Chapter 101 Youth
The president of the White Tower Youth Association is a student named Ivan Adrian. He has a warm and straightforward personality, excellent academic performance, and is well-liked by professors and classmates. In addition, he always seems to be full of energy, and is a prominent figure in the university.
He himself did not quite agree with Mr. Nova's political views, and he also had some complaints about the eccentric professor himself. He thought that the other party was a little too aloof, arrogant, and had the kind of otherworldly air that only geniuses have.
The conflict broke out completely when the White Tower Youth Association submitted a political commentary to the "People's Daily". In the article, the commentary expressed sympathy for the workers in Black County and denounced the local officials. At the same time, it believed that since the upper class had shown signs of softening, the people of Black County should stop the strike and allow social order to function normally. Instead, they should legitimately seize their own rights through the Blooming Meeting to prevent the entire county from becoming a rebellious mob.
——After all, if the royal army massacres the city because of the crime of rebellion, then all the hard work won before will be wasted.
However, although this article, which Adrian thought was quite reasonable and well-worded, was published, it was also severely criticized by the editor himself, who called it "natural fantasy and compromise."
Adrian simply couldn't accept this. If they were attacked by any other newspaper, he and the other members would have been prepared. But the Limin Daily was different. It was the most outspoken and advanced newspaper in existence, controlled by Baita University, edited by the professor who taught them, and headed by their vice president. This made these young people feel disappointed and angry at being betrayed by their own people.
He broke into the theology professor's office and started arguing with him, even blurting out such heartbreaking words as "You don't really sympathize with them, you just want to prove that you are right by using the lives of those workers."
But the man just looked at him coldly and calmly until he gradually regained his senses in those mirror-like smoky gray irises.
"Biscuits?" Perhaps to ease the atmosphere, the other party raised his chin towards the small porcelain plate on the table.
"...Sorry, Professor." Adrian sat back on the sofa in frustration and picked up a piece of bread and started chewing it.
"The few remaining leverage the working class has, and one of the most powerful, truly feared leverage by those in power, is non-participation in labor." Another person, wrapped in a soft blanket, spoke with exceptional sternness and decisiveness: "To cripple oneself without truly achieving decisive progress is an extremely unwise choice."
"—Do you expect workers who have nothing to lose to win the war by kneeling on the ground and shaking their fists?"
...How could it be a war? Adrian frowned and couldn't help but ask, "So you don't actually support the idea of holding a Blooming Conference?"
The other party seemed even more radical than them, the students.
"No, I support it." The black-haired young man, not much older than him, lowered his eyes and tapped on his manuscript. "This is also a way, worth trying - but be mentally prepared that no matter how great the sacrifice, it will still be useless in the end."
"You're too pessimistic," Adrian retorted. "Many people agree with us. We've won the support of many lower-level councilors. Even Bishop Miller of the Glorious Church is speaking out."
"That's because many lower-level council members are involved in the mining industry. The new energy tax law affects their interests, so they naturally hope to use this to force the royal family to repeal the law. The Radiant Church itself is well-fed and well-clothed, so the strike won't have much impact on them for now, and it can even win people's hearts—but what if the workers actually infringe on the core interests of those people?" The other party showed an expression filled with inexplicable sarcasm. "In other words, even if Pavaton Miller himself is a kind person with compassion and a sense of justice, what about the forces behind him?"
Adrian stared at him in amazement.
The man sitting opposite him, frail and calm, spoke calmly, but his eyes held a chilling cruelty and coldness. "What do you think a strike is? Just throwing a tantrum at the mine owners and officials? It's not an elegant banquet, with well-dressed guests exchanging interests over drinks. Its essence is absolute violence, a precursor to revolution, unacceptable to those in power, and it will cost the blood and lives of millions..."
He stared into the young man's eyes and said word by word, "Otherwise, how can people snatch food from the wolves?"
"—relying on the compassion and conscience of a certain alpha wolf whose existence is unknown?"
"You, you shouldn't have said this to me..." Adrian felt himself trembling, his mind blank, and he muttered incoherently, "If anyone else heard you, you would be thrown into jail..."
The other person answered without hesitation: "If I were thrown into prison, there would always be someone who would continue to speak out for the oppressed. It might be you, it might be someone else, it might be millions of ordinary people."
