A week passed after the signing of the Nassau contracts — a quiet week for the newspapers, but a restless one for the government ministries. The launch of HMS Dreadnought had shaken Berlin more deeply than most citizens realized, and whispers circulated through the palace like cold draughts.
Thus, when Kaiser Wilhelm II called another Imperial Council, no one was surprised — except for the fact that Prince Oskar was summoned again.
Not as a courtesy.
Not as a novelty.
But because the future of the Empire's engines and ships depended on the question he had raised.
By now, the ministers had accepted an uncomfortable truth:
even if Oskar was only seventeen, even if his personal life was scandalous, even if the Crown Prince glared at him like a cornered animal —
he understood oil, engines, turbines, and the coming century better than any man in the room.
So they called him.
And the council convened.
But this time, there wasn't much debate to be had.
Reports lay on the table:
The Navy's next-generation ships—including Oskar's four massive Nassau hulls—would rely entirely on oil-fired boilers and turbines.
Germany had no domestic oil.
Britain and America could strangle Germany's supply routes in the first week of a war.
Without reserves, the High Seas Fleet would be nothing more than floating steel coffins tied to their piers.
The logic was brutal and simple:
No oil = No Navy = No Empire.
Even the most stubborn ministers could not argue with that.
Except, of course, Crown Prince Wilhelm.
He made one attempt.
A short, sharp speech about "coal being plentiful," "oil being foreign," and "reckless spending," clearly aimed more at Oskar than at the issue itself.
But the room had changed.
A week ago, ministers still rolled their eyes silently.
Today, they let him speak out of politeness —
and then ignored him outright.
Count Tirpitz laid out the hard numbers.
Moltke explained the military necessity.
Von Bülow addressed the financial burden.
No one had patience for Wilhelm's personal insecurities anymore.
Even the Kaiser's silence as his son spoke felt cold and embarrassed.
By the end of the meeting — after an hour of reports, figures, and strategic projections — an official consensus formed:
Germany would establish a national oil reserve of at least 2 million tons over five years.
The cost would be shared:
Oskar's newly founded German Energy Company would take on a major portion of the burden, building storage tanks, refineries, and pipelines.
The Imperial Government would fund the remainder gradually, integrated into future military budgets.
The Navy pledged to stockpile an additional million tons for wartime readiness.
Total: a strategic cushion of roughly 5 million tons.
Enough, the generals believed, to survive the opening years of a major war — if the fleet could punch a hole through the British blockade quickly enough.
The Kaiser ended the meeting with a clipped but resolute command:
"Then it is settled. Germany will never sit helpless in the face of a foreign blockade again.
Record it. Begin at once."
And just like that, the oil-future of the Empire shifted.
The ministers left the council chamber relieved.
Tirpitz left satisfied.
Von Bülow left worried about the budget but resigned to it.
Moltke left already thinking of mobilization timetables.
Crown Prince Wilhelm left red-faced and furious, muttering under his breath as if personally insulted by the laws of chemistry and global trade.
But Oskar?
Oskar walked out quietly, expression unreadable.
He didn't gloat.
He didn't smile.
He simply noted that Germany had taken another necessary step — and that, for once, his arguments had stood stronger than politics.
The moment the council adjourned, German Energy began drawing up plans:
locations for underground reservoirs
refinery construction timetables
negotiations with Hamburg shipping firms
preliminary contacts in the Mediterranean for future supply
and the groundwork for a national fuel-distribution network
Oskar knew Germany was not yet ready to win a world war if it came like in his memories.
But it was rapidly becoming capable of fighting one — and fighting hard.
If war never came, all this build-up would remain as a massive economic engine. His industrial group could simply grow large enough to pay down Germany's military debts entirely and carry the Empire into a glittering, peaceful future.
Either way, preparing for war or peace required one thing:
Engines on wheels.
In May 1906, Oskar had Karl register a new company in Berlin.
Not with a sober, respectable name like "German Motor Vehicle Manufacturing Company."
No.
Oskar was a gamer, a modern soul.
He called it:
> Muscle Motors GmbH.
Karl had stared at the registration form for three full seconds before saying, very softly:
"Your Highness… this name is… extremely… unique."
"Exactly," Oskar replied. "It sounds powerful. Memorable. Like a machine that flexes."
Karl had closed his eyes, as if in pain.
