"Very well, I understand," Winter said, her tone unexpectedly amicable. "I will not disappoint you."
Jacques blinked. That was... surprising. For a second, he wondered if he'd misheard her. Was this really his daughter speaking? The same woman who, moments ago, had the nerve to ignore him while he stood there in the cold, in pain, no less? What kind of game was she playing? Testing him, perhaps? Trying to make a fool out of him?
He considered it briefly, then dismissed the thought with a smug little shake of his head. No, that wasn't it. No, of course not. Winter never struck him as being that crafty.
Jacques had simply stunned her.
Obviously, she had been so overwhelmed by the sheer magnificence of his fatherly guidance. That had to be it. Who wouldn't be? It wasn't every day you were blessed with such wisdom and foresight, especially from a man balancing injuries, a freezing wind, and the weight of running an empire.
A small smile crept onto his face. Honestly, he'd been worried for a moment. Losing his patience earlier when she drifted off, something he had every right to do, given the circumstances, had felt like a misstep.
In the end, it was just a flicker of paranoia. Nothing more. He allowed himself a moment of self-satisfaction.
After all, he was injured and still managing to extend an olive branch, not that she had seemed particularly interested in grasping it. But no, clearly his perfectly timed blend of authority and care had won her over. As it should.
It was the logical conclusion.
Why wouldn't she be impressed? Not every father would push through pain, a shit sleep, and freezing his balls off to secure the best for their children. Jacques Schnee wasn't just any father, though. He was exceptional.
"Well," he said at last with a puffed chest, "I certainly hope not. The last thing I need is for this to become another... complication."
There. Smooth as ever. Winter should feel lucky she had a father like him, wise, capable, and not above a little tough love when the situation called for it.
"Is there anything specific you would like me to prioritize in Whitley's training?" Winter asked, her tone crisp and professional. "A weapon type? A particular combat discipline?"
For all his undeniable brilliance, Jacques was still only human, a cut above the rest, naturally, but human nonetheless. And in this particular instance, even he could recognize his limitations. It wasn't wrong to defer to her expertise. Winter, after all, was a Specialist in the Atlas military, with years of rigorous training and battlefield experience to her name.
Jacques, on the other hand, had only unlocked his Aura a few days ago and had no formal combat training to speak of, and he doubted street fights counted.
"None," Jacques replied without hesitation. "I'll trust your judgment."
Winter gave a curt nod.
His absurd strength and raw power were unique, a product of his sheer HIM-ness. Expecting poor Whitley to replicate that was not only unrealistic but also unfair to the young boy.
He understood that, and for once, he wasn't trying to meddle where he didn't belong. Besides, the whole point of this was for Winter to fix her relationship with the boy and think better of Jacques, which apparently was going to be much easier than expected.
But then again, the unexpected was Jacques's plaything.
Also, training others sounded like a pain in the ass, and Jacques had more than enough pain.
"Understood," she said firmly. "I'll handle everything."
The massive mansion doors creaked open, allowing them inside, and Winter followed her father through the entryway.
The moment they stepped inside, two perfectly aligned rows of maids and butlers bowed in unison at the entrance.
Jacques allowed himself a small smirk. This is doing wonders for my ego. Having people bow every day could inflate anyone's sense of importance. Explains why Jacques always acted like his farts smelled like lilies and jasmine.
As amusing as the thought was, he quickly shelved it. There were more pressing matters to address—namely, Whitley, who stood waiting at the base of the grand staircase.
The boy's irritation was plain on his face, no doubt annoyed by being kept waiting inside. Not that Jacques cared much; it wasn't his idea. Atlassian nobility shenanigans demanded that the Head of the House personally greet any arriving guest at the entrance.
Only after that formality was observed could the rest of the household meet the guest. Supposedly, it was to signal that the Head regarded the guest as an equal.
he thought the tradition was fucking stupid. But between his battered ribs, lack of sleep, and the freezing weather, he wasn't about to waste energy fighting over etiquette.
