Ferdinand (1)

In twenty-first-century soap operas, a common trope involves a wealthy matriarch slapping a poor girl who fell in love with her youngest son with an envelope of cash, sneering, "Take this money and stay away from my son. Is it not enough?!" If that is the case today, what must it have been like in the year 1900? Archduke Franz Ferdinand, the heir to the throne and a man of unusually delicate sensibilities, was living out a grueling, blood-drying romance every single day.

"Franz! How dare you bring ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a mere lady-in-waiting to an imperial event!"

"Your Imperial Majesty, Sophie Chotek is not a lady-in-waiting! She is the woman who will become my Empress!"

"Water! Bring me water! I must wash my ears!"

The Kaiser threw tantrums worthy of King Yeongjo himself. No matter how many times the Archduke introduced his beloved to his uncle in hopes of persuading him, every attempt over the years had ended in utter failure. And it wasn't just the Kaiser. Every single member of the imperial court was the heir's enemy.

"Your Imperial Highness is destined to become the master of a vast empire."

"And?"

"No one will mock Your Highness for having a mistress or two instead of an Empress. Even His Majesty would tolerate that much."

"Oh, Sophie, I am so sorry. Do not listen to such drivel. Get out of my sight this instant!"

The attempts at appeasement were relentlessly cruel, made right in front of Sophie. Yet, one could not simply blame the Kaiser, the court, and the nobility. For a politician, marriage was a highly sophisticated political act. It was a means of forging the most reliable alliances, while simultaneously maintaining the status that served as the foundation of imperial power.

Yet Archduke Franz Ferdinand had thrown away this free pass for status preservation and alliance-building with a single, romantic punch. Blinded by love, Franz was a rebel among rebels, surpassing even Crown Prince Sado. Though his mental state was thoroughly battered, the Archduke was not the type to meekly climb into a wooden rice chest like Sado did.

Without exchanging a single word, Franz and Sophie relocated to his private estate. Since he despised the very sight of the Kaiser, he rarely stayed at the palace. Upon returning to his residence...

"Your Highness, Franz. I am alright. Please, do not be so angry."

"Not be angry? Sophie, how can even you say such a thing!"

"No, it's not... I only..."

"I-I am sorry, Sophie. I... I was just..."

"No, it is fine. It just breaks my heart to see you suffer so much, Your Highness. Perhaps if I were not here..."

"Please! I beg of you, never say such things!"

Clasping each other's hands, Sophie and Franz indulged in a melodramatic scene for quite some time. Yet, beneath it all, a profound sense of skepticism began to gnaw at him.

"An empire like this deserves to ruin itself and vanish."

"How can you say such a thing...!"

"If only I were the president of France or the United States... No, I do not even need that. I would gladly become a lowly factory worker, if only it meant I could be with you."

"Your Highness! Never speak of such things to me again. You are destined to become the Emperor of this empire!"

"...Sophie, forgive me. My emotions got the better of me. You are indeed the one who will be Empress."

Though Franz bowed his head at Sophie's scolding, the burning hatred in his heart was far from extinguished. He loathed the empire. It was not solely because of the imperial court's endless opposition to his marriage to Sophie—though, of course, that was the primary reason.

In Franz's eyes, the empire was in a precarious state, teetering on the brink of a revolution that could destroy it at any moment. Although they managed to suppress discontent from various classes by guaranteeing broad freedom of expression and establishing a high-quality welfare system, this was only a temporary fix. The fundamental issue was that the Austro-Hungarian Empire was an outdated absolute monarchy. Worse still, it possessed a fatal weakness: it was a multi-ethnic state.

Serving an emperor of one's own ethnicity was irritating enough, but serving one of a foreign race? The dominant German and Hungarian populations of the empire made up barely forty percent of the total. To the Czechs, Slovaks, Romanians, Poles, and countless other ethnicities, the Kaiser was nothing more than an invading warlord akin to Genghis Khan. Without fundamental systemic reform, the empire was destined to be torn apart, falling behind advanced nations like France and Great Britain.

If I become Emperor...?

He could easily throw away a trivial throne. Perhaps it would be better to hold elections like America to choose a president. After all, wouldn't the Germans have no qualms about electing an emperor, following the precedent of the Holy Roman Empire? Or perhaps he could hand over all power to a parliament, just like Great Britain.

Of course, no matter how much Archduke Franz worried about the nation, there was absolutely nothing he could do.

I truly have nothing but my title as heir.

Though Sophie was beside him, doing her best to soothe him, the reality was that he was powerless without the backing of the imperial family. Strip away his overwhelming title of "Archduke," and his situation was worse than that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of Marx Stahl, who had become the saint of the slums. He was roughly on par with Stahl's father, Schmidt Stahl. All a man like him could do was open a newspaper and curse the state of the country.

Archduke Franz forced himself to forget his bleak reality and opened the newspaper.

"Marx Stahl..."

"Your Highness. He is the one you have been so fond of lately."

"He is only seventeen? What was I doing when I was seventeen...?"

"Why, Your Highness spent those years busy trailing behind the imperial family at official events."

"We were both busy, yet he and I are worlds apart. I envy him."

At some point, the newspapers had begun clamoring about penicillin every single day. It was only natural. A drug that selectively targeted and killed bacteria was nothing short of a miracle for humanity. Of course, as ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠some of penicillin's limitations were gradually revealed, its frequency in the headlines dwindled. It was inevitable. Discoveries that transcended their era were usually buried, their true value recognized only after a decade or more had passed.

Yet, remarkably, penicillin resurfaced.

