Election (4): Assassination Attempt
I stared intently at the newspaper.
From joining the party at the end of July to now, the end of October.
A prince of a fallen empire. That prince was beginning to shake German politics—and the Social Democratic Party.
The political landscape of the Weimar system, once thought unchangeable by any one person, was starting to wobble, bit by bit.
Of course, behind it all was the military. Erich Ludendorff. It was thanks to that old general's machinations.
But what did that matter?
"Your Highness, you're heading out again today, aren't you?"
The nanny's question made me nod.
"We go out every week. I'll be in that park today as well. If anything happens to Karl, just come to the park."
The nanny gazed at me steadily before speaking.
"That's not what I meant... I'm just worried you might get hurt by someone with ill intentions."
"By extremists, you mean?"
She nodded, unable to say it outright.
A highly recognizable figure heading out to hold political rallies in a park—a place where anyone could show up—without a single bodyguard. It wouldn't be strange if something happened.
But right now, I had no choice. I needed to set aside authoritarianism and keep building trust by standing as their equal.
"Don't worry. I'm a former soldier, even if I don't look it. I can easily subdue some strange thug."
"...You really seem like a different person now."
Her words made me flinch inwardly, but I held back any response that might arouse suspicion.
I put on my coat, and even as she watched over the sleeping Karl Franz, she kept glancing my way.
"Have a safe trip. I hope nothing happens to you, Your Highness."
Her gaze lingered unusually long.
As I stepped out the door, I turned back once more. The nanny was still watching me.
...Why?
For some reason, my steps felt a beat slower today. An inexplicable unease wrapped around me.
"...Germany's isolation in foreign affairs? In a way, it's the result of our defeat. We must rebuild from the beginning—from the Bismarck era, or perhaps even earlier."
The people in the park would start debating on their own whenever I tossed out a topic—agreeing, rebutting, clashing ideas.
I reacted to their arguments, blending different logics until new ones emerged. The crowds gathering in the park grew day by day.
I watched them. Their debates, their exchanges of opinions, the way they finally reached common ground—it all looked especially beautiful.
There were so many people.
And amid the crowd, one gaze that wasn't fixed on me stood out.
"...No way."
Our eyes met for a split second. The moment they did, his hand rose from his sleeve.
And in that hand was a heavy black metal lump.
It happened in an instant. The world seemed to freeze, everything moving in slow motion.
His gun barrel swung toward me in a heartbeat, our eyes locking properly at last.
His hand froze.
Then the trigger pulled.
"Your Highness, get down!"
Bang!
Someone tackled me. I hit the ground hard, my head slamming into it as dizziness flooded in.
I clutched my head, trying to stand.
"Your Highness! Are you al— Blood! Did you get hit?"
"No, just grazed! Get His Highness to safety, quick!"
"Who shot him?"
Voices overlapped in chaos. When I looked at my hand, still gripping my head, it was smeared with blood.
It wasn't flowing heavily. But the blood soaking my palm trickled between my fingers.
Only then did a burning sensation start near my cheekbone, turning into a stinging pain that made me wince.
"Wh—what happened?"
The man in officer's uniform who had tackled me answered.
"Someone tried to assassinate you, Your Highness! We need to get you out of here!"
In the confusion, I spun my thoughts rapidly.
I could run. Fleeing might even be the right call right now.
But I had no intention of doing that.
I couldn't just hide here. If I kept dodging like this, what was the point of possessing this near-death prince?
Even in the 2020s I remembered, someone had nearly been assassinated by gunfire like this.
What did that guy do?
Catching my breath, I shook off the officer's supporting hand, lifted my head, and scanned the surroundings.
Then I raised my bloodied hand.
"They can take my freedom, but they cannot take our cause!"
My hoarse shout drew every eye to me.
After that, my memory fades. The officer practically dragged me away by force, and when I came to, we were far from the park.
The next day, newspapers across Germany—from local rags to nationals—filled their front pages with the story.
And the photo they ran was of me raising my bloodied hand, eyes blazing as I shouted.
A reporter had been snapping pics on site when it happened, capturing that iconic moment and turning me into "the prince who survived assassination and still proclaimed the cause."
I set the paper down and touched the ugly gash on my cheek.
"Your Highness, are you alright?"
"Sorry for worrying you, Nanny."
It still stung.
I had no idea what possessed me to show that courage back there.
"Does it hurt, Daddy?"
Karl Franz, tagging along with the nanny, looked at my ointment-smeared face with a sad expression.
I smiled and said, "Daddy's fine."
"Even though it hurts?"
"Yeah."
Karl just tilted his head, not quite grasping it.
All I could manage was an awkward smile for this child who couldn't understand yet.
"Karl, next year—when spring comes—we'll spend more time together. Just bear with me a little longer."
"...Okay! I'll wait!"
Karl beamed innocently.
His pure child's smile melted my expression into one of genuine warmth.
"Nanny, take good care of Karl."
"Of course, Your Highness. Don't worry."
The nanny gave a reliable smile, though her concern for me was plain.
"We're not issuing this warning lightly. It's only been how long since Kurt Eisner was killed..."
"I'm sorry for causing you worry."
As evidence of the internal party uproar, Otto Wels had come all the way to my home in Königsberg.
The original source of the slogan I'd shouted. It was still 1920, so maybe I beat him to it.
Anyway, he plopped into a chair with a relieved expression the moment he arrived.
"I hate to say it, but it's not all bad."
"I know. I'm starting to be treated like a martyr."
Wels nodded, cleared his throat awkwardly, then continued hesitantly.
"The perpetrator was a Polish immigrant."
He said it quietly.
"A nationalist who fanatically follows Piłsudski, apparently."
I stared at him silently.
"Police say it's a lone wolf."
I pondered that.
If that quick-thinking officer hadn't tackled me, I might have ended up as the prince assassinated by a Polish nationalist.
Finishing my thoughts, I met Wels's eyes squarely.
"...You're not thinking what I'm thinking, are you?"
I nodded at his concern.
"If I planned to stop at this, I wouldn't have started in the first place."
"How far do you intend to push the rift with us?"
Wels sighed.
"...Well."
He paused.
"I suppose I can't stop you now anyway."
He chuckled wryly, lit a cigarette, and I crossed my arms with a confident grin.
He set the cigarette down, exhaled smoke, and asked, "So, what's your next move?"
Leaning back in my chair, I thought it over before answering.
"Hmm."
"No plan?"
"Not quite."
I glanced at the ceiling and chuckled.
"It sounds so insane even to me."
He stared at me in disbelief.
I couldn't help laughing at the sheer absurdity, chuckling as I kept staring upward.