Chapter 2

With a "clatter," the sound of a cup hitting the ground woke Hoffman. He found himself lying in bed, unharmed, but there was no sign of his grandfather. Just a moment ago, he had only reached out and knocked over the cup on the bedside table.

Where am I? He cautiously surveyed his surroundings. Had he been taken to the hospital? But the decor did not resemble a hospital ward. He struggled a bit, but felt no obvious discomfort. Before he could figure out what was happening, a man in a white coat rushed in and exclaimed in surprise, "Führer? You have finally woken up?"

"Who are you? Why am I here?" Hoffman looked at the man. Although he was wearing a white coat, the furnishings did not match those of a typical hospital room; they were more like those in the Eagle's Nest.

"Führer? I am Morell, your most loyal doctor..." The man in the white coat clearly did not expect Hoffman's questions and hurriedly explained himself.

"What are you calling me..."

"Führer!"

Oh no... Führer! Hoffman instinctively touched his nose, which felt very different from usual. He looked at his hands and noticed something strange. Even more alarming, he felt a thick mustache under his nose with the back of his hand—something he had never grown.

He struggled to sit up. "Help me to the mirror." As soon as the words left his mouth, Hoffman was even more startled; this was definitely not his usual tone of voice.

Doctor Morell was surprised by Hoffman's request, but years of obedience had made him react automatically. He gently helped the "Führer" to the full-length mirror in the wardrobe. Hoffman's eyes were slightly closed, afraid to look at his reflection, but he heard the man say, "Führer, yesterday's accident really scared us."

Another "Führer"! Hoffman steeled himself and opened his eyes wide to look at his reflection: the iconic face, the thick mustache under the nose, unique in the entire century and the entire world—this was the Führer of the Third Reich.

What is going on? Hoffman shook his head in disbelief, struggling to control his emotions to avoid revealing his shock. "Morell, my dear doctor..." He paused, carefully considering his words, then slowly asked, "What is the date today? How long have I been unconscious?"

"Today is August 23, 1942. As for your unconsciousness—well, it wasn't really that. The day before yesterday, you stumbled and fell while walking, due to some agitation. There were no obvious external injuries, but you experienced dizziness. Because 'Wolf's Lair' was too damp, you were brought back to the 'Eagle's Nest' for rest. Last night, you complained of a headache, so I gave you some barbiturates, and you slept a few more hours. It's almost 11:00 AM now." Morell explained, then cautiously added, "Respected Führer, could you please lie down for a few more minutes so I can give you a thorough examination... Your complexion is a bit pale, and... your mental state doesn't seem to be very good."

Hoffman thought: Pale complexion is natural; anyone who suddenly becomes the Führer would be terrified. However, he was not foolish enough to reveal that he was not the Führer—such a claim would only result in him being treated as a madman.

He obediently lay back down and sighed, "I'm fine, perhaps I just worry too much about the country."

Morell chuckled awkwardly. He, of course, knew the truth: Three days ago, at a meeting in the Ukrainian headquarters in Vinnytsia, the Chief of the Army General Staff, General Franz Halder, had another heated argument with the Führer over the Eastern Front. The furious general even slammed the table, and the meeting ended in discord. The next morning, after breakfast, the Führer, still angry, complained to Martin Bormann, the head of the Party Chancellery, about Halder's insubordination. In his agitated state, he tripped and hit his head on a stone...

"Führer, your blood pressure, heart rate, and pulse are all normal," Morell said solemnly, putting down the stethoscope. "For the sake of the Reich, you should take care of your health."

"Thank you for your advice." Hoffman waved his hand. "Have them wake me up in half an hour. I need to be alone to think about some things."

The doctor quietly closed the door and left. Hoffman, however, was not paying attention. His mind was racing, trying to figure out what to do. Hoffman knew exactly what had happened. As an authority in his field, he encountered hundreds of time-travel stories every year, ranging from serious strategic analyses to vivid literary novels and meticulously planned academic papers. He had always dismissed them as fantasies. He never imagined that the most absurd and unbelievable myth of time travel would become reality.

He recalled Einstein's famous quote: "Because I so despised authority, fate punished me by making me an authority. Because I so despised time travel, fate punished me by making me a time traveler, and specifically, into this person."

As he thought, he was surprised to find that his consciousness was rapidly merging with the Führer's, with no resistance or delay. The Führer's thoughts and memories were fully absorbed and integrated into Hoffman's own consciousness—everything was the same, but the Führer was no longer the same.

August 23, 1942, was a critical moment in the Soviet-German War. According to the historical timeline, by May 1945, just over two and a half years from now, the Red Army would plant their flag on the roof of the Reichstag, and he would commit suicide in a damp, dark basement. The thought of this terrifying outcome made him shudder. At this moment, he remembered old Hoffman's words: "But you are the most unfortunate, for you will face a Reich that is so difficult and challenging..." Now he understood!

No! Never! I must change this fate!

"Führer." There was a rhythmic knock at the door. "May we come in?"

"Come in." The punctuality of the Germans was well-known. Hoffman, already dressed, looked at the wall clock; exactly half an hour had passed.

Three people entered. The first was Martin Bormann, a familiar face that Hoffman quickly recognized. The second was Morell, and the last, whom Hoffman was less familiar with, was Rudolf Schmundt, a lieutenant general and the Führer's chief adjutant, as well as his most trusted advisor.

"Respected Führer, I am overjoyed to see you in good health," Bormann stepped forward and greeted him with exaggerated enthusiasm.

Hoffman nodded. He knew Morell would report his behavior to Bormann, and these were people who knew the Führer very well. He must not slip up. He replied calmly, "Thank you for your concern. The events of the past two days have been disheartening, but after resting, I feel energized and ready to lead the Reich forward."

Bormann visibly relaxed. When Morell had reported that the Führer's mental state was not ideal, he had been quite alarmed. Martin Bormann's power and position were entirely due to the Führer's support; without this backing, he was nothing. Now it seemed Morell had overreacted; the Führer was fine! He glared at Morell disapprovingly and said, "Führer, General Schmundt was originally going to brief you on personnel matters, but lunch is ready. What do you think?"

"Let's eat and talk." Hoffman waved his hand indifferently and walked out first.