The Mountain King Festival and the Red Comrade: Part One
After plotting with the bald chairman to siphon off corporate taxes, I finally decided to head to the next destination I'd been putting off.
...Though, considering the location, I half-expected to meet a takoyaki instead of the chairman.
— So… you're saying you'll be here now?
"Why not? As the Japanese Communist Party's foremost patron, it's only natural I should be able to meet the Red Princess whenever I please."
— Even if Miss Irene Ronska—no, Yerina Bronska—is the top patron, you must speak properly. The one who can meet her is not the Princess, but the JCP's Secretary-General.
"Ah, but I imagine the Secretary-General knows better than anyone that those two roles aren't so easily separated. If you say so, though."
—You've said it several times already, but the way you keep conflating them suggests Miss Bronska has no intention of drawing a distinction.
Chiyoko Tokugawa, the JCP's Secretary-General I hadn't seen in a while, was still working tirelessly to raise the party's profile in southern Japan.
To be blunt, there was a certain contradiction in the JCP's efforts.
The Japanese Communist Party had long been designated an illegal organization by the southern Japanese government in Tokyo. The more they promoted the JCP to build their ranks, the higher the risk of being exposed by state authorities.
Yet they couldn't simply refrain from promotion. Without public recognition, the JCP would wither away under government repression, left to die in lonely obscurity.
The financial problem had at least been resolved, thanks to a certain witch from the far western edge of Europe who had been funding them.
But in Far Eastern nations, money didn't always translate into political power.
No matter how abundant their funds, without political influence they'd merely become convenient tax machines waiting to be beaten.
At least in these regions, financial power rightly remained subordinate to political power.
Thus, the JCP needed to put a face forward that wouldn't attract the southern Japanese government's ire.
Someone who could promote the JCP while simultaneously avoiding state repression.
At this point, there was no need to ponder who the only person fitting this description could be.
Though she held the title of Secretary-General, Chiyoko Tokugawa undoubtedly wielded authority far exceeding her name.
"I heard you'll be participating in the Sanō Festival this time."
—I don't know where you heard that, but… yes, that's correct.
As part of this effort to raise awareness, Chiyoko Tokugawa planned to attend the Sanō Festival.
"Let me ask in advance—this wasn't purely your own decision, was it?"
—What's the point of hiding it? You were the only suitable candidate. Though I wouldn't say I disliked it entirely.
As with great power comes great responsibility, high authority inevitably carried commensurate obligations.
The Sanō Festival was one of Japan's three great festivals. While ranking them as "top three" held little official weight, there was no denying its considerable scale.
The festival had its own history. And in Japan, having a history generally meant being rooted in either Buddhism or Shinto.
Indeed, it was Shinto-based.
It was a large-scale festival that included a procession through Tokyo's Chiyoda Ward, where the Imperial Palace stood, under the pretext of enshrining mountain deities.
For the JCP, which adhered to the original ideology of Marx and Engels rather than the heavily distorted Stalinist communism of the Soviet Union, this made no sense whatsoever.
One could concede Buddhism. With thousands of years of history and robust philosophical foundations developed through countless debates, it was a religion with substantive thought.
From a Marxist perspective, it was an ideology worthy of equal consideration and discussion.
But Shinto was different. What logical coherence could there possibly be in Shinto, which only began to develop a systematic framework when the Japanese government heavily promoted it around the Meiji Restoration?
To the rational communists of the archipelago, Shinto was merely a concept surviving on tradition alone.
Wasting the blood tax of 100 million Japanese subjects—no, comrades—on such nonsense? In the midst of an already shattered economy?
Thankfully, Japan's economy had sufficient weight to withstand such folly. Had the archipelago's economic power been on par with colonial Korea—no, the Republic of Korea—and they'd done this, it wouldn't have been surprising if the Prime Minister's head had been hung up immediately.
Of course, from the communists' perspective, if Junichiro Koizumi's head were hung up, that wouldn't be bad at all… but they didn't particularly want things to collapse in that manner.
Yet the fact that the Secretary-General wasn't just boycotting the irrational Shinto rites but actively participating suggested something quite interesting.
'So "thirsty for recognition" meant more than just the literal sense, huh?'
She intended to use Shinto's power to make people aware of what the JCP was and what it did.
It was a decision that somewhat conflicted with the party's charter, but I understood. With the financial aspects largely resolved, she was moving to the next phase.
