Warning: Bullshit economics.
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'It's Not Over Until It's Over,' as men almost as wise as he say.
He was definitely using the wrong saying here.
But even if he wasn't, Jacques was sure there were better quotes, better phrases, ones that actually fit what he was trying to say.
And what he was trying to say was that, in his infinite wisdom and patience, even after seeing the picture, even after his entire biological hard drive had finished integrating into his coconut, he had still managed to cling to the delusion, yes, that was it! If there's delusion, there's hope!, that his vice president could still possibly be a scantily dressed, big-titted klutz who would trip over herself, flash her panties, and say things like,
"Ahn, Prez, you're so smarts! Ahn~ ❤"
It was a very specific delusion.
And one that was sadly shattered the moment he recognized who was standing in front of him.
There was a brief, fleeting moment of self-inflicted blindness where he saw an actual big-titted, pretty woman and, in his desperation, tried to gaslight the universe into following the cliché, the one where the important person was actually the young, beautiful lady, and not the middle-aged man standing next to her who actually looked like he belonged in the position.
Alas, the universe was far too crafty to play along with his bullshit.
To add salt to the injury, the klutz with the bosom was a secretary; she was just not his secretary. She was his vice-president's.
Many a rich sigh was released at that moment.
It wasn't all hopeless.
If there was an upside, it was seeing Willow blush like a spooked schoolgirl and skedaddle away like a frightened goblin after embarrassing herself in front of the guests. That's what she got for disgraacing the beautiful sport with her assault attempt.
A small victory, but he'd take what he could get.
And as fun as it was, Jacques knew the man's visit was ultimately meaningless.
Good ol' Max was here to dissuade him from something; he wasn't entirely sure what yet, but it was probably some nonsense about responsibility or ethics or whatever else people liked to whine about when he had an idea.
Not that the guy himself was meaningless, no, no, Maximilien Valkov was Jacques's vice president and, more importantly, the only guy he actually trusted. In fact, he trusted him enough to tell him about the real state of his house and, more crucially, to make sure that Willow got fuck all if she ever tried to kill him in his sleep or pull some sob story with the media.
Max was crucial in the grand scheme of things.
But in his grand scheme? The grand scheme of Jac(k)ques Schnee?
Eh. He was just a bit less important. On account of being an NPC.
Jacques had actual business and important shit to attend to.
And attend to business and shit he did.
Now, half an hour later, they were in his office, discussing important matters.
"See, the problem is the format," Jacques said, leaning back in his chair, swirling a glass of very expensive whiskey. "The knockout rounds? Fine. Everyone loves a bit of do-or-die drama, especially with the old away-goals rule. But the group stages? An absolute mess. I mean, what's the point of making people sit through months of matches that don't even matter in the end? Piss offf, mate!"
His guest blinked slowly, like a man trying to process words he had never encountered in his life. Probably because he hadn't. He looked at the big-titted klutz asking for help.
"Mister Schnee," She ventured carefully, "what... exactly are we talking about?"
"Champions League, love," Jacques said immediately. "Or, well, the Champions League doesn't exist here yet, but it should! Can you imagine? The top teams from each kingdom, competing in a continental tournament for the ultimate glory? The spectacle, the prestige, the money—oh, the money." He let out a wistful sigh.
"What," Max said, rubbing his temples, "...are you talking about?"
"A football tournament, Max!" Jacques gestured wildly.
"What in the blazes is a bloody foot ball?!" He gestured just as widely.
"The game Willow and I were playing. Well, mostly playing since Willow wouldn't stop cheating. It is a ball that we kick into a goal. I'll walk you through it later."
Maximilien, bless his soul, looked like he was strongly considering retirement. Or homicide. Possibly both.
"So, get this," Jacques said, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers like a true visionary. "A continental tournament. Clubs from all over the world in Atlas, Mistral, Vale, Vacuo, and even Menagerie if it still exists by next week, all the best clubs from the national football leagues competing in the pinnacle of sporting excellence. The Champions League. Group stages, knockout rounds, dramatic last-minute winners-oh! And an anthem! Something stirring. 'We are the champions. Nous somme les etcetera' type shit. Something that makes you feel proud to be watching a bunch of overpaid athletes kick a ball around for ninety minutes!"
