The Tourism Special Zone Project (1)
Clink. Laura mindlessly lifted her now-cold teacup and set it back down. A mountain of approval documents lay before her, yet not a single page registered in her mind. Her thoughts were consumed entirely by the absurd plan that man had rattled off.
"I'm going to build a casino. The biggest, flashiest, and safest casino in the world."
"We'll construct the finest accommodations for the noble lords to lounge in, and we'll tear up that useless beach and cover it with white sand."
"And every night we'll put on dazzling shows. Rich bastards hate being bored more than anything—I know that well, being royalty myself. Their wives and mistresses will love pointless shopping, so we'll run a clean auction house too."
Accommodations, leisure, entertainment, shopping, and socializing. It was a grand blueprint where everything blended into one.
"The ones who truly win at the gambling table aren't the lucky bastards who win a hand or two and walk away."
"It's always the ones running the game who win."
"The house never loses, after all."
The reason provincial nobles so desperately coveted the capital. Its dazzling culture, endless amusements, and the exclusivity that not just anyone could enjoy. What if all of that—and more—could be savored at the empire's eastern edge, in this most remote and abandoned land? What if one didn't even need to travel to the capital?
The competitiveness was more than sufficient. It overflowed. This project was an opportunity. A chance for the Valeriano Merchant Coalition to leap to greater heights.
But… the memory that gnawed at her most wasn't the plan itself. It was the moment before, when she had preemptively hurled suspicion and contempt at him, only to receive his reaction when she apologized.
It had been a clear discourtesy. Any other noble would have seized on that rudeness to browbeat her, revise the contract further in their favor, or tried to drag the young and beautiful woman into their bedroom.
Yet Mikhail hadn't even scolded her. He had simply laughed it off as if it were a bother. The moment the memory surfaced, Laura found herself clenching her fists without realizing it. It was more than simple shame—it was irritation and an inexplicable sense of humiliation.
Laura Valeriano. Though her family had fallen, she was still the last descendant of the Valeriano house, a once-great name of the Republican Alliance. On top of that, her beauty and business acumen meant no one dared look down on her. Especially after Mikhail's success.
But Grand Duke Mikhail… he seemed to regard her as nothing more than a well-honed blade. A tool that cut cleanly, was reliable, and above all, had an excellent design.
Knock, knock.
"!"
Laura flinched at the sudden knock, her shoulders jerking. She cleared her throat and answered in her usual icy tone.
"Come in."
Creak— The door opened carefully, and a middle-aged man stepped inside. It was Tonio, an executive of the coalition. One of the few retainers from her father's era who had survived the purges. He was terrified of Laura. Understandably so—everyone who had been purged had been stripped of everything and cast out.
"M-My lady."
Tonio glanced nervously at her and held out a bundle of documents.
"This is the draft report on the development project to be sent to the capital. If you could approve it…"
"……"
Laura stared at him in silence. She was displeased. She couldn't say why. She simply found it irritating that her thoughts had been interrupted.
'No, that's not it.'
She was confused. An unidentifiable emotion swirled in her chest.
"Leave it there and go."
"Ah, y-yes, yes! Understood!"
Tonio bowed deeply as if he'd been waiting for the order and scurried out of the office like he was fleeing.
Thud. The door closed, and perfect silence returned once more. The coalition was now entirely hers. No one could question her decisions.
Yet for some reason, her heart refused to settle.
'……'
Thump, thump, thump. For some reason, the sound of her own heartbeat was especially grating.
Roll. Roll.
Mikhail lay sprawled on the long sofa in his office, writhing meaninglessly. Warm sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating his silver hair and turning the floating dust on the floor to gold. It was a leisurely afternoon. So leisurely that his body itched with restlessness.
'Ah, I'm bored.'
He had nothing to do. The foundation for his life's goal—a comfortable and luxurious existence—had already been laid. Delicious liquor overflowed, and Laura was busy making money for him. All that remained was to use that money to build his own utopia.
But even that, he had only roughly sketched out before tossing it to Laura and Boris. The complicated and tedious procedures like blueprints and permits were exactly what he hated.
Knock, knock.
"Your Highness, it's Boris."
"Come in."