Jacques plastered that same fatherly smile on his face and took a step toward Whitley, only for Winter to sweep past him with the same brisk, no-nonsense autism she applied to everything. Her shoulder brushed against him, and her elbow landed directly on his broken ribs like a hammer.
Jacques closed his eyes.
Fuuuuuuuuuuuck.
The pain in his ribs doubled him over, forcing him into an awkward position that only made things worse. The shift put pressure on his stomach, where that overgrown donkey had stabbed him, and the pain spread like wildfire. That, in turn, ruined his posture further, making him lean heavily on his injured knee and bruised thigh.
It was a perfect chain reaction of misery, all culminating in Jacques barely managing to stay upright. It took every ounce of his fortitude not to let out a whimper. He would not, would not, let himself look like a bitch in front of the maids!
Fantastic, Jacques thought bitterly, his teeth clenched to keep any undignified noises from slipping out. Humiliated in my own damn house. In front of the help. No less.
Straightening up, or as much as his battered body would allow, he tried to piece together some shred of dignity. Winter, of course, didn't even notice. She didn't look back, didn't pause, didn't so much as apologize. She strode ahead with her typical military tism and utter disregard for the pain she'd just caused.
She was already at the base of the staircase, addressing Whitley in that clipped, professional tone she reserved for situations where she thought she needed to be "proper." Jacques could barely hear the words over the pounding in his ears, whether that was from the pain of his flesh or his wounded Ego was hard to tell.
What he could see, however, was Whitley's face. His youngest son looked as sour as curdled milk, his disinterested expression practically screaming that he'd rather be anywhere else, unlike the stars and awe he reserved for Jacques.
And then, through all the agony and indignity, a small, smug smirk crawled across Jacques' face.
Hah! Get that, you uptight brute! The little boy likes the old man more than the beautiful young lady.
The thought was petty, childish even, but it was the only thing keeping him upright at the moment. Sometimes, a small victory was all a man needed, and at this point, Jacques was taking whatever he could get.
Sadly, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, and Winter was very much her mother's daughter. Trickery and low blows came naturally to her.
Without warning, her arms were around Whitley, pulling him into a tight hug.
It wasn't just Jacques who was caught off guard by Winter's sudden display of affection. The servants were openly staring, their mouths slightly agape, as the eldest daughter broke character, and the guards were peeking from the front doors, probably wondering if they were about to miss some family drama.
Even Seiben, the butler who was, as always, fat and balding, honestly, the only thing sadder than a bald man was a delusional balding man. Have some self-respect and let it go, Klein, was holding back tears and choking up over whatever the hell was going on.
Even so, none of them were as affected as Whitley.
The poor bastard looked like he'd seen a ghost. His face was pale as a sheet, locked in a look of absolute terror, his body stiff as a board, arms stretched out like he was trying to ward off a nightmare. And Winter? Completely oblivious to how she was wrecking him, she had her face buried in his chest, leaving him practically face-first in her... well, her Winters.
His one and only ally looked like a deer caught in headlights.
"Fuck'! Jacques thought, decidedly pushing all the little voices in his head screaming It should've been me! Not him! Meeeeee! to the back of his mind in that little box where he kept all the unneeded things like morality, humility, and his still-unaddressed mommy issues. 'I'm losing him to the tits!'
Whitley probably had some snarky retort ready, some half-assed comment to show he wasn't the little kid anymore. But now? His brain had completely short-circuited by a simple hug. A hug, for Christ's sake. What kind of messed-up world was this?
Winter let him go, smiling like she hadn't just scored an ara-ara critical on a little boy, expertly exploiting his weakest weakness: genuine affection from an older woman.
Whitley, on the other hand, staggered back like he'd been hit by a freight train, sputtering as if his last ounce of dignity had been stolen in broad daylight. His hands flailed around, desperately trying to physically push the memory of Winter's chest out of his mind, but the poor kid couldn't form a single coherent thought, tripping over his own words.
"Ahem," Whitley finally cleared his throat, trying to recover, though his voice cracked slightly. "I thought military training was supposed to toughen people up. I guess you couldn't even make it through that, huh?" he tried to salvage some dignity with the insult, but it was clear it fell flat.
