Ambitious Men of the New Era (1)

"You look far more at peace in death. And yet, there is still so much left to do."

Herbert Henry Asquith of the Liberal Party was a Member of Parliament, a former Prime Minister, and the leader who had guided the nation to victory. Having served as Prime Minister for nearly eight years, from 1908 to 1916, he had continued to run himself ragged for Great Britain even after losing his office.

One only had to look at him lying in his coffin. He had burned his very soul for Britain, reduced to nothing but skin and bones long before his heart finally stopped.

Every man feared death, but Herbert, who had endured agony far worse than death during his premiership, lay in his casket as if death were a far gentler master than life.

Winston Churchill gazed down at the late Prime Minister Herbert with a heavy, sorrowful heart. "We certainly... fought a great deal, didn't we?"

Just then, for some reason, Prime Minister Herbert's voice seemed to echo in his ear.

- Indeed we did. I always tried my best not to become obstinate, yet we were always stubborn, deaf to reason, and utterly incapable of understanding others.

Winston Churchill flinched, though of course, it wasn't an actual ghost. Still, Churchill was a brilliant man in his own right. He recalled a bizarre rumor he had once heard—that Prime Minister Herbert used to converse with his own 'ghost' in his office.

'So this is what it felt like...?' Herbert answered the thought echoing in Churchill's mind.

- Yes, exactly like this. In any case... the heavier the burden on one's shoulders, the more stubborn one becomes. I never thought I would turn out that way myself.

"You're only realizing that now? To only realize past sixty that everyone else is an idiot... you certainly took your time."

- Haha, quite. The answer was always so blindingly obvious to me, yet the others simply couldn't see it. Regardless... I am going to rest now.

Winston Churchill let out a dry chuckle. He wished he could keep this old phantom around just a little longer.

"Rest? Where could you possibly rest? Stahl is watching Europe with hawk-like eyes. He's gone and created some bizarre new thing called the Bancor."

- Haha. Even the afterlife has heard the news.

"What afterlife? Didn't you hear about it right before you kicked the bucket?"

- I am merely trying to play the part of a ghost. Must you be so literal?

Churchill smiled faintly. Recalling the rumors surrounding Herbert, he walked into the washroom and looked into the mirror. Sure enough, the spectral form of Prime Minister Herbert stood on the other side of the glass. His semi-translucent appearance was almost comical. Even in his imagination, the details were meticulously accurate.

- At any rate... that man Stahl is no ordinary foe.

"I am well aware of that."

- No, Churchill. You do not truly understand. The faint smile vanished from Herbert's face, his lips pressing into a grim, hard line.

- I just told you, did I not? The heavier the burden on one's shoulders, the more warped a man becomes. It is not just the weight of responsibility... What happens when the masses worship you, and sycophants swarm around you, begging for crumbs?

"Naturally, he would become an arrogant bastard who thinks he is the center of the universe. Just like us."

- And yet... Stahl is different. I do not comprehend how he does it. I am dead, so my grip on reality has faded, freeing me from those shackles. But Stahl...

"He is completely immune to the madness of power, as if he were already a dead man himself?"

- Yes. Stahl is... a giant who will reshape the world. Please, I beg of you, save the British Empire from his clutches.

Prime Minister Herbert had delivered his true final testament. Churchill closed his eyes for a brief moment. When he opened them again, Herbert was gone, vanished into thin air. Churchill bowed his head before the washroom mirror and offered a silent prayer.

"Rest in peace, Prime Minister Herbert."

In the days that followed, Churchill was swept up in a whirlwind of political chaos. Due to Herbert's mad, unilateral actions, the cabinet had to be replaced. Parliament was dissolved, and a general election was called to form a new government.

Clawing his way back from the brink after his disastrous Baltic campaign, Churchill fought tooth and nail to secure his parliamentary seat once more. He managed to resuscitate the ruined reputation of the Churchill family and ascended to the prestigious office of Foreign Secretary.

And the very first person Churchill sought out was none other than Stahl's mentor, John Maynard Keynes.

