-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 17
Chapter Title: A Cordial Family Meeting (1)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
All the great minds of the British Empire come from Eton.
It was a statement that would make places like Harrow or Winchester foam at the mouth, but the staff at Eton genuinely believed it.
While they were all prestigious schools of nearly indistinguishable merit, it was a fact that Eton was recently considered the very best in Britain.
In particular, Eton's headmaster, John Keate, was proud that Eton was the finest school and that he himself had made it even greater.
Having served as headmaster for a remarkable 22 years, since 1809, he had nurtured countless talents who would one day be responsible for the nation.
At first, there was criticism that his policy of prioritizing tradition and discipline above all else was too stifling, but look at the results.
The high nobility welcomed Eton's return to the strict traditions and discipline of old, and did not the newly rich also consider it a joy to join in such traditions?
There is no value greater than a tradition built over time, and it is something absolute that must be protected as long as Eton exists.
John Keate had always vowed never to change this policy until the day he left the school.
And today, he was to meet a student he wished to see for himself was worthy of this tradition.
'Killian Gore. Son of Arthur Gore, the 3rd Earl of Arran. An illegitimate child of mixed Asian blood.'
Eton was a place where the sons of Britain's highest nobility, as well as those of rising merchant magnates and legal scholars, came to study.
Naturally, he reviewed the basic background of every student he interviewed.
So, he had been utterly perplexed when he first received this information.
His birth was not only unseemly, but it also lacked even a hint of tradition.
Of course, many sons from families with less-than-stellar traditions had been admitted recently, and he had no desire to take issue with that.
The problem was that this student had appeared with a letter of recommendation from the Duke of Wellington.
Though the Duke was now in the opposition after losing the recent election, the name Wellington carried immense weight at Eton.
Was it about six years into his tenure as headmaster?
When news of the Duke of Wellington's victory at the Battle of Waterloo arrived, Eton was thrown into a literal frenzy of celebration.
Even Keate, renowned for his strictness, had allowed the students to cheer and exult to their hearts' content that day.
Afterward, he invited the Duke of Wellington to give a speech, and merely publicizing his words caused the competition for new admissions to skyrocket to an incomparable degree.
—The victory of Waterloo was won not on the battlefield, but here on the grounds of Eton.
It was a *slight* embellishment, but since the results were good, all was well that ended well, was it not?
In any case, Keate, having profited handsomely from this Waterloo marketing, could not refuse the Duke of Wellington's request.
This was precisely why he, the headmaster, had decided to personally conduct the new student's interview.
The fact that this young boy had come with the Duke's second son, Charles Wellesley, was also quite surprising.
In fact, both of the Duke of Wellington's sons were children he remembered vividly.
Both brothers had attended Eton and were brilliant students who went on to Oxford.
Could this boy, Killian, be a talent comparable to them?
As he waited with a mix of anticipation and doubt, a classic carriage glided onto the school grounds.
Keate first greeted his former student, who had stepped out of the carriage.
"Welcome. It feels like only yesterday I saw you here on these grounds, and now you've grown so splendidly."
"It's been a long time, sir. I'm pleased to see you looking so well. My father also sends his regards."
"I am simply grateful that you would visit even after graduating. I'm suddenly reminded of you competing against Gladstone in the speech competition."
"Haha… I was utterly defeated, but it's still a fond memory. He was a truly brilliant fellow. Ah, of course, he's still a brilliant fellow now."
At the name of a schoolmate who had studied with him and gone on to Oxford around the same time, a natural smile graced Wellesley's lips.
"Indeed. Are you still in contact with him?"
"We're both busy, so we don't get to meet in person. I just hear news of him from time to time. The latest I've heard is that he'll run for election in two or three years. Even for a supreme elite like him, it won't be easy to win his very first election."
"Still, the Gladstone I remember seems like the sort who could win on his first try without any trouble."
"To be honest, sir, I think so too. But sir, the student you'll be interviewing today is, in my opinion, no less than him. I believe he might even be far more remarkable."
He doubted it could be true to that extent, but Wellesley wasn't one to invent stories, so his anticipation rose slightly.
