The Reluctant Politician (3)

"I know, Chief Aide Beren. Though I didn't expect to meet like this."

"I really didn't know about this! No, those Duma representatives must just be crazy! They never listen and just fight daily, so I just listened to them and went along agreeing a bit, but they all cast votes!"

When even the Tsar appeared, Beren started spouting whatever came to mind as if feeling death threat.

However, Nikolai watching such Beren showed no anger.

Just a gaze evaluating one object's value.

"Hmm, that's really something. How strange that individual agitation works even in this Russia."

"That's why he's useful."

Because those agitation targets are fellow Duma representatives.

"Liberals are free in name only, can be seen as fallen nobles and cunning intellectuals gathered coveting power. Labor Party are potential traitors. Conservative and Progressive? In the end just for their interests, not one person in that State Duma sees the whole empire."

Meanwhile Beren looked different to Nikolai.

'This bastard just agitated like breathing.'

Rather found use because of that. Since it wasn't for his group's interests. Just stuck to that fighting arena with mouth being his calling and made newspapers.

"But shame to shatter Duma just because of one Beren? Thanks to it protests and strikes decreased considerably."

Originally those rushing to Tsar and high officials shouting noisily asking to hear their stories now head to Duma.

For Nikolai, no better complaints window than this.

Though Witte also knew well about this part, another point Nikolai mentioned lingered in his ears.

"Duma... was scheduled to shatter?"

"Hm? Ah, didn't know? Must press down once. I can't remain kind and virtuous Tsar forever."

Purging State Duma he created himself. Do those State Duma representatives even know this fact?

'No, absolutely not.'

If they knew, they couldn't rampage not knowing sky's height. Things like Beren couldn't even be born.

"Hmm, seeing your expression you really didn't know. Didn't expect our Finance Minister so pure."

"..."

"Don't look at me so frightfully. It's what you have to do anyway."

What he has to do? Never thought anything besides reform but purge?

Witte couldn't even answer.

To such Witte, Nikolai gently threw bait again.

"How long will you stay Finance Minister? Isn't there next?"

"Next... ah, you'll implement Prime Minister system?"

"Have to. How long think we can block majority passage?"

Purge Duma with your own hands, rise to Prime Minister position. Rise there and control Duma again.

The Tsar's wishes became clear.

As if eagerly awaiting that moment, Nikolai walked away with light steps hands behind back.

Meanwhile Witte... wished he didn't know the Tsar's plans.

Witte remained frozen in place long after the Tsar had departed, his mind struggling to process what he had just learned. The revelation that the Duma—this grand experiment in Russian political reform—had been designed to fail from the beginning left him profoundly shaken.

He had spent decades serving the empire, implementing financial reforms that had stabilized the ruble and attracted foreign investment. He had believed, truly believed, that Russia was on a path toward modernization—difficult and gradual, perhaps, but genuine. Now he understood that the young Tsar was playing a far more complex and dangerous game.

"Minister?" An aide's voice pulled him from his thoughts. "Your carriage is waiting."

Witte nodded mechanically and gathered his papers. As he moved through the palace corridors, he observed the portraits of previous Tsars watching him with painted eyes that suddenly seemed to hold new meaning. Alexander II, the reformer, assassinated for his troubles. Alexander III, the reactionary, who had pushed Russia backward in the name of stability. And now Nicholas II—a young man who appeared to combine his grandfather's reformist instincts with his father's ruthless pragmatism.

Outside, the evening air provided no relief from the weight of knowledge now pressing upon him. St. Petersburg continued its normal rhythms, oblivious to the political machinations that would soon reshape the empire.

Back in his office, Witte found himself unable to focus on the financial reports awaiting his attention. Instead, he poured a glass of brandy and moved to the window overlooking the Neva River. The Duma building was visible in the distance, its lights still burning as representatives continued their debates, unaware they were actors in a predetermined drama.

"Purge the Duma," he murmured to himself. "Become Prime Minister. Control it again."

The cynical elegance of the plan was undeniable. Allow the representatives to demonstrate their incompetence, their factionalism, their inability to address Russia's fundamental problems. Then step in to "restore order" with expanded executive powers. The Tsar would appear both progressive for having created the Duma and wise for having reformed it when it proved dysfunctional.

And Witte himself was to be the instrument of this transformation. The trusted Finance Minister who would rise to become Russia's first Prime Minister—not because he had earned the position through decades of loyal service, but because he would be useful in maintaining the illusion of reform while preserving imperial power.

He should have been elated at the prospect of such advancement. Instead, he felt hollow. Everything he had worked for, every reform he had championed, had been in service of a vision of Russia's future that apparently did not align with the Tsar's true intentions.

Yet what alternatives did he have? Resign in protest? That would accomplish nothing beyond ending his ability to influence events. Warn the Duma representatives? They would not believe him, and even if they did, their fractious nature would prevent unified resistance.

The memory of Beren Volkov's panicked face flashed in his mind. The soldier-turned-businessman-turned-accidental-reformer had stumbled into significance without understanding the larger forces at play. How many others in Russia's political landscape were similarly unaware of the Tsar's grand design?

Witte drained his glass and returned to his desk. If he was to play this role, he would need to understand it fully. He pulled forward the reports on recent Duma activities, studying them with new eyes. The patterns became clearer now—the way certain proposals advanced while others languished, how the most critical issues facing the empire were endlessly debated but never resolved.

It was, as the Tsar had said, a "complaints window"—a pressure release valve for public dissatisfaction that created the illusion of political participation while changing nothing of substance.

And what of the Far East that had produced Beren Volkov? That distant frontier that had so captivated the young Tsar during his days as Crown Prince? Was it merely another piece on the imperial chessboard, or did it hold some special significance in Nicholas's plans?

These questions would have to wait. For now, Witte had a more immediate concern: how to navigate his own path through the treacherous waters ahead. The Tsar had revealed his hand partially, but surely there was more to the strategy than what had been shared.

One thing was certain. The coming months would test not only Witte's political acumen but his moral compass as well. He had always considered himself a pragmatist, willing to compromise for the greater good of Russia's development. Now he would discover just how far that pragmatism extended—and whether it would cost him his soul.

Outside, St. Petersburg continued its evening rituals, unaware that the empire's course was being charted behind closed doors by a young Tsar who saw further and calculated more coldly than anyone had suspected. The great drama of Russian history turned on, with Sergei Witte now fully aware he was both actor and audience in a play whose final act remained shrouded in mystery.