"Professor Keynes. You have designed something truly marvelous. Tell me, are you absolutely itching to be indicted for treason?"

"Treason? If loving peace is a treasonous offense, then I suppose I am a traitor. ...But tell me, Secretary Churchill, did you summon me here merely to pick a fight?"

Churchill smiled and shook his head. He had resolved not to behave like an obstinate old fool.

"Won't you take me on as a disciple as well? I am simply asking you to share a fraction of your vast reservoir of knowledge with me. Are we not fellow Englishmen, after all?"

"And if I refuse?"

"Well, then I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠suppose it's off to prison for treason for you."

At Churchill's cheeky banter, Keynes fell into deep thought for a moment before speaking with a heavy sigh.

"We must establish a system similar to the Bancor framework. And we must bring France into the fold as well."

"Now that sounds promising."

"I assure you, you will not like the rest of it. You must liberate India, East Africa, South Africa... all of them. Then, bring them in as member states and support their economic reconstruction. In truth, colonies are nothing more than a burden to the Empire—"

"Get out!"

Barely two minutes after promising himself he wouldn't act like a stubborn fool, Churchill roared in fury and kicked Keynes out of his office. Abandon the colonies? One only had to look at France, stripped of her colonies, to see the utter ruin that awaited.

Still, the idea regarding France wasn't entirely without merit. The mere thought of France being absorbed into Stahl's Bancor system was enough to send shivers down his spine.

"We must do something about France, and quickly."

Churchill began searching for an ally within France. Meanwhile, across the globe, ambitious men watched the newly shifting world order like jackals, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Japan had already amassed astronomical debts from the First Sino-Japanese War and the Russo-Japanese War. They had desperately needed to use the Great War as an opportunity to wipe their financial slate clean and break free from British influence. They should have done so, but...

"China has once again fallen to its knees before us! We have taken the first step toward realizing the Kanpaku's grand dream of marching across the continent and into India! Northern Manchuria's Harbin is our rightful territory! We have triumphed!"

"Cut the bullshit!"

"What the hell did you actually accomplish in Manchuria?!"

"We need to deal with the crushing national debt first!"

In the end, Japan failed to purge the economic and social rot that had steadily accumulated throughout its rapid modernization. Of course, even in the original history, they hadn't truly resolved these issues, but at this point in time, they should have at least been able to blind the public with the dazzling illusion of a rising sun.

Instead, nothing in the country was functioning properly. And there was no greater testament to this failure than Joseon.

"Vietnam... has been liberated?"

"It's not just Vietnam! All of the French colonies have been set free!"

"We can do it too!"

Joseon erupted in a fervor of revolutionary hope. However, unlike the original history, there was no sudden catalyst like the rumor of Emperor Gojong being poisoned. It was amidst this tense atmosphere that Gojong passed away naturally.

In truth, the single most impactful act of Gojong's entire life was his death. In the original timeline, the rumors of his poisoning had sparked the March 1st Movement. Now, his actual last words began to spread like wildfire across the eight provinces of Joseon.

Just as the Heungseon Daewongun's final words had been a confession of how much he missed his son, Gojong, facing his own end, left behind a poignant reflection on his life. The Emperor's simple yet deeply moving testament struck a chord. On March 1, 1919, the entire peninsula of Joseon erupted in an instant.

"A massive uprising has broken out in Gyeongseong!"

"We must dispatch troops immediately!"

"But... if we sink any more money into Joseon, our national treasury will completely collapse!"

With Japan's economy teetering on the brink of ruin, they had no choice but to grant Joseon far greater autonomy than the 'Cultural Rule' of the original timeline. Instead of a sham assembly packed with pro-Japanese collaborators, they were granted a genuine parliament. The Korean language was recognized as an official language alongside Japanese. For the moment, the situation in Joseon was pacified.

Yet, even if it meant declaring national bankruptcy, Japan should have sent troops to crush the uprising entirely. Like Yuan Shikai before them, the Japanese leadership was blind to the enemy lurking within their own borders.

"Forty-three years have passed since the Meiji Restoration... yet the wealth and glory promised by the Satsuma-Choshu oligarchy have proven to be nothing but lies!"

