Semi-Coercive Imperialist

Dance.

For nobles of the First Nation, or children born into families with even a little name recognition, it was a virtue considered essential to social life.

I had once obsessed over it far too much, but its nature was not all that different from swordsmanship.

The movement of the feet. The tension flowing along the spine. The paths traced by the fingertips. Every line formed by the body came together in the process of creating a single beauty.

Yet dance was never something one could do alone.

The person standing before me.

The person holding my hand.

The person I leaned against, sharing my weight.

Because it was an art created together.

Before my regression, though, I had been arrogant. I forced my own dance upon my partner, chasing only splendor and crushing their rhythm beneath it.

It was not, at the very least, the way of a noble.

"...You have talent, Mr. Eli."

Charlotte Grossmann, holding my hand, whispered softly.

"Listen to the sound of my steps first. Don't just try to force yourself to follow. Let your body go with the flow."

She was a true noble.

Unlike her brother Kurt Grossmann, unlike me, who had committed countless murders, she was a genuine noble who still possessed dignity of the soul.

"As you match your steps, you'll notice stretches where the same movements repeat. Dance is a series of repeated promises."

I followed her lead and stepped in time. Even the techniques that had seemed difficult were ultimately fragments of a repeating rhythm.

"Once you're used to the repetition, lift your head and look into my eyes. Don't hide behind your mask."

Only then did I raise my gaze and look into her eyes. Golden pupils, gleaming like stars beyond her silver mask.

A question suddenly came to me.

Though she had been born with one of the Empire's finest bloodlines, why did she help the weak? Why were her eyes so full of hope?

What was she seeing that allowed her to hold such light in this rotting Empire?

"You're doing well. Now it finally feels like we're dancing."

Charlotte gave a faint smile. My feet moved smoothly among hers.

"Well then."

All at once, she released my hand.

"Now go enjoy yourself with someone else too~"

She waved gracefully as she skipped away from me, heading toward the upper seats of the banquet hall, set apart even from first class.

Beyond her, a familiar face emerged like a shadow.

A man holding a wineglass and looking down upon the crowd, Victor Heim.

His eyes rested on me for a moment before shifting to Charlotte, who took her seat across from him.

* * *

In the dim dawn, before the heat of the ball had fully faded, Halbert Goring slipped out of that noisy place. He threw the counterfeit pocket watch onto the bed in his suite and fumed.

"Find the bastard who sold me this piece of junk and tear him apart. The second I get back to the Empire, I'll destroy his whole family."

"..."

Nils, an elite agent of an Imperial direct agency who had followed Halbert inside, examined the watch without a word.

"How dare they humiliate me! They made me look like a clown in front of that filthy Mer bastard!"

"...It seems the real and fake versions are clearly distinguishable. How interesting."

"That's why the appraiser must be master-grade."

Nils raised an eyebrow without much interest.

"But Lord Goring, do you really believe that Mer bastard? They're a race of trash no better than Izenheim. To me, even the words coming out of his mouth seem fake."

Halbert frowned and turned toward him.

"What do you mean?"

"No need to overthink it. Just persuade him well enough. Make him write an appraisal stating that this watch is a perfect genuine article. Then you can sell it to some other fool later for its full value."

Halbert's expression brightened oddly.

"...But word has already spread through the lounge that it's a counterfeit."

"Say the appraiser wasn't in good condition because of the voyage. That should be enough. More importantly, Lord Goring, why do you think that appraiser boarded the Titan in the first place?"

"What, business travel or sightseeing, surely. If he's master-grade, he must have made some money."

"No."

Nils cut him off coldly.

"He's fleeing the Empire. Since the Imperial Citizens Act took effect, those people have been constantly looking for a chance to run away without paying taxes."

"...What?"

A deep crease formed between Halbert's brows.

"Then, what do we do? Should we catch him now?"

"By the time this ship reaches its destination, they'll all be arrested anyway. The direct agency has already tracked money launderers connected to the Alchemia case and identified related figures aboard the Titan. Since it's a case that has drawn the Sentinel's attention..."

"I heard about that too. They said that Ebenholtz knight himself appeared as counsel?"

Halbert Goring ran a solid business as a cadet-branch member of a prestigious house, enjoying wealth and luxury under the Imperial Guard's protection.

But before Ebenholtz, he was no more than a candle flame.

"Yes. Knight Maximilian's reward payments are famously generous. Imperial agents must be burning with eagerness to get their hands on those people's tails right now."

Nils raised an eyebrow as he looked out at the dark sea.

"So don't worry, my lord. Once we reach land, we'll have him write the appraisal again."

"...Ahem. Well. If it's your suggestion, I won't refuse. Ahem, ahem, hahaha!"

* * *

The next morning.

