He had been traveling back and forth between Tsarskoye Selo and the city for months now. His minions got everything under control there, sure, but he still worried that some problems might crop up that they couldn't solve on their own, or worse, the gangs who had been eyeing the slums for a while now would suddenly attack. Problems had a way of appearing when least expected. He could never feel comfortable just leaving his minions be, especially in these tumultuous times.
When the news of the shooting spread throughout the empire, it was as if a fuse had been lit. The bloody Sunday, as people began to call it, ignited an uproar from the Baltic to the Ural Mountains. Cities trembled with anger. Workers walked out of the factories, joining the strike. Production ground to a halt as the empire's veins of industry froze with discontent.
Local authorities and secret police stepped up their reprisals, protesters and suspected agitators were arrested, some were even executed in clandestine operations, while others were deported to Siberia for forced labor. The brutal crackdowns only deepened the public's hatred and fear, adding another layer of horror to the unrest.
He knew there was nothing he could do about the current situation. The foundation he had built was still too small to influence even a single city no matter how he moved his people. His minions lacked experience, and he didn't want to risk anything when the public was so volatile during these turbulent times. All he could do was devise escape plans in case things took a turn for the worse. He refused to let his family become hostages if the people decided to overthrow the government. Having their lives in someone else's hands was the worst possible outcome. He had experienced that kind of helplessness before, and he would never allow his family to endure it as well.
He began mapping out the palace as he quietly surveyed it, carefully noting every secret passage and potential hiding place. Fortunately, he discovered a few tunnels that led south, deep into the forest, away from the city. It would be dangerous if it ever came to that, but at least their fates would remain in their own hands.
He even enlisted Sednev and Nagorny to help him with the preparations. They had been skeptical at first, but as the unrest spread and tensions worsened, they eventually understood the necessity of such measures and began taking the work seriously. Alexei knew his father must have prepared an escape plan for them, but he couldn't trust the man who had failed spectacularly in almost every critical situation he'd faced. So, he resolved to make one for himself, and that he did.
Alexei followed the reports closely. The ambassadors from other nations wasted no time relaying what had happened to their governments and newspapers. Across Europe, headlines blazed with words like massacre, tyranny, and Russian bloodshed. In Paris and London, crowds gathered in the streets to denounce the Tsarist regime. In Vienna and Berlin, intellectuals and socialists alike condemned the empire's brutality, calling it the death knell of autocracy. Even in faraway capitals like Washington and Tokyo, officials watched with unease, questioning whether Russia was beginning to crumble from within.
Sympathy poured in for the Russian workers and peasants, while fear and doubt spread among foreign investors and diplomats. Russia's prestige, already strained by war and corruption, was bleeding away in the eyes of the world.
The news about the losses in the war against Japan didn't help either. The defeat at Mukden and the destruction of the Baltic Fleet at Tsushima only deepened the people's discontent toward the government. Alexei knew that the revolutionaries and socialists were exploiting the situation, fanning the flames of anger and unrest throughout the empire. But there was little he could do about them, for now.
Even the army, once the backbone of the Tsar's power, began to crack. Some soldiers mutinied, their loyalty shaken by defeat and misery. In the end, his father had no choice but to send Witte to negotiate peace with Japan, something he did very reluctantly.
He almost laughed when his father, under immense pressure from all sides, finally agreed to the creation of the State Duma, yet only with consultative powers, not the true authority the people demanded. When the Duma's limited powers and the restrictions on the electorate were revealed, unrest redoubled, fiercer than before. People across the empire began uniting to organize a general strike, throwing the government into panic.
Alexei could only shake his head at the chaos. Fortunately, a few of his father's advisors still possessed both sense and courage. Sergei Witte and Alexis Obolenskii stepped forward with what they believed to be the only viable solution, the October Manifesto. It addressed many of the people's demands: the granting of basic civil rights, permission to form political parties, the extension of suffrage, and the establishment of a State Duma as a true legislative body.
He didn't know how Witte and Obolenskii managed it, but after days of debate and hesitation, his father reluctantly signed the manifesto. The act seemed to drain the life out of him. His father had fallen ill afterward, as if the very notion of surrendering even a fraction of autocratic power had poisoned his soul.
Alexei couldn't quite understand it, how deeply his father's identity was bound to the old order, how impossible it was for him to imagine Russia without an all-powerful tsar at its center. He could only hope now that what Sergei Witte and Alexei Obolenskii presented could really stop the unrest or at least lessen it.
During these troubled times, at least Alexei gained something, the word he had been searching for a long time finally revealed itself, Soviet. He had been hunting that particular word for a while now, since it was the very name of what Russia became in his first life. He could finally track the people who would be on his death note, the ones who, in his opinion, posed the greatest threat to his family.
All he had to do was investigate and trace the people who created and would join the Soviets. At first he wondered why the word Soviet or the movement behind it hadn't appeared in this timeline, but who would have thought it simply hadn't been created yet. He would let them grow for now, watch who joined their ranks, and deal a crushing blow when the time was right.
