Reincarnated as Napoleon II

Edo, Japan

Late October 1836

The Rivoli did not remain in Edo Bay.

Guizot had expected that much.

From the moment the letter had been delivered, it was clear that understanding would not come quickly. The language barrier alone was enough to delay any response, and the reaction on the shore had already shown that the Japanese were not prepared to answer immediately.

So they did not wait.

The fleet withdrew in the same controlled manner it had arrived. No sudden movement, no sign of retreat, only a steady turn away from the bay. The Japanese ships that had gathered at a distance watched them go, uncertain whether they had just been spared or merely postponed.

Guizot stood at the deck as the coastline slowly faded.

"They’ll need time," his aide said.

"Yes," Guizot replied. "And we’ll give it to them."

"Two months?"

"That should be enough."

The Rivoli turned south.

Back toward Manila.

Back toward waiting.

Time passed differently in Edo.

The city returned to its rhythm on the surface, but beneath it, the report and the letter continued to move through the layers of authority. The document was examined repeatedly, passed between officials who could not read it but understood its importance.

The conclusion came quickly.

They needed someone who could.

Dejima.

The order was sent.

A Dutch intermediary was requested, one who could read and speak the language written in the letter. It took time to arrange, time to travel, time to ensure that the man brought forward could be trusted to interpret without distortion.

Two months passed before he arrived.

Inside Edo Castle, the atmosphere had shifted.

Not outwardly.

The structure of order remained the same. Guards stood in place. Officials moved as they always did. But there was a sense of expectation now, something held back, waiting for clarity.

The translator was brought into the chamber under supervision.

He was not treated as an equal, but he was not dismissed either. His presence was necessary, and everyone in the room understood that.

At the center of it all sat Tokugawa Ienari.

The letter was placed before him.

Sealed.

Untouched since it had arrived.

An official stepped forward.

"You will read this," he said to the translator. "And you will explain it clearly."

The translator bowed slightly.

"Yes."

The seal was broken.

The paper unfolded.

The room remained silent.

The translator began to read.

His voice was careful, deliberate, making sure each word carried its meaning without alteration.

"This message comes from His Imperial Majesty, Napoleon II, Emperor of the French."

A murmur moved quietly through the room.

Tokugawa Ienari did not react.

He watched.

The translator continued.

"He expresses his intent to establish formal diplomatic relations with the nation of Japan, along with the opening of trade between both states."

The words settled.

Not unexpected.

But not welcome.

"He offers cooperation," the translator went on, "and states that such relations would bring mutual benefit through exchange of goods, knowledge, and commerce."

One of the advisors spoke.

"Benefit for whom?"

The translator did not answer that.

He continued reading.

"He further states that France has already established similar relations with the Qing Empire, opening their ports to foreign trade under agreement."

That drew a stronger reaction.

Several officials exchanged glances.

Tokugawa Ienari finally spoke.

"What did he say?"

The translator looked up.

"He says that China has opened its ports to them."

The room grew quieter.

"That is not possible," one advisor said.

"It is," the translator replied carefully. "Reports from Dejima have confirmed increased foreign presence in Chinese ports."

The room shifted.

The earlier confidence did not disappear, but it was no longer as firm.

Tokugawa Ienari looked at the translator.

"This Napoleon," he said. "Who is he?"

The translator paused briefly, choosing his words.

"He is the son of Napoleon Bonaparte," he said. "The former Emperor of France."

That name carried weight, even here.

"The father," the translator continued, "was a man who conquered much of the European continent. His armies defeated many nations, and his influence shaped the balance of power in the West."

The advisors listened more carefully now.

"And the son?" Tokugawa Ienari asked.

The translator met his gaze.

"He now rules France," he said. "And France is considered one of the strongest nations in the western world."

"How strong?" one advisor asked.

The translator hesitated, then answered.

"Strong enough to force China to open its ports," he said. "Strong enough to project power across great distances."

Silence followed.

That statement carried more weight than anything else that had been said.

Tokugawa Ienari leaned slightly forward.

"And the ship," he said. "The one they described."

The translator nodded.

"It is part of that strength."

The implication was clear.

This was not a wandering group of traders.

This was a state.

Organized.

Capable.

And willing to act.

The translator finished reading the letter.

No one spoke immediately.

The meaning had settled.

Not fully understood.

But enough.

Tokugawa Ienari remained still for a moment.

Then he spoke.

"They ask for trade," he said.

"Yes."

"And if we refuse?"

The translator did not answer.

He did not need to.

The room already understood.

One of the advisors spoke.

"They took our men," he said. "They fired upon the bay. This is not a request. It is a demand."

Another nodded.

"They test us."

A third added,

"They measure our response."

Tokugawa Ienari’s gaze remained steady.

"And what do you think they will do," he asked, "if we deny them?"

No one answered immediately.

Because for the first time, the answer was not certain.

The confidence that had filled the earlier meeting was no longer absolute.

It had not disappeared.

But it had been challenged.

France was not like the others.

Not like the Dutch.

Not like the Russians.

Not like any foreign power they had dealt with before.

They had opened China.

They had arrived in Edo Bay without hesitation.

And they had left without being stopped.

Tokugawa Ienari leaned back slightly.

"They will return," he said.

No one disagreed.

"Yes," one advisor said. "They will."

The room remained quiet.

Then the shogun spoke again.

"Then we will be ready when they do."

This time, the words carried a different meaning.

Not just confidence.

Preparation.

Far to the south, in Manila, the Rivoli remained at anchor.

Guizot stood on the deck once more, looking out toward the horizon.

He did not know the exact details of what had happened in Edo.

But he did not need to.

"They’ve read it by now," his aide said.

Guizot gave a small nod.

"Yes."

"And?"

"They understand enough."

The aide looked at him.

"And when we return?"

Guizot’s gaze remained fixed ahead.

"Then they will answer," he said.