The month was April. The setting: Kazdel.
"Kal'tsit, have you seen this? This right here."
Someone tapped lightly on the shoulder of Kal'tsit, who was busily organizing a stack of documents.
There was a touch of playfulness in those fingertips, yet an underlying thread of subtle tension. Kal'tsit already knew who it was.
"What are you trying to say?" Kal'tsit replied, sweeping a lock of hair behind her ear.
A familiar laugh echoed from behind her. It was Theresia.
"Well... I think you'll understand once you see it."
Theresia unfurled a newspaper she was holding and presented it to Kal'tsit.
The headline printed across the page was massive.
[Birmingham Defies the Monarchy!]
It was Pravda.
The newspaper detailed the commencement of the Birmingham Revolution in the Victorian tongue.
Kal'tsit peered at the paper for a moment before asking, "...Where did you obtain this?"
"Hm? I got it from the carriage again. I heard they had to flee after another encounter with the military?"
"Whether the repetitive nature of these results is merely the product of serendipitous convergence or the manifestation of a pre-calculated stratagem by a specific entity is, at this juncture, indeterminate. However, it is difficult to deny that the probabilistic deviation has exceeded standard expectations," Kal'tsit remarked clinically.
"...What is with that way of speaking? I feel like I'll lose the meaning entirely if I don't focus with every fiber of my being," Theresia stammered, looking bewildered by the rapid-fire assessment.
Kal'tsit looked at Theresia's expression and allowed a faint smile to touch her lips.
"With the Lord of Fiends of our Kazdel making such a face, I suppose I needn't worry about information leaks even if I speak like this."
Theresia let out a chuckle in return.
"Ah, I see. I get it now. You're planning to go out there, aren't you? To the place suspected of being the mastermind? You mean... to Birmingham?"
"...One could interpret it as such."
"And the 'specific entity' you mentioned is likely their leader... Vladimir Park. Correct?"
"...That would also be a logical deduction."
"Very well, go then."
Theresia fell silent for a moment before stepping closer to Kal'tsit's side.
She patted her shoulder and said, "Take care of yourself on the journey. Stay safe."
"I shall exercise the necessary caution."
"See you later, Kal'tsit."
With that, Kal'tsit opened the office door to head toward her quarters.
It was then.
"W-Wait!!!"
Theresia's urgent voice cried out from behind.
Then, a heavy thud shook the room.
— THUD!!! —
Kal'tsit's body stiffened in surprise. She slowly turned her head back.
What met her eyes was Theresia sprawled on the floor, her forehead already flushing a bright red.
"Ugh... I tripped on my skirt and fell..."
"...You fell again, I see."
"D-Don't tease me. I'm only human, it can happen."
"I feel as though I witness this at least once a week."
At those words, Theresia puffed out her cheeks as if sulking. Her face grew redder, and her eyes seemed to sting from the impact.
"Hmph. Let us speak no more of this embarrassing incident."
Kal'tsit nodded in agreement. "Understood. Now, what was the reason you called me back?"
Theresia shed her pouting expression and stood up.
"Ah, right. I had something I wanted to say. It's about..."
Theresia rummaged through a bookshelf. From within its depths, she pulled out a slip of paper.
"What is this?"
"You'll see."
The paper she handed over was a memo filled with a long list of book titles.
"Hmm... Let us see."
Kal'tsit unfolded the memo and scanned the contents.
"The Communist Manifesto, On Social Equality, Imperialism: The Highest Stage of Capitalism, Das Kapital...? ...Theresia, you couldn't possibly..."
Theresia's face flushed an even deeper shade of crimson as she waved her hands frantically in denial.
"N-No! It's not like that! I'm not a Communist. I'm just curious. The fact that such ideologies even exist is fascinating."
"And so...?"
"So, I intend to study them deeply. To see if this ideology might be of any benefit to the Sarkaz. Since those books are quite difficult to obtain here in Kazdel, I was wondering if you could bring them back for me?"
Kal'tsit chuckled at the request.
"Fine, I understand. It's just like you. I will retrieve the books our Lord of Fiends desires while I am there."
Kal'tsit folded the memo neatly and tucked it into her pocket.
"Anything else?"
Theresia's face reddened once more. However, this time, the expression didn't seem to stem from embarrassment alone.
Her face was tinged with something more akin to shy adoration.
With a face as red as a carrot, she whispered, "If... if the opportunity arises, please get me a signed copy."
****************************************************************
And now, she was in Birmingham.
To be precise, she was in a field hospital on the outskirts of Birmingham, clad in medical robes.
"Dr. Kal'tsit, so... will my arm be alright?"
"You will make a full recovery if you rest for approximately one month."
"Thank you! Thank you so much!"
The patient leaped for joy, and Kal'tsit gave a curt nod before turning away.
And then, she thought to herself:
'This system is the pinnacle of inefficiency...'