—--
November 5, 1905
Alexei was reading French words in his personal study. Sitting opposite him was his new tutor, Pierre Gilliard, whom his mother had hired to teach him the French language and its culture. Alexei would admit that he was struggling to learn this new language, as he hadn't studied it in his first life. He remembered from the novels he had read in his first life that almost all reincarnators or transmigrators seemed to possess vast knowledge of technology, history, and languages, they knew everything. But it seemed he was one of the few exceptions. He had his cultivation, sure, but those who "knew it all" in the stories could take the world by storm with their knowledge, and everything seemed to go their way, completely opposite to what he was experiencing now.
"That's the wrong pronunciation, Your Highness. It's ah-mour," Pierre Gilliard said with enthusiasm and overly expressive gestures.
To Alexei, however, Gilliard sounded like a lovesick cow every time he opened his mouth to demonstrate the proper pronunciation. He had heard people speak French in court before, diplomats visiting his father or his family, but never with such exaggerated flair. He guessed that Gilliard simply loved his work and his language too much to let him "sully" its beauty.
Still, Alexei wouldn't let him have his way. Taking a slow breath to calm himself, he said, "Can we skip the pronunciation part and let me read first, Monsieur?"
Pierre Gilliard froze, caught off guard. He wasn't used to students making such requests. He was about to explain how essential pronunciation was in learning the language when he noticed Alexei narrowing his eyes slowly and deliberately.
The guards outside had warned him earlier to be careful when the Tsarevich narrows his eyes. He didn't know exactly what would happen if he ignored the warning, but he wasn't eager to find out. Clearing his throat, he said quickly, "As you wish, Your Highness. I'll just listen while you read."
Alexei relaxed then and nodded. "I'm sorry. I'm just really struggling with this language, and the tone of your voice when you say these words isn't helping."
Pierre Gilliard was a little offended by that but quickly forced a polite smile. "It's alright, Your Highness. Please continue."
Alexei resumed his struggle with the language. He hated that he sounded like a first-grade student, but he had no choice but to keep reading. He knows that he will need this someday.
When he finally finished a few paragraphs, he almost threw the book out of frustration but restrained himself. Looking at Gilliard, he said, "Can you read what I just read, Monsieur? So I'll know the proper pronunciation?"
"Of course, Your Highness," Pierre nodded with a smile before reading the passage from where Alexei had started.
And so, the tutoring continued that way, Alexei would read a few paragraphs in French, and then Pierre would read the same ones, until the door opened and a familiar voice called out.
"Oh, you started without me?" Olga ran toward them and pouted, looking at both of them accusingly.
Their mother had arranged for the two siblings to study together today, but Alexei had purposely started early. He didn't want his sister to see him in such an embarrassing state. He was building the image of a dependable, strong, and intelligent brother, and he wouldn't let this small moment ruin it.
He could only give her a wry smile and shrug. "You're late, so we started without you."
"But I'm just right on time. See?" Olga pointed at the clock on the wall before taking her seat at the third chair prepared for her.
"Ah, that clock must be broken," Alexei said with a laugh, scrambling for another excuse.
Just then, Sednev entered the study and saved him. "Excuse me, Your Highness, but His Majesty is looking for you in his office."
Alexei sighed in relief at the perfect timing. He closed his book and looked at Olga. "It seems I'm done for the day, my sweet sister."
"But…" Olga frowned. She had been looking forward to studying with her brother, it sounded fun in her mind, but it seemed today wasn't the day.
She could only pout and sulk as she watched him.
Seeing this, Alexei sighed and said, "Don't worry, there'll be a next time." He ruffled her hair, gave a polite nod to Pierre, and quickly left the room.
Alexei chuckled at the predicament he had just been in as soon as he closed the door. He needed to find a way to separate his tutoring sessions from his sister next time. He couldn't let his perfectly tailored image crumble just like that. Sometimes, he wondered if he had become a hypocrite, pretending to be someone he was not. Or perhaps he simply had a psychological problem with being nothing, just as he had been in the cultivation world, and now wanted to become someone perfect in this new life. He could only shake his head at the thought. That would be a problem.
"What's wrong, Your Highness?" Sednev noticed Alexei shaking his head and couldn't help but ask.
"Nothing. Lead the way, Sednev." Alexei smiled faintly and gestured for Sednev to take the lead toward his father's office. He hoped it was nothing, just a fleeting thought and like a passing wind. The insecurities from his previous life should remain in the past, not follow him into this present one, where he finally had nearly everything he had once been denied.
Sednev nodded and motioned ahead. "This way, Your Highness." With that, he started walking.
Alexei followed quietly, still lost in thought, while Nagorny trailed behind.
It didn't take long for them to reach his father's office. Sednev and Nagorny halted before the door, and Alexei stepped forward as the guards opened it for him.
