Chapter 2

This is Germany, where a Führer is needed - Chapter 2 (2/246)

The Frog Boy

1893.

German Empire, Prussia, Berlin.

There are two main types of domestic abusers.

The first type is a scoundrel both outside and inside the home. In this case, they are usually labeled as 'human trash' rather than just a domestic abuser, and domestic violence is merely one of the countless misdeeds they commit.

The problem is the second type.

A person who pretends to be a decent member of society outside but turns into a tyrant the moment they cross the threshold of their home.

Bang!

"This damn house!"

"Ah!"

"There's nothing here that pleases me! Did you not even clean the house properly while I was out earning money? Do I look like a sugar daddy to you? Huh?!"

The man, drunk and disheveled, started beating his wife as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Compared to the average-looking man, his wife was so beautiful that she would turn heads on the street, but years of endless abuse had completely broken her, and she now silently endured the punches.

But today was a little different.

"Dad! Dad! I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please stop!"

"What, you're rebelling too, you little brat? Then why don't you just cry and whine! Aren't you going to shut your mouth?!"

The son, who always hid in the deepest part of his room whenever the drunk father came home, couldn't bear it today and rushed out to hold his father tightly to stop him.

But his desperate actions only fueled the man's rage, which had been exacerbated by alcohol, and the anger soon turned into a slap that struck the child.

Smack!

The boy, hit with such force, flew across the room and crashed into the wall.

This might be a common story in Berlin.

"Armin, Armin? Honey?!"

As the child, shocked, foamed at the mouth and convulsed, the mother, who had just been curled up and enduring the violence, grabbed the child.

"I, I was just disciplining him."

"Quick, get a carriage! Hurry!"

"I was just trying to correct his behavior."

"If the child dies, I will never, ever forgive you. Do you understand?! I'll kill you! We'll both be ruined before it's too late, so go get a carriage now!!"

"T, that, that's right. Doctor. Doctor. Doctor..."

Was it the paternal love that chased away the alcohol, or the fear of his social reputation being ruined by the title 'father who killed his son'?

The man quickly adjusted his hat and ran out to get a carriage.

The child was admitted to the hospital and remained in a coma for several days.

"I'm sorry, but we can't determine the cause."

"T, then what should we do?"

"I'll introduce you to a more skilled doctor. So..."

The child convulsed dozens of times, and even the doctors, after trying various treatments, were at a loss with this strange condition. They could only say things like "We'll do our best" or "Prepare yourself."

But perhaps heaven had not abandoned this family. A miracle occurred.

At some point, the boy's strange symptoms disappeared, and a peaceful calm like a tranquil river settled over him.

Perhaps everyone was so focused on this miraculous recovery that they didn't realize the boy's behavior had completely changed after that day.

***

My whole body aches.

Not because of pain.

It's because I've been lying in this cramped hospital bed for so long. If I keep this up, I'll really get bedsores.

I'm lying on the hospital bed, completely restrained, looking up at the ceiling.

Who am I?

Armin Rosenbaum.

A child with a father who turns from a human into a werewolf when he drinks.

Ordinary people wouldn't suddenly ponder such philosophical questions like "Who am I?" It sounds too philosophical, doesn't it?

But I was very serious. After all, the brain of a boy who had lived for a dozen years, most of which were spent crawling and babbling, was suddenly filled with the knowledge and memories of someone who had lived for over half a century.

I suffered through a long period of pain, feeling as if my head was being crushed, and my sense of self seemed to be overshadowed by the self of a certain General Jo, who had lived several times longer.

Like a piece of ice thrown into a boiling kettle, my sense of self was covered by the old man's self.

Just as the personality of the boy living in 1893 was about to disappear, and only the general from over a hundred years in the past would remain, a sudden, miraculous realization came to me.

Why must I be Jo Bomsuk?

Indeed.

It was a true Eureka moment.

As if Prometheus's fire had suddenly ignited in my dark mental world, which had been like a black void.

Jo Bomsuk.

A man who worked his whole life only to end up with the terrible title of traitor, no family, a failing country, and nothing to leave behind... Just a failure, right?

Even as the convulsions continued, I calmly and rationally reflected and concluded that it was utterly useless to define myself as an "old man who meticulously ruined his life and took his own life in solitary confinement."