In Kal'tsit's eyes, this Soviet system was an exercise in bureaucratic absurdity.
The very process of her entering Birmingham was the result of a ridiculous chain of events.
It began when she stopped at a village in northern Victoria.
"Oh, father!!! What are we going to do...!"
"Oh my gods!? This is terrible!!!"
When she arrived, the man who appeared to be the village head was collapsed with a massive abdominal wound, surrounded by a frantic crowd.
Listening to their cries, Kal'tsit realized she could use this situation to her advantage. Gaining the trust of locals was always the first priority in intelligence gathering.
"Move aside for a moment."
"W-Who are you?"
"A passing physician."
Kal'tsit performed the treatment with clinical efficiency. To her, the wound was far less severe than the villagers' panicked reaction suggested.
The locals, naturally, did not see it that way and showered her with thunderous applause, even hoisting her into the air.
"Hooray!"
"Thank you so much, Doctor! We will never forget this kindness!"
The villagers welcomed Kal'tsit with open arms. They invited her to the village hall, where red banners were draped across the walls.
[Fulfill the Quotas of the Central Revolutionary Committee to Break the Chains of the Oppressor!]
[Glory to the Peasant Soviet! Eternity to the Soviet Revolution!]
"...Peasant Soviet?"
A Soviet. In her memory, soviet was the Ursus word for a council.
But a 'Peasant' Council? Did it mean the peasantry gathered to decide their own affairs?
Kal'tsit had seen such structures long ago. They usually emerged in the underdeveloped regions of Sargon or isolated village communities. However, such organizations were typically dismantled by state authority the moment the central government's reach extended to them.
"Are you curious about what a Soviet is?"
The village head's son stepped forward and spoke.
Kal'tsit nodded. "Indeed. My information regarding the Soviet system is insufficient; I believe it necessary to ascertain the internal mechanics of its operation."
The peasant stared blankly for a moment, then blinked back to reality. "You certainly use difficult words, being a doctor and all. I don't know everything, but I'll tell you what I can. Why don't you sit and have some tea?"
He poured water from an ornately decorated kettle—one that seemed far too expensive for a peasant to own—into a cup.
Kal'tsit felt a prickle of curiosity regarding the kettle but decided to suppress it. She had heard rumors that peasants in northern Victoria were plundering the nobility.
She moved straight to the point. "So, what exactly is this Soviet?"
The peasant replied, "Well, the intellectual comrades call it a 'revolutionary organizational entity' or something like that, but honestly, it's just a stronger, freer kind of farm. We form a single farm unit through this Soviet, and I hear these farms are divided into 'Collective Farms' and 'State-run Farms.' Our farm is a Collective Farm."
"Our Soviet isn't something that moves just because someone at the top tells us to; it's an autonomous organization run by the peasants ourselves. Nobody gets appointed from above. Once a year, the whole village gathers to elect our representatives and committee members. Those people are our neighbors who know our fields and crops best. We elect them so we can decide our own village business without having to look over our shoulders at some lord."
"When to start sowing, where to sell the surplus grain, how to prepare for winter... all of that is discussed and decided in the Soviet meetings. Of course, the Central Revolutionary Committee contacts us. They tell us what crops are needed right now or if the government wants to buy a certain amount of grain. The Committee even gives us production quotas. But look here: that's ultimately a request or a proposal with a promised benefit—it's not forced. we judge for ourselves. If we have something to sell, we sell it. If we don't, we don't. The Center doesn't control us; we treat them like a partner. We cooperate when necessary, and go our own way when it's not. That is our Soviet system."
Kal'tsit sank into thought after hearing his words.
"This is a first for me. It is more idealistic and impractical than I envisioned. Is there nothing that goes wrong?"
"There are some parts like that. Honestly, having spent my whole life as a tenant farmer just paying rent, living like this feels a bit surreal. I haven't quite found my footing yet. But life is certainly more comfortable than before."
At that moment, he rummaged through a locker. Kal'tsit noted that it was filled with a massive backlog of letters and documents. After about a minute, he pulled something out.
It was an identification certificate.
"If you fill in your personal information here, you should be able to get into Birmingham."
"How did you know I was heading there?"
"...Well, if you take this road, Birmingham is the only major city around."
"A rational deduction. However, is it wise to simply hand such documents to an outsider?"
"I'm the representative of this Soviet, you see."
For a split second, Kal'tsit's eyes widened with skepticism. This simple, innocent-looking peasant, who seemed like he wouldn't know the first thing about administration, was the representative. She set her curiosity aside for the moment and read the document he gave her.
"...I only need to provide my name, gender, height, hair color, and race?"
"Yes. Simple, isn't it?"
Kal'tsit filled out the form quickly. The man immediately stamped it with the official seal of the Soviet.
"Alright, it's finished. Don't forget to take our gift before you go."
"A gift?"
"Yes, a gift."