"And look at our foreign policy! Are we anything more than Britain's lapdogs?!"

If one could separate the message from the messenger, it was a remarkably sharp critique that pierced straight to the heart of Japan's systemic rot. They claimed all subjects were equal under the Emperor, yet in reality, power was monopolized by a handful of clans—Satsuma, Choshu, and Tosa. But as always, the messenger mattered far more than the message. After all, even the Nazis occasionally made points that sounded reasonable on paper.

"The oligarchic swine have forgotten the spirit of the Restoration and the grace of His Majesty the Emperor! They run rampant as they please! And what are the tools they used to usurp His Majesty's authority? First, the cabinet! Second, the military high command! And third, the zaibatsu!"

"Hear, hear!"

"He speaks the truth!"

At the words of the young man known as Kita Ikki, the gathered junior officers raised their sake cups in roaring agreement. Kita Ikki was a radical revolutionary who had been dedicating himself to revolutionary activities in China before being forced to return home due to the outbreak of war.

Sitting among them was Mutaguchi Renya, a man who lived his life day-to-day like a mundane bureaucrat. He had been dragged to this gathering against his will by colleagues who assumed that, because he was stuck in a dead-end administrative post, he must be harboring deep-seated resentment. Uncomfortable with the treasonous atmosphere, Renya spoke up with a sarcastic sneer.

"Pardon me, but you have plenty of grand assertions and not a single shred of evidence to back them up, do you?"

"On the contrary, the evidence is all around us. Look at the policies enacted by the Diet! Soldiers are those who pledge their absolute loyalty to His Majesty. For the Diet to unilaterally downsize the military—how can that be called anything but treason?"

"And what else?"

"There is more! On paper, the Government-General of Joseon answers directly to His Majesty. Yet the Diet, with its weak-willed handling of the Joseon crisis, is effectively stealing the Government-General from the Emperor's grasp!"

The young officers cheered wildly at Kita Ikki's words. Well, I suppose one could find reason to complain, Renya thought, nodding along half-heartedly. Even so, he had absolutely no intention of joining forces with these fanatics.

Mutaguchi Renya was a man who could easily be called the last samurai of his era, his mind thoroughly saturated with an outdated, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠romanticized bushido spirit. Indeed, he was the very officer who, in another life, would mobilize a million-strong army on sheer 'samurai spirit' alone to ignite the Second Sino-Japanese War. Renya let out a quiet, mocking chuckle and muttered under his breath.

"If you're all so deeply dissatisfied with the nation, why don't you draw your swords like the patriots of the Restoration did...?"

At that moment, Kita Ikki's eyes flashed with a dangerous light.

"The time is not yet ripe. However, Officer Renya speaks the truth! You have just lit the fuse to the fire burning in my chest!"

"......?"

"Now it is clear to me. Ito Hirobumi, Takasugi Shinsaku, Saigo Takamori—were they not all mere youths under thirty when they reshaped ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠this world?"

"......?!"

"We, too, shall change the world just as those patriots did! We shall become the pioneers of the Taisho Restoration!"

The young officers roared with fanatical resolve. The Imperial Way Faction had been formed! Realizing things had spun completely out of control, Mutaguchi Renya sobered up instantly. W-What on earth is wrong with these lunatics...?

He might have prattled on about the samurai spirit, but he lacked the raw courage to openly oppose them. If he made a scene here, there was no telling what these crazed young officers might do to him. Renya hurriedly stood up, attempting to slip away unnoticed, but...

Kita Ikki's sharp gaze locked onto him.

"Officer Renya, come over here!"

"I-I should really..."

"You are truly the patriot among patriots!"

Kita Ikki grabbed Renya by the wrist and hoisted his arm high into the air. Of course, Kita Ikki didn't actually trust Renya. How dare you try to throw a wrench in my speech? Let's see how you like being dragged down with us!

Seeing the malicious smirk on Kita Ikki's face, Renya finally realized the sheer gravity of his predicament, and tears began to stream down his face. His military career, his dreams of promotion—everything was utterly ruined. Should I... just resign?