Semi-Coercive Imperialist

Zenith Times Headquarters.

I scheduled a meeting with the editor-in-chief. It wasn’t difficult. When the administrative officer contacted them, they said they would come to me as if they had been waiting, and I just said I would go instead.

“I’m sorry, Sir.”

The editor-in-chief bowed his head to me.

“We didn’t fully recognize that the person in charge of the case was Sir Maximilian.”

I quietly observed the editor-in-chief making a formal apology.

“…Since the reporter is a member of the von Stauffen family, we had no choice but to offer some leniency until now…”

He talked too much, so it didn’t all sink in, but roughly, it seemed that Alphonse had quite a bit of freedom from editorial censorship because he was a noble reporter.

“As you can see from the article, there wasn’t a single direct mention of Sir Maximilian, so from our side…”

A typical tactic of the media. They follow conscience and money in appropriate measure.

In other words, conscience becomes money.

“It’s alright. I understand what Reporter Alphonse was thinking. However, those illegal immigrants were indeed members of the Revolutionary forces.”

“So that’s the conclusion.”

“It’s not a conclusion, it’s the truth.”

“Yes. We’ll issue a correction article as soon as possible. And.”

The editor-in-chief placed an old duffel bag on the table.

“Reporter Alphonse von Stauffen has parted ways with us as of now.”

It seemed to be Alphonse von Stauffenberg’s belongings. I shook my head with a bitter smile.

“No, it’s alright.”

“No, Sir Knight. This is our oversight, so naturally….”

“No. I said it’s alright.”

I raised my hand to cut off the editor-in-chief’s words. My expression also hardened coldly.

Alphonse was, truly, a good reporter.

“Reporter Alphonse is a noble. The von Stauffens are a good family that has devoted themselves to the Empire for generations. So this much is something I can fully endure.”

The editor-in-chief stared at me silently for a moment, then nodded belatedly. It seemed he understood well enough.

“That’s a relief. However, let’s take a look at the articles Reporter Alphonse wrote.”

“Yes, they’re all in that bag.”

I opened the duffel bag. Inside were piles of papers. There was also the photo of me he had taken during the grand jury. It seemed the bag had been taken from him almost by force.

I skimmed through several of the articles Alphonse had written and frowned when I came across one unpublished article.

“Why wasn’t this article published?”

──Was Cain Romil, a 14-Year-Old Boy, Really a Murderer?──

Last month, in Schiltach, Altheo Province in the West, a 14-year-old commoner boy named Cain was arrested as a suspect in a series of murders of young girls. He was quickly confirmed as the real culprit and is now awaiting sentencing. However, according to this paper’s investigation, unidentified adult male footprints were discovered at the crime scene, and aside from the boy’s confession, no physical evidence exists…

──────────

“The Cain Romil case.”

The editor-in-chief replied quietly to my question.

“Most of it was speculative rather than factual, and due to the reporter’s overly subjective belief that there was another true culprit, we put it on hold.”

I met the editor-in-chief’s gaze. I could roughly guess. The real culprit was likely the child of an influential family, or someone rich, or had some connection with the media company’s leadership.

It’s obvious. A predictable story. But it’s precisely these predictable stories that pile up and cause the Empire to creak and falter.

“Since when did you not publish such speculative pieces? If you ask me, this seems worthy of tomorrow’s front page.”

The editor-in-chief looked at me with a strange expression.

“May I ask why?”

The reason is simple. The Empire needs to be normalized. At the very least, the gears of this massive nation must perform their designated roles properly. Not necessarily good, but at least not evil.

Only then can we win the coming war.

Only then can we completely rid this land of the otherworldly Ezenheim race.

“You should already know.”

…Explaining all of that would be annoying. And I didn’t want to waste time trying to persuade.

There’s a simpler way.

“If you made a mistake, you cover it up with a bigger story.”

That means pulling out a checkbook and scribbling dollars on it.

“Don’t think too hard. This is just a process to see if we can be friends.”

“……”

The editor-in-chief stared intently at the amount written on the check. A slight crack appeared in the expression that had remained unchanged until now.

Inside the Zenith Times headquarters.

Alphonse was locked up in a small storage room at the main office.

─Open the door! I said open it!

“…Hey, man. Just go home and rest already, will you? Go rest at your nice family estate.”

─Open it!

Department Chief Eddie sighed as he looked at the banging door.

─Then open the door first! I’ll go!

Just as the banging continued from inside, the editor-in-chief returned.

