In a modest public house somewhere in London, Charles Grey, Prime Minister of the British Empire, sat before a coffee-stained table and gave a wry smile.
"If you dislike the House of Commons so much," Grey said, "we could have met at a club. Isn't this place a bit… austere?"
"The moment I'm seen frequenting elegant establishments, the newspapers will fill their front pages with attacks on me," the man across from him replied calmly. "I'm not foolish enough to ignore that."
Grey already knew how relentlessly the press had attacked Daniel O'Connell, so he merely took a sip of the coffee.
Compared to what he normally drank, the beans were dreadful.
Still, he didn't comment.
"Since we're both busy men," Grey said, "let's get straight to the point. You can probably guess why I came."
"You intend to pass the Irish Church Reform Bill," O'Connell replied. "And you want my support."
"We worked together on the Reform Act and the abolition of slavery, didn't we? Let's cooperate again."
O'Connell leaned back slightly.
"Most Irish people will welcome this reform enthusiastically. But for that very reason, Britain's entrenched interests will oppose it fiercely. To be honest… can this bill really pass?"
So he wouldn't allow himself to become a pawn in empty promises.
Grey understood the caution.
Even though O'Connell was Ireland's most prominent political figure, his party had won only about forty seats in the last election.
That was impressive—but not overwhelming.
It meant that while O'Connell was admired, many Irish voters still supported him only cautiously.
If he mishandled a sensitive issue like the Irish Church, even his stronghold could begin to crack.
"You needn't worry," Grey said smoothly. "If necessary, we'll handle the public campaign. Your party only needs to add its votes."
"…Then all the credit will go to the Whigs," O'Connell said.
"Not necessarily," Grey replied. "If that concerns you, you might consider aligning with us more directly."
"You mean joining the Whig Party?"
Grey nodded calmly.
"That would be one option. Let's be honest—you alone cannot represent all of Ireland's political sentiment. But if our parties unite, we would control a clear majority of Irish seats."
"That assumes the next election produces the same result."
"You might gain a few more seats," Grey admitted. "But in the long run, your numbers might shrink."
"Why?"
"Because the Tories are investing heavily in Ireland."
"The Tories?"
Grey suppressed his satisfaction.
He had only intended to test the waters—but the reaction confirmed O'Connell hadn't heard yet.
Considering how packed O'Connell's schedule was, that wasn't surprising.
"You know the Earl of Arran's family, I assume?" Grey said casually. "Their heir, Killian Gore, has the backing of several influential Tory figures."
"Killian Gore…" O'Connell murmured. "Yes, I recall hearing that the Earl adopted an illegitimate son as his heir. There was some gossip about it."
"The Tories are strong in Northern Ireland, partly because of loyal Irish aristocrats like the Earl of Arran. Their plan is likely to cultivate young Irish talents like Killian Gore to expand their influence."
O'Connell's expression slowly hardened.
Northern Ireland was already a Tory stronghold.
For O'Connell, gaining influence there had always been one of the greatest challenges.
But if the Tories strengthened their foothold instead—
Then the first crack in O'Connell's power base would begin in the north.
"Killian Gore of the Arran family…" O'Connell repeated thoughtfully.
"But if we join forces," Grey continued smoothly, "there's nothing to fear. The current political landscape in Ireland is clear: the Tories dominate the north, the Whigs hold the center, and you command the south. Together, we could isolate the northern Tories."
O'Connell said nothing.
After all, cooperation with the Tories was impossible for him.
At present, the Whigs were the only British party advocating meaningful reforms for Ireland.
If O'Connell began to fear that the Tories might expand their influence there—
Then eventually he would have no choice but to accept Grey's hand.
Grey calmly sipped his coffee and waited.
At last, after the tasteless coffee was half gone, O'Connell spoke.
"…First, I would like to meet that student."
* * *
Sometimes, knowing the future creates a cruel dilemma.
If you know that something catastrophic will happen—and you also know that it leads to a certain historical outcome—
What should you do?
Allow the tragedy to unfold?
Or intervene and change history?
In the case of Ireland, this dilemma was unavoidable.
Neither the Whigs, the Tories, nor even Daniel O'Connell knew the truth.
Not because they lacked intelligence—
But because I was the only one who knew the future.
Still, in truth, my mind had been made up long ago.
Ever since my first meeting with Wellington, I had already decided.
If I wanted to rise to the top of British society—
Ireland had to become my political foundation.
If Ireland ever left Britain completely, then my own value would collapse.
At that point I would simply be a mixed-blood foreign noble—an Irish bastard with no political leverage in Britain.
Which was precisely why I had already begun preparing to expand my influence in Ireland.
Unlike in England, I could fully utilize my family's authority there.
That meant far fewer variables.
Of course, in the early stages, radical independence factions would likely call me a traitor.
But such sentiments would fade within a few years.
They weren't worth worrying about.
"Still," I muttered, examining the letter in my hand, "receiving this invitation at a time like this makes their intentions painfully obvious."
The letter bore the name of Prime Minister Charles Grey.
Of course, Grey himself wasn't requesting a meeting.
Instead, he was arranging a meeting with someone else.
But that person's name was far from insignificant.
Daniel O'Connell wishes very much to meet you. Would it not be worthwhile for two men who may shape Ireland's future to speak together?
That was essentially the message.
Given that the invitation came in the prime minister's name, refusal wasn't really an option.