"Oh, like the Vytal festival!" the Klutz said, finally catching on.
"Yes! Exactly!" Jacques clapped happily. "What's your name, love?"
She deserved a name for being a good listener.
"Uh.. Elizabeth, Sir."
"Very good, Elizabeth." Jacques nodded in approval. "Like the Vytal festival, but better! Because it's mine! And it'll happen every year instead of every four years."
That would be left for the World Cup, obviously. It's coming home this time.
"We don't even have professional leagues or even teams of this... foot ball, Jacques." Max took a deep breath.
Jacques waved him off. "Details. We make them."
Max blinked. "You want to invent an entire sport?"
"Yes!" Jacques leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "And then I want to monetize the absolute shit out of it."
Max looked like he was aging before Jacques' eyes. He seemed to have that effect on a lot of people, Jacques noticed with a frown. "You can't just make up a sport and expect people to care."
Jacques scoffed. "Oh, please. That's what the FA and UEFA thought, and now we've got the bloody Super League shite and fucking VAR ruining the beautiful game! Back in my day—"
Max held up a hand. "No. No. We are not doing this. I don't know what the hell an 'FA' or 'UEFA' is, but I do know that this is not what we should be talking about right now."
Jacques sighed dramatically. "Fine. What boring thing did you actually come here to discuss?"
"This!" His overly excited minion said, taking a scroll from Elizabeth and nearly shoving it in Jacques's face.
In a testament to his patience, Jacques didn't smack the shit out of him and simply took the scroll.
What do we have here?
'The recent attack on the eve of our Himmel Koenig was not simply a strike against me or my family..blah..blah'. It was his own post telling people to chill the fuck out. He lowered the screen to raise an unimpressed eyebrow at the man.
Jacques let the silence stretch for a long, pointed moment, staring at Maximilien for personally wasting the last ten seconds of his life.
"This," he said, gesturing at the scroll, "is what you interrupted my brilliant footy manifesto for?"
Maximilien rubbed his hands. "It's important."
Jacques gave him a look. "Max. You do realize this is my post, yes? I wrote this." He wiggled the scroll in the air. "I hit 'post.' I am well aware of what it says."
"Yes, but have you seen the responses?" He motioned for Jacques to scroll down.
Jacques sighed and flicked his fingers.
Ah.
There they were.
Jacques Schnee SLAMS the Atlesian Military! SCHNEE FAMILY PATRIARCH AND HERO OF ATLAS IMPLIES TRAITORS WITHIN GOVERNMENT—CALLS FOR PURGE?
He scrolled down again to the next screenshot.
SCHNEE DECLARES WAR ON ATLESIAN COUNCIL—INSURRECTION IMMINENT?
Jacques flicked through more headlines.
SCHNEE PREPARING MILITARY COUP? ATLAS IN PANIC!
JACQUES SCHNEE UNIMPRESSED WITH THE COUNCIL! PLANS TO OVERTHROW THE COUNCIL—ATLESIAN DOMINANCE IN FREEFALL!
He let out a small hum as he sifted through even more asinine headlines and a few equally ridiculous comments.
He more or less got the picture.
"My words are being twisted." He returned the scroll to the big-titted secretary and leveled his vice president with the best Eh, what are you gonna do? shrug.
Maximilien pinched the bridge of his nose. "Jacques."
Jacques leaned back in his chair, entirely unbothered. "Max."
"Do you not see the issue here?"
"Oh, I see it." Jacques propped his feet up on his desk. "The issue is that people can't read." Reading Comprehension Grimm strikes again!
Max gestured wildly to the scroll. "They're taking your words and running with them!"
That was just what Jacques said. Not even a minute ago. Was there an Ear Grimm on the loose, too?
Jacques scoffed. "Yes, and?"
