Why Aren't You Using the Metric System???????????? (2)
It was my regular private audience with the Emperor.
As expected, I was summoned to the greenhouse, where I waited for the Emperor to set down his teacup and open his mouth.
“So, have you been comfortable this past week? Or did you bring some new entertaining stories to amuse me?”
At that question, I clutched my aching chest muscles and let out a small groan.
“Thanks to Your Majesty's consideration, I have almost no inconveniences... but it would be great if Second Prince could go a little easier on the workouts. Honestly, I feel like I'm dying and coming back to life every time.”
“Kehkeh, looks like you're training pretty hard with that Arthur fellow. Hearing you groan like that means the workouts are definitely working.”
The Emperor, who had laughed heartily, soon set down his teacup and lightly changed the subject.
“By the way, have you been in touch with your homeland?”
“Pardon? In touch... you mean...”
“With Sterling, of course. It's been quite some time since you packed up and came to this unfamiliar imperial palace. Haven't you sent even a single letter to your family? Or used a magic crystal at least?”
I blinked for a moment before answering awkwardly.
“Ah... no, I haven't. Well, more precisely, I didn't know if I was allowed to contact them, so I held off. As a hostage detained from a defeated nation, I assumed all external communication was strictly prohibited. Besides, my magic crystal is back home.”
At my honest response, the Emperor let out a disbelieving chuckle.
“Hah. Even if the Empire is known for being ruthless, we're not that petty. We allow even war prisoners captured on fierce battlefields to send word back home that they're alive. Do you really think the Empire would completely seal the mouth and ears of a royal hostage who came under a formal treaty?”
The Emperor tapped the table lightly with his finger and added,
“As soon as you return to your quarters today, contact Sterling. The king who sent his son as a hostage to a foreign land must be losing sleep worrying about your fate. At least let them know you're alive. I'll have a new magic crystal provided for you.”
It was an unexpected consideration.
Well, the royal family that had basically sold me off weren't my real family anyway, but it felt like the right thing to do to send word at least once... and it would be good for my mother too.
“I am deeply grateful for your consideration, Your Majesty. I shall obey.”
As I bowed my head sincerely, the Emperor rested his chin on his hand and whispered lowly.
“Of course. This is about sending word to your family—not smuggling out the Empire's sensitive secrets or plotting some clumsy escape plan. Just because I've shown mercy doesn't mean the watchful eyes will be lifted.”
“...”
“If even a hint of anything suspicious is found in your letters or communications... well, then we'll have to seriously reevaluate your current position, your comfortable life in this palace, and all the little luxuries you enjoy in peacetime. So mind yourself.”
I could tell without asking that my lifeline—or even my limbs—were included in those “little luxuries.”
“I will keep it in mind, and keep it in mind again.”
“Good. Now, back to the main topic.”
The Emperor fiddled with his teacup and looked at me with evident interest.
“That story from earlier. What exactly is this horrific and astonishing fact you discovered while training with Arthur?”
I lowered my voice dramatically, putting on a grave expression as if I'd been waiting for this.
“During training, Your Highness suggested adding 10 pounds more weight.”
“Hm? I get that you don't like exercising, but is that really important?”
“Pounds, Your Majesty. If I may boldly suggest, the Empire needs to overhaul its measurement system as soon as possible.”
“...Measurement system?”
One of the Emperor's eyebrows twitched.
“Yes. It doesn't make sense for the great Empire that will conquer the continent and unify the world to still be using something as inefficient and horrific as the yard-pound system.”
“The yard-pound system has been customary in the Empire since our days as a small kingdom. It's been properly established as our standard for over 200 years now. And you call a system used that long inefficient?”
“This is an Empire that will endure for hundreds, no, thousands of years. To merge the remaining nations and unify all resources and administration, we must start with the foundation: standardizing to the intuitive metric system.”
At my firm assertion, the Emperor rested his chin on his hand, looking intrigued.
“The metric system, eh. And why is it supposedly better than yards and pounds?”
As if I'd been waiting, I pulled out the parchments I'd prepared over the past few days in the library and laid them before the Emperor.
“These are concise summaries of its decimal-based intuitiveness and the computational convenience where length, volume, and weight are perfectly compatible.”
The Emperor picked up the parchment I'd offered, his expression unchanging as he slowly scanned the text.
“...”
A heavy silence descended on the greenhouse.
Just as cold sweat began to trickle down my back, wondering if I'd overstepped, the Emperor set the parchment down on the table with a thud.
“Understood. Leave these materials here for now.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
After that, the Emperor didn't mention the measurement system again.
Instead, he chatted lightly about when my muscle pain would subside or if I was reading the books well, then dismissed me after a few more words.
Ian Sterling exited the greenhouse, and the heavy door closed behind him.
Once his footsteps had completely faded, the Emperor relaxed the stern expression he'd maintained until then and smiled faintly.
“What do you think?”
At the Emperor's call, footsteps approached from behind the thick curtain in one corner of the greenhouse.
“It's astonishing.”
The man who emerged from the shadows picked up the parchment Ian had left behind, his eyes gleaming.
“This content matches perfectly with what I've been agonizing over for years in my efforts to reform the measurement system. No—some parts even pinpoint the core issues more clearly.”
“Is that so.”
“Yes, Father. That fellow... he can never go back to Sterling.”
There was a strangely insidious, sticky obsession in the young man's voice.
The Emperor lifted his teacup and chuckled lowly.
“Why? Are you already excited at the thought of having such a talented asset under your command?”
“Of course.”
The man gripped the parchment tightly as he replied.
“We need to make a talent like that devote himself to the Empire as soon as possible. Grind his flesh and bones into service for imperial administration. Father, I just can't understand it. How did a gem like that emerge from that cluster of barbaric southern fishing villages? Squeezing the entire kingdom might yield nothing but fishy seawater, but that one head of Ian Sterling might be worth far more to the Empire.”
The Emperor smiled intriguingly at his eldest son, Crown Prince Maximilian, whose eyes sparkled.
“That would be amusing indeed. But consider the opposite: his official status is still that of the Empire's hostage. We can't just seat a hostage in the imperial administration and let him handle state affairs at will. So, do you have a good plan to drag him to your desk?”
At the Emperor's question, the Crown Prince fiddled with the documents and grinned slyly.
A cunning glint, unseen before on his fatigue-worn face from years of administrative drudgery, flashed across it.
“My two foolish younger siblings are already desperate over not being able to monopolize a useful toy.”
“Oh ho.”
“I'm planning to let Victoria and Arthur fight over that toy until the heat rises just right. Then, as the eldest, I'll step in to reconcile them and naturally confiscate the toy.”
The Crown Prince pushed up his glasses and smiled chillingly.
“Before my ignorant little brothers break the toy in their hands, I'll snatch it away and put it to better use. As the eldest, isn't that only natural?”
“Kehkehkehkeh!”
At his son's brazen scheme, the Emperor burst into hearty laughter, unable to hold back.
“Yes! That's my heir!”
“Then, will you permit it?”
“Of course. Make use of him as you see fit. If he becomes the bedrock of our millennial Empire, he'll be pleased too.”
“It's for the Empire.”
Of course, the person in question's consent was nowhere to be found.
If he felt wronged, he should've been born in a stronger nation—but he was weak, so this was how it went.
Ian Sterling's fate seemed all but sealed.