Ch.459IF: The Status Window of My Revolution (2)

# The Day I Met Stalin

One day, it happened.

I was barely getting by—writing a bit and helping with odd jobs at the “labor site” during the day. Then Stalin supposedly called for me.

And the one who delivered this message was Beria.

It was like two big-shot Reds wanted to see me. Of course, compared to Stalin, Beria was just a small fry, but from my perspective, Stalin or Beria—they were all the same.

That crazy bastard Stalin.

Why the hell is he calling for me? Damn it, just let me earn money in peace.

At this rate, I won’t be able to escape during the chaos of the German-Soviet war.

If I were alone, escaping even now would be easy, but Maria is the complication.

“Comrade Secretary. I’ve brought the novelist comrade.”

“Send her in.”

So I came face to face with the Steel Mustache himself.

This man is the Butcher of Georgia! The Man of Steel, Stalin!

Seeing him in person after only knowing him from photographs feels extremely unsettling.

What sin did I commit to face the Red leader?

I certainly don’t respect him. Why would I like a Red bastard? Because of this Red bastard’s Soviet Union, Korea ended up in that state, and those groundless communist actions continued into the Russian Federation.

Anyway, I don’t like this guy. Why would he want to see me, a mere novelist?

Could he have discovered that I’m a Romanov princess?

No, that can’t be it. He couldn’t have figured that out. If he had, he would have had the NKVD—or whatever the secret police is called now—arrest me. So it must be something else.

“Don’t be so afraid. You make me look like a bad person. Though I like women, I don’t desire just anyone.”

You ARE a bad person, you son of a bitch.

Let’s hear what he has to say. At least he didn’t forcibly bring me here.

“I apologize, Comrade Secretary. Why have you called for this dull woman who merely scribbles stories?”

I bow my head deeply and present myself as just another citizen.

“You’re not denying it, are you?”

“Of course it’s natural to fear and respect the beloved Secretary Comrade, isn’t it?”

“Isn’t flattery the norm?”

Yes, most people would probably flatter him. Beria certainly would have.

But even so, if I did that now, my pride would be severely wounded, considering I’m already in the position of making a living in the Soviet Union.

After all, I am a Romanov princess.

“Flattering the Secretary Comrade would mean wanting to grasp even the edge of power. I am merely a writer, an author who writes stories. I have never once thought of clinging to the Party.”

“Hmm. Yes. I see. One must think at that level to write. Ah, I called you here regarding this novel.”

He suddenly picks up my novel and waves it around.

So even someone like Stalin is reading my published work?

What the hell? I wrote it carefully to avoid censorship and not offend Stalin’s sensibilities.

Surely he’s not trying to find fault with it to kill me? Or is he trying to blackmail me with it to have his way with me? After all, even I have to admit my body is perfect and my face is stunning.

“Don’t be so surprised. It’s nothing serious—I really enjoyed this revolutionary status window. Especially this part, where the protagonist invests all his points in strength to save workers from the hands of imperialists. Frankly speaking, couldn’t he have just put points in intelligence and entered the academy? I couldn’t help but admire this sense of justice.”

“Thank you for your high praise, Comrade.”

“But there’s something I found lacking. The writing skill is decent, and the protagonist reminds me of my past self.”

“Is that so? I’m honored, Comrade Secretary. Please tell me if there are any shortcomings.”

I did deliberately model the protagonist after Stalin’s past, thinking he would like it and to avoid trouble later.

“Desperation. I miss the desperation.”

“Desperation?”

“Well, since the protagonist has such abilities, it’s understandable. I can comprehend that. But wouldn’t such a development lose momentum? Like how eating sweet bourgeois food from the beginning makes you tired of it later.”

It’s a power fantasy story, and he’s asking if such a satisfying development from the start won’t lose momentum later.

That’s what he means. Originally, I wasn’t planning to make it a long series—I was going to end it with a happy ending before it lost momentum and start a new work. But looking at this guy, he seems to want me to write more.

Stalin is interested in my novel?

“Yes. Comrade Secretary is concerned my novel might become boring and lose momentum later.”

“That’s right. It’s interesting now, but at this rate, it might lose steam later. Do you have any plans for that?”

Ah, after all this roundabout talk, what he’s really asking is just one thing.

He wants to know what happens next in the story.

Good grief, how absurd. Stalin asking for spoilers about a novel’s plot.

Is this really the Stalin I know? Well, I suppose since the protagonist resembles him, it makes sense.

But I can’t refuse when someone in power asks.

“Comrade Secretary, I actually have something planned to give the protagonist a dramatic threat.”

“Oh, what kind of threat could challenge such a strong protagonist?”

“I haven’t written the later content yet, but throughout history, even the most outstanding warriors have struggled with one thing: fierce power struggles.”

I’ll throw in some power struggles.

Since Stalin is interested, I should probably extend it into a serial.

“Ah, that’s right. Even a protagonist who has grown from nothing can be finished if a well-established power holder deliberately tries to bury them socially.”

“Hmm, that’s quite intriguing.”

“I apologize, Comrade. I haven’t written it yet, so I can’t tell you more.”

“My goodness, how tantalizing. When will it be available to read?”

“Probably next year.”

It’s not a web novel, so I can’t write it quickly.