He rummaged through a cabinet once more and produced two glass bottles. It was beer.
"I made this recently from the surplus grain. We're expecting a bumper crop this year, so take them."
Accepting the two crude glass bottles, Kal'tsit set out once more.
After a five-day trek, she reached Birmingham. There, she encountered the Soviet soldiers standing guard.
"Halt! Halt!"
"Present your identification."
"It is here."
"Hmm... Feline, green hair, female. And... a physician? Yes, verified. Have a pleasant time in Birmingham."
The iron gates groaned open. Beyond them, the City of Revolution revealed itself. Red flags, the songs of laborers, and People's Representatives delivering orations from atop statues.
To learn more about this city, she volunteered as a combat medic. That was why she now found herself in a field hospital. It took only three days for her to realize the true inefficiency of this structure.
Kal'tsit was sitting beside the bed of a severely infected patient who had just undergone surgery. The patient was showing symptoms of acute pneumonia. According to the medical records, they required immunosuppressants along with thiazide-type diuretics immediately. However, the medicine cabinet was empty.
"Nurse Tina, did the diuretics arrive with today's supplies?"
"Yes! They arrived! But... um... if you look here..."
The box the nurse pulled out had large letters printed on it.
[Cough Syrup – For Children, Strawberry Flavor]
Kal'tsit's expression hardened. "...How can this possibly be mistaken for a diuretic?"
The nurse gave an awkward laugh. "The pharmaceutical distribution officer at the district office said that all medicines starting with 'T' are likely the same type, so they bundled them together..."
"...This isn't just a different thiazide; it's not even a carbonic anhydrase inhibitor. It is simply cough medicine. For toddlers."
Kal'tsit pressed a hand to her forehead.
"This isn't the first time, Doctor. Last week, we received eye drops instead of burn ointment."
Kal'tsit let out a long-suffering breath. "Where did you place the order?"
"3rd Pharmaceutical Section of the Central War-Time Distribution Commission. The authority to order pharmaceuticals was centralized to the District Health Department."
"Then they are the ones at fault. Can we not simply reorder now?"
The nurse shook her head with a troubled look. "The thing is... we first have to submit a request to the local District Health Soviet, then get approval from the Sub-Committee for Urgent Shortage Medical Needs. And then that committee has to hold a meeting."
"A meeting?"
"Yes. Tomorrow is the regular session, but there aren't enough people today to convene an extraordinary session. For the quorum to be met, we need the work-shift representative from the medicine factory, an officer from the Nurse's Union, and even a member of the District Party Committee."
Kal'tsit stared out the window in silence. A heavy sigh escaped her. Later that day, the patient passed away.
*******************************************************
"Comrade Chairman, Comrade Chairman! It is time to wake up!"
"Ugh, what. Is it already that time?"
"Yes."
"...What is the schedule for today?"
"You have an inspection of the field hospital. There are medal recipients to attend to."
I woke up and rubbed my forehead. Lately, my sleep pattern has been nothing short of horrific. Four hours of sleep is a miracle; on average, it's slightly less than three. Sometimes, I don't sleep at all. My condition is deteriorating by the hour.
This is why we need to focus on education and cultivate a proper bureaucracy. Trying to run a Soviet bureaucratic machine—which requires a staggering number of administrators—using only the existing party cadres and civil servants is causing a total system overload.
Let me sleep, for God's sake!
"Fine. Do I need to memorize the names of the medal recipients?"
"That won't be necessary. Their names are engraved on the medals."
Well, that's one good thing. But I am truly exhausted. I feel like my brain isn't functioning normally.
"Slap me."
"Pardon?"
"I'm falling asleep, hurry..."
"A-Alright!"
— SLAP! —
"Gah!"
My head is spinning from a single slap. I momentarily forgot the overwhelming physical strength of the Terran race.
"Ow, my head..."
"Are you alright?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm fine. I think I'm awake now."
Taking solace in the fact that I was finally alert, I began reviewing the paperwork. Before I knew it, the carriage had arrived in front of a building.
Naturally, it wasn't a luxurious carriage, but a plain, functional one. If I started indulging in luxury here, how would I be any different from a noble?
"We have arrived."
"Is the field hospital in this building, or that tent?"
"It is this building."
"The facilities are better than I expected."
In any case, I stepped inside. And then, I saw her. A woman I felt I'd seen somewhere before.
Feline ears. Green hair, green... eyes. And that face that just radiated an air of total dismissiveness.
Ah, I remember now.
It was a story from twenty years ago in my previous life, but I recognized her from the countless videos—the famously verbose, linguistically impaired green cat... Kal'tsit.
And, because my brain was addled by prolonged fatigue, I accidentally let a thought slip out loud.
"Oh? It's Kal'tsit."
Immediately, her eyes snapped toward me. The look she gave was not what I would call friendly.
Uh oh. Did I just ruin the first impression?
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