Chapter 413
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 413
Chapter Title: At Least One Thing Is Clear
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"Supervisor, please, I beg you."
"Sister Shasha, I'm not really a supervisor. I'm just temporarily filling in."
"You know how sick my child is anyway, right? The labor points I have now aren't enough to cover the hospital bills."
"What are you talking about? Medical care is supposed to be free."
"That's the old story. Ever since the revolutionary government took over, the medical aid got cut off, and now they say we have to pay for treatment."
"This is... Looks like there's been some mix-up from the higher-ups. I'll see what I can do about getting you medical support."
"In what lifetime? I have to pay the hospital bill by tomorrow, and you think the aid will come through by then?"
"...No helping it, then. Just this once, I'll make sure you get some extra labor points."
"Thank you, Supervisor!"
A revolutionary soldier—
no, a member of the Soviet Federation's Revolutionary Party—
couldn't bear to see a mother pleading for her child and handed over a generous amount of labor points.
In normal circumstances,
it would have been a heartwarming tale.
If only he'd paid the child's hospital bill out of his own pocket, rather than labor points.
But he believed the revolution was for the people, so he handed over the Federation's property—labor points—without hesitation.
The problem was that this wasn't an isolated incident.
"Brother, give me some more labor points. We're not strangers, right?"
"That goes against regulations..."
"Ah, you always do this? I'm the one who saved your life back when you nearly got crushed in that container!"
"...Don't tell anyone else?"
Those who shared labor points like generous tips with friends.
Those who gave them out to win favor.
Those who straight-up sold them for bribes.
Or, conversely, those who maliciously slashed labor points for people they had beef with.
And so on.
Revolutionary Party members were arbitrarily handing out labor points—meant to be allocated strictly by guidelines—all over the place.
It was a predictable outcome.
Supervisors were originally elites.
Jobs filled only by second-class citizens rigorously trained in the rules.
On top of that, transparency was barely maintained by having the Okhrana constantly monitor them.
But with the Okhrana and their entire oversight system gone, they were throwing in people selected purely on reputation and merits, without any training.
Problems were bound to crop up everywhere.
Yet high-ranking revolutionary government officials like Sergei couldn't come up with a proper response.
Not only was reporting so poor that grasping the situation was tough,
but the revolutionary government was already stretched to its limits just restoring the collapsed finances and preparing for war with the Russian army.
"At this rate, I'll be the first to drop dead from overwork..."
Hollow eyes.
Scruffy beard.
Wrinkle-filled clothes.
Bachemenski, looking like a total wreck in his office as he worked, let out a sigh.
From the start, the revolutionary government—mostly made up of third-class citizens—lacked properly trained high-caliber personnel by its very nature.
Which meant a first-class citizen like him had no time to rest.
Every department dumped even their slightly tricky tasks on him.
'At least we have the Elshar sisters, but why do I feel so pathetic?'
No matter how genius they were.
That white-haired girl handled several times his workload flawlessly and leisurely clocked out early.
Why was he pulling all-nighters in the office for days without seeing the end of it?
His inferiority complex surging anew, he sighed again—but then felt a sudden pang of regret.
'Wish Brother Rino were here... No idea what he's up to these days.'
When Elshar became his aide,
he'd offered Rimon a high-level supervisor position.
Even though his experience was short, as one of the rare actual supervisors in the revolutionaries, he was precious talent in these times.
But Rimon turned it down.
And after that, he quit showing up and vanished.
So Bachemenski couldn't help but wonder where Rimon was and what he was doing.
'...Maybe he foresaw I'd end up suffering like this and turned it down.'
After one more sigh,
Bachemenski stood, threw on his overcoat.
It wasn't just a day or two.
He'd been pulling all-nighters for days now, so he wanted to head home and rest easy today.
The revolution mattered, but if he suddenly keeled over from overwork, he'd die with regrets and couldn't close his eyes in peace.
A little later,
he headed home.
He'd even sold his car to bolster the revolutionary government's finances, so he took public transport.
The problem was that it was rush hour.
"Ugh, don't push!"
"Who just groped my ass!?"
"I-I'm getting off here!"
After suffering in the sardine-can bus thick with the stench of sweat,
Bachemenski finally hopped off at a random stop before even reaching home, staring at the departing bus with a traumatized look.
"...I'll just walk."
Step, step.
