Chapter 55
Chapter 55
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 55
Chapter Title: A Late Night Ambition (1)
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“Why should we go along with what the Americans want when we're already in a strong position?”
Wilhelm II said this to Edward VII, who was forcing a smile over his morning coffee.
“Hans, don't you agree?”
“Your Majesty is right.”
“Exactly. By the way, you really can't make coffee, can you? Hans, why'd you dilute it with so much water?”
“Your Majesty, that's how Americano is supposed to be drunk.”
“Americano? Yeah, figures—it's just the kind of dishwater those Yanks would slurp down.”
Wilhelm II muttered that as he pushed his coffee cup aside.
'Tch, but it tastes great.'
It seemed Americans were still a bit too ahead of the curve for Americano to catch on here.
But unlike me, Edward VII didn't give a damn about the coffee right now. He looked anxious as he tried once more to persuade the Kaiser.
It was shocking, considering Edward VII was always so unflappably relaxed.
“Since we're in a good spot, we need to wrap up the Venezuela issue now. Perfect timing, right?”
“Nah, Uncle, the longer those guys squirm, the more we stand to gain, don't you think?”
“No, that's...”
Edward VII stared at me blankly, at a loss for words.
His face screamed he wanted to know why the Kaiser was acting like this.
The reason was simple, really.
I'd told Wilhelm II that refusing mediation and dragging things out would benefit the German Empire more.
And our Billy had happily gone along with it.
Though it seemed like he mostly just wanted to see his Uncle Edward sweat.
Look at him—grinning smugly at Edward VII's twisted expression, slipping into that infuriating, snarky face without anyone asking.
If that was acting, Wilhelm II could ditch the throne tomorrow and become a thespian for real.
It was 100% genuine.
“Urghhh...”
Edward VII looked like he was dying for a knuckle-rap upside the head.
But this wasn't Britain calling the shots—it was Germany.
Britain was in a panic now that the Dreadnought they'd ignored had suddenly skyrocketed in value, driving them half-mad with anxiety.
There was a reason even the ever-cheerful Edward VII was fidgeting like this.
'Germany's in full festival mode thanks to Friedrich der Große's exploits.'
The moment news from Venezuela spread, Admiral Tirpitz—who'd been fretting over sending her to the Caribbean—sent me a barrage of excited letters. Wilhelm II was bursting with national pride, dancing a shoulder shimmy right in front of everyone.
My stock had naturally soared, too.
Of course, when I first heard Friedrich der Große had randomly obliterated a Venezuelan cruiser, even I was a bit freaked out.
They called it a mistake, but it could've sparked World War I by late 1902 if things went south.
'At least Admiral Dewey and the US fleet backed off quick.'
Still, it had turned out to be a massive win for me and the German Empire.
The board was shifting heavily in our favor.
'Britain probably wants to close out Venezuela ASAP.'
Germany kept churning out new Dreadnoughts, and the Venezuela incident had other powers eyeing them too.
But with fire at their feet, Britain was throwing everything into rushing their own Dreadnoughts—yet stuck on Venezuela, unable to act.
The longer Germany stalled, the more frantic they'd get.
Because when Germany and Britain agreed on joint action against Venezuela, they'd promised not to negotiate solo with them.
And that's exactly what I'd targeted.
Britain had no choice but to sweet-talk and convince Germany somehow.
'They can't break the promise first, either.'
Breaking it would paint their already trashed diplomatic rep from the Boer War even worse—not to mention souring ties with the one Dreadnought owner, Germany.
That's why Edward VII himself was desperately pushing for US mediation.
Of course, I had no intention of budging yet.
“Let's save the headache stuff for later and go hunting together. Your Majesty. Fox season's on, and I've never tried it.”
“Oh, fox hunting? Sounds good. Let's drag George along too.”
“Uh, um...”
Edward VII scratched his head awkwardly as Wilhelm II and I openly talked about leisurely hunting.
Then he sidled up to me and whispered.
“Hans, is this how we treat family?”
“Your Majesty, isn't it the thirsty who dig the well?”
“...What do you want?”
“We'll figure that out as we talk it over nice and slow.”
Edward VII squinted at my words, lost in thought for a moment.
Then he spoke slowly.
“I'll summon you later.”
With that, Edward VII walked away from me.
But the king's summons came sooner than I'd expected.
“Baron, His Majesty calls for you.”
That night, at midnight.
Edward VII's valet knocked on my door.
I woke to the voice, rubbed my eyes, and slowly sat up.
'Couldn't he just call tomorrow?'
What was this, summoning folks in the dead of night like some vampire?
Kids need their sleep, you know.
“This way, please.”
But you couldn't ignore a king's call over a bit of grogginess.
Guided by a single candle, I followed the valet down the dark corridor, step after step.
“Right through here.”
We arrived at a door.
I gave the valet a light nod of thanks and opened it without hesitation.
“Ah, the famous Baron Hans Choi has finally graced us.”
But Edward VII wasn't alone in the room.
“Your Majesty, someone might think you're throwing a party at this hour.”
