Chapter 6
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 006
Chapter Title: Coup d'État Conditions. 4 - Power Structure
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The situation in Tehran was a powder keg, teetering on the brink of explosion at any moment.
While the armies mobilized by both sides had their guns trained on each other, cold sweat trickling down their brows,
an unexpected figure arrived in Tehran.
A man who declared himself the third prince of the imperial family.
TV broadcasts covered his return home in exhaustive detail.
A podium had been set up in front of the runway at Tehran International Airport.
He stepped up to it.
After staring for a moment at the TV cameras filming him, he read from his prepared speech.
"The sole reason I have returned to this place today is one: I could not stand idly by and watch fellow countrymen and friends point guns at each other. All the burdens of the imperial family shall be mine to bear, in place of our king, who has stepped away due to illness. Imperial Guard and government forces, cease all hostile actions against the citizens immediately. And all revolutionary forces opposing them—evacuate Tehran and stand by as of this moment. In the name of the imperial family, I will not tolerate Tehran being stained with blood."
A young man,
and a half-blood at that.
The moment this third prince—unknown beyond rampant rumors—appeared on TV for the first time,
every eye in Iran turned to him.
Under normal circumstances, people might have recoiled at his foreign, mixed features,
but for now, they were far more focused on the message he had delivered.
Is that guy the rumored third prince?
I heard he got chased off to America.
No way. The Shahanshah fled, and this guy's bold enough to come back alone?
He's gotta be crazy, right? Death's staring him in the face.
Or maybe he's prepared to die.
Die for what?
He said it himself—he came to stop them from shooting each other.
Right after the airport statement, he moved to a new location.
The imperial family's private lounge at the airport.
Cooling off in the breeze, he checked the footage of himself on TV.
"The angle's a bit off."
Hassan, standing beside him, shrugged it off.
"It shouldn't be a problem."
"Good. Then, how's the mood on both sides?"
"The prime minister's side seems to be breathing a sigh of relief. The revolutionaries, though—their opinions are split."
"Split?"
"The clerics and socialists want Your Highness arrested. The others say to wait and see."
"Perfect. That buys us time—they'll block each other now."
From the lounge, he looked down at the area outside the airport.
Soldiers had already swarmed in, surrounding the airport with ironclad security.
These were the Sahour Scholars he had prepositioned in Tehran, rushing to provide escort.
Among them were royalists and even soldiers who had defected to the revolutionaries.
Each had brought dozens of troops, and in a flash, hundreds of soldiers in armored vehicles and military trucks encircled the airport. Even if one side tried to arrest or attack, there was no need to worry about falling easily.
Hassan replied with his usual serious expression.
"It's still dangerous."
"True. But that'll be his problem to handle."
He pointed to the TV screen.
Ayatollah Khomeini was giving a speech in front of the cameras.
He watched with a smile.
"He won't want it getting out that he's been surviving on imperial funds all this time. He'll handle it himself."
While the revolutionaries bickered and stalled,
he struck first.
- In the name of the current imperial family, we request a nationwide referendum between the government and revolutionaries.
Now, neither royalists nor opponents had the justification to crush the other by force before the vote.
The news spread quickly—precisely through articles and bulletins whipped up by his Sahour Scholars—to every corner of Tehran and the nation.
Did the third prince really stop the civil war?
Well, they were about to fight any second, and now they've stopped.
Yeah.
His name's Sahour, right?
Yep.
Sahour... Like the Sahour Scholarship Foundation?
No way, same name?
My cousin's son is a Sahour Scholar. Should I ask him?
What? You know a Sahour Scholar?
Yeah, my relative's kid got selected, went to America. Now he's a major somewhere in the army, I think.
Lucky guy—his family's set for success.
Yeah, he'd have gone even further without this mess.
Who knows? If this third prince guy takes control again...
Yeah, hope it ends quick, whatever happens.
Once the standoff had de-escalated, he left the airport and returned to Niavaran Palace.
It had served as a residence for the Pahlavi dynasty,
but since he had mostly traveled abroad with Lady Park, it felt unfamiliar to him.
Still, claiming this place was a matter of legitimacy.
Dysfunctional dynasty or not,
there were still those grateful for what the Pahlavis had done, offering their support.
After the White Revolution, Shah Pahlavi II had poured efforts into education and land reform.
Schools sprang up everywhere, and millions who had been illiterate were forced—willing or not—to learn to read and write.
Illiteracy, once over 90%, dropped below 30%—higher than Japan's, a rising economic powerhouse.
Obviously, South Korea, still drooling over basics, lagged far behind.
So it made sense that Asia's largest auto plant had been built in Iran.
The second land reform turned most tenant farmers into independent landowners.
Of course, corruption and graft diluted much of the effect.
Especially when confiscating mosque lands from major landlords,
sparking the clerics' backlash that ultimately led to downfall.
Still, reforms had happened,
and Iran remained Asia's most Westernized nation—that was undeniable.
The U.S. didn't sell F-14s to just anyone besides their own for nothing.
Gathering those forces was one of his tasks.
And to symbolize it,
nothing beat reclaiming a Pahlavi palace.
While sorting through the palace—still littered with traces of Shah Reza Pahlavi II's hasty departure—to prepare living quarters,
a call came from America.
As expected, the first was from his mother, Lady Park.
- What in the world is going on?
- Why'd you go there suddenly?
- What if something big happens!
- You're shortening my life.
And so on.
He broke a sweat enduring the scolding.
Only after showing footage of the Imperial Guard and revolutionary troops securing the palace perimeter did it stop.
Then came a call from his father, Shah Reza Pahlavi II, holed up in a Cairo hospital.
- What happened?
"Exactly as I announced. As head of the imperial family, I couldn't just watch citizens fight each other."
He emphasized "head of the imperial family."
A flinch came through the line.
- Once I recover, I'll return. Keep things from boiling over until then.
"Don't worry here—focus on your treatment."
- I will.
The call ended.
Damn guy.
Not a word about taking care.
Then again, Shah Pahlavi II's true love was someone else.
Such a closet romantic.
He set down the receiver.
He asked Hassan, ever at his side.
"He came?"
"Yes. Waiting outside."
"In the dead of night."
"To avoid eyes, surely."
"Right. Let him in."
"Yes."
Hassan stepped out briefly.
He sat on the sofa, adopting a stern, somewhat arrogant posture.
Moments later, Hassan returned,
followed by a familiar face.
The man's expression soured at the sight of him.
Like someone interrupted mid-shit.
He greeted him warmly.
"Visiting so late. Teacher Khomeini."
The late-evening visitor, slipping in under cover of darkness, was Ayatollah Khomeini—the revolutionaries' biggest stakeholder.
His opening line was, predictably,
"Third Prince. Are you... the Black Prince?"
Anxiety etched his face.
Pleading eyes begged for denial—even a lie would do.
His answer could twist his fate,
snatch away the bright future after years of toil.
He lifted the teapot beside him, pouring into a cup.
Pour, pour, pour~~~
Waiting for the clear jasmine tea to fill two cups.
Enough preamble.
As Khomeini hesitated, reaching for the offered cup,
"Yes. I am the Black Prince who has been sponsoring you."
The cup slipped limply from Khomeini's grasp, just as he took it.
Crash.
It shattered on the marble floor with a clear ring.
Spilled tea soaked the plush carpet below the table.
The darkened rug lost its sheen and color.
At the same time, shadows spread across Khomeini's face, like the sodden carpet.