Smile, Wilhelm!

The man known as Lassalle had no time to answer the voice calling from behind him. Hearing the words, he only quickened his pace, vanishing into the snowy night. Two lonely rows of footprints were left behind, soon swept away by the swirling snow, leaving the land pristine and white once more.

However, Lassalle was one of the few fortunate ones. By the time the chime marking the day's end rang, over 480 of the 500 individuals listed had been arrested by the authorities. They were confined in the cramped, cage-like temporary cells of the Berlin Police Station. Occasionally, officers would interrogate a few, trying to extract information about whether the newborn from the Hohenzollern family had any connection to these individuals. More crucially, they sought to uncover if any "foreign influences" lurked behind these events.

If Smith had known this, he would have been almost certain that the Berlin police would end up empty-handed. Yet, from another perspective, it was hard not to suspect otherwise. Even some "foreign influences" worried about this possibility.

Take, for example, Smith's opportunistic grandfather-in-law, Prince Albert of the United Kingdom, consort to Queen Victoria and a prince of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha from Germany.

Though connected by marriage to Prussia's Regent Wilhelm, Prince Albert was significantly younger than his father-in-law. Born on August 26, 1819, Albert wasn't even 40 years old yet—an unremarkable fact in the early-marrying, early-reproducing European royalty of the 19th century.

Still, the not-yet-40-year-old prince already looked aged. His hair was thinning, his face pale and haggard, and his frame stooped. From a distance, he resembled a man in his fifties.

Who could have imagined that this same Prince Albert once possessed a full head of glossy hair, a ruddy and vibrant complexion, and a tall, athletic figure? He was the object of admiration wherever he went, so much so that even Victoria, who had once vowed to remain unmarried like Queen Elizabeth I, found herself unable to look away when she first saw him. And Albert, in turn, was captivated by his petite and enchanting cousin.

The course of their lives was likely set at that moment. Victoria, as Queen of the United Kingdom and his cousin, boldly proposed to Albert. Soon after, Europe bore witness to a royal wedding that would shape the world for nearly a century. It was one of the rare instances of true mutual affection in European royal marriages. Victoria believed herself the happiest wife on earth.

Albert, however, knew he could never be the happiest husband. His wife was the Queen of the British Empire. Though the public outwardly celebrated their union, many of her subjects privately looked down on him, a prince from a minor German duchy. Others feared he might seize control of the government. Albert, astute and ambitious, indeed harbored dreams of governance and reform.

Fortunately, the Queen's deep love and trust in him provided some solace. Victoria heeded his counsel on almost all matters of state, and Albert worked diligently to influence Britain for the better with his intellect and integrity. Naturally, detractors accused him of reducing the Queen to a puppet, claiming Albert was the true ruler. When such gossip reached Victoria, it only elicited her disdainful laughter. Not long after, Albert was granted the title of "Prince Consort"—a formal acknowledgment of his role.

Now, everything seemed legitimized.

But the endless responsibilities of the empire were draining the life from Prince Albert. His rigorous work ethic, characteristic of his German Virgo nature, only intensified the toll. His office lights stayed on later and later, and the hours he spent at his desk grew longer. Everyone knew this was a battle Albert could never win, yet he had resolved to fight it to his last breath.

Tonight, however, the lights in Albert's office weren't burning for state affairs. When Queen Victoria opened the door, she was startled to find her usually composed and rational husband visibly upset. His face, typically pallid from overwork, was now flushed red, his eyes rimmed with tears.

Victoria hadn't seen Albert in such a state for a long time.

"My dear Albert," Victoria said, hurrying to his side and taking his arm. "What on earth has happened?"

"My dearest, look at this!" Albert's voice trembled as he handed her a piece of paper.

Victoria took it—a telegram. Its contents made her heart sink.

"Why would Michel do this?!" she exclaimed. Though trained from a young age to maintain a composed demeanor, the rebellious Queen had never taken such lessons seriously—especially not in front of her husband.

Perhaps emboldened by her reaction, Albert let his emotions erupt. In German, he shouted, "Traitor! How dare he!"

Albert began pacing the study, his arms gesticulating wildly, as though he wanted to tear Michel apart. But his rational mind reminded him that Michel was already dead—long gone in Berlin. Even if Albert wished to desecrate his corpse, it was impossible. Nonetheless, the prince needed to vent.

"That was an order!" he bellowed. "To protect Vicky and her child was an order! Who does he think he is to defy me like this?"

Victoria watched her enraged husband and gradually regained her calm. This peculiar dynamic often played out in their marriage: Victoria was the impulsive one, Albert the rational. Yet when Albert lost control, Victoria instinctively became the anchor.

As clarity returned to her thoughts, memories resurfaced. She recalled the last time Albert had been this furious.

It was in 1842, when their eldest daughter, Victoria, was not yet two. At that tender age, a simple illness could prove fatal. Tragically, the young princess fell gravely ill.

