Life is Timing
The Founding Contributor wants to live. Life is all about timing. I learned this great truth through my two fathers.
My father from my previous life seized the moment when his rivals in corporate politics conveniently stumbled, clawing his way to executive at a massive conglomerate. My father in this life quickly bet his future on the war hero everyone feared, becoming a Founding Contributor by helping crown him the Founding Emperor.
I fought and worked tirelessly by my father's side here too. My past life's experience and knowledge proved invaluable. That's how I realized this world was the novel I'd read in my previous life. I regretted only seeing the founding arc, but it was still useful enough. Thanks to it, I managed a decent performance. Not quite on my father's level, but I earned recognition as a Contributor.
Father and son, side by side as Founding Contributors. An utterly monumental achievement. Our family's prestige and authority soared accordingly.
Talent and ability are essential qualities, no doubt. Even luck is a skill, I won't deny that. But what truly decides it all—success or failure, life or death—is timing.
That's the lesson from both fathers, past and present. Someday, I'll put it into practice myself and pass it to my own children.
With that in mind, I planned to savor this honeyed life for now. The title of Founding Contributor carried that much weight.
But the world wouldn't let me be.
"Young Master Ethan! Th-this is bad! The family head! The family head...!!"
One day, out of nowhere, my father collapsed.
It wasn't poison or assassination. A health issue. He'd been too busy with the Founding Emperor, no time to care for himself.
Every bigwig in the land rushed to check on him. Even the Founding Emperor visited personally.
But Father never rose again. He went to join my mother, who'd passed ten years prior.
"Ethan Montebello. From this moment, you are the head of the Montebello family."
I had no time to grieve. I immediately succeeded him as family head.
All that remained—family and servants—looked to me alone. A single word, a single action would shape our future.
The immense pressure kept me tossing and turning at night.
The new empire was barely six years old. In the fight against the corrupt, we were steadfast allies.
But now, we checked each other, battling for greater power. Show a weakness, and they'd rip into you, devouring your flesh.
And here I was, stepping into Father's shoes amid all this.
One misstep, and I'd be pushed out of power. In these early days, "pushed out" didn't mean just losing influence—it could mean purge.
If this weren't my second life, if I lacked those past memories, it would've been impossible.
But I'd worked hard, and this was the result. I hadn't earned the Founding Contributor title by pure luck or riding Father's coattails. I'd forged it myself.
Not quite matching the old monsters of the court, perhaps. But for my family and house, I could do anything.
First, I need a position in the most critical department since the founding.
The Founding Emperor was a great war hero and mighty warrior. Even past sixty, he remained formidable. I'd seen him spar with knights recently... chills ran down my spine.
Anyway, the military was paradise for his retainers. Reorganized as the War Ministry, it offered glorious feats aplenty.
But frontline combat wasn't for me. Competing with his direct subordinates was impossible. So, the War Ministry dropped from contention.
After might comes money and law, of course.
The Justice Ministry. Gathered all the sharpest minds, still crafting the empire's laws. Nothing more vital in these founding days. That's why the empire's brains staked their lives on it.
I considered it, but a problem arose. I knew nothing about law. Far from my wheelhouse.
Father's old words surfaced: Knowing what you can and can't do changes how people see you.
The Justice Ministry would expose my weaknesses. Perfect bait for attacks. No need to reveal vulnerabilities in these turbulent times.
That left one option.
"Montebello family head. What did you just say?"
"We need sweeping tax reforms. Yes, I know—it's chaotic in these early days. But if we don't tackle taxes strongly now, they'll hobble the empire forever."
The reason Father first caught the Founding Emperor's eye: Wars cost money. Father kept supplying it. Working under him taught me that holding financial sway meant longevity.
"Even years after Condor fell and new heavens rose, countless locals harbor subtle discontent. It hampers legitimate tax collection. If instability festers, it could accelerate division."
"Hm."
"And that's not all. Those steppe tribes on the eastern plains keep probing our borders amid the chaos. We need special surtaxes for that. Yet opposition killed it two years ago."
One more thing. Damn black money everywhere. That's why the Condor Empire crumbled.
Bribes are fine in moderation, give and take. But this? Unbearable levels of graft. One spark of rebellion, and our fledgling empire crumbles.
