Today, Kenji Sato worked from home. Employed by a medium-sized cooperative that prides itself on equitable work practices, things were alright —a hallmark of Post-Delegationism. If anything, that was the motto of Post-Delegationism in 2024: Things were alright.
Of course, as a senior engineer with 10 years of tenure, he had been assigned a larger share of the profits than the recent graduates, as was custom. But as far as he knew, nobody at the company went home without being able to make ends meet. His workspace, though filled with the latest technology, was notably devoid of any ostentatious display of wealth or power, reflecting the societal shift towards modesty and collective welfare that had emerged after the “taming” of capitalism after a revolution that was rapidly moving towards its centennial anniversary.
Yumi, his spouse, was teaching at a community-run school. Her lessons today had revolved around the history of the revolution and the recent political upheaval. Always classics when you just wanted to flip out an OwlPad to let the students self-entertain.
Their children, Hiro and Mei, in contrast, had enjoyed a day in which OwlPads were notably absent. They didn’t go to school, but were homeschooled by Kenji’s father Takahiro. Yumi was a teacher, but didn’t like rigidity of schools for her own children. And with Hiro’s diabetes, it just felt right to have a family member take care of the kids. Most families didn’t have that luxury.
The elderly grandparent, once a prominent figure in the local trade union, spent the morning sharing stories with Hiro and Mei. These tales were not the usual talk of epic battles between ancient samurais Mei was so fond of but of the struggles and triumphs of the working class, the importance of solidarity, and more than a bit of romantic reminiscence about Takahiro’s own memories of what life was like, after the war, and during his time in Jizhou. The cotton warrior puppet christened Gege was clutched quite a bit less enthusiastically that day.
Lunch was a quiet affair, with the family gathered around the table discussing their day. Before long, the conversation had turned to Hayabusa's resignation, a topic that had dominated public discourse both on social media and in the rapidly declining print media of the journalistic collectives. Kenji maintained a subscription to the Touzen Times, though he rarely more than glimpsed through it - it was more of a status thing. After having perused the comment section of the paper, he expresses a cautious hope that recent reforms might lead to a more open and democratic society, conveniently agreeing with the last column he had read before putting the paper down. Yumi was concerned whether maintaining the social safety nets that have protected them thus far wouldn’t fall by the wayside before long. Maybe she would have to pick up tutoring again as a side gig. The prospect of even less sleep did not excite her.
"Yumi, did you discuss the resignation in class today? How did the students react?" Kenji asked, breaking Yuki’s rumination.
Yumi, who had been helping Mei with her homework, glanced up, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. "Yes, we did. It was quite the discussion. The students seem hopeful but understandably concerned about what the future holds. One of them said, 'Does this mean we'll have more say in how things are run?' It sparked quite the debate."
Hiro, ever the inquisitive one, chimed in, "But dad, why did the dictator resign? If he had all that power, why give it up?"
Kenji exchanged a look with Yumi before answering, "It's because true leadership, Hiro, isn't about holding onto power. It's about knowing when to step aside and let the people decide their future. Hayabusa believed in Post-Delegationism, in our ability to govern ourselves without a central authority dictating our lives."
The grandparent, who had been listening quietly, added, "In my days, we fought hard for the rights and freedoms we enjoy today. Hayabusa's resignation isn't the end but a new beginning. It's up to us, and you, to shape what comes next."
That afternoon, the family takes a walk through their neighborhood, participating in a community clean-up initiative. Such activities were common in Shinkyō, where civic engagement was not just encouraged but expected. The sense of community has always been palpable, with neighbors greeting each other warmly, discussing plans for the upcoming community forum—an event designed to facilitate dialogue and collective decision-making in the neighborhood that had become popular in the Hayabusa era.
That night after a day of hard work and good discussions the heart of Shinkyō, under a sky streaked with stars, the Sato family slept, perhaps in not the best possible society, but a society that nevertheless had afforded them modest luxuries and an absence of the worst horrors other places had in store for the common man and woman. Things in Post-Delegationism were, as they said, quite alright.
