I Became The Leader Of A Revolution In A Romance Fantasy

< Chapter 7: Not a Great Person – 1 >

The moment I saw the two of them, I had to hold my breath.

“They look alike.”

By now, I should be used to it. My, that is, the South Korean editor Kim Yujin’s parents who died in a terrible accident. Eugene Hastings’ parents looked so much like them.

* * *

Mrs. Maria Angela Hastings, who was once called the Marchioness, lived up to her reputation by sending ‘me’ to the military academy and was also adept with a knife. With just a few swift movements, she scored the sausages with precise cuts and diced fresh tomatoes. Her dexterity was impressive.

In contrast, Albert William Fitz Hastings, the former Marquess of Dunwich, was…

“What is this button again? Dial? Hmm!”

He was struggling with the latest radio technology from the comfort of the living room sofa. It had arrived a bit earlier compared to Earth.

“No matter how much I think about it, the genes for the kingdom’s best swordsman must come from the maternal side.”

And then my gaze naturally shifted to the side. There was Colin Hastings, continually shoving raw ingredients into his mouth.

Was it because he starved to death in the synopsis of Part 2? As if possessed by the spirit of a glutton, his appetite had suddenly increased, leading to this. Anyone could see he inherited his genes from the paternal side.

“Hey, stop stuffing your face and help Dad!”

“Why don’t you go, brother…”

“What did you say?”

Oh, is it because he takes after that annoying little brother of mine? He kept irritating me for no reason.

“…Uh, okay.”

When I glared at him once, he immediately lowered his head, just like that kid, Kim Yujin. Colin hurried off to the living room.

Lady Maria, who had been quiet until then, softly opened her mouth.

“Eugene, what did Mom say?”

“To eat dinner.”

“Not that.”

“…Eat more vegetables?”

“You know, but you keep trying to avoid it.”

Her sharp retort pierced my heart. Her words, cutting through nonsense like a knife, were no ordinary skill. Indeed, the genes of a swordmaster.

“…Okay, I’ll be nicer to Colin.”

“Huh? What are you talking about? Even I think you need to keep him in line. He needs to lose weight too.”

What?

“‘Stuffing your face,’ what kind of language is that? No matter how much the world changes, one must not lose their dignity.”

Oh, no.

“Mother, I only talk to that guy like this. Outside, I am so meticulous!”

“Ah, talking back. The words you use at home will unknowingly slip out outside. Do you know how much effort it takes to regain lost dignity? Wouldn’t it be more efficient not to use undignified language from the start?”

I attempted a final resistance, but it was in vain.

“Dignity? It’s difficult to talk about such feudal remnants, isn’t it? If you speak of ‘dignity’ inside the house and then outside as well…”

“Dignity is different from pretending to be aristocrats. It’s the refinement that cultured people should have. Our country abolished noble titles, but it never resolved to all become barbarians, did it?”

Wham!

A remark struck cleanly at the pit of my stomach.

I was at a loss for words.

However, Mrs. Maria didn’t stop there and wielded her merciless tongue once again.

“I don’t remember raising our son to be someone who doesn’t know such things. It seems you’ll have to resign from your position as congressman and go back to school.”

For reference, the school she’s talking about is the military academy.

A crazy school that makes freshmen sleep rough on the drill ground for a semester, leaving the perfectly good dormitories unused.

(Officers should know how to ‘procure’ supplies first, so they don’t even provide tents. We’re supposed to ‘source’ them ourselves.)

“…I apologize.”

“That’s better.”

No matter how much I think about it, this body’s tongue must be from my mother’s side.

* * *

A plate of steaming hot sausages, pickled vegetables to go with them, and a rich cream soup.

And those aren’t just any sausages.

Thick, juicy grilled sausages with slits, topped with a sauce of finely chopped fresh tomatoes, curry powder, and parsley.

Next to the sausages were piled french fries.

“Wow.”

A combination that makes you hesitant to eat it at midnight.

It was also a thrilling combination.

“Wow! Hehe, sons. Our lady is the best, isn’t she?”

“Shall I bring the wine?”

“Our second son, always dependable!”