"...What if everyone is arrested?"
The black-haired young man's voice was very soft, as if he was describing a dream that had already come true.
"—If everyone is imprisoned, then flesh and blood will be the nourishment for the people's transformation, and the dungeons will be the cradle of the new regime."
“…”
Nova saw the other man suddenly stand up, open his mouth, and then slowly sit down again. "Then why did you publish our article?" the young man muttered in self-deprecation, clutching his hair.
"Because this is a mistake, not just my own, but because many people still harbor illusions of weakness in those in power, including the workers themselves. Covering your mouth is useless and will only cause the problem to pile up." The professor half-closed his eyes wearily and explained coldly, "But this kind of weakness that can't be completely eliminated is inevitable at this stage. My nagging and preaching here is useless—just like you still don't fully believe what I say and are probably cursing me in your heart."
Yes, the young man still seemed a little indignant, and after being pointed out, he immediately revealed a complex emotion mixed with shock and guilt.
Nova glanced at him, finally unable to suppress the urge to spray venom. He was not the kind of nice guy who would not lose his temper when offended. "First, don't make that expression. It's normal that you can't think of this with your current overly simple experience and mind. Just do what you should do. Second, don't throw a tantrum in front of me. It's useless. After all, I am the editor-in-chief of the Limin Daily, not you."
"Third," he sneered, his eyes narrowing menacingly like a cat, "Please tell your well-meaning but foolish friends hiding at the door that next time, please conceal your breathing and the corners of your clothes before you come to eavesdrop."
"...Are you always right?" Adrian asked, a little angrily. "How can you be so decisive and take it for granted that the path you choose is the right one?"
The other party said expressionlessly: "Because I am right."
Adrian: “…”
Ahhh, so there's a reason why he dislikes this gentleman. How could there be such an arrogant, conceited and mean person in the world!
"Professor, there are a few students outside your office door. I think they are here to see you." Someone pushed the door open with a smile, and behind him was a group of listless students who wanted to run but didn't dare to.
If facing the professor directly is nerve-wracking, as one has to worry that the big devil will casually bring out some shameful things, then facing the theology professor's assistant is a different level of danger - no one can remain calm under the gaze of those blue eyes, and they will unknowingly tell everything.
"I think they're just worried that I'll chop their leader into pieces and cook and eat him with carrots and potatoes." Nova replied dimly, "Mr. Adrian, if there's nothing else, please take your friends and leave this den."
The students immediately fled the theology professor's office as if they had been pardoned. Azuka was about to say something to his old enemy when he saw the boy named Adrian sticking his head out of the office door.
"Professor, can I have another cookie, please?"
"no."
Why are you eating and taking things at the same time?
The other party was clinging to the door frame, still unwilling to give up: "Uh, then can I know where you bought it?"
Nova raised his eyelids and gave him a cold look: "I did it myself - do you have anything else to do?"
The young man suddenly revealed an extremely distorted and horrified expression, as if he had suffered some kind of huge shock.
"...My God of Light," he stammered, "my pleasure?"
The professor, completely losing his patience, said simply: "Get lost."
"Okay." The other party rolled away obediently.
Now his ears were finally quiet.
The God-Favored One who had been observing all this narrowed his eyes calmly and asked, "Do you admire him?"
He remembered the name "Adrian"; it seemed to be the name on the rare high-scoring paper from the last spring exam. He remembered that the professor had marked that paper with exceptional care.
"Those young people might achieve something great—if they can survive." Nova replied coldly, huddling in his blanket and extending a hand as a matter of course: "My newspaper."
After a long period of silence, he raised his eyes and met the other person's half-smile.
"...Respected Mr. God's Blessed One, please come?"
“…”
The other party sighed softly, shoved the thick newspaper into his hands, and calmly concluded, "Thanks to Bishop Miller's efforts, the Black County authorities have stated that they will apply to the Royal City for legislation to improve the treatment of coal workers, hold accountable the soldiers who massacred the workers at night, and forgive the damage caused during the strike..."
"No mention of miners?" The professor narrowed his eyes sharply.
Miners were sold into the mines, living in conditions even more miserable than the workers. Furthermore, they had absolutely no personal freedom. The strike was successful because the workers took the lead in controlling the supervisors and bringing the miners under the union's protection.
"Not a single word."
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