The Reluctant Politician (1)

The near-silent stillness contrasts with when he first entered Duma meetings, whether they like him or not.

"The time has come to report land reform plans to the Tsar. For those suffering even in this moment, this can't be delayed anymore. So, I wish to present one solution here. Namely, national land reclamation projects."

Even Beren who slightly dipped his feet in business knows nothing about how massive this proposal would be or how feasible.

Just that it sounds plausible and has content no one would dislike is the key.

"Representative Beren. Is, is this already implemented in the Far East too?"

"There reclamation is already meaningless. Well, it's a region where farmers don't pay taxes in the first place."

"F-farmers don't pay taxes?"

"That's not the important part. To explain further, what was the original purpose of establishing the Peasant Land Bank? Wasn't it for farmers lacking credit to purchase land? In other words, the Peasant Land Bank was originally to increase farmers' farmland!"

"Correct!"

"Well said!"

"Then if we reform nationally through this Peasant Land Bank? If the overall market pie grows so we all avoid red faces?"

"...Indeed."

"That's plausible."

Though there are doubters who are uncertain, those favorable to Beren from before raise their voices together without questioning.

'Ah, what will tomorrow's newspaper headlines be? Already looking forward to it.'

Beren Volkov basking in applause and ecstasy.

Today too he stirred up parliament.

So what's the specific plan? Eh, that's for smart bureaucrats like the State-Led Free Market Economic Development System-ists to make. Beren didn't know such things.

What if it passes like this? In a Duma split not even half but quarter by quarter, how could that happen?

Then conversely if it doesn't pass?

If it doesn't pass that's fine, nothing particularly regrettable. Today's proposal was just an idea that flashed before blacking out drinking yesterday anyway. Rather, if it falls through he could gain sympathy by being forcibly criticized.

Though Beren also recognized the unknown emotion rising inside as his speaking rights increased, he hadn't completely fallen to it yet.

'Right, this much is enough.'

No matter how good this opium-like feeling is, it won't be better than port rental business permission.

Doing this much, Governor Sergei will have to permit port rental business.

However, Beren didn't know how much karma he had accumulated meanwhile.

"...What did you say?"

"I said we want to recruit Representative Beren to our Democratic Party. If needed, we'll allocate several seats."

At some point, people seeking him increased not just during day but night too.

"How many did the Democratic Party offer? Four seats? Five? You're a born capitalist. We'll even invest in your business!"

"In-invest?"

"Workers nationwide deeply sympathize with your opinions. Please make it a good place to live like that Far East!"

"No, I'm not sure it's that good to live there..."

The port rental business Governor Sergei promised. He came running thinking only of that...

But the unknown spark in his heart keeps growing.

Beren who shook the Duma began shaking himself at some point.

I read the transcript of Beren Volkov's speech with growing interest. The "just a soldier" had proven far more adept at political maneuvering than anyone had anticipated. His proposal for national land reclamation projects, channeled through the existing Peasant Land Bank, was precisely the kind of superficially appealing non-solution I had expected the Duma to produce.

It addressed the land question without actually threatening the fundamental ownership structures. It promised reform without requiring sacrifice from the powerful. It was, in short, perfect political theater—exactly what I had designed the Duma to generate.

What I hadn't anticipated was that this particular performance would come from an independent representative from the Far East, a man who, according to his own admission, had conceived the idea while drinking the night before.

"Have Minister Witte join me," I instructed my aide. "And bring me the latest reports on Beren Volkov's business interests."

While waiting, I reviewed the newspaper coverage. As expected, the headlines were triumphant. "DUMA PROPOSES BOLD LAND REFORM," declared one. "PEASANT BANK TO EXPAND," proclaimed another. The papers painted Volkov as a visionary reformer, a champion of the common man, despite his proposal containing no specifics whatsoever.

Witte arrived promptly, his expression betraying curiosity about this sudden summons.

"You've read about Representative Volkov's performance?" I asked.

"Indeed, Your Majesty. An impressive display of political intuition from someone with no formal background in governance."

"Evaluate his proposal for me. Not as politics, but as economics."

Witte considered this carefully. "As presented, it's largely meaningless. The Peasant Land Bank has always lacked sufficient capital to make significant impact. Without massive injection of funds, expanding its mandate would be a hollow gesture." He paused. "However, if properly capitalized..."

"Could it work?" I pressed.

"Theoretically, yes. With sufficient treasury backing, the bank could purchase large estates, subdivide them, and sell to peasants on favorable terms. But the cost would be enormous, and the process would take decades to significantly alter land distribution."

I nodded, turning to the window. "And our current budget could not possibly support such an endeavor without dramatic tax increases."

"Precisely, Your Majesty. We would need to choose between military modernization, industrial development, and land reform. We cannot afford all three simultaneously."

This was the contradiction I had been waiting for the Duma to expose. Russia's fundamental problems could not be solved within the existing economic framework. Something would have to give—the military ambitions of the nobility, the profits of industrialists, or the land hunger of peasants.

"What interests me," I continued, "is Volkov himself. A military man turned businessman, now suddenly a populist orator. His proposal may be impractical, but his instinct for what the public wants to hear is remarkable."

"He's becoming something of a celebrity," Witte observed. "The political parties are already competing for his allegiance."

"Yes, I've been informed." I picked up the intelligence report on Volkov's recent activities. "He came to St. Petersburg seeking approval for a port rental business in the Far East, yet now finds himself courted by power brokers and celebrated in the press."

"Fame can be intoxicating, Your Majesty."

"Indeed. And useful." I turned back to face Witte. "I want you to meet with him."

Witte raised an eyebrow. "To what end?"

"To gauge the man. Is he truly an opportunist seeking only personal gain? A genuine reformer who stumbled into politics? Or something else entirely?" I tapped the intelligence report. "He speaks of the Far East as a place where 'farmers don't pay taxes'—a dangerous notion if it were to spread."

"And if I find him to be a potential threat?"

"Then we will handle him accordingly." I smiled slightly. "But if he proves to be merely ambitious rather than ideological, he might be directed toward more constructive purposes."

As Witte departed, I returned to the window, watching the Duma representatives leaving for the day. Beren Volkov was easy to spot among them—surrounded by admirers, his military bearing still evident despite his civilian clothes.

"Just a soldier," I murmured. "Just an ignorant soldier."

But soldiers sometimes became more than that. They sometimes became symbols, rallying points, heroes to those seeking change. And in Russia's complex political landscape, such figures could be either valuable assets or dangerous liabilities.

I turned back to my desk, pulling forward the reports on the Far East that had been my focus before the Duma convened. Governor-General Sergei might believe his territory was beyond the Duma's reach, but he had failed to account for the unexpected rise of Beren Volkov.

The Far East and St. Petersburg were now connected by more than just the Trans-Siberian Railway. They were linked by a man who had found his voice in the Duma and might yet find something more—a purpose beyond port rental businesses and political maneuvering.

The question remained whether that purpose would align with my own plans for Russia's transformation, or whether Beren Volkov would need to be managed more carefully as the political theater continued to unfold.