When Alexei entered, he saw his father sitting behind his desk. The sight made him pause. His father looked thinner, his once broad shoulders and the confidence that came with them seemed to have shrunk. The proud, commanding aura he used to exude as emperor of this vast empire had dimmed. His face was pale, and dark circles shadowed his eyes, clear signs of sleepless nights.
Alexei glanced toward his mother, who sat on a sofa not far from the desk, quietly embroidering. She looked tired as well, though not as much as his father. It seemed she was staying by his father's side to keep him company, or perhaps to make sure he didn't do something unwise.
After taking a moment to observe the room, Alexei stepped forward. His movement caught both his parents' attention.
"Ah, Alexei," his father said, his voice still steady, as though the frailty of his body was merely an illusion. "Come here, my son."
His mother looked up from her embroidery and smiled softly, though she said nothing.
Alexei approached quietly, his boots barely making a sound against the polished floor. He stopped before the desk, offered a small smile, and bowed slightly. "Good morning, Father." Then he turned toward his mother. "Good morning, Mother."
Nicholas smiled faintly, a trace of warmth returning to his face. "You've grown taller again, haven't you? It won't be long before you surpass me. Tsk, tsk… Time really does fly." He leaned back in his chair, studying his son.
Alexei shrugged with a grin, trying to dispel the heavy atmosphere in the room. "That's a certainty, Father. You'd better prepare yourself. Soon, you'll have to look up just to see my face."
"Alexei…" his mother said, her tone half-scolding, taken aback that he'd spoken to his father so casually.
Nicholas blinked in surprise, then chuckled. The chuckle turned into laughter, and before long, he was guffawing, clutching his stomach as if he hadn't laughed in ages.
Alexei raised an eyebrow, while his mother covered her mouth in astonishment at both the volume and the lack of imperial composure in her husband's laughter.
After a moment, Nicholas began to cough, cutting his laughter short. The emperor waved off his wife's concern even as she hurried behind him to pat his back.
When he finally caught his breath, he looked at Alexei with a glint of mirth in his weary eyes. "That was wonderful, son. I don't remember laughing that hard in years. I think that's a first." He picked up a glass of wine from his desk and took a slow sip.
His mother shot him a sharp glare from behind, but he only smiled at her, not bothering with the scolding he knew would come later.
"I don't remember saying anything funny, Father. But I'll take that as a compliment," Alexei said, still smiling. He was genuinely happy to see his father laugh that hard. He hadn't seen him laugh like that since he was born in this life. And the fact that he hadn't even tried hard made it even more surprising.
Nicholas set down his glass and gestured to his wife that he was fine, motioning for her to take a seat again. "That was the first time anyone has ever said something like that to me," he said, shaking his head with a faint grin. "And it comes from my own son."
He leaned back and added, "Anyway, I called you here because your birthday is coming soon, and we wanted to know what you'd like as a gift." He motioned for Alexei to sit.
"Anything I want?" Alexei asked, a broad smile spreading across his face as he sat. His mind immediately raced to the idea he had been mulling over for months, the plan to build or buy a publishing company for the stories he had been secretly writing and keeping in his study. It seemed today might finally be the day to bring it up.
Nicholas looked at his wife, silently asking for confirmation to what he had just said.
Alexandra caught his glance and nodded before speaking, "As long as it's not too much, Alexei, you can have it."
"Please wait then," Alexei said. He dashed toward the door, opened it, and called out to Sednev to fetch the bundle of stories he had prepared on his desk, and to hurry. Then he shut the door again and walked back toward his father's desk, taking his seat calmly as if nothing had happened.
Nicholas and Alexandra exchanged questioning looks. Alexei simply smiled in return, saying nothing.
After a brief silence, Nicholas could no longer contain his curiosity. "What was that, Alexei?" he asked, narrowing his eyes slightly. "And what exactly do you want for your birthday?"
Alexei wanted to tease them a bit, but decided against it, better not risk annoying them before asking for what he wanted. So instead, he said, "You both know that I've been telling bedtime stories to the little girls, right?"
Both his parents nodded. They knew Alexei often made up stories to entertain his sisters before bed. They had even caught him a few times when they checked on their daughters at night and ended up quietly listening from the doorway. Still, they didn't quite understand what that had to do with his birthday request.
"I got curious about books," Alexei continued. "About how people put their stories in them. So I did some research, I asked the librarian here in the palace how books are made, and he explained everything. It didn't sound that hard." He paused for a moment, then looked between his parents with a hopeful expression. "So I was thinking… would you allow me to own a publishing house to publish my stories? I want other children to read them too, not just my sisters."
He put on what he hoped was a thoughtful yet innocent look, the kind that made him appear sincere and irresistibly earnest.
Nicholas blinked at his son, momentarily speechless. Of all the things he expected Alexei to ask for, like finally being allowed to fire a rifle, which he had begged to do for years, this certainly wasn't one of them. He let out a small laugh, forcing his surprise into a smile. "I wasn't expecting that, son. Really… haha. Should've seen this coming. You were holding books instead of toys even when you're so little."
