Chương 12: The Price of Sovereignty

The mahogany-paneled parlor of the administrative wing had been temporarily converted into a high-security annex, but the dignity of the room was entirely overwritten by the venomous atmosphere within it. Jacques Schnee stood near the center of the room, his posture immaculate, his white tailcoat pristine, and his mustache perfectly groomed. In his right hand, he held a walking cane topped with a massive, flawless chunk of blue Dust crystal.

Not for support, but as a calculated display of absolute economic dominance. His pale blue eyes were cold, sharp, and narrow as he glared at the two military officers before him.

"You have lost your minds. Both of you," Jacques said, his voice a calculated, freezing hiss that cut through the low hum of the Atlesian dropships parked outside. He slammed the tip of his cane onto the hardwood floor.

"Vale is a compromised asset. Beacon Academy is a smoking ruin. The global communications network is severed because your military, James, was turned into a puppet for a group of radicalized faunus and a handful of terrorists!" General James Ironwood stood behind the mahogany desk, his bionic eye whirring in a tight, aggressive micro-pattern. His jaw was set so hard the synthetic skin along his jawline looked white.

"Jacques, you are speaking on matters of global security that fall entirely outside the jurisdiction of the Schnee Dust Company. This campus is under a state of martial protection."

"Martial protection?" Jacques scoffed, a cruel, mocking laugh escaping his lips. He turned his gaze toward his eldest daughter. Winter stood rigid near the window, her hands clasped behind her back, though her fingers were dug so deeply into her own white gloves that the fabric threatened to tear.

"And I suppose my eldest daughter is part of this 'protection'? Tell me, Specialist Schnee, did your military manuals teach you how to lose an entire fleet of capital ships to a high-school hacking script? The SDC has lost billions in transit assets because of this incompetence!"

"Father," Winter said, her voice strained, a dangerous tremor beneath her perfect military composure.

"The infiltration was an unprecedented cyber-tactical strike. The General and I are currently stabilizing the perimeter to ensure--""Silence!" Jacques snapped, pointing his cane directly at her face.

"I did not come here to listen to the excuses of a girl who ran away to play soldier. I came for my property. Weiss is a Schnee, and she will not be left in a graveyard to be slaughtered by monsters while you two stroke your egos!" The double doors of the parlor hissed open. Glynda Goodwitch stepped into the room, her green eyes flashing with an icy, academic fury. Right behind her was Weiss Schnee. Weiss's face was pale, her fingers clutching the hem of her combat skirt as she locked eyes with her father.

She had heard the rumors that his private airship had broken through the blockade, but seeing him standing there, radiating the same suffocating, absolute authority that had defined her childhood, made her throat instantly go dry.

"Ah, Weiss," Jacques said, his voice instantly shifting into a hollow, patronizing warmth that made Winter's stomach turn.

"Thank goodness. Pack your things. The private transport is waiting at the lower docks. We are leaving for Atlas immediately."

"No," Weiss said. The word was small, but it cut through the room like a razor. Jacques froze. His eyes narrowed, the thin warmth vanishing from his face, replaced by a cold, patriarchal malice.

"What did you say to me?"

"I said no, Father," Weiss repeated, stepping past Glynda. Her heart was hammering against her ribs, her mind screaming at her to look down, to apologize, to submit as she always had. But then she thought of Ruby's face in the courtyard. She thought of Yang's shattered arm. She thought of the clear blue sky that had been forcibly bought for them.

"I am not leaving. Beacon is operational. My team is here. My duty is here."

"Your duty is to the family name!" Jacques roared, stepping toward her, his cane raised slightly as his body language became predatory.

"You are a child playing at being a hero! Look around you, girl! This school is a target! The sky was ripped open yesterday! If whatever creature caused that returns, you will die here, and the Schnee legacy will be dragged through the mud of this pathetic kingdom!"

"The creature that caused it is dead, Jacques," Ironwood interjected, his voice dropping into a warning growl.

"I do not care about the statistics of your failures, James!" Jacques shouted, turning back to the general, his face flushing red with a rare burst of genuine rage.

"I am cutting off her accounts. I am revoking her name. Weiss, if you do not walk out of that door right now, you are nothing. You will have no lien, no legacy, no future. You will be a nameless beggar in a broken city!" Weiss flinched, the words striking her exactly where Jacques knew it would hurt the most. She felt her chest tighten, her vision blurring slightly as the weight of her father's absolute financial and emotional tyranny began to crush her resolve. Then, the door clicked open again.

Saitama walked into the parlor. He was wearing his bright yellow jumpsuit, but his white cape was tucked awkwardly over his arm because he was holding a white ceramic mug with the words #1 Deputy Headmaster printed on it. He took a loud, wet slurp of what smelled like extremely cheap, instant green tea. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. Everyone in the room froze.

Jacques stopped mid-breath, his cane still pointed at Weiss, his eyes bulging as he took in the bald, dot-eyed man who had just casually strolled into a high-level military and corporate argument.

"Hey, lady with the crop," Saitama said, completely ignoring Jacques as he looked at Glynda.

"The sink in my room is doing that thing again. Like, it drips every three seconds. Drip. Drip. It's super annoying because I'm trying to read that comic book the kid with the monkey tail gave me, and I can't concentrate. Can we get the robot-arm guy to look at it?" Jacques stared at him in utter disbelief.