But the name stayed.
Muscle Motors was, for now, just a shell corporation — no factories, no workers, no assembly lines. Oskar had no interest in building a motor works from scratch when time mattered. His plan was simple:
> Buy experience.
Buy patents.
Buy existing factories.
Then fuse them into something far greater.
If Germany were to field military trucks, motorcycles, armoured cars and, eventually, tanks, it needed a company that could design, build, and mass-produce them under one umbrella.
Muscle Motors would be that umbrella.
So, one bright May morning, Oskar hauled Karl out of his office and made him put on a fine suit.
"This time," Oskar declared, "we travel in style."
"In a car?" Karl asked hopefully.
"In a way," Oskar said.
An hour later they were trotting out of the palace stables on horseback.
Oskar astride a huge black stallion with a dark, glossy coat and a temper to match — the horse he had nearly forgotten he owned, until a recent riding invitation from Bertha Krupp had forced him to reacquaint himself with it.
The stallion's name, chosen by Oskar:
> Shadowmane.
Karl followed on a smaller, rather more sensible horse, trying not to think about falling.
As they left the courtyard, a broad-shouldered stablehand saluted them respectfully — Gustav Schwarzenegger, the boy who had once won a modest lottery prize and used it to buy his way into the palace stables. Years of hauling hay and grooming horses had turned him into a young man built like a brick wall.
Later, history might remember him for something else.
For now, he mucked stalls and shined saddles, proud of every minute.
Shadowmane snorted, and Oskar leaned forward in the saddle.
"Onward, my little man," he called behind him. "We ride to build an empire on wheels."
Karl gripped the reins tighter.
"Your Highness, the arrangements are all in place," he said. "Paul Daimler, Wilhelm Maybach and his son Karl Maybach of Daimler-Motoren-Gesellschaft, and Herr Emil Jellinek — Daimler's main investor — are all waiting for you in Stuttgart."
"Excellent," Oskar replied. "Then let's not keep the future waiting."
Karl sighed, resigned, and nodded.
"As you command, Your Highness."
Oskar's goal in Stuttgart was clear:
> Acquire Daimler and fold it into Muscle Motors.
Daimler and Mercedes-Benz were both pillars of the early German automotive world — but in 1906, cars were still toys for the rich.
And Daimler, since the death of Gottlieb Daimler, had been struggling.
Their Phoenix cars performed well enough for the era and looked decent to contemporary eyes. But compared to Mercedes-Benz, Daimler was stagnating, losing market share, and bleeding money.
Oskar had several reasons to go after Daimler first:
1. Easier to acquire – weaker financial position, more desperate shareholders.
2. Patents – Daimler still held important intellectual property, particularly for motorcycles.
3. Strategic direction – motorcycles were cheaper to mass-produce than cars and had immense military potential.
From his past life — and the war in Ukraine that had killed him — Oskar knew how useful motorcycles could be:
as fast couriers,
mobile infantry transport,
vehicles light enough to dodge artillery in ways tanks never could.
Later would come jeeps and trucks.
Later still would come armoured cars and tanks.
Daimler's factories could be the seedbed of all of that.
On 12 May 1906, Oskar and Karl arrived in Stuttgart.
The Daimler compound was not impressive — a modest factory, a tired-looking three-story office building, and soot-streaked walls.
But to Oskar's eyes, it was soil waiting for a new kind of seed.
A group of men stood at the gate in formal coats, nervously straightening cuffs as Oskar dismounted.
Leading them was Paul Daimler, eldest son of Gottlieb Daimler and managing director of the company.
"Your Highness," Paul said, bowing. "Welcome to Stuttgart. It is an honour for Daimler to receive you."
Oskar smiled warmly and extended his hand.
"Mr. Daimler, I have long admired your father," he said sincerely. "His inventions — the automobile, his engines — are epoch-making. One day, I believe they will shine brighter than anyone now imagines."
Paul's expression softened; pride flickered behind his tired eyes.
Oskar then greeted Wilhelm Maybach, genial and mustached, his brilliant son Karl Maybach, and the sharp-eyed investor Emil Jellinek.
They gave him a tour of the works:
Simple assembly lines, still more craft than industry.
Workers fitting parts by hand.
Engines being tested in courtyards open to the sky.