Seeing right through his act, Winter simply smiled with genuine warmth.
"I am happy to see you're doing well, Whitley," she said earnestly in what Jacques believed to be the first time he heard her voice free of any hint of disgruntlement or guarded suspicion, just pure, unfiltered happiness.
Whitley, however, couldn't hide his discomfort. He turned his head away, muttering disgruntled under his breath in embarrassment.
Awe, how adorable. Little Whitley's bashful.
Cute, but kinda sad, Jacques thought. Poor kid didn't stand a chance. After this is all over, El Gran Don Juan might have to impart a little wisdom to the boy. Maybe then he wouldn't get his brain short-circuited by a hug.
But that had to way. Jacques had more important shit to get through.
"As cute as this adorable display of sibling love has been," Jacques finally recovered enough to speak, even ifit was a bit strained. Both Winter and Whitley shifted their attention to him. The latter was much happier about it than the former. "I believe it is best if we move on to more important matters."
Time to bullshit!
"It has come to my attention, and undoubtedly yours as well, that Schnee Manor...," Jacques said with as much seriousness as he could muster," has been allegedly attacked by certain individuals belonging to a certain faction."
His words were vague for a reason. None of these assholes who were nodding at his words had bothered to tell him who was actually behind the attack, aside from the vague as shit "le hecking terrorists" nonsense. To Jacques, it could've been anyone—Salem, the White Fang, some rival company, or even a group of criminals just looking for a payday. Hell, at this point, he wouldn't be surprised if it was fucking Al-Qaeda.
Thankfully, and as expected, the professionalism of the staff, and Winter, who had been trained for situations like this, immediately showed. The servants and guards stood a little taller, bracing for what was to come.
Whitley tried to put on the same strong face, but it just wasn't the same. Until he unlocked his Aura and was helpful in a fight, the boy was just here for moral support, and as a glorified but very much-needed mascot/ally.
"We're at war,"
Jacques straightened himself, forcing the words out with as much authority as he could despite the nagging pain in his..everywhere. Yes, even there.
His gaze swept the people around him, and as he spoke, he leaned back into the old Jacques's behavior, mannerisms, and theatrics.
"This manor is more than just stone and mortar. It's the foundation of everything we've fought for, everything we've sacrificed. The Schnee legacy, the Schnee name—" He paused for a moment, his gaze sweeping over those gathered. "It cannot, and will not, fall. Not while I'm still breathing, and while the Sun still rises."
He let that sink in, watching the room. Winter's eyes sharpened, Whitley's posture stiffened, and even the servants and guards stood straighter.
"There are forces out there who would see us broken. They want to tear us down, to strip away everything we've built. But we are the Schnee family. We don't bow to threats. We don't cower in fear. We stand tall. And we fight."
A long breath, then Jacques leaned forward slightly letting his Aura strengthen his vocal cords for a more baritone voice.
"For the thousandth time since its inception, the Schnee Household has been threatened. And for the thousandth time, it will triumph." His smirk grew. "All things that prosper must eventually fall into disarray. All things that seem infinite eventually crumble. But we—" He flared his Aura once more, the violet light expanding like a pulse across the room, and making himself appear far more grand in their eyes."
A brief pause, then, as if to seal it all, Jacques gave them a look that promised no hesitation.
"—We are the exception."
Jacques felt a thrill run down his spine as he finished his speech, goosebumps rising on his arms. Damn, that was good. He allowed himself a fleeting moment of smugness. Ten out of ten, Chef's kiss. If he'd been in the audience, he'd have clapped.
Throwing a confident, superior nod in Winter's direction, he swirled around with calculated flair, ensuring his coat swept dramatically behind him. It was all about presence, after all.
"You know what to do," he said sharply to the assembled staff, gesturing vaguely as though his words carried a precise, unspoken plan. Of course, he had absolutely no idea what the fuck they were actually supposed to do.
But, as always, no one questioned him. They snapped to attention, seemingly understanding his nonexistent instructions.
