Chapter 217: Yamamoto's Return

Yamamoto Gokenbei smiled, his smile tinged with deep fatigue and sarcasm: "Stabilize the situation? Prime Minister, do you really think there is any 'situation' left to stabilize now?"

He stood up, walked to the tea room's window, and slid open the paper shutters. The night wind and drizzle floated in, bringing a chill.

"Four Kongō‑class ships have sunk, the Combined Fleet's main force is gone, and over four thousand of the finest sailors are lost. This is not just a battle defeat; it is…" He paused, then found a word, "It is a collapse of the system. The naval system we spent forty years building was proven in a single day to be outdated, lagging, and vulnerable."

Terai remained silent.

"If I step forward now, what can I do?" Yamamoto turned, looking at Terai, "Tell the families who lost sons, husbands, fathers, 'Our condolences; we will rebuild the Navy'? Or tell those Army bastards, 'Give us ten more years and we'll build stronger warships'?"

His voice rose, carrying long‑suppressed anger: "Prime Minister, do you know what the Army is doing now? They are spreading rumors everywhere, calling the Navy 'traitors', saying the Navy wasted the people's blood tax, claiming this failure is entirely due to naval incompetence! They even proposed in the Diet to cut all Navy budgets for the next five years and divert them to the Army!"

"I know," Terai said calmly, "that's why I need you even more. Only you, Lord Yamamoto, only your prestige can curb the Army's arrogance. Only you can make the Navy stand up again, even if it's just… standing upright to be beaten."

The weight of that final sentence made Yamamoto Gokenbei's body visibly stiffen.

"Be beaten?" he repeated the word.

"Yes, be beaten." Terai also stood, walked to Yamamoto's side, and stood shoulder to shoulder looking at the rainy night outside, "We cannot defeat Lanfang now. At least not in the short term. But we must get through this, preserve what remains of the Empire—Taiwan, Korea, the home territory. For that, the Navy must exist, even if only as a symbolic presence."

He turned, facing Yamamoto: "What I need you to do is not win the next naval battle—we can't fight a naval battle in the short term. What I need you to do is preserve the Navy as a service, preserve its foundation, preserve the shipyards, factories, schools, and talent. Let the Navy survive, even if only barely, so that when the opportunity comes in the future, it can rise again."

Yamamoto Gokenbei remained silent for a long while. The drizzle drifted in, dampening his collar, but he seemed oblivious.

"Barely surviving…" he murmured, "When I came from Satsuma to Etajima and entered the Naval Academy, the Imperial Navy had only a few wooden‑hull ships. We spent forty years building it into the world's third‑largest fleet. And now you ask me to go back and lead it… barely surviving?"

"Yes," Terai's voice was harsh but sincere, "because if we can't even barely survive, there is only one way—death. The Navy will die, and the Empire… may die with it."

The tea room fell silent again. The wall clock pointed to 11:30, its pendulum ticking rhythmically.

"Regarding the Army, what can you guarantee?" Yamamoto finally spoke, his voice returning to calm.

"I can assure you that in my cabinet the Army will not pursue the Navy to the death," Terai said, "The budget can be cut, but not eliminated. The personnel establishment can be reduced, but not abolished. The Navy must exist; that is the bottom line."

"What about Lanfang? Their four battleships are now right at our doorstep."

"Diplomatic channels are already trying to make contact," Terai said, "but we need time. And before we get time, we need someone who can keep the Navy orderly and deter the Army from acting rashly to sit in charge of the Navy Ministry. That person can only be you."

Yamamoto Gokenbei closed his eyes. Images flashed through his mind: serving on the Naniwa in his youth, drafting operational plans in the staff during the Russo‑Japanese War, later serving as Minister of the Navy driving shipbuilding programs after the war…

Those honors, those dreams, those things he had fought his whole life for now lie sunk in the East Sea's depths.

"I have one condition," he opened his eyes, his gaze cold and resolute.

"Please, speak."

"The Navy's personnel will be under my full authority. The Army shall not interfere. The Navy's reconstruction plan will be drawn up by the Navy itself. The Army may cut the budget, but not meddle," Yamamoto said word for word, "If the Army tries to meddle in internal Navy affairs, I will resign immediately."

Terai was silent for a few seconds, then nodded: "Agreed. I guarantee it to you in my capacity as Prime Minister."

"Very well," Yamamoto Gokenbei inhaled deeply, "then I accept. But I must be clear: I am not going to lead the Navy to revival. I am going to… preside over a dignified funeral. To hold a dignified funeral for the once‑glorious Imperial Navy."

Terai did not object. He knew Yamamoto was right.

The two returned to their seats at the tea table. Yamamoto poured tea again; this time his movements were slower, heavier.

"Tomorrow I will have an audience with Your Majesty," Terai said, "the cabinet list will be announced the day after tomorrow. By then, please be ready."

"I understand," Yamamoto handed over the tea bowl, "Prime Minister, remember your promise today. The Navy may fall, but it must not fall on its knees."

"I have noted it."

Terai took the tea, drank it in one gulp, then stood, bowed, and left the tea room.

Yamamoto Gokenbei sat alone in the tea room, watching the endless rainy night outside. The tea had gone cold, but he made no move.

After a long while, he slowly rose, walked to the wall, and took down the calligraphy titled "Seven Lives Serving the Nation." He brushed his fingers lightly over the vigorous ink strokes, a flash of pain crossing his eyes.

"Lord Dongxiang," he whispered, "if you were here, what would you do?"

The calligraphy gave no answer. Only the rain outside kept falling incessantly.

Navy Ministry Building, Minister's Office, 10:00 a. m. the next morning

Although the occupant had changed, the office furnishings were almost unchanged. The only difference was that the bronze commemorative plaque symbolizing the Russo‑Japanese War victory had been removed, replaced by a simple pot of asparagus fern.

Yamamoto Gokenbei sat behind a broad desk, before him stood all senior officials of the Navy Ministry. Chief of the Military Command Shimada Shigetarō, Chief of Operations Suzuki Kantarō, Chief of Intelligence Yamamoto Eiki, Chief of Administration… each face marked with fatigue and bewilderment.

"Gentlemen," Yamamoto began, his voice low but unusually clear, "as of today I resume the post of Minister of the Navy. I know you have many questions and anxieties, but now is not the time to discuss them."

He stood, walked to the nautical chart on the wall. The chart's markings of the East Sea were striking, but Yamamoto's gaze did not linger there; it shifted to the Japanese mainland's coastline.

"We have three primary tasks," he said, turning and raising three fingers. "First, organize the remaining vessels, withdraw to the inner seas, and, relying on the coastal defense system, establish a new defensive line. All old battleships and cruisers shall be pulled into the Seto Inland Sea and Tokyo Bay; without my order, none may leave port."