He turned to his wife, who was just as stunned, and cleared his throat to get her attention. "What do you think, my dear?" he asked.
Alexandra blinked a few times, still trying to process what she had just heard. "A publishing house?" she finally repeated, her voice soft but filled with surprise. "You mean… you want to print your own stories? For other children to read?"
Alexei nodded eagerly. "Yes, Mother. I already have several stories written. I only need a way to turn them into real books."
Nicholas leaned back in his chair, watching his son with a thoughtful expression. There was genuine admiration in his eyes now, mixed with something else, perhaps disbelief that a boy his age would think of such a thing. "You've been… writing?" he asked slowly.
Alexei nodded again, smiling. "In my spare time, yes. I keep them on my desk. Sednev is fetching them right now."
Alexandra glanced at her husband, her expression somewhat conflicted. "I don't know, husband," she said softly. "It feels a little early for him to pursue something like this."
Nicholas chuckled quietly and leaned closer to whisper, "Yes… Let's see what he's written first before deciding."
He paused, then looked back at Alexei, resting his elbows on the desk and interlacing his fingers. "To think you'd want to own a publishing house, Alexei, that's quite ambitious for your age."
Alexei caught what they were whispering about, but he kept a composed expression and replied calmly, "I'm not doing it for myself. I just want other children to have something to read. Olga, Tatiana, and Maria liked my stories, so maybe other children will too."
Alexandra's gaze softened at his sincerity, while Nicholas raised an eyebrow, appearing thoughtful. After a short pause, he said, "Let's read your stories first.." He didn't finish his sentence when a knock came at the door. It opened, and Sednev stepped inside, holding a thick stack of papers in both hands.
"Pardon me, Your Majesty. I was told to deliver…." Sednev began, but Alexei quickly interrupted.
"Come, Sednev, put them all on the table," Alexei said, waving him over eagerly.
Sednev paused for a moment before replying, "Yes, Your Highness," then walked toward the table and carefully placed the stack of papers down. He bowed respectfully to the Tsar and Tsarina before turning to Alexei. "Is there anything else you require of me, Your Highness?"
Alexei shook his head as he began sorting the papers into piles. "No, thank you, Sednev. You may go."
Sednev bowed once more, turned, and quietly exited the room.
As soon as the door closed, Alexandra gently but firmly said, "Alexei, you shouldn't interrupt people when they're speaking. Do you understand?"
Alexei nodded at once. "I'm sorry, Mother. It won't happen again." He then returned to his task, carefully arranging the papers until six neat stacks lay before him.
After a brief silence, he looked up and said, "I've written six stories in total. Please read them. I hope you'll like them."
He offered his parents his most sincere smile, then sat back down, hands folded neatly on his lap, and waited for them to read. He had no choice but to act like this. He remembered how his sisters behaved whenever they wanted something, they would sit still, speak sweetly, and act adorable until they got their way. He wasn't sure about the "adorable" part in his case, but he was certainly trying his best.
Nicholas chuckled at his son's obvious attempt to behave and shook his head, amused. He reached for the stack of papers nearest to him and flipped through them briefly. It was quite a thick bundle for a children's story, which made him raise a brow. He glanced at his son for a moment before returning his attention to the pages and began to read.
Alexandra followed suit, selecting another stack from the desk. She moved gracefully to the sofa and settled herself comfortably, her embroidery temporarily forgotten as she began reading the words her son had written.
Alexei thought they would only read the first few paragraphs, just enough to humor him, but minutes passed, and neither of them looked up. The room grew quiet except for the occasional rustle of paper.
He sat there, trying to look composed, eventually though he got bored. He stood up quietly and walked around the room, he looked at every portrait and anything he found interesting just to pass the time.
Twenty minutes passed. His father's expression had shifted, sometimes serious, sometimes faintly smiling. His mother, too, had her brows furrowed in deep focus, lips moving slightly as she read, as if savoring the words.
Half an hour later, Nicholas exhaled deeply and placed the last page of the story down on the desk. Not long after, Alexandra did the same.
"You wrote this yourself?" Nicholas was the first to comment.
Alexei looked at his father and put on his most expectant expression. "Yes, Father. What do you think?"
Nicholas leaned back in his chair. "It's… it's good, son. I thought it would be a simple children's story, but even adults could be drawn into reading this." Nicholas smiled as he spoke, a hint of pride softening his features.
Alexandra chimed in next. "Your sisters' names are in this story," she said, waving the stack of papers for Alexei to see. "What about us?"
"Uhmm… I didn't want to put your names in, in case you didn't like the story," Alexei improvised quickly. In truth, he hadn't even thought of including his parents. He figured using his sisters' names was enough, but judging by their faces, that had been a mistake.
Nicholas glanced at his wife. "It was good though, wasn't it, my dear? I'm sure Alexei will include our names if he writes more stories in the future."