The kitchen only had cheap wines.

Of course, that’s just a front; the real cellar is separate.

I was about to use this moment to showcase the athleticism befitting Eugene Hastings’ brother by telling Colin the location of the wine cellar,

“Hey, why do you even know about that place!”

He was already running off on his own.

Just how much has he rummaged through our house?

“Sigh.”

I sighed and sat at the dining table.

My father and mother were smiling at me warmly.

Feeling a bit embarrassed, I averted my gaze.

They knew the hardship of being branded as traitors by the entire country’s nobility because their eldest son was posing as the leader of the revolution.

“What brings you here at this hour?”

“Son, do you think we’d come at this hour? You completely forgot we planned to have a family dinner tonight.”

“Oh.”

That’s right.

I held my head in my hands.

“Oh, oh, I’m sorry. I’ve been so out of it lately.”

“Son.”

Maria’s hand touched my forearm.

Feeling the warmth of that gentle touch, I involuntarily looked up.

– Our Eugene, you have to be strong. You know that your father and I always love you, right?

It was the same warmth as my mother’s hand.

“We have always taught our son to be a great person. To be a great person, a great soldier, and a great successor.”

“…”

“Since you have already become a great person, we now hope that you become a happy person.”

“!”

A ‘great person.’

It was a statement I couldn’t handle.

What did they see in me to say such a thing…

I stared at the plate, then stabbed a sausage with my fork and put it in my mouth.

The sausage was excellent.

It had a bursting yet incredibly soft texture, overflowing with juicy goodness.

The concentrated umami of the tomato puree on top.

The freshness of the finely chopped raw tomatoes.

Along with the salty taste and aroma of the curry powder.

I smiled.

But my satisfied smile didn’t last long.

Because there was someone running over from the corner with a bottle of wine.

“Wow, bro! Can I open this?”

“You idiot, that’s the one we swiped from the palace cellar!”

A top-quality wine with only twelve cases left in the world.

(Three of those cases are mine.)

An old vintage wine, aged for decades, from the ‘legendary vintage’ year.

In terms of Earth’s 2024 standards, it would be comparable to a perfectly preserved 1959 Romanée-Conti.

A wine that could be described like that…

How much is that worth, and you want to open it for a midnight snack!

* * *

I slept deeply for the first time in a while.

‘Is it because a person needs to drink good wine?’

My winery. Oh, dear.

The wine that began to be produced at the winery owned by ‘a certain wealthy individual whose identity I really have no clue about’ has top-notch quality but is still too young.

It doesn’t yet have the deep and powerful flavor.

But even just holding onto it gives a sense of security.

A wine that needs to be aged for over ten years to start showcasing a well-structured taste and aroma, and should be aged for 30 to 50 years to fully reach its potential.

And by that time, it will break all the upper limits of the global wine market.

Only 0.1% of wines worldwide can withstand more than 20 years of aging without turning into vinegar.

And among that 0.1%, the pinnacle will be my… I mean, that wealthy individual’s wine.

Whoever they are, I’m really envious.

I really don’t know who it is, but assuming the owner is still in their 20s, they’ll become a tycoon with just that one wine later on.

And although I really, truly don’t know who it is, if that winery is just a part of their asset portfolio and they’re managing various businesses and real estate with all sorts of advanced 20th-century techniques, they’ll eventually ascend as a god of wealth, won’t they?

“Hehe, heheh.”

“Congressman, is something good happening?”

Oops!

I chuckled without realizing it.

“No, it’s nothing.”

“?”

Lize, sitting next to me, tilted her head in confusion.

Please don’t ask.

I didn’t want to see my right-hand man suddenly lose his mind and start shouting “Traitor of the people!” while stabbing me.

We arrived at the location of my first schedule for the morning.

The Children’s General Hospital of the Revolution.

This was the country’s first, and still the only, hospital specializing in pediatrics and adolescent care.

Before the revolution, it was famous as the only place in the country with a pediatric specialist who had studied abroad, but the location was much worse back then.

Now, it had grown into a five-story general hospital because I donated my villa.