“Ah, Editor-in-chief. You’re here.”

She snapped her fingers, pointing at the storage room.

“Let him out.”

“Excuse me?”

“The door. Open it.”

“Ah, yes.”

Eddie, though puzzled, opened the door. The moment it opened, Alphonse burst out and held out his hand toward the editor-in-chief.

“Well, hand over my bag, please, my bag! I’ve got to head out for reporting right away!”

The editor-in-chief returned the bag without saying much, and Eddie ran a hand through his hair.

“That punk… talking about reporting now. You’re out as of today, man. Editor-in-chief, I’ll start clearing out his desk right away.”

“No. It’s alright.”

“Understo… huh?”

“For now, run this article. Front page. Just below the headline.”

──Was Cain Romil, a 14-Year-Old Boy, Really a Murderer?──

Last month, in Schiltach, Altheo Province in the West, a 14-year-old commoner boy named Cain was arrested as a suspect in a series of murders of young girls.

──────────

The editor-in-chief handed over the article written by Alphonse.

“…Excuse me? This is Alphonse’s article.”

“What? My article?”

Alphonse, who had been about to leave, hurried back and snatched it. He skimmed through it and asked in shock,

“…You’re publishing this? The desk rejected it just yesterday.”

“She’s right. And the front page, no less. This guy’s never had a single article on the front page.”

Alphonse and Department Chief Eddie were suddenly on the same side.

“The situation’s changed, so if I say run it, don’t question it.”

“…Ah, yes.”

“Alphonse. Now go do that reporting or whatever. Eddie, you get back to work too.”

The department chief, still puzzled, returned to his desk, and Alphonse stared blankly at the editor-in-chief before furrowing his brow.

“What? What did that Maximilian guy say to you? Don’t tell me he insulted you or something? Is that why you finally came to your senses?!”

“It’s the opposite.”

“The opposite? What’s the opposite??”

Ignoring Alphonse’s bullshit, she entered the editor-in-chief’s office.

“Haa…”

Editor-in-chief Celine Dubois pressed her temples and sat down in her chair.

Today, she had faced Maximilian. A rare opportunity. That’s why she tried, even in the short time, to understand what kind of person Maximilian was. She focused on reading his expressions and psychology, but couldn’t extract any information.

“…To bury an article about himself that barely made page two, he sends out another noble’s case to take the front page.”

Too calculated to be called obsessive-compulsive, and yet, he protects Alphonse, who attacked him directly, simply because he’s a noble.

“Is he profoundly strategic, or just a strange person?”

Celine picked up the terminal. She immediately placed a call to someone.

“Lady Margaret.”

─Yes. Speak.

Margaret. She was the real owner of this news outlet. As editor-in-chief, Celine was just a proxy.

“A message from Sir Maximilian von Ebenholtz…”

She conveyed everything that had happened today, and Maximilian’s proposal.

─…I see.

Margaret paused to consider.

The Cain Romil case had another real culprit, and the suspected true culprit’s parents were nobles with deep connections to both the media and legal circles. The reason the article had been cut at the desk level was due to that kind of external pressure.

However, their opponent now was not just some newspaper.

It was Ebenholtz.

From the perspective of Margaret, the owner of Zenith Times, judging the hierarchy among noble houses and the relative size of their patronage was a simple matter.

─Do as he says.

“Yes.”

With Margaret’s order handed down, Celine put down the terminal. She picked up her fountain pen. Resting her chin on her hand, she contemplated, then placed the nib on a blank sheet of paper.

Tap─ tap─ tat──

She drew something, creating a code.

This code, once complete, would become a secret message and be sent somewhere.

To a place harboring an unshakable grand ambition──

A group that dreams of revolution.

***

Cain Romil was the subject of the case Alphonse had been pursuing for nearly a month.

One day, the boy had suddenly become a murderer, and despite the presence of other circumstantial evidence suggesting he was not the culprit, the investigative authorities had completely ignored it all.

But the moment the article hit the front page, the sky flipped upside down.

Only forty days after the incident had occurred and the local court had sentenced the boy to death, the verdict was overturned the very next day. Central police from the Capital were dispatched in person. They re-collected all the evidence that had previously been disregarded and quickly identified the “real” suspect.

“Thank you… Thank you so much, sir reporter.”

The boy’s parents, now freed, offered Alphonse their tearful gratitude. Uneducated and impoverished people. Alphonse shook his head. He firmly declined the gifts they offered.

