To My Gentle Dictator – Chapter 003

The subordinate in the driver’s seat had long been flattened beyond recognition.

Vasily cursed under his breath, twisting his trapped leg in an attempt to free himself from the wreckage.

“Fuck…! What kind of bastard…?”

Who the hell had the guts to crash into an NSS vehicle? Whoever it was, Vasily swore they wouldn’t die an easy death.

He managed to pull one leg free and slammed his boot against the mangled car door. But the twisted metal didn’t budge.

He kicked it again. And again.

Just as he was about to curse in frustration, the door suddenly flew open from the outside.

A powerful hand grabbed him by the collar and yanked him out.

Vasily hit the asphalt hard, rolling onto the pavement as a fresh string of expletives escaped his lips.

“You crazy—!”

“Apologies, brother.”

A smooth, almost pleasant voice drifted down from above him.

The burning rage on Vasily’s face was abruptly replaced by startled confusion.

“…Ulrich?”

“I’m still not very good at parking.”

“What…?”

“Well, as you know, I only ever flew fighter jets in Latunia. Good thing I decided to bring my personal car, just in case.”

“…”

“Are you hurt?”

Ulrich extended a hand toward his dazed cousin, his expression as poised and elegant as ever. There wasn’t a single trace of malice in his demeanor—only polite concern.

Vasily swallowed back a ragged breath, his gaze locked onto Ulrich’s outstretched hand.

Even through his blinding rage, cold sweat trickled down the back of his neck as the realization hit—he had almost died.

This crazy bastard… does he really think I don’t know he did that on purpose?

Crashing into a car carrying the Supreme Commander’s son—causing a potentially fatal accident—was an offense that warranted immediate arrest, family or not.

The problem was, if it weren’t for Ulrich, Vasily’s father wouldn’t even be the Supreme Commander in the first place. And if that were the case, Vasily himself wouldn’t be the Supreme Commander’s son either.

On top of that, Ulrich was one of the few people who could make both Vasily’s father and his little sister completely lose their minds.

“Are you alright, sir?”

Two agents stepped out of Ulrich’s car, rushing over with concern.

Vasily forced his trembling lips into a smirk and grabbed Ulrich’s hand.

Losing his temper now would only make him look like a fool.

It would be far more beneficial if word got back to his father that he had laughed it off like a good-natured older brother, rather than throwing a fit.

“Hell of a welcome party.”

“We should take you to a hospital.”

“A hospital? Please, I barely got scratched. Focus on cleaning up the poor bastard in there instead.”

“You’re just as unshakable as ever, brother.”

Ulrich’s lips curled into a faint smile as he flicked open his cigarette case.

Vasily spat blood onto the asphalt and took the cigarette Ulrich offered.

“So, what brings you all the way out here?”

“I thought I’d take the chance to visit an old friend. Maybe bring her a small souvenir.”

Ulrich exhaled a slow stream of smoke, his gaze flickering toward the run-down apartment building.

“I hear Latunian scarves are quite popular with women these days.”

Vasily nearly laughed at the absurdity.

He knew full well that rising to this blatant provocation would only put him at a disadvantage.

But watching this bastard shamelessly declare he was here to see Sasha—right to his face— was so ridiculous, it was almost nauseating.

“No matter how grand that souvenir is, why don’t you come back another time? We’ll need to inspect your car. That looks brand new, doesn’t it?”

“It’s not.”

“What?”

“I said, it’s not new.”

Ulrich’s response was flat, his tone indifferent. Yet, he smiled as he spoke, his expression as unshaken as ever.

The fading twilight reflected in his glassy blue eyes, giving them an unsettling gleam.

This arrogant bastard…

If not for the sudden blare of an approaching ambulance, Vasily might have lost control and lunged at him—consequences be damned.

With a flick of his fingers, Ulrich tossed away his half-smoked cigarette and took a step back.

“St. Petersburg’s response time is as efficient as ever. I suppose we’ll see how long the car repairs take.”

“…Yeah. I’ll handle things here, so you should get going.”

