Pierre Martin, a journalist for the major French daily Le Petit Parisien, was in a foul mood.
Fluent in German, he'd been chosen as the paper's correspondent in Germany and sent to Berlin. But Pierre could never get used to this gloomy country, which seemed as dreary as England.
He missed the warm climate of his hometown, Bordeaux, and its rich, fragrant red wine.
The only way to return to France was to earn a promotion through some great achievement.
For a journalist, that meant uncovering a bombshell story that could shake the world.
But in Germany right now, nothing big was happening.
Despite this war-hungry nation being unusually peaceful, there was nothing to complain about.
For a reporter chasing exclusive scoops, these were the worst of times.
Until that event happened.
"Attempted Assassination of the Emperor in Bremen! Another Anarchist Plot?"
The journalists' old friends—the anarchists—had pulled off another stunt.
Though Kaiser Wilhelm II emerged unscathed, which was a slight disappointment for the French, that didn't matter.
What did matter was that the person who saved the emperor was a young Asian boy named "Hans Jo."
Missing a scoop like this was unforgivable.
Pierre cursed himself for being in Berlin instead of Bremen that day.
But the story didn't end there.
Somehow, Kaiser Wilhelm II had brought this boy, Hans, into the imperial court, and the media's attention was now entirely focused on him.
Yet, neither Pierre nor any other journalist could get an interview with Hans Jo.
Hans was staying at the New Palace in Potsdam—the residence of Kaiser Wilhelm II and his family.
No matter how bold a reporter might be, none dared disturb the famously conservative German imperial family.
Not unless they wanted to "disappear" quietly at the hands of the notorious Prussian secret police.
But today, Pierre witnessed a miracle, as if Lady Luck herself had smiled upon him.
To relieve some stress, Pierre had gone to a football match, where he "happened" to spot Hans Jo watching the game alongside the Crown Prince.
An Asian boy with the Crown Prince—who else could it be but Hans Jo?
It was 100% him, no doubt about it.
Though Crown Prince Wilhelm's love for football was well-known in France, his presence at a match wasn't news, not even gossip.
But Hans Jo? That was a different story.
The "boy who saved the emperor" was shrouded in mystery.
This was a major scoop.
Click!
From his seat in the stands, Pierre instinctively pulled out the camera he always carried and snapped a photo of Hans Jo watching the match with the Crown Prince.
"This isn't enough…"
Pierre's greed took over.
Even a few words from Hans would do—he needed an interview.
But as a mere journalist, getting into the VIP section was nearly impossible.
As he racked his brain for a plan, he noticed Hans Jo leaving the VIP area and heading somewhere.
"Here's my chance!"
Pierre quickly gathered his things and followed discreetly.
Soon, he saw Hans enter a restroom.
Hiding his camera under his coat, Pierre pretended to be an ordinary person and followed him in.
What he didn't expect was to come face-to-face with Hans inside.
Snap!
The moment he saw Hans Jo, Pierre's journalistic instincts took over, and he pressed the shutter.
By the time he realized what he'd done, Hans was already shouting, startled by the camera's flash.
"Ah, ahh! S-sorry…"
"Who are you?!"
"W-what? I'm just… aahh!"
Before Pierre could apologize, the Prussian secret police, lurking outside, stormed in like demons and pinned him to the ground.
"Hey, who are you? Why'd you take my picture?"
"I-I… uh…"
Moments later, Hans Jo, now composed, looked down coldly at the trembling Pierre.
That face didn't belong to a boy—it was too stern, too calculating.
When Pierre hesitated, Hans pointed at the secret police holding him.
"You'd better answer honestly. This guy's Prussian secret police."
"S-secret police?!"
It was over.
Realizing his life might be on the line, Pierre shook with fear and confessed his identity.
He wasn't about to be dragged off to some dark cell for torture.
What he didn't notice was the meaningful smile that crept across Hans' face when he heard Pierre's identity.
"How can I use this guy?"
Hans thought as he looked down at the pathetic French journalist, tears and snot streaming down his face.
What kind of country was France?
Defeated in the Franco-Prussian War, humiliated by Germany, it was now sharpening its knives for revenge—a true rival to the German Empire.
Unlike the six-week humiliation it would face in the Second World War, France had been a key negotiator for the Allies in the First World War, thwarting Germany's ambitions.
To Hans, who aimed to preserve the German Empire, France was an enemy that had to be defeated.
If he played this journalist right, he might stir chaos in France.
The current French leader was Émile Loubet, the seventh president of the Third Republic.
He'd pushed a hardline secular policy, establishing France's unique brand of secularism.
But Hans believed Loubet's greatest achievement was the 1904 Entente Cordiale with Britain.
That agreement turned France, Russia, and even Britain into Germany's enemies, leaving Germany diplomatically isolated except for the burdensome Austro-Hungarian Empire.
