Colorless King (1)

Development and reform, outside of policy, happen purely in the private sector.

Whether it’s technology or innovation, someone in the private sphere pulls it off, and it eventually trickles up to the state.

That’s how the great powers have grown so far.

A true era of barbaric liberalism.

Do what you want—it’s your freedom, your responsibility.

So, if other powers have thrived this way, can Russia do the same?

“No way that works, right?” I asked Roman.

“Doesn’t it have to?” he replied. “Otherwise, a top aide like Belen wouldn’t be stuck here handling military supplies.”

“Hm, Belen seems to think he’s found his calling late in life,” I said.

“Belen’s discharged, but he’s not exactly a full civilian, is he?” Roman pointed out.

This country’s so damn massive that its domestic markets aren’t even connected. Exports and imports? All state-controlled.

Not that trade’s complicated. Strip away the noise, and we export one thing: food.

“Half the world’s rye, 25% of its grain, 20% of its wheat comes from the empire. And those numbers are climbing,” I said.

Naturally, agriculture dominates industry, society, economy, culture—everything’s built around it.

In this state, leave progress to the “private sector”?

“We’re not America or Britain. Sit back, and the private sector won’t just magically handle it,” I said.

Here, people are more used to cursing landlords than capitalists.

“Not that I’m dissing agriculture, mind you. It’s already huge, and if it grows more, we might control global food prices someday. But, like I said, taxing farmers in the Far East won’t even cover military expenses,” I added.

So what the hell do we do with this primitive, cash-flush Far East?

I didn’t have time to wait for Roman to figure it out, so I gave him an example.

“1883. The Meiji government roped in commoners, nobles, the Emperor, and even Mitsubishi’s banks to form the Japan Railway Company. The military and police pitched in, they handed over telegraph and postal rights, and boom—a massive state-backed company with crazy influence was born,” I explained.

Think about Japan back then. Compared to Russia now, they had tiny farmland, were dirt-poor, and had to reform.

They chased the crumbs of tech the powers dropped, scrambling to catch up. By the 1880s, Japan still feared slipping into colony status.

“I don’t like Japan, but this part’s impressive. A company run like it’s private, with the state as backup? Damn smart move,” I said.

It wasn’t just railways.

When needed, Japan cherry-picked private firms, half-forced them into state projects, and mixed them into massive ventures like roads or ports, birthing new enterprises.

The government plants the seed, the private sector grows it, and the state reaps the fruit.

The beauty of this? It creates a group perfectly tailored to specific goals, meshing like gears.

“Your Highness, won’t that just lead to a mess of opinions clogging up management? The state’s burden grows, inefficiency spikes, and it stalls. Revenue and distribution issues plague every company,” Roman argued.

“Ho, read up on Pareto’s efficiency theory, have you? Studied a bit, huh?” I teased.

That’s the typical conclusion from an empire’s top-educated talent.

The state’s inefficient. It piles on responsibility. It can’t play entrepreneur.

But I’m telling you, that’s dead wrong.

What if the state isn’t chasing perfection but the next-best thing?

Not private profit but public good and collective gain?

Then the game changes.

Even losses are fine, and profits don’t trap you.

It’s a foreign concept to Roman, but second nature to me.

Why? Because I know companies that chase justice over profit.

In my time, we called them public enterprises.

“Let’s use our case. Once the Manchurian railway’s done, how do we run it? Like Britain, picking operators by region? Or like America, handling construction to operation end-to-end?” I asked.

“We… the Governor’s Office should run it directly, no? It’ll need heavy management, but isn’t that best?” Roman replied.

“If Sergei Witte, the railway guru Finance Minister, were here, he’d say: ‘Hand over a ton of cash and put a gun to their heads,’” I said.

Public enterprises’ flaw: they’re often monopolies, stagnating like still water.

So let’s look at Japan again.

The South Manchuria Railway Company once covered 25% of Japan’s budget. Beyond railways, it dabbled in ports, oil, mining, distribution, manufacturing, publishing, education, healthcare, agriculture—everything in Manchuria. How’d it sustain that size?

The answer’s simple.

“Delegated management,” I said.

Long-term, the Governor’s Office employing and managing tens of thousands to run entire industries? With a mostly military staff?

Witte’s been hiring more admins since he took over, but we’ll still be short-staffed a decade from now.

“You’re a soldier, not a capitalist or industrialist. Just keep the gun steady. Finger on the trigger,” I said.

That’s the public enterprise model for this era.

“You don’t need me to spell it out—some already get it. Belen, your old top aide? He probably knows. If he’s not the Governor’s Office’s top pick, he’s toast,” I said.

Yet Belen’s happy here. Why? His wallet’s fat enough to drown out the anxiety.

“That’s it for theory. Questions?” I asked.

“I’ve always wondered… how does Your Highness know all this?” Roman said.

