Heart of Steel
"Damn it!"
However, opportunities are eternal.
The second attempt had failed as well. I thought it was nearly perfect...
I tore up the letter that had appeared in place of the game UI. Tossing the shredded paper into the trash, I slumped down in my chair.
"What the hell did I do wrong?"
I shouldn't have even started the game if this was how it was going to be. Mom was right—quit gaming and study instead. There wasn't a single wrong word in what she said.
A fully immersive World War II strategy game. Hearts of Steel 4. I loved it so much that I poured over 4,000 hours into it. That day, like always, I was playing casually and went to log out. That's when the game screen started crumbling away. March 1900. I possessed the body of a ten-year-old boy in Germany.
And then a letter arrived for me. If I wanted to return to the real world, I had to save Germany just like I did in the game. In other words, achieve the victory condition.
"What the hell does 'saving Germany' even mean?"
It was an absurd condition, but with no other options, I studied my ass off, graduated as a second lieutenant from the Army Officer Candidate Training Corps, and joined World War I. But during the war, I got hit by French artillery and went out in a blaze of glory. My first attempt ended as ashes and chunks of meat.
But that wasn't the end. Right after dying, I was back as the ten-year-old boy.
In my second attempt, I cleanly gave up on winning World War I. Instead, I shone as a general during World War II. I got Germany right to the brink of victory. My decisions were spot-on, after all. But no matter how right I was, Hitler's idiocy made victory nothing but a mirage from the start.
Hitler's wrong orders dragged Germany back to ruin, and even then, he blamed all the defeats on his generals.
Hitler, screaming at the top of his lungs while hurling his pen and maps—it was utterly pathetic.
"Ha... If only there was no Hitler."
And so the third attempt arrived. I was back again. Trapped in an eternal loop that wouldn't end until Germany won.
Outside the window, everything was peaceful. March 3, 1900. Berlin, before the flames of war devoured everything like a storm. But I couldn't let this peace fool me. This place was an endless hell.
"Lucas. You there?"
My father came looking for me then.
"You've been behaving yourself. Lucas, as you know, the Falkenrain family doesn't do birthday parties or gifts after age ten. At ten, you're almost an adult now. You should prepare yourself."
"Yes, Father."
The one silver lining was my decent background. It had helped a lot in the second loop too. My name was Lucas von Falkenrain, the eldest son of the Junker family Falkenrain—which didn't exist in the original history.
This time... I won't make any mistakes.
"Father."
"What is it, Lucas?"
"I want to become a soldier."
This time, not a single mistake or hesitation could be tolerated. Everything had to be perfect. Only then could I break Germany free from the shackles of defeat.
I declared to my father out of the blue that I wanted to be a soldier. His expression brightened.
The Falkenrains were Junkers. Most family members became diplomats, civil servants, or soldiers. Dreaming of the military was something to celebrate.
"A soldier, eh? That's the spirit for a real man. You'll fulfill your old man's dream in his stead!"
"I'll earn military honors and restore the family's glory. I believe becoming a knight for the nation is the noble destiny my soul points toward."
"You... you've changed somehow. Alright. I'll... look forward to it. Need anything?"
Worry flickered in Father's eyes, but he was clearly pleased. It didn't matter. I needed the family's support to soar from the start.
"I need to study for officer school. I'd like a space to focus, plus a tutor, notebooks, fountain pens, and ink."
"Done. I'll make it happen."
Officer school first. The gymnasium curriculum was still ahead, but prepping now would shorten the timeline. At least faster than last time. Climb ranks as quick as possible, join World War I, rack up medals. Become the people's hero.
This time, I planned to replace Hitler myself.
1903. I finished the Catholic gymnasium curriculum on Berlin's outskirts and entered the Grosserichsfeld Cadet Training Corps right away. Top grades throughout, plus a recommendation letter praising my military zeal. Passed the officer candidate exam with flying colors. All as planned—no issues since it matched the previous loop.
"Hey, Lucas. What're you thinking so hard about?"
"Herz."
"Tactics drill soon. Move it or we'll be rolling in the mud."
"Thanks, Herz."
The Grosserichsfeld Officer Candidate Training Corps was as Prussian as ever, just like I remembered. Drill above all, pre-modern tactics and strategy drilled in. Cram-school level indoctrination, plus hazing from seniors and instructors under the guise of building stamina and discipline.
But even hell has its aces, and good relationships make it bearable. I was a prime example. Buddies with classmates, seniors, officers, even instructors.
I pulled out all the stops. Used past-loop memories to note likes and dislikes, then made myself memorable. Bribes for some, booze for others. Honor for a few, my Junker Falkenrain name for the rest.
Result? Ace cadet and social king of Grosserichsfeld.
Time to head out. Might be late.
I wrapped up, donned my uniform, and stepped outside.
"Attention! Salute the major!"
Snap—
Tactics drill class began. A mix of practice and theory, key subject for top scores. We were still candidates—stamina and drill over strategy. So classes were irrelevant crap: rolls, PT, runs.
But not today, if memory served. Surprise questions incoming.
"Start with a run. Flag and back. Last one gets my boot! Go!"
Candidates bolted. Bookworms lagged; fit ones like me and roommate Herz returned quick.
But Herz stopped mid-run, waving me ahead.
"Go first, Lucas."
"What're you doing?"
"Can't ignore those guys."
Herz turned, pushing the stragglers. Same as last loop—too selfless. War took him first anyway, Russian barrage. The memory hit hard.
This loop, I was different. No standing by.
"Together."
I turned back, helped Herz push. We two came last.
Herz would get beaten for it. Reasons aside, stragglers get ditched. Instructor wanted to hammer that home with fists. War's reality—I felt it as a WWII general. Can't save everyone. Sacrifice a few to save the many, hurt the enemy more. "All together" is fantasy.
"Lucas. Herz. You two were last. Attention."
We froze at attention. Sure enough, boot to the chest—down we went, tumbling.
"What did I say? Last gets thrashed?"
"Yes, sir."
Unlike last loop, no more beating. He saw my face, softened. Connections pay off.
"Helping stragglers looks good, but war ain't romantic. Risk yourself for them? Bullets don't care good or bad. You softies just rack up casualties. Up."
He clapped once, glanced at me, sighed.
"Lucas. Let off this time. Back in position."
"Position!"
Fresh off a kick, Herz grinned heading back. Soft-hearted fool... Hope I can save him this loop. Tough, but.