Alexandra frowned but nodded reluctantly.
Nicholas turned back to his son, placing a hand over the stack of papers. "This is good, son."
Alexei smiled but stayed silent, waiting for the final decision.
"What do you think, dear? Should we grant Alexei's birthday wish?" Nicholas asked, watching his wife, who was still deep in thought as she held the manuscript.
After a moment, Alexandra finally spoke. "Assign someone trustworthy to manage this publishing house. And don't let him use his real name as the author. Someone might try to use it to tarnish his reputation." She stood up, placed the papers she had read on the table, and picked up another stack.
Nicholas chuckled and turned to his son. "It seems you'll be quite busy soon, my boy. I'll have Boris arrange everything for you."
"Yes!" Alexei cheered, pumping his fist in the air, then laughed along with his father. He didn't care about who's name would be put as the author of the book, as long as it was published and made money, that was enough.
Alexandra shook her head at the two of them, though a faint smile tugged at her lips, and she quietly returned to reading.
Nicholas and Alexei discussed a few more details about what he could and couldn't do with the publishing house. When they were done, Alexei began gathering the stacks of paper, intending to take them back to his room, but his father stopped him.
"What are you doing, son?" Nicholas asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I'm taking these back," Alexei said, gesturing toward the papers.
Nicholas smiled. "Someone will bring them back to you later. We haven't finished reading the rest yet."
"Oh, alright. But please be careful with them, I don't have spare copies," Alexei warned, as he set the papers down again reluctantly.
"Of course. What do you take us for? Now go," Nicholas said with amusement.
Alexei was about to leave after saying goodbye to his mother, who was too engrossed in reading to respond, when his father called out again.
"Oh, wait. There's another reason I called you here. Sit back down first."
Alexei turned and sat back down, curious. "What is it?"
Nicholas's expression turned serious. "You'll begin your rifle training after your birthday. You'll also be joining your uncle for more rigorous military training. You'll visit our training camps, observe military life, and stay there for a time. I want you to be ready, son. I went through the same thing, and it wasn't easy. Are you prepared for this?" His gaze lingered on his son, searching for any hint of hesitation. He and Alexandra had already discussed this, with the unrest spreading throughout the empire, they both agreed Alexei needed to be prepared for what might come.
Alexei's expression grew serious as well. After a moment, he nodded. "Okay, Father. I won't disappoint you."
Nicholas smiled proudly. He rose from his chair, came around the desk, and ruffled Alexei's hair. "I know you won't. You always do well, just like with these stories." He chuckled, then pulled his son into a brief hug. "After your training, I'll give you your ceremonial sword. Don't worry, I'll choose the most beautiful one for you."
Alexei smiled. "Thank you, Father."
Nicholas nodded, then glanced at his wife, who still hadn't looked up from her reading. Alexei followed his father's gaze and smirked.
"It seems your mother's forgotten about us, son," Nicholas said with a laugh. "You can go now."
"Okay, Father. Don't forget to send my stories to my room later," Alexei said as he walked toward the door and left.
Nicholas chuckled quietly, shaking his head. "That boy…" he murmured, a proud smile still on his face. He sat back down and picked up a new stack of papers on the desk to read.
"Where's Alexei?" Alexandra's voice suddenly broke the silence.
Nicholas nearly rolled his eyes at that.
—--
Days passed, and soon Alexei's birthday arrived, a day he always dreaded. To him, birthdays were less a celebration and more an exhausting performance. He had to stand beside his parents, greeting guests one after another, dukes, duchesses, generals, ministers, and their wives, all smiling and offering compliments he neither wanted nor cared for. In his opinion, he hadn't even invited them, they came only to flatter his father or be seen in the imperial circle.
Still, duty was duty. With a strained politeness, Alexei shook hands, and murmured the appropriate words of gratitude each time someone offered their well-wishes. He was painfully aware of his mother's watchful eyes, ensuring he behaved like a proper young heir. Every time his smile began to falter, he forced it back into place, stretching his lips until his jaw began to ache.
The line of guests seemed never-ending, Alexei could feel his face stiffen as though it had turned to porcelain. His cheeks burned from holding that same pleasant expression, and he silently cursed the necessity of it all. He would have preferred spending the day with his sisters or working on his own projects rather than standing here as a decorative figure in his own celebration.
By the time the last of the guests had greeted him, his face felt heavy as marble, and his throat was parched from polite conversation. Still, he persevered. He ate with his parents as the party continued, occasionally speaking with guests who had brought their children along. Yet as the evening wore on, Alexei began to feel it, the gazes. Subtle at first, but unmistakable. Eyes lingering on him longer than before. It was always like this at gatherings, but tonight felt different.
It was as if they were weighing him, measuring him, and studying him. Guests whispered behind their fans or exchanged glances when they thought he wasn't looking. Perhaps they were gossiping or perhaps they were assessing, but they were far too obvious about it. He could even catch fragments of their conversations, though he kept his face impassive, pretending not to notice. Alexei knew exactly what they were doing, sizing him up, trying to glimpse what kind of ruler the young heir might one day become.
