Smile, Wilhelm!

"The Temporal Bureau?!"

Smith's heart skipped a beat upon hearing those words. 

To be honest, this term wasn't new to him. He'd come across it before during idle moments spent reading time-travel novels, where the authors painted it as a fearsome entity. Those writers often described the bureau as omnipotent, reigning supreme in the heavens and earth alike. 

Until the mention of it by "Smiling Willi" just now, Smith had always assumed that the *Temporal Bureau* was purely a fictional construct, a product of an author's imagination. But from the tone of "Smiling Willi" when uttering those words, Smith suddenly realized that this fabled organization might actually exist! 

With that realization, Smith naturally wanted to know more. He mentally shouted, "What exactly is the Temporal Bureau?!"

This time, however, there was no response. The self-proclaimed "Kaiser Wilhelm II" had apparently made a hasty exit. 

"Damn, that guy's a fast runner!" Smith cursed inwardly. His mind wandered to the notion that the Hohenzollern family seemed to have some genetic predisposition for fleeing. 

In 1848, during Europe's revolutionary wave, Prince Wilhelm—later to become Kaiser Wilhelm I—led troops to suppress a Prussian uprising. Yet, when the tide turned against him, he fled to England in fear of retribution. If not for the eventual stabilization of the situation and repeated pleas from the Prussian elite, he might have stayed in England indefinitely. 

As for Kaiser Wilhelm II, he too proved adept at fleeing. In 1918, with Germany on the brink of defeat, he abdicated under military pressure and escaped to the neutral Netherlands before even formally announcing his abdication. His retreat was as swift as his grandfather's dash to England. 

Clearly, this family had a knack for running. 

Reflecting on this, Smith realized he had received a mental data transfer from the so-called Wilhelm II. As a science-and-engineering-minded individual, he previously knew nothing of these historical tidbits, which lent some credibility to Wilhelm's claims. 

And now that Wilhelm had fled, it only confirmed that the *Temporal Bureau* was not an entity to be trifled with. 

But what exactly was the *Temporal Bureau*? How did it operate? Smith remained in the dark, the unknown filling him with unease. Confronting the unknown was hard enough for an adult mind, let alone a newborn baby's body, which further amplified the challenge. 

His thoughts turned murky with fatigue. Despite his active mind, Smith's newborn body demanded rest. Soon, he succumbed to sleep, his soul and thoughts within the infant form drifting off. 

---

"Are you certain? Category II-A and Category III events occurred almost simultaneously in sector 1919814?" 

In an office-like room, Section Chief A tapped the desk with their fingers, their face clouded with worry. 

"Yes, absolutely," the timid clerk stammered. "The Temporal Anomaly Detection Department confirmed it, and upper management has issued a directive." 

The clerk handed over a document with both hands. Section Chief A snatched it irritably, skimming the contents. As they read, their face darkened further, until it seemed one could wring water from their frown. After scanning a page or two, they muttered, "Damn it! It's true! What are those idiots at the Temporal Security Division doing?!"

Slamming the document onto the desk, they barked, **"And now *we*, the 19th-Century Section, have to clean up their mess? What a load of crap!"** 

"What should we do…" the clerk hesitated. 

"What should we do? Sit tight and twiddle our thumbs!" Section Chief A snapped. 

Contrary to popular belief, the *Temporal Bureau* was a bureaucratic monstrosity. While its power was immense, it operated with all the inefficiencies and infighting typical of such institutions. Petty squabbles, political maneuvering, and career-driven decisions were the norm. 

The "19th-Century Section," as Section Chief A called it, was just one of the many subdivisions within this sprawling agency. Officially known as the "Temporal Monitoring and Management Section for 1800-1890," the name was so cumbersome even its own staff rarely used it, opting for the simpler "19th-Century Section." 

Like the other sections, its primary duty was to monitor the temporal stability of its assigned time period across countless timelines. While this might sound like a matter of checking surveillance screens, the reality was far more complex. New timelines were constantly being created, while others collapsed into nonexistence. Each section had to oversee known timelines and remain vigilant for new ones. Judging by the designation "Timeline 1919814," it was clear how monumental this task was. 