The Phoenix cars — sleek by 1906 standards, ugly and awkward to Oskar's future-trained eyes.
He saw no conveyor belts, no standardized workstations, no truly rationalized flow.
It was a talented workshop, not yet a factory of the age he envisioned.
But workshops could be transformed.
When the tour ended, they gathered in a chilly conference room with wooden chairs and coffee that tasted faintly of metal.
Everyone knew why he had come.
"Gentlemen," Oskar began, smiling just enough to disarm, "I suspect you have already guessed the purpose of my visit."
"Your Highness," Paul Daimler said cautiously, "are you interested in… taking a stake in Daimler?"
"In a way," Oskar said. "But no, I do not merely want a stake. I wish to acquire Daimler entirely — at least eighty percent of the shares. I want Daimler to become the beating heart of my new company, Muscle Motors, within the Oskar Industrial Group. And I want you to come with it. We work together — like one large, wealthy family."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop a degree.
A complete acquisition.
For Paul and the others, Daimler was not just a firm. It was their life's work, their father's legacy, their pride.
If Oskar bought it…
Would it still be their Daimler?
Oskar saw the hesitation in their eyes and did not press.
"Let me be plain," he said. "You know your situation. Mercedes-Benz is surging ahead. Daimler is not. If nothing changes, your share of the market will shrink and shrink until there is nothing left. I do not say this to insult you, but to warn you. I don't want to buy a corpse in five years. I want to save a living patient now."
It was an exaggeration — but not by much.
Under the pressure, Daimler's representatives could not deny how things were trending.
"After the acquisition," Oskar continued, "you do not become irrelevant. You remain managers, not ornaments. Herr Daimler — you stay as director. Herr Maybach — you lead new product development. Herr Jellinek — your earlier investments will be converted into a generous payout and, if you wish, a continuing advisory role."
He leaned back, letting them breathe.
"You will have capital, stability, and access to every engine and fuel innovation my group is developing. In return, Muscle Motors will gain your experience and your name."
He smiled.
"Together, gentlemen," Oskar had said, "we will build the fleet of vehicles that carries Germany into the new century — on roads, through fields, and, one day, across battlefields."
The room had fallen silent.
But Oskar could feel it.
The resistance in the air was no longer solid stone.
It was starting to crack.
"Your Highness," asked Emil Jellinek, eyes thoughtful, "how much are you prepared to offer to acquire Daimler?"
As the main outside investor, Jellinek owned a significant number of shares.
He was also the one least willing to watch Daimler continue losing money. Selling while the company still had value and walking away with a pile of cash had undeniable appeal.
Oskar smiled.
"Excellent question, my man. My friend and assistant, little Karl, and I have decided on a very sexy number: fifty million Marks."
He let that land for a second.
"Yes," he continued calmly, "this valuation is well above Daimler's current worth. But I am a reasonable prince who wants to help our people. If I pay above the odds and, in return, get loyalty and a living company instead of a corpse, everyone wins."
Jellinek's eyebrows rose high.
"Fifty million Marks?"
That was far beyond what he had expected.
It represented dozens of times his original investment.
At the table, Paul Daimler and Wilhelm Maybach exchanged a look. They both understood immediately:
Emil Jellinek was tempted.
They themselves felt a deep reluctance — this company bore their names, their fathers' legacies. But reality was reality.
If they didn't accept now, would there be anything left to sell later?
"Your Highness," Wilhelm Maybach spoke up carefully, "if Daimler is valued at fifty million Marks… I would like to retain some of my shares. How much might I keep?"
His thinking was clear and sharp.
If Oskar was willing to pour that much money into Daimler, then its future had to be bright. Holding onto equity might prove far more valuable than any one-time payout.
Paul Daimler nodded.
"Your Highness, I would also like to retain a portion of my shares," he said.
Oskar nodded, but didn't answer immediately. Instead, he leaned back, chest shifting under his uniform as he turned his gaze toward Jellinek.
"And you, Herr Jellinek? Have you made up your mind?" he asked pleasantly.
Jellinek hesitated only a heartbeat. Oskar's sheer size, his calm confidence, and the raw force of his presence suggested that saying "no" was less an option and more a very bad idea.
"Your Highness," he said at last, "I am willing to sell my shares to you."
"Splendid, my man Jellinek," Oskar replied. "Karl will prepare a cheque once the transfer agreement is signed."
