With the chaos of rumor and gossip finally fading, 1841 came to an end and the new year of 1842 began.
After delivering instructions to Governor Bagot and James in Canada, Killian returned to London with a lighter mind.
He had never expected to return so early—he had been granted a full year in the New World, yet circumstances had forced him back long before that time expired.
Still, everything he needed to accomplish in North America had been completed.
So he was not anxious.
The real question was what was happening in London.
Strangely, the political parties had shown almost no reaction.
The Conservatives remaining silent made sense—Charles Wellesley had said he would speak with Killian first before taking action.
But why were the Whigs so quiet?
Surely someone would at least suggest something like:
"If Killian truly is Asian royalty, why not appoint him as a special envoy to Asia?"
Yet no such proposal had appeared.
Are they planning something else?
"Killian! You've finally arrived!"
The booming voice belonged to Charles Wellesley.
"I told you to come as soon as you received my letter. What took you so long?"
"I had matters to settle before leaving," Killian replied calmly. "But I returned as quickly as possible."
"Very well, very well. Nothing serious has happened yet anyway. Sit down—we should review the situation."
Killian nodded.
"You already know the basics, I assume?"
"Yes. Unless there has been new information recently."
"Not much," Charles Wellesley said. "Though there is one additional report. Our diplomats in the Qing Dynasty have sent word. Apparently the Qing court has also heard the rumors about you. They're treating you as a much more important figure now."
Killian sighed.
That was hardly surprising.
From the Qing perspective, the situation must seem absurd.
Britain had sent a shockingly young minister to negotiate with them—
only for it to be revealed later that the same man might be a relative of the Joseon royal family and a distant kinsman of the Tokugawa shoguns.
Anyone in their position would want to investigate.
"If Qing is reacting like that, then I suppose the matter is effectively confirmed," Killian said. "But won't there be problems? Joseon will never admit I have Tokugawa blood."
"Even if they deny it," Charles Wellesley shrugged, "as long as neither claim contradicts the other, we simply accept both. Strictly speaking, this isn't bad for you, is it? Though I imagine it's rather dizzying."
"Dizzying doesn't begin to describe it."
Killian sighed.
"You may not realize it, but if Joseon hears that Britain accepted both claims as true, they might collapse from shock."
Joseon had almost certainly fabricated the genealogy just to counter Japan's claims.
They probably never imagined Britain would respond with:
'Very well—both must be true.'
Once the news reached Joseon, they would surely attempt to correct the record.
But genealogies were easy to fabricate and incredibly difficult to disprove.
Especially in Killian's case.
His original background had been that of a slave with no verifiable lineage at all.
Joseon would find it nearly impossible to disprove the claim.
"In any case," Charles continued, "the matter cannot be undone now. What's done is done. Our party believes your position in Asia will become far stronger as a result, so perhaps we should take advantage of it."
"Of course they would think that," Killian said.
"But what about the Whigs? Why are they so quiet?"
"They've said nothing unusual," Charles replied. "Perhaps they're waiting to see what we do first."
Killian considered that.
Perhaps they were cautious because of how aggressively the Conservatives had defeated the William Lamb government earlier.
If so, it made sense they were waiting.
But caution did not mean weakness.
They were surely sharpening their knives in private.
"We can easily predict their most likely move," Killian said.
"They will try to keep me tied to Asia."
"Explain."
"They'll argue that I'm both knowledgeable about Asia and now possess legitimate royal status. Therefore, they'll claim I should be permanently assigned there as Britain's chief representative."
Charles Wellesley nodded.
"Yes. Several MPs have raised that concern."
"Frankly," Killian said with a faint smile, "that would actually be convenient."
"Convenient?"
"Yes. Because it's extremely easy to refute."
Killian leaned forward.
"All you need to do is declare that the Foreign Secretary will not be reassigned to Asia."
"The opposition will argue it's necessary for national interest."
"Then we say they don't understand Asian psychology at all."
Killian continued calmly.
"We fought a war with Qing not long ago. If the same man responsible for that conflict suddenly appears in Asia as Britain's supreme negotiator, what will the Asians think?"
"They'll assume we're trying to squeeze them for even more concessions," Charles muttered.
"Exactly."
The Whigs might respond by saying Britain came in peace.
But the Asian states would never believe that.
And Killian could always deliver the final argument.
"Tell me—do you understand Asia better than I do?"
No Whig politician would dare claim that.
If they persisted, Killian could simply reply:
"Then go negotiate there yourself."
And that would end the discussion.
More importantly—
this argument was not merely an excuse.
It was partially true.
Britain would eventually need to intervene more deeply in Asia.
But now was not the right time.
"We must remember something," Killian continued.
"Japan and Joseon didn't suddenly give me noble ancestry because they wanted to reward me. They want something in return. Which means we should step back and consider how to use this opportunity properly."
