Hans had been in Kaiser Wilhelm II's palace for a week now.
Living the royal life? Enjoying a second chance at life? What a joke. Hans felt like a gorilla trapped in a zoo cage.
"Look, it's that kid."
"Why on earth did His Majesty bring an Asian into the palace…?"
"…"
The servants' whispers trailed behind him.
Come on, if you're going to talk behind my back, could you at least keep it down?
Did they think he couldn't understand German?
At first, Hans brushed it off, but after days of this, it was starting to wear on him. The pressure was real.
Honestly, he'd rather they just call him a"damn yellow monkey" to his face and get it over with.
"This is already a headache, and now it's getting worse."
Thirteen years and four months until the Great War broke out.
Even if he started planning now, time was tight, and here he was, stuck in this cursed child's body.
"No one's going to take a kid seriously."
In his past life, he'd wished he could be ten years younger. Now, he'd beg to be ten years older.
Life was cruel.
"Maybe I should just act crazy and pull a Rasputin?"
The thought tempted him for a moment, but Hans quickly shook his head.
Wilhelm II wasn't his dim-witted cousin, Nicholas II.
And the idea of Germany being swayed by some mysterious Eastern prophet?
That was a one-way ticket to a firing squad courtesy of the Junker nobles.
"Hey, Hans!"
A familiar voice snapped him out of his gloom.
It was Joachim, Wilhelm II's sixth son, with the Kaiser's only daughter, Victoria Louise, the youngest of the seven siblings, trailing behind him.
"Your Highness Prince Joachim, Your Highness Princess Louise."
Hans gave a slight bow as soon as he saw them.
These two, along with the kind-hearted Empress Auguste, were among the few who treated him decently.
Unlike their thick-headed older brothers, who ignored Hans like he was invisible, Joachim and Louise, being closer to his age, seemed more curious about this strange foreigner than wary.
"Lucky for me," Hans thought.
Even as a kid, building ties with the royal family was crucial.
For now, Wilhelm II and his family were all Hans had to rely on.
"Look at this, Hans—you're in the paper!"
"Hans?"
Joachim waved a newspaper bigger than his body, spreading it out for Hans to see.
By the way, Hans had told them his name was"Hans" with the proper Chinese pronunciation multiple times, so why did everyone keep calling him"Hans" like it was German?
Even he was starting to get confused.
"Check this out:'The Mysterious Eastern Boy Who Took a Bullet for an Anarchist's Attack—Who Is He?' See this article?"
"Wow, really?"
It was a photo of Hans lying on the ground after being shot. They'd even published the picture.
As the chaos from Wilhelm II's assassination attempt settled, it seemed the news blackout was loosening.
"There's more over here,"
Louise said, flipping to the next page.
Hans skimmed the articles. Most speculated about his connection to the Kaiser or why Wilhelm II had brought him into the palace.
Of course, there was some trash too, like"Wilhelm II's New Pet: Letting a Yellow Boy Into the Palace?"
Could he sue over that?
"You're famous now!"
"Well, the incident was pretty huge."
His race didn't help.
If this were Qing Dynasty, it'd be like a Black kid saving the emperor's life.
No way that wouldn't be the talk of the town.
Hans flipped through the paper for anything else interesting, but nothing stood out.
Just stuff like the death of America's 23rd president, Benjamin Harrison, or the breakdown of peace talks between the Boers and the British.
Louise, clearly bored with the newspaper, said,
"Brother, wanna go play ball?"
"No way. There's a banquet tonight, remember? If we get our clothes dirty, Mother will flip."
"Wait, a banquet?"
Tonight?
This was news to Hans.
"You didn't know?"
"No one told me!"
"Oh, yeah, I only just heard too. Mother said the Chancellor, the Chief of the General Staff, and some big navy guy—I forget who—are coming to the palace, so they're holding a banquet."
The Chancellor was probably Bernhard von Bülow, who Hans had met in Potsdam on his first day. The Chief of the General Staff at this time would be Schlieffen—the one who came up with Germany's plan to invade France.
As for the navy guy…
"Your Highness, is the navy bigwig Admiral Tirpitz, the Minister of the Imperial Navy?"
"Yeah, that's the name!"
In this era, no one else in the German navy would get an invite to a royal banquet.
But the real problem was—Hans had to go to this thing?
"Normally, just eating with those princes staring daggers at me is bad enough. Now I've got Bülow, Schlieffen, and Tirpitz to deal with?"
No thanks.
He'd rather go hungry.
"Well, this young man must be the Eastern boy who saved His Majesty's life."
Why did his bad feelings always come true?
Hans sighed inwardly, shaking hands with the elderly soldier in front of him.
"A pleasure to meet you. I'm Alfred von Schlieffen, Count and current Chief of the General Staff. Just an old man barely fit for the job."