He turned back to Maybach and Daimler.
"Now, gentlemen—" he tapped the table lightly, "—here is my offer. After the acquisition, I would like each of you to retain five percent of the company. In recognition of your work, and to share in the future we will build. A win–win arrangement, as they say."
Five percent.
Both men suppressed an instinctive grimace.
Five percent sounded… small.
But they hid it well.
Oskar saw their doubt and did not take offense.
"Let me explain," he said. "Once Muscle Motors takes control, I will invest another fifty million Marks into Daimler."
He began ticking items off on his fingers:
conveyor belts and modern assembly lines,
expanded machine shops,
new engine designs,
research for trucks, motorcycles, and military vehicles.
"In the future, Daimler will not be a small workshop fighting for scraps," he said. "It will become a major manufacturer of motorcycles, cars, trucks, and, later, armoured vehicles and other military machines. Its future will be… quite literally… limitless."
He grinned.
"So yes, five percent sounds small now. But five percent of a giant, gentlemen… can buy you big houses, yachts, and enough admirers to make you forget you ever worried."
He winked. "Think long-term."
There was a murmur of amusement around the table.
After a moment's thought, Wilhelm Maybach and Paul Daimler both nodded slowly.
If Daimler really grew as Oskar described, their five percent slices would eventually dwarf the present-day value of the entire company.
Emil Jellinek, listening from the side, felt a twinge of regret creep up his spine.
For a split second, he considered trying to reverse his decision.
Then he glanced at Oskar — a towering Prussian giant with the aura of a man who built empires and did not enjoy being second-guessed — and decided that regret was preferable to exile.
He said nothing.
After lunch, the papers were brought in.
Emil Jellinek signed the share transfer agreement and left with his cheque.
Paul Daimler and Wilhelm Maybach signed revised shareholder contracts and management agreements.
Within a week, fifty million Marks would flow into Daimler's accounts, earmarked for:
production line upgrades,
new product development,
and the transformation of a struggling workshop into the core of Muscle Motors.
Oskar now owned 90% of Daimler.
He could do whatever he liked.
And the first thing he wanted to do was put Germany on two wheels.
Some time later in a newly cleaned office, Oskar spread two large sheets of paper on the desk before Paul Daimler and Wilhelm Maybach.
"My men, gentlemen," he said, "I have a product I want us to bring to market as soon as possible. Two products, in fact."
On each sheet, he had drawn a motorcycle.
And, because he was Oskar, the female version was accompanied by a smiling blonde woman in a summer dress and stockings, perched gracefully on the seat.
The engineers' reactions were immediate.
"My God, she's beautiful!" Paul blurted — then flushed red. "I mean… the motorcycle. These are works of art!"
"I did not know a machine could look like this," Wilhelm Maybach murmured, eyes wide. "And that dress— I have never seen a woman dressed like that…"
Oskar coughed into his fist.
"Focus, gentlemen," he said. "The lady is for the advertisement, as is the rough looking man sitting on the sturdier motorcycle. The machines are the point."
He pointed to the first drawing.
"This is the men's motorcycle. Steel frame. Proper suspension. A streamlined tank. The whole thing looks like it wants to leap forward even while standing still. Top speed: 60 km/h with the first engines. More later as they improve."
He tapped the second.
"And this is the women's model. Lighter. Lower seat. Easier handling. Top speed: 50 km/h for now. We make them elegant, approachable — and still strong. We sell not just a machine, but a lifestyle."
Compared to the current "motorcycles" on the market — wobbly contraptions with wooden frames, little training wheels, no suspension, and barely any appeal — these designs were from another planet.
"They will use engines from another of my companies," Oskar added casually. "And Hans's safety works will sell helmets, gloves, goggles and knee guards alongside them. I am… reasonably certain people will crash them quite often."
He frowned at the little disclaimer he had sketched in the corner of the advertisement:
> "Drive safely. Always wear a helmet and gloves."
He knew most people would ignore it.
He could already see the hospital reports…
But that was a problem for future doctors.
"Tell me honestly," Oskar asked, looking from Maybach to Daimler, "do you think these will find a market… in Germany? In Europe?"
Paul Daimler didn't hesitate.
