Born Not to Be Emperor

Let's put those matters aside for now. 

When the thunderous explosions resounded through the air, the winter sky over Berlin—already dimmed by early twilight—was heavy with a cold, somber hue. The streets, lined with shops mostly closed for the day, exuded an eerie quiet. Factories had long shut down, schools had dismissed hours ago, and the streets were nearly deserted. Sporadic snowflakes, carried on the biting wind, only heightened the desolation. 

Still, it wasn't yet late enough for most Berliners to be asleep, which meant almost everyone in the city heard the explosions that tore through the stillness like bursts of lightning. 

Had it been summer, perhaps the noise could have been dismissed as thunder. But in the depths of winter, the mere idea of a thunderstorm seemed preposterous. To complicate matters, the blasts were extraordinarily loud—loud enough to shatter glass in homes and shops near the source. Such a "phenomenon" could hardly go unnoticed. 

As Berlin buzzed with speculation, the authorities hurried to issue an official explanation, declaring the sounds to be celebratory cannon fire marking the birth of a new member of the Hohenzollern dynasty. After all, it was Friedrich Wilhelm Viktor Albert von Hohenzollern's birthday—or, as he used to be called, Smith. 

If only the Prussians had a touch of Eastern philosophy, they could've elevated their explanation to something grander: **"A celestial sign heralds the birth of a sage."** But no, they settled on the uninspired excuse of ceremonial cannon fire instead. 

Amidst all this clamor, the star of the show—our freshly reincarnated Smith—was rudely awakened. Newborns need sleep to recover, even more so when born after a difficult labor. Smith, having entered this world barely two days prior, had been indulging in long, koala-like naps, often sleeping up to sixteen hours a day. 

Many romanticize the newborn stage as a time of blissful ignorance. In truth, the opposite is often the case. For a newborn, the world is an unfamiliar and often frightening place. This duality of curiosity and fear makes them unpredictable and prone to distress. Life as a newborn is far from idyllic. 

For Smith, this new existence was no less maddening. Despite retaining the wisdom of his past life, he was trapped in a feeble, infantile body. Moving around was impossible—turning over took Herculean effort, making his difficult birth feel like a walk in the park by comparison. 

This powerless state weighed heavily on Smith's psyche. He couldn't help but despair at the prospect of months—if not years—of immobility. It was this very frustration that had lulled him into sleep earlier, only for the explosions to yank him awake once more. 

He had no way of knowing that the noise was linked to the Time-Space Authority. Instead, his waking thoughts turned to even more vexing matters. 

Like all newborns, Smith had no say in choosing his parents—or, in his case, his lineage. This lack of agency left him grappling with the existential irony of Rousseau's words: **"Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains."** 

Outsiders might see being born into the prestigious Hohenzollern family as a golden ticket—privilege and power from the start. Smith himself had once thought so. But now, living it firsthand, he was acutely aware of the burdens such a legacy carried. 

No amount of wealth or status could erase the dysfunction that plagued the Hohenzollerns. The family's internal conflicts were deeply rooted in their upbringing, societal pressures, and conflicting values. 

Take Friedrich Wilhelm IV, the current King of Prussia. As a young man, he was an incurable romantic. Like many of his Hohenzollern predecessors, he served in the military and fought against Napoleon. Yet deep down, he was never at ease with Prussia's rigid militarism. Personally, he leaned toward the burgeoning liberal ideals of the time. 

But as King, Friedrich Wilhelm IV couldn't afford such indulgences. His romantic nature clashed with the hard realities of wielding power, and his inability to reconcile these contradictions ultimately led to a reign marked by hesitations and contradictions. It's no wonder his later years were marred by strokes and eventual mental decline. 

Since Friedrich Wilhelm IV had no children, his brother Wilhelm served as Regent during his incapacitation. While not officially King, Wilhelm effectively held all the powers of one. The court and government viewed him as the inevitable heir, especially given Friedrich Wilhelm IV's childlessness and failing health. 