Considering the Duke of Wellington himself had written a letter of recommendation for a child with such a heap of disadvantages, perhaps Wellesley's words were true.
As it happened, he had been thinking that in another three to five years, it might be time to step down from his position as headmaster.
This might be the last time he personally interviewed a student, so he could only hope that the boy named Killian would meet his expectations.
* * *
"Welcome, Killian Gore, was it? It is a pleasure to meet you."
"Hello, I am Killian Gore. It is an honor to meet you, Mr. John Keate, a man so renowned as the head of Eton."
Whether it was because Wellesley had coached him beforehand or because of the Duke's letter of recommendation, Keate greeted me with a very friendly response.
True to the advance information that he was not just a man who valued tradition but was practically a tradition fanatic, I maintained a perfectly poised posture throughout the entire interview.
"I was told you've been in London for only about a year, yet you've acquired a great deal of knowledge in that short time. It's most impressive."
"Thank you."
"As you know, our Eton is a prestigious school that prides itself on its long history and tradition. If you don't mind, could I hear why you chose Eton over all other places?"
"That is because, as you said, sir, Eton is a school that values its long traditions."
The headmaster smiled gently and slowly shook his head.
"There is no prestigious school that does not value tradition. That would be true for Harrow, Winchester, and Westminster as well."
"That is true. However, my father, the Earl of Arran, has always said that Eton is currently at the forefront of preserving and cultivating that tradition. When I asked Mr. Wellesley, he said that this trend has grown even stronger since you became headmaster."
"That has been my policy. I wonder, might such an atmosphere be a burden for one so young?"
"On the contrary, it will be of great help."
I smiled more confidently than ever. It was a victory of preparation, as I had been certain a question like this would come up.
"I believe what is more important than preserving tradition is creating tradition. But I have learned that such things cannot be created simply by wishing for them. Since you must already be aware, I will be frank: my foundation is weak. I wouldn't be surprised to hear whispers behind my back about my lack of pedigree, whatever may be said to my face."
"There are no such ill-mannered individuals at our Eton, so do not concern yourself with it."
"But the world outside is not so. Therefore, I wish to stay here, a place that values the authority of tradition more than any other school, and forge a new tradition for myself and my family."
A man like Keate, who had produced countless politicians, would easily guess how the Duke of Wellington intended to use me.
A catalyst to easily assimilate Ireland, and a hunting dog to tear into reactionaries in their stead.
And as a bonus, a handler who could one day interpret the language of the yellow, talking monkeys from the East—that is how they see my use.
For over an hour, I continued to praise the traditions of Britain and Eton, signaling my readiness to be perfectly assimilated, and finished answering Keate's questions.
And Keate, now convinced that Killian Gore was a fitting lubricant to ensure the smooth operation of the British Empire's system, decided on my admission on the spot.
"The official announcement will be made in a few months, but I see no need to keep you waiting, as you brought a letter from His Grace the Duke. Having spoken with you directly, I am also amazed by the insight you possess for your age. It seems Major Wellesley saw you quite clearly."
"Thank you!"
"I hope the knowledge you acquire during your time here will help resolve the long-standing conflict between Ireland and England. A letter with the necessary items for admission will be sent to your residence when the official announcement is made, so please check for it then."
What? Can he just say he's accepting me so openly like this without any repercussions?
This truly is the romantic 19th century. A selection process so transparent it's unimaginable in modern times is the norm here.
How fortunate.
I was momentarily dumbfounded by the completely unexpected early notice of admission, but I quickly bowed my head again and exclaimed my thanks.
Since my admission was confirmed sooner than I thought, I could now finish my preparations with a peaceful mind.
Now I just need to go straight home and discuss things with James…
"Ah, now then, I shall tell you about the mindset you must have as a student of Eton. This will be invaluable knowledge, so listen carefully. Ah, but before that, I should give you a brief overview of Eton's history."
"…Pardon?"
"Eton was founded in 1441, and His Majesty King Henry VI at the time…"
"…"
Right. Once I'm enrolled, I should make it a point to avoid this headmaster as much as possible.