My villa. The very place where I first opened my eyes in this world had become a hospital.
I looked at the building, filled with a strange sense of nostalgia.

– Since the congressman donated his personal wealth to establish this hospital, how about calling it Hastings General Hospital?

– Oh no, what are you saying? It needs to emphasize that it’s a specialized hospital for children and adolescents. Let’s put ‘Youth’ in the name.

– Oh, Hastings Youth General Hospital!

– Stop it, please!

Ugh, my head.

Damn flag makers.

I really fought for my life to prevent that.

Translating Hastings Youth to German makes it ‘Hastings Jugend.’

It almost sounds like I’d grow a mustache.

All aristocratic and ornate decorations were removed, replaced with carvings of animals that children liked.

The garden area was transformed into walking paths, a playground, and a sports field for the children.

Journalists who had arrived earlier were already busy sketching the children playing and conducting interviews.

A few enterprising journalists tried covering themselves with cloth to aim their early wooden-frame cameras at the children, but…

“Kids! Please stand still for a moment…!”

“Aaah, don’t move!”

There was no way it would work.

It would probably capture ghost-like, blurry images.

I watched the scene quietly.

‘Wouldn’t a dynamic feel be better?’

“Let’s remove the tie.”

“Understood.”

I handed my tie to Lize, unbuttoned the top button of my shirt, and tousled my neatly combed hair to make it look more natural, then put on a fresh smile.
I needed Lize’s honest opinion.

Someone acting too fresh can be a bit annoying.

I couldn’t judge that for myself.

I kept smiling as I faced Ms. Lize.

“How is it?”

Ms. Lize was startled and lifted the file folder to hide behind it.

Then she mumbled in a crawling voice.

“I-It’s perfect.”

“? ”

Why is she acting like this?

Anyway, I took it to mean that it was perfect.

I opened the car door and stepped out.

Then, I cheerfully called out to the reporters.

“Haha, the weather is really nice!”

“Congressman!”

“It’s the Congressman!”

Now, the reporters would swarm in and scramble to get an interview.

But I had forgotten one variable.

The children who were taking a walk.

The children who were kicking a ball.

The children who were simply basking in the sunlight.

The moment they heard the word “Congressman”.

Just like the seagulls at Busan port hearing the rustling sound of shrimp chips,

they all turned their gazes toward me simultaneously.

“Wow! Congressman!”

The children ran towards me and swarmed around me.

A disgraceful scene of me doubling over with a “Ugh!” as my waist folded and I fell over did not occur.

The male lead of a romance fantasy is a superhuman.

Especially, the strength of his waist is practically of a different species.

I lightly caught the children rushing in.

However, whether there were some ‘right-wing’ people among the doctors or nurses, the words they said while covering me were unusual.

“Commie! Commie!”

“Commie uncle!”

“…”

Have you ever seen a rich commie like me?

The leader of the commies isn’t originally red.

And you’re receiving treatment with the money of this commie, you Hastings-Youth.

I could hear one of the reporters mumbling, drafting a headline.

“Children’s innocent perspective. Pointing out Congressman Hastings as a ‘commie’.”

Fire that guy next time.

I looked at Ms. Lize, pointed at that reporter, and made a throat-slitting gesture.

Nod.

Another name was added to Ms. Lize’s death note.

Lord. Another one goes up.

The reporters flocked around.

I naturally took a pose holding the children, making it easy for them to sketch.

The accompanying illustrators started sketching away before I even said anything.

This is why you have to work with professionals.

One of the reporters opened fire.

“Congressman! The Revolutionary Children General Hospital is one of the enterprises operated by the Revolutionary Committee, and it’s known that you strongly pushed for this project. Is that correct?”

“Yes, it is. I proposed converting this building, which I owned at the time, into a pediatric and adolescent specialized hospital.”

“It’s undeniably a noble cause. However, now, 10 months later, the Revolutionary Children General Hospital has turned into a chronic deficit, draining the committee’s funds, and has become a problematic project. Can you comment on this?”

Oh, coming in strong right from the start?

It was also a question I had been waiting for.

Swallowing my smile, I opened my mouth to speak.