August 1900
Tsarina Alexandra was brushing her hair in front of her vanity table, dressed only in her nightgown. Lost in thought, she failed to notice someone entering the room. It wasn't until she caught a movement in the mirror that she realized she was no longer alone. Startled, she jumped with a small yelp and spun around, only to see her husband. Relieved, she placed a hand over her chest and glared at him.
"What were you doing sneaking up on me, husband?"
"You're mistaken, my love. I wasn't sneaking up on you," Tsar Nicholas II replied with a smile. "You were so deep in thought that you didn't even notice me opening the door." He gently guided her back to her chair before preparing for bed himself.
Once she finished brushing her hair to her satisfaction, the Tsarina lay down beside him. For a while, she remained silent, simply resting at his side.
Eventually, the Tsar could no longer endure the silence. Turning toward her, he asked, "So, what were you thinking about?"
"I'm just worried about Alexei," Alexandra murmured. "He's just… I don't know. So quiet. He didn't play much even when he was younger. I overheard the maids gossiping about him, saying he was sitting with each foot placed on the opposite thigh, his back perfectly straight, and his hands resting calmly on his knees. Do you think he does that because he's in pain or something? It's not normal for a boy his age to sit like that, is it? I'm afraid something might be wrong with him. You know Alexei, he doesn't speak unless someone asks him a direct question, and even then, he keeps it brief. It's like he's retreating into himself. I'm also worried this will spark gossip at court about our son's strange behavior."
Tsarina Alexandra could not shake the persistent knot of anxiety tightening in her chest whenever her thoughts drifted to her only son. Alexei was five years old now, yet he remained a quiet child. He rarely spoke unless prompted, and even when surrounded by other children at play, he preferred to keep to himself. Ever since his birth, she had proudly told noble ladies and friends how well-behaved he was, only crying when hungry or in need of changing. Now, she found herself wishing her son would behave more like other children, noisy and a little unruly.
When she gave birth to her eldest daughter, Olga, she experienced firsthand how difficult it was to care for a baby. At first, she was confused by how different the experience felt and assumed it was simply because Olga was a girl. However, after speaking with friends and noblewomen at court, she learned they all found parenting exhausting, especially without wet nurses. They assured her there was no real difference between boys and girls, both would crawl everywhere, touch everything, and constantly demand attention.
In contrast, her son behaved differently. When adults were present, he would sit quietly, holding a book instead of playing with the toys scattered around him.
By the time she gave birth to her third child, her suspicions were confirmed. This third child was unruly and often cried for things she could not have, so unlike her son, Alexei. Though Alexandra loved her son dearly, she could not shake the fear that something might be wrong with his health. She recalled their travels to Scotland, France, and Darmstadt, during which she had asked doctors to examine Alexei. All of them assured her he was healthy. Even her grandmother, Queen Victoria, had scolded her for being overly paranoid, praising Alexei for being quiet and well-behaved during their visits.
Still, as a mother, all she could do was hope and pray that her son was truly healthy, and that there was truly nothing wrong with him.
"Hello? Alexandra?" Nicholas II gently nudged his wife when he noticed she had drifted off after voicing her worries. He often had to comfort her whenever she fretted, even though doctors had repeatedly confirmed that their son was healthy. Still, she struggled to let go of her anxiety, especially since Alexei behaved differently from other children.
"Ah?" His wife was jolted from her thoughts, clearly embarrassed for zoning out right after her rant. Nicholas sighed and pulled her closer.
"Don't worry about our son anymore. He's fine," he said softly. "In fact, I was with him not long ago, and he answered every question I asked perfectly. I think our son is a genius. He loves books and tends to keep to himself. I've heard that's what geniuses do. I only hope he stops isolating himself someday, as he'll need friends when the time comes. And try not to show this side of yourself to him. It might hurt his feelings."
Alexandra struggled with her emotions for a moment, then finally nodded. Seeing this, Nicholas sighed in relief and was about to drift off to sleep when she spoke again.
"What about the rumors? The maids are already talking."
"Don't worry. I'll take care of it," he replied lightly. "Let's just say our son is using my secret method to become more handsome. Don't you think he already looks handsome, just like me? I'm a little worried he might surpass me someday. He's tall for his age, too. Tsk, tsk."
Alexandra smirked, and Nicholas returned the expression. "Anyway, are you feeling calmer now? Let's get some sleep."
She nodded at last. Nicholas shifted into a more comfortable position, only to hear her voice again.
"I can't sleep. I heard the army is moving into Manchuria."
It seemed sleep would elude him once more. Adjusting himself to face her, Nicholas began to speak, recounting the matter. He had never imagined ruling could be so difficult, from the chaos following his coronation to the growing social unrest that followed. The death of his brother, Grand Duke George Alexandrovich, had brought him immense grief and sorrow. Fortunately, his wife had been there for him, and the economy of his empire was thriving.