"And now half of Atlas thinks you're going to stage a coup!"
"Only half?"Jacques arched a brow. Those were rookie numbers. He needed to pump those numbers up.
Max looked five seconds away from strangling him. He didn't. He simply looked at Jacques.
He looked back. Then, Jacques cast a glance at the secretary, then back at Max. Oh, they're fucking, he realized. But more importantly, after a bit of pondering and detective work (which was mostly just sitting there thinking about it), he realized something else.
"Maximilien." He started patiently. "Who the fuck do you think I am?"
That seemed to throw him off.
Maximilien blinked, his mouth opening slightly before closing again. He furrowed his brows. "What?"
Jacques leaned closer, his Aura flickering and glowing slightly just enough to be a bit of a scare display. And with a stroke of good luck and great timing, his two Divine Dogs chose that exact moment to disappear from Winter's side and return to Jacques.
In the midst of his display, the two massive hounds emerged menacingly from the shadows. Their snouts scrunched to reveal huge fangs as they let out low, rumbling growls.
"Who am I?" he repeated.
Maximilien swallowed loudly while the girl took a step back, hesitating. "Sir—"
"Say. My. Name."
Max let out a slow breath. "Jacques Schnee."
"You're goddamn right."
Finished with his theatrics to assert dominance and only feeling a little bad about it, Jacques let his Aura settle back to normal and leaned into his far too expensive chair. "And what, pray tell, do you think I, Jacques Schnee, always know?"
Max shot a glance at the secretary, who, wisely, did not meet his gaze, before exhaling sharply. "You always know… everything?"
Jacques smiled, all teeth. "I always know what I'm doing, Max." He patted the man a couple of times as if to help him relax.
Naturally, he already knew this shitstorm was coming. His nonchalant attitude wasn't a result of ignorance; it was simply because he did not give a fuck.
Did you really think he was flying by the luxe seat of his exquisitely fashionable pantalons? That he was guessing his way through this? That he was anything less than ten steps ahead at all times?
Oh, you poor, naive fools. Must have missed the memo.
He was Jacques Schnee. Literally.
Let him reiterate: Jacques' entire biological hard drive had finished integrating into Jack's coconut.
Thus, Jac(k)ques now had most of Old Moustache's' previous savviness and political cunning, plus his own brilliant insight to fill in whatever gaps there were. Mostly how to style on peasants.
If you thought that, then clearly, you needed to go back and reread the earlier parts of this glorious story, listen to the first instalments of his audio book, or rewatch the highly successful series that was no doubt being made about him. Because, let's be real: there was absolutely no way that whatever Deity brought him to this world would waste the opportunity to milk his magnificent existence for every Lien it was worth.
He was Jacques Schnee.
Even better, he was Jack in Jacques Schnee's body. Which meant he was a double threat.
And right now? He was on the verge of ushering in the greatest contribution to Remnant since Dust itself.
"You… knew?" Maximilien repeated lamely, staring dumbly for several moments before his shoulders slumped in relief, probably. "Of course you knew. Thank god, I thought you lost it all."
God's gift to Remnant clicked his tongue and shook his head. "That's what you get for thinking you know better than me, Max."
"Excuse me, I'm a bit lost?" the little helpful eye candy chimed in, clearly hoping for some much-needed exposition.
Jacques flashed her a megawatt smile. "Oh, you sweet summer child." He fixed her with the kind of expression one might reserve for a particularly dim puppy. "Allow me to enlighten you."
"Sir, please don't call he—"
Jacques ignored him.
"You see, my dear, what you have before you is no ordinary man." He gestured to himself, luxuriating in the weight of his own ego. "I am Jacques Schnee. Which, as you should know, means that I always know what I'm doing. Even when I don't, I do. Not only was I aware of what the media would do with my words, I was counting on it." That was only a slight exaggeration.
The girl blinked. "You're saying you wanted people to think you were staging a coup?"
