The Far East Maritime Province Tourism Special Zone Development Project (2)
Mikhail’s expectations shattered into pieces. No, to begin with, expectations were just another word for betrayal.
“Haa…”
He stood atop a crudely built platform in the courtyard of the grand duke’s mansion and let out a long sigh as he looked down. The procession of bureaucrats dispatched from the capital was, in a word, spectacular—in the worst possible way.
Not a single gram of life could be found in those dead-fish eyes. They were brain-dead husks with neither will nor enthusiasm, simply existing. Their clothes were neat, but that was all. They looked exactly like salarymen dragged against their will to the funeral of a boss they barely knew.
And in the very front row stood a child who was clearly far too young. Silver hair, blue eyes. Her doll-like features were pretty, but that wasn’t the problem. The bureaucratic uniform hung off her like a child playing dress-up in her father’s clothes. Had the capital’s personnel backlog grown so dire that they were sending even children here as if disposing of waste?
“Boris.”
Mikhail called quietly.
“I distinctly remember asking for competent personnel. What exactly am I looking at?”
“…”
“And what’s with that kid? Is the Far East Maritime Province some kind of matchstick factory?”
Boris answered with a troubled expression, though he fought to keep his voice steady.
“Your Highness. They are… probably not entirely incompetent.”
“Oh?”
“As imperial bureaucrats, they should at least possess basic capabilities. However…”
Boris trailed off.
“They likely chose the wrong faction, lost a political struggle, or come from insignificant backgrounds. That is probably why they have been sent all the way here.”
“So they’re losers who got shoved into a dead-end post.”
Mikhail let out a dry chuckle.
“Unbelievable. If nothing else, the personnel department’s work is truly artistic. At least we don’t have to worry about environmental pollution.”
After all, who would willingly come here? This cold, barren land was the farthest point from the capital. It was essentially the empire’s official place of exile.
“In that case, is there even any point in giving these people a speech?”
“It is the minimum required courtesy, Your Highness. A welcome banquet should have been held by rights, but even that was omitted.”
“I see…”
Mikhail stepped forward on the platform that lacked even a brass speaking trumpet, let alone a microphone. Without raising his voice, he spoke in a languid drawl.
“Can everyone hear me?”
The murmuring died instantly. Every gaze snapped toward him.
“I…”
Mikhail paused, slowly scanning the assembled faces one by one.
“…don’t give a damn about your origins, factions, or pasts.”
His voice was quiet, yet it somehow reached every corner of the square with crystal clarity.
“The only thing I care about is ability.”
“If you have ability, I’ll guarantee promotions and money. I swear it on my name.”
Several pairs of eyes flickered. Money. That word never failed.
“Of course, incompetence is fine too. I know not everyone can be talented.”
He shrugged.
“Just do what you’re told and avoid causing accidents. I won’t complain.”
A chilly smile curved Mikhail’s lips.
“However.”
“If anyone brings capital habits here and annoys me with factional games or political nonsense…”
“Or if anyone gets greedy, tries to line their own pockets, and causes trouble…”
His eyes flashed with icy light.
“I will personally change that person’s occupation.”
A dry gulp sounded somewhere in the crowd.
“Crabs are quite famous in Vladivostok. Very plump and delicious.”
Mikhail continued, sounding thoroughly entertained.
“I’ll let you catch crabs for the rest of your life. And you’ll be supplying them as tribute to His Highness the Prince, no less.”
“Quite the honor, isn’t it?”
The freezing joke turned the square’s air to ice. The bureaucrats’ faces drained of color.
“I trust you’ve understood the general idea. Any questions?”
Silence. No one spoke. No one could. In settings like this, “Any questions?” had always meant “Don’t you dare ask.”
That was when it happened.
Swish.
A slender hand rose above the sea of silence.
All eyes turned to its owner. It was the silver-haired child in the front row.
…Wow. That one really has zero situational awareness.
Mikhail clicked his tongue inwardly. But the moment he met her gaze, the thought vanished.
Those cool blue eyes held neither fear nor hesitation. They were like a perfectly tempered blade from which every emotion had been stripped away. Was this the same look in Ramon Mercader’s eyes when he drove the ice pick into Trotsky?
“Speak.”
Mikhail gave permission with a slight jerk of his chin.
The girl stepped forward. Her oversized uniform looked comical, yet no one dared laugh. Her voice was cold and precise, utterly at odds with her youthful appearance.
“How high can I rise?”
Shocked murmurs and mocking whispers erupted around her. How dare she ask the Grand Duke such an audacious question? Yet Mikhail found himself rather pleased.
“Well.”
He deliberately paused, then answered in a thoroughly cheerful tone.
“I could make you something like my right hand.”
“!”
The girl’s blue eyes widened by a fraction. It was the only emotional reaction she displayed.
“No further questions? Then you’re dismissed. Ask the original bureaucrats here for the details. Let’s all do well together.”
The moment he finished speaking, Mikhail turned and stepped down from the platform without a backward glance. Boris hurried after him.
“That kid from earlier.”
On the way back to the grand duke’s office, Mikhail asked abruptly.
“Do you know her name?”
“Josepina Jugashvili, Your Highness.”
Boris answered at once.
“She was the only volunteer among the dispatched personnel and graduated as valedictorian of the Imperial Academy.”
