Arto, Minister of the Executive Ministry

“Here are today’s work reports and the various documents requiring your approval, including all supporting materials.”

...I don't want to.

As the usual flood of work came crashing in, a sudden, bone-deep sense of annoyance washed over me.

“Understood.”

Yet my body, completely at odds with my thoughts, accepted the stack of approval documents like an automatic answering machine and began processing them at high speed with practiced ease. Of course, no matter how ingrained the motions had become, there was no helping the fact that my mood was especially foul today.

Thanks to that snarky little status window bastard and its habit of screwing with me like that, I was forcibly reminded that I had been transmigrated into this ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠world — this utterly niche SF management strategy simulation game — for over ten years now.

“Haaah... damn it.”

And of all things, I hadn’t even landed in the nation I had built and played myself. No, I had been dumped into some random no-name generated country. That part I had never seen coming.

...Status window. Nation.

While I was thinking about it, I decided to open the status window I used to check so often in the original game and get a proper look at the current situation. And while I was at it, my own status too.

...Damn. I really raised this place well, didn’t I?

Of course, I hadn’t raised it from the very beginning. If it had started the way the original game did — with a single planet — building a great empire in a mere ten years would have been impossible. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Maybe that was why the setting had me transmigrating at the moment the empire was first founded... no, at a point a full hundred years after the original game’s starting date.

Because of that, the empire had already grown to a certain size by the time I arrived. But still—

No, it was just a backwater country stuck in a galactic corner.

No matter how much they called themselves an empire, from the perspective of the entire galaxy they were just one more nation among countless others. On top of that, their military power was frankly mediocre, and thanks to the Predecessor Emperor’s endless blunders, diplomatic relations with the surrounding states were at rock bottom. How could it have been otherwise?

There had been plenty of other problems besides those, and plenty still remained even now... but after all the blood, sweat, and tears I had poured in, hadn’t it grown into this?

I’m not usually the crying type, but today the tears are actually coming.

And in the original game, you just clicked a few times and the fleets moved and everything handled itself! Here I was transmigrated into the game, status window and all, yet every single thing that used to end with a click had to be handled personally, in painstaking detail. There had been more than a few times my skull nearly split open from the stress!!!!!!!!!!!!

Anyway, things had worked out, I had secured my position one way or another, so it was fine. It was fine. Looking at it another way, I had risen to an absurd height compared to my previous life. A perfectly ordinary civilian, now a power broker who could touch interstellar diplomacy in this world?! It felt like I had wandered into the title of some light novel, and the whole thing left me with a thoroughly complicated feeling.

It’s strange, isn’t it? At the root I’m still just a weak, ordinary man.

Sometimes, from the eyes of the people in this world, I could feel the envy and awe directed at my position.

But I didn’t succeed because I’m anything special.

No cheat abilities, nothing. Just a bit of hard work, a bit of luck, and the fact that I knew the original game’s systems. That was all. Every time those gazes fell on me, complicated thoughts rose unbidden.

I’m just a simple, ordinary person. Well... maybe a tiny bit above average, but still...

So whenever someone overestimated me for no good reason, a sharp ache would twist in my gut. In the end I was just an ordinary civilian who knew how to indulge in a little self-praise. I really wished people would stop pinning so many expectations on me.

But those thoughts were purely Arto’s own.

“The Minister? He’s truly an extraordinary man.”

That was the opinion of the civil servants of the Executive Ministry, where Arto mainly resided (semi-forcibly).

“With him at our side, I believe we can accomplish anything.”

“That’s our boss!”

The combat arm of the Executive Ministry — the Purge Squad.

“The Minister’s mental processing speed is unmatched. Especially in a crisis, he truly shines.”

“The most reliable leader one could ask for, wouldn’t you say?”

The empire’s think tank.

“Had that man been present during the reign of the late Predecessor Emperor, the empire would have seized the entire western galaxy and still had room to spare.”

“That sheer presence he displayed across the Zaniradia theater... it was truly captivating.”

The high nobility’s social circles.

“Thanks to him, our empire has come to wield enormous influence across this galaxy.”

“When no one else can find an answer, he produces a flash of wit and intellect in an instant. There is no knowing the full depth of that brilliant mind.”

High-ranking officials.

“I hear the Minister cleaned up another mess this time?”

“Border disputes have dropped thanks to him. How great is that!”

Soldiers on the front lines.

“The Minister? Aigoo, that man feeds even lowlifes like us!”

“You worthless bastard, can’t you even use proper honorifics?!”

Even the criminals of the back alleys and slums.

In the Holy Sevelian Empire, anyone who knew the name Arto — regardless of race or gender — tended to hold him in extremely high regard.

Of course, not every evaluation of him was so favorable.

“...Rumor has it he’s actually a psychopath.”

“I’ve heard he sometimes conducts the torture himself.”

Those classic smear campaigns were only the beginning.

“The reason the Minister still isn’t married... is because he’s a furry, apparently.”

“What? I heard it was because he’s a mecha-otaku.”

“Ugh, you idiots.”

...There were also some rather bizarre types of slander.

“Frankly speaking, I consider the Minister’s abilities and reputation themselves a threat to the empire.”

“Indeed. Even if he claims to have no lust for power, should he ever change his mind even slightly...”

There were those who simply saw him as a threat. All in all, he was a figure surrounded by thoroughly complicated evaluations.

Of course, that was only true inside the empire.

“The Sevelian Minister of the Executive Ministry? Don’t even mention that bastard’s name.”

“Because of him and his subordinates, the entire spy network we painstakingly built got wiped out. Damn it.”

“Aigoo, my lord! If you smash that too, what’s a poor man like ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠me supposed to live on?!”

“Look at them. They tried to set up black markets, slave markets, all sorts of shady operations, got demolished, and now they’re crying about it.”

The nations outside the empire — especially the intelligence agencies of every country that constantly tried to plant spy networks, and the aspiring crime syndicates dreaming of dominating the underworld — regarded him as an object of pure terror.

“Haaani, shit, what the hell is this? The agent we sent on a honey trap got converted instead?”

“Dunno.”

“Did you guys get converted? Our honey-trap agent turned into a civil-service slave.”

“Oh.”

“One of our ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠secret base commanders disappeared one day and came back... gender-swapped into a pretty-girl idol.”

He countered them with every bizarre method imaginable, so they could no longer even predict what would befall their agents next.

And if one stepped beyond the intelligence agencies into the realm of pan-galactic diplomacy...

“Ah... that Sevelian minister? I thought he was the foreign minister.”

“He’s the one who essentially stopped Prosnaq’s expansion, isn’t he?”

“I hesitate to say this, but in the political and diplomatic sphere of the current Galactic Federation, there is simply no one who can match him.”

“That those Sevelian country bumpkins would feel this large in a mere ten years... honestly, no one predicted it.”

“Even after losing countless resource zones and border fortresses under the Ytrelan Treaty, they recovered everything as if nothing had happened.”

His reputation had long since surpassed that of the intelligence agencies; he was evaluated as nothing less than the savior of the empire.

And then...

Someone, for whatever purpose, had gathered every last one of those evaluations. And Arto happened to see them all.

“...”

“What the hell did I ever do to you?”

In the middle of a busy workday, a status window had suddenly popped up out of nowhere and hit me with a full-on death sentence. I had no idea why it was doing this. Was this some kind of tenth-anniversary surprise?

If that was really the case...

Just die already. Please.

Once again I hurled a curse-laden remark at that damned status window and at whoever had dumped me into this world, and then—

“Grrrk.”

—I was forced to spend a stretch of pure agony in the company of heartburn, hypertension, hyperlipidemia, and diabetes.