"Not necessarily." Jacques rolled his wrist lazily. "I wanted people to calm down, so I started posting stuff that would actually force them pay attention. Shock therapy if you will. Everyone's been throwing fuel on the fire without realizing how close we are to a full-blown inferno. Now, thanks to me, people are actually watching the flames instead of fanning them." He leaned back with a satisfied smirk. Good ol' mid-twentieth-century diplomacy. That's what cold in Cold War meant, yeah? Probably. Yeah. "You may prostrate to me now."
Maximilien, far from exasperated, merely huffed a laugh and shook his head. "As much as you deserve it, sir, I'll have to pas—Damn it, Elizabeth, he's joking. Don't actually prostrate!"
Jacques clicked his tongue."Shame. You're missing out on a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity." He waved a dismissive hand. "Anyway, now that we've established that I know exactly what I'm doing—"
"Which I never doubted," Max supplied smoothly.
"Good man," Jacques praised. "Now, let's talk about the reason you're here. I, using my god-given right as a genius and the CEO of the SDC, wish to enact some changes to our company." He gestured vaguely. "Better working conditions, fairer contracts, nothing too drastic. But the board of directors, in a rare show of spine, has decided to oppose me. And you, my dear Maximilien, are here on their behalf to make me 'see reason'."
"I am here mostly on my own behalf as Vice President to safeguard the SDC," Maximilien corrected smoothly. "The board may have their concerns, but my priority is ensuring that any changes you implement strengthen the company, not weaken it."
Jacques opened his lovely mouth to interject, but Maximilien swiftly raised a hand to stop him. "I am not saying you don't know what you're doing, nor do I doubt your intentions, sir." He pulled out his scroll, bringing up the latest proposed reforms.
"But I believe you're vastly underestimating the potential fallout," Maximilien finished, tapping his scroll for emphasis.
Jacques arched a brow. "Max, mon ami, if I had a lien for every time someone told me my brilliance would lead to disaster, I'd be rich." A beat. "Well, richer."
"Sir, I'm serious. I've gone over your proposed reforms, and while I disagree that improvements to worker conditions are necessary, I am speaking out of pure objectivity." Elizabeth passed him a chart of some sort. "You're moving at a speed that the board, hell, even the company, won't be able to keep up with."
The SDC CEO spared a glance at the reports before stating. "I already know that we're going to bleed for this, Max."
"I'm saying we're going to hemorrhage," Maximilien corrected. "If you push them through this quickly, the company won't just take a hit, it'll stagger. The board isn't wrong to be cautious, even if their motivations aren't entirely… altruistic."
Jacques tapped his fingers against the desk for several moments before relenting. "Alright, Max, walk me through it. What's going to break if I decide to be decent?"
Maximilien wasted no time. "Let's start with wages. You're proposing a twenty to thirty percent increase across the board, plus hazard pay, performance bonuses, and better insurance coverage."
"Because if conditions improve, productivity improves," Maximilien quoted from Jacques' own message. "Which is somewhat true. The problem is cash flow. SDC is liquid, but not that liquid. A pay increase of that scale, effective immediately, means our quarterly profits take a massive hit, so massive that shareholders are going to riot."
"Let them." Jacques scoffed.
"They won't just complain; they'll pull out," Maximilien said sharply, and he looked like he was forcing himself to stay seated. "Right now, investors back us because we're an unstoppable force. The second we show vulnerability, stock prices plummet. That's not just bad press; that's real, tangible losses in funding. SDC isn't some boutique operation that can afford to tank its value for a quarter or two. We have research projects, acquisitions, security contracts, all of which rely on consistent backing. If we hemorrhage too much capital at once, those start getting cut."
Jacques rubbed his beard lightly."...Alright. Next?"
"Work hours." Maximilien barely glanced at his scroll. "You're capping shifts at nine hours, introducing mandatory rest periods, and eliminating forced overtime."
"Yes, Max, because I am not a cartoon villain who makes his employees work themselves to death," Jacques deadpanned.