Once he had some leeway, he'd revolutionize this bus system first, he vowed inwardly as he walked.
Glancing around on a whim,
Bachemenski took in his surroundings.
When the revolution broke out, the streets had a festive vibe, but now the passersby showed none of that joy.
Just tired faces everywhere.
'The citizens are feeling the strain too, huh.'
Bachemenski sighed at the street atmosphere, darker than even before the revolution.
In these chaotic times, workloads and hours had nearly doubled.
This mood was only natural.
But in the end, it was all for the people.
It was just tough during this transitional phase; once things stabilized, the people would live happier lives than before.
He kept telling himself that as he walked on.
Or tried to.
"Let go of me...!"
"Don't be so prickly. I just wanna talk for a sec."
"I said no!"
"Hey, keep this up, and it won't end with just words."
Until he saw a group of men grabbing a woman and tussling with her.
Not even in some dark alley.
Right in the middle of the street.
He was shocked once by the harassment itself,
and again by the passersby pretending not to see and walking on.
Snapping to his senses belatedly, Bachemenski stepped forward.
"Hey, what the hell do you think you're doing!"
"Huh?"
The men looked at Bachemenski, who had wedged himself between them and the woman, with incredulous eyes.
And the biggest, burliest one twisted his face into a scowl.
"Hey, do you even know who we are, you little...!"
"Hold on."
Stopping the brute cold as he reared back for a punch was the man with metal knuckles on his arm.
He narrowed his eyes at Bachemenski.
"Aren't you Brother Bachemenski?"
"You know me?"
"Hahaha, of course. How could a fellow revolutionary not know the Secretary-General's right-hand man?"
"...You're revolutionaries?"
"Name's Lev Borovich. I led the special operations unit in the revolutionaries, and now I work for the Public Security Division serving the revolutionary government."
"Special operations...?"
Bachemenski groaned.
Now he knew why he'd never seen the guy.
The special ops unit handled assassinations and sabotage—secret agents even in the cell-structured revolutionaries, reporting straight to Sergei, so even he rarely met them.
"What brings someone like you here?"
"Nothing much. Just a random spot check."
"Spot check?"
"There've been attacks on revolutionary government officials lately. We're hunting the culprits."
"I haven't heard about that."
"Didn't want to alarm the citizens. Secretary-General ordered us to keep it quiet until we catch them."
"The General Secretary..."
Bachemenski groaned again.
If Lev from special ops was name-dropping Sergei, this inspection was probably authorized.
"...Even so, don't go overboard. The Soviet Federation exists for the people."
"Haha, you're right."
Lev promised it wouldn't happen again,
then took his glaring brute subordinate and the rest and left.
Bachemenski sighed.
He knew special ops had a lot of rough types given their pregnant nature, but he hadn't expected them to be this menacing.
"Are you all right?"
"..."
"Sorry if that upset you. My brothers get a bit overzealous sometimes..."
Either way, it was the government's failing.
As he apologized to the woman to take responsibility, Bachemenski trailed off.
His eyes widened.
The bowing woman looked strangely familiar.
"...Miss Kseniya?"
"You look healthy as ever today, Mr. Bachemenski."
"What are you doing in a place like this...? No, wait—what's with that getup?"
Bachemenski panicked.
It wasn't just the dim lighting that kept him from recognizing his longtime coworker Kseniya at first glance.
Haggard face.
Shabby clothes.
Bandages wrapped around her arm.
Her rundown state was even worse than his own sleep-deprived self, a huge gap from before.
"Oh, this? Blame it on showing up to work diligently."
"What does that mean?"
"Revolution Day. I was on my way to work and happened to pass near Okhrana HQ."
"...!"
Bachemenski swallowed.
He realized she'd been caught in the chaos when revolutionaries attacked the Russian government.
But her story wasn't over.
"While I was hospitalized from that, the country changed, and I got kicked out for not paying the bills."
"What? Supervisors are supposed to get free treatment..."
He caught himself mid-sentence.
Kseniya chuckled.
"You knew medical care went paid, but you already knew all us supervisors got fired too, huh."
When Central Supervision blew up,
only the high-level supervisors fled.
Regular ones stayed in Moscow.
Even the escape experts of the White Dragon Clan couldn't whisk away over 100,000 supervisors amid the chaos.
