The Bullet Has Already Been Fired
The night in the capital shone more brilliantly than countless stars. The banquet hosted by Marquis Vasilyev, the Empire’s Minister of Finance, stood at the very peak of that splendor. Magical lights pouring from the chandeliers illuminated the hall as brightly as midday, while the lively waltz played by the orchestra mingled with the laughter of nobles, ringing out in cheerful harmony.
“Heh heh, come here, Marquis Bostok. Have a drink.”
Count Orlov, his belly protruding noticeably, approached Marquis Bostok while shaking a crystal glass in his hand. Inside the glass, a translucent liquid sloshed gently.
“This stuff is really something. It’s my secret recipe. I added a bit of ginger to cinnamon and fennel, and the aroma… If you mix in a little carbonated water, it’s great for digestion too.”
“Your recipe isn’t bad at all.”
Marquis Bostok accepted the glass with a faint smile. By now, ‘Mikhail’ had become an indispensable staple at every banquet in the capital.
“By the way, Your Excellency.” Count Orlov lowered his voice and pulled a crumpled sheet of printed paper from his pocket. It was the very announcement that had been tucked inside the packaging box for Mikhail Blue Label. It also served as a kind of invitation.
“The Far East Maritime Province Development Corporation? What kind of ridiculous name is that? I’ve never heard of it. And they’re holding some kind of auction…”
“Ah, that. It’s apparently a state-owned enterprise developing the Far East Maritime Province. They gave it a grandiose name like the railroad company, but in reality it’s just about building casinos and hotels, right? Even after being exiled, he still hasn’t come to his senses.”
“The auction is probably just a way to promote his own business.”
At Count Orlov’s frivolous laugh, Baroness Petrova, who had been chatting nearby, covered her mouth with her fan and chimed in.
“Oh my, Count, you’ve heard about it too? That drunkard knew his liquor, but now he’s completely lost his mind over gambling, they say.”
“Exactly. But the way he’s recruiting partners is even more ridiculous. A closed-bid auction? What era does he think this is?”
Count Orlov clicked his tongue in mockery. “He must have picked up some method from the ancient empire days. How undignified.”
“Still.”
Marquis Bostok, who had been quietly sipping his drink without joining the conversation, finally spoke in a low voice.
“It smells like money.”
At that single remark, the two who had been chattering frivolously fell silent. Marquis Bostok gently swirled his glass and continued.
“Whether a scoundrel does it or a drunkard does it, the scale is real. For a project of that size, just supplying stone alone would leave an enormous profit.”
“W-well, that’s true, but…”
“So everyone mocks it on the surface while secretly drooling over it, don’t they?”
Count Orlov’s face stiffened slightly, struck at his core. Baroness Petrova let out a coquettish laugh and changed the subject.
“Ho ho, as expected of Your Excellency. But isn’t everyone’s true intention elsewhere?”
Her eyes gleamed seductively.
“In the end, that scoundrel is nothing but a puppet. The one orchestrating and moving this entire board is that cat woman from the Valeriano Merchant Coalition, isn’t it?”
“Hm, that makes sense.” Count Orlov quickly agreed as if he had been waiting for it. “That woman is no ordinary person. I heard that the moment her father died, she seized control of the coalition and purged the old foxes among the executives in one fell swoop. This project must have come from her head as well.”
“Oh my, oh my. Then what does that make the scoundrel prince?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Count Orlov gave a sly smile. “The poor prince who lost his mother must have found himself a very reliable new stepmother. Puhaha!”
“Goodness, Count! You’re so blunt.”
Baroness Petrova covered her face with her fan and giggled, but her eyes were not laughing at all. Instead, they sparkled like a hyena that had found its next piece of gossip.
“In the end, the key is held by Laura Valeriano.” Count Orlov concluded. “If we can win that woman over properly, we can snatch up not just the scraps of this project, but even the biggest chunks. I should attend that upcoming auction with a truly splendid gift and pay her a personal visit.”
The noise ringing in his ears stabbed at Yohan Steintor’s nerves like a blade. The sound of the person next to him brushing against his collar. The dry cough someone let out far away. Even the movement of a single speck of dust floating in the air. Everything seemed to be mocking him, ridiculing him, suffocating him.