"I appreciate the restraint," Maximilien said dryly. "But again, implementation. Right now, every production schedule, supply contract, and transport chain is built around the existing hours. Cutting them down by nearly half means we immediately miss quotas. That triggers penalty clauses in our contracts with Kingdoms and independent distributors, which means we don't just lose revenue we start owing money."
They will not, but Go off, king. Jacques raised a brow. "And?"
"And," Maximilien continued, "if quotas aren't met, refineries don't get their Dust. If refineries don't get their Dust, merchants don't get shipments. If merchants don't get shipments, market prices skyrocket, which is great for our competitors and horrible for us. Because guess what happens when Dust prices rise too fast?"
Jacques sighed, humoring him. "Enlighten me, Max."
"Kingdoms start regulating," Maximilien said flatly. "Right now, we control prices because we control the supply chain. But if costs spike too much, governments step in with subsidies, trade restrictions, forced production caps. And we'll have no ground to push back because we'll be the ones responsible for the disruption."
"They will not," Jacques said with utmost confidence. "But pretend they do. We could always expand the workforce."
"Which means more spent money if we abide by your new standards. Recruitment, training, background checks, relocation incentives," Maximilien listed. "All of which take months to roll out at scale. If we rush, we risk hiring people who aren't qualified or don't understand proper safety protocols, which means accidents, which means lawsuits and shutdowns. And that's before we factor in housing expansions for remote sites."
Jacques waved a hand. "Then let's talk safety instead. That should be easy."
"It should," Maximilien agreed. "Upgraded equipment? Good. Stricter maintenance checks? Also understandable. But you're talking about overhauling entire facilities. That's a logistical nightmare. You don't just install better ventilation and call it a day. Some of these mines would need entire structural reinforcements. That means halting operations, relocating workers, renegotiating permits with Kingdom officials. It's not an overnight fix."
"How long?"Jacques tilted his head.
"For full implementation?" Elizabeth who was silent till then, tapped on her scroll. "..For mines in more developed regions, maybe a year. For older, deeper sites? Three to five. Minimum, Sir."
"And if I push anyway?" Jacques narrowed his eyes and cast a disapproving glance at the Dogs, who were trying to sneak up behind Elizabeth to scare her. They harrumphed and backed down.
Maximilien met his gaze evenly. "Then expect mass shutdowns while we scramble to meet compliance, leading to Dust shortages, Kingdom intervention, and our competitors, who are already looking for an excuse, moving to replace us in certain regions."
Jacques exhaled sharply through his nose. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, thinking. Then, finally, he smirked. "You know, Max, I almost respect you."
"I'll add it to my résumé." Maximilien said.
Silence hung between the three of them for a while before Jacques let out a long-suffering sigh, rubbing his temple. "Very well, Max. Credit where credit is due. You've done your homework and pointed out every tiny flaw. However!" He clapped loudly. "Let me show you why I am the greatest CEO to ever exist."
Maximilien gestured for him to go on.
"I'm playing a game of concessions, one I will force everyone else to play with me until I come out on top."
Maximilien gestured for him to go on with thin lips.
"Wages," Jacques began. "You're right. We can't afford to bump pay that high immediately. So, instead, we stagger it. A five percent increase now, another five next quarter, and so on. Bonus structures will be reworked: less upfront costs, more long-term incentives. We tie them to efficiency and safety records. That way, it looks like we're rewarding productivity, but what we're really doing is controlling costs."
Maximilien didn't argue, so Jacques continued.
"Work hours. The biggest issue is the sudden cut, right? Fine. We phase it in. Twelve-hour shifts this quarter, ten next quarter, eight by the end of the year. That buys us time to adapt production schedules and—" he twirled a hand in the air, "—hire the extra manpower we'll need without tripping over ourselves."
Maximilien said nothing for a moment, knowing damn well it would be wasted breath. Also, it was rude to interrupt people. Still, he made sure to consider from which angles these changes could be enacted. "In which manner?" he finally asked. "I assume you have a solution for the decreased work rate which, even if temporary, would still cost hundreds of billions in the absolute best-case scenario."
