It is commonly said that among those who loudly boast about their machismo and call themselves "real n," very few are actually real n.
That conclusion has already been proven by countless examples from history, dia, and the vast "big data" gathered through firsthand observation.
And from what I had seen so far, Otto von Bismarck, who kept attaching "German this" and "German that" to the end of every sentence, looked exactly like the type of man who rely pretended to be a tough guy.
What kind of "real man" invites soone outside and starts throwing punches just because his words were challenged in an argunt?
Still, I had been ready to step in if sothing went wrong.
Fortunately, no one had been seriously injured.
Imagine if Karl Marx and the future Iron Chancellor had walked out in the middle of a debate and given each other concussions in a bare-knuckle fight.
Not only would that be a great loss for humanity, but it would also an those two might never achieve the fa they possessed in the original history.
Such a thing absolutely must not happen.
Just look at the masterpiece I commissioned this ti—
"The Clash of Ideologies."
If that painting is to hang proudly in the National Gallery, then both Bismarck and Marx will need to achieve even greater success than they did in the original tiline.
Of course, that doesn't an I want Marx to beco so kind of demonic communist overlord.
Though… if in the future "communism" cos to an sothing entirely different from what it ant in the original history, that might not be such a bad outco either.
Still, since they had just beaten the hell out of each other, it might be best to keep Bismarck and Marx apart for a while.
Once was entertaining enough.
But if they fought again and soone was actually injured, that would be troubleso.
So I had arranged for Otto von Bismarck, Karl Marx, and Friedrich Engels to rest in separate rooms.
And yet, when I went to check the room where Bismarck was supposed to be resting—
He was nowhere to be seen.
"Where did the Prussian noble who was lying here go? Did he leave already?"
"No, Your Highness. He said he wished to speak with so other Prussian youths and stepped out imdiately."
Surely he hadn't gone looking for a rematch because he couldn't accept defeat.
With that uneasy thought, I rushed toward the room where Marx and Friedrich Engels were resting.
But to my surprise, hearty laughter was already echoing from inside.
"Ha ha ha! I see. So that's why you ca all the way to London. France really is hopeless."
"We were also impressed by your insight, Mr Bismarck. If Prussia wishes to resolve the various problems it currently faces, gaining experience here in London would certainly help."
Were these really the sa n who only monts ago had been shouting about teaching Germany's honor a lesson and putting ignorant Junkers in their place?
When Bismarck saw enter, he imdiately rose and bowed politely.
"You've arrived, Your Highness. Thank you for witnessing the duel—and for even providing a place for us to rest."
"Mm, yes. But why did you co here instead of resting quietly in your own room?"
"I wished to speak with these spirited young n of Prussia who defeated . They proved with their fists that they are not re bookish scholars. Naturally, I must acknowledge them as such."
When soone speaks like that, it is only natural for the others to return the complint.
Friedrich Engels nodded with a bruised, swollen face and smiled.
"We feel the sa. Mr Bismarck is no ordinary Junker—he is a man of firm conviction. My jaw is still throbbing where his punch landed."
"Ha ha ha! Your fists were just as fierce. Truly, the youth of Germany are strong. Even scholars who pursue learning possess such sturdy bodies. As they say, a healthy mind resides in a healthy body. If you possess such strong physiques, then surely the convictions you hold must also be correct."
"Thank you for your understanding."
Was this the nineteenth-century version of sweaty macho conversation?
The sheer heat of it was almost suffocating.
"…In any case, I'm glad to see you've beco friends."
"It is all thanks to you, Your Highness."
"I hardly did anything. You resolved it yourselves."
They say that the ground hardens after rain, and sotis people grow closer after a fight.
But seeing n truly acknowledge one another after an actual fistfight—
When bearded middle-aged n display this sort of shōnen-manga sentint, it feels less touching and more faintly nauseating.
Perhaps mistaking my reaction for admiration, Bismarck laughed loudly and thumped his chest.
"German n do not concern themselves with petty quarrels. We are not like those whining Frenchn who cry like won."
Great Germans… mighty nation…
Ugh, my head hurts.
"Haha… I see. Well, it's good if everyone gets along. From what I can see, all of you here possess remarkable abilities."
"Is that truly so? But Your Highness has only just t today…"
"Your na was Otto Bismarck, correct? As Karl Marx said earlier, the fact that you ca all the way to London already proves your unusual character. You must have recognized the problems within Prussia and co here seeking answers. I would wager that among all the Junkers in Prussia, there are fewer than three who possess the sa insight as you."
"Oh! Hearing that fills with confidence."
If Bismarck were to beco Prussia's chancellor just as he did in the original history, establishing a personal connection with him now would be an excellent asset for the British Empire's future diplomacy.
History's butterfly effect could change anything.
But if I deliberately helped him, that uncertain future could easily be steered back onto the path I wanted.
