"Allow me to escort you to your accommodations, Your Highness. Your journey must have been taxing," Takehito offered, already imagining the diplomatic ripples this would create. A Russian Crown Prince showing respect to a Japanese royal? The Tokyo papers would have a field day.
Back in my private quarters, I finally had a moment to contemplate my bizarre predicament.
Tsarevich. Heir to the Russian Empire. I had become Nicholas Alexandrovich Romanov—the man history would remember as the last Emperor of Russia.
"The cosmic irony," I muttered, stalking across the luxurious room. "One moment I'm Yi Janlong, arguing about Russian imperial failures online, the next I'm inhabiting the body of history's greatest imperial failure."
The cryptic message my predecessor had left now made perfect, terrible sense. This wasn't merely a case of body-swapping—I stood at the crossroads of an empire's downfall.
"They expect me to salvage three centuries of dysfunction?" I laughed bitterly. "And at the worst possible moment?"
Had I awakened in the body of Alexander II, the reformer, perhaps something might have been salvageable. But Alexander III, Nicholas's father, was cut from different cloth—a military man standing over six feet tall with an imposing Slavic bearing and matching temperament.
"Military this, military that," I sighed, recalling the policies I'd studied. "New rifles, artillery advancements, naval expansion... but what of social reform? What of the people?"
Alexander III governed like the soldier he was: showing weakness invited aggression; force commanded respect. A second son never meant to rule, he'd retreated into what he understood best—military might—while delegating economic matters to advisors like Sergei Witte.
But I wasn't Emperor yet. I remained the Tsarevich.
"There's still time," I whispered, resolve hardening. "The collapse hasn't begun in earnest."
Alexander III would die soon—history had ordained that much. But Russia, despite its structural problems, maintained the appearance of strength. If I—if Russia—were to survive, I needed to become something other than the weak-willed traditionalist Nicholas had been.
A knock interrupted my contemplation.
"Your Imperial Highness? May I enter?"
"Come in."
A servant bowed deeply. "Prince George and Prince Takehito await your pleasure outside."
"My cousin works efficiently. I'll join them momentarily."
After the servant withdrew, I adjusted my uniform and steeled my nerves. Today marked the Otsu Incident—when police officer Tsuda Sanzo would attempt to assassinate me.
In history, Nicholas had survived. I needed to ensure the same outcome—but on my terms.
"I recently discovered that your father and the current Arisugawa family patriarch have met before," I mentioned casually to Prince Takehito as we toured Lake Biwa.
"The Tsar has met our family head?" Takehito's surprise was evident.
"Indeed. He attended my father's coronation in Moscow. And now here we are. A fascinating connection between our houses, wouldn't you agree?"
"Yes! A connection indeed!" Takehito laughed nervously.
After just one day, I'd taken Takehito's measure. He wasn't exceptional as either diplomat or soldier—merely a wellborn young man with royal blood. But his admiration for Western culture made him an ideal conduit for my designs.
"My father holds certain... reservations about Japan," I confided, ensuring my voice carried to nearby listeners. "But I see matters differently. Aren't Russia and Japan natural allies?"
"From my limited perspective..." Takehito began cautiously.
"Sometimes frankness is necessary, Prince Takehito. Consider how Russia established Korean relations despite Qing objections. We did so because principle demanded it."
"Your thinking is... remarkably progressive."
"The Russian spirit values commitment to our convictions," I replied with a calculated smile.
Throughout our journey, I continued weaving this narrative—a young, peace-loving Crown Prince with favorable attitudes toward Japan. At strategic moments, I would project statements designed for eager ears:
"Shouldn't moral considerations outweigh mere strategic advantage?"
"My father may be a warrior-king, but I believe in peaceful resolutions! War brings only suffering to common people!"
"Japan's contribution to Asian stability cannot be overstated. Though the concession issues remain unfortunate, they've helped quiet Qing aggression and foster regional peace—surely a commendable achievement!"
Whenever I sensed discomfort at my directness, I'd skillfully redirect through my cousin George:
"Doesn't this magnificent waterway remind you of Greece's Saronic Gulf? How remarkable that such similar beauty exists across continents!"
"You're right, Nicholas," George would reply. "The resemblance is striking, and this enormous lake could almost be mistaken for a sea."
"Lake Biwa is Japan's largest freshwater body—truly impressive in scale!"
For two days I maintained this performance, emphasizing the contrasts between myself and my father at every turn. My message remained consistent: Father distrusts Japan; I admire it. Father values military strength; I cherish diplomatic solutions. Father prioritizes force; I focus on cooperation.
I knew these conversations would reach important Japanese officials and newspapers. Though my Russian entourage seemed uncomfortable with my excessive goodwill, I pressed on relentlessly.
As we made our way through streets lined with police officers at regular intervals, my throat grew dry from constant enthusiastic proclamations.
This is it, I thought, noting the single-file arrangement of our rickshaws and the dispersed security forces. This configuration created the opportunity for the assassination attempt.
The Otsu Incident—when Tsuda Sanzo would try to kill the Russian Crown Prince. In history, Nicholas had survived. But history had altered the moment I arrived.
I'd prefer avoiding this entirely, but it's necessary, I reasoned. The Anglo-Japanese Alliance hadn't formed yet. Korea remained independent. Japan's military was still developing. This incident needed to happen—but under my control, with maximum strategic benefit.
I scanned my surroundings with careful nonchalance, making brief eye contact with various officers. One held my gaze a fraction too long.
Is that him? Tsuda?
I pretended to look elsewhere, every muscle tensed for immediate reaction. A heartbeat later, I heard the shout in Japanese:
"Die!"
I whipped around to see a sword descending toward my face. Jerking backward, I felt the blade graze my forehead. The rickshaw lurched to a halt as shouts erupted around us.
"Your Highness!"
"Assassination! It's an assassination!"
The rickshaw puller and Prince George rushed toward me as Tsuda's sword embedded itself in the wooden frame. As he struggled to free his weapon, George struck him across the back with his cane. While Tsuda recoiled, I lunged forward, seizing him by the hair.
His hand still clutched the sword hilt. I drove my fist into his exposed abdomen with all my strength.
"Keuugh..." Tsuda groaned, doubling over.
I stood there, breathing heavily, adrenaline coursing through my veins. Blood trickled down my face. My fingers remained entangled in Tsuda's hair as officers swarmed to subdue him. Prince George and Prince Takehito rushed to my side, their expressions frozen in horror.
Through the chaos, I felt an incongruous surge of triumph. I survived. The dopamine rush of winning an impossible gamble flooded my system.
But outwardly, I projected only cold fury. As the officers pinned Tsuda to the ground, I turned to ensure everyone heard my next words.
"Damn it all," I snarled, touching my bleeding forehead. "My father was right after all."
Prince Takehito's face drained of color.
I turned away, clutching my wound with theatrical gravity.
"Your Highness! We must attend to your injury immediately!" someone called.
"Japan is no longer safe," I declared icily. "We return to the warship at once."
As I strode away, I wondered how Takehito and his superiors would interpret my pronouncement. Dangerous Japan—or Japan that would become dangerous.
Either way, the game had begun. And I had made my opening move.