November, 1900
The night was unusually dark in the dirty, narrow slum streets of St. Petersburg. The barely visible moon in the sky could not penetrate the tightly packed houses with their jutting roof extensions. At best, the occasional candlelight seeping through cracks in doors and windows provided some illumination.
A boy wearing a hood and mask calmly navigated the alleys as he headed toward his destination. Along the way, he passed people of all kinds, but the most striking among them were the almost skeletal figures, so thin and frail that a mere touch seemed enough to break them.
After a few turns and cautious glances over his shoulder, he finally arrived at his destination: a small, weathered hut wedged between two slightly larger houses. Its door was barely visible in the dim alley, half-hidden by shadows and age. He knocked in a deliberate, coded rhythm. Moments later, a peephole slid open with a soft scrape, and a pair of eyes peered out. The sound of multiple locks clicking followed, and the door creaked inward. The boy slipped inside without a word and quickly shut the door behind him.
Alexei removed his hood but kept the mask on as he calmly scanned the room. The girl who had opened the door walked toward the frail boy lying on the bed. Alexei glanced to the corner and saw the twins standing up after noticing him. He said nothing, simply standing there. After a moment, he spoke.
"Let's begin."
He removed the sack from his back and gestured for the girl to take it. Inside were bread, apples, and a few leftovers taken from the kitchens of the Winter Palace. The twins, Sergey and Ivan, began setting up the table with papers, dip pens, fountain pens, and books. Alexei sat beside the table and examined the papers. The writing consisted of crooked letters barely forming words, along with misspellings that made them difficult to read. He said nothing, simply picked up a book and handed it to the girl, who returned after storing the food and bringing back her youngest brother, Petrov.
"Anna, begin reading from chapter three."
With that, Alexei began multitasking, listening to Anna's reading while correcting her pronunciation and teaching the twins and Petrov proper writing techniques.
After two hours of reading and writing, he began teaching them self-defense. He did not dare teach anything extreme; the children were still developing. Instead, he focused on basic defensive movements, what to do if they could not outrun their attackers. One hour later, he ended the training and told them to clean themselves and sleep. He gestured for Anna to follow him. After walking to a corner, he sat down and motioned for her to do the same.
"Any news?"
What Alexei needed most was information, not the exaggerated, censored news printed in newspapers, but the kind dismissed by high society. News shared by beggars, pickpockets, drunkards, washerwomen, and stable boys. Not headlines, but fragments that, when pieced together, revealed far more.
Anna, already skilled at gathering such seemingly insignificant details, began her report. "Mother Terisiva next door got injured while….."
Alexei listened without interrupting. When she finished, he stood up and said, "Thank you. I'm leaving."
He was about to reach the door when Anna spoke, the tone of her voice this time was slightly higher.
"Wait. I forgot one last thing."
He gestured for her to continue.
"Someone was handing out pamphlets south of the slums a while ago. I tried to get one, but they were already gone by the time I arrived."
He remained silent for a few seconds before replying, "Get one next time, and find out who they are without asking obvious questions. I believe you're already good at this. You're doing well, Anna."
He patted her shoulder and left. Alexei did not see the small smile spreading across Anna's face.
As he walked home, Alexei wondered what had possessed him to take these four brats under his wing. It had started three months ago, after he reached level two of body cultivation and decided to explore the city at night. Wearing a hood and mask, he slipped past the guards and expertly maneuvered over the palace walls. From there, he walked through the city center, observing notable streets and landmarks. After covering much of the area, he realized it was still early and decided to visit the slums.
There, he saw people toiling through the night for scraps, whores calling out for customers, children scouting for pickpocket targets, gangs harassing the weak, and elderly people lying beside the streets, waiting to die. The sight did not shock him. He had seen worse in the cultivation world.
Moving through the alleys, he eventually reached a damp area where children loitered, searching for anything they could exchange for coins. They were careful not to intrude on each other's territory, but a larger group caught his attention, ganging up on four children. When the attackers left, the four helped each other stand. They were clearly siblings. They brushed off their clothes and checked each other's wounds. One was still crying, and the eldest girl hugged him while the other two held back their tears. Eventually, they sat down, clutching their stomachs, obviously starving.
Their vulnerability reminded Alexei of his early days in the cultivation world, when his defenselessness made him an easy target for bullying and humiliation. Weakness had no place there. That was why he had clung so desperately to the man who helped him in his darkest moment, only to be used and betrayed without hesitation.
