Black-Haired Dad Isn’t Something You Reap - Chapter 109

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 109. The Emperor Is a Dictator. The Princess Is a Budding Dictator (1)
Nanakda decided to wait and see how I’d grow before calculating the pros and cons of marriage. He pinched my mouth, muttering that something so tiny was incredibly calculating.
Croa was sulking about the trip I’d taken with Nanakda, and no amount of explanation would appease him. Whether I made excuses or stayed silent, he’d wear that resentful ghost face either way, so I figured it was better to let him brood without draining my energy.
After returning to the Imperial Kingdom, I bought dozens of the latest academic journals on fundamental science from the Empire and tossed them to Shirley—she wagged her tail happily in an instant. Shirley was the best.
“Pisha! You’re the greatest!”
“No. You’re the greatest, Shirley.”
“Pisha, did you get carsick on the way back? You look exhausted.”
“Yes, I did get carsick.”
One moment someone’s beating me for refusing to marry, the next they’re wearing a resentful face because I have a fiancé but keep trying to bring other men around. How am I supposed to survive?
Now I understood why there was always some attendant in the imperial harem intrigues who showed no particular interest in the Emperor and spent their time hunting and riding horses instead. If you left them alone most of the time and then gifted them a horse, you’d hear all sorts of useful gossip—a perfect way to unwind.
Shirley was even easier; a few books solved all her sulking.
“Pisha, you went to the Empire, so you must have heard—they were talking about using the cold energy from the liquefied natural gas process for something.”
“No. I didn’t attend the banquet where the entrepreneurs gathered.”
“…Then what did you go all that way for?”
I learned something far more useful than that. It seems you really do need to venture into the great world to learn what you need. Going to a major power made me see exactly what I needed right now.
I grabbed my newly written report and skipped over to request an audience with Father. He said he’d just rest his eyes for five minutes, so I told him to listen while sleeping and barged in.
“Father! Your adorable daughter has arrived!”
“Mm.”
This madman actually spread a blanket in his office to sleep while listening.
Father handed Lira to Shirley, then burrowed into the blanket and patted the spot beside him.
“Come here.”
Good grief! So he was planning to cuddle and get some quality sleep, was he?
I had no choice but to burrow into the blanket and nestle against Father. He held me and patted my back, then slowly closed his eyes.
“Hey! Ende, you coward, don’t hog her!”
“Shut up.”
Father finished speaking and immediately drew the warm automatic pistol he’d stashed at the foot of the blanket, firing twice—bang, bang. It was remarkable that Father could shoot without even looking, but even more remarkable was how Choco dodged it.
“The report.”
“Oh, right.”
Using Shirley’s melodious cooing over Lira as background music, I summarized the report. Basically, it boiled down to this: we should create propaganda performances like they do, acquire newspapers to ensure only favorable news about the imperial family gets published, promote nationwide sporting events that captivate the people.
“You went to the Empire and learned only the most sinister tricks. Truly my daughter.”
“I saw the exact same things, but where did such thoughts even come from?”
Doesn’t everyone think like this after watching a single “Young Hero Epic”? One well-crafted performance serves double duty—promoting the imperial family while intoxicating people with patriotism. The value for money is incredible. National patriotism is such a useful tool to exploit. Recruitment becomes so much easier.
As I rambled on explaining, Choco twisted her mouth strangely and made a strange sound.
“I don’t know, what is that—nobody should think like that.”
“That’s the kind of thinking a despicable dictator would have.”
Emperor and dictator are synonymous. That’s what “Martin’s Republican Discourse” says.
Anyway, we have plenty of material. There’s the story of Choco single-handedly destroying Loruruje Fortress, my story about creating the Air Force. If we adapt these into heartwarming imperial family anecdotes and turn them into a well-funded musical, it should work beautifully.
From what I directly experienced, dancing and singing definitely drew more engagement than static theater. Time just flew by.
“Leave the performance report here. I’ll pass it to the Minister of Culture and Arts.”
“Oh! First one passes!”
