Chapter 16: Hope
Chapter 16: Hope
“…Th-this… shit, fuck! Do whatever you want, hyung! I don’t care anymore!”
I slammed the door shut with a bang and stomped down the stairs of Napoleon-hyung’s boardinghouse.
Fuck.
I mean, sure, people have pride, but there’s a limit. It’s not like some total stranger offered to help—someone he’d gotten really close to over the last few months was offering, and he still rejected it.
I didn’t think he’d turn away a helping hand this decisively.
Honestly, it left a bad taste. Part of me wondered if Napoleon didn’t even see me as someone close.
And yeah—when I found out what he was worried about, it wasn’t because he told me. I found out by accident. So it’s true: from the start, it was something he didn’t want to tell anyone.
“Hey! Napoleon! When are you paying the rent? You’re already three months behind!”
“Ah… ma’am. I’ve got a guest right now, so… could we maybe talk about money a little later?”
“Shut up! Guest or no guest, what do I care!? Do you think I’m doing this because I hate you? I’m doing it because you won’t pay what you owe! I’ll give you five days, Napoleon. After that, pack up and get out, or do whatever you want!”
“Ha… all right. I’ll try to get it ready somehow within five days.”
I knew the landlady where Napoleon-hyung lived had a fiery temper—I’d heard it from Napoleon himself more than once—but I didn’t expect her to chew out a tenant even with a guest present.
Did she do it on purpose, to scrape money out of him by grinding his pride into the dirt?
If so, that woman shouldn’t be running a boardinghouse. She should be in politics.
“H-hey… Guillaume. Just go home for today. I’ve got a lot to think about…”
Right after that happened, Napoleon-hyung practically shoved me out of the boardinghouse and said that.
Napoleon-hyung’s pride is no joke.
And he had to show it getting crushed—of all people—in front of the friend-and-little-brother he cherishes most.
Even I, with a modern 21st-century mind, would blow a fuse if I got humiliated like that in front of a close friend or younger brother.
Let alone someone from this era—armored in 18th-century chivalric spirit, living and dying by pride—and a soldier obsessed with honor. It doesn’t even need saying.
Anyway, the little “second party” we’d planned—just the two of us at Napoleon-hyung’s place to celebrate our great victory—ended up never happening because of all that.
And I still couldn’t forget how Napoleon-hyung’s face had turned so red it looked ready to explode.
Still—this morning, the day after that happened, I went to find Napoleon-hyung again.
When someone’s hurting the most, that’s when you stay by their side. That’s what a friend is.
It suddenly reminded me of when I first met Napoleon-hyung, back when those Paris bastards were giving me hell.
At first, I didn’t know what to do, because of all people, the guy I’d met was Napoleon.
Of course, after some time passed, I started sticking even closer—because I wanted to get a little benefit from the fact that he’d become a great man who would lead France in the future.
But after spending more than half a year together, at some point it stopped being about getting scraps.
I started treating him like a real friend.
Maybe it was because I’d been suddenly born into this weird era, and as I grew up here, I hadn’t had anyone I could really open up to.
At some point, Napoleon-hyung had become one of the closest people to me.
That’s why I hated seeing him slumped like that.
A future great commander leading France looking so dejected—anyone who knows the imposing, heroic Napoleon from biographies would hate seeing it.
“So what if it’s pride or whatever—what’s gonna break if you accept a little help from a friend?”
As I left Napoleon-hyung’s boardinghouse, I shouted loudly like I wanted someone to hear.
Whether he heard it or not, I don’t know.
Napoleon-hyung accepted the comfort I offered, but the moment I brought up the “h-word,” he kicked me out.
Maybe one day wasn’t enough for a wounded heart.
Still—what can I do?
I don’t want to see Napoleon-hyung wandering around with nowhere to sleep.
But there’s no way he’ll accept help from me either.
That left two options.
Either I secretly pay his rent without him knowing and pretend nothing happened—
Or I talk his ear off until I can turn his mind around.
If I secretly pay his rent, I should prepare myself to cut ties with him.
The immediate problem would be solved, but the misery he’d feel would be beyond words.
So that means the only option left is me swallowing my own pride and begging:
“Hyung, please accept my help.”
Easy. Throwing away pride.
I did plenty of that doing business in the 21st century.
To someone adapted to 21st-century capitalism, bowing my head and crawling a little doesn’t matter.
Does pride feed you?
By the time I got back to my boardinghouse, I opened my door and pulled out a pen, then started writing without hesitation.
Glug, glug.
