[The Turning Point]

The repercussions of the American Civil War’s early conclusion were far more massive than I had anticipated. First, European nations, led by Great Britain and France, released messages of celebration with open arms.

Of course, despite the flowery language, what Britain truly welcomed was the fact that cotton supplies had returned to normal and the variables of a US-originated economic crisis had completely vanished. Perhaps that was why Britain officially praised Lincoln’s achievements, and even the Vatican, which had maintained an ambiguous neutral position in the original history, lauded Lincoln’s resolve.

He was a man of ability who had cut through the long-festering slavery issue like the Gordian Knot. By ending the war within a year, he had minimized the impact on Europe. Europe, heavily dependent on goods from the US—whether food or cotton—had no choice but to welcome the outcome with open arms, and thus, Lincoln’s stature grew by the day.

Judging by the letters and newspapers sent by John Brown and Rockefeller, Lincoln’s popularity in the North had transcended the level of "all-time high."

As I unfolded the stack of newspapers Rockefeller had sent, they were all like this. Is this an American newspaper, or is it from some People's Republic that worships a Great Dear Leader? Articles that were so cringe-worthy I couldn't bear to read them poured out day after day.

If this were a Catholic country instead of a Protestant one, people would already be calling for his canonization. I don’t think even the Lincoln of the original history had this level of popularity; I suspect it has entered the realm of madness or religious fervor.

In fact, from the perspective of an objective third party, this level of popularity wasn't strange. Unlike the original Civil War, which dragged on for four years and exacted a horrific toll, this time the North had simply twisted the wrist of the rebellious South and snapped it. They must have felt a sense of catharsis. For the North, it felt like drinking a refreshing soda so cold it pierced their very stomachs.

Not only did they win the war, but they solved the slavery issue that had plagued America for so long in one fell swoop, and even forced the Southern President to declare surrender with his own mouth. ...Looking at it this way, it’s not surprising at all. Wouldn't it be stranger if he *weren't* deified?

"Master... no, Chairman. Have you seen this article?" Leo smiled, spreading out another newspaper.

"Of course I saw it. This is why the Dixies are in an uproar again." It was a proposal to grant voting rights to 'highly educated Black people' and 'Black soldiers who participated in the war.' Northern newspapers were full of praise, calling it another 'great decision,' but...

"...This is dangerous."

"Pardon? Why do you say that? Are you worried they might start a riot in the South?"

If they started a riot, things would actually be easier to handle. I could just round up the ringleaders and crack the skulls of those who crossed the line. As an aside, even though such radical policies were announced, the backlash in the North was surprisingly small. After all, the number of Black people who would be granted voting rights was limited to the small minority who had actually fought with weapons. Since it was the policy of 'God-Lincoln' who had ended the war in a year, Northern citizens would give it unconditional support for the time being, allowing any policy to pass with a free pass.

But the South is different.

"For hundreds of thousands of Black people in the South to have voting rights will be a tremendous ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠humiliation to the Dixies, who are already steeped in a sense of powerlessness."

"But even so, it’s only about 500,000 across the entire South. Even if it’s a lot for one region, the votes are spread out, so it will be hard for them to have a real impact."

"In these matters, it’s not the facts that matter, but the sentiment."

When I learned about this event in my past life, my reaction was just, 'Some hopeless piece of trash assassinated a great president.' But now, having lived as one of the planters... how should I put it? I could feel it on my own skin. Ah, so *this* is why he was assassinated.

Of course, that doesn't mean the assassins were justified. But if you run a restaurant, you have to be aware that you're going to produce food waste. The brighter the light, the more insects it attracts. I’m glad I didn’t doze off in history class.

"Leo, pass this to the North. And... tell them that if necessary, all ruthless means are permitted."

"Understood. Oh, and Chairman. These are today's Southern newspapers."

Leo placed a mountain of Southern newspapers on my desk. The fact that he brought an armful of them meant that the surprising and mysterious antics of the Dixies were definitely gracing the front pages. I picked up a few, feeling a mix of anticipation and stress.

Guys... you aren't the victors, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠you're the defeated. The ink hasn't even dried on the surrender document yet, so why are you already starting your engines? "As I start cleaning the room, the trash is starting to pop out in shocking amounts."

"I’ve done my fair share of cleaning, and I know that the more you clear away trash, the more of it you find."

Indeed, regardless of 'emancipation' or whatever, the war had simply ended. There were still too many insects left to incinerate.

The 'Kill Lincoln' man, John Wilkes Booth, could not hide his joy. God had not yet abandoned this country. 'Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find.' As he sought out men of resolve, true patriots concerned for the future of this country came to him.

He spoke passionately to everyone. If ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the country continued on this path, white people like them would eventually be pushed aside and become doormats for Black people. Assassinating the President. It was a truly extreme and heinous solution, but it was the only method left for the South. With the mindset of the revolutionaries who faced the French Revolution, he would burn his life to light the future of a darkening nation.

"Gentlemen, our goal is not the assassination of Lincoln itself. By showing everyone the end of a tyrant, we are sending a warning to all those who seek to undermine the traditions of the United States, are we not?"

"That is correct!"