“A party? Bit late for that. Even for a kid wandering around.”
“You knew that and still summoned me tonight?”
Edward VII chuckled at my words.
But the others couldn't muster a laugh—they just cleared their throats awkwardly.
“Let's see. You know Prime Minister Balfour and the Marquess of Lansdowne, right?”
“Yes. They visited Sandringham recently. First time meeting face-to-face, though.”
I said this while greeting Arthur Balfour, who looked quite nervous in the tense situation, and the Foreign Secretary, Marquess of Lansdowne, standing with hands clasped behind his back.
“And this is Colonial Secretary Joseph Chamberlain.”
Joseph Chamberlain.
As the familiar surname suggested, he was the father of future British PM Neville Chamberlain, famous for “peace in our time.”
He'd also pushed for an Anglo-German alliance until recently.
Which, as everyone knew, had flopped.
“And this is First Sea Lord Admiral John Fisher.”
“Pardon?”
'Why's Fisher already First Sea Lord?'
Admiral John Fisher.
The legend who'd overseen everything from Dreadnought's birth to the first aircraft carrier.
But by rights, he should be Second Sea Lord now, not First.
Fisher wasn't due for First Sea Lord until 1904.
“Wasn't it Admiral Cust?”
“Admiral Cust resigned.”
“Ah...”
Friedrich der Große's doing.
Now it made sense.
Britain's navy, lacking Tsushima's lessons, had dismissed the oversized-yet-underperforming Dreadnoughts that appeared years early.
'Turns out that was wrong.'
“Resigned” was probably a polite word for sacked.
And Fisher had stepped in as his replacement.
“Pleased to meet you anyway, Admiral Fisher.”
“One question, Baron?”
“A question...?”
I tilted my head as Fisher jumped right in.
What could he want to know?
“Did the Dreadnought come from your head?”
“!”
My facial muscles twitched at Fisher's question.
Don't panic.
I'd braced for a tough crowd.
Steeling myself, I slapped on a poker face and nodded shamelessly.
“Yes.”
“You made that battleship, Hans?!”
“Strictly speaking, the German Navy and shipwrights built it. I just provided the idea and concept.”
“Same difference. Ha! We got played with our eyes wide open.”
Edward VII gawked at me like he'd truly had no clue.
The others looked just as stunned.
Except Fisher, who nodded like he'd expected it.
'How'd Fisher know when even Edward VII didn't?'
The mystery cleared up with Fisher's next words.
“As I thought—inspired by Admiral Yi's tactics.”
“...Pardon?”
Why was that name coming up here?
“You're the author of Immortal Admiral Yi. No one knows Yi's tactics better than you. Especially the ones in the latest installment, 'The Sea's Weeping Crossroads'...”
“Ah, yes, yes. Just as you say, Admiral Fisher.”
“Exactly!”
I cut in to stop my spinning head, and Fisher clenched his fist triumphantly, convinced he was spot on.
“I see. Admiral Yi—I overlooked that.”
“Gotta reread it closely when I get home.”
The others nodded along, convinced by Fisher.
Was Britain really okay like this?
I felt kinda guilty. But hey, I did it.
“Alright, greetings done. Down to business.”
“Ahem. Yes. First, the Venezuela matter...”
Edward VII and the four Brits all turned to me.
“What'll make you accept US mediation?”
“Shouldn't you ask Chancellor von Bülow in Berlin about that?”
“Ha! Baron, we already heard from His Majesty that you're the one stringing the Kaiser along to stall!”
“We're not the ones in a hurry.”
I shot back coolly as Balfour yelled, face twisted.
The desperate ones were Theodore Roosevelt, battered by US public backlash after deploying his fleet for nothing, and Arthur Balfour, sweating bullets right in front of me.
“Papers say you're in a real bind, Prime Minister.”
“Ahem! Well, that's...”
It was more than a bind.
Balfour's political life hung by a thread, like a candle in the wind.
Friedrich der Große's feats were shaking Britain via the press.
Brits were panicking at the thought of losing sea supremacy, and the Balfour cabinet and Royal Navy—who'd dismissed Dreadnought—were eating every curse in the book.
“But Britain's inconveniently tangled up in Venezuela right now.”
While Germany kept pumping out Dreadnoughts amid the delay.
“Kch!”
Fisher, who knew exactly what that meant, bit his lip in frustration.
If Germany kept leading the Dreadnought race, Britain could truly lose the seas.
And a Britain without the seas wouldn't be Great Britain anymore.
Plus the latecomers eyeing a chance to leapfrog Britain...
Eh... prayers for Fisher's stomach.
“No need to worry, though. I'd rather be Britain's friend than foe.”
“Heh, friends? Von Bülow and the other Germans don't seem to think so.”
“Not everyone here agrees on everything. And isn't our job to pick the best path from all those views?”
I replied to Chamberlain, interlocking my fingers and leaning forward.
“Think big, gentlemen. No need for Germany and Britain to butt heads. We have a common enemy, after all.”
“Common enemy?”
“The Russian Empire.”
I flashed a grin.
Time to kick off phase three of the plan.