Jacques smiled like a cat that had just batted a particularly annoying bird out of the air. "We put more money into apprenticeships, on-site training, fast-tracked certifications. We market it as 'giving back to the communities we work in.' Hippies and kingdoms love that kind of charity bullshit."
Jacques heard no reply, but he didn't miss the way his minion's brow twitched.
He stood up and circled around his desk, careful not to step on his dog's tail, before looking down directly at the other man.
"Safety." Jacques spread his arms. "I know full renovations take time. But some improvements, ventilation, reinforced supports, updated comms systems, those can be done quickly. So we do those first. The bigger stuff? We prioritize sites closest to population centers." That's where the news cameras will be.
They'd make a big show of their commitment to worker safety. The hippies and Mantle would stay off his back. PR nightmare averted, and suddenly, Jacques Schnee was just a misunderstood softie who cared about the average Joe!
His second-in-command judged him silently for a minute before he turned to his secretary. "...Give me an estimate," he whispered to her.
"Finally, Loyalty!"
"Loyalty?"
"Loyalty!" He threw his hands up. "Most of our—" he struck the word slaves from his mind with a lazy mental swipe, "—workers, mostly Faunus, are so down on their luck they have nowhere else to go. So? We build company-owned housing near major sites. Not just barracks, towns. Shops, schools, amenities. This keeps workers close to the mines, cuts down commute times, reduces fatigue and makes their entire lives revolve around my company."
He spread his hands like it was the most glorious idea in the world. Hint: It was. "Give them a decent place to live, educate their kids, run their grocery stores? They'll never leave, let alone bitch, moan, and complain."
And before these schmucks even realized what was happening, they'd be chanting his name with reverence. And, as an added bonus? It would keep them from running off to join morons like the White Fang and getting neg-diffed by Jacques again. And he only had to treat them like people! How easy was that?!
"I have to say, sir, you really thought this through." Maximilien folded his arms, tilting his head. "You're not you for nothing, I suppose. There's just one tiny, minuscule, barely worth mentioning problem. How are we going to pay for all of this at once without shooting ourselves in the foot?"
"Oh, we can't." Jacques smiled, far too at ease for a man who had just admitted financial ruin was an inevitability. "You already did the math, didn't you? You should know that, you silly goose."
Maximilien pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sir..."
"Oh, don't 'sir' me like I haven't thought this through." Jacques reached out and gave him a light pat on the head. AS rich as he was, most of Jacqus possesion weren't atual money just easily available to spend, not to mention, he was already spending like a motherfucker after just reaming head first into the arms manufacturing industry and speed-running Aura-sensitive weaponry.
It'll take a while.
Max sighed, rubbing his temples. "Then how—"
"The kingdoms will pay for everything."
There was a beat of silence. Maximilien blinked. Elizabeth, who had been listening in polite silence until now, frowned in confusion.
"I'm sorry—what?" Max asked flatly. "The kingdoms? The very same kingdoms that have been waiting for a chance to wrest control from us? The ones we're giving that chance by doing this whole endeavor?"
"Yes!" Jacques affirmed, with the unshakable confidence of a man who was, well, Him. "Those sleazy, bureaucratic vultures will be thrilled to throw money at this. Well, not actual money, but contracts. Subsidies. Tax incentives. The works." He spread his arms wide, "They'll eat it up, Max, because I, and only I, have the golden goose that no other bastard on this god-forsaken shithole has!"
Max opened his mouth, whether to question or protest, even he wasn't sure or did he really care, but before he could get a word out, Jacques grabbed him by the armpits and hauled him toward the massive window wall of his office with all the unrelenting force of a man too rich to consider other people's autonomy.
His minion startled. "Sir! What are you—?!"
"I have, my ignorant little shits," Jacques declared, pointing, "that."
Max, still recovering from the sudden relocation, followed his line of sight. There, lounging lazily in the sprawling garden like it owned the entire estate, was Jacques' most prized slave: Tranquill Deer.
