I Became The Leader Of A Revolution In A Romance Fantasy

< Chapter 6: Changed History >

Earlier, I mentioned that the morning newspapers ‘piled up,’ and that’s no exaggeration. There are over ten newspapers in this country that are considered major.

How is that possible, you ask? Just take a look at the chaotic political landscape of this republic, and you’ll get a rough idea. Let me give you a simple example.

Our revolutionary faction is clear. But what about the ‘Liberals,’ who are also classified under the progressive camp?

-We need to get rid of all those royal and noble bastards, but honestly, I think the revolutionaries are a bunch of commies. The state should just crack down on strikes and excel in warfare, right?

Yes.

These so-called liberal bastards, who are indeed part of the ‘progressive’ camp, astonishingly represent extreme laissez-faire capitalists.

By modern standards, they would be considered far-right. In this country, the primary axis dividing conservatives and progressives is their stance towards the ‘old era.’

This has led to the insane situation where communists and robber barons are in the same boat. This is why the progressive camp is always in chaos. There’s no consensus.

So, are the conservatives stable, then?

Surprisingly, the opposite case is just as absurd. Let’s take a look at the ‘Faithfuls,’ categorized alongside the conservatives like the royalists.

-We shall establish the Lord’s kingdom on this land! How could earthly laws hinder heavenly words?

Here, they further split into old-school and new-school factions…

It’s best not to even talk about it.

Anyway, the conservative camp, too, only shares the common ground of affirming the ‘old era,’ but what aspect of the old era they represent varies. Given this political circus, what happens is…

* * *

I gathered my staff in the office. Everyone sat at the long table, and Ms. Lize spoke first.

“First of all, the media we invited is ‘New Start.’ So, they’re all favorable towards the Congressman’s ‘New Deal Policy.'”

“Congratulations, Congressman!”

“Congratulations!”

Hmm.

“‘The media we invited’ is fine, but what about the others?”

Ms. Lize shook her head. I knew it.

In this damned republic, even if you just say, “I ate bread for breakfast!” some factions are bound to get offended.

“Honestly, even the supportive media now might turn on us once the policy is implemented.”

Ms. Lize continued, presenting the results of a survey she had tested.

“Among our supporters, many had the reaction of ‘How is this any different from the monarch’s rule in the royal era?’ if the Congress initiates such large-scale projects arbitrarily.”

“Hmm.”

“Even among progressives, those with strong pro-business leanings reacted with ‘Why is the state stepping in when this should be left to the private sector?'”

Hahaha, shit.

Indeed.

Whenever I tried to do something, I stepped on all kinds of landmines. In a country where the political landscape was as fragmented as the Holy Roman Empire, attempting to achieve anything attracted a barrage of obstacles.

Of course, I didn’t think there would be as many challenges when actually pushing forward the New Deal policy. This was because the survey did not disclose which congressman’s office conducted it, and I was Eugene Hastings. My staff continued to voice their worried opinions.

“Since it’s such a large project, there are too many points for attack.”

“And above all, can the republic’s finances handle this? The treasury is already running dry…”

“There are also a few who think that because it’s not their own money, they’re doing something this crazy…”

Okay, I got it, your concerns.

“Don’t worry about being attacked.”

“What?”

“C-Congressman, we trust you, but…”

They wore skeptical expressions, as if wondering if their congressman was delusional enough to think he had some invincible shield. Perfect. Our office wasn’t a place for cultish devotion. I chuckled and continued.

“Why should we take all the blame in the first place?”

“?”

“?”

With my staff looking puzzled, I spread out the mountain of documents on the table. These were the numerous detailed projects under the giant umbrella of the New Deal policy. I dismantled and reorganized each of these projects.

“You’re right. The New Deal policy, and legislative activities in general, can only become targets for criticism when we dive into specifics.”

The colossal New Deal policy was quickly restructured into over ten medium-sized proposals. I started placing each project under the name tags of our faction’s congressmen on the whiteboard.

“This would be good for this person. Hmm, a public rental housing project for young workers should go to Congressman Walker, who himself was a factory worker…”

As my staff watched in awe, I completed the distribution smoothly and spread my hands like a villain unveiling his master plan.

“We’ve already claimed the ‘New Deal’ issue. We don’t need to bear all the burdens of its detailed execution. None of us are hoping for death by overwork, right?”

Laughter bubbled among the staff. I shared a smile with them and then firmly laid down the core point.

“Let’s just focus on saying the right things. ‘Principles’ don’t get attacked. Why take the bullets ourselves?”

I looked once again at the names of our faction’s congressmen lined up on the table.

“Let’s leave the front-line assaults to these people. There are plenty who are eager to make an impression on the public.”

They were competent and ambitious individuals. And most importantly, they were replaceable if they got caught in the crossfire while pushing the policy and met a tragic end.

* * *

In the end, the atmosphere turned into something like a revival meeting. With the enthusiastic staff cheering, I calmed the mood and assigned tasks. The saying that I wouldn’t take all the blame applied to my office as well. I wondered if my staff realized that they were also my “front-line soldiers.”

‘I hope they understand.’

Our levels of risk are different. If something goes wrong, you might just need to change jobs, but I might have to change my residence while being labeled a “reactionary feudal bastard.” And by residence, I mean from this world to the next.

After the meeting ended and I was about to head to my next schedule, Ms. Lize approached me with a worried expression.

“Congressman, even if we distribute the risks of the policy, the budget is still an issue.”

“Ah, yes. With the reputation of these ‘usable’ congressmen, we can’t pass the budget.”