"Who... what is this? James, why is there a civilian vagrant in this briefing? And why is he dressed like a children's entertainer?" Glynda didn't answer. She simply watched with a faint, tight-lipped expression of grim satisfaction. Jacques stepped directly into Saitama's path, his pristine white coat rustling as he drew himself up to his full, imposing height. He looked down his nose at the bald man, his voice dripping with an immense, aristocratic poison.

"Listen to me, you bald peasant," Jacques hissed, his finger digging into Saitama's yellow chest.

"I don't know what kind of pathetic, low-class scam you are running with the academy administration, but you are currently interrupting a private matter of the Schnee Dust Company. A man of your clear... lack of pedigree has no right to breathe the same air as my daughter, let alone wander through these halls acting like a fool. You are a parasite, sucking off the military budget of a failing kingdom while actual men of industry--" Saitama stood perfectly still. His face didn't change.

His dot-eyes remained perfectly round, blank, and vacant. He took another slow, loud sip from his mug. Sluuuuuuurp. Jacques' jaw twitched.

"Are you listening to me?! I am Jacques Schnee! I control the global supply of energy! I can have you erased from every labor registry in the world! You are a nobody! A nameless, faceless, bald--""Hey," Saitama interrupted, his voice a flat, incredibly bored drone. Jacques blinked, taken aback by the complete lack of fear.

"What?" Saitama lowered his mug, looking at Jacques' perfectly groomed mustache with a look of profound, physical exhaustion.

"Look, mister. You've been talking for like... three whole minutes. And honestly, I didn't understand a single word you just said."

"You... what?!" Jacques stammered, his face turning an alarming shade of purple.

"You use way too many words," Saitama said, scratching his bald head with his free red glove.

"Pedigree, industry, registry... man, it's just a bunch of noise. If you've got a problem with your daughter, just talk to her like a normal person. Why are you yelling so much? And why are you pointing that stick at me? You're being really annoying. I just came here to ask about my leaky sink." A dead, absolute silence fell over the room. Winter's mouth slightly parted. Ironwood's bionic eye stopped whirring entirely.

Weiss stared at Saitama, her tears completely forgotten, her mind failing to process the fact that someone had just called the most powerful corporate tyrant on Remnant "annoying" to his face.

"You... you insolent, bald... freak!" Jacques whispered, his voice cracking with an unprecedented, chaotic rage. He raised his cane, his knuckles turning white as he prepared to strike the flat of the crystal against Saitama's head.

"Father, don't!" Weiss cried out, lunging forward. Saitama didn't even move his hands from his mug. He just sighed. The sheer, accidental pressure of Saitama's sigh, a slight, localized exhalation of raw, unquantifiable physical force, caught the edge of Jacques' immaculate white tailcoat.

The wind pressure didn't hurt him, but it was so concentrated that it instantly tore the fine silk threads of his lapel, sending a shockwave through his walking cane that caused the flawless Dust crystal at the top to instantly crack into a dozen pieces. Jacques stumbled back three paces, his polished boots slipping on the hardwood floor until his back hit the cold fireplace. He looked down at his shattered cane, then up at Saitama's completely vacant, unchanging face.

For the first time in his entire life, Jacques Schnee felt a cold, primitive instinct scream in the back of his brain. It wasn't the fear of a political rival or a financial loss. It was the fear of an apex predator that didn't even recognize him as a living thing. Saitama took another sip of his tea.

"Anyway, lady with the crop, about the sink..." Jacques' breath became shallow. He looked at Ironwood, who was watching him with a cold, triumphant stillness. He looked at Winter, whose posture had shifted from rigid fear to a quiet, dangerous confidence. Finally, he looked at Weiss, who was standing straight, her shoulders square, looking at him not as a terrified child, but as a Huntress.

"This... this place is cursed," Jacques muttered, his aristocratic composure completely shattered. He gripped his broken cane, his hands shaking as he adjusted his torn coat.

"You are all mad. Keep her. Keep the girl. See what happens to your kingdom when the SDC cuts your supply lines!" Jacques turned on his heel and practically fled through the double doors, his hurried, undignified footsteps echoing down the marble corridor until the heavy outer doors slammed shut. The parlor remained completely silent for a long moment.

"Well," Saitama said, setting his mug down on the edge of the mahogany desk with a soft clink.

"He was loud. Glad he's gone. So... who's fixing the sink?"

"I will handle the maintenance requests personally, Mr. Saitama," Glynda said, her voice carrying a rare, subtle note of genuine amusement as she adjusted her glasses.

"Thank you for your... timely intervention."

"Yeah, whatever," Saitama said, turning toward the door with a lazy wave of his hand.

"Just make sure it's done before tonight. I can't sleep with that dripping sound." As the bald man slid the doors shut behind him, Weiss Schnee sank slowly into one of the leather chairs, her chest heaving as the immense, lifelong burden of her father's shadow completely evaporated from her spirit. She looked up at her sister. Winter was staring at the closed door, her blue eyes wide, her mind racing through every military protocol she had ever learned. He didn't even try.

Winter thought, a shiver running down her spine. He didn't use Aura. He didn't even look angry. He just... breathed, and he shattered a man's entire world. He isn't a weapon. He is an entirely different tier of existence. Weiss looked down at her hands, a small, brilliant smile finally breaking through her pale face. He didn't care about the Schnee name. She realized, her heart swelling with a strange, liberating sense of awe. He didn't care about the lien, or the dust, or the legacy.

To a man who can move mountains, my father isn't a tyrant. He's just... a loud guy with a stick.