Chapter 34
Chapter 34
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 34
Chapter Title: First Christmas
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"Listen here, Police Commissioner. You're telling me you still haven't caught those damn bastards?"
"W-Well..."
The New York Police Commissioner shrank back involuntarily at the voice that felt even colder than the winter air outside.
He wanted nothing more than to bolt for the door behind him and escape this place right now.
But he had no choices left—not even the right to one.
"Disappointing."
This was 23 Wall Street.
Otherwise known as the J.P. Morgan & Co. Building, the demonic fortress of America's financial world.
And the man he faced right now, with his enormous nose and potbelly, was none other than its master.
The king of steel Andrew Carnegie, the oil baron John D. Rockefeller—they stood shoulder to shoulder with this man, the head of J.P. Morgan bank and the financial king of the United States.
"Truly disappointing."
His name was the infamous J.P. Morgan.
No matter how mighty the NYPD chief might be, in his presence, he was just another trembling commoner gripped by fear.
The United States was a nation ruled by money, unchanged in the 20th century or even a hundred years later in the 21st.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Morgan! Give me just a little more time, and I'll mobilize every New York cop if I have to—I'll catch those Dixie lunatics for sure!"
"You'd better. For your own sake."
J.P. Morgan cut him off as if he'd heard enough and gestured for him to leave, adding a sharp warning.
"...Do you really think the NYPD can catch those 'KKK' guys?"
The Police Commissioner, his neck on the chopping block, bowed his head repeatedly and hurried out of J.P. Morgan's office. No sooner had he gone than Morgan's secretary muttered with a meaningful expression.
"Hardly."
J.P. Morgan chuckled softly.
It was a completely different face from the one that had looked ready to kill the commissioner with a glare moments ago.
"Honestly, I'm not even sure those guys are really KKK."
The mysterious terrorists who had blown up Wardenclyffe Tower, which Tesla was building with his backing.
They called themselves the "Ku Klux Klan," or KKK for short, but to Morgan, there were too many suspicious points.
"I've never heard of KKK thugs parading around in those bizarre outfits you'd see at some Catholic event in Southern Europe."
It was Hans's mistake—not quite a mistake, but close.
The grotesque concept of KKK in white conical hoods, as popularly known, only appeared after the second founding in 1915.
Prior KKK did wear hoods, but they were fairly ordinary ones.
"Besides, for Southern rednecks' handiwork, the cleanup was way too clean, wasn't it?"
The police aside, even the Pinkerton Detective Agency that Morgan had hired couldn't find a trace of these self-proclaimed KKK.
The wannabe edgelord Southern racists Morgan knew didn't cover their tracks this neatly.
"Communists or anarchists, maybe?"
"No, no. If it were reds, they'd have chucked a bomb here instead."
There was no reason to blow up Wardenclyffe Tower specifically.
That bizarre iron tower mattered to Tesla, but Morgan had been losing interest in the project, which had produced zero results.
'I was planning to cut off funding to Tesla anyway.'
He'd chewed out the commissioner, but truthfully, Morgan felt nothing about the tower's destruction one way or the other.
Losing that pittance wouldn't hurt him.
"What’s Tesla up to now?"
"Word is, he's in shock and left for Germany to recuperate."
"Germany, Germany..."
Why Germany, of all places?
It nagged at Morgan.
Tesla was from a German-speaking area, sure—but that was the Austro-Hungarian Empire, not the German Empire.
And the timing was too coincidental.
'Could the German Empire be behind this?'
Even Morgan knew that was a stretch.
Tesla was a genius of the century, no doubt, but he rarely produced tangible, profitable results.
Not worth the German Empire pulling strings abroad to snag him.
"Send a few useful men to Germany."
Yet Morgan gave the order anyway, fully aware of that.
His famously keen nose for money was screaming silently.
"We'll keep an eye on Tesla for a while."
If he let this slide, he'd regret it for life—that's what it was shouting.
And so Christmas Eve arrived.
The tumultuous year of 1901 was drawing to a close.
The New Palace was steeped in Christmas spirit: ornate decorations hung everywhere, and a massive Christmas tree—goodness knows where it came from—adorned the hall.
It might seem odd for early 20th-century Europe, but the Christmas tree was originally a longstanding German tradition.
Prince Albert, Queen Victoria's consort, popularized it in Britain, and from there it spread worldwide.
In any case, I was finally taking a break from my busy days to enjoy my first Christmas in Germany with Joachim and Luise.
'Looking back, so much has happened.'
It all started when I suddenly dropped into 20th-century Germany and ended up saving Wilhelm II's life by chance.
After that, the Kaiser took me in, bringing me to the New Palace in Potsdam. I pitched the Dreadnought at a banquet, reignited the Dreyfus Affair to screw France over.
