To My Gentle Dictator – Chapter 013

The NSS agents moved past the tense onlookers, approaching and saluting the Supreme Commander with utmost formality.

The moment Vasily’s insane suspicion became reality, he barely managed to keep his composure.

“Yuri, is this some kind of Latunian joke…?”

“Of course not.”

Ulrich’s response came with a bright, easy smile—his demeanor lighthearted, as if he were merely teasing an older brother.

Kryuchkov, biting down on a cigar from the New Continent, asked in a mildly scolding tone:

“What are you two fighting about this time?”

Vasily turned to his father, stunned.

A situation this absurd—where the NSS Director was attempting to arrest the Supreme Commander’s own son, right in front of him—and this was his reaction?

Meanwhile, Ulrich lowered his gaze apologetically, his expression one of polite regret.

“Apologies, Supreme Commander. We weren’t fighting—but my brother stole something from me.”

“Oh? Theft, is it? Then you’d best arrest him at once.”

Kryuchkov responded as if this were nothing more than two eight-year-old boys bickering over a toy swordfight.

His attitude alone was enough to convince the onlookers that this was all some elaborate joke.

The high-ranking officials, who had been nervously clustered together, and even the NSS agents, who looked just as tense, began to relax, their expressions shifting.

“Ah, I knew it—nothing serious after all…”

“Looks like the Supreme Commander is really backing the new Director. Even if this is just a joke…”

As sighs of relief and hushed murmurs spread through the crowd, Vasily had to fight the urge to grab Ulrich’s hand—the one resting on his shoulder—and crush it to pieces.

But he knew all too well: if he lost his temper and ruined the moment, he would be the one who suffered for it.

“Then, if you’ll excuse us for a moment.”

Ulrich lightly patted Vasily’s shoulder, flashing Kryuchkov a polite smile.

It was the perfect smile—one that combined the youthful shyness of a man in his twenties with respectful admiration, like a freshly blooming rose, delicate and charming.

At least, that’s how it appeared to everyone watching.

“Let’s go, brother.”

“Make sure to give him a good scolding.”

Kryuchkov laughed heartily, his final words twisting the knife just a little deeper.

* * *

From childhood to now, Vasily had never once beaten Ulrich at anything.

And it wasn’t just because his father, Kryuchkov, the most powerful man in the regime, favored Ulrich over his own children.

Ulrich had always been a figure of worship.

For as long as Vasily could remember, people had idolized him—
In high society, in the officer academy, in the military, and even in the very regime that had overthrown the imperial government.
It didn’t matter if they were young or old, male or female—the admiration was universal.

Had Ulrich never existed, perhaps the military coup wouldn’t have happened so swiftly or so smoothly.

After all, the one who had orchestrated the removal of their mentor, the First Supreme Commander Lvov—
The one who had put Kryuchkov in power—
Had been none other than Ulrich Kastrov.

No one knew why he had suddenly volunteered to crush the colonies three years ago.
But even after such a long absence, nothing had changed.
People still worshipped him. They still scrambled for his approval.

And they were all deluded.

The old men were under the illusion that they were using Ulrich.
The young ones were under the illusion that they had earned his trust.

But only Vasily—
Only Vasily knew the truth.

Behind that angelic, noble, and gentle mask, Ulrich cared about no one.

To him, ideology, patriotism—they were nothing but tools to manipulate people.
He was the cruelest of them all.

Escorted with excessive politeness by NSS agents, Vasily arrived at NSS headquarters and was now alone in a room somewhere underground.

A cup of cocoa had been placed on the table in front of him—some idiot must have thought it was a kind gesture.

For a so-called interrogation, this was incredibly generous treatment.

But then again, no one was taking this seriously.

No one in their right mind would dare interrogate the Supreme Commander’s eldest son.

The agents were simply playing along, treating this as some staged game between the former and current NSS Director.

And yet—

The humiliation Vasily felt did not lessen in the slightest.

Just days ago, he had been the one in charge of this very place.
And now, he was the one sitting in an interrogation room.

It was insufferable.

‘This fucking lunatic…’

Vasily begrudgingly admitted to himself that he had lost his temper this morning.

He should have waited for Sasha to come crawling back on her own, instead of dragging her away.
He shouldn’t have given Ulrich any excuse to act against him.

He had learned long ago that nothing good ever came from getting tangled up with Ulrich.

Because despite his refined appearance, Ulrich was an unpredictable lunatic.

Still—
Even knowing that, Vasily hadn’t expected him to pull something this insane, this boldly.

Why the hell was he doing this?

A sickening suspicion crept into Vasily’s mind.

‘Don’t tell me… has he suddenly taken an interest in Sasha…?’

The thought alone made his stomach churn.

But almost immediately, he shook his head, rejecting the idea.

Ulrich caring about someone?
That was about as likely as world peace.

No—if anything, world peace had higher chances of happening.

Neither Lyudmila nor Sasha had the slightest clue about that.

‘Idiotic women.’

Hearing footsteps approaching from the hallway, Vasily lifted his gaze, his expression dark and menacing.

Moments later, Ulrich stepped into the interrogation room, greeting Vasily’s murderous glare with a kind smile.

“Your drink has gone cold. Should I have them bring you a fresh one?”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing…?”

Vasily growled, biting down on his cigarette in frustration to keep from spitting out a string of curses.

Ulrich, ever composed, sat down across from him, his smile smooth—like polished crystal.

“Thank you for your cooperation. If you had been uncooperative, things might have been a little more complicated.”

What a shameless way to say ‘thank you.’
Especially after orchestrating the entire situation to make resistance impossible.

Massaging his throbbing temple, Vasily finally snapped and waved his hand dismissively.

“Fine, whatever. This is about the ‘guest’ that was in your room this morning, isn’t it? Are you really pulling this whole show just because of her—going as far as to call it theft?”

Ulrich remained silent for a moment, lighting his cigarette.

Vasily didn’t miss his chance and clicked his tongue sharply, shaking his head in mock exasperation.

“Hate to break it to you, but she followed me out. I didn’t drag her away.”

“I see.”

Ulrich leaned back against his chair, exhaling a thin stream of smoke.

His gaze—like a collection of various blue gemstones set into a frame—held a flicker of something cold and mocking.

“So, you’re saying she saw you and ran to you with a big smile on her face?”

For a brief moment, Vasily couldn’t speak.

Because that had never happened.

Not once.

From the moment they met—when she was twelve years old, her bangs cut straight across her forehead—

Through all the long years that followed—

Sasha had never once smiled at him and run into his arms.

As a princess, Sasha had been like a pale, aloof plum blossom—delicate, cold, and distant.

“You were NSS Director for three years. It wouldn’t be strange for you to have a few informants keeping you updated, would it?”

“What…?”

“If you heard about what happened in front of the building yesterday, then I’d say your informant was quite capable.”

Was.

Vasily caught the past tense immediately but chose to glare silently rather than make a weak excuse about hearing it from his sister.

Ulrich took a slow drag from his cigarette before continuing.

“Though, it seems he lacked the nerve to match his skills. I actually called him in, thinking he might deserve a promotion. But, well… the poor guy panicked.”

“What the hell are you—”

Before Vasily could finish, Ulrich cut in, his voice smooth and indifferent.

 

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