I believed in the future of my country. Russia was changing before my eyes. I finished the presidential program and was burning with a desire to develop new lands. But I died in a conflict with traitors, for whom the word “Motherland” was nothing but empty sound and budget-cutting.
May they be repaid for their sins!
Where did I sin so much that I ended up in the 19th century—in the body of a moral scoundrel who’d lost at cards to a landowner? My estate is mortgaged at a bank, a painting of a nude young lady covers a crack in the house, and bandits come into my home like it’s theirs!
Oh yes—mom went off to Petersburg, taking all the money she could.
All of it? No—he, that is, I already, promised the whole society a ball…
“Master! Those unhumans are threatening revenge again!” I hear the trembling voice of the steward.
“And I’m going, I’m going, Emelya,” I sigh and grab the pistol from the bedside table.
Well then—where was our trouble supposed to go missing! Russia, my dear—meet your son!