I lay on the bed in my second-class cabin, staring up at the white ceiling.

Sliiide.

Feeling the ship's motion through my body, I waited blankly for the promised time.

Knock knock.

The sound shattered the quiet, and I sat up.

"...?"

I tilted my head and opened the door to find an unexpected guest.

"Will you show me around third class?"

"...Pardon?"

It was Charlotte Grossmann. Dressed in simple travel clothes, she smiled with curious eyes.

"I just mean, let's go have some fun together."

There was no reason to refuse such a confident proposal.

Again, in this Empire, reasons were what mattered most...

I descended the stairs leading to the lower decks with her.

When the lavish carpets disappeared and cold steel flooring came into view, I asked the question that had been nagging at me.

"Are you perhaps in a relationship with Mr. Shannon Light?"

Izenheim was skilled at exploiting human emotions.

If she had been someone dancing in Victor Heim's palm, if even her admirable character had been fabricated by Izenheim...

Charlotte stared at me blankly. Then she let out a quiet laugh.

"Not at all... Look over there."

Cutting me off, she pointed to one corner of the third-class dining room. Third-class passengers were gathered there in small groups. Charlotte narrowed her eyes at the crude metal can sitting on the table.

"How do you eat this?"

It was unfamiliar to her, but to me, it was a fragment of reality.

I hooked my finger through the pull ring and peeled the lid open in one go.

Chunks of meat reeking of fishy oil, something I had eaten until I was sick of it during my years as a fugitive before the regression.

"...This might be difficult."

A small bead of sweat formed at Charlotte's temple.

"It's more edible than it looks."

There were dishes that went well even with canned meat like this. I picked up a tire-like piece of bread tossed carelessly on a shelf, piled on cheese, then spread the meat and strawberry jam over it.

"Wait. Why are you putting strawberry jam on it? This is insane!"

Charlotte recoiled at the bizarre combination, but I confidently held it out to her.

"You're talking too much."

"What?"

"...No, I mean, you'll understand once you try it. It needs the sweetness. Just trust me."

"I don't see why I should trust you-"

I pushed the bread toward her mouth. She scrunched up her face and took one bite. As she chewed, her eyes widened slightly.

"...It's surprisingly good?"

"I told you. Ingredients matter in cooking, but the combination matters more."

I had learned it from a homeless man long ago.

Homeless people had been my teachers.

Even terrible ingredients that were practically garbage could produce a subtle flavor when mixed together the right way.

"As long as you're alive, you can find something fun anywhere."

I took a bite of my bread too.

The taste stirred old memories.

"...How strange."

Charlotte looked at me with an unreadable expression.

Tick-tock.

Above the third-class dining room's kitchen.

Tick-tock.

A pocket watch hanging on the grease-stained wall.

Tick-tock.

Listening to that grating sound, I thought of the moment that would soon arrive.

* * *

On the third day of the voyage, the Titan had completely left Imperial waters.

The atmosphere on the upper decks remained heated. In the Prestige Lounge, high-stakes gambling and tiresome formal dinners followed one another, while whispered affairs and romances that would not last more than a few days bloomed all around.

The families in second class enjoyed the scenery and the Titan. There was a comforting warmth to them.

Third class was poorer than the decks above, yet it still brimmed with life and energy. Whenever they looked over the distant horizon, they wore expressions like people lost in dreams.

"..."

Charlotte looked toward the ship's bow. A handsome young man and a girl who looked like a noble lady stood side by side, seemingly admiring the sea.

Dressed in a jacket and trousers that made it easy to move around, Charlotte toured the deck until night began to fall. Then she sat in a corner of the ship's bar.

"One drink. Something strong, anything."

Someone naturally took the seat beside her.

Shannon Light, Victor Heim.

"One Draconian."

Avoiding the bartender's gaze, Victor slid a note beneath the table. Charlotte read it on the spot.

[ Based on our wiretapping, a large Imperial direct agency arrest force is waiting at the destination. ]

"...Careless."

Victor seemed displeased with her response as he took a drink.

"Don't get the wrong idea. I'm not on your side."

Charlotte had nothing to do with revolution. She had no interest in it. She only pursued what she believed was right.

"..."

Victor emptied the glass handed to him and smiled bitterly.

"That's a shame. You were my first love."

The bartender turned away and wiped glasses as if nothing had been heard. Without even looking at him, Charlotte replied.

"Too late. I don't like busy people."

"...Right. It's been far too long since I wasn't busy."

Muttering bitterly, Victor Heim rose from his seat. Beyond his shoulder, Charlotte spotted a man who had not been there moments ago.

Eli Zella. He had ordered cheap wine and was sipping at it, repeatedly glancing in this direction.

"Take care."

As Victor Heim walked away, Eli's gaze naturally followed him.

