Chapter 1: The King’s Routine
“Your Majesty, good morning.”
A deep baritone voice sounds. It’s the chamberlain. Until recently, this maximally dignified old man used to wake me up at my bedside, but it was so brutal that lately I’ve been working hard to get up on my own.
It’s been about two months now since I came to this mysterious other world.
Eight in the morning.
Urged by my manservants, I head to the grooming area in the corner of a bedroom that boasts the size of a school classroom. I shave my beard, brush my teeth, and get dressed. Actually, that’s not quite accurate. I only brush my teeth myself.
As for clothes—well, they’re like tailcoats with various decorations attached. The scarf wrapped around my chest seems to be important. The chamberlain (mid-forties, male) carefully arranges this part. Apparently it’s important that the embroidered crest looks cool.
There are no maids or anything like that, you know. I mean, they exist in the palace, but everyone around me is male. Just between us, when I became king in these circumstances, I had some expectations. It’s a man’s nature, after all. But now I’m glad my attendants are old men. Because I’m mentally exhausted enough as it is.
You see, when you become a company president, you get people like secretaries who take care of things around you. When I first inherited the company, I was happy. “So this is the rumored beautiful secretary from TV dramas,” I thought.
But here’s the thing—they’re nice at first, but as they witness my patheticness, you can tell their attitude gradually grows colder. They probably complained about me at drinking parties. And while skillfully avoiding being in the jealousy-target position, they’d subtly assert dominance. It’s exhausting. That’s why the old men are healing.
After grooming myself, I head to breakfast.
Nobles are lined up all along the endlessly continuing long corridor. They call out one after another: “Your Majesty, how are you feeling?” or “Please make a royal visit to my estate sometime,” or “It is an honor to behold your august countenance today.” Fifty percent greetings, fifty percent petitions. I navigate through these without incident and finally reach the breakfast venue.
The room named the “small dining hall” is by no means small from any angle. There’s a massive table sitting there like the kind used for Japan-US summit meetings. I sit alone at the head, all by myself. A few elites selected from the mass of nobles in the corridor dine at the far end of the lower seats, but there’s no particular conversation.
I’ll talk about the menu another time. The sheer quantity is exhausting, but I work hard to finish everything. If I don’t, various things happen.
After finishing the meal comes today’s main event. Starting around eleven o’clock. The imperial council begins.
Foreign affairs day, domestic affairs day, finance day, religious affairs day, and so on. Each day has a set theme, but actually, these meetings are quite interesting. Educational.
I, who should have died that day, am now for some reason reigning as a king. Of some mysterious country called the Kingdom of Santeneri.
For me, a mysterious existence in a mysterious world, learning about this country’s current state and the trends of the entire Central Continent where this country is located is simply interesting. I’m impressed thinking “Oh, so that’s how it works.”
Using modern Japanese knowledge to come up with ideas? No way. There’s nothing I can use.
Where in national governance could I possibly use “the skill of randomly searching the internet and cold-calling companies one after another for advertising sales”?
An indomitable spirit, maybe?
Incidentally, the most exhausting theme in these subject-based imperial councils is, as expected, finance day.
Because we’re deep in the red. Our Kingdom of Santeneri. Look, you’re thinking it, right? “It’s probably because of too much war.” But those wars—they were all unavoidable. Taxing the nobles? We’re doing it without appearing to do it. In a different form. But we’re still in the red.
And what makes it exhausting is this: I, the King of Santeneri, have joint liability for the enormous debt piled up to cover the deficit.
In Japan, when small and medium-sized enterprises try to borrow money from banks, in most cases the president has to become a joint guarantor. Our company had this until my father’s generation. It seems they were able to remove it when the company reached a decent size, so fortunately I, the third generation, had no experience with it. Nevertheless, even though I escaped it in Japan, by some twist of fate I was thrown into another world and am experiencing it for the first time.
In Japan, at worst you can file for bankruptcy and be done with it. Here in Santeneri, I’d probably… be hanged.
There’s no lunch. Because we’re in meetings.
Around 2 PM, break time finally arrives. I drink tea in a small room like a foreign hotel lobby. While conquering the towering mountain of sweets. Oh, “break time” is just for appearances. Every world has its appearances. In other words, it’s on-the-clock time disguised as break time.
