When he came to, everything was quiet.

The stillness was so deep and dark it felt bottomless; Yuri shivered and opened his eyes.

Ugh...! He touched his swollen forehead—there was a thick gauze pad stuck to it. His face tensed.

He didn’t know how long it had been, but his grandfather was standing over him like a statue, not moving a muscle.

“Where are we...”

“You slept an entire day.”

“......!”

A whole day? In the palm-sized window, a blood-red sunset was sinking. Yuri gripped his throbbing brow and chased his memories.

He’d been skating across the lake, got spotted by his grandfather, and tumbled across the ice. There had definitely been a child in his arms...

Was waking up in between just a dream? His stomach only churned; he couldn’t remember a thing. He stared down at his empty hands and asked:

“Grandfather, have you locked me up?”

Maxim glanced at the chamber pot by the bed and let out a humorless laugh.

“For the next few days, we’ll be terribly busy ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) preparing your birthday party.”

The non sequitur only stoked Yuri’s anger. What the hell did a birthday matter...!

“That kid—where is he right now?”

“A great many people are coming. Those who supported and followed the Kremlin like I did—my rotten old classmates, my students, my friends... I even invited the president’s son and his wife. It’ll be a reunion of sorts. From the president’s head—”

Solzhenitsyn pointed to himself.

“—to the arms, legs, heart, lungs, I’ve summoned them all. It will be a grand feast.”

“Grandfather!”

What the hell was so important about that political peacocking...!

Yuri thought of his small child—the one Maxim Solzhenitsyn ignored as if he hadn’t heard.

And you. You married a black-haired woman and had a child—and yet you still don’t treat black-haired children as people. He ground his teeth at the disgust of it.

“Don’t grade people and discriminate.”

At that, his grandfather frowned, as if truly puzzled.

“You’re speaking nonsense. We love because we discriminate.”

“......!”

“Just as I discriminate in favor of Dariya.”

Maxim rose smoothly, bracing on his knee.

“I’ll speak to your grandmother. Don’t cause any more trouble. Stay here and behave.”

“.......”

“The guest of honor can’t show up with a bruised face. You’ll have meat at all three meals—finish everything on your plate.”

Yuri couldn’t muster a single retort.

He really did spend several days shut in the tiny room. Every time he looked at the chamber pot within arm’s reach, shame flushed his face, but he had no options—he swallowed the anger.

Then, before he knew it, the servants were dunking him in a bath and starting to dress him up. Yuri shoved them off, washed his hair roughly, and headed for Maxim’s office.

“Fuck this ‘birthday.’”

Panting, he glanced out the window— the garden blazed with gaudy colors.

Who was this set for, exactly? He felt like the only fool.

Spotting Maxim’s back just then, Yuri descended the stairs. He pushed open the thick, ivory doors; petals were already drifting in the air.

“Yuri, happy birthday!”

A crowd converged at once, congratulating him. Yuri barely kept his face from twisting and exhaled quietly. He pushed through the throng, looking for Maxim.

Every face that flashed by was familiar.

The forces his grandfather had organized while pledging fealty to a dictator.

The current president’s base of support, the cohort that had long feasted on wealth and pleasure. All of them Maxim’s kin, friends, classmates—that was who they were.

“Grandfather!”

Maxim looked him over slowly from head to toe as Yuri strode up. The stare was so dogged it felt like he was carving the image into himself; Yuri frowned.

“The star of the day has arrived.”

He spread his arms extravagantly and embraced his grandson.

Yuri kept his face tight, but for the sake of watching eyes, he put his arms around Maxim’s back. Fuck. Through gritted teeth, like a ventriloquist, he asked:

“Grandfather, what’s with the circus tent roof?”

“I booked a show my friends enjoy. Why?”

“I’m not a little kid...”

“Some people hire floor-crawlers on purpose—just to confirm their own superiority. They plan together, agree, abet, keep silent, and indulge. That’s the fortress I built.”

Yuri winced like he’d heard something nauseating. Laughter and chatter swelled from every direction, but Maxim stood oddly aloof, gazing up at Winter Castle with profound eyes.

“Seen like this, it looks old. Suppurating.”

“That?”

It was absurd.

Yuri looked anew at the grand, resplendent mansion. His parents had been born here, grown up here, and in the end, died here.

Winter Castle upheld the Kremlin—symbolically—and by itself stirred people’s awe and veneration. Even his classmates had begged him, careful of every glance, to bring them here.

Breaking off the short hug, Yuri pulled away—then realized none of his schoolmates were present. The only ones near his size were cousins he barely knew by face.

“Grandfather, is this really my birthday party?”

“Don’t like the guest list, do you.”

“No, it just feels like your social club.”

“I only invited those who could never tear themselves away from Winter Castle.”

“Huh?”

Maxim was staring at the circus canopy unfurling like an umbrella.