""As you command, sir!." They said as one, apparently understanding what the fuck they were supposed to do.
'Still,' he admitted to himself, a tad bit more serious. 'I should definitely invest and improve the security of the manor soon.'
Other than that?
Perfect! he thought smugly. Sasuga Jacques-sama strikes again.
With that, Jacques strode out of the hall with purposeful steps as though he were off to plot some brilliant counteroffensive against their enemies.
In reality, his destination was much more strategic: the bedroom.
Because if he was going to save this manor and secure the Schnee legacy, he damn well needed some sleep first.
Fuck's sake it was still seven o'clock!
Sadly, he barely made it across the hall before someone called him.
"Wait!"!
Fuck.
Jacques bristled, freezing mid-step. He'd spoken too soon.
He stopped in his tracks, his posture stiffening slightly as he turned just enough to glance over his shoulder. The movement sent a sharp jolt of pain through his injured shoulder, but he buried the wince deep where no one could see, right next to his Mommy issues. He wasn't about to let something like that make him look weak.
Nope. Not today. not ever.
Jacques Schnee is no bitch.
Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, it wasn't one of the servants daring to call him out. That would've been a mess; he didn't have the patience to deal with it. Instead, it was Winter, standing tall, daring to call him out.
Double Fuck.
"Yes?" Jacques asked, carrying just the right amount of impatience that implied he had far more important things to be doing than entertaining interruptions.
Winter's icy blue gaze met his. "Before you retire, there is something I need to know."
He let out a slow sigh, doing his best to look like the epitome of patience despite his dwindling reserves. "Very well. Let's hear it."
"Your Aura. Why is it so....different." She asked rudely.
Jacques raised an eyebrow, momentarily caught off guard. Different? That was a loaded word. And the way Winter spat it out, like it left a bad taste in her mouth. That 'different' might as well have been 'disgustingly disgusting and filthy with a side of ugly. Also poor!'
Jacques was actually offended!
He straightened his posture as much as his battered body would allow. "Different, you say?" he replied coolly, masking his irritation under a thin veneer of detachment. "Care to elaborate, or shall I guess what precisely offends you about it?"
Winter crossed her arms, her icy gaze unwavering. "It's... chaotic," she said bluntly. "Unrefined. Nothing like what I've seen before. Most Auras have... structure and cohesion. Yours is erratic—wild, unpredictable, chaotic even."
"Chaotic, wild, unpredictable, sounds like you're describing Atlas politics, not my Aura." Jacques tried to joke his way out of it.
She didn't laugh.
Winter's lips tightened, like just talking about it was a personal affront. "It's... evil."
Jacques blinked. Then blinked again. Evil?
The audacity of this bitch!
Still, he couldn't exactly answer that accusation. What the hell am I supposed to say? 'Oh, I'm actually from another world, and this shit is new to me too, lmao!'? Yeah, no. That wasn't happening.
So, he did what any self-respecting adult does when backed into a corner: Resort to petty insults.
Jacques let out a laugh that had a million credit score. "Evil? Oh, that is surprising. To think that at your age, you'd still be using terms like 'good' and 'evil.' How... quaint." He gave her a look that was equal parts pity and mockery.
Take that!
Winter's face twisted, clearly not pleased with his response. Her jaw tightened, but she said nothing.
Satisfied that he'd deflected enough, Jacques turned and resumed his walk, trying to make his exit as smooth and dignified as possible.
"Wait!"
Triple fuck.
Jacques stopped mid-step but didn't turn around this time. He wasn't about to let her bait him into another interrogation.
"I understand," Winter relented, her tone softer but no less resolute. "At least answer me this." She hesitated, then asked, "Since when?"
He didn't need clarification; her meaning was obvious.
Jacques resumed walking, his pace steady, his back straight despite the searing pain still lingering from earlier. Without looking at her, he answered, almost amused.
"Since the day I came into this cursed world."
He smiled to himself as he left her standing there, speechless.
+10,000 Aura points for Jacques Schnee.