Normalizing the Failing Space Empire .feat. His Highness the Grand Duke

The moment I opened my eyes, I realized I had become the Grand Duke of a doomed space empire.

Well, to be precise, I had transmigrated into the body of the empire’s infamous trash noble, the one destined to be executed for treason in the very first chapter.

At first I thought it was a dream. A very elaborate, very sci-fi dream. But when the imperial physician jabbed a syringe the size of a forearm into my neck and the pain felt like liquid fire, I knew this was real.

“Your Highness, you must rest. The fever from the poison still lingers.”

The old doctor bowed so deeply his forehead ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠nearly scraped the marble floor. I stared at the ceiling of a bedroom that looked like Versailles had been rebuilt inside a spaceship. Golden chandeliers floated without wires. The curtains shimmered with embedded star maps. Everything screamed decadent empire on the brink of collapse.

I tried to sit up. My body—well, his body—felt like it had been hit by a truck. Or maybe an orbital strike. Either way, it hurt.

“What… exactly happened?” I croaked.

The doctor hesitated, then answered carefully. “You drank too much at the banquet last night, Your Highness. Then you… ah… challenged the crown princess to a duel. With a wine bottle. While naked.”

I blinked. “I did what?”

“The imperial family is quite upset.”

Of course they were. The original owner of this body was a legendary idiot. A walking diplomatic incident with legs. The kind of character readers cheered when he finally got beheaded in chapter three.

But I wasn’t him. I was just some overworked Korean office drone who fell asleep reading a trashy web novel called Normalizing the Failing Space Empire. The title was ironic. The empire never got normalized. It just kept failing in increasingly spectacular ways until the final volume where everything exploded.

And now I was the guy who was supposed to light the fuse.

Great. Just great.

I swung my legs off the bed. The silk pajamas—embroidered with tiny golden dragons—felt obscenely expensive against my skin. Everything here was expensive. The empire was rotting from the inside, but the nobles still lived like gods.

“Cancel all my schedules for today,” I said.

The doctor looked startled. “But Your Highness, you have a lunch appointment with the Minister of Finance, and then—”

“Cancel it. Tell them I’m dying. Or better yet, tell them I’m reflecting on my sins.”

I needed time to think. Time to figure out how not to die a horrible death in the near future. The original Theodore had been executed at age twenty-three. I was currently twenty-one. That gave me roughly two years before the plot came for my head.

Two years to fix a collapsing interstellar empire.

Or, you know, just enjoy the power and money while everything burned. The original plan of the novel’s protagonist had been ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the latter. Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we get purged.

I walked over to the full-length mirror. The face staring back was ridiculously handsome. Silver hair, sharp jawline, eyes the color of frozen galaxies. The kind of face that made people forgive almost anything.

Almost.

The original Theodore had squandered that advantage spectacularly. Gambling debts, multiple mistresses, public scandals, and a habit of executing servants who looked at him funny. No wonder the imperial family wanted him gone.

I touched the mirror. It rippled like water, displaying a holographic status window only I could see.

I stared at the glowing blue text. A system. Of course there was a system. Every transmigration story had one. This one looked like it had been designed by a particularly sarcastic AI.

“Quests,” I muttered.

I closed the window with a sigh. The empire was a mess. Corrupt nobles, starving colonies, an AI ban that had turned advanced technology into something closer to magic, and a royal family ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that spent more time stabbing each other in the back than actually ruling.

Fixing it sounded like a lot of work.

On the other hand… I was now absurdly rich, absurdly powerful, and absurdly good-looking. The original Theodore had never used any of that for anything except petty revenge and expensive wine.

I could just ride this out. Live like a king until the end. Maybe flee to the outer rim when things got too bad.

But something in me—the part that had spent years watching incompetent bosses destroy companies from the inside—felt a tiny spark of annoyance.

This empire is failing so spectacularly it’s almost impressive.

I walked to the window. Outside, the capital planet of Terra Prime glittered with floating palaces and crumbling infrastructure. Skyscrapers that touched the stratosphere stood next to districts where people still died of easily curable diseases. The contrast was grotesque.

A soft mechanical voice chimed from the wall panel.

I laughed despite myself. Even the house AI was mocking me.

“Yeah,” I said. “Bring me the most expensive thing in the kitchen. And a bottle of that thousand-year-old wine from the imperial vineyard. If I’m going to fix this dumpster fire of an empire, I’m doing it properly caffeinated and slightly drunk.”

The AI paused, as if surprised.

“Update it all you want. And while you’re at it, pull up every financial report, intelligence brief, and dirty secret about the imperial court. We’re going to be very busy.”

I cracked my neck, feeling the unfamiliar but powerful muscles of my new body respond. The original Theodore had been a lazy waste of space, but at least he’d kept himself in shape. Probably for all the dueling and debauchery.

Two years.

I could spend them living like the villain I was supposed to be.

Or I could try to actually save this mess of an empire.

The choice seemed obvious.

I smiled at my reflection. It was a cruel, handsome, slightly unhinged smile.

“Let’s start by purging a few corrupt nobles. Nothing too drastic. Just a little light treason trial to get the blood flowing.”

The AI’s response was immediate.

Good.

Let it tremble.

I was the Grand Duke now. And unlike the idiot who came before me, I had absolutely no intention of going quietly into the plot’s meat grinder.

Time to normalize this failing space empire.

One beheading at a time.