The republic’s economic downturn is truly horrific. Proposing an increase in government spending at this point, especially at unprecedented levels, won’t fly.

Ms. Lize hesitated for a moment before cautiously speaking.

“It’s not just a matter of political capital; no matter how many times we recalculate, if we push the New Deal policy, the budget will inevitably be in deficit. Mathematically, it won’t work.”

I briefly displayed a surprised expression before laughing.

“I have a plan for that. It will be resolved by next week, so don’t worry.”

“……!”

Ms. Lize’s eyes momentarily looked clouded, then returned to a determined gaze.

“I trust you.”

“Hahaha, I’m glad, but it sounds like a confession of faith.”

“……”

“?”

What is this? This silence that doesn’t seem to deny anything?

As the atmosphere was about to turn awkward, the clock chimed with a clear ‘ding.’

“Whew, yes, yes. It’s time to go.”

“The next schedule is a meeting with representatives of various organizations for support for disabled veterans…”

“And how about the party establishment agreement…”

We chatted about work as we left the Capitol.

* * *

It was almost 11 PM by the time I got home.

“Ughhhhh.”

What a shitty life. I was exhausted. Staggering like a wilted plant, I felt like a dying pedestrian.

Finally back to my small and precious home, I reached to loosen this damn tie that choked my neck and suffocated me in fatigue.

Then, I heard a rustling sound from one side.

“!”

A shiver ran down my spine, and all my senses stood on end.

The conversation I had with a fellow congressman today flashed through my mind.

-By the way, Congressman Hastings, are you alright? Recently, far-right and far-left underground organizations have been attacking congressmen, claiming the National Assembly is nothing more than a second House of Lords.

-It’s because some congressmen have lost the people’s trust due to excessive corruption. Though it’s embarrassing to say this myself, I received the ‘Integrity Award,’ so I think I’ll be fine.

-……Bastard. Bragging about your squeaky clean record.

-Pardon? Congressman, what did you say?

-Ah, hahaha! I was just saying how reassuring it would be if we had more people like you, Congressman Hastings. Ahahaha!

An assassin from an underground organization.

‘Damn, they’ve come for me too!’

I gripped the cane, an essential accessory for a gentleman, and slowly approached the rustling sound without making a noise. The door to the
basement was slightly ajar, and the sound was coming from beyond it.
What could it be? A bomb, perhaps?

I swallowed hard and then, kicking the door open roughly, I shouted, “You bastards!”

“Ah?!”

“?”

The voice was unmistakably familiar.

As the lantern light flickered in the dark basement, the figure wriggling around became clear.

“Ha.”

As the tension eased, irritation surged.

I scratched the back of my head and stood there, looking annoyed, with one leg propped up as I watched a pig of a person munching on raw sausages in my basement pantry.

“What are you doing?”

“Hehe, bro.”

Colin Hastings.

The brother of Eugene Hastings, who, according to the synopsis penned by the author, meets a terrible end in part two.

But since history had changed, that fate wouldn’t happen.

And since he was here…

The lights turned on upstairs, followed by the sound of footsteps rushing down.
My overly heightened senses clearly distinguished the identity of the footsteps.

“Eugene!”

“Our eldest! Our congressman! Haha!”

On the day of the revolution,

dragged out by the mob in the red morning,

according to the author’s description, the couple’s end was so horrific that ‘if all the objects stuffed through every hole in their bodies were taken out, it would be enough to furnish a household.’

Now, they were alive and beaming with joy.

The conversation I had with a fellow congressman today flashed through my mind.

-By the way, Congressman Hastings, are you alright? Recently, far-right and far-left underground organizations have been attacking congressmen, claiming the National Assembly is nothing more than a second House of Lords.

-It’s because some congressmen have lost the people’s trust due to excessive corruption. Though it’s embarrassing to say this myself, I received the ‘Integrity Award,’ so I think I’ll be fine.

-……Bastard. Bragging about your squeaky clean record.

-Pardon? Congressman, what did you say?

-Ah, hahaha! I was just saying how reassuring it would be if we had more people like you, Congressman Hastings. Ahahaha!

An assassin from an underground organization.

‘Damn, they’ve come for me too!’

I gripped the cane, an essential accessory for a gentleman, and slowly approached the rustling sound without making a noise. The door to the basement was slightly ajar, and the sound was coming from beyond it.
What could it be? A bomb, perhaps?

I swallowed hard and then, kicking the door open roughly, I shouted, “You bastards!”

“Ah?!”

“?”

The voice was unmistakably familiar.

As the lantern light flickered in the dark basement, the figure wriggling around became clear.

“Ha.”

As the tension eased, irritation surged.

I scratched the back of my head and stood there, looking annoyed, with one leg propped up as I watched a pig of a person munching on raw sausages in my basement pantry.

“What are you doing?”

“Hehe, bro.”

Colin Hastings.

The brother of Eugene Hastings, who, according to the synopsis penned by the author, meets a terrible end in part two.

But since history had changed, that fate wouldn’t happen.

And since he was here…

The lights turned on upstairs, followed by the sound of footsteps rushing down.

My overly heightened senses clearly distinguished the identity of the footsteps.

“Eugene!”

“Our eldest! Our congressman! Haha!”

On the day of the revolution,

dragged out by the mob in the red morning,

according to the author’s description, the couple’s end was so horrific that ‘if all the objects stuffed through every hole in their bodies were taken out, it would be enough to furnish a household.’

Now, they were alive and beaming with joy.