I hadn’t even thought about this part originally. Since this guy likes it, if I don’t extend it, Stalin might get upset and make trouble for me.

“Can’t you write it faster?”

“I’m sorry, Comrade Secretary. I’m not capable of that level of output. I apologize.”

This bastard sees me as some kind of all-purpose machine.

“Even if it’s this Secretary’s order?”

Well, look at him being forceful—just like Stalin.

“Yes, I could write quickly if pressed, but the quality would suffer significantly. You would find it less interesting, Comrade Secretary, and above all, I have my integrity as a writer.”

Even if you’re the Secretary, you can’t override my artistic integrity!

What are you going to do about that?

“Hooh. I like that. But wouldn’t sufficient support help you write more efficiently?”

“Yes, that’s true, Comrade. I also work with my sister during the day, so I lack time to write.”

If only I had time just to write. It’s completely different from your comfortable position as Secretary, giving orders from your office.

“I’ll support you through the writer support policy. If you need anything, I’ll assign people to help—just ask.”

And so I became a writer supported by Stalin.

Since Stalin himself couldn’t just help me alone, he implemented a separate policy to support people’s creative work, advancing the Soviet Union’s artistic and cultural development.

Perhaps because of this, literature was flourishing in the Soviet Union.

I’m not sure if this is right, but regardless, the Soviet Union was an unpleasant communist country, just like in the original history.

“So it’s about power struggles. I’m also impressed by how the police minister puts the protagonist in the secret police to protect him.”

“I’m glad you like it, Comrade Secretary.”

After that, Stalin always got to see the next installments first.

Especially when the protagonist enters the Central Committee and begins eliminating obstacles.

And soon after, content about killing people or the German-Soviet war appeared.

“The protagonist is quite courageous.”

“Yes, at this point, he either has to kill his political opponents or leave the country, and in this novel, if he backs down, the Soviet would be finished.”

I didn’t explicitly state that the novel’s setting was the Soviet Union.

I just made it a country that gave off that kind of feeling.

However, in this setting, imperialists and other Bolsheviks appear as political opponents.

Something Stalin would like.

“I see now that you have quite a vision, Comrade.”

“Pardon?”

“If novels are like this, what about reality? Hmm, good. Comrade, do you have any thoughts about lovers or marriage?”

Is this bastard thinking of forcing me into marriage based on what he’s saying?

Or does he want to use me like some pleasure squad? If he tries anything, I’ll have to kill him here and escape.

“No, not at all. If I start a family, I’d have to have children and do more housework, which would prevent me from writing.”

I’ve made my excuse, now let’s see what he says.

“I see. That makes sense. Ah, I wasn’t suggesting myself. Somehow, I see you more as a writer than as a woman. I understand. I’ll keep that in mind.”

He seemed to want to tie me down with marriage, but ultimately, as a reader of my novels, Stalin didn’t want my writing to be delayed at all.

When I said my work efficiency would decrease, Stalin dropped the marriage talk completely.

“Looking at your novel content, you seem like you’d be good at politics too.”

“Politics in practice is different from writing about it. Rather than wasting time in the Central Committee, wouldn’t writing even one more word of manuscript benefit both me and you, Comrade Secretary?”

“Indeed. That’s correct. I understand.”

Stalin nodded with satisfaction.

Even if he seriously asked me about politics, I’d just be purged by the paranoid Stalin.

I have no intention of being purged quietly, but why should I be in the highest ranks of the Reds in the first place?

On my way home, I sighed at the sight of men lined up in front of the mansion in the distance.

It’s now a fairly decent mansion in Moscow.

However, political police were guarding the surroundings.

They say they’re protecting and helping us, but they’re probably also monitoring me.

I heard my “Revolutionary Status Window” is becoming popular in America too, so they’re worried I might leave for another country.

“I’m not sure if it’s good that we’re living on their money. I mean, I understand my situation, but you’re royalty, sister.”

“We have no choice. Think of it as a small act of resistance—using the Bolsheviks’ money for ourselves.”

I sighed at Maria’s words.

As time passed and I began to make a name for myself as a great writer in Russia, the collective farm implementation and the Ukrainian Great Famine arrived, killing many people.

I experienced the Ukrainian Great Famine firsthand.

Millions died, and many resorted to cannibalism.

“How do you view this situation?”

“How would a mere novelist know? All I know is that trying to catch two rabbits at once is greed.”

“You’re saying it’s hard to achieve two things?”

“Yes. Of course, if you force it, you can take both at once, but it becomes something ambiguous—neither here nor there.”

It’s better to focus clearly on one thing.

Even if it causes countless sacrifices right now.

Isn’t that what Stalin has been doing all along? Honestly, I’ve been forced to make such choices several times myself.

“You mean if we had gone easy on Ukraine while pushing for agricultural collectivization, we wouldn’t have achieved collectivization.”

“I’m merely stating facts, not referring to this specific situation. Sometimes bold decisions are necessary.”

“Bold decisions, you say.”

Bold decisions. Stalin repeated those words several times.

I wish he would just talk about such things by himself.

As if it’s not enough that he takes my novels to read first, he discusses all sorts of troublesome matters with me.

“By the way, had you seen me before becoming my ‘exclusive writer’?”

Since when am I your exclusive writer? Damn it. Even the way he looks at me is disgusting.