Put simply, the British royal succession in the 1830s was a complete mess.
The former king—George III, father of the current monarch—had produced nine sons and six daughters.
Yet his eldest son, George IV, had left no surviving heir.
Strictly speaking, he did have a daughter—Princess Charlotte—but she died while giving birth to her own child. That tragedy had plunged the royal family into crisis.
George IV was no longer capable of producing a legitimate heir.
One might assume the situation among his brothers was better.
It wasn't.
The current king, William IV, who had succeeded George IV, had several children—but every one of them was illegitimate and therefore excluded from the line of succession.
The other royal brothers were little better.
Most of their children were also illegitimate, and the few legitimate ones had died in infancy.
Even the Duke of Sussex, who intended to marry my aunt Cecilia, was one of George III's sons.
But both of his marriages had been deemed illegal under royal law.
Naturally, any children from such unions would have no claim to the throne.
In the entire royal family, there was only one clear exception.
Prince Edward, the fourth son of George III, had produced a single legitimate child:
Princess Victoria.
She alone possessed an unquestioned right of succession.
And in the year 1831, she stood as the most likely heir to the British throne.
From what I remembered of history, Victoria would ascend the throne before the outbreak of the First Opium War.
Since that war began around 1840, her ascension could only occur sometime in the late 1830s at the latest.
I also knew, from books I had read in my previous life, that her childhood had been extraordinarily restrictive and suffocating.
If my aunt approached her during this period, perhaps they could form a surprisingly close relationship.
"Killian," Aunt Cecilia said thoughtfully, "if what you say is true, becoming friendly with Princess Victoria could indeed prove valuable in the future. But as far as I know, His Majesty King William IV is not yet incapable of producing heirs. The queen is not even forty yet. That's not an age where childbirth is impossible."
Ah.
So the queen was still under forty.
That explained something important.
The aristocracy of this era probably did not yet assume that Victoria would inevitably become queen.
I knew history.
To me, Victoria's accession was practically certain.
But in 1831, she was merely the most likely candidate—perhaps a ninety-nine percent probability, but not a guaranteed one.
Which meant this was actually an advantage.
In any line—whether for a fairground ride or for political power—the earlier you joined it, the better your chances.
The real question was how to make my argument convincing.
Fortunately, a small lie told for a good cause was hardly a problem.
"Aunt," I asked casually, "do you know which political faction the queen supports?"
"The Tories, I believe."
Perfect.
That made things much easier.
"That's exactly why I mentioned this," I said, lowering my voice.
"But please—this is absolutely confidential. You mustn't repeat it to anyone."
She blinked in surprise.
"Is it truly that serious?"
"Yes. I haven't even told Father. I'm only sharing this with you."
I leaned closer.
"You know I'm acquainted with the younger son of the Duke of Wellington, correct? He told me something he heard from his father."
Cecilia leaned forward, curiosity fully awakened.
"The queen," I whispered, "has no intention of producing an heir."
"…What?"
Whether that was true or not, I had no idea.
But the end result would certainly be the same.
And if the information supposedly came from the leader of the Tory Party, its credibility would be difficult to question.
Cecilia slowly poured fresh tea into her cup and slid it toward me.
"So you're saying the Duke of Wellington's circle doesn't merely suspect that Victoria will become queen… they're certain of it?"
"Yes. But it's extremely sensitive information. They warned everyone to keep silent about it."
She raised an eyebrow.
"Then shouldn't you never have heard it either?"
"Well…" I scratched my head sheepishly.
"Lord Charles once had a bit too much to drink. I happened to be the only one nearby. He realized what he'd said afterward and made me promise not to repeat it."
That explanation was perfectly plausible.
Most human mistakes could be explained by alcohol.
Even the most careful person might reveal secrets while drunk.
And if the listener happened to be a harmless boy barely ten years old…
Cecilia's expression changed noticeably.
"If what you're saying is true," she murmured, "it could indeed be very useful information."
Then she sighed.
"Unfortunately, putting it into practice may be difficult. From what I've heard, the Duchess of Kent is extremely protective of Princess Victoria. She rarely allows her daughter to meet outsiders."
"I've heard that as well," I replied. "But if you truly wish it, I can try to find a way. Our butler James is extremely capable. And if necessary, I might carefully ask Lord Wellesley for advice."
Cecilia looked genuinely moved.
"You would go that far for me?"
She smiled gently.
"But if you're offering such help, surely you must want something in return."
"Yes," I said plainly.
There was no point pretending otherwise.
The world ran on give and take.
Even family relationships were no exception.
"Very well," she said with amusement. "What is it you want?"
"Well… once I enter Eton, there will be occasions when parents are invited to attend events."
"…I see."
