Wilhelm II stood before the map-covered wall, the room thick with cigar smoke and imperial perfume. He radiated the strange mixture that defined him:
majestic yet insecure, benevolent yet explosive, ambitious yet chronically unlucky.
To Zhan Ge—now Prince Oskar—he looked exactly like the man history remembered:
A ruler with talent, yes.
But a ruler surrounded by stronger enemies.
A man whose confidence outpaced his wisdom.
A man whose empire would be dragged into a war it could not win.
Oskar studied his "father" silently.
If this were a game, he thought, he'd be a mid-level boss with high morale but terrible late-game scaling.
The Kaiser's voice boomed:
"Oskar, have you understood your assignment? In one week, you are to report to the Kiel Naval Academy. It will shape your future."
Behind him, Crown Prince Wilhelm stood with a smug smile—the kind aristocrats mastered from birth.
Oskar swallowed.
Going to Kiel meant losing four years.
Four years he needed for:
Money.
Connections.
Influence.
And maybe saving the world from two wars, three genocides, and several bad fashion trends.
He needed to refuse. He had to refuse. Even if refusing meant angering the most explosive monarch in Europe.
He took one breath.
Then another.
Then he said carefully, voice deep and steady:
"Father… I don't want to go to the Naval Academy."
You could have heard a pin drop on a wool carpet.
Wilhelm II froze mid-gesture, eyes widening.
The German Emperor was not a man accustomed to resistance—especially not from his own son, his own household, his own bloodline.
The silence hung heavy for several seconds.
Then Crown Prince Wilhelm smiled in a way that would have made a snake proud.
The Kaiser's eyebrow twitched.
He inhaled sharply.
And for the first time in his life, Oskar felt the full pressure of imperial authority focused squarely on him.
"Oskar…" Wilhelm II said slowly, "what did you say?"
Oskar forced himself not to flinch.
He had prepared one of his stoic one-liners.
A powerful line.
A line to show conviction and masculinity and determination.
It came out of his mouth before the rational part of him could stop it:
"I will not sail."
Crown Prince Wilhelm choked—literally choked—trying not to laugh.
Wilhelm II's face darkened like a storm front over the North Sea.
"Oskar!" Crown Prince Wilhelm barked, stepping forward with theatrical outrage.
"This is Father's will—the will of the Emperor! How dare you refuse? Do you intend to shame the House of Hohenzollern?!"
He spoke like a man delivering a sermon to peasants.
Inwardly, he was dancing.
This idiot is digging his own grave.
Good. Dig harder.
Oskar stared at him with a blank expression.
Inside, he was screaming.
Wilhelm II lifted a hand sharply, silencing the Crown Prince.
"Oskar," he said, voice dangerously calm, "explain yourself."
This was bad.
Very bad.
He needed a reason that was not:
– "I know the future and you're all doomed."
– "I need money for battleships that haven't been invented yet."
– "My life depends on Germany not collapsing like an undercooked soufflé."
– "I need to protect China from the Second Sino-Japanese War."
– "I want world peace so I can take a vacation."
He tried to think.
His brain gave him nothing.
So he went with emotional honesty.
Terrible idea.
But he had no other.
"Father…" he began.
Wilhelm II leaned forward.
"I do not want to study… anything. I want to do something practical. Build something. Contribute my own way."
Wilhelm II stared at him.
Then his face turned red.
Then purple.
Then a shade that didn't exist on the human spectrum.
"Oskar," he said, voice shaking with outrage, "you are a prince of the German Empire. Your future is service. Duty. Honor. Your brothers accepted theirs without question!"
He slammed a fist onto the table, rattling inkpots.
"Do you intend to dishonor our name?!"
Oskar held his ground, even as his stomach tried to escape out his back.
Inside, he thought:
Oh god he's going full Kaiser mode. Abort! Abort!
But outwardly, he kept the stoic face of a granite statue.
Crown Prince Wilhelm whispered under his breath,
"This is the point where you apologize, little brother."
Oskar knew he should.
He absolutely knew he should.
Instead, another Arnold-style one-liner slipped out, uninvited:
"I must forge my own destiny."
It echoed through the room.
Crown Prince Wilhelm covered his mouth to hide a grin that threatened to break his face.
Wilhelm II, for the first time in his life, looked like he might actually have a stroke.
"Oskar…" he said, voice trembling with fury, "you have disappointed me. Deeply."
There it was.
The imperial verdict.
The crushing disappointment of a monarch and father combined.
Oskar felt the blow in his chest, even though he knew it was coming.
This was the moment that would define his relationship with the Kaiser. And he had just nuked it with a Schwarzenegger quote.
The Kaiser straightened, lifting his chin, the embodiment of imperial wrath.
"Oskar von Preußen," he declared, "you will report to the Kiel Naval Academy in one week. You will remain there for four years. You will return ONLY with my permission."
"And until the day you leave, you will be confined to your room.
Do you understand?"
Oskar lowered his head.
He wanted to shout:
Father, I'm trying to save this empire! I can see the iceberg from the tree tops!
But he said nothing.
Silence was safer.
Wilhelm II dismissed him with a violent wave.
"Oskar. OUT."
Oskar turned stiffly…
And delivered one final, disastrous, involuntary one-liner:
"…I'll be back."
Crown Prince Wilhelm made a strangled noise.
Wilhelm II's eye twitched.
Oskar walked out before the universe could punish him further.
Karl von Jonarett, the dwarf attendant, leaned against the wall, arms folded.
One look at Oskar's face told him everything.
"So," Karl said dryly, "how many centuries of Hohenzollern heritage did you insult this time?"
Oskar exhaled deeply.
"All of them."
Karl patted his arm sympathetically.
"Well. Good news. You have a week before they ship you off to military sailor-school. Bad news: you'll be locked in your room until then."
Oskar groaned softly.
Karl nodded solemnly.
"I'll smuggle you snacks. And perhaps a book titled 'How Not To Speak Like a Cursed Statue.' "
Oskar stared into the middle distance.
"Failure… is not an option."
Karl blinked. "Oh excellent. Another one-liner. We're all doomed."