Chapter Three: The King’s Apology
Today, you see, I’m going to apologize.
To be precise, I’m summoning someone and apologizing to them. Every day I summon someone and apologize.
Whether you call me president or king, the name doesn’t matter, but when you become what’s called “the most important person,” you can escape from most things you don’t want to do. If it’s a company that hasn’t gone public, you’re almost never scolded by anyone. Complaints and advice come all the time, sure. But no reprimands. It would be different if we were listed. But ours was just a garden landscaping shop started by family that happened to grow big. Even though it looked the part on the outside, the inside remained a small-scale family business. So I myself had almost no experience bowing my head…
Yeah right!
In reality, I was apologizing to someone every day. When the older subordinate men would get into conflicts, I’d apologize to one side and then apologize to the other side. It’s a bit different in nuance from apology. If anything, it’s closer to persuasion. Like, “Calm down, calm down.”
And here in this other world of Santeneri, I’m still performing calming rituals every day. Did you know? There are various ways to apologize. Depending on the other person.
There are people who, when you admit fault, will open their hearts—in other words, they’ll think on their own that you’re “a magnanimous person”—and there are also people who will look down on you, thinking “this guy is easy to deal with.”
My old man, in his final days, would summon me to his hospital room almost daily and do something like accelerated training for a manager, and even then he’d often say it: “Apology is a double-edged sword.”
OK. Having gone through those ten years of hell, I’ve painfully learned about those edges. Mostly by cutting myself.
So, the conclusion is: I don’t care anymore. Because it’s impossible, right? To instantly discern the personality of someone you barely know and change how you interact with them. So what do I do? I made two criteria.
One: It’s completely my fault, so I apologize sincerely.
Two: It’s not my fault, so I apologize in an it-seems-like-it manner.
That’s it.
Either way I apologize, but the amount of heart I put into it is different. From the outside, it probably looks like similar attitudes. But it’s different. In One, how should I put it, both my body and spirit bow their heads. In Two, only my body bows its head.
When I say cool things like this I get misunderstood, but even when apologizing with One it sometimes doesn’t get through at all, and with Two it can sometimes pierce the other person powerfully.
If the effect doesn’t change either way, you might think there’s no need to worry about it. No, there is an effect. On myself. I can think, “I responded sincerely.” This is surprisingly important.
As for the other person, it’s impossible. It’s impossible to try to manipulate others and act on that plan. Yet politicians do exactly that, so those people really are monsters. They’re people who stand at the pinnacle of the national-level communication skills championship. But for me it’s impossible. I’m not even national level—I’m at the level of losing in the second round of the prefectural tournament.
Now then, by the way, am I doing apology One or Two?
The troublesome thing is—both.
In other words, I’m apologizing for the actions of my past self. Normally I should apologize completely in pattern One, right? But for me, anything more than two months in the past isn’t my responsibility. It’s what the original owner of this body, Grois-kun, did. It’s like a superior going to bow his head for a new graduate subordinate’s screw-up.
In that pattern, the superior usually thinks something like: “It’s my responsibility that my subordinate messed up so badly. My guidance was poor…” That kind of thing should be stopped. A little is fine, but if you seriously start thinking that way, you’ll get depressed.
So, past new-graduate Grois-kun has been screwing up all over the place. Well, I guess it’s better that it stayed within the company—er, the country—but he’s gotten quite a glare from the senior staff. Being a new graduate but having authority, there’s been quite a bit of actual damage.
I was truly shocked when I grasped the situation. He’d suddenly fired the seneschal, the country’s top official. Unbelievable.
That time I went full mode One in my apology. To Marquis Froisbourg. He seems to trust me to some extent now, but I’m still being doubted about forty percent. Probably.
So, today’s partner is the Lord of the Admiralty.
“Are you saying that all of His Majesty’s great ambitions that you confided to me were lies!?”
Well, it’s not exactly lies. It’s like a kid in their second year as a working adult brings an obviously impossible estimate, the customer is happy and signs the contract. But as a company, it’s impossible.
New employees who take unimaginable actions—they exist, albeit rarely, right? Since we didn’t entrust major clients like local public organizations to young people, such problems were usually with individual homes. But you see, it’s B-to-C, and moreover a local-based business, so it’s word-of-mouth business.
I certainly didn’t go myself, but department-head-level people would sometimes go apologize with boxes of sweets. Depending on the case, we’d swallow big losses. Case-by-case.
This time, the estimate new-hire Grois submitted was “Naval Reconstruction and New Territory Re-Challenge.” I wonder if he made PowerPoint materials.
So, in reality, both are impossible. The territory we got in the New Continent doesn’t generate value. Unless we can discover direct wealth like gold veins, it’s still too difficult. Using it as a place to dump our increased population? It costs too much. Moreover, it’s too far away to control. And you see, it becomes a spark for war with various countries. Everyone loves it, don’t they—new territories, new development. So we have to cut our losses.
READ THE ORIGINAL TRANSLATION AT GADGETIZEDPANDA.COM
Next, the navy. This is also difficult.
Military expansion stimulates the economy. It can create employment too. But, we simply don’t have the money to pay. It’s not like modern Japan where you can just run the printing press, so even printing bills requires something to serve as collateral. And everything that could serve as collateral is already collateralized.
So there’s nothing to do but apologize to the Lord of the Admiralty, with whom new-hire old-me-kun passionately discussed the future.
“It’s not that it was a lie. Our country will continue to decline as things are. That recognition hasn’t changed.”
“Then why!? Our country’s navy may indeed lag behind Angland. That is fact. However, if we rebuild with all of Santeneri’s resources, we can still make it in time!”