Mikhail couldn't even be bothered to sit up, so he answered while still lying down.
Creak. The door opened, and Boris entered with his usual stiff posture. In his hands was a rather thick parchment document stamped with the imperial seal.
"A letter has arrived from the capital."
"Yeah? What is it?"
"It is the permit for the 'Far East Maritime Province Tourism Special Zone Development' that Your Highness requested."
"…Already?"
Mikhail shot upright without thinking. His eyes widened. No matter how he looked at it, this was far too fast. Passing through countless committees, feasibility studies, budget reviews… In 21st-century Korea, a project of this scale would have taken years. Yet the permit had been issued in just a little over a month?
"This quickly?"
"Yes, Your Highness. I could hardly believe it myself and checked several times, but it is correct."
Boris respectfully held out the document. Mikhail took it. A lavish ribbon and a vivid red wax seal bearing the double-headed eagle emblem. It was unmistakably an official imperial document.
"......"
He stared at the papers in silence for a moment before letting out a chuckle.
Well, who would dare object to a project directly involving a member of the imperial family? No official would be bold enough to stamp "rejected" just to avoid responsibility.
'Whoa, this is actually pretty great.'
Mikhail was genuinely impressed. Democracy? Voting? Public hearings? None of it was necessary. Status was simply king.
'Long live the Empire! Long live His Imperial Majesty! God bless the class system!'
He cheered inwardly, a satisfied smile on his face. Now, truly, all preparations were complete. All that remained was to build his own paradise.
"So, does this mean we just gather workers and start digging?"
"…Your Highness."
But Boris's expression was grim. He looked like a college student facing a group project, his face troubled as he spoke.
"There is a problem."
"A problem?"
"Yes. It is the chronic issue of the Far East Maritime Province… We are severely short on manpower."
"Manpower?"
"Yes. As you know, this is the most barren frontier of the empire. Even criminals and debtors no longer come here now that the relocation benefits have been discontinued."
Boris let out a sigh.
"We are in a situation where we absolutely lack the labor force to carry out such a large-scale construction project."
"Hmm."
Mikhail rested his chin on his hand and fell into thought for a moment. It was certainly a problem. But it wasn't one he couldn't solve.
'Is there anything money can't fix?'
He reached a simple and clear conclusion.
"Easy."
"Pardon?"
"Just buy them with money."
Mikhail spoke as if stating that one plus one equals two.
"Raise wages by about thirty percent from the current rate and advertise that we'll provide full room and board. Let's see… Since it's a construction site, there'll be injuries, so we'll station doctors and priests. We should at least give them time to eat if we want them to work well, right? Guarantee lunch breaks."
"Y-Your Highness! If we do that, the budget will…!"
Boris cried out in shock. Even in the capital, no place offered such generous treatment.
"I've made a fortune selling the name 'Mikhail.' As royalty, I should show some mercy to our people."
Mikhail laughed as if his own joke amused him.
"Better to spend a bit more and finish quickly than drag out the construction because we can't find workers. I hate waiting. Besides, it'll help attract investors."
"......"
Boris was at a loss for words. It wasn't wrong. In fact, it was an extremely rational and efficient judgment. It was just that the idea was far beyond common sense.
'Ah.'
Mikhail suddenly snapped his fingers as if he'd just remembered something.
"Come to think of it, we don't just need workers. We're short on managers too."
He looked at Boris.
"Our own bureaucrats and the Valeriano Merchant Coalition staff won't be nearly enough. While we're at it, we should request personnel dispatch from the capital as well."
"Th-then how many should we request, Your Highness?"
Boris's voice trembled. The scale of the project was growing rapidly. The weight of responsibility pressing on his shoulders seemed to multiply exponentially—because he was shouldering even the responsibilities of the noble Grand Duke.
Mikhail flopped back onto the sofa and waved his hand dismissively.
"How would I know that?"
He let out a long yawn.
"That's your job. Get the bureaucrats under you to figure out the numbers, make the documents look pretty, and bring them to me. I'll stamp them."
"…"
"I'm going to take a nap. Get out."
Just as the permit application had been processed in an instant, the personnel dispatch would likely happen just as quickly.
'They'll surely send competent people.'
Truly, long live the Empire.