The Prince of the Kingdom of Prussia and Germany awoke feeling untouchable.
Two naked young beauties slept on either side of him, snuggled against his chest and arms, their faces relaxed with soft, satisfied smiles. Judging by their expressions, last night had not only been enjoyable—but successful in truly securing their relationship.
His.
Thanks to his absurdly youthful and powerful body, he had been able to handle both of them without collapsing. In fact, it had been Tanya and Anna who'd fallen asleep first, breathless and exhausted, while he lay there afterward feeling like he'd swallowed lightning.
Oskar still wasn't sure why this body was so strong. All he'd done in that first year after reincarnating was train like a madman: push-ups, squats, running, lifting anything that wasn't nailed down. Somehow, that had turned him into a towering, freakishly muscular version of Prince Oskar.
Lacking a better explanation, he chalked it up to a gift from God.
> Reincarnation plus a small cheat. Seems fair.
But he had things to do.
Business. Engines. The future of Germany.
So he moved carefully, scooping Tanya and Anna up as if they weighed nothing and carrying them—one after the other—toward the bathroom. They grumbled and blinked as he set them down, and together they went through a quick round of washing and morning routines. When they were clean, he carried them back to bed, tucked them in like priceless treasures, and kissed them both goodbye.
Then he dressed in his uniform, straightened his coat, and stepped out into the hallway.
The morning guard was already posted there, stiff as a board.
"Only Tanya and Anna are to enter my chambers," Oskar said calmly. "No one else. If anyone asks, you haven't seen or heard a thing. Understood, my man?"
The guard swallowed and nodded sharply. "Yes, Your Highness."
Satisfied, Oskar headed off—first to the breakfast table, as his stomach reminded him he had skipped dinner the night before.
The Crown Prince was already there, frowning at him with that familiar mix of suspicion and jealousy. Oskar ignored him happily, concentrated on eggs and meat instead, and pretended not to notice the daggers being glared into the side of his head.
Karl ate at a different table—officially as a member of the staff, unofficially as the secret second brain of Oskar's growing empire. When both of them were done, Oskar simply crooked a finger, and Karl hopped up to follow.
The Mercedes purred to life.
As soon as they were on the road, Oskar's mind shifted gears from women and laws to what lay ahead.
Diesel.
In the world of internal combustion engines, Rudolf Diesel was one of the greatest inventors to ever pick up a wrench. His diesel engine had changed everything in Oskar's original timeline—trucks, ships, submarines, generators, tanks… all powered by that compression-ignition miracle.
Oskar could, in theory, design engines himself. After all, back in his previous life he had been an engineer-turned-truck-driver, familiar with engines, their history, and all the dumb ways they broke down.
But if he tried to invent everything personally, he'd spend his entire life hunched over drafting tables.
He wanted freedom.
He wanted to delegate.
He wanted geniuses—and Diesel was exactly that.
Diesel engines had endless uses, but Oskar valued them most for:
tanks and armored vehicles,
heavy trucks and logistics,
submarines and warships,
all vital for the long wars he hoped to either prevent or win.
He also intended to use them for agriculture—tractors, harvesters, pumps. A strong nation wasn't just tanks and guns; it was food, energy, and industrial stability.
In his head, he could already see a future where:
Anna fronted a major agriculture company—
dressed up like a Germanic Demeter, goddess of grain.
Germany built synthetic fuel plants and automated factories.
The economy shifted gradually toward services and high-value work.
In wartime, those service workers could be reallocated with less damage than yanking people from basic food production or coal mines.
More people, more food, more engines.
More power.
But that was for later.
Today: Diesel.
From what Oskar remembered, Rudolf Diesel's story went something like this:
Born in Paris, March 1858, to German immigrant laborers.
When the Franco-Prussian War broke out in 1870, Germans in France suddenly became the enemy.
The Diesel family was expelled, their life upended. They fled, becoming refugees in their own empire.
Later:
In 1879, Diesel graduated from university and became a refrigeration engineer.
He was horrified by the inefficiency of steam engines—burning fuel for so little actual work.
That obsession drove him to design a new kind of engine altogether.
He eventually quit his job and opened his own engine laboratory.
There followed a grueling chain of experiments and failures, one after another, until finally, in 1892, he succeeded: a working compression-ignition engine that would carry his name.
High power.
Low fuel consumption.
Able to run on cheaper fuels.
The perfect engine for the industrial age.