Temporal anomalies were categorized into three types: 

- Category I: The least dangerous and most common, these involved unauthorized time-tourism trips. Such incidents usually resolved themselves, as tourists rarely caused lasting disruptions. 

- Category II: More serious, these involved unauthorized time travel. Divided into subcategories, II-A denoted spiritual (soul) transfers, while II-B referred to physical transfers. Mishandling these could lead to temporal instability. 

- Category III: The most severe, involving the exchange of matter or information between timelines. These incidents almost always caused significant temporal disruptions and, in extreme cases, could jeopardize the entire bureau. 

Now, with a Category II-A event followed closely by a Category III incident, Section Chief A's headache was understandable. 

After rubbing their temples in frustration, the section chief instructed the clerk, **"Bring me Agent Five!"** 

The clerk scurried off, relieved to escape the tense atmosphere. 

While waiting, Section Chief A indulged in nostalgia. Twenty years ago, when they first took charge of the 19th-Century Section, things were simpler. There were fewer timelines to monitor, and regulations were more lenient. If anomalies arose, their hands weren't as tied. But over the years, stricter oversight and heavier bureaucratic constraints had made their job increasingly difficult. 

The 19th century, being a time of upheaval, was far from the peaceful monotony enjoyed by, say, the 21st-Century Section. Here, problems sprang up constantly, like a game of whack-a-mole. Section Chief A now felt like a clown dancing with shackles, an audience growing more demanding, and chains growing heavier. 

Their ambitions of promotions had long faded. With retirement on the horizon, all they wanted was a smooth exit without major incidents. 

A knock interrupted their musings. Agent Five entered briskly—a top operative under Section Chief A, leading a capable team that had never failed a mission. The section chief was counting on them to handle this mess. 

"This is a tricky one," the section chief said, handing the report to Agent Five. 

Agent Five's eyebrow shot up as they read. "Category II-A and Category III… within an hour of each other, but no precise temporal correction or location data… Hmm, tricky indeed."

Looking up, they asked, "Why not use a Temporal Resonance Locator for precise coordinates?"

The section chief shrugged. "Not an option. The energy cost is too high, and upper-upper management would need to approve it. You know the council's been pressuring us to cut resource usage. Let's not stir the pot unnecessarily."

Agent Five frowned, realizing the situation was even more complicated than it seemed. They knew better than to argue, though, and instead asked, "Do we have any related anomalies logged before these events? Patterns might help us understand what we're dealing with."

Section Chief A sighed. "It's not like the old days. Without explicit approval from the council, we can't log or investigate non-classified anomalies. Even if other sections have data, they won't share it."

Agent Five clenched their jaw, biting back frustration. They knew the real reason behind such restrictions: the council's desire to hide their own shady dealings in the timelines. Still, there was little point in pressing the issue with a retiring superior. 

"Understood,"they finally said. "What level of authorization do I have?"

"Level Four. That's the highest I can give you within my authority."

It wasn't ideal—level four was middling for a case this complex—but Agent Five saluted crisply. "Got it. I'll get to work."

And with that, they strode out, determined to unravel the mystery despite the constraints. 

Fairly speaking, Agent No. 5 had very limited material at hand. However, the true test of an agent's skills lies in taking action with such limitations. As one of A Gu's most trusted operatives, Agent No. 5's abilities were naturally extraordinary. Drawing upon its wealth of experience, it reassembled the scant materials available, eventually narrowing down the time and location to a range worth investigating. 

After gathering its subordinates, Agent No. 5 activated the time-space shuttle. In no time, on the 1,919,814th dimensional plane, a deafening series of thunder-like explosions echoed across a Berlin winter morning in early 1859. 

Amid the resounding blasts, Agent No. 5 and its team opened their eyes for the first time in this anomaly-ridden dimension.