Napoleon was chugging down a bottle of liquor he’d found somewhere.
It wasn’t even wine—just cheap, low-class spirits the dockworkers would drink—but right now, he wanted alcohol no matter what it was.
“…Hoo.”
After dumping the last drop in the bottle into his mouth, Napoleon tossed the bottle aside.
It clattered and rolled into the other bottles that had been thrown around like him.
It was already the third bottle.
Napoleon stared blankly as it rolled and bumped into the others, then rubbed his eyes over and over with his hand, stiff from alcohol and drunkenness.
Maybe his hand had dust on it—his eyes hurt.
Tears started leaking out in little drops.
They slid down Napoleon’s cheeks, one after another.
Before he knew it, Napoleon was sobbing.
It wasn’t because his eyes hurt.
The dust had already gotten soaked by tears and fallen to the floor.
His heart hurt too much.
More than the pain of his first day at Brienne, what happened yesterday and today felt even bigger.
What happened at Brienne was a secret only he knew.
If only he suffered and struggled, that was fine.
He could endure that.
He was the one who’d held on and taken first place even while stubbornly enduring the hazing at Brienne.
But what happened yesterday and today happened in front of Guillaume—the first person he’d grown close to since coming to mainland France, the only person he could call a friend.
He didn’t want anyone to see him like this.
And of all people, he had to show something this ugly to a close younger brother.
“Hhk… hhk.”
At some point, Napoleon was crying out loud.
Like he was trying to vomit out all the resentment that had been lodged inside him from the moment he first set foot in mainland France.
He cried, miserably.
How long passed?
Napoleon lifted his head at the sound of someone pounding on the door.
Bang bang bang.
“Mr. Napoleon Bonaparte? Are you in there? Mr. Napoleon Bonaparte!?”
Would anyone even send me a letter?
Thinking that, Napoleon got up and went to the door.
“Uh… a-are you Mr. Napoleon Bonaparte?”
“…That’s me.”
The mailman flinched at the stench of alcohol coming off the man who opened the door, but kept talking.
“This is a same-day express letter for you, Mr. Napoleon.”
“…Same-day express? Who sent it?”
“Well, you can just check for yourself. I’m busy delivering, so I can’t read that far for you.”
With a face that said, Why are you asking that, the mailman dipped his head and headed back out.
“…People are cold.”
Napoleon felt bitter at the mailman’s attitude.
As if to shove that thought away, he hurriedly opened the envelope and pulled out the letter.
The name written on it was painfully familiar.
“…Guillaume.”
Napoleon shut the door, sat at his desk, and read the letter line by line.
[To Napoleon-hyung,
Hyung, it’s been over half a year since we met—almost a full year now. Realizing that, I suddenly remembered the day we first met. I don’t know if you remember, but I was so tense I kept going, “Y-yes, yes!” Thinking about it now, getting nervous and calling a weirdo like you “hyung” is honestly so fucking embarrassing.]
“Ha… what the hell is this little brat saying.”
Napoleon chuckled for a moment, remembering the day he first met Guillaume.
[We’ve had a lot happen while we’ve been together. People of Isaac, and that thing a few days ago where we cracked the Paris faction bastards’ heads open. And after we shared life and death like comrades, you treat me like garbage at your doorstep—hyung, you’re a bad person. Admit it, yeah?]
Napoleon kept reading.
[Anyway, after you kicked me out, I went over everything we did together, one by one. People of Isaac, the convenient meals, cracking those Paris bastards’ skulls—everything. And I realized it: ah, I couldn’t have done any of it without this guy, Napoleon Bonaparte.]
“What is he even saying? He did it all because he’s full of himself.”
[Well, if you’re reading this, you might be thinking, “You did it on your own—why say you couldn’t without me?” But from what I saw, it’s true. The convenient meals happened because I borrowed your idea. And cracking Hugo, that bastard’s head—without your command, it might’ve been impossible.]
“Ha. This little shit knows how to flatter.”
Napoleon’s mouth corners had risen without him noticing. Not enough to be a full grin yet, but they were definitely up.
[So there’s something I want to give you. I’m not giving it because you’re the person I cherish most. I’m giving it to you as a comrade who’s participated in what I’ve accomplished so far.
So what I’m giving you isn’t help. Um… how should I put it—“dividends.” Yeah, let’s call it dividends. Dividends paid to the inventor who came up with a great idea for my business. And a reward paid to the general who bravely led troops and defeated the enemy. This is the rightful price for what you’ve done with me so far—and payment from the owner of People of Isaac to a collaborator.]