Vasily forced himself to sound calm, his gaze flickering toward the second-floor balcony of the apartment building.

Ulrich, who had just reached for the driver’s side door, glanced up at the same spot—almost as if on cue.

The woman who had been standing there moments ago, her silhouette fluttering in the dim light, had vanished.

* * *

On nights when she was beaten, Sasha always dreamed of her childhood.

A time before the rotten apple appeared and poisoned everything around it. A time when life had been like a vibrant basket of fresh, colorful fruit.

In that dream, she was still running through the gardens of the Summer Palace, hand in hand with her brother—back when he had been healthy.

Their parents stood nearby, watching over them with warm, affectionate smiles.

‘Shura, close your eyes.’

She obeyed, squeezing them shut. When she opened them again, a small golden wrapper shimmered under the summer sunlight.

‘What’s this?’

‘Chocolate from Camiria. I got it at school, but I saved it for you.’

Before his illness, her brother had been kind. He had been the one to give her the nickname Shura.

In the dream, Sasha took a bite of the exotic sweetness from the New World, chewing slowly before whispering:

‘I wish you could always be healthy.’

‘Hm? But I am healthy.’

‘I mean… forever.’

I wish you never got sick.

I wish that disgusting doctor had never come.

I wish Mother and Father had never changed.

I wish… I wish everything could have stayed just as it was…

‘Shut up! …Then do your part and serve them yourself!’

Her mother’s voice had stung like a wasp’s sting.

When Sasha lifted her head, she saw them—the severed heads hanging in a row on the guillotine.

How absurd.

Her mother had once told her, ‘I found my fated love. I hope you will too, my dear.’

Yet the moment the imperial family’s position became precarious, that same mother had agreed to betroth her young daughter to the son of a bourgeois businessman—a man she had despised—all for the sake of securing alliances.

‘For your brother,’ she had said. ‘Everything is for your brother.’

But in the end, none of it had mattered.

Because her brother had ended up like that anyway.

“…Don’t… don’t go, brother…!”

Sasha woke with a violent jolt, her body burning with fever.

The cold, early morning air seeped through the walls, turning her small room into something no warmer than a freezer.

She pulled the thin blanket over her trembling body, curling in on herself.

Get up. I need to make breakfast for Kiril.

He has school. I need to get up before he leaves.

The thought repeated in her mind over and over until, at last, reality struck.

‘Kiril isn’t here.’

‘Kiril is in detention.’

‘It’s all my fault.’

The sharp shards of guilt dug into her chest like shattered glass, the ache spreading alongside the throbbing pain in her bruised and swollen calves.

Kiril’s rebellion was only natural.

Because of his sister, their family had been horrifically executed, and they had fallen into a wretched existence. How could his heart not be shattered?

That was why Sasha had to save him, no matter what it took.

“Ugh…”

As she forced her feverish body to move and set her foot down on the floor, it felt as if her entire body was about to break apart. The pain wasn’t just in her calf—her whole body ached as if she had been beaten all over.

For a while, she wouldn’t be able to escape this condition, so perhaps it was better to adapt quickly.

But violence was never something one could truly adapt to.

And Vasily wasn’t the kind of man to go easy on her just because she was in pain.

Sasha stepped toward the broken full-length mirror she had picked up from the garbage and lifted the hem of her nightgown.

The sight of her calf, swollen black and grotesque after a single night, made her let out a groan.

“Ugh…”

If her leg had ended up like this, then next time, he would probably go for a different part of her body. As the strength drained from her legs, she collapsed onto the cold wooden floor.

Should she be relieved that she had finally realized just how cruel her former fiancé was?

She didn’t know why, but at that moment, the image of the man she had seen at the entrance of her apartment yesterday suddenly surfaced in her mind.

The man who had crashed into Vasily’s car as he passed by.

She hadn’t gotten a good look at him from that distance, but from what little she had glimpsed from her balcony, Ulrich didn’t seem all that different from how she remembered him.

Just like that summer three years ago, when he had taken her to a newly opened, beautiful mille-feuille café.

 

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