Maximilien stiffened. "Y-your summon, sir?"
A step behind, he saw Elizabeth's mouth part, likely considering whether it was worth asking how that was supposed to solve anything.
Instead, they continued to stare at the oversized, glorified donkey on the other side of the yard, where an entire team of servants was doting on it, feeding it the finest fruits, brushing its gleaming fur, ensuring it was as pampered as a monarch. The vain little fuck. He deserved the treatment, though.
Jacques was still grinning like the smug bastard he was. "Do you know what the most expensive product in all the kingdoms is?" He didn't wait for an answer. Max swallowed. "…Dust?"
"Dust? Max, please. That's second place at best." Jacques scoffed. "The most valuable product in the world, my dear boy, is Huntsmen."
His aid rubbed his armpits uncomfortably from Jacques's grip and arched a skeptical brow. "Truly? Calling them a product is a bit..."
"Think about it, Max! If we're the backbone of the economy, then those glorified mercenaries are, tragically, the backbone of society." He tapped a finger against his temple. "No Huntsmen, no one to protect the cities. No protection, no infrastructure. No infrastructure, no trade Jacques exhaled sharply, as if personally offended by the lack of vision in the room. "No trade, no money."
Many a gasp were uttered.
He nodded in understanding. imagine not having money; could never be Jacques. "But as with all halfway decent investments, you need money to make money. That alone is unavoidable, but do you know how much it costs to train a single Huntsman?"
Elizabeth, who had been once more listening politely, lifted a finger. "Sixty to seventy million lien."
They turned to look at her.
The lass shuffled timidly under their gaze. " That's the median price for a hit on a huntsman in the black market. Prices may vary based on the assassin and the target though."
Jacques stared at her for a beat.
The dogs stopped trying to bite each other to do the same.
Maximilien seemed to contemplating and rethinking many things.
"Riiiight! Sixty million lien," he repeated, dragging out the words. "For one brat with a fifty-fifty chance of getting mauled by a fodder Beowolf. And if they're unlucky? Boom. All that investment gone in a tragic, oh-so-preventable accident." Obviously, for someone with decent potential, it's triple or even quadruple that number. And for the true prodigies? The absolute geniuses like his little breeze? Practically priceless. "But what if it wasn't gone?"
Realization dawned on Maximilien. "…You're offering Tranquil Deer to the Kingdoms as an insurance policy. A familiar capable of growing bones and restoring lost limbs, this is... "
A trump card! If the trump card flipped the table, stabbed the other player, and took a dump on his corpse.
"Bingo." Jacques gestured grandly. "A contract with the Atlesian government, hell, all governments, subsidized by them. They pay us to keep their precious warriors in fighting shape. A Huntsman loses a leg? I fix it. A promising recruit gets crippled? We fix it. And, in return, we get direct financial backing for all our expansions. That means more money for infrastructure, more subsidies to cover wages, more tax write-offs, and political leverage. We'd be too vital to regulate without consequences."
Not to mention how absolutely terrified the upper class fuckers are afraid of down, they'll probably spend a fortune just to have Tranquil Deer heal even the most insignificant of booboos. A stubbed toe? A nasty hangover? Gods forbid they age a little too fast, boom! problem solved.
He makes no promises about the last one, though. Have some decency to age gracefully, you squalid fucks!
Naturally, Jacques intended to make a spectacle of it every now and then. A gracious public healing here, a visit to the Central Hospital here, a miraculous recovery there just enough to solidify his influence. And, of course, because he was a great person. Obviously.
Maximilien sat back, fingers drumming against his thigh as he stared off into the distance, deep in thought. His lips pressed into a tight line, and for a long moment, he said nothing. Then, finally—
"…If they bite, and if we play this right, then maybe it's possible." His brows furrowed. "We'd need to be careful about how we approach the Kingdoms. If we move too fast, they'll catch on and try to outmaneuver us. But if we set the right terms, make them think they're getting the better deal—" He exhaled, shaking his head. "Damn it, sir. This might actually work."
Ye of little faith...
