1885, I came to save Greece

A mother's approval is only the first step.

Constantine's real "interviewer" finally arrived, albeit belatedly.

Prince William, the future Emperor of Germany.

The meeting took place at a royal hunting ground outside Berlin, rather than a solemn palace.

Snow covered the desolate coniferous forest, the air was as cold as a knife, and every breath brought out large wisps of white mist.

This in itself is a declaration—on my turf, in my way, according to my rules.

When Constantine arrived, a hunt had just ended.

Prince William and his group of Junker officers, dressed in tight-fitting hunting attire, were gathered around a large stag they had just hunted, talking and laughing loudly. Warm blood stained a large patch of snow, and the sweet, metallic scent mingled with the cool fragrance of pine, creating a somewhat pungent odor.

William was dressed in a dark green hunting outfit, his naturally disabled left arm slightly curled up, but this did not diminish the arrogance in his expression. He was like a proud peacock, displaying his spoils to everyone.

Upon seeing Constantine's carriage, he didn't even put down the still-dripping hunting knife in his hand, but merely gestured contemptuously with his chin towards the attendant beside him.

Then, in a deliberately raised voice, loud enough for the entire hunting ground to hear, he shouted:

"Go! Pour our cousin from the south a glass of the strongest hot liquor! His delicate frame mustn't be blown away by the Prussian winds!"

The young officers around immediately burst into laughter.

The laughter was filled with undisguised mockery and contempt.

Alexandros's face flushed red instantly, and his hand instinctively went to the hilt of the sword at his waist.

Constantine, however, remained calm.

A naive show of force. He sneered inwardly. This did indeed fit the historical assessment of Wilhelm II—a performative personality driven by extreme inferiority complex and a thirst for recognition.

He calmly alighted from the carriage, took the silver cup handed to him by the attendant, and the hot wine inside emitted a strong aroma. But he did not drink it immediately.

He walked slowly to the dead stag, as if he hadn't heard the shrill laughter at all.

He crouched down and carefully examined the fatal wound on the stag's neck.

The wound was smooth; a single bullet pierced the heart.

Constantine stood up, turned to Prince William, and gave him a purely technical look of admiration.

"One shot, one kill. The bullet precisely severed the carotid artery without shattering inside the body, preserving the best of the venison. Perfect marksmanship."

His gaze swept over the exquisite British-made hunting rifle in Prince William's hand.

"Brother William, your marksmanship, like the renowned Royal Guard cavalry under your command, is filled with an overwhelming and awe-inspiring power."

These words contained not a trace of flattery, but were entirely based on professional judgment and affirmation.

It acknowledged the strength of the other party while subtly demonstrating that it was not a complete novice.

The laughter and chatter on the hunting grounds abruptly ceased.

The Junker officers looked at each other, somewhat bewildered.

Prince William was clearly pleased.

Being praised so accurately by an expert, especially a "distant relative" whom he looked down upon, greatly satisfied his inflated ego.

He casually tossed the hunting knife to his servant, wiped his hands with his deerskin gloves, and strode over.

A palm as large as a fan slammed heavily onto Constantine's shoulder with astonishing force.

"Ha! My dear Connie! Good eye!"

William leaned close to his ear and spoke in a tone that was both affectionate and boastful, like an older brother to his younger brother:

"I heard you managed to outwit those arrogant British guys in Athens? Well done! You lived up to your Prussian education!"

This "praise" is even more insidious than the previous sarcasm.

It casually defines everything Constantine did in Greece as "playing tricks".

At the same time, this "intelligence" is attributed to the so-called "Prussian education," a condescending recognition and co-optation.

He wanted to completely position Constantine as a junior who was "somewhat clever" and needed his "cousin's" guidance and recognition.

Once Constantine accepts this position, he will be at a significant disadvantage in all subsequent negotiations.

Constantine still wore a polite smile.

"It is my honor to receive Your Highness's praise."

He first echoed what the other person said.

Then, he picked up the glass of hot wine that he hadn't drunk yet, brought it to his lips, and took a small sip.

The spicy liquid slid down my throat, bringing a burning warmth.

“But,” Constantine put down his glass, his gaze calmly meeting William’s inquisitive eyes, “all the actions of the Greeks were not acrobatics, but a struggle for survival.”

His gaze passed over William's shoulder and landed on the stag lying in the snow, its body already stiffening.

Constantine's voice calmed down, and every word was crystal clear.

"Like this deer, it runs through the forest not to show off its graceful figure to hunters."

"It runs simply to survive."

On the hunting grounds, even the last trace of laughter and conversation vanished.

In the coniferous forest, only the whistling of the cold wind through the bare branches remains.

Prince William's smile slowly froze.

He froze for a moment.

He never expected that this seemingly gentle and refined Greek crown prince would forcibly insert his own lines into his pre-planned script in such a way.

This instantly transformed a condescending personal "praise" into a cold, national-level narrative.

William abandoned his last bit of nonchalance.

For the first time, he truly looked at his "cousin" who was a few years younger than him but had an unusually calm gaze.

There was no anger, no flattery, no fear in those eyes.

There was only a bottomless calm.

His words and actions, which he had just used to test and humiliate her, were like pebbles thrown into a deep pool, not even causing a ripple.

William waved.

The young officers who had been watching immediately and tactfully retreated to a distance.

Only the two of them remained on the hunting ground.

And the stag lying in the snow, symbolizing the failure of "survival".

"Connie, come with me."

William turned and walked toward a cabin deep in the hunting grounds.

His voice no longer carried that deliberate, exaggerated boasting, but instead carried a hint of genuine seriousness.

"Since you enjoy talking about survival so much..."

William stopped at the door of the cabin. He turned around, his eyes, those of a future emperor, fixed intently on Constantine.

"Then let's talk."

"What do you think of Greece as poor, weak, and on the verge of bankruptcy...?"

His voice suddenly turned cold, filled with imperial pressure and arrogance.

"...Why should I have a seat at the poker table of the German Empire?"

The real interview has begun.