The second agenda item, acquiring the newspaper company, is my personal interest. If it succeeds, not only will Kisomalos’s prestige rise, but I’ll also avoid being cursed by the common people.
Since it was necessary, I actively appealed to Father about this plan, but Emperor Father was lukewarm about it and evaluated my plan as having low feasibility.
“Journalists aren’t easy opponents. Some have a misplaced sense of justice, and since they have so much, they won’t be bought off with ordinary money.”
That’s true. Kisomalos’s two major newspaper companies started as aristocratic hobbies and grew into massive enterprises.
One has so much money it doesn’t fall short compared to the Chiron Duke’s House, and the other is run by an extremely principled person. He’s like the incarnation of noblesse oblige itself, does a lot of social contribution, and probably went to prison for speaking only the truth when Helbatro was on the throne. He’s likely acquainted with Father.
“Still, if good articles about the Imperial Family appeared every morning, it would be excellent for deceiving the people’s eyes.”
“It requires a lot of initial capital, but there’s a better method than that.”
Father, with a sinister chuckle, explained the method in a dark voice.
“Establish a new newspaper company and distribute newspapers for free. If they have no operating profit, they’ll bow down too.”
“Wow!”
How is it that Father can come up with such dirty and sordid ideas so effortlessly? It’s so cool!
“Father! You’re a bastard!”
“Ha, you flatter me.”
“Father, you’re a genius! The greatest bastard!”
“Then the Princess becomes the offspring of the greatest bastard.”
“Kyaaaa! The highest praise!”
As I fawned over Father enthusiastically, he got excited and rolled around with me in his arms. I could see Choco watching us play with cold, dead eyes. If you keep looking at us like we’re trash, I won’t let you join our games anymore.
“The sports professional league has many areas to address. I’ll mention it to the Minister of Health and Sports.”
“Okay!”
Actually, I didn’t think this could be realized immediately. To get the entire nation excited, we’d need nationwide live broadcasts, but we don’t have that technology, right? Even if we send telegrams, we can only know the score going up, so it feels boring somehow.
“Then let’s sleep now!”
“Father, Pisha, me too!”
“I’m not your father.”
Even as he said that with his mouth, his body honestly offered the blanket.
I squeezed in between Father and Shirley and pulled the blanket over myself to prepare for a nap. Choco caught the Lira that Shirley threw and was gently plucking it.
“Choco, you can play the Lira too?”
“Ahem, I was once the heir to the Duke’s House, after all.”
What does being the heir to the Duke’s House have to do with the Lira? When I asked out of curiosity, Father explained the long history of the Chiron Duke’s House.
“Chiron is generally lenient with his descendants, but he demands three specific qualities from whoever will be the heir.”
“The ability to play an instrument, mastery of martial arts to protect oneself. Ah, if it’s Pankration, you receive bonus points.”
“And finally, possession of an education-related certification.”
“Ooh…”
That’s quite demanding. They say raising children increases prestige, but from the moment of choosing an heir, they check if it’s an education major.
“So Father and Choco have certifications too?”
“I have a Grade 1 Fire Rescue Personnel Training Certification, sir.”
“Wow, it really doesn’t suit you.”
“I agree with Pisha.”
Right, it really doesn’t suit you. It’s truly strange that someone who can kill a thousand people alone has a certification for saving lives.
Shirley and I giggled under the blanket, and I asked what qualifications Father had. Surprisingly, Father rattled off all sorts of odd certifications from Pankration instructor qualifications to chick sex determination specialist training certifications, and finally mentioned a qualification that really didn’t suit him.
“Bachelor’s degree in Early Childhood Education from Kisomalos Imperial University.”
“…How on earth did you become Emperor?”
So we were being raised by expert hands after all. Perhaps that explained why they subjected us to all those peculiar trials—it was all part of an expert’s vision. Shirley and I, for reasons we couldn’t quite articulate, felt a sudden solemnity settle over us. We closed our mouths and quietly drifted off to sleep.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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