Napoleon suddenly noticed something dangling from the bottom of the letter. He set the letter down and pulled out the rolled-up paper attached to it.
Promissory note. Value: 1,000 livres. Issuer: Guillaume de Toulon. Issuing institution: Paris Central Chamber of Commerce.
[For the record, this is basically the same as me buying your patent, so even after my business gets big, if you come asking for royalties or whatever, I won’t give you a single coin. So don’t feel burdened—just take it. And stop being a petty bastard hiding in your room. When you finish reading this, come to my place. Whether you come pissed and beat me, or do whatever, I don’t care—do whatever you want.
—Guillaume de Toulon—]
“Yeah, you little bastard… I’m going to beat the shit out of you.”
Napoleon was crying.
Tears beaded up and fell onto the letter.
But they weren’t sad tears anymore.
“…So what you’re saying is…”
“Yes, sir. I’d be grateful if you let me complete up through the third-year curriculum all at once.”
“You’re a first-year in the upper course now. If you want to take everything up through third-year at once, that means learning what others study for three years in a single year—and it’ll be advanced curriculum. How do you plan to do that?”
The headmaster of the Paris Central Military School looked at the cadet who had come early in the morning with a worried face.
This impudent cadet had shown up out of nowhere and made a ridiculous demand: he had just finished the lower course and moved into the upper course, yet he wanted to graduate three years early because he would study three years’ worth of material at once.
“No matter how much passion and grit you have, our school exists to train officers of a high standard. Just as wine improves as time passes, students are the same. There are things you can only understand once your head has grown. Do you understand?”
After saying that, the headmaster looked at the cadet like he was waiting: If you have something to say, say it.
The cadet seemed to think for a moment, then spoke again.
“I can do it, sir. No—I can definitely do it.”
“Haa…”
The headmaster turned his head and sighed, then looked back at the cadet.
The cadet’s eyes shone without a trace of cloudiness.
“Tch. With that kind of stubborn conviction, even if I lecture him more, he won’t listen.”
The headmaster had seen eyes like that before.
People who believed they were so exceptional and unmatched that an average curriculum didn’t apply to them.
This cadet had those eyes.
Usually, that type fell into two categories: either a genius who truly wouldn’t appear again in this world, or someone running a fantasy because they’d failed the standard curriculum.
And among the people the headmaster had seen, the first case was almost nonexistent.
In moments like this, the only choice was to remind them of reality and make them back down.
The headmaster spoke again.
“What rank are you in your class right now?”
He stared straight at Napoleon.
His eyes said: If you’re really that great, show me how great you are.
But the headmaster’s gaze faltered at the cadet’s next words.
“First.”
“…First?”
“Yes, sir.”
Tch. The headmaster clicked his tongue again.
If he was first in the class, he had to be extremely smart—so why was he making such a ridiculous request?
Now there was nothing left to cite as a reason to refuse.
Fine.
You arrogant bastard. I’ll do as you say. Go ahead—ruin yourself.
“…All right. As you ask, we will teach you first-, second-, and third-year content at the same time.”
“!”
The cadet’s eyes flashed.
“However. Mark this.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Just because you’re studying three years’ worth at once, don’t think our instructors will let you take only one set of exams. You will take every exam three times—first-year, second-year, and third-year—each time. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hoo… honestly… fine. Leave.”
With a weary wave of his hand, the headmaster gestured for the cadet to go.
The cadet saluted, opened the door, and left, but the headmaster frowned as if a headache had just arrived.
“…Tch. Napoleon Bonaparte, was it? I don’t know why he’s doing this. What for? Money? Is he trying to finish in a year because he doesn’t have three years of tuition? No—he’s nobility too. Tuition is expensive, but not to the point he can’t pay it for three years.”
Pouring himself some of the wine he’d been saving, the headmaster thought.
“Yeah… there’s nowhere left to retreat now.”
Leaving the headmaster’s office, Napoleon muttered low.
The 1,000 livres Guillaume gave him was, of course, a huge sum.
But it was still tight to live on it for three years.
More than anything, his family back home was struggling financially, and he couldn’t just stand by.
So Napoleon made a gamble for the ages.
Finish three years of study in one year.
Then he could live decently for a year even on 500 livres,
and send 500 livres to his struggling family.
“Of course, it’ll be hard on me.”
So what?
With the money he’d been given, his family would be able to breathe.
And if everything went according to plan, he’d graduate early and start earning money sooner.
Even if it’s hard, it’s fine.
Because I’m Napoleon.