Good Changes, Bad Changes
Not long before Yulika returned from the John Nassen estate, another imperial court conference convened inside the Imperial Palace.
The subject was none other than the Empire visit of Mathieu Philibert, one of the Coalition’s Three Heroes.
“What did the Coalition side have to say?”
“They claimed it was a matter of extreme urgency, Your Majesty.”
“Urgency that could not be handled by magical communication?”
“It is our belief they considered such a method an affront to the Empire.”
At the Foreign Minister’s words the Emperor’s expression turned opaque. The ministers seated around the table tilted their heads as if to ask whether that could possibly be true.
The very Kingdom Coalition that had once bared its teeth at the Empire now fretted that a simple magical call might constitute rudeness and insisted on a personal visit instead? The change was so drastic one had to wonder whether it was genuine. Only a short while ago they had preached peace to the Empire’s face while preparing a knife for its back.
“What is Your Majesty’s will? We could refuse the visit.”
The friction with the Coalition had only just settled. Rejecting a visit under these circumstances risked being read as lingering hostility. Moreover, Mathieu Philibert stood at the head of the pro-Empire faction. A cold rebuff could undermine his position and hand the hard-liners an opening once more.
“Hmm.”
Thus, when the Interior Minister posed the question, the Emperor deliberated only a moment before shaking his head. Word had it that the three John Nassen siblings had acknowledged Mathieu. Anyone who earned that family’s recognition was unlikely to be the sort who dealt in underhanded schemes. Whatever else one might say, the John Nassens’ razor-sharp instincts could be trusted. And from the Emperor’s own vantage, the Coalition simply had no reason to attempt another deception just now.
“Even if they called it urgent, they must have given some rough outline of the reason.”
The Emperor turned the question on the Foreign Minister.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
The Foreign Ministry had already committed one major blunder. In truth the Emperor had quietly countenanced it, so the ministry itself had been helpless—but that was knowledge they could neither possess nor act upon. All they could do was thank heaven their heads remained attached and perform their duties with redoubled thoroughness. As the Emperor’s closest retainers they enjoyed proximity; they could also be cast aside at any moment.
“When we pressed them, they spoke of unrest stirring within their own ranks.”
“Ho.”
What left the Emperor’s lips was not a sigh of concern but a soft sound of genuine interest, almost pleasure.
“I can roughly guess what that might be.”
The other ministers had already caught the scent as well. “Unrest” could only mean factions opposed to the Coalition’s newly chosen pro-Empire course. The hard-liners had dominated until they were suddenly shoved aside; a backlash was only natural. The two pillars of that faction among the Three Heroes—Gruchy Nicholas and Bernadotte Brun—had been broken and reduced to hollow shells. The sole remaining Hero was Mathieu Philibert, a moderate who favored the Empire. With the balance of power shattered, the hard-liners had lost every foothold. They would have calculated their future and decided to thrash about for survival. That thrashing was almost certainly the “unrest” in question.
“…I believe I see why Mathieu Philibert is coming in person,” the War Minister said. Everyone else nodded.
He was coming to report the situation arising from that unrest, to notify the Empire of the problem in advance and thereby shield the Coalition from blame. Those motives, it seemed, were why he had demanded an urgent visit.
“Tell me, Philip.”
The Emperor singled out the Special Affairs Minister.
“Would the Fifth Princess alone be enough to put proper pressure on the man?”
“Your Majesty?”
“He is one of the Three Heroes—said to be the foremost among them. He once fought the Imperial 10 Strongest to a standstill. We can hardly greet such a visitor with a room full of mere court officials.”
The intent was clear: crush his spirit from the very first moment. They would receive a Coalition envoy and, in the same breath, lean on him. The contradiction was pure politics and power, and therefore entirely ordinary.
“…The Fifth Princess alone may not suffice. It could instead stoke his competitive fire.”
“Just so. I thought the same. The girl herself might well charge in, and that would never do.”
The Emperor wanted the Coalition’s sole remaining sword pressed firmly into the dirt. He knew they no longer wished to fight the Empire. He understood the sincerity behind sending their most important figure in person to forestall trouble. But that sincerity and the need to display imperial superiority were entirely separate matters. If they had come to bow their heads, the atmosphere must force them to prostrate themselves completely. They needed to feel, without a shadow of doubt, how thoroughly they stood below—how overwhelming the Empire’s advantage had become. Only then would peace for the next year, the next decade, the next century be assured.