It was also because they foresaw the revolutionary government wouldn't harshly retaliate against regular supervisors.
The problem was their jobs.
The revolutionaries had no intention of keeping the labor allocation system, so they fired all supervisors.
And even when temporarily restoring supervision offices to restart factories, they prioritized party members and thoroughly excluded existing supervisors.
Couldn't trust them since most were pro-government,
and citizens who used to call supervisors the dictator's dogs didn't want them back either.
The result: every supervisor lost their job.
Including Kseniya.
"So I was out job-hunting and ended up like this."
"...Anyway, you should head home for today. Let me walk you back."
"No home."
"Pardon?"
"My place was bought with a supervisor loan, so it got seized when I lost the job. I'm crashing in the communal dorms."
"Communal dorms? Isn't that for total deadbeats who can't even get labor allocations?"
"What else would you call me right now?"
She laughed like it was a great joke.
Bachemenski's expression grew complicated as he watched her chuckle.
After hesitating, he spoke.
"Miss Kseniya. If you're okay with it, I can get you reinstated as a supervisor. So leave the dorms and at least stay in a hotel for now..."
"No thanks."
"Pardon?"
"I said no."
Her smile from moments ago seemed fake.
She glared at him briefly,
then closed and opened her eyes.
Soon smiling softly again, she said,
"Instead, walk me to the dorms? A high-ranking party member's bodyguard sounds reliable."
"...Of course."
Even as he escorted her, Bachemenski couldn't find words for a long while.
Whether as a Federation high official,
a revolutionary,
or a former coworker.
He had no idea what to say to her.
So when Kseniya finally spoke again near the rundown communal dorms, he even felt a flicker of relief.
At least for that moment.
"Actually, I got another job offer just now."
"Just now? Did Brother Lev offer you a supervisor spot too?"
"Not supervisor. Just smile pretty, pour drinks, and service high-ranking party members for big money."
"...Pardon?"
"Man, the revolutionary government's impressive. Introducing even dropouts like me to such great gigs."
The absurdity stopped Bachemenski in his tracks.
But Kseniya didn't turn.
She stopped walking too,
and quietly continued.
"Mr. Bachemenski. I don't know about others, but I was never ashamed of being a supervisor."
From third-class citizen roots, she'd studied fiercely to pass the exam and become second-class.
Firmly rejected bribes.
Showed some flexibility,
but upheld rules fairly.
No praise, just insults as the dictator's dog no matter how hard she worked.
But she rewarded those who earned it, took pride in that as a supervisor's purpose.
"Was working hard as a supervisor a crime?"
"...No."
"But labor allocation is evil law, and supervisors must be abolished, right?"
"Yes."
"Yet the revolutionary government keeps the system, and you're urging me to go back as a supervisor."
Unable to respond,
as Bachemenski stayed silent,
Kseniya finally turned to him.
"Unlike you first-class folk, I'm just a third-class girl, so I don't get complicated politics."
"..."
"But one thing's clear."
A bit bitterly,
with a touch of resignation,
she quietly continued.
"Your revolution—at least—wasn't for people like me."
Bachemenski wanted to say
the revolution was for all Federation citizens, including her of course.
But to the woman who'd lost a lifetime of effort, pride, job, and livelihood to the revolution, he couldn't bring himself to say it.
After seeing her to the shabby dorms,
as he walked the streets alone, Bachemenski couldn't unknit his furrowed brow.
'It's what we prepared for.'
From the start of the revolution, he knew innocents would suffer.
Overturning the regime would make those adapted to it unhappy instead—
'Necessary sacrifice.'
Still, the revolution was needed.
To give freedom and equality to a nation under a dictator, a few had to be sacrificed.
At least that's what he believed.
'But...'
Once the revolution succeeded and society stabilized, would everyone really be happier?
A question he'd answered without doubt moments ago now tightened his chest.
Bachemenski sighed.
'Gotta talk to the General Secretary about rehiring former supervisors.'
Supervisors were all elites.
Bringing them in would solve the personnel shortage.
More importantly, something nagged at him.
"Gotta inspect the Public Security Division."
How the hell were they run that they could proposition Kseniya—in the middle of the street—to be some high official's escort?
He had to find out and report to Sergei, he resolved, muttering to himself—
Thwack!
Stars burst before his eyes,
his head burned,
and Bachemenski lost consciousness.