He didn't like it. The attention had grown heavier and more deliberate than before. In the past, people looked at him out of curiosity or courtesy, but now, there was scrutiny in their eyes. The empire was changing, unrest was spreading, fear growing, and everyone seemed desperate to know who he truly was beneath the surface.
When the performers and jugglers began their show, Alexei finally seized his chance to escape his parents' side. He led his sisters closer to the stage, waited until they were settled, and then quietly told their caretakers to watch over them, explaining that he needed to go to the bathroom. His parents instructed him to return after the performance, but he had no intention of doing so. He could always claim later that he had felt unwell.
Slipping away unnoticed, he moved toward a quiet corner of the grand hall, not far from the performers' stage. Half-hidden behind a marble column, he finally allowed himself a rare moment of peace, watching the festivities unfold without having to play the part of the dutiful heir. The laughter and chatter of the crowd faded slightly here, replaced by the rhythmic clinking of glasses and the distant sound of music.
But his peace didn't last long. Out of the corner of his eye, Alexei noticed a few familiar figures creeping toward him, doing a poor job of pretending to be stealthy. He recognized them immediately, his friends whom he hadn't seen in a long time. He could hear their muffled snickers and shuffling steps as they tried to surprise him.
Alexei sighed softly. So much for solitude. He turned his head slightly, pretending not to notice them, just to see how far they would take it.
"Boo!" one of them, Roman, whisper-shouted from behind the column.
Alexei blinked once, feigning mild surprise. "Oh no," he said dryly. "You startled me."
His friends laughed, crowding around him. "Happy birthday, Your Highness!" Marina said, handing him a small box wrapped in gold paper. "We've been waiting for you to be alone, you know. It almost took forever."
Alexei shrugged lightly. "There were too many guests. I couldn't find a good excuse earlier. Anyway, where are the others?"
Elena popped out from behind the column. "They couldn't make it," she said. "Sergei, Lev, and Vladimir were denied permission to attend your birthday. When you have the power, you should really fire that Major who's handling their training." She handed him a small box as she finished speaking.
"Oh," Alexei muttered as he took the gift. His male friends were attending the Page Corps, the military academy that prepared the sons of nobility for service in the Imperial Army.
Roman stepped forward next, realizing he still hadn't given his gift yet. He would be entering the academy himself the following year.
"Tsk. My hands are nearly full," Alexei said helplessly, trying to balance the boxes. He then noticed Sednev watching him from a distance and gestured for him to come over and take the gifts.
Before Sednev could reach them, Irina, who had been quiet the entire time, finally gathered the courage to step forward. She stretched out her small hands, offering him a beautifully wrapped box. Her smile trembled slightly, betraying her nervousness.
"Happy birthday, Your Highness," she said softly. "I hope you'll like it."
Alexei nodded and gave her a gentle smile. "Thank you. I'm sure I'll like all your gifts."
Irina blushed instantly and stepped back, trying to hide her face behind Marina.
Alexei raised an eyebrow at that but didn't give it much thought.
Sednev arrived then, quietly taking the stack of gifts from Alexei's hands before heading off.
"Don't worry," Alexei said, noticing how the others watched Sednev carry the gifts away. "They'll be sent directly to my room. I'll open them before I go to sleep."
"You'd better," Marina said, folding her arms playfully. "It took me forever to choose yours."
That made the group laugh again. They chatted for a while before Alexei suggested. "I'm still hungry. I'm going to get some food. You guys want to join me?"
"Of course. I don't have anything to do anyway." Marina said enthusiastically.
Elena nodded after a moment. "Ï'll join you but I can't eat much. This dress is killing me already."
Roman just nodded and smiled.
When all of them looked at Irina. She nodded shyly.
"What's wrong with you Irina? You've been acting weird lately." Marina said after noticing something weird about her friend while Elena just rolled her eyes. Already aware of what's going on with Irina.
"Ah? Nothing. I just.." Irina panicked a little.
Fortunately for her, Alexei was in a hurry as he noticed the sons and daughters of the nobles and aristocrats were slowly gathering around them.
"Let's go. We're going to the kitchen." Alexei said and began walking towards the direction of the palace kitchen.
Irina sighed in relief as they followed Alexei.
It didn't take them long to arrive. Alexei found the kitchen far too crowded for them to eat comfortably, so he decided to lead his friends to the dining hall instead and told them to wait there. He then returned to the kitchen and found Yuri, who promptly arranged everything Alexei had requested.
As Alexei walked back to the dining hall, his mind began to wander. He wondered if he should start introducing foods and delicacies from the future. The dishes of this era, especially in Russia, didn't quite suit his taste. He wasn't a great cook himself, but with enough trial and error, he was confident he could recreate flavors close to the originals he remembered.
Another one for my bucket list, he thought with faint amusement.