Truth be told, this too was a product of my butterfly effect. Had I not funded them, the Princess wouldn't have considered stepping forward.
I smiled faintly and replied.
"Well, it seems she wanted to increase Japanese citizens' interest in the Communist Party, even if it meant this approach."
—That's true, but what's the reason for asking so suddenly? Surely this decision didn't offend the top patron's sensibilities?
"Heavens, no. If the Princess's recognition increases in any way, we have nothing to complain about."
This was sincere. I had no intention of stepping into the historical spotlight myself, and just as with Britain and South Korea, Japan's subjugation should be achieved through my proxies.
A few days prior, I'd confirmed South Korea's role in the Far East through my conversation with Chairman Takoyaki.
Specifically, a tank role that would draw all Far Eastern attention at once by brandishing nuclear weapons and dancing with a sword if necessary.
Even if Seoul, Pyongyang, and Busan burned in succession, as long as Moscow burned at the last moment, it would ultimately be my victory—so it was a tanking role I could afford to disregard.
However, South Korea's capacity might be insufficient to handle China, North Korea, and Ezo all at once.
North Korea and Ezo had far fewer people, but the biggest problem was undoubtedly China.
China had precedent for deploying massive forces to the Korean Peninsula, as seen in the war that began in 1950 and officially remains unresolved.
Thanks to that, the UN forces that had pushed all the way to the Yalu River had to retreat and establish defensive positions along the Taedong River.
For Koreans—meaning South Koreans—China's intervention was arguably the greatest obstacle to unification.
A similar situation could occur in my plans.
No matter how poor the relationship between the Soviet Union and China, if the free world united to overthrow the communist bloc, they'd have no choice but to join hands, willing or not.
To prepare for such a scenario, I needed an additional state-level collaborator in the Far East.
Considering national strength, the fact that our Princess was the ideal candidate was undeniable.
Thus, the JCP's efforts to raise its own profile were actually commendable from my perspective, as a means to control the variable of China's billion-strong population.
The Princess asked through the receiver.
—I heard you'll be coming to Japan soon. Is this related to sending our people to Busan a few weeks ago?
"Well, I can't say there's no connection. Though I can't share the details."
Sending JCP personnel to Busan Port to divert Korean leaders' attention from Pyongyang was, in essence, part of the same context.
I answered honestly—there was no reason to lie—and the Princess immediately expressed gratitude.
—...I see. As always, I'm grateful for your generosity. Miss Bronska, without you, the party members would have scattered long ago, and I would have returned to seclusion.
I asked calmly.
"Is that so? I thought such a life might suit the Princess."
I momentarily projected myself onto Chiyoko.
After all, before fleeing to London, when my father led the Syndicate, wasn't I also confined to seclusion?
As the Marquess of Dawnhaven's daughter, Yerina Bronska's situation, upon reflection, was far from free.
It wasn't that my father was particularly strict—it was that I couldn't fully control Charm.
Charm, which indiscriminately triggered goodwill—especially lust in men—toward anyone I met, made it impossible to keep anyone nearby except someone with Pavel's level of self-discipline.
It was a continuous series of days spent confined to my room against my will.
Retrospectively speaking, I wouldn't have met my aunt Elze, so I wouldn't have learned to control Charm.
Still, humans are animals that crave freedom. The Princess's voice came through the receiver.
—That might be true for Princess Chiyoko, but not for the human Tokugawa Chiyoko.
"...I understand that feeling. I've been in a similar situation personally."
—...Is that so?
"Well… you could say I have high expectations for you, Tokugawa Chiyoko. I believe you won't disappoint your top patron."
It was time to end the call. I naturally shifted direction to conclude the conversation with the Princess.
Chiyoko Tokugawa replied, "Thank you for trusting me."
I turned my gaze toward the two subordinates who had appeared before me.
I'd summoned them midway through the call, and they had just arrived. Though I'd called them separately, Pavel and Delis had entered my hotel room simultaneously. Delis's cheeks seemed oddly flushed.
"Pavel?"
"Yes, Mistress."
As I recalled the time when I was still the Marquess of Dawnhaven's daughter at the westernmost edge of the Federation in Kaliningrad, I had just called Pavel "someone with strong self-discipline."
"Does this mean my assessment was wrong…?"
"...Yes?"
"No, never mind."
I simply smiled faintly.