“Josepina Jugashvili?”
Mikhail’s steps faltered for a split second.
The final boss of Blood, Lily, and the Double-Headed Eagle. The affection-starved fascist Third Prince Dmitri’s most trusted aide—the one he had conspired with for a coup. The villainess known as the “Witch of Iron Blood, Cold Blood, and Fresh Blood” for her merciless purges.
Josepina Jugashvili.
“Huh.”
A soft chuckle escaped Mikhail’s lips.
“Lucky me.”
He continued toward the office with light steps, as if nothing had happened. A deeply satisfied smile played across his face.
***
Whether it was because the bureaucrats sent from the capital were genuinely competent, just as Boris claimed, or simply because the sheer number of additional heads helped, Mikhail neither knew nor cared. The only thing that mattered was that work was getting done noticeably faster.
Before long, he received his first regular report.
It was a lazy afternoon. Mikhail lay sprawled on the long sofa in his office, reading a book. It was a novel he had obtained through Laura—a biting satire of capital noble society. More than half its pages were packed with obscene jokes and graphic depictions of bedroom acts, the sort of thing a prince really shouldn’t be seen with. Any other noble or prince would have banned it immediately and sent the author to the mines. Mikhail, however, found it entertaining and therefore excellent.
Crunch.
He plucked a butter cookie from the plate beside him and popped it into his mouth. Sweet, savory flavor spread across his tongue.
Knock, knock.
“Come in.”
Mikhail answered without lifting his eyes from the page. It had to be Boris.
Creak.
The door opened, and the person who entered completely defied his expectations.
“…”
It was Josepina Jugashvili.
Mikhail set the book on his stomach and pushed himself up slightly.
“Where’s Boris? You’re the one delivering the report?”
“Chief Attendant Boris belongs to the Palace Affairs Department. The Tourism Special Zone Development Project falls under the Interior Ministry’s Administrative Division.”
Josepina answered without the slightest hesitation, speaking as if reciting from a legal codex.
“Therefore, it is procedurally correct for me to deliver the report.”
“Aha. I see.”
Mikhail nodded. It was perfectly logical. The reason Boris had handled even trivial reports until now was either due to a chronic lack of manpower or because the original Mikhail had been such an insufferable bastard that no subordinate could endure him.
Still, something felt off.
“But why did you come yourself?”
Mikhail asked.
“Don’t people in charge usually deliver these reports personally? That fifth-rank administrator—what was his name? Gerard? Shouldn’t he be the one standing here?”
He picked up another cookie and asked playfully.
“Did he get the timing right?”
“Correct.”
“Pfft!”
Mikhail burst out laughing before he could stop himself. The standard social maneuver in such situations was to offer some polite excuse like “He’s occupied with other important duties.” Yet this girl had stated the blunt truth without any embellishment whatsoever.
“It appears Administrator Gerard is afraid of meeting Your Highness in person.”
To say such a thing to a prince’s face was masterful. Mikhail found it genuinely delightful.
“Is that so?”
He swallowed another chuckle.
“Then from now on, you will serve as the administrative head of this project.”
“…Pardon?”
For the first time, a flicker of panic crossed Josepina’s normally expressionless face. Her blue eyes widened into perfect circles.
“If you’re the one doing the head’s work, then naturally you should be the head. Don’t you agree?”
Mikhail accepted the report she offered, leaned back comfortably on the sofa, and gestured with his chin for her to begin.
Josepina hesitated for the briefest moment before regaining her composure. Her voice remained calm, her explanations concise and free of fluff. Most importantly, the report itself was different. It was actually readable. Unlike previous documents that had been walls of dense text, this one featured neatly organized tables and graphs. The pie chart illustrating budget allocation, in particular, was something Mikhail had never seen since arriving in this world.
He tapped the graph section with his finger.
“Who made this?”
“I did,” Josepina answered.
“It is a method some of the capital’s larger merchant guilds have recently begun using to improve reporting efficiency.”
“Impressive.”
Mikhail offered genuine praise.
“I like it very much.”
Even so, Josepina’s expression remained unchanged. She simply gave a small bow in acknowledgment.
She looks like she’d be fun to tease.
“Right, then.”
Mikhail tossed the report carelessly onto the side table and lay back down on the sofa, gesturing toward her.
“Spare me a moment.”
“…Pardon?”
“Let’s play a round of cards.”
Josepina’s brows furrowed by a fraction—almost imperceptibly.
“Your Highness. It is currently working hours.”
Her voice cut like a blade. Those blue eyes regarded him with open question.
“This is work too.”
Mikhail countered with a smirk.
“The casino will be the core of the development project we’re launching. I’m testing the games we’ll be using.”
Only then did the doubt vanish from Josepina’s face. She pursed her lips in brief thought, then silently took a seat on the hard chair across from him. Her posture was perfectly straight, exactly like her personality.
“So, what game is it?”
There was no hesitation left in her voice.
“I am not very familiar with card games.”
“My, what a model student. Did you not have any friends?”
Mikhail chuckled as he pulled a deck of cards from the sofa drawer.
“Since I created it myself, you don’t need to know any other card games.”
He shuffled the cards with practiced ease, visibly enjoying himself.
“Its name is Blackjack. Not bad, right?”