But Diesel, for all his genius, was a terrible businessman.
He invested badly.
He trusted the wrong men.
He stumbled into financial traps.
By 1913, in Oskar's old timeline, he was nearly bankrupt, overworked, and mentally broken. That autumn, crossing the English Channel on a steamer, he vanished—either falling or jumping overboard—leaving behind only speculation and a devastated family.
Oskar's trip to Augsburg had a simple purpose:
Save Rudolf Diesel.
Rewrite his fate.
Secure a genius before the world crushed him.
But part of him also wondered…
What if his family carried the same brilliance?
A genius wife?
Gifted children?
Hidden talent waiting only for opportunity?
He intended to find out.
Augsburg lay in the south of the Empire — the third-largest city in Bavaria.
A place with nearly 100,000 people, which to Oskar's modern Chinese brain barely counted as a "city" at all.
One hundred thousand?
That was a residential block in Shanghai.
At best.
But in 1904, Augsburg was prosperous, industrial, respectable — and important.
Karl had already obtained Diesel's address from their network.
Following that, their car pulled from the main street into the quieter, more run-down suburb where Diesel rented his workspace.
The area was… bleak.
The building Diesel used was an abandoned factory, repurposed into a laboratory simply because the rent was cheap. Here, in this shabby corner of Bavaria, he had performed hundreds of experiments — and created the engine that would shape the entire 20th century.
Oskar stepped out of the car.
All eyes on the street turned instantly toward them — toward the gleaming Mercedes, and then toward him, the giant, broad-shouldered Fifth Prince of Germany, recognizable even without royal insignia.
A small blonde boy — perhaps twelve — froze mid-stride, newspapers clutched to his chest. His boots were worn, his coat too thin for the cold, and his nose red from the wind.
Oskar crouched down to eye level, gently wiping the boy's face with a gloved hand.
"Little man," he said warmly, "is Mr. Diesel here today?"
The boy's eyes nearly popped out of his head. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again. He nodded frantically and pointed at the old factory behind him.
As he did, the newspapers slipped from his hands and scattered across the cobblestones.
Oskar picked one up.
Front page:
"Prinz Oskar besucht Krupp – Neue Ära in der Rüstungsindustrie?"
His name, printed in bold type, above even the Russo-Japanese War reports.
He exhaled.
Karl must be enjoying this.
Oskar turned back to the boy.
"Good. Thank you for your help. Karl—pay him for his hard work."
Karl hesitated. Oskar being friendly with commoners always made him nervous.
But he dutifully pulled out two silver Mark coins and placed them in the boy's hands.
The boy gasped — two whole Marks was a small treasure for a news-seller.
But Oskar frowned.
"That's not enough."
He reached into his coat pocket, searching for loose change… and pulled out a large, ornate paper note instead.
Karl saw it.
His soul left his body.
"Your—Your Highness, wai—"
Too late.
Oskar pressed the note into the boy's hands.
A 1000 Mark banknote.
The street went silent.
The boy stared at it, stunned into complete paralysis.
And Oskar, totally oblivious, smiled at him and said:
"Use it wisely, little man. Best money is money invested. Buy writing tools, buy books, practice reading… maybe one day you'll be the one writing the newspapers, not selling them."
The boy opened his mouth.
No sound came out.
He just nodded frantically and hid the note under his coat before anyone could see.
Karl pinched the bridge of his nose so hard he nearly tore skin.
Oskar didn't care even if he knew that what he had given a simple boy. In this time period a 1000 Mark note was insane money.
Simply put a factory worker earned about 3–4 Marks per day.
A newsboy maybe 15–25 Marks per month.
Middle-class monthly rent was 20–40 Marks.
A small house or land parcel might be several thousand Marks.
In modern terms, a 1000-Mark note was roughly equivalent to:
> €8,000–€15,000
(or $9,000–$17,000 USD)
Oskar had essentially thrown a life-changing fortune into the hands of a freezing newspaper child without blinking.
The boy not being a fool and realising the value of what he held finally managed to squeak out:
"D-Danke, Euer Hoheit!"
He bowed so deeply he nearly fell over.
Oskar ruffled his hair affectionately and stood.
Then he and Karl walked toward the old industrial building.
As they entered Diesel's domain, Karl whispered:
"Your Highness… you just casually handed a child enough money to buy his own bakery."
Oskar shrugged.
"I liked his spirit."
Karl stared at him, deadpan.