“Shall we station additional members of the 10 Strongest? What do you advise?”
“Two can be summoned at once. It will, however, take some time.”
“Hrm. I dislike the idea of letting time slip for a matter like this.”
The Emperor stroked his chin, sunk in thought. At that moment the Special Affairs Minister carefully parted his lips.
“Your Majesty. There is someone ideally suited.”
“Who?”
“Kyle John Nassen, currently at the Imperial Academy.”
At the name, every face registered a flicker of surprise—not at the notion of inviting a mere baronial heir into the palace, but at the sheer recklessness of proposing to put a John Nassen to work once more.
“It is not as though I had failed to consider him.”
No better pressure card existed. The very man who had broken Mathieu stood ready. Simply having that youth present would exert crushing force. And people under pressure often blurted out things they should never say. The Emperor was almost certainly weighing that possibility as well.
“Still, I have certain misgivings.”
A note of caution crept into the Emperor’s voice. Once again the imperial household would be using Kyle. One misstep and the John Nassens—only recently soothed—might be cast back out onto the open plain. For all their obsession with battle and training, they were not dense. If they ever decided they were being used, they could turn in an instant. They never tolerated insult; the Emperor knew that well.
Perhaps he read that hesitation. The Minister of Education, silent until now, spoke with careful deference.
“Your Majesty. Would that not change if we offered them a sufficiently certain reward?”
“A certain reward, you say.”
The John Nassens had already refused elevation of their title. Kyle had accepted a medal and shown not the slightest inclination to parade it. What possible reward could make people like that smile?
“We are scheduled to expand the Academy’s indoor training hall.”
The moment the Minister of Education spoke, the Emperor smiled. He had instantly grasped precisely what condition would bring Kyle to the palace without the least difficulty.
The Emperor’s prediction struck home with almost insulting accuracy.
A messenger was dispatched to the Academy bearing the summons for Kyle to present himself at the palace. Cleverly woven into that summons was the following proposal, distilled:
So the Academy’s indoor training hall is getting expanded? Great news. But even after the expansion it’s still Academy property—you’d just be a user. Honestly, management should go to someone who actually knows what he’s doing. So how about this: we put you in charge of the indoor training hall. Not an order, just an offer. If you take it, you’ll be able to submit official budget requests to the Academy, and under the name of “management” you can toss anyone you don’t like right out the door.
The instant Kyle saw those terms, one thought filled his mind.
How could anyone look at this and just sit still? This is mandatory. Non-negotiable.
Managing a gym might prove a little annoying, maybe even tiring—but the authority that came with it was pure profit.
All those people who wander in and just sit on the machines doing nothing. The ones who refuse to take a hint and clear out. The ones who skip the actual workout to gossip or flirt. Every last one of them—out.
Romance was inevitable in a romance-fantasy setting; Kyle himself had entered the Academy hoping to find a girlfriend or two. He had zero objection to romance itself. There was simply a line that must not be crossed. When you came to the gym, you focused on your own body. Acceptable conversation: “Are you finished with that machine?” “How do you do this exercise?” Anything beyond that—especially couples cooing at each other—was strictly forbidden inside the sacred temple of iron.
For those reasons, Kyle accepted the imperial summons with open arms.
“I am ready to depart, Your Highness.”
“Yeah. Let’s go. They’re waiting.”
On the road to the palace, Yulika—who had already been at the Academy—climbed into the carriage with Kyle. Ordinarily he would have eyed her with deep suspicion; today he did not.
If I get management rights on top of everything else, it’s perfect. Only people who actually want to train get in. Anyone who slinks in just to size me up is out on the first strike.
Trainers put up with hopeless clients for one simple reason: money. That reason no longer applied. Money was neither goal nor tool. And now he would personally manage the indoor training hall. He even got a title!
He could choose whom to admit. No one could complain if he refused them. Got a problem? Take it up with the Emperor. This is an imperial assignment, after all.
“…Kyle.”
“Yes, Your Highness?”
“You look ridiculously happy.”
“I am exactly as I always am.”
The claim might have been more convincing if he had not been wearing the brightest smile of his life.