The Graduate Student's DNA (2)
‘……So, the Empire’s administrative system… it’s straight out of a romance fantasy. Everything’s all jumbled together.’
I muttered softly as I closed the brick-thick stack of documents Maximilian had handed me.
Sitting at the desk in my private office, I’d spent the last few hours poring meticulously over the Empire’s foundational materials. They were surprisingly fascinating.
In my previous life, I’d double-majored in public administration.
I’d even passed the first round of the 5th-grade civil service exam, the PSAT, and seriously aspired to pursue a graduate degree in the field—I was pretty dedicated to it.
Of course, getting smashed by a truck while grinding League with headphones on in the street meant I’d never get to apply that knowledge in modern society’s bureaucracy.
Anyway, through the eyes of a decent undergrad admin scholar, the Empire’s framework struck me as bizarre and malformed.
It felt like my ex-girlfriend—who was obsessed with history—had patched together features from every major empire in history willy-nilly when building this world.
For starters, the legal system and administrative divisions mirrored ancient Rome to a tee.
Meanwhile, the central dispatch of bureaucrats to monitor local power echoed the control methods of China’s unified dynasties.
And yet, their relentless conquest wars, emphasizing mobility and logistics, strongly evoked the Mongol Empire.
‘For a Western backdrop, there’s a ton of traces of Eastern-style centralization.’
Basically, the Empire had unified the continent by force and aimed for a unified central bureaucracy.
But realistically, you couldn’t control such vast territories and diverse cultures overnight.
Hence, their system took on a feudal form, leaving local rulers in place and granting them partial rights.
Of course, they constantly dispatched supervisory bureaucrats from the center to maintain control.
They’d elevate collaborators from conquests as new powers, pitting them against each other—plenty of checks and balances like that.
But since this world’s administrative knowledge was stuck at a medieval level, the limitations were obvious.
Externally, it was probably my ex’s pure humanities background showing through.
‘Whatever the case, from an admin scholar’s view, it’s riddled with deficiencies and inefficiencies.’
That didn’t mean I planned to barge in with modern public admin principles and overhaul the whole thing.
This was a romance fantasy world’s fictional nation—an absolute monarchy where the Emperor’s word was the law.
Slapping a modern system, built on democratic evolution, onto it would be idiotic.
After mulling over all those era-specific limits and realities, I started jotting down feasible, meaningful improvements on a blank sheet.
“The biggest issue… is the lack of policy management and evaluation—barely any feedback mechanisms.”
The Empire was quick at planning and ramming policies through, but had zero systems for objectively assessing outcomes.
Naturally, essential stats were a mess too.
Population and economic metrics were scattered haphazardly across ministries, so no wonder the Crown Prince slaved away with his eyes wide open every day.
The next glaring fatal flaw was the tax system.
“The way they collect taxes is so primitive.”
I dipped my quill deep in ink and rapidly filled the page.
The Empire’s taxes were vague lump sums with unclear purposes.
The center would just dump a quota on local lords—like “cough up 100,000 gold coins this year.”
This inevitably encouraged skimming by lords and brutal exploitation.
In the end, the people’s tax resistance and rage pointed not at the lords, but the Emperor.
‘Using modern examples, they need to granularize taxes—income, capital gains, acquisition, property, like that.’
I expanded the concept in my report.
Even if total tax revenue rose, if payers knew exactly what tax they were paying and where it went—like road maintenance or border defense—the psychological backlash would drop sharply.
It gave taxpayers legitimacy.
‘Of course, scrapping poll taxes or full tax reform hits vested interests too hard right now.’
Sensitive issues directly raiding nobles’ pockets would spark fierce backlash if bungled, so I added a pragmatic compromise: focus on subdividing tax categories for now.
My floating admin knowledge began pouring onto the paper as concrete proposals.
Once I hit my groove, old habits from all-nighters in the uni library during exams kicked in—I lost track of time, maniacally reading and writing.
Scratch, scratch. Scratch, scratch.
In the silent office, only the quill’s harsh scrape against paper echoed relentlessly.
Ink smudging my fingers went unnoticed; I was drowning in a sea of documents.
Knock knock.
The knock snapped me out of it.
Looking up, the red sunset outside had long vanished, swallowed by deep night.
Creeeak.
The door opened, and in walked Crown Prince Maximilian, exhaustion plain on his face.
He was already dressed in a neat overcoat, clearly done for the day and heading out.
“……Ian Sterling? You’re still here?”
Seeing me still gripping the quill by lamplight in the dark room, Maximilian’s eyes widened in genuine surprise.
“Ah, Your Highness. Has it gotten this late already?”
I rubbed my stiff neck and stood.
“I got so absorbed reading the documents thoroughly that time flew. But I’m not done yet. They’re so vast—I’ve only finished the admin section, haven’t even touched the military.”
“Who said to read it all in one day? I told you to skim and poke around a bit.”
Tsking as he approached, Maximilian’s gaze locked onto the ink-scented stacks towering on my desk.
He narrowed his eyes at my writing.
“……I specifically said a single page of impressions. What’s all this? You wrote this much?”
“Ah, Your Highness, it’s just a draft.”
“This?”
Before I could stop him, he snatched the top sheet.
It outlined unifying stats under one agency, subdividing tax types to curb resistance, and gradual rollout to dodge backlash from elites.
Still a rough draft with room for tweaks, but his eyes raced across the text.
Finishing the last line of the last page, a strange gleam flickered behind his glasses.
Thud.
He carefully set it back down.
Then slowly looked up at me, lips twitching before blooming into a bright grin.
His hand landed on my shoulder.
In a voice so friendly it was hard to believe it came from the usual cold, prickly Crown Prince:
“Ian, fancy a drink?”
“Pardon? A drink… yes, Your Highness? I can hold my liquor pretty well.”
“Excellent! Pack up—we’re having one tonight.”
“……Pardon? No, Your Highness, I haven’t read the military section, and I’d like to head back to my quarters and rest.”
“Military can wait! That’s not even your lane. Right now, I’m dying to drink with you.”
“But—”
“Come on. I’ll pull out my most prized vintage from the palace cellars, just for you.”
Maximilian winked.
“Plus, tomorrow’s the weekend. One night of getting smashed won’t hurt, right?”
Honestly, a drink sounded tempting.
I hadn’t gotten properly wasted much in this life.
“Very well, I won’t say no.”
“Great! Let’s go.”