"It's an honor, Your Excellency. My name is Hans Jo."
"And this is Admiral Tirpitz. As you can see, he's an annoying'seal.'"
"Shut it, Schlieffen."
Tirpitz looked like he could be a dwarf straight out of a fantasy novel.
He grabbed Hans' hand with the rough grip of a sailor.
"I'm Alfred von Tirpitz, Minister of the Imperial Navy."
"I've heard of your reputation, Admiral."
"You're too skinny, kid. Are all Asians like you?"
Hahaha!
Tirpitz slapped Hans' back, laughing heartily.
Man, how was this old guy so strong?
After greeting Chancellor Bülow, Hans was led into the banquet hall.
Scrape!
The moment he sat down, the princes' glares hit him like they were saying,"What are you doing here?"
Their eyes made Hans feel like a mouse dropped into a den of cats.
Except these"cats" were more like lions in terms of status.
"I didn't want to come either, okay?"
But since he was here, he had to make the best of it.
Sure, the pressure was intense, but this was a chance to make a good impression on Bülow, Schlieffen, and Tirpitz.
These three were the core of Germany's government, army, and navy. Building ties with them could only help.
"Let us dine."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
After a brief prayer, Wilhelm II signaled the start of the meal.
Hans carefully sipped his soup.
He'd gotten so used to noble etiquette that it felt natural now, which made him chuckle bitterly to himself.
"Not bad."
He wasn't just being polite—the soup was genuinely good, especially the meat.
It had a unique flavor, like beef or chicken…
"Oh! It's been ages since I had turtle meat."
"Pfft?!"
What the—turtle meat?
"Hans, are you alright?"
Empress Auguste asked with concern.
Hans quickly straightened up, flashing a reassuring smile.
"I'm fine, Your Majesty. The soup is excellent."
"Oh, I see. It must be your first time trying turtle soup,"
Auguste said, nodding knowingly.
Hans vaguely recalled a comic mentioning that turtle soup was all the rage in Britain during this era.
It really was top-notch.
"Brings back memories of my youth," Bülow remarked.
"Back then, even commoners could afford turtle dishes now and then. It was everywhere."
"Tell me about it. Finding a turtle these days is like plucking a star from the sky," Tirpitz added.
Yeah, because humans ate them all.
Sorry, turtles. Humanity's fault.
"Tirpitz, how's the construction of the Braunschweig-class battleships going?"
"Perfectly on track, Your Majesty."
Wilhelm II, sipping his wine, suddenly turned to Tirpitz, who answered with confidence.
The Braunschweig-class was a German pre-dreadnought battleship, built under last year's Second Naval Law. But just two years after entering service, it was rendered obsolete by the advent of dreadnoughts.
"We plan to start construction on the second ship, Alsace, next May at the Schichau shipyard. The first, Braunschweig, will begin in October once the Germania shipyard frees up."
"Good. But don't rest on your laurels, Tirpitz. The Braunschweig-class is just the beginning."
Wilhelm II's eyes burned with ambition as he stared at Tirpitz.
"Of course, Your Majesty. The Imperial Navy's ultimate goal is to surpass the British Royal Navy and become the world's greatest. I, Tirpitz, have never forgotten that!"
"Hahaha! Surpass the Royal Navy! That's the spirit!"
"Hahaha!"
The banquet hall echoed with Wilhelm and Tirpitz's ambitious laughter.
But Hans couldn't laugh.
The Imperial Navy surpassing the Royal Navy?
"No chance."
Historically, Germany's navy didn't just fail to overtake Britain—it never even came close.
Wilhelm and Tirpitz's reckless fleet expansion didn't strengthen Germany; it poisoned it.
"And the German High Seas Fleet was a non-factor in the Great War."
Despite Wilhelm II draining Germany's treasury for naval growth, the navy barely made a dent, aside from a brief showing at Jutland. In the end, it scuttled itself at Scapa Flow after the war and faded into obscurity.
"Hans, what do you think?"
"Huh?"
"Do you believe our navy can surpass the British?"
What was this guy thinking, asking him that?
No way was this a question for a kid.
"This is tricky…"
A safe answer like"Of course!" would please the Kaiser and keep everyone happy.
But it would push Hans'"Save the German Empire" plan further out of reach.
The Kaiser's blind naval expansion was a dead end for Germany's future.
"Maybe… I should take a shot here?"
An idea sparked in his mind.
If he pulled it off, his standing would skyrocket.
And it might even do some good for the German Empire.
But it was a dangerous gamble.
One misstep, and he was done for.
"Your Majesty."
Hans steadied himself, weighing the risks and rewards carefully.
He made his choice.
"I'm sorry, but it's absolutely impossible."
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