Damn it… damn it…!
Thump! Thump! Thump!
His heartbeat hammered up his spine and struck his head. The cold sweat running down his back felt disgusting. Everyone in this place was his enemy.
If only that bastard Yan hadn’t…
That repulsive bastard who acted arrogantly because he had the backing of a count’s family. Just because Yohan had given him slightly less in bribes than that illegitimate son, the trading partners his family had maintained for generations were stolen from him overnight. Thanks to that, his warehouse was now piled high with stone that wouldn’t sell, rotting away.
He was on the verge of bankruptcy. No, he had already gone bankrupt. That was why he had staked everything on this bid. He had mortgaged all the company’s assets and even borrowed from loan sharks just to scrape together the deposit.
The edge of a cliff. There was nowhere left to retreat.
“Number 97.”
An emotionless voice called his number. At that moment, Yohan’s world stopped. All noise vanished, and only that voice echoed in his mind.
…97. It was the number assigned to him.
Creak…
The sound of him rising from his chair sounded unusually loud. His legs felt as heavy as lumps of lead. The gazes around him became hundreds of needles piercing his entire body. The few steps toward the dark room were exactly like those of a cow being dragged to the slaughterhouse.
Clack.
The door opened and closed. Perfect darkness and silence. Only a single small magical light illuminating the desk. And beneath it, a single sheet of pure white paper and a pen.
I have to write it.
Yohan picked up the pen with a trembling hand. But his fingers refused to obey his brain’s commands. They simply shook stupidly.
How much should I write?
His mind burned white. If he bid too high, he would be eliminated. This opportunity would end right there. If he bid too low, even if he won the contract, there would be no profit. No, he would actually lose money! Even after participating in this massive project, he would simply wither away and die slowly!
There’s no answer…!
This was madness. The fact that there wasn’t even a time limit drove him even crazier. If only there had been a time limit. If only there had been a countdown!
In this seemingly eternal torture, his reason was wearing away.
“Ugh… uuuugh…”
He clutched at his own hair with the hand holding the pen. The few remaining strands were pulled out and scattered.
“Damn it… fucking hell…!”
Inside the dark room, the air seemed to churn. No, what was churning was Yohan Steintor’s own mind.
The tip of the pen hesitated above the paper.
How much… how much should I write…!
It felt like his brain was burning up.
Oh God…! Oh God, please…!
The very moment he cried out to God, a voice he had forgotten suddenly rang in his mind. A rough, always drunken voice. The only superior he had ever truly respected during his conscript days. A man born as the fourth son of a minor viscount family who had become a cavalry officer.
Major Ernest.
It had been a brutally cold winter night. After he had an affair with the major’s wife, the fact was discovered. When the furious major threw down his glove, he did not dodge it. Instead, at the end of a duel witnessed by everyone, he pierced his superior’s heart.
Then, casually wiping the blood from his blade, he had laughed at the man he had just killed.
“Pathetic bastard.”
That night, he gathered all the troops and drank until dawn. He laughed, talked, and sang as if he owned the world. Then, at daybreak, drunk out of his mind, he fell asleep on the snowfield on his way back to the barracks. Major Ernest froze to death right there.
Everyone pointed fingers at him, calling him a fool. But Yohan had thought he was the most magnificent human being of all. Because he had lived exactly as he spoke, and died exactly as he had lived.
The words he used to say all the time. The words Yohan repeated like a talisman whenever he fell into the pit of despair.
“Hey, Steintor.”
One snowy night while they were drinking by a campfire after hunting a wild boar together, Ernest had said,
“When the bullet is fired, do you worry about it breaking?”
He had grinned as he tilted the bottle into his mouth.
In that instant, all the calculations and anguish that had bound Yohan’s mind scattered like mist.
That’s right. A bullet does not fear breaking. A bullet’s only purpose is to be fired. Whether it hits the target, misses, or shatters against a rock, that is not the bullet’s concern.
Wasn’t he the same right now?
I have already been fired.
The moment I entered this dark room, I became a bullet. And yet here I am, hesitating out of fear that I might break!
How foolish I was.
A very faint smile rose to Yohan’s lips. A strange sense of liberation.