Today’s tea party companion/work partner is Lady Braune, daughter of the Marquis of Froisbourg.
The Froisbourg family is an old military marcher house that the royal family directly enfeoffed long ago at the foot of the central massif sitting in the very middle of Santeneri. In other words, veteran employees. Incidentally, the eldest daughter of this house has traditionally been named Braune, generation after generation. I heard this from her directly. It’s apparently continued for over 800 years, but I wonder which Braune number she is.
The marquis’s daughter has reddish-gold hair braided large and hanging down to her chest—a hairstyle that by modern Japanese sensibilities is supremely maternal—and azure eyes, relatively rare in Santeneri. And she has a very feminine figure. Well, it’s a man’s nature. Your eyes go there. Can’t be helped.
Lady Braune resembles Ms. Misawa from secretarial (25, female) a little. Don’t be fooled by her gentle appearance. How should I put it—she’s earnest and sharp. Not tomboyish or anything like that. You know, that sense of being proper.
“Your Majesty, there is a stain on your carul.”
The carul is by no means large despite its name meaning “large cloth.” The large cloth that nobles once wrapped from neck to shoulders—a big stole—apparently devolved repeatedly until it became its current form. Mine has an embroidered crest of a snake skewered by a spear. I’m not very fond of reptiles, so it’s a bit iffy.
Lady Braune gently sits beside me and softly brushes off that carul thing. Crumbs from sweets I dropped while eating.
Don’t misunderstand this behavior either. She’s proper, you see. She won’t tolerate dirt. Ms. Misawa also often cleaned my desk. It’s impossible not to develop feelings when someone does that for you.
Later, Ms. Sasaki (26, female) from the same secretarial department leaked to General Affairs Manager Yoshinaga (48, male) a scene from a drinking party: “Ms. Misawa seems to be feeling stressed by the president.” Mr. Yoshinaga then informed me: “Ms. Sasaki reported that Ms. Misawa is uncomfortable, but those two don’t get along, so it’s probably not that serious.” You understand? That indescribable aftertaste at that moment.
Therefore, even if Lady Braune straightens my scarf with those slender hands, the possibility that it’s from affection is low. It’ll come later. It’ll probably come in this flow.
Lady Braune makes light remarks to her family’s lady-in-waiting: “Seriously can’t deal with taking care of His Majesty.” The lady-in-waiting tells the marquis’s wife, who is Lady Braune’s mother. The marquis’s wife gives off an air at salons she hosts to other noblewomen that her daughter is favored, with a “How troubling” demeanor. The other noblewomen receiving this ignore the latter part while conveying to their own daughters the information that “Lady Braune apparently says it’s impossible.” And finally, at a tea party, that daughter tells me:
“It seems Lady Braune is feeling somewhat burdened.”
Foreseeing such a future, the countermeasure is:
“Ah, I hadn’t noticed. Thank you for always supporting me. Lady Braune truly puts me at ease. She has sincere consideration. In contrast, my manners are poor… I must get it together.”
I muddle through by saying something like this. The way to say it:
Point 1: Show that I recognize the minor devotion
Point 2: Clearly express gratitude
Point 3: Praise the other person’s strengths
Point 4: State my own shortcomings and show determination to improve
Point 5: Give off a dejected feeling
That’s all.
“Not at all. Braune merely fulfilled her duty.”
The line is curt but her expression is slightly satisfied. Anyone would be happy to have their strengths praised. Anyone would be happy to be noticed by someone. I’ve experienced this firsthand. The pain that its absence brings.
“Your Majesty rules over this Santeneri; your worries are beyond ordinary. Please do not concern yourself with dropping food. Braune will continue to attend to you from now on.”
When I repeat this steadily, she gives answers like this. It took two months.
At first, she was super businesslike. You know, that attitude girls have when they “absolutely don’t want to be misunderstood as having anything with this guy.” That.
Now, well, there’s a sense that I’m at least treated as a colleague. Evidence: after picking up the food crumbs, she remains sitting next to me and doesn’t return to her seat. My chair is unusually wide, so it’s not cramped at all.