"My mother cannot travel," I continued. "And Father will likely return to Ireland soon."
The countess—my legal stepmother—was elderly and in poor health. She had remained in Ireland and could not travel.
Once my father returned there as well, I would have no parental figure in London.
Personally, I didn't care.
But society believed children needed guardians.
"If you had the time," I said carefully, "I was hoping we might remain close after next year."
Cecilia stared at me in surprise.
Clearly she had expected a far more calculating request.
Then she covered her mouth with one hand.
Tears glistened faintly in her eyes as she pulled me into an embrace.
"Of course," she said softly. "Don't worry."
"I'll be living with my husband at Kensington Palace. When I have the chance, I'll ask him to invite you there. We can drink tea together. And of course I'll attend your Eton events."
"Thank you, Aunt!"
In truth, I had considered asking her to become my godmother.
But that would be better requested later, once our relationship had grown stronger.
Cecilia had no children of her own.
If we continued growing closer like this, it would not be difficult to become something like mother and son.
And if she became close to Princess Victoria…
Well.
That relationship could prove mutually beneficial.
A perfect example of cooperation.
Unexpectedly, I had gained a potential godmother.
And meanwhile, my new business ventures were progressing smoothly.
Each week I met with James and Lord Wellesley to review our operations.
Our gambling house had been transformed into a modern-style casino.
Revenue had continued to rise, and we had already acquired several neighboring establishments.
If we expanded steadily and sold the enterprise before 1840, the profits would be astronomical.
My investments in the United States were also appreciating steadily.
Every new report made Lord Wellesley grin wider.
"So," he said one afternoon, "how is that intelligence network coming along?"
"James was about to report on that," I replied. "James?"
"Yes, sir," James said calmly.
"We've secured a base of operations and recruited several experienced men—former thief-takers and members of the Bow Street Runners. As you requested, we focused on individuals skilled in gathering information and conducting investigations."
"Excellent," I said. "By next year we should be able to operate properly."
James's strategy had been correct.
After the creation of the Metropolitan Police, both thief-takers and Bow Street officers had seen their influence decline.
Many were dissatisfied.
Recruiting them had been remarkably easy.
Of course, the police alone could never fully control a city the size of London.
They would inevitably rely on unofficial intermediaries.
And that was where money could be made.
"Killian," Lord Wellesley asked curiously, "why are you so interested in gathering information? Planning to sell criminal identities to the police?"
"That's one option," I said. "But it wouldn't be very profitable."
"So what do you intend to do with it?"
"I'm not interested in wanted criminals."
I smiled faintly.
"I want information on people who grow rich by cheating others."
"Like that fellow Jack from before?" Wellesley snapped his fingers.
"Ah! I see! Just like before—you'll seize their gambling houses!"
"Unfortunately, that won't work."
"Why not? It sounds brilliant."
"One or two cases might pass unnoticed," I explained. "But rumors travel quickly in this world. If it happens too often, people will start watching us."
Wellesley nodded slowly.
"Fair point."
Indeed, cheating gamblers had been useful only once or twice.
Those profits had merely provided initial capital.
"The real information we want will come from elsewhere," I continued.
"Where?"
"The financial markets. Stocks. Bonds."
I leaned back.
"That's where the real money gathers. And wherever large sums exist, parasites inevitably follow."
Wellesley frowned.
"But how exactly do you plan to take their money?"
I smiled.
"There are ways."
He stared at me for a moment before shaking his head.
"Well… if you say so, I suppose I'll trust you. But honestly—where on earth did you learn these things?"
"I told you before," I replied lightly.
"The place I grew up was full of people who could smell money like wolves scenting blood."
In truth, modern capitalism had produced some truly astonishing frauds.
Compared to those, the schemes of this era were almost quaint.
Wellesley turned to James.
"You said you traveled to that country—Joseon, was it? What sort of place produces a child like this?"
James hesitated awkwardly.
"Well… I returned almost immediately after finding the young master. I didn't realize it was such a terrifying place…"
While the two of them slowly convinced themselves that Joseon must be some nightmarish land of cunning demons, I studied the documents James had brought.
Most of our recruits had spent five to ten years working in intelligence-related professions.
They handled everything:
Missing persons.
Lost property.
Background investigations.
Criminal networks.
Thief-takers operated in the gray area between legality and crime.
The Bow Street Runners were essentially early police.
Their skills complemented each other perfectly.
Once our organization was complete, I could assign them precisely where needed.
By the time the new year of 1832 arrived, the legal process recognizing me as my father's heir was nearly finished.
Two years had passed.
Not long.
But not short either.
The foundations were not perfect.
Yet they were solid enough.
And at last—
the time had come to leave the house I had grown accustomed to…
and depart for Eton.