As the daughter of the Queen of England, she should have received the best care. Yet her governess, Louise Lehzen, failed to arrange proper treatment. Watching their daughter teeter on the brink of death, Albert—usually so restrained—erupted in anger. He had a heated argument with Victoria, for it was her decision to entrust Lehzen with their child's care, despite Albert's misgivings.

From that moment, Victoria understood that their eldest daughter held a special place in Albert's heart. Even after they went on to have eight more children, it was clear the firstborn was his favorite. Her character and temperament mirrored his own, and she evoked memories of their happiest times together as a couple. For Albert, his love for their daughter naturally extended to her child. Though he had yet to meet this grandchild, he could not help but project his affections upon them.

But now, the shocking near-tragedy involving her eldest daughter's child, perpetrated by none other than a trusted guard who had followed her husband for years, was a blow that stirred not only worry but also furious indignation.

"My dear Albert," the Queen stepped forward, embracing her husband tenderly, her voice soothing.

"Willie is safe now! And so is Vicky! Philip and William will protect them!"

"Dear, it's not that simple!"

Prince Albert, his temper momentarily restrained, still spoke with a voice trembling from anger and concern.

"Michel has served me for years. I thought I understood him completely, but now it's clear he must have been bribed—who knows when! I refuse to believe this was his own idea! And if those scoundrels could buy Michel, they could bribe others too. Where there's one attempt, there will be more. We can't take that risk!"

In an instant, Queen Victoria grasped what Prince Albert meant. Indeed, they had been fortunate this time—but what about the next?

"What should we do, then?" Victoria asked, gazing at her husband, still tall despite a slight stoop, as she had so many times over the past two decades when faced with matters of great importance.

"I think I may need to make a trip to Berlin," Prince Albert muttered, almost to himself rather than to the Queen.

"Then I'll go with you!" Victoria blurted out.

"You're the Queen—the British Empire needs you!" Albert replied almost reflexively.

"But my husband needs me!" Victoria said firmly.

And thus, the matter was decided.

"Do you have any idea how your reckless actions almost ruined everything?!"

Inside a secluded farmhouse on the outskirts of Berlin, Agent No. 5 of the Temporal Management Bureau berated a group of subordinates with barely controlled fury.

"How many times have I told you? How many times? Do not act without my explicit orders! And what did you do? Ignored me completely! Now look! The deviation value for this timeline was 64%. Thanks to your blundering, it's shot up to 73%! If HQ starts asking questions, how am I supposed to explain this?!"

Even as the words left its mouth, Agent No. 5 was startled. This wasn't its usual tone of speech, especially that last sentence—it sounded exactly like something its superior, Section Chief A, would say.

"Damn it, am I starting to talk like that old fossil?" Agent No. 5 thought, immediately reprimanding itself internally.

At that moment, one of the underlings muttered, "That extra 1.3% wasn't entirely our fault—it came from messing with the oxygen tank earlier."

Agent No. 5 snapped back to attention. Indeed, tampering with the British doctor's oxygen tank had been its idea, but it had been a carefully planned move. Here's how it thought:

The divergence in this timeline began with the doctor's successful delivery of William. Suspecting him of being a time traveler was only logical, and the subsequent actions would naturally follow. If he was a time traveler, eliminating him would reduce the deviation below the threshold. If he wasn't, it would still serve as a warning to the real traveler, forcing them to keep a low profile and avoid causing significant timeline fluctuations, thereby buying more time for the next steps of the investigation.

In hindsight, the doctor turned out not to be a time traveler, and eliminating him cost a 1.3% increase in deviation. But to Agent No. 5, this was an acceptable price—one less suspect to worry about wasn't a failure.

However, this was no time for logical explanations. Fixing a steely gaze on the troublemaker, it growled, "Stop trying to dodge responsibility! Is there any real difference between 7.7% and 9%? Do you know it took 919 rogue travelers sixteen years of meddling in the late 19th century to cause a 10% increase in deviation? And you—you lot managed almost as much in one go! Tell me—what do you plan to do about it?"

Silence reigned. After a long pause, one of the more daring agents finally spoke up.

"We'll fix it. We caused this mess, so we'll smooth out the 7.7% ourselves!"

"Oh, you'll fix it? Wonderful! And how, pray tell, do you intend to do that?" Agent No. 5 laughed bitterly.

"Can you bring the dead back to life? Restore Berlin's situation to how it was before? Such bravado!"

This time, the previously bold agent had no answer. Agent No. 5 softened its tone slightly but remained stern.

"I get it—this was a big case, and everyone wants to leave their mark for a shiny résumé. But let me remind you: don't bite off more than you can chew. This isn't as simple as you think."

Then, with unprecedented severity, it declared, "Listen up, you useless bunch! Sit tight and stay put. Step out of line again, and I'll personally see each of you sent packing! Now scram!"

The group of subordinates scattered like smoke, relieved to escape. Agent No. 5, however, was left stewing in frustration, realizing it had started to sound even more like Section Chief A.

But the thought was fleeting. Agent No. 5 had far more pressing problems to deal with.