Kapitel 19: Undercurrents
The "William Brothers" had left, leaving only Smith and Victoria in the room, along with two guards stationed at the door.
Words were unnecessary for Smith to gauge Victoria's state of mind. Without a doubt, as the Crown Princess of the British Empire, Victoria had long understood her fate as a tool of political marriage. Since her youth, she had been aware that her destiny was to wed a prince from another nation to exert influence there—a nearly inescapable fate for a royal princess like her.
Of course, this didn't mean her feelings for Frederick were insincere. In fact, their bond was extraordinarily strong—stronger even than the relationship between her own parents. At least, this had been true for the first year of their marriage.
However, throughout history, marriage has rarely been purely about love. It is invariably entangled with practical concerns, particularly within royal families. To put it bluntly, the long-term stability of a political marriage hinges on whether the couple produces enough healthy offspring, especially sons. For the Hohenzollern dynasty, which lacked a robust family line, this was an urgent concern. Frederick William IV's public demand for "more grandchildren" was, therefore, not entirely surprising, even though it was insensitively delivered right in front of Victoria.
Such remarks, while honest in laying bare the essence of a political marriage, were deeply hurtful. Despite her polished manners, Victoria couldn't help but feel angered. Although her anger could be suppressed for now, Smith knew it would inevitably erupt one day. What consequences might follow, he couldn't predict.
What Smith understood better was that his top priority wasn't worrying about his mother's potential outbursts but rather healing, growing up, and staying alive. Fortunately, after the assassination attempt, which had caused a significant uproar, Smith faced no further dangers for a long time. This was thanks to the meticulous security arrangements made by his adoptive grandfather and father, as well as the Time Administration Bureau's reluctance to act rashly for fear of causing further disruptions to the timeline.
But Smith was unaware of these machinations. His daily routine consisted mainly of eating, sleeping, and relieving himself. The rest of his time was devoted to reviewing and organizing the memories and information left in his mind by the enigmatic "Smiling Willi." Perhaps due to his strong adaptability or growing immunity, the severe discomfort he used to feel while sifting through those memories was now gradually becoming tolerable. At least, he no longer felt the urge to vomit after a single extended review.
This wasn't all there was to Smith's life. Regardless of his mental maturity, his body was still that of a newborn, so it was only natural for others to treat him as such.
Thus, our unfortunate Smith was subjected to the so-called "newborn curriculum."
Most people can't remember what they learned as infants, but many have witnessed how parents educate their children, especially those who are parents themselves. Broadly speaking, such curriculums fall into two categories: developing physical abilities and nurturing intelligence.
The Hohenzollerns, being a military-oriented family, naturally placed significant emphasis on physical fitness. Given Smith's repeated brushes with danger, everyone was eager to determine whether the little prince had any hidden health issues, particularly concerning his injured left arm.
As soon as Smith's arm healed, a group of meticulously vetted "politically reliable and highly skilled" doctors gathered to examine him thoroughly, leaving no stone unturned. After countless tests, the doctors finally concluded that Smith was in "good health," which offered some relief to Frederick and Victoria, Frederick William IV, the Regent William, and even Queen Victoria.
But only some relief. The perpetually worried Frederick William IV made no secret of his concerns—that the lack of oxygen during Smith's difficult birth or the repeated traumatic events afterward might have affected his cognitive development. While the Regent William never openly endorsed this theory, his proactive arrangement of doctors and teachers to conduct various "intelligence tests" revealed his apprehensions.
Only Smith himself knew that beneath his infant exterior lay the soul of an adult, armed with knowledge far surpassing that of the entire Hohenzollern and British royal families combined. Yet, this knowledge was useless in dispelling their doubts—after all, Smith couldn't even speak yet. And even if he could, how could he explain it to them?
So, Smith had no choice but to endure the seemingly endless and, in his eyes, utterly absurd "intelligence tests." In theory, these tests were child's play for someone like Smith. With his full concentration, he could breeze through them effortlessly.
And indeed, he often did.
The problem arose from the fact that these tests were unpredictable. Many times, they interrupted Smith while he was deeply engrossed in organizing the information in his mind. In such moments, Smith might not even realize a test had begun!
The results were predictable: sometimes, Smith completed the tests with "astonishing speed," leaving the doctors amazed. Other times, he appeared "so sluggish he seemed mentally challenged."
Seemed mentally challenged? More like outright incompetent!
Such wildly inconsistent results baffled the doctors and left the "Williams" perplexed and concerned. They pressed the doctors to figure out what was going on, much to the doctors' delight—after all, they'd never encountered such a case before.
This, of course, led to more tests.
Finally, one day, a fed-up Smith had enough. During a session, he overturned the testing materials in front of all the doctors and his adoptive father, then flashed them a defiant grin.