"So," Charles Wellesley said thoughtfully, "you're advising patience."
"Yes."
Killian smiled faintly.
"The moment will come when we can dominate Asia. Until then, we should hide our claws and reassure them."
Act too quickly—
and they might lose the larger prize.
In truth, Killian had already begun imagining future possibilities.
If he used the Tokugawa connection cleverly, one day he could intervene in Japan's internal conflicts.
After all—
who would object if Britain intervened to protect its 'innocent relative' from rebellious daimyo?
And the shogunate, steadily weakening under pressure from the daimyo, might gladly accept British support.
Joseon was less clear.
For now, Killian had no immediate strategy there.
But he knew one thing.
The time had not yet come.
North America must be secured first.
Then Asia could follow.
One step at a time.
He turned back to Wellesley.
"There is one more matter you should know."
"Oh?"
"It's only a possibility—perhaps even a delusion."
"Go on."
"But for now… only you should know."
Killian whispered the idea.
Charles' mouth slowly fell open.
His eyes widened in disbelief.
"…Good God."
Killian chuckled quietly.
Yes.
It was better that he had warned the prime minister in advance.
Meanwhile — The Whig Party
The moment Killian returned to London, the Conservative Party suddenly sprang to life.
The silence of the past weeks vanished overnight.
Speeches began appearing in Parliament.
"Asia is an enormous market that the British Empire cannot ignore if it wishes to rise again."
"According to Minister Killian Gore, unnecessary actions that might alarm Asian nations should be avoided."
"Some members fear France or Russia might move first—but if they do, Britain will gain an even stronger justification to intervene. After all, we would merely be helping the homeland of our own relatives."
"And long-term strategy requires unity between Parliament and government. The Conservative Party will not sacrifice future prosperity for short-term political advantage!"
The message was brilliant.
It blocked potential attacks—
while subtly emphasizing Conservative expertise.
Pro-Conservative newspapers immediately reinforced the narrative.
Watching the entire process unfold, Gladstone felt his suspicions crystallize.
There was no doubt anymore.
The true core of the Conservative Party was not the prime minister.
It was Killian Gore.
Otherwise the party could not have returned to such precise coordination the moment he arrived.
Most Whigs still dismissed William Gladstone's theory.
But that didn't matter.
He had a plan.
"Gentlemen," Gladstone said to the party leadership, "the real issue is separating Killian Gore from the Conservative Party."
"The Conservatives remain strong because of a triangle—Prime Minister Wellesley, Killian Gore, and Benjamin Disraeli."
"That's true," someone admitted.
"If one of those three disappears, the balance collapses."
"Precisely," Gladstone said.
"If Killian leaves, the party becomes entirely Wellesley's personal machine. Disraeli alone cannot balance the prime minister."
Someone nodded slowly.
"That would certainly weaken them."
Gladstone continued.
"There's a saying in politics: the best way to destroy a politician is not to attack his weakness—but to praise him until he becomes arrogant."
"Remove either Killian or Disraeli, and the internal balance of the Conservatives collapses."
"But how do we remove Killian?" someone asked.
"Does he even have a weakness?"
Gladstone paused.
"…No."
He had struggled with this plan for a long time.
After all, Killian had indirectly helped him begin his new career within the Whigs.
But the reality was unavoidable.
If the Whigs wanted to defeat the Conservatives—
this was their best opportunity.
And technically, it wasn't even an attack.
In fact, Killian himself would gain enormous honor from it.
Not only that—
it might even strengthen the unity of the British Empire itself.
For the national interest.
Yes.
That was the justification.
Finally, Gladstone spoke.
"Killian's only weakness used to be his origin—an Irish-born man of Eastern blood."
"But now that weakness has become a strength."
"Which means if we allow him to remain in politics, the Conservative advantage will only grow."
"So what do you propose?" someone asked impatiently.
"It's simple," Gladstone replied.
"If he has no disqualifications, we must place him in a position where he cannot participate in politics at all."
"That makes no sense."
"Oh, it makes perfect sense."
William Gladstone smiled faintly.
"There already exists a position of extremely high status—one whose occupant traditionally does not interfere in domestic politics."
The room fell silent.
The senior Whigs stared at him.
Finally, Palmerston spoke slowly.
"…Surely you don't mean what I think you mean."
"I believe I do."
Gladstone's voice was calm.
"Let us recommend Minister Killian Gore as the husband of Her Majesty."
Silence exploded into disbelief.
"Are you insane?!"
But Palmerston suddenly stopped.
He scratched his chin.
Because the more he thought about it—
the more the idea made sense.
Irish reconciliation.
Connection to Asia.
A symbolic step toward a truly global empire.
The justification was enormous.
And impossible to reject.
Yes.
This move would work.
And when it succeeded—
the Conservatives would lose their greatest mind.
Their prime minister's right hand.
Killian Gore.