The Remaking of the World (2)
It was only natural, but compared to eight years ago, it wasn’t just the players’ treatment that had changed.
This time the Boston Brahmins had been squeezed for every last dollar, and the sponsorship money from New York financiers eager to stay on good terms with Serget Cotton had poured in like a flood.
Naturally, everything from the stadium itself to the scale of the event and the caliber of the VIPs in attendance had risen dramatically.
Even before, there had been heavyweights like a New York senator, but this time the guest was none other than the President himself.
And with Secretary of State Seward attending at Lincoln’s own strong insistence, the eyes of the entire nation were fixed on the occasion.
Yes. It was perfect.
It should have been perfect…
“No… haa… I should have checked this myself. I left it to their own discretion and this is what they came up with…”
The opening ceremony had been launched with great pomp.
In the VIP seats, Lincoln gazed down at the field beside me, a smile never leaving his lips.
He could see right through me. All that talk, and he was clearly mocking me.
“······.”
Aaaargh. No. Please stop!
I had simply wanted ordinary names like the Texas Cowboys or Mississippi Raiders.
The whole Black Dragons business was obviously Nick’s handiwork. That bastard really did whatever the hell he wanted.
In contrast, the New York representative teams lined up in the opposing dugout were utterly normal.
The traditional powerhouse New York Knickerbockers.
And the newly rising star, the New York Yankees.
How clean. How perfectly baseball-like those names were.
Sandwiched between such respectable titles, our boys’ naming sense stood out even more… or rather, looked even more tragically out of place.
Lincoln wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes and offered what was clearly not comfort at all.
This man knew everything and still insisted on roasting me to the very end.
Just then, the booming voice of the stadium announcer rang across the field. I closed my eyes, surrendering to a mindset of complete detachment.
“And now, the final team! The future of Serget Cotton! The knightly order representing the northern branch! The Guano Paladins!”
“······.”
A perfect silence fell over the VIP seats.
Guano Paladins. Even the name smelled like bird droppings.
What kind of baseball team called itself the Holy Knights of Seabird Shit? Were you people in your right minds when you came up with that?
Lincoln finally lost control, slamming the table as he burst into laughter.
Even the normally composed Seward began shaking his shoulders, chuckling.
“Your Excellency. If I may explain, that name is…”
I couldn’t just keep taking the beating. I opened my mouth to protest, but at that exact moment Lincoln shot up from his seat.
“Y-Your Excellency, wait just a moment. This is a misunderstanding. I didn’t order them to—”
People can have unusual preferences.
With that absurd consolation, he patted my shoulder a few times and leisurely exited the VIP box.
That retreating back, having delivered only one-sided blows before vanishing. Was this what presidential lane dominance looked like?
Once he had the upper hand in the exchange, I couldn’t even catch my breath as the barrage continued.
I let out a sigh mixed with both resentment and embarrassment, then sank back into my seat.
“Don’t take it too hard, Mr. Chairman.”
Seward offered comfort with a face that still struggled to contain his laughter.
“A name is just a name. In any case, the event is a resounding success. Look at the spectators. They’re all laughing so hard they can barely contain themselves.”
“The event may be a success, but the problem is that my catastrophic naming sense is being broadcast live across the entire country. I’m already terrified of what tomorrow’s newspapers will say.”
“Haha, consider it part of your fame and endure it. Heroes need a touch of human frailty for the public to love them, don’t they?”
Seward clicked his tongue but made no effort to deny that those names were indeed terrible.
Yes, yes. What incredibly helpful consolation.
Even after Lincoln had left to throw the first pitch, Seward remained in his seat. He checked his watch, then suddenly lowered his voice and asked in a secretive tone.
“That aside, doesn’t it feel like a waste to just sit here idly passing the time?”
“Pardon?”
“There happens to be a distinguished guest who has been very eager to meet you, Mr. Serget. Shall I introduce you?”
A distinguished guest? With both the President and the Secretary of State already present, there was still another?
But if Seward was personally arranging it, the person could hardly be ordinary.
“If someone has come all this way to see me, it is only right that I express my gratitude.”
“Good. Then wait just a moment.”
Seward left briefly and soon returned with an elderly man.
He wore unostentatious but refined clothing and somehow exuded the chilly aura of the northern lands.
Seward gestured toward him with a respectful hand.
“Allow me to introduce you. This is the Russian Empire’s minister.”
Russia? At this particular time?
In that instant, one piece of the puzzle in my mind clicked perfectly into place.
The old man extended his hand to me and spoke in a deep, resonant voice.
“It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Eduard Andreyevich Stoeckl.”
The roar of the crowd, ignited by Lincoln’s appearance, thundered through the stadium like background music.
* * *
Crack!
“Waaaaah!”
“Nick of the Abyss Black Dragons connects! A clean double that brings home the first run!”
With the crisp sound of the bat and the announcement of the first score, the stands erupted into a frenzy of cheers.
Heh, that’s our Nick.
As the owner about to enter negotiations, what better appetizer could there be?
I leisurely swirled my wineglass and let the crimson liquid slide down my throat.