When he returned, he found his friends teasing Irina, who looked on the verge of tears.
"What did I miss?" Alexei asked, walking toward the table before sitting down beside Roman.
"Nothing," Marina replied with a mysterious smile, clearly changing the topic. "So… where's our food?"
"It'll be delivered soon," Alexei said, raising an eyebrow at her before turning his attention to Irina. "Are you all right?"
Irina looked up, and when she met his concerned gaze, her face immediately flushed. She looked down at once, unable to meet his eyes.
Alexei frowned slightly and glanced toward Elena for an explanation.
Seeing his look, Elena said cryptically, "She likes a certain someone."
That was enough to send the entire table into laughter, except for Irina, whose embarrassment deepened, and Alexei, who silently pieced everything together.
He gave Irina a quick, unreadable look before glancing away to avoid any misunderstanding. She'll get over it soon, he hoped silently.
To shift the mood, Alexei changed the topic, asking about what they had been doing over the past months and how they were handling the growing unrest. That was all the encouragement Marina needed, she began talking animatedly, her words tumbling over one another until the food finally arrived.
The group ate together, laughing and chatting as they went. Irina, though initially disappointed that Alexei hadn't asked who she liked, quickly forgot her dismay once she saw the meal laid out before them. Her mother had forced her to eat sparingly earlier that day, insisting she maintain her figure if she hoped to impress the tsarevich. But the delicious aroma and variety before her proved too tempting, hunger easily defeated discipline. She ate heartily, and no matter how much she consumed anyway, it seemed to make little difference to her slim figure.
When they finished, Alexei apologized and told his friends he had other matters to attend to. Thankfully, they were far more understanding now that they were older and let him go without complaint.
Back in his room, Alexei immediately undressed from his elaborate attire and sank into the chair by the hearth with a tired sigh. He noticed Anya had already prepared his bed and was now readying his bath.
When she was finished, he said quietly, "You can rest now, Anya. And don't get sick this time."
"Thank you, Your Highness," she replied with a bow before leaving.
"You too, Sednev," Alexei added when he noticed Sednev still lingering nearby.
Once both of them were gone, Alexei finally allowed himself to relax, the weight of the day slowly lifting off his shoulders.
If only he could choose not to celebrate his birthday like this every year. But that wasn't possible, his parents had made that clear. He understood the necessity of showing his face to the nobility and the public from time to time, a reminder that the imperial heir was healthy and present. Still, understanding didn't make him like the process.
Alexei exhaled heavily, trying to clear his mind. He leaned back against the chair, closed his eyes, and allowed the fatigue of the day to settle before finally standing up and heading to the washroom. The cool water helped wash away the sticky sweat and lingering tension that clung to him after hours of forced smiles and endless greetings.
When he was done and dressed again, he lingered by the window, listening for any sound that might suggest his parents were calling for him to return to the party. None came. He figured they were used to it by now, his quiet disappearances during palace events had become something of a habit, even when the celebration was supposedly meant for him.
As the night deepened and the palace fell into its usual stillness, Alexei moved. He slipped out through the window with practiced ease, landing softly on the grass below. The air was crisp and cold, brushing against his skin like a whisper. Without hesitation, he darted across the courtyard and scaled the outer wall, vanishing into the forest that bordered the southern edge of the palace grounds.
The trees closed around him like shadows, their branches swaying gently under the moonlight. He ran swiftly, his breath steady and controlled. Occasionally, he could hear the distant howl of wolves echoing across the frozen stillness, but it didn't bother him. His focus was elsewhere, he had only one goal tonight, to practice his shooting and release the frustration that had built up throughout the day.
As he ran, his thoughts drifted to his grandfather from his first life, a grizzled old man who had spent his later years on the outskirts of the city, where the sound of gunfire wouldn't disturb anyone. Alexei remembered watching him as a child, the smell of gunpowder clinging to his clothes, his hands rough and steady as he cleaned his rifle after every session.
His grandfather had been a soldier once, a quiet, disciplined man hardened by war, yet strangely gentle with his family. He used to tell Alexei that shooting wasn't always about hitting the target, sometimes it was about finding stillness in the noise.
Back then, Alexei never understood why the old man would waste so much money on bullets, tiny bits of metal that couldn't feed or clothe anyone. Especially when they were barely getting by. But now, he understood a little better. There was something cleansing in the act itself, the repetition, the focus, the crack of the rifle echoing in the distance. Perhaps his grandfather had been trying to silence his own thoughts, just as Alexei was trying to silence his.
His grandfather had never gotten the chance to teach him how to fire a rifle, or even how to hold one properly. His parents had been strict, forbidding him from touching any kind of weapon and his grandfather respected that. They moved to the city before he was ever allowed to try, and not long after, his grandfather passed away. The memory still stung a bit.
The journey to his destination took nearly half an hour on foot, even with his speed. He knew the path well by now, an old clearing hidden deep within the forest, once used as a military practice ground decades ago. It was far enough from the palace that no one could hear the shots, not even the guards posted along the perimeter.