In the end, Wellesley, who had been waiting outside, couldn't bear the boredom and left first, while I was subjected to a three-hour special lecture on the history and tradition of Eton. Shedding a small tear out of boredom... no, out of overwhelming emotion.
Maybe I should have gone to Harrow instead of Eton…
"As expected of the greatest school in the British Empire!"
"Truly, this is Eton!"
Of course, during that time, I employed with all my might the skill I had honed in my past life of thoroughly divorcing my words from my true feelings.
* * *
"Hahaha! James, did you hear that? Our son was accepted, right? That was as good as telling him he's in, wasn't it?"
"Yes. If he spent until sunset explaining the duties of an Eton student only to reject him, he'd have to be a lunatic."
"Excellent, excellent. He said the official acceptance will be announced soon, so we can speed up our plans."
My acceptance had been a foregone conclusion from the moment I received the Duke's letter of recommendation, but I suppose a parent's heart can't help but worry.
Upon hearing the interview results, my father burst into a heartier laugh than ever before, unable to hide his joy.
"Starting next year, my son will be a student at Eton! Hahaha! Excellent, excellent. After Eton, if you go to Oxford or Cambridge, no one in this country will be able to look down on you for your knowledge. And since you've even received the Duke of Wellington's letter of recommendation, not even our relatives will dare say you're unqualified."
"Our relatives?"
"Yes. Since I had no children before, my nephew was my heir. But now that you, my son, are here, it is only natural that everything be set right. I've been consulting with lawyers and have spoken with my close friends in the nobility, so you just trust me and rest easy."
"Thank you. But I'm worried that I'll cause you to fight with our relatives."
I knew he had been running around dealing with this issue, but I hadn't realized he had already finished all the preparations.
Frankly, unless my relatives were living saints, they were bound to oppose my father's decision.
It would be one thing if I were a legitimate son, but how could they react well to him bringing in an illegitimate child with Asian blood to inherit the entire estate and title?
Putting myself in their shoes, if I were the relative who was supposed to inherit, I'd probably be too dumbfounded to speak.
"Don't you worry. We're all gathering for the first time in a while next week, and I plan to settle this matter once and for all there. I'll handle everything cleanly so there are no legal issues. You just focus on preparing for Eton next year."
"Yes. In that case, I'll trust you, Father, and focus even more on my studies."
In order to use Ireland as a political asset in the future, securing the Irish earldom was an advantage I had to take if I could.
If my father was going to handle it, all I had to do was gratefully accept.
To be blunt, I wasn't some fake son; I was his biological child, with his blood flowing through my veins. This wasn't an illegal seizure of the title, so there was no reason not to be proud.
As my father said, now that I was accepted into Eton and had the Duke's recommendation, they couldn't question my qualifications.
Both my father and I were confident that with this much preparation, we could handle any variable that might arise.
However.
My existence, which I had assumed would be the hottest topic at the family gathering, was temporarily pushed aside by a massive, unprecedented scandal that broke a week later.
The mega-scandal that rocked British high society in 1831.
George III's sixth son, Augustus Frederick, the Duke of Sussex, had announced his intention to marry a woman from none other than a noble Irish family.
Had it been a simple marriage announcement, it would have been merely surprising news, but this marriage was an illegal one, violating the Royal Marriages Act of 1772.
Naturally, it was legally void, and the newspapers, as well as high society, treated it as a matter of great importance.
Up to that point, it just seemed like a scandal had broken out, and one might wonder what it had to do with me.
The problem was that the noble Irish family was none other than the Gore family, to which I belonged, and the fact that the prince's intended bride was my father's half-sister, a woman who would be my aunt:
Cecilia Gore.
The head of the family, the Earl, brings home a mixed-blood, illegitimate son and says he'll pass on the earldom, while his sister falls in love with a royal and attempts an illegal marriage that violates royal law…
My, my, it's all too easy to imagine the atmosphere at the meeting.
It's going to be such a warm and harmonious family meeting. I'm so looking forward to it.