"Gathering scientists and entrepreneurs to pitch his discovery like a salesman?"

Although he had failed to find a proper benefactor, he had gathered like-minded scientists to continue his research. But that was not all. When every single request for human clinical trials was rejected, Franz had truly thought penicillin was finished.

Hmph, of course. Discoveries like this only gain traction when people's feet are held to the fire.

It was a natural consequence of encroaching on the doctors' livelihoods and flipping the bird to the academic establishment. Not only were the inherent issues of penicillin unresolved, but the psychological aversion to the label of "mold juice" also persisted. For penicillin to gain attention again, the Kaiser would have to contract tuberculosis, or a war would have to break out. Just as penicillin seemed destined to run aground once more...

Marx Stahl and his band of well-meaning doctors were all bourgeois softies. Entering the slums meant risking not just their wallets but the very suits on their backs; they would be lucky to escape with their lives. Yet, remarkably, they had gritted their teeth, marched into the slums, and proven penicillin's worth. From that moment on, Archduke Franz began to pay close attention to Marx Stahl. He followed Stahl's every move as if he were a devoted fan.

"How absurd. He is being treated like Saint Peter, curing diseases in the slums? He is even taking confessions?"

"What is this? He wrote this essay at the Gymnasium?"

"The Interpretation of Dreams... It seems to have been written by Dr. Freud, Stahl's associate. Truly perverted."

Of course, there was no shortage of popular figures in Austria. There were men like Karl Lueger, who, after being sidelined by the nobility, secured the mayoralty of Vienna through filthy, anti-Semitic demagoguery. Yet, the reason Archduke Franz singled out Stahl was simple.

This fellow is a rebel, just like me.

It was a sense of kinship.

...And I envy him. I envy this young man to the bone.

It was envy. Unlike Marx Stahl, who saved lives with a mere speck of mold, Franz could not even protect the single woman he loved, despite holding the grand title of Archduke.

And so, the moment Marx Stahl was imprisoned due to the slander of Mayor Karl Lueger, Archduke Franz Ferdinand resolved to take action.

In the original timeline, the Archduke would have been deeply mired in despair and depression, completely isolated after secretly marrying against his family's wishes, and living in seclusion in Bohemia, far removed from politics. But inspired by Marx Stahl's defiance, Archduke Franz found the courage to make a bold, risky move to rescue him.

My release proceeded with astonishing speed. Archduke Franz Ferdinand simply asked for my name, gave a brief nod to the police officer, and the terrified guard practically threw open the cell door. Law enforcement in this country was a joke. Locked up because you offended someone high up? Just bring in someone even higher! Perhaps a feudal empire wasn't so bad after all. In any case, I found myself swept into the Archduke's carriage, and an incredibly awkward silence ensued. Was this really happening? Just moments ago, I had been dreaming of a bourgeois republican revolution—the first stage of the grand plan—and now I was riding alongside the heir to the imperial throne.

No, wait. Perhaps this is an opportunity.

My current goal ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was to convert my public recognition into political influence. I had secured the recognition by developing penicillin, but I had just realized that without a powerful shoulder to lean on in this wretched empire, my voice would never carry. In other words, I needed a patron!

"I owe you my deepest gratitude for sparing me from a terrible ordeal, Your Imperial Highness. For the imperial grace to reach a humble commoner like myself is surely a great blessing for the nation..."

"Save your pleasantries. In this suffocating country, this is about the only thing I am capable of doing."

"Your Highness..."

"Still, I am lucky enough to have the Kaiser as an uncle, so I might as well put it to use, shouldn't I? If you ever wish to seek asylum, just say the word. I will fund it out of my own pocket and send you to America."

No matter how informal the Archduke was reputed to be, hearing him speak so bluntly caught me completely off guard. But... this man...

"Your Highness. Are you alright?"

"Hmm? What do you mean?"

"You do not look well."

Though we had only just met today, it was written plain as day on his face. Besides, I had spent years looking at the faces of the patients visiting Freud's clinic. He wore the expression of a man who had personally endured every tragedy the world had to offer. His eyes, weary from carrying a mountain of sorrow, were a dead giveaway. To anyone, he looked like a textbook case of severe depression.

"I suppose you read the newspapers often. Or perhaps you simply hear my name whispered on every street corner. There is no point in hiding it."

"In that case, when do you plan to marry?"

"...I did so last month."

"Pardon?!"

"You wouldn't know. It was done in secret. Though I wished for everyone to acknowledge it."

The future Emperor of a nation, marrying in secret? This man was far more reckless than I had imagined.

"My uncle, the imperial family, the nobility—not a single soul attended. Not even the journalists! I poured fortunes into the press, yet they refused to publish a single article."

Franz let out a hollow laugh, past the point of anger and thoroughly resigned. This man, much like myself, was completely stripped of political influence. In fact, his frustration must have been far greater than mine. To sit on the very steps of the throne as the Archduke and yet be utterly powerless... Well, at least he wasn't locked in a wooden rice chest, so I suppose that was a silver lining.

"In any case, I have rescued you. I am in no position to act, so I had to overextend myself this time. Now, it is up to you to provide me with a justification."

"A justification..."

"Yes. A justification for why I absolutely had to rescue a man who penned an essay mocking the imperial family."

I had a feeling I knew exactly what Franz wanted. And perhaps, I was the only one who could give it to him. I had to play my cards right, win over the Archduke, and secure him as my ultimate patron. After all, if I wanted to shake things up on a grand scale, I would need both his prestigious name and his deep pockets.