To My Gentle Dictator – Chapter 039

Especially in places like the NSS, falsifying medical records was quietly tolerated.

In other words, Anton was simply unlucky. At least, that’s what Anton believed.

“Director, please, I beg you, just hear me out.”

Anton still believed he had hope.

His opponent might outrank him, but he was still just a young man in his twenties. And he’d only just gotten married.

Anton was confident in his ability to manipulate rookies.

Besides, this Director Ulrich standing before him seemed much easier to charm than former Director Vasily.

“I’ve only ever fulfilled my duty as a loyal medical officer to the Party. Nothing I did was driven by personal opinion or selfish motives…”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Ulrich blew a stream of smoke lazily toward Anton’s face.

Anton, who didn’t smoke, tried desperately to suppress a cough.

“Ahem, sorry, it’s just… I’ve been kept here all night, I’m not thinking straight… Um, I’m really sorry, but could I just make one quick call to my wife? She must be so worried by now.”

It was a line thrown out to soften a newlywed Director—and yet the reply that came was completely unexpected.

“Mm. You don’t have a wife anymore, Doctor.”

“…Excuse me? What are you—”

“You signed the divorce papers this morning.”

At Ulrich’s gesture, Lef approached and dropped a sheet of paper in front of the bewildered Anton.

“Go on, take a good look, you quack. Your cheating wife finally left you for good. Must feel liberating, right?”

As Lef mocked the dazed Anton, the other agents let out low chuckles as if on cue.

“W-what is this…”

“Shame, Doctor. Looked like you were having quite the fun marriage.”

Ulrich lowered the hand holding his cigarette as he spoke with a crooked smile.

Anton could only watch blankly as Ulrich reached out and removed his glasses.

He had no idea what the man was trying to do.

“Your wife’s been spreading her legs for Colonel Ivanov, and you’ve been opening up girls’ legs back at the clinic. Quite the fascinating couple, aren’t you? Is that the secret to a lasting marriage?”

“D-Director…”

“Hmm? Don’t ignore my questions. Answer me, I’m genuinely curious.”

Ulrich stared at Anton with a bright smile, glasses in hand.

It was the kind of gentle smile a therapist might wear. But in stark contrast, his deep blue eyes were murky, like a bottomless abyss.

“As you can see, I just got married myself.”

All color drained from Anton’s face.

Of course he knew who Ulrich’s bride was.

There was no way he didn’t—rumors had stirred all of Santeburg for months.

A woman who was once a princess of Velus.

A woman who, back when Vasily was Director, had been regularly sent to the clinic for checkups.

And it was true—Anton had derived his own secret pleasures from the female detainees sent to his clinic.

But he could never do that to Sasha.

That woman had practically belonged to General Vasily.

Because of that, he had to content himself with watching her suffer through the disinfection procedures.

The reason he had never considered that this might be the cause of his current situation was because those medical procedures had been ordered directly by the former Director.

Since the revolution, Anton had enjoyed the highest level of authority both as a husband and a doctor.

After joining the NSS, his influence only grew. In addition to treating detainees at the clinic, he also took on secret procedures requested by high-ranking officials, solidifying his position.

Those secret requests were almost always the same.

A wife who got pregnant with a child that might not be his. An unmarried daughter who got herself pregnant. A mistress who ended up expecting.
Sometimes, they’d even ask him to check if a lover had been sleeping around.

None of the men who handed over their wives, daughters, or mistresses ever questioned Anton or suspected anything.

That included General Vasily, who had formally ordered Sasha’s examinations.

Contrary to appearances, men in Velus had become far stricter and more controlling of their women after the revolution.

Everything was justified in the name of loyalty to the Party and the state.

Riding that tide, Anton had lived soaked in the authority of being both a regime insider and a doctor married to a powerful woman.

He had never even imagined a day would come when the veil around him might collapse.

Anton had believed the groom would be pleased to know that the bride—rumored to have been a prostitute—was clean.

He also believed Ulrich wouldn’t dare touch someone who held so many Party secrets.

Why else had things remained quiet for months after the wedding news was announced?

‘Could it be that? Did he suddenly get bothered about his bride’s past with General Vasily and is taking it out on me…?’

“D-Director, as far as I know, your bride is completely clean. She’s pure and untouched. Every procedure I performed on her was based strictly on medical protocol…”

A harsh grinding sound echoed through the silent interrogation room.

Anton, babbling like a man possessed, turned his head blankly.

The agents were wheeling in a massive steel tub with a top tray.

It looked like something from a slaughterhouse—used to drain animal blood…

The moment he saw it, a realization slammed into his head like a hammer.

Anton knew too much.

Everyone who had once relied on him had now agreed to his removal, and the blade of the purge had come.

‘Since when had this been planned…?’

The operation to erase every official and unofficial record of Dr. Anton had been set in motion the moment the new NSS Director decided to marry the fallen princess.

“Director! Please! I’m begging you, spare me! I only followed orders, I only did what they told me to do!”

The agents grabbed the panicking Anton with brute force.

They treated him like a thrashing pig being restrained—rough and merciless.

He was going to die.

Overwhelmed by the terror of death, Anton thrashed wildly and pleaded.

“I’ll live like I’m already dead, just please spare me—ghhuurk!”

“You’ve been dodging my questions with nonsense for a while now.”

Ulrich muttered casually as he shoved Anton’s glasses into his mouth.

Lef silently watched Ulrich.

He wasn’t sure why, but he had a feeling Ulrich wasn’t in a good mood today.

‘Well, no reason he would be in a good mood, I guess.’

Regardless of his personal opinion of Sasha, Lef did admit that she was quite a beauty.

A perfect woman for a night.

And yet, having just married her, instead of spending the day tangled up with her in bed, the Director was here dealing with this pig of a man. Who wouldn’t be irritated?

“I don’t like it when people answer my questions with nonsense, Doctor.”

Ulrich’s large, smooth hands—hands like a pianist’s—gripped Anton’s jaw.

Crack.

A grotesque sound rang out as the gold-rimmed glasses and several teeth shattered all at once.

Ugh. Lef clicked his tongue and fiddled with his own glasses, for no reason in particular.

Of all things, it had to be the glasses.

* * *

The official residence granted to the highest-ranking figures in the state was a former landmark hotel in the capital, remodeled into a luxurious apartment complex.

It was on a completely different level from the hastily distributed prefabricated, 3- to 5-story matchbox apartments issued during the regime’s early housing policies.

Located at the very heart of a special district densely packed with government buildings, theaters, museums, and cultural facilities, the top floor of this apartment complex was the newly assigned marital home of Ulrich and Sasha, granted by Kryuchkov.

As soon as he returned from the NSS, Ulrich headed straight to the shower, just as he always did.

After thoroughly washing off the scent of blood and every other lingering trace, he stepped out to be greeted by the night view of Santeburg through the panoramic windows.

To some, it was a view that stirred desire and dreams.

To others, it evoked only frustration and a crushing sense of defeat.