"…He sold newspapers, Your Highness. That is his spirit."
Oskar grinned and patted Karl on the head.
"Come, my little man. Let's go rescue a genius."
Together, they stepped into the cold, echoing shell of the abandoned factory—
—toward Rudolf Diesel's workshop, and toward a future neither of them could yet imagine.
They followed a dim corridor, boots scraping softly on dusty concrete. Shadows of long-dead machinery loomed in the corners like skeletal giants. At the end of the hall, a single wooden door stood slightly warped with age.
Oskar raised his hand and knocked.
Shuffling sounds came from within. Bolts slid back. The door opened with a creak.
A middle-aged man stood there in a dark, oil-stained work coat. His hair was thinning, his eyes sharp but tired, his cheeks a little hollow. There were ink marks on his fingers, grease under his nails, and the faint smell of metal and exhaustion clinging to him.
"I am—? Who are you?" he asked, frowning slightly.
He didn't recognize the towering young man filling his doorway, or the neatly dressed dwarf beside him. Diesel didn't exactly go out to society events; his world was this building and the machines inside it.
"Mr. Diesel, hello," Oskar said, smiling politely. "We've come because I've heard so much about you. About the engine you invented—high power, low fuel consumption, able to run on low-quality fuel."
Diesel blinked, surprise flickering in his eyes. Then he gave a small, cautious nod.
"That much is true," he said. His gaze sharpened. "And you are… investors?"
He didn't say finally, but the hope was there.
"Come in," he added quickly, stepping aside.
Inside the yard, the chaos only multiplied.
Engine parts lay stacked in corners like twisted sculpture. Tools were scattered on benches. Sheets of scribbled calculations and diagrams hung from nails or lay rolled in piles. The air was thick with the smell of oil, metal shavings, and burnt fuel.
Even Karl, who had grown up around palace workshops, stopped and stared with something like awe.
He looked like a child who had just walked into a fossil hall full of dinosaur bones.
Diesel led them toward a massive, blocky machine set up on a foundation of bricks and iron beams.
"This," he said, laying a hand on it with the exhausted affection of a man introducing his troublesome child, "is the diesel engine I developed. Efficient. Reliable, in principle. But…" He exhaled. "The market does not accept it easily. Many prefer what they already know."
His eyes dimmed as he said it.
Oskar nodded slowly.
He knew the story already:
A mind like this invents something revolutionary.
Competitors attack.
Investors lose patience.
The man who changed the world can't pay his rent.
"Your situation is… difficult?" Oskar asked gently.
Diesel gave a weary half-smile.
"Criticism from established firms. Legal battles. Poor investments on my part," he admitted. "Engineering is easy. Business…" He shook his head. "Has not been kind to me."
Oskar studied the engine. It was big, ugly, angular—more a proof of concept than a finished product. But he could see it: the possibilities, the potential, the skeletal outline of the future.
Every invention looks crude at the start, he thought.
Refinement comes later.
"Mr. Diesel," Oskar said, straightening. "This is a great invention. I'm very optimistic about what it can become."
Diesel looked at him, searching his face to see if he was just being polite.
"I believe that too," Diesel said quietly. "But I am not sure I will live to see that future. There are… limits to what a man can endure."
For a moment, despair washed through Diesel's eyes like a passing shadow.
"No, my man, Diesel," Oskar said firmly, stepping closer. "We're not going to let it end like that. I believe we can overcome this difficulty easily."
Diesel blinked, unused to anyone speaking about his future with that much certainty.
Oskar smiled.
"Let me introduce myself properly. My na—"
A sudden squeal cut across his sentence.
"OH MY GOD—so cute!"
Karl vanished.
One moment he was standing beside Oskar.
The next, he was dangling in the air, grabbed from behind by a pair of small hands.
Oskar and Diesel both spun around.
A young woman stood there holding Karl under the arms as if he were a surprisingly heavy doll. She was petite and slender, but with a well-shaped, youthful figure under a modest dress. Dark brown hair was pinned up hastily, wisps escaping around a finely shaped face. Her eyes were bright, wide, and currently fixed on Karl with the delighted shock of someone who had just found a living toy.
Then she registered his expression.
Karl smiled at her, utterly nonplussed.
Her arms went limp.
She dropped him.
Fortunately, Karl had long practice at being picked up, dropped, lifted and mishandled. He twisted in the air, landed on his feet with only a slight wobble, then straightened his coat as if this had all been pre-arranged.