If chaos erupted in France, it might delay this outcome.
And if it failed? No loss to him.
"Journalist? Which paper?"
"P-Parisien, France's Le Petit Parisien!"
Perfect.
Le Petit Parisien was one of France's four major dailies before the First World War.
Politically neutral, it was an ideal platform to spread his words across France.
"Let him go."
"What? But…"
"It's fine. He's not dangerous."
The secret police hesitated but released Pierre after Hans' words.
The journalist stumbled away from them, letting out a long breath.
"Can I go now?"
"Not so fast. Since we've met, how about a quick interview?"
"What? Really?!"
Pierre could barely contain his excitement.
Journalists, whether in the 20th or 21st century, were all the same.
The secret police gave Hans a skeptical look, as if questioning his intentions.
"…The Crown Prince is waiting for you."
"It's fine. This won't take long."
Hans smiled slightly, reassuring him.
He was just indulging in a bit of fun—the Crown Prince wouldn't mind.
The two stepped out of the cramped restroom and headed to a quieter spot nearby.
It was time for some manipulation and fabrication.
"Let's make this quick before the second half starts."
"Of course, of course, no problem."
Pierre pulled out his notebook and nodded eagerly.
"Mr. Hans Jo, you blocked the assassin's bullet and saved the emperor's life, correct?"
"Yes."
"Can you tell us why you acted?"
A surprisingly normal question.
But Hans didn't even know the truth himself.
By the time he came to, it was already over—how could he know?
"Saving someone doesn't need a reason, does it?"
"True, haha, well said. How old are you, by the way?"
"Born in 1892."
March 1901 made him nine years old.
Hans wasn't sure of his exact age, but he figured it was close to Victoria Louise's, born that year, so he went with it.
"Nine… same as my nephew. Impressive. How does it feel to be summoned to the palace?"
"It's a great honor."
"Haha, I see. But as an Asian, you must face some challenges in the 'German Empire,' right?"
After some dull pleasantries, the real questions began.
A bit of flattery, a nod to hardships, and then the journalist would likely publish some snide"Exposing the German Empire's True Face!" piece in France.
But Hans wasn't about to let him off that easily.
He wasn't that simple.
"It's fine. The emperor, the empress, and the imperial family have been kind to me. But there's always baseless 'malice' from some people. Like what happened to Captain Dreyfus."
Cough!
The mention of "Dreyfus" made Pierre's face freeze in shock.
No surprise—every Frenchman knew that name.
The Dreyfus Affair.
The French government and military branded Captain Dreyfus a traitor for being Jewish, accusing him of spying for Germany and sentencing him to life in prison.
It destroyed an innocent man's life and became a symbol of anti-Semitism.
From the late 19th to early 20th century, it plunged the Third Republic into chaos—a dark chapter in French history.
"The Dreyfus Affair is over, isn't it?"
"Yes, the current government pardoned Dreyfus a couple of years ago, closing the case. Pretty hypocritical, don't you think? He was innocent, yet they skipped a retrial and just pardoned him, turning a blind eye."
"Haha, people like you exist in France too."
Hans didn't know if Dreyfus was truly innocent.
"Dreyfus is innocent. I heard it from a German officer involved in the case."
"What? Wait, a German officer involved… you mean Schwartzkoppen?"
Shh.
Hans put a finger to his lips, signaling silence.
He knew who Pierre meant.
Maximilian von Schwartzkoppen, the German military attaché in France during the Dreyfus Affair.
The French military claimed Dreyfus passed secrets to him, sparking the whole scandal.
The real spy was Ferdinand Walsin Esterhazy, a counterintelligence officer, but even after the truth came out, the French didn't arrest him.
"Schwartzkoppen's back in Germany now, serving in the Potsdam Guard."
Hans had never met Schwartzkoppen or seen his face.
But to Pierre, this was enough to believe Hans had heard the truth about the Dreyfus Affair from him.
"He doesn't want his identity exposed. As a journalist, you can keep a secret, right?"
"Of course!"
"I overheard him in the palace. He said, 'Dreyfus is innocent. I don't even know him.'"
"That's… impossible!"
Those were Schwartzkoppen's actual words before his death in 1917.
"So, Esterhazy was the real culprit?"
"Who knows? Maybe Esterhazy was just a double agent, like he claimed."
"That's even worse! No secrets were leaked, yet the military framed Dreyfus!"
Hans didn't care about the truth.
What mattered was the impact this would have on the French public.
"Was the pardon just a cover-up…?"
"Maybe. Anyway, I should go."
"What?!"
"The Crown Prince is waiting."
Pierre begged for more, but the secret police stopped him.
After standing there stunned, the journalist suddenly bolted off somewhere.
Heh.
Everything was going according to plan.
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