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Around 4 PM there are individual meetings with the kingdom’s bigwigs. Sometimes the prime minister, sometimes the finance inspector, sometimes regional administrative governors, sometimes representatives from the national assembly, sometimes foreign ambassadors. All types of people come. This is also quite interesting.
When you join a company fresh out of school, after training ends you accompany your superior on sales calls, right? It’s probably similar to that. Since I’m basically just sitting there, I can find it interesting as an outsider. “Oh, the section chief is starting to negotiate,” or “That client looks intimidating,” I can think such things. Occasionally your superior remembers to prop you up. “He’s still green but surprisingly has guts, this one.”
“I understand your concerns, but we too pride ourselves as the royal house’s bulwark, Santeneri’s pillars. We’re certainly not trying to pursue selfish desires.”
A slightly plump man past his mid-fifties declares in a deep voice. Our Kingdom of Santeneri’s Finance Inspector and military count of the central-western region, Simon-Ene-En-Monbrier.
By the way, in our Kingdom of Santeneri, naming conventions aren’t that complicated. Personal name-epithet-noble title-domain name. In other words, Simon, the head of the En family ruling the Monbrier region.
Though a bona fide noble, he’s an intellectual who studied at a university on the Lemur Peninsula in his youth and has long served in the royal palace. In other words, a career bureaucrat. Exhausting.
“We are aware of that. However, we commoners also support Santeneri. It is precisely because we have that awareness that we have devoted ourselves to blood-soaked loyal service until now. But any more than this…”
This one appears to be in his thirties. Right around that most vigorous age when ability is catching up to youth. A blonde man who clearly looks capable.
He’s one of the representatives from the national assembly. His name doesn’t come to mind immediately. Various people come every day. But I vaguely remember his background. He’s the eldest son of a family running a banking business, currently making his face known to business contacts in preparation for the coming generational change.
The national assembly?
Yes, the national assembly. It’s completely different from what we’d call a parliament by modern Japanese sensibilities. Our Santeneri is an absolute monarchy. In other words, it’s like the Chamber of Commerce and Industry Youth Division or Young Business Owners’ Association. That sort of thing. They’re probably go-getters. I’ve shown my face a few times out of obligation, but they immediately rush off to hostess clubs. Local young business owners: cars, alcohol, women. Also creatures with a fondness for watches and brand goods.
Just between us, I got a bit hooked on watches. No, that’s a lie. I got quite hooked. They’re addictive.
The young business owners’ association of Santeneri’s national assembly probably goes drinking after adjournment too. Come to think of it, I need to check out Santeneri’s watches too.
The agenda is basically the problem of tax burden and public rights.
Nobles provide people, commoners provide money. That’s the principle, but in reality our country is seriously broke, so nobles should shoulder the burden too. If they can’t, provide something equivalent—that’s the gist.
If I were a wise ruler, I’d use brilliant leadership to push through taxing the nobles and win over the commoners, or something like that. But looking at the situation, it’s completely harsh.
Thanks to the previous king (should I say my father?) getting motivated and sticking his nose into every conflict across the continent, nobles are dying in droves. Because their job is to charge at the head of their troops.
What’s even more troublesome is that cheap agricultural products from the Empire (our neighboring country) come flooding in, and our country’s grain prices can’t win the competition. Land rents aren’t rising at all. Nobles are landlords, you know? Some are successful in business, but they’re basically landlords. Exhausting.
The commoner side is doing reasonably well in business. However, they have the danger of having all their assets stripped away by a single word from the authorities. The authorities’ (and their associates’) policies can blow away families in one shot, and the authorities don’t pay back debts. There are instant-death traps lurking everywhere if you don’t handle things well.
The debate is fairly interesting.
Count Monbrier, who on the surface takes an overbearing stance while inwardly appealing to emotion, and the go-getter businessman, who outwardly prostrates himself while speaking of the rights of commoners (i.e., business owners).
And who are they appealing to? That would be all relevant parties. Troublingly, that means me. This is mostly already settled behind the scenes, right? It’s like a ceremony before things get escalated as “This is what happened.” Like when the finance director and sales director battle in a management meeting. That.
I’m the stamp officer, so I just sit and listen silently.
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