Reincarnated as Napoleon II

Western Coast of Japan, Designated Trade Port

Late January 1837

The cold along the port had settled in fully.

Wind came off the water in steady bursts, carrying salt, damp wood, and the faint smell of coal. The French had adjusted to it. Their routine didn’t change. Guards still rotated on schedule. Engineers worked through the day. Supplies moved from ship to shore under the same careful watch.

On the surface, things looked stable again.

Japanese guards remained at their posts. Officials still came and went with the same formal discipline. Observers from Edo still arrived, though they asked fewer questions now.

But the quiet felt different.

It wasn’t cautious anymore.

It felt tight.

Guizot noticed it the way he noticed everything—through small changes. The workers no longer stared at the machines. They kept their heads down. Conversations were shorter. Even the guards seemed less relaxed, more focused.

His aide pointed it out one morning as they watched coal being unloaded.

"They’ve changed," he said.

Guizot didn’t look away from the scene. "Yes."

"Less curious."

"Not less," Guizot replied. "More controlled."

His aide glanced toward the boundary. "You think something’s coming."

Guizot gave a small nod. "Yes."

He didn’t say more.

He didn’t need to.

It happened three days later.

Near dusk.

Work was slowing down. One of the steam tools had been shut off for maintenance. Engineers were finishing their checks before turning in for the evening.

Laurent was among them.

He carried a case of instruments from the workshop toward a storage shed near the inner side of the enclosure. Since the earlier incident, he’d been more careful, but his pace hadn’t changed. He was still one of the most reliable engineers they had.

Two soldiers stood nearby, not close, but within sight.

Everything looked normal.

That was why no one caught it at first.

A man in worker’s clothes approached from the dock side, bent under what looked like a bundle of rope. He had passed through the port before. Nothing about him stood out.

Until he changed direction.

Fast.

Too fast.

By the time a Japanese guard shouted, he was already through a narrow gap between crates and inside the enclosure.

Laurent looked up.

The man was on him in seconds.

The bundle dropped.

A blade flashed.

Laurent barely turned before the knife struck just below his shoulder and drove into his chest. The impact knocked the case from his hands. Tools scattered across the ground.

He staggered back, hit the shed wall, and dropped to one knee.

The attacker raised the knife again, but didn’t get the chance.

A French soldier slammed into him from the side, knocking both of them to the ground. Another soldier shouted for help, reaching for his weapon. Japanese guards rushed in through the gate, shouting over each other.

For a few seconds, everything broke into chaos.

French commands.

Japanese shouting.

Boots hitting wood.

Steel half-drawn.

The attacker struggled hard, trying to reach the knife again. One soldier pinned him down while another kicked the blade away. A Japanese guard rushed in, sword raised, but hesitated—caught between striking the attacker or the French soldier holding him.

"Don’t move!" the Frenchman shouted.

The Japanese guard barked something just as sharp.

Neither understood the other.

And for a moment, it looked like everything might fall apart.

Then a voice cut through it.

"Stop! Stop!"

The Dutch translator pushed through, breathless, with Abe Masahiro right behind him.

Abe stepped straight into the center of it.

"Lower your weapons!" he shouted.

This time, the command carried weight.

The Japanese guards froze first. The French didn’t lower their weapons right away, but they stopped advancing.

The attacker finally went still when the soldier pinning him forced his arms behind his back.

Slowly, the chaos began to settle.

Laurent lay on the ground, blood spreading across his coat.

The medics reached him.

"He’s breathing," one said quickly.

"Keep pressure," the other replied, pressing cloth hard against the wound.

Laurent tried to speak, but the medic stopped him. "Don’t. Stay still."

Nearby, the attacker was hauled to his feet.

His face wasn’t afraid.

It was angry.

He didn’t look at the guards holding him.

He looked at the French.

Guizot arrived moments later.

He took in the scene in one sweep.

The blood.

The wounded man.

The attacker.

Abe standing in the middle of it all.

"What happened?" Guizot asked.

"One man," his aide said quickly. "He got through disguised as a worker. Went straight for Laurent."

Guizot looked at the medics. "Will he live?"

The medic didn’t look up. "If the blade didn’t go deeper, yes. If it did... we’ll see."

Guizot didn’t respond.

He turned to the attacker.

The man met his eyes without hesitation.

Abe stepped forward. "He’ll be taken into custody. We’ll question him immediately."

Guizot’s voice stayed calm. "This happened inside the enclosure."

"Yes," Abe said.

"Inside the area your government agreed to secure."

Abe didn’t look away. "Yes."

It wasn’t an excuse.

It wasn’t a defense.

It was just the truth.

The attacker spoke suddenly, his voice sharp.

"You should’ve been driven into the sea the moment you arrived."

The translator froze.

Abe turned to him. "What did he say?"

The translator swallowed. "He said... you should have been killed at the shore."

The words hung in the cold air.

The French didn’t understand the language.

But they understood the meaning.

Guizot didn’t react.

"Take him," he said.

Abe gave the order.

The guards dragged the man away. He didn’t fight. He just kept looking back until he was forced out of sight.

Night settled quickly after that.

The enclosure locked down immediately.

French guards doubled their watch. No Japanese laborers were allowed inside after dark. Patrol routes changed. Lamps were lit across the entire area, leaving almost no shadow untouched.

Inside the medical tent, Laurent was still alive.

Barely.

The wound had missed his heart, but not by much. The medics worked in silence, focused, steady.

Outside, two officers spoke in low voices.

"He was targeted," one said.

"Yes."

"This wasn’t random."

"No."

Across the enclosure, Guizot stood under a lantern with Abe and the translator.

The cold felt sharper now.

"This changes everything," Guizot said.

The translator repeated it.

Abe nodded slowly. "I know."

"It changes the terms of trust," Guizot continued. "And it changes how France will respond."

Abe’s jaw tightened slightly. "I understand."

"Do you?"

Abe met his gaze. "Yes."

There was no argument in it.

Just acceptance.

"This wasn’t just an attack on one man," Guizot said. "It was an attack on our presence."

Abe didn’t deny it. "I know."

Guizot’s voice stayed even. "France won’t treat this as a minor incident."

Abe lowered his eyes for a moment, then looked back up.

"You’ll have a response from Edo."

Guizot shook his head slightly. "I need more than a response."

Abe didn’t answer right away.

"You’ll have results," he said finally.

For the first time, the weight of the situation felt clear.

Not just pressure.

Judgment.

And Abe knew he couldn’t push it away.

By midnight, the report had already reached Edo.

This time, no one questioned how serious it was.

A foreign engineer had been stabbed inside a secured area.

Blood had been spilled.

And once that line is crossed, it doesn’t go back.

At the port, the sea stayed quiet.

The Rivoli sat in the bay, dark and still, its presence heavier than before.

Inside the enclosure, no one slept well.

Not the French.

Not the Japanese.

Because this time, it wasn’t just damage to a machine.

This time, it was blood.

And once that happens... nothing stays the same.