Reincarnated as Napoleon II

Western Coast of Japan, Designated Trade Port

Late December 1836

Things didn’t go back to normal after the observers entered the French enclosure.

It looked like it did.

The French stuck to their routine. The guards stayed at their posts. The observers came and went under supervision, writing things down, asking questions when needed.

On the surface, nothing had changed.

But underneath, something had shifted.

It wasn’t just curiosity anymore.

It wasn’t just caution.

It was a divide.

You didn’t see it in official reports or hear it in formal discussions. It showed up in quieter places. In hushed conversations between samurai. In the way some observers stopped returning to the enclosure, while others asked to go again. In how guards lingered near the boundary, not just watching the French, but watching their own people.

Kuroda was one of them.

He hadn’t gone back inside after the first day.

He didn’t feel the need to.

What he saw had stayed with him. Not as tools or inventions, but as something wrong. Something that didn’t belong. Machines that didn’t support men, but replaced them.

That thought didn’t sit well with him.

That evening, he stood near an outer watch post, arms folded, eyes fixed on the dim lights coming from the French side.

"They shouldn’t be here," one of the younger samurai beside him muttered.

Kuroda didn’t look at him. "They are."

"That doesn’t mean we accept it."

Kuroda let the words sit for a moment.

"No," he said quietly. "It doesn’t."

Inside the enclosure, the French kept working.

The steam engine had become the center of everything. It powered tools, sped up work, made things move faster than they ever should. The automobile sat nearby, occasionally opened up, adjusted, studied.

To the French, it was progress.

To those watching from the outside, it was something else.

The break came that night.

It started quietly.

A single figure moved along the edge of the enclosure, careful with each step, keeping to the shadows. The guard patrols had been studied. Their timing was known.

Kuroda wasn’t alone.

Two others moved with him. Both samurai. Both silent.

They reached the barrier without a word.

It wasn’t much to look at. Just wood. Simple construction.

But it meant something.

It marked the line between what had always been... and what was changing.

Kuroda looked at it for a second.

Then stepped over.

Inside, it was quiet.

Most of the French had already turned in. Only a few guards remained on watch. The machines stood still, but even in silence, they felt... present.

The steam engine stood near the center.

Kuroda walked toward it.

Up close, it felt heavier. Not in weight, but in presence. Like it didn’t belong where it was. Like it had been forced into a place that wasn’t meant for it.

One of the samurai beside him whispered, "This is what they use."

Kuroda nodded. "Yes."

"And if it breaks?"

Kuroda looked at the machine.

"Then it stops."

He didn’t hesitate.

The first strike came down hard.

Metal rang out, sharp but contained. Not loud enough to carry far, but enough to break something that had been perfectly aligned.

Another strike followed.

Then another.

At first, the structure held.

Then it gave.

A valve bent out of place.

A connection snapped.

The machine, built on precision, began to fail under force.

That was when everything changed.

"Stop!"

The shout came from behind them.

The guards had seen.

Kuroda turned.

His face didn’t change.

"Now," he said.

One of the samurai moved toward the automobile, striking at exposed parts. Another went for the piping, trying to do more damage.

The French guards rushed in.

"Drop it!"

The command was clear, even without translation.

Kuroda didn’t move.

One of the soldiers closed the distance, weapon raised but not fired.

"Step back!"

Kuroda’s hand moved.

Not away.

Toward his sword.

For a moment, everything slowed.

The distance between them felt smaller.

The air felt tighter.

His blade began to slide free—

"Enough!"

The voice cut through everything.

Abe Masahiro stepped in.

He didn’t hesitate. He moved straight between both sides, putting himself in the middle before things could go any further.

"Stand down," he said.

The translator rushed to repeat it.

The French guards paused.

Kuroda’s hand stayed on his sword.

Abe turned to him. "What are you doing?"

Kuroda met his eyes.

"What should’ve been done from the start."

Abe’s expression hardened. "That’s not your decision."

"It should be," Kuroda said. "We’re letting them change us."

Abe stepped closer.

"You’re going against the shogun’s order."

Kuroda didn’t look away.

"Then the order is wrong."

That landed hard.

The men around them shifted, unsure.

The French held position, waiting.

Everything sat on a knife’s edge.

Abe spoke again, quieter now, but no less firm.

"Stand down."

Kuroda’s grip tightened.

For a second, it looked like he might not.

Then slowly, he let go.

Not because he agreed.

But because he chose not to take it further.

The other samurai followed.

The tension didn’t vanish.

But it stopped growing.

The French secured the area soon after.

They checked the damage. The steam engine was hit hard. The automobile had taken some blows, still intact but marked.

Security doubled. Patrols tightened.

Guizot arrived not long after.

He took in the scene without much reaction.

"What happened?" his aide asked.

Guizot glanced at the damage. "Resistance."

He walked up to the steam engine, studying it briefly.

"They’ve made their position clear."

His aide looked at him. "So what now?"

Guizot straightened.

"We continue."

"That’s it?"

"This was always going to happen," Guizot said. "It doesn’t change the plan."

He paused, eyes still on the damaged machine.

"...but it changes everything."

By morning, word had already reached Edo.

The council gathered again.

Matsudaira spoke first. "This is exactly what I warned about."

Abe didn’t argue.

"This is what happens when change starts," he said.

Matsudaira turned to him. "And you still think we can control it?"

Abe held his gaze.

"No," he said. "Not completely."