil Deer, the damn thing healing at his command once the cooldown ended.
His aura had proven more than reliable, too. His power, endurance, and stamina had and were still holding up in a way most people couldn't even dream of.
Most importantly, he was alive.
All in all, it could've been better; it could've been worse. Such was life, and now he had shit to do.
Jacques turned toward his desk, placing the palm of his left hand at its center and pressing down. Instantly, three separate holographic screens flickered to life.
The left screen was dedicated to the security camera feeds of every room and hallway in the Central structure of the Schnee mansion. This part of the manor was the largest, encompassing the main stairway, the massive hall, the ballroom, his bedroom, and, of course, this office.
Jacques was content to leave his wife's wing and the servant's workstations to the hands of others, but he was absolutely set on monitoring everything that happened in the areas where he personally resided.
The middle screen displayed everything related to the Schnee Dust Company. Stock updates, market fluctuations, and reports from the various divisions of the company scattered across Remnant. It reminded him that he actually had a fucking company that he should probably figure out how to run. Later.
But the screen on the right,well, that was the most important. It held his personal contacts, the people he interacted with on a daily basis. The underlings, the dealmakers, the bribed, the threatened, and all the people who made the world turn in his favor. Among them were names of power: Michael, the head of his legal team-who did send the report like he said-, members of the Council, the board of directors, the snobby elites of Atlas, and, perhaps most notably, the headmasters of the Four Huntsmen Academies, including Ozpin.
But there was one name at the top of the list that Jacques was most focused on: James Ironwood, the head of the Atlas military and the Headmaster of Atlas Academy.
The fucker who would kill him in the original timeline.
Jacques took a deep breath, calming his anger as he prepared. In just a few seconds, he'd be looking straight into the face of his would-be killer.
"It will not happen," Jacques muttered under his breath, "Everything I am doing is to prevent that outcome."
But if Ironwood tried anything... well, the Divine Dogs had shown they had an appetite for tearing through tin cans. 'Don't fuck with me, Robocop.'
"Good evening, General Ironwood," Jacques greeted with a light, almost casual tone, leaning back in his chair as if he were talking to an old acquaintance. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything important."
"Jacques." Ironwood's voice came through as steady and no-nonsense as ever. " No, I was just finishing up some reports. What can I do for you? I assume this isn't just a courtesy call."
Jacques raised an eyebrow. "Are you implying that I only call when there's business to discuss?" he said, feigning offense. "Maybe I just wanted to check in, see how you were doing. For shame, James. Did all those years of our friendship mean so little to you?"
"Nothing like that, Jacques," he replied with a chuckle of his own. "I simply meant that it's rare for a man of your stature to call for anything other than... business." He let the words hang in the air, acknowledging the unspoken understanding between them.
They were allies. Not friends.
Jacques allowed a small, knowing smile to tug at the corner of his lips. "You know me too well, James. I don't make idle calls." he replied smoothly. "But let's put that aside for now. Tonight, I wanted to ask you about something a little less... routine."
Ironwood's tone shifted slightly. "I see," he replied with a more guarded, "And what, exactly, does the illustrious Jacques Schnee have in mind this time?"
"Oh, nothing worth worrying about, old friend." Jacques waved a hand. "I was actually hoping for a quick chat, a bit of a... catch-up, if you will."
"Catch-up? Now that's a rare request. I wasn't aware you'd been following my reports so closely." Ironwood replied.
Jacques's fingers tapped against the desk. "Oh, I follow everything, James. I just prefer to keep things... personal when it suits me." He paused, letting the silence stretch for just a beat longer than necessary, long enough to keep Ironwood on edge. " Now, answer me, James. Of all the kingdoms of Remnant, which one reigns supreme?"
"Atlas, of course," Ironwood replied instantly. It was easy to hear the amount of pride his answer contained. It was the correct answer, the answer anyone in his position would give. Atlas, after all, had become the undisputed titan of the world, the undisputed powerhouse in both economic and military might.
In a mere 70 years, Atlas grew from the remnants of a dying Mantle into the closest thing this world had for a superpower.
"Precisely," Jacques said, and he couldn't help the smug smile tugging at his lips "Atlas stands as a beacon of power, with the mightiest military and the most advanced economy. And this... supremacy, if you will, has been the result of the tireless efforts of a select few individuals. Tell me, James, can you guess who they are?"
"Please, don't tell me this is an ego boost call," he sighed.
"Humour me,"
"Is the illustrious and noble Jacques Schnee one of them?"
"Naturally, he stands at the top of the list," Jacquesreplied smoothly, as though the answer was obvious, even to Ironwood. Because it was! "What would Atlas be without the guiding hand of the Schnee Patriarch?" He continued with a shrug. "Don't sell yourself short, James. You, too, are part of that esteemed list. Along with my late father-in-law, Nicholas, whose brilliant conquests laid the foundation for the SDC to rise as the Goliath it is today."