Shit, got carried away showing off.

Roman’s gaze shifted from awe to suspicion, his eyes half-narrowed.

I hesitated, then threw out a name.

“Uh, Bunke. Learned it from Professor Bunke. You know he got sacked as Finance Minister over state-led policies, right?” I said.

“Hm, the empire’s top economics professor…” Roman mused.

“Exactly. This approach only works in the Far East. You’re the only one who can pull it off in the empire,” I said.

I’d forgotten, but despite my status, I’m still a 27-year-old born in ’68.

Bunke’s name carries more weight than mine.

Leaning on it, I sold Roman on this being the right answer.

“It’s already worked in Germany!” I declared.

“With the right conditions, it’s the best way,” Roman nodded.

“Damn right! Bismarck proved it, Bunke endorsed it—state-driven economics! You’re gonna make it happen here!” I said.

“Indeed.”

Bunke may have lost politically, but even Witte can’t touch his academic clout.

“This approach—proven by Vladimir, PhD in imperial politics, member of the St. Petersburg Academy of Sciences—” I started.

“Bunke, Chairman of the Ministers’ Committee, decrees—” Roman joined in.

Why not? Just keep selling Bunke’s name.

That week flew by, dense but quick.

Sticking to Roman daily, I drilled in the bare minimum of my vision.

Anything missing, I can handle later through the Communications Ministry.

The ministry itself, aside from railways, gets the empire’s biggest budget, so it’s more advanced than I expected.

Long-range wireless isn’t here yet, but this massive empire’s obsession with “speed of news” goes way back.

In Father’s era, the Communications Ministry grew to crush rebellions in conquered lands and defend sprawling borders.

That’s why I got the news of his death so fast.

Now, it’s really time to go.

Once I’m back, I won’t have time to micromanage the Far East for a while.

“Roman, I’m leaving it to you. Ugh, the thought of the coronation’s already giving me a headache,” I groaned.

“Coronation? Don’t you have something else first?” Roman asked.

“Something else? Trouble in the capital?” I said.

“To head the imperial family, don’t you need to marry first?” he replied.

“Oh.”

Marriage. I’ve been living in army camps and then bolted to the Far East, so I hadn’t given it a thought.

Marriage, huh.

This is a real problem.

Why?

Because I don’t have anyone to marry.

Never even dated, and now marriage?

As Crown Prince Nikolai left Khabarovsk, looking shell-shocked, Roman felt the weight of his massive task crushing his shoulders but tried to shake off the unease.

I can do this. The Far East’s fate is in my hands.

His Highness’s vision of success and certainty promised a glittering future.

As a loyal subject and soldier, Roman just had to follow orders.

Repeating this to himself, a hand clapped onto his shoulder.

“Phew, he’s finally gone,” said a voice.

“Admiral Romen? Where’ve you been? I didn’t see you in Vladivostok,” Roman said.

“Showed my face when His Highness arrived, then laid low,” Romen replied.

Laid low? His Highness is pouring everything into developing the Far East, and this guy proudly admits to dodging duty?

Roman shot him a contemptuous look, but Romen grinned.

“Those starry eyes say it all. Let me guess—His Highness sold you on the Far East as some land of dreams and hope?” Romen said.

“…”

“Bet he gave you tons of freedom, no term limits. Support? Oh, buckets of cash, right?” Romen continued.

“…Correct,” Roman admitted.

Romen’s gaze was like a veteran sizing up a fresh recruit. His eyes and smirk dripped with knowing mockery.

“Poor bastard. You don’t even know your fate. I came here three years ago. His Highness’s orders sounded so perfect, like everything would just happen,” Romen said.

“Sounds like you’re saying it didn’t,” Roman replied.

“Tch, too late to run, so here’s the truth. Lots of money means lots of ways to burn it. Handle big cash, your hands shake. One screw-up? Bam—dragged off as a corrupt officer for defying imperial orders,” Romen said, miming handcuffs snapping on.

“And that’s not all. The Far East has no educated talent. No talent means you do everything. Your subordinates resent you, His Highness up there terrifies you, and you can’t just transfer out. Get why I hid?” Romen asked.

“I’m differ—” Roman started.

“Different? Ha, I’ve got ten years on you in military and life experience. You’ll see,” Romen cut in.

Each word chipped away at Roman’s confidence, his eyes clouding with unease.

Seeing Roman finally grasp reality, Romen laughed heartily.

But only for a moment.

His face hardened, back to a razor-sharp officer. He extended a hand to Roman, who stared at the ground.

“Welcome to hell, comrade,” Romen said.

“Oh…” Roman mumbled.

Romen wasn’t mocking or belittling him.

He genuinely pitied Roman.

Looking at Roman, frozen by unrealized fear, Romen muttered softly.

“Break now, and you’re done. You’ve got a long way to go.”

Only someone who’d lived through this hell could say that.