When he arrived, he took a deep breath of the cold night air. The moon hung high above, casting a pale silver light over the clearing. It was quiet, just the way he liked it.
He set down the small satchel he had brought, took out his small shovel, and moved toward the spot where he had buried his rifle and revolver from previous outings. After confirming he was in the right place, he began digging into the cold earth. The soil gave way easily under his practiced movements and strength until the shovel struck wood with a dull thud.
Setting the shovel aside, he brushed the remaining dirt from the surface and carefully pried open the lid of the box. Inside, everything was just as he had left it, his rifle, revolver, and several boxes of ammunition, perfectly dry and untouched by time.
He didn't waste a moment. With calm precision, Alexei assembled and inspected each piece, the faint metallic clicks of metal against metal echoing softly in the night air.
For the first time that day, as he gripped the rifle in his hands, Alexei felt truly free.
Alexei scanned the clearing, the moonlight filtering faintly through the trees. The ground was firm and flat enough. He pulled several makeshift targets from his satchel, small wooden boards he had prepared days earlier, and began setting them up at varying distances: fifty yards, one hundred, one hundred and fifty, and two hundred. He paced each distance carefully, measuring by instinct and habit.
Once everything was in place, he returned to his starting point and chambered a round. The rifle's bolt slid forward with a satisfying click. He took a deep breath, braced the stock against his shoulder, aimed at the fifty yards target and squeezed the trigger.
Crack!
The sound split the still air and echoed into the forest. A faint puff of dust rose from the first target. He focused with his enhanced senses and saw the bullet had struck the bullseye. Not surprising, he had practiced at longer distances before. This was just a warm-up.
He aimed at the hundred-yard target next, inhaled deeply, and fired.
Crack!
Another bullseye. He nodded in quiet satisfaction and shifted to the one-hundred-fifty-yard target.
Crack!
This time, the bullet landed just half an inch off the center. Still an improvement, he thought. Without hesitation, he aimed at the farthest target, two hundred yards, and fired again.
Crack!
Alexei rolled his shoulders, feeling the stiffness ease before walking closer to inspect. At a hundred and fifty yards, his vision remained sharp, but beyond that, even with his enhanced senses, the darkness made things difficult. The bullet had landed nearly two inches off center. He clicked his tongue, disappointed that he hadn't met his self-imposed one-inch deviation goal, but the feeling passed quickly. He returned to his firing position and resumed.
He aimed and fired again, one target after another. Shot after shot, the rifle spoke, its rhythmic cracks blending with the night wind. Every pull of the trigger drained a little of the tension that had built up inside him today, especially the frustration.
Every time he reloaded, he paused briefly to steady his breathing, adjusted his stance, and fired again. It went on until only four bullets remained in his quota for the night. Then he switched to his revolver. The weapon was smaller but demanded finer control. He practiced drawing, reloading, and firing in quick succession, mostly aiming at the fifty, and hundred-yard targets. His shots weren't perfect, there was always a slight one-inch deviation, but precision wasn't what he sought tonight. It was focus, control, and release.
By the time he finished, the acrid scent of gunpowder hung thick in the air. A light sheen of sweat clung to his brow despite the cold. He exhaled slowly, lowering the revolver, and for the first time in hours, felt a rare calm settle over him.
He took a moment to rest, scanning the perimeter for movement. The wolves and other animals had long scattered from the gunfire, but curious ears, human ones, were always a possibility. When he was sure he was alone, he turned back to his rifle.
He loaded the last four rounds and focused. Slowly, he guided his qi into each bullet, just the right amount he was already familiar with. Once they were properly infused, he layered his sharpness and durability augmentations onto them. When everything felt right, he aimed and fired in swift succession.
Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!
Each shot tore through the night. The bullets punched cleanly through the wooden targets, shattering them and slamming into the trees behind with destructive force. When the echoes faded, no targets remained standing, only splintered wood scattered across the clearing.
Alexei walked forward, inspecting the mess. The augmented rounds packed far more power than ordinary ones, obliterating everything in their path within their effective range. It was a satisfying sight, but also a reminder of why he reserved them for last.
After a moment of quiet satisfaction, he began tidying the area. He gathered the debris, brushed away the footprints, and smoothed out the disturbed soil. When he was done, he returned to his little cache beneath the trees.
There, he sat down, cleaned the rifle and revolver with practiced precision, and placed them back into the box. He lowered it carefully into the pit, covered it with soil, and patted the ground flat until not a trace remained.
When he finally stood, the night was still again, silent and peaceful. The moonlight glinted faintly off the treetops as he slung his satchel over his shoulder.
He took one last look at the clearing, then turned and disappeared into the darkness, the sound of his boots fading softly into the wind.
Tonight, he'll sleep soundly.
Author's note: Sorry, it's a bit late. I do hope you'll still click like after reading. Until next month.