“It’s not over yet.”

Alphonse turned to the Central Police who had taken over the case. What was his name again? Anyway, he approached him and shrugged.

“…This is what they call ‘the power of the pen’, right?”

“The power of the pen?”

The mustached officer furrowed his brow, then gave a wry smile.

“Well, you’re not wrong. But listen, reporter. This wasn’t because of ‘your’ pen.”

“What? Then why are you people even here?”

“It wasn’t because of you, I said.”

“Then what was it because of?”

“…If you’re curious, read it for yourself.”

The officer tossed a piece of paper at him. Alphonse picked it up.

On a half-blank document, a short statement was written.

─[Official Letter from the Sentinel Knight Order]─

Sender: Sentinel Knight Order

Recipient: Imperial Western Altheo Provincial Court

Subject: Immediate halt of the execution in the Cain Romil case and order for a fair reinvestigation.

As a member of the Sentinel Knight Order, we express deep concerns regarding the unusual speed and manner in which your court rendered a guilty verdict in the ‘Cain Romil’ case.

Accordingly, we strictly command that the execution of the accused be immediately suspended, and that all investigative procedures be reinitiated from the ground up under the supervision of the Imperial Central Police.

This order is issued under the knight’s inherent authority to safeguard justice within the Empire, and be advised that any judicial or administrative responsibility resulting from non-compliance shall fall entirely upon the Western Altheo Provincial Court.

───

And, written at the very bottom, the signature.

[Maximilian Albrecht von Ebenholtz]

“Maximilian…”

“Well?”

Alphonse flinched and looked up. The officer twisted his lips into a smirk while stroking his mustache.

“The weight of that pen… feels a little different, doesn’t it?”

***

──[Real Culprit Behind Girl Murder Case Finally Caught]──

By: Alphonse von Stauffen

Thanks to the wise and swift order for reinvestigation issued by Sir Maximilian von Ebenholtz of the Sentinel Knight Order, the Imperial Central Police re-examined the ‘Cain Romil’ case from scratch. As a result, the true culprit was revealed to be the second son of House Baum, ‘Marcus von Baum’. If not for Sir Maximilian’s sharp insight, the unjust death of a young boy could not have been prevented. The Western Court will now begin deliberations for compensation…

─────────────────────────

One day, a new article took over the front page.

Given how awkwardly the praises for Maximilian were inserted throughout, it appeared to have gone through special editorial scrutiny at the desk level.

“Good.”

It was a necessary move.

Before the regression, the Ezenheim race had exploited the gaps within the Empire’s lower 97%, the commoners. They stirred the hearts of those who couldn’t even live a life worthy of being called human. They swelled up the distrust and resentment toward the Empire, which was already near its breaking point, and from top to bottom, bottom to top, outside to inside, they overturned the Empire, its system and its regime.

Therefore, the Empire had to maintain at least a minimum degree of public trust.

To that end, I plan to make full use of the Zenith Times. Most of Alphonse’s articles will no longer be censored. The justice that Alphonse seeks will become both solace and propaganda for the Empire’s commoners.

Except, of course, for any articles that defame my honor.

Naturally, Alphonse will try not to make an exception for the name Ebenholtz, but control at the desk level would be enough.

“Alphonse von Stauffen.”

I remember his name.

Then and now, he criticized the Empire’s corruption, and after the New Cabinet came to power, he condemned their hypocrisy.

It means he’s not a member of the Revolutionary forces. He’s just a good man through and through who stands for the poor.

Knock knock.

The office door opened. It was Tiana.

“Max. You’ve been in the paper a lot lately?”

“It’s proof the press is functioning properly.”

“Yeah, right.”

I set down the newspaper and asked,

“Why are you here?”

“We’ve got a joint operation scheduled.”

“Joint operation?”

Just as I was about to ask what the hell that meant,

From deep in my memory, a certain trauma surfaced to the top.

The worst mission of my entire career as a knight, one that half-broke the old me and still instilled a visceral fear in even the current me.

“I don’t know what it is yet either. Come on. Sir Julian is calling us.”

Tiana gestured for me to follow and stepped out.

“…….”

I quieted the nightmare of the past and took a deep breath. My heart trembled greatly, but I smiled again.

There’s no need to be afraid. I am no longer who I used to be. So, in fact, this should be a good thing. It’s a moment I should be glad for.

Because now, I’ve been given the chance to rewrite one of the most fucked-up parts of my past.