He paused just for a moment, letting his words settle in before continuing with a certain tone. "And, of course, there are two of the finest minds Atlas has ever produced: Pietro Polendina and the... 'late' Arthur Watts." He drew the air quotes dramatically with both hands.
Discount Robocop, ever the careful observer, couldn't ignore Jacques's fairly obvious gesture. "It seems you don't believe in his death, Jacques," he remarked with suspicion.
"Do I?" Jacques raised his palms in mock surrender, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. He didn't miss the way Ironwood's eyes zeroed in on the bandages wrapped tightly around his hands.
"I thought you knew me better than that, James." He paused, watching the military man's eyes narrow. "I'm merely pointing out the facts, not starting a conspiracy theory. His body was never found, and that's a damn shame. Whatever his faults, -and we both know he had more than a few- Doctor Watts was still a genius in his field. He deserved a funeral, no matter his numerous differences with the Atlasian government."
"And let's not forget," Jacques continued, leaning forward slightly, his voice more serious now, "Doctor Watts was responsible for laying the groundwork for much of Atlas's military advancements. His work on the security systems and tactical frameworks was... invaluable. I daresay, Atlas owes him more than it's willing to admit."
He gauged Ironwood's reaction. He didn't bother hiding his amusement as the man's lips pressed into a thin line. "Indeed," Ironwood said, and Jacques could almost see the rusty gears clink inside his head.
He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod as he leaned back again "The Schnee household is, of course, deeply grateful for his contributions to our work with the SDC." He allowed a brief silence to settle before adding with a sly edge. "Word on the street that he's not actually dead. Just a rumour a little birdie told me, but...you never know."
Ironwood didn't respond, but the way his eyes kept going the bandages around Jacques's hands, with the words no doubt replaying over and over in his head, Jacques knew he had his ass.
Jacques knew the general was thinking about all the projects Watts had been involved in, running through the list in his head to see how much of Atlas's security systems might already be compromised.
If there was one thing Ironwood was, it was paranoid.
After a few tense seconds, Ironwood snorted, breaking the silence. "Quite the rumours' you're hearing, Jacques," he laughed, but it was forced. Jacques could see right through it. The smile didn't reach his eyes, and Jacques knew that Ironwood's paranoia was already in full swing.
"I am merely doing my duty as a decent, law-abiding citizen by letting the authorities know of what I've heard," Jacques hummed, barely suppressing the edge of amusement in his voice. "Whether or not those rumours are true should be for you to investigate."
"And Atlas is happy to have her citizens care about her," Ironwood replied. His voice was clipped. His smile was brittle. Yay!
"In that case, Atlas can show its appreciation by doing me a small favor." He kept a smile for a moment before continuing with a fake dejected voice, "It seems I've misplaced my most precious daughter, Winter's number, and I would be most grateful if you could help me find it."
Ironwood's smile faltered, just for a second, the cracks barely visible to anyone but Jacques. He could already see the hesitation in the General's eyes. Ironwood had likely been expecting Jacques to try and reach out to his subordinate through him, and he must have reassured her that he wouldn't give in.
He'd be set to refuse as soon as Jacques asked,
But this time, it wasn't going to be so simple.
The General would still be reluctant to believe that the scientist had survived that explosion, but on the small chance that he had. That would only prove that Jacques knew something Ironwood didn't.
And that, in itself, would be dangerous. The fact that Jacques's information network was more extensive than Atlas's or even Ozpin's changed everything.
For a brief, annoying moment, Jacques wondered if Ironwood would refuse outright.
Then, in the typical cold autistic efficiency Jacques had come to expect from him, Ironwood made his decision.
"Of course," he said finally and firmly. "...I'll send it to you right away."
When the choice came between Winter's trust and the security of Atlas, James hesitated.
General Ironwood did not.
She is a soldier; she will understand. Or so Ironwood would no doubt try to reassure himself.
"Thank you, James," Jacques said. With a single self-satisfied click, he ended the call.
In a simple conversation, Jacques had just done what he needed to do. He'd fucked over Watts, sent Ironwood down a path of suspicion and paranoia, and gotten exactly what he wanted: planting a wedge between Ironwood and Winter.
When the poor child is left alone and deprived of her comfort place, she returns home.
To a changed man. A loving papa, who's not quite the man he was before—but in many ways, better.
'Time had worn him down, softened his edges.'
'There was a warmth in him now, something that hadn't been there when I left.'
'He's trying fr fr!'
'Be real fucked up of me to arrest him, now!'
Let it be known once more that the only reason he wasn't up and shadowboxing like he'd just won a championship was because he was hurting like hell. Everything ached. His ribs, his back, his ego..no, not that. That was fine. That was thriving. But the rest of him? Absolutely fucked.
So, Jacques sufficed by just leaning in his chair with a smug smirk.
Truly, Sasuga Jacques-sama!