Best solution for money woes: Solve them fast.
"Thus, I propose creating a National Tax Service under the existing Finance Ministry. Grant it strong authority over taxes to handle collection."
My bold pitch drew glances among fellow Contributors. Some satisfied, others displeased. Many had likely pocketed dirty cash.
Loyalty to the empire and personal greed are separate. Few emerge dust-free from a shake-down. But if it's shit instead of dust, that's a problem.
"Your Majesty."
Not Father's caliber, but I was still a Founding Contributor. Young and freshly adult, yet I spoke without flinching.
"In affairs of state, money is no shame. It's the most urgent matter."
The Founding Emperor was a war hero. He'd forged great victories as commander and warrior. He prized honor above all. Money talk felt dirty, something to hide.
Father once called this frustrating. His words echoed now.
"Hm."
He's still thinking like a warrior, not emperor. His political instincts as monarch were a touch lacking, truth be told.
"The Montebello family head's words ring true."
"Your Majesty."
"Discuss this further with him, all of you."
He knew what was right and needed. No wonder Father bet his life on him.
Once he embraces you, he carries all his retainers. He won't abandon first unless betrayed.
With a man like that on the throne, I could follow long-term. Hope in heart, I dove into the work.
Exactly one month later.
"I'm nearly sixty now. Even rising this morning felt heavy. It made me realize the need for a successor, and soon—one to solidify the empire's foundations."
I sensed something off.
"Thus, I name my son, the Rustone Prince, as Crown Prince. Know and prepare accordingly."
The Founding Emperor's words were a bombshell.
"Your Majesty?!"
"What do you mean...!"
Rustone Prince. Second son between the Founding Emperor and Empress.
But by imperial genealogy, he was the 8th Prince.
Here's the rub: The Founding Emperor had a first wife. She'd borne several children, been the household's pillar. But she never saw her husband become emperor.
Then, for political reasons, he took a second wife from the Regestice family—a renowned house even under Condor.
Started as alliance with a war hero. Now, they'd produced an Empress. And perhaps soon, the Crown Prince's maternal kin.
So far, no issue. She was legitimate Empress, second wife or not.
The problem? The Founding Emperor had more children—from the first wife.
"Your Majesty, we humbly submit: With grown princes already, naming the mere ten-year-old 8th Prince as Crown Prince is unwise."
His princes had racked up achievements. The 5th Prince's prowess was overwhelming. He'd even gained bureaucracy experience—the only one. Pure merit, no bribes, into Condor's near-impossible administration.
Everyone quietly favored the 5th. The eldest died four years ago, so no primogeniture.
The needed heir: One to lay century-long foundations. Age gaps among brothers were vast too. 8th was just ten—too young.
2nd Prince nearly forty, youngest 5th nearing thirty. Achievements, seniority—all favored others.
He shouldn't be heir. Yet the Founding Emperor pushed hard.
His war hero habits surfaced again. On the battlefield, men follow the commander's push. In politics, it just breeds resentment.
"This feels wrong, doesn't it? Tongues will wag."
"We think so too—imagine the princes...."
"2nd Prince has soured since 1st Prince's death, so maybe. But the 5th? Everyone saw him as heir. Betrayed expectations can turn ugly."
Gathered nobles voiced worries. But I could swear mine were unique.
Fuck. What is this? I've seen this scene before.
It hit me. That event from my past life, everywhere—movies, dramas, novels, webtoons.
Sons ousting their founder war-hero father. Brothers killing siblings with the same dad, mothers be damned.
Ringing a bell? Yeah? King's Betrayal vibes? Too similar for coincidence.
I'd dropped the novel early, but recalled comments likening it to Joseon founding.
And the 5th Prince—talented, ambitious! Would it pass uneventfully here? Did the author ape Earth's history?
Days of fretting like that.
"Ethan Montebello. I grant you new lands."
Before everyone, the Founding Emperor stuck me right in it. The territory neighbored the 8th Prince's maternal Regestice kin.
He wanted me as the 8th's political partner.
"...."
Then I met the 5th Prince's gaze.
We're fucked.
That was pure King's Betrayal eyes.