World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

Yamamoto's back stiffened almost imperceptibly: "What are the conditions?"

"They didn't mention any specific conditions. They only said the location would be in Borneo, and the time would be a month from now—November 20th," Terauchi said with a wry smile. "They even want to choose their own territory as the negotiation location. They want us to negotiate on our knees from the very beginning."

"Borneo..." Yamamoto murmured repeatedly, his gaze drifting to the dark night outside the window, "that land we once wanted. Now, we're going there to sign the surrender document."

The water in the teapot boiled, and white steam billowed from the spout. Finally, the temple servant began to brew the tea, his movements slow and focused, as if it were the most important thing in the world. The matcha powder swirled in the teacup, and the sound of the bamboo whisk stirring the tea was exceptionally clear in the silence.

"I need you to come with me." Terauchi pushed the first bowl of tea in front of Yamamoto. "The Navy must have a representative present, and you are the only suitable candidate."

Yamamoto didn't touch his teacup: "What could I possibly do there? Sign the surrender document on behalf of the Navy? Acknowledge the Navy's utter defeat?"

"Go and take responsibility." Terauchi looked him straight in the eye. "And go... fight for the Navy's last chance to survive. Yamamoto-kun, you know better than I that Lanfang's conditions will definitely include restrictions on the Navy. If we don't fight for it, the Navy may not even have a chance to rebuild."

"Rebuild?" Yamamoto laughed, a bitter laugh. "What will we rebuild with? The national treasury is empty, the shipyards are destroyed, and our technology is at least ten years behind. Even if Lanfang allows us to retain our navy, we won't be able to build ships that can compete with them."

"But at least we can preserve the seeds." Terauchi's voice suddenly became urgent. "Preserve some ships, preserve some talent, preserve... hope. Yamamoto-kun, if even you give up, then the Navy is truly dead."

Yamamoto remained silent for a long time. Tiny bubbles rose to the surface of the tea, then slowly burst.

"What about the army?" he finally asked. "Would they agree to such peace talks?"

"I've already met with Okaichinosuke," Terauchi said wearily, rubbing his temples. "He's obviously against it, saying we need to mobilize three million National Volunteer Army soldiers, fight a decisive battle on the homeland, and die for the Emperor. I asked him: What happens after the Emperor dies? What will happen to the Empire? What will happen to the people? He couldn't answer."

"So you managed to subdue him?"

"I told him that if he dared to obstruct the peace talks, I would, as Prime Minister, petition His Majesty the Emperor to dissolve the Ministry of the Army and have the Imperial Family directly command the army." Terauchi's voice turned cold. "He knows I'm not joking. So... he'll keep quiet, at least outwardly."

Footsteps sounded outside the paper door, light but steady. Then came the old butler's voice: "Prime Minister, Marshal Togo requests an audience."

Terauchi and Yamamoto exchanged a glance, both seeing surprise in each other's eyes. Togo Heihachiro had been retired for many years, living a secluded life, rarely even attending imperial meetings. Such a late-night visit…

"Please come quickly," the temple staff said.

The paper door opened again. When Togo Heihachiro walked in, Yamamoto immediately stood up and bowed deeply—the most basic respect for a naval legend. The sixty-seven-year-old Togo had completely white hair, but his posture was still upright. He wore a simple dark blue haori and carried a plain wooden cane.

"Sorry to bother you so late at night." Togo's voice was deep but clear, with the distinctive ruggedness of a Satsuma accent. "But there are some things that must be said now."

The temple staff gestured for him to sit down and personally prepared tea for him. Togo did not refuse and took the teacup with a steady hand, unlike that of an old man.

"Is the Marshal here for peace talks?" Yamamoto asked tentatively.

"Yes and no." Togo took a sip of tea, put down his teacup, and said, "I've come to ask for a favor—please allow me to join the negotiating delegation."

The tea room fell silent instantly. Even the sound of rain outside the window seemed to subside.

"Marshal..." Terauchi said with difficulty, "This journey is dangerous, and... and it will be a humiliating one. You have already achieved great success, why..."

"Why invite humiliation?" Togo chimed in, smiling. "Is that what the Prime Minister thinks?"

The temple did not deny it.

Togo turned to Yamamoto: "Yamamoto-kun, what do you think?"

Yamamoto carefully chose his words: "The Marshal is the symbol of the Imperial Navy and the hero of the Battle of Tsushima. If you appear at the negotiating table... it would be tantamount to announcing to the world that even Togo Heihachiro had to bow down."

"Then bow your head," Togo said calmly. "Losing is losing. Bowing your head isn't shameful. What's shameful is to put on a brave face when you've clearly lost, sending more young people to their deaths."

He paused, his gaze becoming distant: "When I defeated the Russians in the Tsushima Strait, I thought the Japanese navy was invincible. Now it seems... I was just a frog in a well. The people of Lanfang used a naval battle to tell us that times have changed. And facing the times, bowing your head is not shameful; what is shameful is refusing to open your eyes to reality."

"But your reputation..." the temple staff member continued to persuade.

"Is my reputation worth the lives of hundreds of thousands of citizens?" Togo retorted. "Is it worth the survival of the empire? Prime Minister, Yamamoto-kun, do you know how much rice costs in Nagasaki right now? Do you know how many people in Tokyo are hospitalized every day due to malnutrition? Do you know how many kilograms the naval academy students have lost on average this month?"

A series of questions left them both silent.

Togo sighed, his voice filled with desolation: "I'm sixty-seven years old this year, and I don't have many years left to live. If I can use my old bones to bring the Empire slightly better conditions, to bring about an earlier ceasefire, to bring about fewer deaths... that would be my honor, Togo Heihachiro's honor."

He stood up and walked to the wall of the tea room. There hung a calligraphy scroll, his own handwriting: "Seven Lives to Serve the Country." The ink had faded somewhat, but the strokes were still vigorous.

"When I wrote this calligraphy, I was thinking of dying for my country," Togo said with his back to the two men. "Now that I think about it, sometimes living takes more courage than dying. Sometimes, signing a surrender document is harder than committing seppuku."

He turned around, his eyes as sharp as ever: "So, please let me go. I want to see with my own eyes what the people who defeated us are like. I want to hear with my own ears what they really want. More importantly—"

He paused, then said, word by word, "I want to use my eyes to see clearly for all the fallen naval officers and men what kind of opponent we lost to. And then, I want to etch this lesson into the very marrow of the navy."

Terauchi Masatake closed his eyes. After a long while, when he opened them, his eyes were already filled with tears.

"I understand." He bowed deeply. "The head of the delegation, Terauchi Masatake, cordially invites Marshal Togo Heihachiro to travel to Borneo as the Imperial Vice-Envoy."

Togo returned the greeting, then looked at Yamamoto: "Yamamoto-kun, what about you?"

Yamamoto Gonbei stood ramrod straight: "It is an honor for Yamamoto to be able to travel with the Marshal."

"Then it's settled." Togo sat down again, picked up his slightly cooled tea, and said, "Now, let's discuss where the bottom line is—what we can accept at most, and what we absolutely cannot accept."