Alexei chuckled bitterly to himself and decided it would be them. He had been thinking of finding his own subordinates outside of the palace, he just didn't expect to work on it so soon. He would've preferred grown men and literate, but they'll do. He just had to teach them letters and basic arithmetic. Their current situation made them easy to manipulate, especially for those who recognized the opportunity and were unburdened by conscience.
He was sure of one thing, though. He would not become the man, whom he hated the most.
Alexei snapped back to the present as he turned into a narrow alley and spotted a group of rough-looking figures lurking in the shadows. Sharp eyes. Tense posture. The kind that invited trouble. Fortunately, they did not notice him. Without hesitation, he slipped away. As capable as he was for his age, he was still just a child.
Once clear of the slums, he headed straight for the palace.
"It's time to go home."
After returning to his room, Alexei cleaned himself thoroughly. As he dried off, he examined the bruises left from training. His body bruised easily, even from light impacts. When he had cut his finger two and a half years ago, the bleeding had continued far longer than normal.
Thankfully, he was alone, or the maids would freak out and report it to his parents. He didn't like being watched all the time because he needed to cultivate. It would hinder his progress.
He channeled qi into the bruises, and after a few minutes, they faded. He thought about what would become of him if he can't cultivate in this world. This disease will be the death of him. And he might not reach old age, again. Fortunately, he was sure that by the time he was ten years old. This disease would be fully healed.
While he lay down in his bed. He muses about his circumstances. He was sure that this Alexei was the youngest of the children of the last emperor of Russia. He knew at least that much. But now he is the eldest. His sisters, born after him, still followed their original names from his first life. It brought him mixed feelings, he didn't know how to react to them, but he will still do as expected of him as an elder brother, to protect them.
He remembered the way his mother looked at him with concern. She would always ask if he felt discomfort anywhere, as if she had a modern monitor that could alert her whenever his illness might act up.
But he had never let her find out the truth. He would never reveal his bruises and wounds.
He had seen it happen to others, the way the sick were no longer treated as people but as fragile objects to be protected, monitored, and pitied. He couldn't stand it. To her, it would be love and care, but to him, it felt like a cage. He didn't blame her, though, she was his mother.
Nonetheless, he wouldn't give her any reason to confine him. He loves his freedom so much that he won't let anyone take it from him, even his family. And what's worse, to have a tsarevich who is sickly spread throughout the empire, that would be a disaster.
His father, well, from what he observed, is a family oriented man. In terms of ruling though? Indecisive, passive and naive. What could he expect from a man who brought his empire down and had his own family killed? Nothing.
Nevertheless, he was still his father. Judging him felt almost cruel. Maybe it was never truly his fault, but the consequences were real, he can see it from his nightly experience outside the palace. And now, here he was, trying to piece together how it all happened… and if all of this could ever be made right.
He would not focus on saving the empire, though. If it could be saved, good. But if not, he would prioritize himself and his family first.
When he asked himself in the past if he had someone he cared about in this world. Apparently, he had now. The power of family bonds really runs deep whoever or wherever you are. He just hoped it wouldn't ruin him.
If he dies young as well in this new life. He would give himself an epithet, "The man age could never claim, but circumstances always could." If he ever lived again, that is.
He fell asleep soon after.
The next morning….
The maid moved quietly through the palace halls, her steps muffled by thick carpets. Beside her, a small girl walked excitedly, clutching a stuffed toy to her chest, her gaze fixed on the door at the end of the corridor.
When they arrived, the maid knocked softly. "Your Highness, I'm coming in."
Before she could enter, the little girl darted past her and ran inside. The maid sighed and followed.
The girl climbed onto the bed and crawled toward the sleeping boy, gently tapping his cheek.
"Browther, wakey browther."
The maid drew back the curtains, letting light spill in. Alexei, who pretended to be asleep, had no choice but to open his eyes. He smiled and ruffled the girl's hair.
"What is Olga doing here, Anya?" he asked.
"She insisted on coming," Anya replied. "Her Imperial Majesty requests your presence at breakfast."
"Alright."
He handed Olga some toys and went to wash.
Minutes later, he came back refreshed, dressed in his most comfortable clothes, free of the elaborated styles and stiff fabrics that marked his station. The weight of formality doesn't appeal to him. As long as it's not a formal occasion, he would wear his comfortable clothes, ordered and requested from the royal seamstress.
"Come, Olga." He reached out his hand to his little sister, which she happily took. They then left the room and made their way to the dining hall, followed by Anya.
Dining hall…
His mother narrowed her eyes the moment she saw what her son was wearing as he entered the hall. Alexei paid it no mind and greeted them with ease.
"Good morning, Father. Good morning, Mother."