Angland is an island nation in the western sea of Santeneri. That place is cramped, you see. They have no choice but to expand outward. Therefore their navy naturally becomes strong, and they’re more serious about acquiring overseas territories than we are.
“Stagnation is death. Your Majesty, what are you afraid of? You said you would inherit the great achievements of the Great King, did you not? For that, fear is unnecessary. What is required is decisiveness.”
Ancestor Grois VII is called the Great King. And apparently I was an ardent worshipper of that Great King. I wonder if this is that pattern. Like reading a famous IT manager’s autobiography and getting fired up.
“Lord Admiral. You understand as well. Unfortunately, our country has no money.”
“What does money matter! Certainly it will cost money. However, if we can plant the shield-serpent crest to every corner of the New Continent, we will surely recoup it. Success is impossible without taking risks.”
Shield-serpent crest. That thing on my scarf. The Leroi family crest with a snake drawn somewhat realistically.
What the Lord Admiral says is correct. No success without taking risks. It’s something often said.
But you see, you don’t actually often make real gambles that stake the company’s fate. In manager autobiographies with a self-help bent, it’s portrayed dramatically, but what’s the real truth? They’re mostly exaggerating. Even when venturing into risks, they should have secured a margin to “barely stay standing.”
Well, there might be cases of going all-in and winning big. But is that really the manager’s “ability”? It’s luck.
“You are being tempted by the Finance Minister, Your Majesty! No, or perhaps by the seneschal-dono!”
“That’s right. I was tempted by both the seneschal and the Finance Minister. If you describe learning reality as being ‘tempted,’ then certainly I was tempted.”
Slightly raising my tone for a mini-counter-snap. It’s not a method I particularly like, but it’s effective for internal company disputes. Just as the other side has face, we have face too. It works on opponents who value face. It doesn’t work on types who don’t care about face at all.
“That’s right, Your Majesty, you are being misled! You speak of reality, but the reality is that Angland continues to freely invade our western seas. This too is reality.”
Ah, it’s not working. Well, can’t be helped.
“The words of the Lord Admiral are also quite reasonable. I too have no desire to see Angland’s flag in our western seas. However, we are unable to build a grand fleet to drive them out.”
There’s not much point in appealing to emotions from here. Even if I apologize for my own lack of virtue, it probably won’t work. Since he doesn’t value saving face, he also doesn’t value the worth of me bowing my head.
“By the way, the topic changes, Lord Admiral-dono. Our country currently lacks your colleague—the Lord of the Army. His passing was quite sudden, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, indeed. —Your Majesty, are you perhaps considering reducing the army?”
Santeneri is an army nation. The military, which boasts the largest scale on the continent, is incomparable to the fledgling navy in terms of combat power, prestige, and budget. Perhaps that’s why this Naval Lord Admiral has a tendency to treat the army as a particular rival. It’s like that thing where business divisions don’t get along. If one side gets smaller, the other gets bigger. The pie is finite, after all. Can’t be helped.
“No, the army is Santeneri’s backbone. If it breaks, the nation will immediately perish. Even if we were to do it, we couldn’t do it suddenly. —What I’m trying to say is, the reality is that the Lord of the Army position is vacant.”
The Lord Admiral is silent. Has he more or less figured out what I’m trying to say?
“I highly value your loyalty to the nation. Could your abilities not be put to use on land as well? I know, of course, the passion you pour into the seas. Knowing that, it would be far too wasteful to leave things as they are.”
It’s personnel reshuffle time. More accurately, it’s time to muddle things over with a personnel reshuffle.
The Lord of the Army position is clearly higher in rank than his current post. Lord of the Army, Marshal of the Kingdom of Santeneri—apparently it’s the highest honor that military officers across the entire Central Continent aspire to.
Normally, when the Lord of the Army who recently passed away needs to be replaced, the Deputy Lord of the Army—Number Two, so to speak—would move up. But here, I’m throwing him in from the navy. If he’s truly a capable person, he’ll manage well for a few years, even if it’s somewhat ceremonial. But if he’s not, he probably won’t last a year. Because the organization will reject him.
This is essentially a containment personnel move for the old mainstream faction (the war hawks) accompanying a change in governing policy. Disguised as a promotion.
If he accepts the proposal, he’s a person who can compromise with the situation—a realist—so things will proceed peacefully. If he refuses, he’s a person who can’t compromise—an idealist—so nothing I say will matter.
“……Your Majesty, might I have a little time to consider?”
Of course he can’t answer immediately. He’s not stupid either. He should be able to read the situation to some extent.
Our army is monopolized by a certain noble house that exclusively manages military affairs—it’s become a hereditary position. Dropping an outsider in there via parachute would just be painful. However, regardless of the actual substance, he would obtain the honor. The position of Lord of the Army comes with the title of Marshal of the Santeneri National Forces. In Santeneri society, which values reputation/honor, this can be called fairly generous treatment. It’s adequate compensation for the promissory note I cut in the past that didn’t bounce. Now, what will it be?
“Of course. When I think about it, this was brought about by my own shallow thinking. I’ve caused you great mental anguish. I apologize.”
Saying that, I bowed my head. It’s sincere, really.
“Your words are too kind. Then, for the sake of the Kingdom and Your Majesty, I shall thoroughly consider what I can accomplish.”
“Ah, thank you. You may withdraw.”
It’s over.
I sent him off with the tone of someone who thought this up himself, but I’d decided the script beforehand together with the Chief Steward – seneschal old man. Actually, the old man made most of it. I did nothing.
Because I’m a dim lord.
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