And sooner or later, I had expected to meet O'Connell anyway.
Considering how chaotic the political climate currently was—with debates over Irish church reform raging everywhere—the meeting would attract little attention.
So I accepted Grey's invitation without much hesitation.
And that was how I came face-to-face with a man every Irish person knew by name.
"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Killian Gore," O'Connell said warmly. "As the prime minister mentioned, I am Daniel O'Connell."
"It is an honor to meet the great political leader of Ireland," I replied politely.
"And I am pleased to meet the heir of the Arran family, which has deep roots in Ireland," he said. "To be honest, I should have arranged this meeting sooner, but I've been rather occupied."
"I should have paid my respects when you last visited London. My apologies."
O'Connell studied my face carefully.
His sharp blue eyes still carried immense authority and charisma.
Yet there was a slight droop to his heavy brows.
To me, it looked like the weight of an entire nation's hopes pressing down on him.
It was… strangely pitiful.
"To be honest," O'Connell continued, "I didn't know much about you until recently. The prime minister mentioned your name while discussing the Church Reform Bill."
"That's understandable," I said. "A man as busy as yourself could hardly keep track of a mere student."
"No," O'Connell said thoughtfully. "A young man from the Arran family, who may someday influence Ireland's future, should have drawn my attention earlier. That was my mistake."
He leaned forward.
"But it's not too late. I would like to speak with you frankly."
Many people had claimed they wanted a "frank conversation" with me.
Most of them simply wanted to measure my usefulness.
But O'Connell felt different.
He was still evaluating me.
Yet there was also something else—
Expectation.
"As a student, I'm not sure how profound a conversation I can offer," I said modestly. "But I will do my best."
"There's no need for modesty," O'Connell replied. "I've heard you've consistently ranked first at Eton. And when I heard you regularly visit Kensington Palace, I must admit I was surprised. I never imagined the English elite would treat an Irish student so generously."
"Perhaps they feel less threatened because I am Irish."
"Ah… that is another way to see it."
He nodded slowly.
"Still, even so, they wouldn't bother unless you were exceptionally talented. After all, the Duke of Wellington personally wrote you a recommendation letter."
His tone carried a subtle edge.
Was he mocking the idea of an Irish noble currying favor with the Tories?
I didn't react.
After a moment, O'Connell asked directly:
"Tell me honestly. Do you intend to remain aligned with the Tories?"
That was… surprisingly blunt.
Then I understood.
He wasn't speaking as a rival.
He was speaking as an elder Irishman concerned about a younger countryman's future.
So I decided to answer honestly.
"I want to rise to the highest position possible in this country," I said. "For myself—and for Ireland. At present, I believe this path offers the best chance."
"I see," O'Connell said quietly. "So you support Home Rule?"
"I wouldn't frame it so simply. But if forced to choose… yes, I suppose it's closer to that."
"Home Rule…" O'Connell sighed. "It sounds attractive. It even seems more achievable than independence. But in reality, it's a sweet poison that weakens our unity."
His voice suddenly grew fierce.
"What Ireland needs is not autonomy. It is independence—nothing less!"
I understood his passion.
O'Connell had always been consistent.
Even the name of his party—the Repeal Association—made that clear.
"Killian," he continued, "I understand your logic. Rise within British society, hold high office, and help Ireland from within. It sounds noble."
He leaned closer.
"But do you truly believe Britain's aristocracy will ever grant you the position your talent deserves?"
"…Probably not easily."
"I have watched this country treat Irishmen for over forty years," O'Connell said grimly. "They will never allow you to rise too high. At best, they'll give you a decorative title to impress the Irish people."
He clenched his fists.
"How long must Ireland endure this exploitation?"
"I understand your frustration," I said calmly. "Which is precisely why I want to challenge that system myself."
"You're brave," O'Connell said gently. "But reality is harsher than youthful ambition."
He looked at me almost sympathetically.
He believed my future would follow the same painful path he had experienced.
But in truth—
I felt sorry for him.
Because the event that would ignite Irish independence had nothing to do with his decades of struggle.
"Mr. O'Connell," I said carefully, "I have considered independence as well. But Ireland itself is not united on the issue."
"That may be true," he admitted. "But with more effort, our people will come to see the necessity of independence."
In the late nineteenth and twentieth centuries, anti-British sentiment would be far stronger.
But Ireland in the 1830s was different.
Many people thought:
If we receive autonomy, why leave the British Empire?
Why not enjoy both self-government and the economic benefits of the world's most powerful empire?
Election results alone proved that sentiment existed.
"In order to ignite full independence sentiment," I continued quietly, "something far more shocking would have to occur."
"Such as?"
"A catastrophe. Something unprecedented. Imagine millions suffering in Ireland while the imperial government fails to respond."
O'Connell frowned.
"That is an absurdly extreme example."
He shook his head.
"No matter how poorly Britain treats Ireland, if such a disaster occurred in a region considered part of the kingdom, the government would certainly act."
Under normal logic, that assumption made sense.
A government allowing millions of its citizens to starve sounded impossible.
And yet—
It would happen.
A horrific tragedy born from British prejudice against Ireland, Malthusian population theory, and laissez-faire economics.
Within roughly a decade, the Great Famine would strike Ireland.
The population would fall from over eight million to barely four million.
If history unfolded as I remembered, that catastrophe would ignite the independence movement O'Connell desired.
But the problem was simple.
I had no intention of standing by and letting it happen.