The next day, the doctors coined a new term to describe Smith's condition: "Intermittent Attention Disorder."
And just like that, Smith became an officially diagnosed "patient."
"Impulse is the devil! Small impatience disrupts big plans! Oh, why didn't I restrain myself? I'm so foolish, truly..."
From that day on, Smith learned a hard lesson. Alas, the world doesn't sell regret pills, and once the damage is done, it's tough to undo.
But this wasn't the end of it. With the diagnosis of "Intermittent Attention Disorder" came the inevitable treatments. If Edward Martin, sent to his fate by the Time Bureau's "accident," could somehow witness this from the beyond, he might chuckle and mutter, "See? I told you the kid had issues," before laughing out loud.
Fortunately, this time, the treatment team didn't resort to terrifying contraptions or "black magic" medications. Thanks to Victoria's insistence, the doctors abandoned their fervent advocacy for drug therapy. This was a source of private relief for Smith—at least there would be no "torture" or strange prescriptions. Smith, more than anyone, knew he didn't actually have "Intermittent Attention Disorder."
Still, avoiding machinery and medication didn't exempt him from so-called "conservative treatment," which involved forcibly correcting his attention span. This entailed playing with "educational toys" and listening to "early childhood readings." Though these methods annoyed Smith and disrupted his study of the information in his mind, they were far less harmful than the other alternatives.
For now, that was consolation enough.
However, Smith didn't harbor any aversion or resistance to listening or reading; quite the opposite, in fact. He was eager to learn about the current events of this era. Without a doubt, the "Kaiser Wilhelm II" of this timeline had no disability in his left arm, and with the various schemes orchestrated by the Temporal Management Bureau and the subsequent chaos, this dimension must differ greatly from the historical record. For Smith, identifying these differences as soon as possible was crucial.
But it didn't take much thought to understand just how limited Smith's access to information was. No one would seriously sit down with a baby and say, "Look here, Wilhelm, the French are up to these antics lately." Nor would anyone read out the latest political news to "treat" his so-called "intermittent attention disorder"!
As a result, the fragments Smith could gather were extremely limited, drawn from palace staff chatter, his "parents'" private meetings, and even glimpses of newspaper headlines—though from such a distance that he could only make out the main titles on the front page.
With these scraps of information, Smith gradually pieced together some of the major political developments of the time:
As in the historical timeline, shortly after Wilhelm II's birth, in April 1859, the French, under their opportunistic emperor Napoleon III, declared war on Austria under the pretext of the Italian question. Prussia, meanwhile, declared itself "neutral" in the conflict—a very wise decision.
This war was a foregone conclusion. Compared to the still-brilliant French Second Empire, Austria appeared weak, decayed, and utterly vulnerable. And indeed, that's how it unfolded. The Franco-Sardinian alliance defeated the Austrians at the Battle of Solferino with a cost of "killing a thousand enemies at the price of losing eight hundred." Prussia had no reason to wade into this unwinnable Austrian conflict out of some misguided sense of "Germanic solidarity." Supporting either Italy or France would have been equally absurd, as it ran counter to Prussian interests.
Ultimately, Prussia played the role of "balancer." In July 1859, with Austria stretched too thin and France exhausted, Prussia threw out some well-timed threats to France, forcing all parties back to the negotiating table. War often ends as it begins—born at the negotiation table and returning there when exhaustion sets in. Tragically, neither the French nor the Austrians realized for years afterward that their bitter fight had ultimately benefited Prussia and Italy the most.
Amid the bloody conflict between France and Austria on the battlefield, a different kind of loss occurred. In May 1859, Alexander von Humboldt passed away. Prussia lost not only a great naturalist and geographer but also an outstanding social activist. Revered across European scientific and political spheres, Humboldt's death brought immense mourning, far surpassing the recognition given to his equally renowned educator brother.
As though guided by fate, the same year that the world lost one great naturalist, another rose to prominence. In November 1859, Charles Robert Darwin published his monumental work On the Origin of Species, unleashing a storm across biology, geography, theology, and even sociology.
All of this news, while undeniably significant, aligned almost perfectly with recorded history. To verify this, Smith even cross-referenced these events with the records left behind by Wilhelm II, discovering that many incidents occurred with uncanny precision, down to the exact date.
"Perhaps the flapping wings of us butterflies are still too weak to stir the winds of change in major events…"
Smith often thought this way, and it seemed reasonable enough to him. At least, it made sense in his mind.
Until the last day of 1859, when his gaze fell upon a newspaper headline left abandoned on a desk:
"Khitan Seeks to Establish Diplomatic Relations with Our Country!"
"Kh-Khitan?!" Smith's eyes narrowed sharply.
"Isn't that—"
Wöchentlicher Energiestatus
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Rangliste 
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Stein