"Oh, I already have the agreement drafted with the government." He waved a hand, all casual confidence. "Well, it was more of a gentleman's agreement until now, but they're practically salivating at the thought." The kind of salivating a red-faced bastard does while pretending he's doing you a favor.
The smile never left his face, even as Maximilien shot him the most exhausted, done-with-this-shit look a man could muster. Ten out of ten poker face; not a single blink against the sheer 'Yeah, but why tho?' radiating off him.
"Sir," Max exhaled, rubbing his temples. "You had a plan. You already had an agreement. Could you not have simply… I don't know, presented this to the board? To me? Must we really have dragged ourselves all the way out here just for you to rub our noses in how far ahead you were playing?"
Jacques placed a hand over his heart, offended. "Maximilien. Please. You make it sound like I'm some sort of manipulative bastard."
Max deadpanned. "You are a manipulative bastard."
"Ah, but I'm your manipulative bastard." Jacques grinned, patting him on the shoulder. "Besides, seeing is believing, my dear boy. Do you think those old fossils on the board would have had the imagination to grasp what I was proposing just from words alone? I just needed you on board. " He scoffed. "Of course you needed to feel it. To see it. To breathe it in."
Max stared at him for a long moment, then sighed. "You know, sir… I almost admire how much of an unrepentant ass you are."
"Spectacular! Now that you're on board, I still need you to actually plan the whole affair into an ironclad contract and arrangement. What I have is basically just a gentleman's agreement."
"You scratch my back, I don't slit your throat," Elizabeth summarized.
"See? She gets it." Jacques gestured grandly toward her. "And yet, you don't hear her complaining."
Max pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sir. Sir. Do you even know what kind of clauses you want included? Are we negotiating exclusivity? Payment structure? Hell, do you even know which Kingdoms you want to rope in first aside from Atlas?"
"Max, I don't need to know every little thing. That's your job. You get results."
For some reason, hearing that particular sentence actually made the other man smile. Jacques patted him on the shoulder. "Besides, I have absolute faith in you. And if it makes you feel better, yes, I do have priorities. Atlas first, obviously."
"Obviously."
"Then Mistral."
"Reasonable."
"Then Vacuo—"
Elizabeth's brow furrowed. "Before Vale?"
"Before Vale." he confirmed.
"A bit of hurdle, I admit. But, we could... " He turned to Elizabeth. "See if we have any connections in East Vacuo."
"Now that's what I like seeing, less whining, more doing! Chop chop!" Jacques clapped his hands. "I expect a working draft by the end of the week."
Maximilien interlinked his fingers behind his neck, muttering something under his breath about one of these days before pulling out his scroll. "I'll call Michael. Someone has to make sure we don't end up selling our souls in the fine print. But if I may, sir?"
"Of course you may, mate."
"Why?" Max asked simply, meeting Jacques' gaze. "It's unnecessary."
Maximilien exhaled, placing his scroll on the desk. "Sir, let's be honest. We are outsiders. We only succeeded because we played the same game as Atlas's elite and beat them at it. And now, you-especially you-lord over all those who looked down on us. The old families, the board, the generals, the politicians… You won. We won. So why change what's already working?"
His voice was even, but there was an edge to it. He wasn't just talking about the company, he was talking about everything.
Jacques studied him, fingers drumming against the polished wood of his desk. He could see it now. Maximilien wasn't just concerned about logistics. He wasn't worried about backlash. He saw this for what it really was.
A fundamental shift.
A break from the way things had always been done.
And to someone who had clawed his way to the top by mastering the game as it was? That kind of change felt… pointless if not reckless.
"Because I want to," Jacques said simply. He smiled an earnest smile. "Simply because I want to. What other reason would a man need?"
Despite himself and better judgement, or maybe because of his better judgement, Max felt himself become at ease.
"A fine answer, sir." A subdued smile appeared on Max's face. "If I were a woman, I might have fallen in love with you just for that."
Jacques looked at him.
"Of course, you would, you bundle of sticks."