He guided her sister, Olga to her seat, then walked over to his one-year-old sister, Tatiana, and gently pinched her cheek. She reached out her arms, clearly wanting to be carried, but he acted as if he didn't see it and continued on to his assigned seat, settling in quietly to wait for breakfast.
His father, seeing that everyone had arrived, said, "Let's pray." He led the prayer himself.
Alexei bowed his head as well, joining in silently. But to whom he was praying? He wasn't sure himself. Still, he offered a quiet prayer of gratitude, to whatever force is responsible for his repeated reincarnation.
After his father finished the prayer, they began to eat. Alexei took a small portion of everything on the table. He had a big appetite, but he never ate much in front of his family. Instead, he would usually slip into the kitchen after a formal breakfast or dinner to ask for another meal from the chef. By this point, the chef was already well acquainted with Alexei.
He was enjoying his breakfast when his father spoke.
"Last time, on your birthday, you asked to join the hunting retreat in the Bialowieza Forest this spring. Your mother agreed, but you won't be firing any guns. Is that acceptable to you?"
Alexei offered a rare smile and replied, "Yes, Father."
Then he turned toward his mother. "Thank you, Mother."
His mother, Alexandra, unaccustomed to seeing her son smile, felt a quiet joy rise within her. She silently praised herself for making such a wise decision. Smiling, she said, "As long as you're happy, my son. But you must listen to the people that we will assign to you during the hunt. And you.."
She looked pointedly at her husband, "don't let yourself be swayed if Alexei tries to charm you into letting him fire a rifle. I know you, one pleading look from him and you'll give in."
His mother took a sip of her tea and continued, "Look at your son. You let him choose and request his own clothes from the royal seamstress, and now look what's happened, he hardly wears anything proper anymore. He's only five years old, and you're already spoiling him far too much."
Nicholas was momentarily speechless, quietly wondering how the conversation had shifted so quickly from their son to himself. Still, he smiled and replied, "Of course, a rifle is too dangerous. I won't let him fire it, even if he cries."
Not that he would, Nicholas mused. His son hadn't cried since he was two.
"Good," his mother said, satisfied, and resumed eating.
After that brief exchange, they continued their meal in silence. Once they had finished, each quietly sipped their preferred refreshments, until his mother suddenly spoke again.
"Alexei, I'm hosting a party in the palace garden this afternoon, and you will be joining me. The other ladies will be bringing their children as well, and I expect you to play with them. Is that understood?"
She placed particular emphasis on the last part, clearly leaving no room for refusal.
It seemed his mother was preparing to introduce Alexei to the court, positioning him, perhaps, as part of her growing influence. He let out a quiet sigh, then replied, "Yes, Mother."
"Why are you sighing? You act far too much like an adult already, Alexei, and clearly, you are not," his mother chided. "You need to have friends. They'll be important to you in the future, especially if they are loyal."
Before he could respond with his agreement, she continued, "Oh, Your father and I found tutors and attendants for you. Since you love books so much, you might as well begin your lessons. As for your attendants, they'll accompany you on your daily activities and protection. I'll introduce you to them after the party this afternoon."
His mother simply wouldn't stop talking. But deep down, Alexei was secretly pleased. He was eager to start learning, and this would give him a reason to explain why he could eventually read so fluently. Until now, he had only been pretending to look at the pages of the book. As for his attendants. He just hopes they won't be so nosy in the future.
"Thank you mother." He replied.
His mother was about to speak again when a knock sounded at the door. Boris, his father's personal aide, entered.
"I apologize for interrupting your breakfast, Your Imperial Majesties," he said with a bow, then walked over to his father and whispered something in his ear.
When Boris finished, his father grew momentarily thoughtful, then rose from his seat.
"I'm sorry, my dear," he said, addressing his wife. "It seems I have to attend to some matters of the state."
He offered her an apologetic smile, then leaned down to kiss her forehead. "I'll see you this evening."
One by one, he kissed each of his children on the forehead, Alexei included, before making his way toward the door and quietly left the room.
After his father was gone, his mother rose from her seat and turned to the maids. "We're finished here. Please take the children to the nursery. And Anya, make sure Alexei is properly prepared for the party this afternoon."
With that, she bent to kiss each of the children as well, lingering a bit longer with Tatiana, who was reaching out to be carried. She had no choice but to comfort the baby for a while before finally leaving the room to prepare for the party.
Alexei felt a quiet sense of relief once his parents had gone about their own affairs. He was never quite comfortable being the center of attention during conversation. He followed his sisters to the nursery and played with them for a while before turning toward Anya.
"I'm tired. I want to sleep."
Anya gently guided him to his room. Once she was gone, he waited for a moment to be sure that he was alone, then sat cross-legged in a lotus position and began to cultivate. He still had a few hours before lunch, and the afternoon party.