“Magnificent. Now I understand why you were so confident.”
Seward looked down at the field in admiration.
His gaze was fixed on the runner charging home and the New York Yankees catcher who had fumbled the ball in panic.
“This is not mere child’s play. It is tactics, training, and the triumph of data. In the future, this sport will become a colossal industry that shakes the entire United States.”
“An industry… I felt it during the cotton export days as well, but you truly have an exceptional talent for turning everything into money.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Stoeckl, seated beside us, kept nodding in agreement.
“Those… Black Dragons, was it? The players’ skill is astonishing. The New York teams are no match.”
“Thank you. My employees are quite passionate.”
Stoeckl lavished praise until his mouth went dry, but his eyes never stopped moving, constantly calculating.
Baseball was merely the pretext.
I was not so dull that I would miss the signal that the real topic lay elsewhere.
And sure enough, once the atmosphere had sufficiently warmed, Seward smoothly changed the subject.
“By the way, I hear you recently acquired a whaling fleet at a bargain price?”
“Yes. I bought quite a few.”
“Are you planning to hunt whales? Oil prices aren’t what they used to be these days.”
“Come now, you already know the answer. The age of whaling is over. We have entered the era of black gold—petroleum—that flows from the earth. Those ships will all be refitted and incorporated into Serget Shipping’s logistics network. You already know they are currently carrying guano instead of whale oil, don’t you?”
At my reply, Stoeckl cut in with a subtle smile.
“It is true that whales are not as profitable as before. But the northern seas do not contain only whales. Sea otter and seal pelts are still luxury goods coveted by European nobility, are they not? Have you considered turning your eyes in that direction?”
As expected of a bear from the north—he didn’t bother circling and came straight for the throat.
Northern seas. Pelts. And the Russian minister.
The answer to what he wanted to say was already obvious.
Alaska.
Russia, having suffered a devastating blow in the Crimean War, was now staggering under a massive fiscal deficit.
They had no money, yet their territory was absurdly, excessively vast.
On top of that, they were engaged in the Great Game with Britain on the North American continent, and with the British colony of Canada right next door, Alaska could only be a burdensome liability that was nearly impossible to defend.
It was no exaggeration to call it the Russian Empire’s biggest headache and the Tsar’s aching tooth.
If war broke out later, the British navy would surely seize it whole. Better to sell it to friendly America for cash while they still could.
And here was Secretary Seward, who clearly wanted that land, bringing the Russian minister straight to me.
He was not the sort of man who would be satisfied with merely being Secretary of State.
“Are you suggesting we bring pelts from Alaska and sell them?”
“Indeed. I believe it would be far from a losing proposition for you.”
He had already opened Japan and Joseon, laying the foundation for a Pacific empire, yet it still wasn’t enough.
Well, the next presidential election was still far away.
Voters had short memories. They might remember who put meat on the table today, but they quickly forgot diplomatic achievements from two years ago.
A decisive blow. It was perfectly reasonable to conclude that he needed a massive territorial expansion no one could dispute.
Acquiring Alaska would complete American hegemony over the North Pacific and create an achievement that would be remembered forever every time someone looked at a map.
But as always, the problem was money.
“I understand the intention… but I don’t see why you are telling me this. Could it be that the budget is insufficient?”
At my deliberately ignorant question, Seward clicked his tongue with a bitter expression.
“Yes. If only it were that simple. But those congressional bastards have clamped their wallets shut. They say we’re already struggling to cover current expenditures—why on earth would we buy some frozen wasteland?”
“True. There is a lot of noise lately about the need for fiscal tightening.”
“Moreover, Salmon and other Republican rivals are watching with hawk eyes, waiting for me to slip up. If I raid the treasury to buy that land and it turns out to be worthless, they will immediately frame it as me being blinded by glory and squandering the national coffers. They’ll tear me apart.”
I quietly listened, swirling the wine in my glass.
It was true that this life had far more ambitious contenders for power than in the original history.
Pouring money directly into buying Alaska carried far too much political risk for Seward.
“That is why I ask for your help.”
“Me?”
“If you redirect that whaling fleet northward for the fur trade, it should prove quite profitable. Could you not create the justification and financial resources for the government to purchase the land?”
After all the circling, the core message was simple.
Lend me some money.
He wanted to buy government bonds. By claiming private capital had been brought in, he could quell congressional opposition.
I deliberately put on an exaggerated look of reluctance.
“Mr. Secretary, even for me, that is a bit…”
“Chairman Serget, think carefully. Reports say Alaska is rich in resources. There is coal, and perhaps even more valuable things buried there. If you will underwrite the bonds, I will guarantee you development rights and preferential treatment.”
Seward cast his bait urgently.
But I kept a lukewarm expression and looked out at the field.
“Aaaah! The Abyss Dragons! They are completely devouring the North!”
The commentator’s cry rang out with ironic timing.
Use your common sense, Mr. Secretary.
You’ll have to sweeten the terms considerably. Who would lend millions of dollars to buy a worthless frozen wasteland like that?
Once this news got out, every American would think Serget Cotton had been shaken down by the White House.
Everyone except me.