Before long, that gaze returned to Charlotte.

"Hello?"

"Ah, yes."

Eli nodded stiffly.

"Can I ask you something?"

Charlotte moved to the seat beside him first. Eli looked flustered, but answered anyway.

"Yes, go ahead."

"Can you appraise something like this too? It's alcohol."

She took a bottle from inside her jacket and held it out.

"Oh."

The bartender reacted first. It was a special vintage of Jack Callan, one of the world's finest liquors, Traoma 60-Year.

"Hm..."

Eli took out a monocle from his pocket. Studying the density of mana and the texture of the sediment in the amber liquid, he spoke.

"It carries the honest passage of time, something a counterfeit cannot imitate."

It meant it was genuine. Charlotte nodded in satisfaction.

"Then what about this?"

She took out several accessories from her bag one by one.

First, a bracelet.

"It's genuine."

Next, a ring.

"It's genuine."

Then a necklace.

"They are all genuine. Flawless, top-grade pieces."

"...How annoying. I should have just bought everything fake."

She gave a bitter smile and gathered the jewelry back up.

"My brother gave me all of these. You know who he is, right?"

"If you hear the name Grossmann and don't know, you aren't an Imperial citizen. You're probably a spy."

Kurt Grossmann, the Emperor's Chief Secretary, adored his younger sister.

Perhaps it was because of their large age gap, or because Kurt himself had no children.

"..."

Eli stared for a moment at the whiskey in her hand.

"But you brought that whiskey to drink, didn't you?"

"...Huh?"

Whiskey.

As Maximilian, he honestly wanted to drink it.

He enjoyed fine food, but Jack Callan, Traoma 60-Year, was something money alone could not buy.

He had only tasted it twice before his regression. Considering how easily he had been duped back then, the liquor itself may have been fake.

"Do you like alcohol?"

Charlotte asked as if surprised.

Eli cleared his throat.

"That liquor is special."

"Then get up."

Charlotte led the way, and Eli followed.

The two walked the ship's deck together, with the salty night wind blowing over them.

"But I'm curious. How do appraisers tell the real thing from a fake?"

She was at an age full of questions and curiosity.

Eli answered with a smile he tried to hide.

"The real thing is natural, and the fake is unnatural."

"That's it?"

"Yes. Essence is always simple."

Eli suddenly stopped walking. Charlotte turned around to look at him.

Their eyes met as he spoke.

"Like how you're real."

"..."

Charlotte's pupils shook for a moment.

This man seemed timid, yet his words and actions were quietly bold. No, he was openly bold, and very honest about what he felt in the moment.

A daring, strange person.

"Are there fake people too...?"

Without answering, Eli leaned against the railing and looked up at the night sky. Instead of the sky, Charlotte watched his eyes.

They seemed to hold starlight.

A Mer. A man trying to turn his back on the Empire as a member of a persecuted people.

His eyes were not bright at all. They were dark as a deep abyss, but at the bottom of them was hope. Even as he mocked himself for having no bluebird, he possessed a will and conviction that refused to give up.

That was why he seemed more hopeful than anyone Charlotte had ever seen.

At least, that was how she felt at this moment.

"Can I ask what your dream is?"

Maybe it was a foolish question.

Eli's gaze tilted slightly.

"To survive."

Such an obvious, humble wish.

But she could not laugh at it. The weight in his eyes was too heavy.

"All of us, together."

Eli gave a faint smile.

"..."

Charlotte fidgeted with her fingers for no reason, then finally took a small notebook from her clothes.

"I hate using my family name like this."

She scribbled a sentence in the notebook, ripped out the page, and handed it to him. Eli tilted his head.

"What is this?"

"When we reach the destination, an Imperial arrest force will be waiting. Show them this, and they'll let you pass."

Then she stood beside him, leaning against the railing.

Eli looked over the paper.

"When we reach the destination..."

He muttered it, and somehow it seemed cute to her. She looked up at the sky.

"...Did you know? They say every space has a different density."

Charlotte continued quietly.

"Some spaces are a little more special, so time accumulates in them at a different density."

The white glittering night sky. The most luxurious ship in the Empire. Gentle waves lapping below.

In that harmonious place, Eli watched her profile.

Moonlight shattered over the rolling sea.

"That's why sometimes... memories and time reverse."

One minute you would remember on your deathbed, even after decades of life.

The weight of life was sometimes terribly uneven.

Eli nodded with a face that seemed somewhat sad. Watching him, Charlotte opened the whiskey bottle. The scent of deep age scattered through the night breeze.

"They say this is liquor you can't get even if you have money."

Just as he accepted the glass she offered.

Kuuuuung.

Maximilian felt an impact rise from the bottom of the ship.

Footnotes:

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