"To do that, we must kill not only Lincoln but also the Vice President and the Secretary of State."

George Atzerodt, an expert on the Potomac. Lewis Powell, a soldier of the Confederate Army. David Herold, who could draw a map of Washington with his eyes closed. And John Wilkes Booth, the South's most popular actor himself. They were now spiraling out of control, setting up a grand plan that went beyond mere presidential assassination to the total collapse of the current cabinet.

However, they considered all of this a matter of course. If Lincoln died, the Vice President would inherit the position, so to truly serve the South, he had to die too. And if Lincoln died, Seward, the Republican heavyweight, would take his place, so he had to be dealt with as well.

"I will kill Lincoln. Powell, you take Seward; Atzerodt, you take the Vice President; and Herold, secure the escape route."

"Yes."

"But comrade, if we are to safely escape to Canada or Mexico, don't we need to prepare not only carriages but also fake identities? We'll also need money for bribery in case we are searched."

"That is correct. It’s not a problem that can be solved with a few pennies."

If they could kill Lincoln and normalize the country, they would gladly die... as if that were possible. They wanted to kill Lincoln, but they didn't want to die themselves. So they had to be fully prepared to flee, but unfortunately, their preparations were not yet perfect. The biggest factor was, above all, a lack of funds. Booth, a popular actor, was not poor, but it took more money than expected to safely smuggle not just one, but several comrades into exile.

However, God sided with Booth once again.

"Mr. Booth, could you spare a moment?"

One day, as he was retreating backstage after a performance, a businessman approached him cautiously. He had a Northern accent, clearly different from a Southerner. Booth instinctively showed wariness.

"Who are you?"

"I am your ardent fan. Today's performance was truly excellent."

"Thank you, but if you are a fan, you should exit through the front entrance..."

"I have been listening carefully to the remarks you usually make."

For a moment, a chill ran down Booth's spine. If he were a Northerner, there was no way he would look favorably upon the things he usually said.

"...I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Do not misunderstand. I am on your side."

The young businessman looked around and lowered his voice. "I am also one of those who think Lincoln is ruining this country."

A man doing business in the North hates Lincoln? Yeah, right, I'm sure you do.

"...Ah, yes. I think President Lincoln is excellent. Well then..."

"Lincoln is trampling on the traditions of this country. Voting rights for Black people? That is an insult to white people. I can never accept such a future."

"As I said, I have no ill feelings toward Lincoln..."

"I am a man who worked for the South in the last war. Will you believe me if I say this?"

"Yes? What did you say?"

"I smuggled food and supplies to the South through Mexico. Continuously, and in enormous quantities."

Could anyone lie so shamelessly about something that would be exposed if one looked into it just a little bit? Confused, Booth reflexively scanned his surroundings and lowered his voice.

"Can you show me proof?"

"Of course."

The businessman took a thick stack of ledgers out of his bag and handed them over. Booth took them with trembling hands.

"Smuggling records through the Mexico route... food, weapons, even medicine..."

He was engulfed in a shock as if he had been struck in the back of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the head. It was because the dates, quantities, and routes were recorded in such detail that it couldn't simply be a fabrication.

"Th-this is..."

"You understand, don't you? I helped the South with the resolve to stake my everything. If you wish, I can even show you the warehouse I used for smuggling. You'd have to go all the way to the Rio Grande, though."

It wasn't a lie. Booth couldn't stop the conviction rising within him as he flipped through the ledger, page after page. It was real. He was a true patriot, just like them. No, perhaps this man, who risked his life to smuggle for the South even while being a Northerner, was the true patriot. Booth opened his arms wide toward the warrior God had sent him.

"I apologize for doubting you. If you are truly a patriot who worries for this country, will you work with me to root out the evils of this nation?"

"As expected, you had a grand plan. I was convinced after listening to your usual remarks. Please, let me help you all."

"Understood. But I need the consent of my colleagues. We have a boarding house where we always meet; could you wait nearby?"

"Of course I can wait."

Thus, Booth brought the businessman before his comrades preparing for the grand act. Naturally, they unanimously agreed to the businessman's inclusion. There was no reason to doubt his sincerity, given his track record of smuggling enormous quantities of food and weapons for the South during the Civil War.

"Gentlemen, today I would like to introduce a new comrade!"

George Atzerodt, Lewis Powell, David Herold. As they all watched, the young businessman walked into the room.

"New heroes are always welcome."

Powell reached out his hand first, and Atzerodt and Herold nodded with bright smiles.

"If you share our cause, we should naturally welcome you."

"Oh, such a young person... for such a noble cause."

"This is truly amazing!"

"Excellent! Truly excellent!"

Seeing the face of their new, younger-than-expected colleague, they each let out exclamations, and he took off his hat and bowed politely. Then, he calmly revealed his name.

"Greetings to the heroes gathered to save the United States. My name is Andrew Carnegie."

A young businessman who had been growing his business at an astonishing speed in the North recently. With the addition of the young smuggling king, the hearts of Booth and his comrades were already heading toward the day of judgment. Since God had arranged everything, they would simply trust in it and race forward.

Lincoln, you are already dead.