I helped smooth tensions between the Victoria Dowager Empress and Wilhelm II, inherited Friedrichshof Castle and her other estates as a result, and even got a noble title as Baron Hans von Choi.
On top of that: developing submachine guns with the Schneisser father-son duo, humiliating Prince Chun by accident, facing off against Field Marshal Waldersee at a demo, and finally, Tesla.
'I wonder how Mr. Tesla's doing.'
With my slight help resolving the Wardenclyffe issue, Tesla wrapped things up with J.P. Morgan, made a quick U.S. trip, then fully relocated to Germany recently.
Using the terror attack as an excuse to recuperate there for a few years.
'J.P. Morgan didn't say a word—hope I didn't get caught.'
Nah, no way.
No evidence linking me, and America's too busy eradicating the KKK right now anyway.
A tiny butterfly effect from my scheme.
To Americans before, KKK was just another Southern white supremacist group. Post-Wardenclyffe, they evolved into psycho terrorist maniacs in the public mind.
And the U.S. federal government wasn't soft enough to let psycho terrorists roam free.
Not a bad outcome.
KKK trash disappearing early is good for the world.
Anyway, Nikola Tesla, now in Germany, was staying in an annex at Friedrichshof Castle, working on radio research.
He seemed to really like the place.
Quiet, great views—perfect for research, apparently.
Cost me some sweat convincing Princess Margarete, though.
Here's hoping Tesla doesn't cause any major incidents.
"Speaking of, is Father still at the ball with the others?"
"Lucky them. I wanna go to the ball too."
Joachim and Luise grumbled while reading picture books by the roaring fireplace, wood crackling away.
The Kaiser couple, Crown Prince, and princes were at the Christmas ball in Sanssouci Palace right next door.
Voices from the attendees carried over, so it was still in full swing.
Why didn't we go?
Too young.
In this era, balls weren't just dancing—they were prime schmoozing for the elite.
We hadn't debuted in society yet; too early.
"By the way, Hans, what do you want for Christmas?"
"Me? Nothing really."
That was my honest answer to Joachim.
Friedrichshof Castle, the barony—already got too much this year.
"If I ask for more, even Krampus couldn't complain if he dragged me off."
"True, you're on thin ice. Good or bad? Definitely bad."
Luise, still believing in Santa and Krampus, chimed in.
I just smiled awkwardly instead of arguing.
'Even I know I'm no angel. Done plenty of naughty stuff.'
Like with France or Prince Chun.
-Stille Nacht. Heilige Nacht. Alles schläft, einsam wacht. Nur das traute hochheilige Paar...
As I got lost in memories, singing drifted from afar.
I knew it well.
The famous carol "Silent Night, Holy Night" back home.
Seemed like a choir from the nearby church.
-Hölder Knab' im lockigen Haar, Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh'. Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh'...
We sipped hot cocoa, listening to the song.
A quiet, peaceful night.
I wished this peace would last into next year, and the year after.
But the world kept spinning busily, violently.
British Empire, London.
Japanese Embassy in Britain.
"London's buzzing today, Hayashi."
"Christmas Eve, after all. Biggest holiday in the West, right?"
Japanese Foreign Minister Komura Jutaro smiled as embassy envoy Hayashi Tadasu replied.
"Speaking of, I heard an amusing story back home recently."
"The Qing Emperor's half-brother kowtowed to the German Kaiser, right?"
"Ah, that. It was quite the talk here in London too."
"But back home, they were more interested in the Eastern noble favored by the Kaiser."
"Baron Hans von Choi."
Hayashi knew the baron well.
How could he not? Every mention brought a massive scandal.
'Word from the German embassy: he even humbled a German field marshal recently.'
Didn't get details, but as a fellow yellow man, it secretly thrilled him.
Shame he was Korean, not Japanese.
"Just turned ten, and already so impressive."
"Agreed. But let's leave it there—we have bigger matters."
One tied to the fate of the Empire of Japan.
"Ito's given up negotiations with Russia."
"Really?"
"Yes. Even that great Ito Hirobumi is past his prime now."
Komura shook his head.
That lecherous old man feared Russia too much.
Pushing talks despite no gain for Japan—fear drove it.
'Ended in failure, as I predicted.'
But Komura differed from Ito.
"As you see, the Russian Empire doesn't negotiate. The Russkies won't budge from Liaodong, Manchuria, or Korea."
"So the answer is force, as you say."
"Yes. And that's where the Anglo-Japanese Alliance comes in."
Komura turned to Hayashi.
"What's the Foreign Secretary's reaction?"
"Lord Lansdowne was quite positive about us dropping Russia talks."
"Good. Excellent. Our empire's future rides on this alliance. Make it happen, whatever it takes."
"Understood."
Komura nodded, pleased.
The new year dawned a new era.
And the Empire of Japan would stand tall as victor.