"From what I can see, you have the makings of a chancellor. You know who the Pri Minister of our British Empire is, don't you? When I first t him, I felt sothing very similar to what I feel from you now."
"You an Pri Minister Charles Wellesley? That comparison is far too generous…"
"It's only a feeling. No need to take it too seriously. Still, if you continue to work hard, I'm sure good results will follow."
Contrary to his reputation as a warmonger, the real Bismarck always tried diplomacy first whenever possible.
For him, war was rely another tool of diplomacy—
The last resort.
After all, a man who rose to the position of chancellor through a diplomatic career would hardly run around shouting, "Gentlen, I love war!"
And because of Germany's geography, Bismarck had always valued relations with Russia.
One of his most famous sayings in later generations was simple:
"Diplomacy ans not fighting Russia."
That alone showed his priorities clearly enough.
Of course, even his policies had flaws.
If examined closely, many of his strategies were little more than clever tricks—giving nothing substantial while juggling limited resources.
Even so, one fact remained unchanged.
He elevated Germany's presence in the world to a level few nations could rival.
From my perspective, such a figure had practically rolled into my lap.
Naturally, building a good relationship with him was essential.
"Well, enough complicated talk. How long do you plan to stay in London?"
"I haven't really thought about it. To be honest, even coming here was a rather impulsive decision."
"Is that so? Then there's no need to rush. If you wish, stay here longer and experience the culture of the British Empire. Next week I plan to invite the Prussian ambassador for dinner. It would be good if you joined us."
"? Am I truly allowed to attend a dinner with the ambassador?"
"Building connections with people in high positions will make it easier for you to use the knowledge you gain here when you return ho."
"I… I'm very grateful, Your Highness. I will never forget this kindness."
For a provincial noble without strong connections in the capital, eting the Prussian ambassador like this must feel like a trendous opportunity.
Of course, if I made a show of taking credit for it, that gratitude would quickly be halved.
So I simply nodded lightly and stood.
"Then I'll take my leave. Enjoy talking among yourselves."
"No, no! I should at least escort Your Highness outside. I also left so fine liquor in my room. I'll bring it back. Gentlen, wait here—I'll let you taste a wonderful drink from our holand."
"We would be delighted. Let's drink and debate tonight!"
"Excellent. Just wait here. This way, Your Highness."
After throwing punches and then planning to drink and debate all night…
Perhaps these n really did deserve to be called hearty German youths.
Maybe it was only my twenty-first-century sensibilities that made view them with suspicion.
Perhaps this too was simply part of the romance of the nineteenth century.
I left the room as the three n exchanged warm farewells.
Bismarck followed out, bowed politely, and turned toward his own room.
I walked away thinking what an interesting day it had been.
Then—
"Good heavens, sir! What happened to your face?!"
It sounded like Bismarck had encountered one of his servants.
I paused and listened.
"Ah, it's nothing. Two n ca to see earlier, and we had a bit of an argunt. So we fought a duel."
"A duel? Two against one?"
"Well… sothing like that. Even for , fighting two n at once isn't easy."
What nonsense was that?
It wasn't two-on-one at the sa ti—it was sequential!
Apparently thinking I was already far away, Bismarck continued boasting without hesitation.
"But you know who I am. I smashed both of them to pieces. After taking such a beating, those fools stopped talking nonsense about communism. Ha ha!"
"So that's why your face looks like that. But isn't this the corridor to their rooms? Why are you coming from here?"
"Even after defeating them, a nobleman should show magnanimity to the defeated. I ca to bring them so liquor as praise for their fighting spirit. They were extrely grateful."
"As expected of you, sir. Truly magnanimous."
"Haha! It's nothing. You should have seen how far my punch sent them flying—"
Their laughter gradually faded away.
Should I tell Marx about this?
While I hesitated, another conversation drifted out from the room where Marx and Engels were resting.
"Friedrich, what are you doing?"
"Wouldn't it be wise to begin writing our moirs before Mr Bismarck returns? I'm finishing it now."
"That's a good idea. Today was quite a remarkable experience. How should we describe it?"
"Sothing like: we delivered the iron fist of proletarian justice to a clueless Junker who knew nothing of the world."
"That's good. Though perhaps we should change this part. Saying the fight was difficult weakens the story. It would sound better if we wrote that one punch from sent the Junker sprawling with a nosebleed."
"Excellent. Then I'll remove the part about running around to exhaust him and simply write that he collapsed from your single blow. And after tasting such defeat, the Junker beca surprisingly ek and began praising our ideology…"
Right.
Better to pretend I heard none of this.
So this was the broad-minded spirit of German n who understood one another through fists?
It was so impressive my chest felt tight.
To think these were the future Iron Chancellor of Prussia and a great thinker who would inspire countless intellectuals.
I almost felt apologetic.
Iron Chancellor?
Great philosopher of the age?
No.
These n were simply—
Pathetic little n.
Very well.
To ensure this astonishing incident is never forgotten—
I should write a moir of today myself when I return.
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