Yet Regent Wilhelm was no less a product of familial trauma. Overshadowed as a child by his elder brother—the designated heir—Wilhelm grew up neglected and emotionally scarred. These early wounds shaped him into a rigid, traditionalist figure, starkly contrasting his romantic sibling. 

Tragically, Wilhelm passed his unresolved trauma onto his only son, Friedrich (the future Friedrich III). Not only did this create a strained father-son relationship, but it also pushed Friedrich toward liberal ideals, further alienating them. The cycle of dysfunction continued into the next generation, shaping the psyche of Friedrich's own son, Wilhelm II. 

Wilhelm II's eventual personality flaws—his brash outbursts, indecisiveness, and insecurities—could be traced back to these intergenerational wounds. His mother, Victoria, the eldest daughter of Queen Victoria of Britain, was no exception to this web of dysfunction. 

Victoria endured immense suffering during Wilhelm's birth, a traumatic breech delivery. In the absence of modern medical interventions like cesareans, such births were often fatal for both mother and child. Though Wilhelm survived, the ordeal left him with a withered left arm—a disability that haunted him throughout his life. 

Victoria's anguish left emotional scars. Though she tried to show maternal care, her love was conditional—dependent on Wilhelm's perceived ability to "improve." As it became evident that his disability was permanent, her disappointment turned to withdrawal, leaving Wilhelm feeling rejected and rebellious. 

This maternal rejection played a significant role in shaping Wilhelm II's troubled psyche, making him both a victim of and a contributor to the Hohenzollern family's legacy of dysfunction. 

Had the Hohenzollerns been an ordinary family, their tragedies might have remained personal. But as rulers of Prussia and later the German Empire, their dysfunction reverberated far beyond the palace walls, leaving a lasting impact on history itself. 

If the Hohenzollern family had been ordinary citizens, perhaps all this would merely constitute a tragedy for a handful of family members. While the tragic nature of these events wouldn't be any less poignant, the consequences would likely not be so severe. The issue, however, is that the Hohenzollern family serves as the royal household of Prussia. 

Their every word and action, no matter how insignificant, carries the weight of history. The defects and psychological scars of their family members are not just private issues; they influence the governance of the state, the shaping of national policies, and even the fate of millions. 

For Wilhelm II, the challenges he faced from birth and the complicated familial relationships that ensued were just the beginning of the chaos awaiting him. The Hohenzollern family may have appeared to outsiders as a majestic and powerful dynasty, but from an insider's perspective, it was a crucible of contradictions and strife—a web of entanglements that shaped the course of its history. 

And now, Smith—our freshly reincarnated protagonist—found himself thrust into this royal melting pot. 

On the surface, being born into such an illustrious lineage seemed like an unparalleled stroke of fortune. But Smith, lying helplessly in his crib, already felt the weight of destiny pressing down on him. His identity as Wilhelm, the heir to the Hohenzollern legacy, was both a blessing and a curse. 

From the fragments of information imparted to him by that self-proclaimed "Wilhelm II" figure, Smith had a preliminary grasp of the trials and tribulations that lay ahead. If this was indeed a new life granted by fate, it was destined to be a turbulent one. 

A storm was brewing over Prussia, one that would upend not only the Hohenzollern family but also the broader European order. The grandeur of empires often obscures the fragility of the individuals within them. But for Smith, now inhabiting the body of Wilhelm, this was no grand historical epic—it was the beginning of an intimate and grueling personal journey. 

How was he to navigate this perilous path, one fraught with expectations, betrayals, and historical inevitabilities? 

In the dim light of the wintery Berlin night, Smith, his mind spinning with half-formed plans, closed his eyes again. Outside the palace walls, the city lay blanketed in snow, eerily silent after the earlier cacophony of explosions. 

And so, the first chapter of his new life—a life as a reluctant prince—began under the flickering glow of palace lanterns.