Reincarnated as Nikolai II

In the pure gold standard era without quantitative easing, America’s per capita GNP approaches $5,500.

While the Empire, even excluding poor Poland from statistics, lags more than 10 years behind at around $4,000, but.

Through all this vast and numerous information, there’s one conclusion I want to draw.

Has the Empire truly surpassed the United States?

Objectively, individual lives may not be as good as that country enriched by the Great War, but comparing state to state, we hold the advantage.

’Must consider that we’ve surpassed them.’

Britain fell behind us entering the 20th century, and we’ve even surpassed America who became nouveau riche from the war.

Looking back through each number anew, it seems my life hasn’t been in vain.

Perhaps Kokovtsov, being closer to practical affairs than me, feels this emotion even more.

"You can be proud. All this was achieved by Witte and you."

The two reformers’ roles were clearly significant.

But Kokovtsov let out a small sigh.

"Haa, I still couldn’t surpass the great Prime Minister until the end."

"Do you feel competitive even toward the dead?"

"Competitive... If Prime Minister Witte were alive, I could at least feel like I achieved victory by competing and comparing, but."

While I felt satisfaction at the Empire’s growth comparing past and present, Kokovtsov seemed to be comparing Witte’s term with his own.

"Do you still think you haven’t escaped from being Witte’s shadow?"

"Finance Minister reaching the Empire’s peak at forty-three. A flawless genius bureaucrat. Bold reforms contrasting with his gentle character. To me, Prime Minister Witte was such a person. My final destination and a great mountain to overcome."

"So, did you reach the mountain’s peak?"

With a face somehow both relieved and regretful, Kokovtsov deeply contemplated this question, taking his time.

And answered.

"Though not as fast as the rabbit, I didn’t give up like the tortoise. That’s all I’ll say."

"Excellent."

"I have no regrets. The tortoise was four years younger so could run longer."

Kokovtsov, who always whipped himself while watching Witte from behind, only acknowledged himself upon reaching the finish line.

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"Victory to you who ran longer and farther."

"Huhu, hearing Your Majesty say so seems to give it official authority."

As he said, if Witte was a genius, Kokovtsov was a hard worker.

Though his convictions may not have been as noble as Witte’s and even his will may have fallen short, he finally received the baton and completed the race.

Power doesn’t last ten years.

They say power is sweet but its end is bitter.

However, I know better than anyone that even power second only to one and above all others was merely a means to Kokovtsov, who followed Witte’s footsteps his whole life.

Though emptiness cannot be completely absent from Kokovtsov’s heart, his departing steps seemed lighter than ever before.

In 1926, Kokovtsov’s 16-year term thus came to an end.

Naturally, a new Prime Minister also took office.

==

What is power?

Simply an officially recognized force standing superior to make others obey and rule?

A fundamental human force like what Nietzsche calls desire, drive, survival, will to life?

Or, as commonly said in Eastern studies, a means for professional intellectuals combining public rationality and morality to govern in cooperation with the monarch?

"Old and naive thoughts."

All such philosophical wrappings are merely wordplay trying to purify and sanctify this power.

Power is a drug.

Power is sugar.

Being able to implement one’s will upon others.

Just that alone makes power already the ether, Socrates’ air above heaven, dark matter enveloping this earth where humans live, overflowing with sweetness.

Steps walking a path walked countless times are especially forceful today.

Yet being able to deliberately act relaxed is also because power supports it.

Though the Imperial family lives moving between the Summer and Winter Palaces, since Tsar Nicholas’s reign, bureaucrats’ work has mainly been done in the Summer Palace.

The third Prime Minister following the Great Prime Minister and Wartime Prime Minister.

Pyotr Arkadyevich Stolypin.

Having finished everything from the inauguration ceremony to various protocols including the Duma speech, he was intoxicated with the air of his first day at work.

The secretaries waiting for him seem more disciplined than ever today, and the value of his single signature seems to have risen higher than the stock market.

The ’former’ Prime Minister Kokovtsov cleared out his room before retiring, of course, and neatly handled various personnel matters.

Plus with various handovers and work transfers, leaving several tips, his fragrance won’t remain long in the Summer Palace.

Instead, now that entire palace will be filled with his own fragrance.

He will do it himself.

He is the new Prime Minister. New regime. The rising moon.

"Oh, you came early."

"I, Stolypin, wished to greet Your Majesty first-"

"Sit down right away. I have something to tell you."

Though he clearly came early, Nicholas was already immersed in work examining documents intently in his study.

"Now I can’t see papers well without these glasses. Getting presbyopia already, I suddenly feel I’ve aged too."

"Not at all! Your Majesty remains as young as when I first met you-"

"Enough flattery."

Having his words cut off twice from the start, his earlier confidence disappears and sweat forms in his palms.

Only when Stolypin sat down modestly in the seat right in front did Nicholas put down his documents and look at the new Prime Minister.

"Haa. Where should I start telling you."

"Please tell me anything. I will listen attentively."

If previous Prime Ministers led this country encompassing the cabinet and parliament, military and zemstvo, it was always the Tsar who gave orders to those Prime Ministers.

"Right, first this."

Having long observed that fact, Stolypin was ready to not miss a single word of the orders coming down in this place.

"An economic crisis will come."

"I... must have misheard?"

"An unprecedented Great Depression is expected in the Empire."

"..."

Stolypin, only blinking his eyes, couldn’t give any answer despite hearing the Tsar’s order.

"This is my first directive to you. Prepare for this Great Depression. Starting from today immediately." 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑛𝘰𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝒸𝑜𝘮

First day of taking office, before properly wielding power let alone tasting it.

’Ah...’

At least Stolypin could immediately understand one fact - that its weight was heavy.