“Addiction is terrifying. Bloodshot eyes keep seeking, and they’ll help others seek too.”

Yuri squinted at his grandfather’s evasiveness and shook his head.

He needed his grandmother. However cold things were between them, she had to be by his side if he was going to think straight.

“I’m going to see Grandma. Where is—”

As Yuri stepped away, Maxim snatched his hand, viciously. The grip tightened until he couldn’t move—his hand throbbed. Maxim had grabbed his jaw or shoulder before, but never held hands.

“She’s changing her clothes.”

The voice was as flat as ever, but somehow bitter.

“Most likely... the clothes she’s wanted to wear her whole life. Dariya’s been waiting for today. You can’t go.”

“What...”

“Yuri, you have your task here. Receive the guests, greet them, and smile kindly.”

His fingers clenched harder—his grandfather’s hand felt like a restraint.

“This is where you show how much you’ve grown—how much you resemble Maxim Solzhenitsyn. So smile. Smile as happily as you can.”

He smoothed Yuri’s rumpled collar.

“That’s how you make people curious about you.”

Yuri’s brow creased slightly. The words said one thing, but the tone was cold.

“Attention is influence.”

For the first time, a clear smile spread over his grandfather’s face. But despite the handsome features, the warped line of his mouth looked strange—like a scar had been carved there.

“It took quite some time for you to pull your weight.”

The hand patting his cheek was gentle, but he felt nothing. In defiance, the boy turned his head and stared at the perfectly set tables and floral arrangements, the fountains of liquor and chocolate—thinking only of one child.

That chocolate fountain—I’ll make sure to save it. When I see him again, I’ll apologize, check his forearms, and then dunk him right in that sweet cascade.

I needed time to raise you into my cat’s-paw.

Boom— boom—! Confetti cannons muffled the words. Yuri squinted one eye and asked:

“—What?”

He clapped his hands over his ears, startled, and looked at Maxim—but Maxim only smiled quietly.

Strings swelled, and every gaze swung to Yuri.

Bold, hungry curiosity. Some clicked shutters; others whispered behind fingertips.

Yuri sighed inwardly and stepped onto the stage his grandfather indicated. He took the glass in front of him and delivered a polished greeting.

“First, I’d like to thank you all for coming to my fourteenth birthday party.”

Maxim watched his smoothly grown grandson and began the applause. The guests followed the Prime Minister, clapping in time. Maxim smiled without a hint of hesitation.

What could cast a thicker, denser smoke screen than a horrific accident? Soon, the Solzhenitsyns would be burned to nothing—no scrap of flesh left.

Five ministers from the president’s direct departments; sixteen more from other ministries. Directors from the Intelligence Directorate... State funerals for the heavyweights, ceaseless mourning, endless rescue operations...

While the machinery of governance seized up, Dariya’s end would be recorded as death—and forgotten.

“――”

Annihilate the inner circle, isolate the president, and scatter fake bone ash for the Sakhalin children.

Once the world began reporting on the terrorist “Rigai Viktor,” Russia would be in no hurry to act—especially if it meant exposing his motive.

It would take a long time to fill the vacancies, restore the system, and clean up the chaos. The dictator, shorn of arms and legs, would be pushed out by rising newcomers, and all of Russia’s attention would fix on the sole heir who survived the tragedy.

The perfect bait to hide Dariya and the rats as they fled the world.

A prime minister who lived loyal to the end.

And the small Solzhenitsyn he left behind.

Dariya, are you going far, far away—just as you longed?

“......”

No answer came. But as if that was enough, the man smiled like a veteran who’d seized the advantage.

Even in flight, there will be paradise.

The moment he bared his teeth in a bright grin, everything blew.

First the floor dropped, and black-red smoke geysered upward. The timing of the booming blasts lagged behind the mansion’s instantaneous detonation.

Kra-boom—! Kra-boom—!

The savage plumes of smoke reflected in Yuri’s eyes.

He watched Winter Castle, ancient and vast, collapse—strangely slow. The outer walls went down like dominoes; people were crushed without time to run, screaming.

In the moment he stared, blankly, at the tragedy about to reach him, the ground swallowed him. A colossal roar and shudder knocked his body around, slamming him into everything.

As if on cue, the stage caved into the earth and darkness fell. Bang—! Bang—! Explosions rolled overhead, but his eardrums were already failing; only a long, piercing ring remained.

What—what is happening right now? Clutching his head, Yuri recalled the hellscape.

Bodies pinned and burst. Brains leaking. Shoes tumbling. This is terror. A terror attack.

Who would dare... Who inside Winter Castle—!

Unbearable pain ripped through him and he screamed before he knew it. He had to get up there. He had to.

Just as his bloodshot eyes flashed—

“――!”

Team Leader...! A frantic voice cracked against his ear.