Even if my life was as miserable as living in a dog's home with domestic violence, I had something that Jo Bomsuk didn't: a bright and glorious 'future.'

Seizing my youth? No matter how I looked at it, that didn't seem right.

Even if the Lord sent an angel to say, "You are indeed General Jo!" I would have to say, "No, I'm sorry, but I'm not that person"...

At that very moment, the oppressive aura of the ghost who had died by poison disappeared, and the convulsions also stopped.

It was all over.

I finally found peace and, even though I was restrained, I was very calm during the numerous examinations or interrogations with the doctors, who I couldn't tell apart.

During this time, I pondered the incredible philosophical dilemma I had experienced.

It wasn't a question of self-identity. That was now meaningless. I wasn't curious about the truth.

What was important now was this future knowledge.

Yes, this sudden knowledge of the future.

Santa Claus had never given me a single gift despite my good behavior, but he must have given me this future knowledge as interest on all the missed gifts. I was very happy. The bicycle that Hans from next door boasted about so much couldn't compare to this amazing gift.

If this turned out to be wrong... I might as well go to a mental hospital. Or grow a mustache and go to art school.

According to this memory, two massive world wars will break out in the future, and Germany will start both wars and end up in ruins each time.

It's a huge dilemma for a little child, but what can I do? After absorbing decades of memories, I had to mature prematurely. I never thought I'd skip adolescence like this.

If I had grown up normally, I would have followed in my father's footsteps and become a financier, but knowing that this Prussia will be ground to dust like finely milled flour, I couldn't calmly follow that path. What if I'm dragged to the battlefield and die?

Moreover, the last words I heard from Mr. Jo Bomsuk.

'If you achieve the great feat of completely altering the world and history, you can have one wish granted as a reward.'

I had never heard such a story in any of the fairy tales I knew. There were stories about rubbing a magic lamp to grant wishes or selling one's soul to achieve a wish, but not this.

The first thing that came to mind was, of course... going to America.

If America becomes so powerful in the future and becomes the world's hegemon, why not save up and take an immigrant ship to America and succeed there? That way, there would be no war or anything.

But there's no guarantee that I can achieve that great feat if I go to America. Besides, America is the victor of history. The fact that it was described as 'twisting' suggests that going to America isn't the answer. On the other hand, Germany has endless possibilities.

No, I don't need to make excuses to myself.

I might be able to secretly go to America by myself, but it would be difficult to take my mother with me. Moreover, some sense of patriotism was excluding the option of leaving this country.

"Mom, I think I can be discharged now."

"Stay a little longer, okay? What if there's a problem after discharge?"

"No, I'm really fine."

Look at how worried she is, even though I've been fine for a while. If I tell her I want to immigrate to America, she might faint.

Even after I was discharged, nothing really changed.

"I'm sorry. Please forgive me."

"A, Dad...!"

My father, who was gripping my shoulder tightly and speaking softly.

"This damn house!! This wretched woman!"

Bang!

Listen to the sound of plates breaking. Another day where nothing is left intact.

He managed to stay sober for a week, but then started drinking again, and four days after resuming drinking, he turned back into a monster.

It started again.

I rolled up the blanket to cover my ears and fell into deep thought again.

If I exclude the option of immigrating to America, the fastest way to rise in Germany would naturally be to become a soldier.

I once thought that with the long experience and knowledge of a professional soldier embedded in my mind, it would be easy to rise in rank.

But this is a class-based society.

Rising in the military without being a noble? It might be possible if I become a war hero. Isn't that the case with Rommel, the 'Desert Fox' who will appear in the future? The problem is that Rommel didn't achieve the feat of changing history.

Moreover, it's too late.

If this were a country like America, I might have a chance to become a war hero and rise quickly during World War I, but the German Empire is not a place where you can instantly get a star for a little bit of military service. What good would it do to get a star when I'm old? With my future knowledge, the probability of dying in a muddy trench is higher for a junior officer than for a regular soldier.

What should I do?

The dilemma continued.

One day, while I was pondering over and over again.

I came across a book by chance.

The Basics of Flight, as Demonstrated by Birds.

Author: Otto Lilienthal.

This is it.

This is exactly it!

It's still the 19th century.

Lilienthal, the author of this book, is now challenging flight with gliders.

If I can conquer the sky before the Wright brothers, that would be the solution.