Of course, as a senior engineer with 10 years of tenure, he had been assigned a larger share of the profits than the recent graduates, as was custom. But as far as he knew, nobody at the company went home without being able to make ends meet. His workspace, though filled with the latest technology, was notably devoid of any ostentatious display of wealth or power, reflecting the societal shift towards modesty and collective welfare that had emerged after the “taming” of capitalism after a revolution that was rapidly moving towards its centennial anniversary.
Yumi, his spouse, was teaching at a community-run school. Her lessons today had revolved around the history of the revolution and the recent political upheaval. Always classics when you just wanted to flip out an OwlPad to let the students self-entertain.
Their children, Hiro and Mei, in contrast, had enjoyed a day in which OwlPads were notably absent. They didn’t go to school, but were homeschooled by Kenji’s father Takahiro. Yumi was a teacher, but didn’t like rigidity of schools for her own children. And with Hiro’s diabetes, it just felt right to have a family member take care of the kids. Most families didn’t have that luxury.
The elderly grandparent, once a prominent figure in the local trade union, spent the morning sharing stories with Hiro and Mei. These tales were not the usual talk of epic battles between ancient samurais Mei was so fond of but of the struggles and triumphs of the working class, the importance of solidarity, and more than a bit of romantic reminiscence about Takahiro’s own memories of what life was like, after the war, and during his time in Jizhou. The cotton warrior puppet christened Gege was clutched quite a bit less enthusiastically that day.
Lunch was a quiet affair, with the family gathered around the table discussing their day. Before long, the conversation had turned to Hayabusa's resignation, a topic that had dominated public discourse both on social media and in the rapidly declining print media of the journalistic collectives. Kenji maintained a subscription to the Touzen Times, though he rarely more than glimpsed through it - it was more of a status thing. After having perused the comment section of the paper, he expresses a cautious hope that recent reforms might lead to a more open and democratic society, conveniently agreeing with the last column he had read before putting the paper down. Yumi was concerned whether maintaining the social safety nets that have protected them thus far wouldn’t fall by the wayside before long. Maybe she would have to pick up tutoring again as a side gig. The prospect of even less sleep did not excite her.
"Yumi, did you discuss the resignation in class today? How did the students react?" Kenji asked, breaking Yuki’s rumination.
Yumi, who had been helping Mei with her homework, glanced up, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. "Yes, we did. It was quite the discussion. The students seem hopeful but understandably concerned about what the future holds. One of them said, 'Does this mean we'll have more say in how things are run?' It sparked quite the debate."
Hiro, ever the inquisitive one, chimed in, "But dad, why did the dictator resign? If he had all that power, why give it up?"
Kenji exchanged a look with Yumi before answering, "It's because true leadership, Hiro, isn't about holding onto power. It's about knowing when to step aside and let the people decide their future. Hayabusa believed in Post-Delegationism, in our ability to govern ourselves without a central authority dictating our lives."
The grandparent, who had been listening quietly, added, "In my days, we fought hard for the rights and freedoms we enjoy today. Hayabusa's resignation isn't the end but a new beginning. It's up to us, and you, to shape what comes next."
That afternoon, the family takes a walk through their neighborhood, participating in a community clean-up initiative. Such activities were common in Shinkyō, where civic engagement was not just encouraged but expected. The sense of community has always been palpable, with neighbors greeting each other warmly, discussing plans for the upcoming community forum—an event designed to facilitate dialogue and collective decision-making in the neighborhood that had become popular in the Hayabusa era.
That night after a day of hard work and good discussions the heart of Shinkyō, under a sky streaked with stars, the Sato family slept, perhaps in not the best possible society, but a society that nevertheless had afforded them modest luxuries and an absence of the worst horrors other places had in store for the common man and woman. Things in Post-Delegationism were, as they said, quite alright.