The girl slapped a hand over her mouth, mortified.
"I—I'm so sorry! I thought— I mean, you looked like— I thought someone dressed a child in a suit and—"
Karl instantly transformed.
He stepped forward, took her hand in both of his, and bowed over it like a perfectly trained courtier.
"My lady," he said, kissing her knuckles with almost ridiculous care, "no apology is necessary. I am honored that you considered me adorable."
Her blush hit full power.
"O-Oh," she stammered. "I'm… Hedwig Diesel. But you can call me Heddy."
"Heddy," Karl repeated, as if tasting the name. "A beautiful name. Like the dawn over the Alps. And fitting," he added with a completely shameless smile, "for someone as stunning as the sunrise."
Oskar stared.
Diesel stared.
Somehow, against all natural laws and social expectations, a dwarf had just landed a clean flirt on a respectable engineer's daughter within thirty seconds of being lifted like a plush toy.
"…That's my daughter," Diesel muttered under his breath, half proud, half alarmed.
Oskar clapped him on the shoulder and gently turned him back toward the engine.
"Well, my friend," he said, amused, "that dwarf over there is a millionaire. Sooner or later children must be set free to find their own path in life."
Diesel snorted despite himself.
When they both glanced back again, Karl and Heddy were no longer at the doorway. They had migrated toward a corner of the factory, where Heddy was pointing out tools and machines and Karl was nodding like he'd found a new holy relic.
Oskar smiled.
"Now," he said, tone shifting back to business, "where were we?"
He squared his shoulders and looked Diesel straight in the eyes.
"My name is Oskar," he said. "I am the fifth son of Emperor Wilhelm II of the German Empire. I own the German Welfare Lottery Company, Deutsche Werke Shipyard, and several other enterprises. And now I plan to add engine manufacturing to that list. I hope you will join me in that dream and build engines with me—for Germany."
Diesel froze.
"What?" he managed. "Prince… Oskar?"
He clearly knew who the Kaiser was.
And from the newspapers, he had heard rumors of a certain unconventional Fifth Prince—but he had never expected that same prince to walk into his shabby factory and hug his engine like an old friend.
"Y-Your Highness," Diesel stammered, "I—I had no idea— I beg your pardon, I—"
He instinctively reached out a hand for a shake, then snatched it back when he remembered the thick layer of oil and grease on his fingers.
Oskar didn't give him the chance to fret.
He stepped in and pulled Diesel into a firm hug.
Up close, Diesel felt even thinner and harder-used than he looked. Next to Oskar's towering frame, he could have been mistaken for the prince's exhausted tutor or a prematurely aged older brother.
"No need to be shy, Mr. Diesel," Oskar said warmly. "From now on, I hope we can be like family." His eyes flicked sideways for a heartbeat, where Karl and Heddy were still talking. "Or at least," he added with a grin, "my dwarf and your daughter may literally become family."
When Oskar released him, Diesel let out a breath and actually laughed—a rough, disbelieving sound.
He glanced again toward the corner.
Karl and Heddy were still there. She was holding up some small part, explaining something; he was listening intently, utterly captivated.
"…It would appear," Diesel murmured, "that they are starting without us."
"Good," Oskar said. "Then we'll do the same."
His expression turned serious.
"Mr. Diesel," he said, "I want to acquire your patents and support your work. I'm prepared to offer you five million Marks. In return, you join my industrial group, and we build a future for diesel engines—properly this time."
Diesel went still.
"F-Five… million… Marks…?"
His voice cracked on the number.
For him, even at his wealthiest, his fortune had never exceeded one million Marks. Five million wasn't just a bailout. It was an entirely new life.
"Yes," Oskar said. "Five million to start. If you agree, I'll establish a research and development center here in Augsburg. The future factory can also be based here. You won't need to leave your home. All I ask is that you continue to refine your engines: make them more reliable, more powerful, more compact. I'm particularly interested in applications for heavy vehicles, ships, and submarines."
He paused, then added casually:
"And I also have some drawings—ideas from… let's say, places you haven't seen yet—that should help speed your work."
Diesel swayed a little where he stood, as if a sudden wind had hit him indoors.
A prince.
Five million Marks.
A guaranteed R&D center.
And someone who not only believed in his engine, but saw uses for it he had barely begun to dream.
The despair from earlier cracked.
And through it, the first honest spark of hope in years began to flicker in Rudolf Diesel's eyes.