Swish—
His hand no longer trembled. It moved without hesitation. The tip of the pen touched the paper and carved out a number. The price at which he could sell off all his existing inventory while leaving only the bare minimum profit. That was the only bullet he could fire.
“....”
Yohan silently stared down at the number he had written. Then he set down the pen and quietly folded the paper. There was a small slot inside the dark room. He pushed the folded paper into that dark hole.
Thud.
With a light sound, Yohan’s bullet was fired.
Creak—
Yohan opened the door of the dark room and stepped outside. His back was still drenched in cold sweat and his legs were shaking. But strangely, his mind was at peace.
Laura Valeriano placed the final bidding document on the table. There was not a trace of hesitation in her gesture.
“The results are in, Your Highness.”
“And?”
Mikhail lay sprawled lazily on the sofa, eyes still closed, and asked. Only his fingers twitched toward the bunch of grapes beside him.
“The lowest price was submitted by the Steintor Merchant Group. It is significantly lower than even the minimum we had anticipated.”
“Really? That’s good. Then we can just sign the contract with them.”
Mikhail tossed a single grape into his mouth as he spoke. His tone was as casual as if he were choosing what to have for dinner.
“That is impossible.”
Laura’s voice cut through his words like a blade. Only then did Mikhail open his eyes slightly. His languid gaze turned toward Laura’s rigidly hardened face.
“Reason?”
“The Steintor Merchant Group is currently on the verge of bankruptcy. Their financial soundness is at the lowest level, and they barely managed to secure even this bidding deposit by taking out loans against all of the company’s assets.”
Laura lifted another stack of documents.
“Entrusting a large-scale contract to such a failing company is no different from carrying a time bomb. It would be fair to say they have zero ability to fulfill the contract.”
“Hmm.”
Mikhail closed his eyes again. A grape seed popped out of his mouth with a soft thud.
“What about the others?”
“Most submitted amounts within the expected range. Among them, several are far more stable than our existing partners in terms of credit and scale. We could proceed with a contract immediately.”
“Boring.”
“Your Highness. This is business. It is not something done for fun.”
A very faint trace of irritation mixed into Laura’s voice.
“Yes, it’s business.”
Mikhail sat up. From among the scattered bidding documents on the table, he picked up one particularly tattered sheet. It was from the Steintor Merchant Group.
“But you know,” Mikhail said, flapping the paper and looking at Laura, “I think this guy is the best option?”
“Your Highness!”
Laura unconsciously raised her voice. “Just by looking at the submitted documents, it’s clear. Their funding plan is a mess, and their supply schedule is unrealistic. It’s filled with nothing but a desperate obsession to win this bid.”
“That’s exactly it.” Mikhail grinned. “Obsession.”
He stood up, walked over to Laura, and held the Steintor document open right in front of her eyes.
“The other guys’ documents are all predictable. They were all prettied up by lawyers or accountants. They’re covered in calculations about minimizing losses and maximizing gains.”
His finger pointed at a faint stain on the paper. It was probably a sweat mark.
“But this document is different.”
Mikhail’s voice sank low.
“This one is screaming. Save me. Please give me this chance. I will offer everything I have, so please choose me.”
His eyes sparkled mischievously.
“Is there anyone as desperate as this guy?”
Laura was momentarily at a loss for words. She looked back and forth between the document in Mikhail’s hand and his face. She couldn’t understand it. Just what part of the document was this scoundrel prince even looking at?
“Guys who are full will betray you anytime. If you give them tastier prey, they’ll bite their master without hesitation.”
Mikhail whispered into Laura’s ear.
“But someone hanging from the edge of a cliff is different. They’ll grab the hand I extend with all their might. They absolutely won’t let go.”
He stepped back from Laura and threw himself back onto the sofa.
“I like that. It’s very easy to handle.”
“…So you have made your decision.”
Laura barely managed to ask.
“Yes. Go with this one. By the way, how are the auction preparations coming along?”
“Of course, as you ordered. Everything is perfectly prepared.”
“If you say so, then there’s no problem.”
Mikhail said this and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. The auction was nothing more than a pretext. Las Vegas, or perhaps Macau. He was truly looking forward to seeing how the vicious advanced civilization of the 21st century would ravage this romance fantasy world.