TMGD CHAPTER 4

Posted by Bree, Released on February 8, 2025

To My Gentle Dictator – Chapter 004

Back then, he hadn’t been wearing that black NSS uniform like he had yesterday. Instead, he had been dressed in a gray-green officer’s uniform.

On that cool summer evening, Sasha had watched with wide-eyed fascination as a waiter in a red uniform carefully transferred pieces of mille-feuille with a silver spatula. She had blushed at Ulrich’s smile, sat on the rose-covered balcony, and nibbled cautiously on the delicate pastry while rambling about all her worries.

She had never imagined that the things she confessed that day would bring about such a horrifying bloodbath.

But even so, Sasha had never blamed Ulrich for what happened.

Back then, she had been nothing more than a naïve imperial princess, completely unaware of the true state of the nation.

Looking back now, the military coup had only been a matter of time. Ulrich had merely accelerated the inevitable in order to protect himself and his family.

So the only person she resented, the only person she blamed, was herself.

It was her fault that her parents and brother had died. It was her fault that she was living in this wretched state. It was her fault that Kiril was falling apart.

But… what did Ulrich think of her now?

A completely unexpected thought bloomed in Sasha’s mind as she stared blankly at the fractured mirror.

‘If… if that man feels even the slightest bit of pity for me…’

It was a half-mad thought. But no matter how insane, it was the only sliver of hope Sasha had left to cling to.

‘If I could borrow money from him… then…’

Sasha quietly searched through her memories.

Ulrich’s family had been in the trade business since his great-grandfather’s time, and they were known to be just as wealthy as any noble house.

She had no idea what their financial situation was like now, in the era of industrialization, but even during the Great Purge—when nobles and bourgeoisie had been wiped out—the leaders of the coup had been an exception. Surely, he still had some funds.

If Ulrich agreed to her request, she might be able to borrow enough money to pay off the settlement fee.

She had no way of predicting Vasily’s reaction if he found out she had borrowed money from Ulrich.

But that was a problem to worry about after she managed to get Kiril out of the detention center and prevent him from being sent to the correctional facility.

‘Let’s do this.’

Resolving herself, Sasha staggered to her feet.

The worst possible outcomes swirled in her mind, but at the very least, she was fairly certain that Ulrich wouldn’t beat her senseless like Vasily.

…Wouldn’t he?

* * *

Santeburg was on the cusp of winter’s end.

Even if the weather was slightly warmer than the previous day, the thin coat she had barely managed to buy from the black market was nowhere near enough to protect her fever-ridden body.

Hunched over and limping, she stepped out of her apartment when a sharp whistle rang out from inside the alleyway.

“Look at that, it’s the whore princess.”

“Hey, whore princess! Aren’t you ashamed to call yourself an imperial?”

“Hey, didn’t your mom and dad get sent to the guillotine because of you?”

A group of street boys loitering near the alley wall sneered at her, making spitting motions in her direction before bursting into laughter amongst themselves.

It was something Sasha had long since grown numb to. Without so much as a glance their way, she clenched the coin purse in her coat pocket and quickened her pace.

Each time the knife-like wind sliced through her, it felt as if her limbs were being torn apart.

By the time she got off the tram, crossed the Santeburg Bridge, and walked the rest of the way to the NSS headquarters, her entire body was drenched in cold sweat.

A single bridge was all it took to separate her neighborhood from an entirely different world.

Luxury cars honked along the gleaming main road, and well-dressed men and women strolled freely down streets lined with restaurants and cafés.

It was a picture-perfect scene—one Sasha had once been a part of.

A time she could never return to.

As she made her way toward the cream-colored NSS building, standing among the cluster of government offices, only one thought burned feverishly in her mind.

‘Please, let him agree. Please, please…’

Two men in black uniforms stood guard at the entrance of the NSS building.

As Sasha approached, one of them—holding a cigarette between his lips—raised his arm to block her path, his expression asking what business she had here.

“I… I’m here to see the Director…”

The guard’s eyes swept over her ragged clothes and sweat-drenched forehead before he made a dismissive motion with his hand—telling her to get lost.

Just then, the other guard nudged his colleague’s side and whispered something in his ear.

The man with the cigarette frowned before turning back to Sasha.

“The new Director is out for lunch.”

“Oh…”

Of course. Come to think of it, it was already lunchtime.

Sasha parted her lips blankly.

“Then… do you know when he’ll be back…?”

“No idea. What’s your business with him?”

“…Nothing.”

She couldn’t exactly say she was here to borrow money.

Sasha staggered over to the steps beside the entrance, where a small garden bed grew wild, and sat down.

The guards continued whispering among themselves, sneaking glances at her.

Their predatory eyes made her shrink into herself.

‘I have no choice but to wait here.’

She didn’t have the energy—or the money—to go all the way home and then come back again. If she waited long enough, surely Ulrich would return eventually.

Cold sweat dripped onto her knees. It wasn’t just the fever—her swollen, battered calf throbbed like mad under the sharp wind’s relentless assault.

Her eyelids, which she desperately tried to keep open, grew heavier, and her head swam with dizziness.

How long had she been waiting like that?

Curled up with her arms wrapped around her legs, Sasha suddenly heard the crisp clacking of high heels approaching.

“Oh my! Goodness, Sasha? Aren’t you Sasha?”

Slowly, Sasha lifted her head.

In her blurred vision, she saw sleek espresso-colored boots, a luxurious otter-fur coat, pristine white leather gloves, and gleaming brown hair.

Bright green eyes sparkled as they looked down at her.

“It is you, Sasha, right?”

It was Vasily’s younger sister, Lyudmila Proverka.

Sasha could only stare in a daze at the familiar figure before her. It had been so long since she last saw Lyudmila, and though she felt like she should say something, she had no idea what kind of greeting was appropriate.

“What are you doing here? Did my brother call for you?”

Lyudmila beamed as she asked, her expression genuinely delighted.

Then, as if realizing something, she made a small ah sound and tilted her head.

Her innocent, benevolent-looking face was so starkly different from Vasily’s that it almost felt surreal.

How could siblings look so different?

“Oh, but my brother doesn’t work here anymore. You didn’t hear? Or are you here for something else?”

Sasha swallowed dryly, her throat feeling as sharp as a razor blade.

Lyudmila was still as beautiful as ever.

Even more so than the widely publicized photos of her on propaganda posters, where she was dubbed the saint of the workers.

Now, she had fully matured into a striking woman, draped in luxurious furs and dazzling jewelry, radiating a presence so bright it was almost blinding.

And then there was Sasha.

Her torn stockings, her layered rags that barely counted as clothing, her unkempt, disheveled hair—all of it painted the image of a beggar slumped on the ground.

‘Your Highness, it’s such an honor to be part of your family.’

That was what Lyudmila had once said.

And now, the very same Lyudmila—draped in wealth and exuding a saint-like grace—was gazing down at the fallen princess with a look of pity.

“Why aren’t you answering? It’s been so long since we last met—are you not happy to see me?”

“… No, that’s not it. I’m sorry, I just…”

Sasha barely managed to part her lips as she unwrapped her arms from around her legs.

A sudden wave of self-loathing crashed over her—what was she even doing?

How foolish. How pathetic.

This was a mad idea.

Coming here in the first place had been insane.

Dressed like this, looking like this, and thinking she could just waltz up to Ulrich and ask to borrow money?

“Shura?”