"Your Highness," he said, eyes still locked on the drawings, "these are not just machines. They are dreams on wheels. Once we put them on the market, the whole of Germany — no, the whole of Europe — will talk about them."
Wilhelm Maybach nodded.
"Automobiles are the future," he said. "But these… these are the spark. They will put Motorenfahrräder into people's minds in a way no one has managed yet."
Oskar smiled.
Muscle Motors had its first children.
And soon, if all went according to plan, Germany would have entire roads full of them.
"Your Highness… if I may ask," Wilhelm Maybach said at last, still staring at the drawings, "who designed these two motorcycles?"
Oskar opened his mouth —
but Karl got there first.
"What do you mean, 'who'?" Karl huffed. "Of course His Highness designed them. This isn't any prince. This is Prince Oskar — the man who comes up with new inventions faster than I can write them down!"
Oskar almost blushed.
If only they knew I'm just stealing from the future…
But Maybach and Paul Daimler took the praise at face value and were clearly impressed.
"Gentlemen," Oskar said, collecting himself, "these two designs are our civilian models — for men and women. But I also have two military versions I want developed."
He pulled out another sheet.
These motorcycles were heavier and more rugged. The lines were less elegant, the frames thicker, the seating more utilitarian. One was a standard two-wheeler with room for a second rider; the other was a three-wheeler with a sidecar — ready for a machine-gun or an officer with a map.
"In war," Oskar went on, "appearance is unimportant. Strength and reliability are everything. Once the civilian models hit the market, I want your engineers to move immediately on these Kriegsräder — war-bikes. Our army needs vehicles like these."
Paul hesitated.
"Will the military… truly buy them?" he asked. "The Army doesn't purchase many such vehicles now."
"As long as they perform superbly," Oskar said, "I think they will. And in any case, I don't intend to make profit from our own army. You should be ready for that."
Both Paul Daimler and Wilhelm Maybach nodded. It made sense:
Oskar's position as a prince meant he could not be seen squeezing money from the military.
He might even supply the war-bikes at cost or at a loss — but if the Army adopted them, the prestige alone would send civilian sales through the roof.
Profits would come from the public, not from the Kaiser's budget.
"But tell me honestly," Oskar asked, "can the two civilian motorcycles be ready in three months?"
Maybach straightened.
"Your Highness, we won't need three months," he said. "Since the engines are coming from your own German Engine Company, we can focus on the frames and suspension. With the technical detail you've already provided, we can finish development and build a prototype in one month."
Paul's eyes shone.
"Your Highness," he added, "if you approve, I would like to begin expanding the production lines and hiring additional workers now. That way, when development is complete, we can go straight into mass production. I am certain the market will go mad for these machines."
"Exactly," Oskar nodded. "Prepare now, so we're not caught off guard later. When these hit the streets, demand will far exceed supply — especially once we export them. The more we produce, the more we earn."
Because that was the real point:
Muscle Motors was not a charity.
Oskar planned to make a fortune, and then use that fortune to arm Germany to the teeth.
"Yes, Your Highness," Paul said, enthusiasm bubbling. "I'll begin immediately. One day, we'll stand above Mercedes in the motor business. Just as my father once dreamed."
"Good," Oskar said. "Let's aim for a launch in three months. I'll begin putting advertisements in the major newspapers two months from now. By the time the first bikes roll off the line, people should already be desperate to own them."
"This time," he added with a grin, "we're going to create another sales frenzy."
Paul Daimler and Wilhelm Maybach both nodded eagerly. Their shareholding might be small now, but if these motorcycles succeeded, even five percent would be enough to make their families rich beyond anything Gottlieb Daimler had ever enjoyed in his lifetime.
After the purchase of Daimler, the renaming to Muscle Motors, and the motorcycle plan set in motion, Oskar did not linger in Stuttgart.
He had other fronts to fight on.
German Energy was already moving like a young tiger:
Moritz had dispatched teams to Russia and the United States to secure oil purchases.
In Rostock, construction had begun on a large refinery and above-ground storage tanks.
In Hamburg, work crews broke ground for the world's first synthetic fuel plant and research center, built according to precise designs Oskar had sketched from memories of the far future.
Just three weeks later, Oskar and Karl returned to Stuttgart to see the first fruits of Muscle Motors' effort.
The prototypes were waiting.
Steel frames.
Rubber tires.
Shock-absorbing springs.
Proper fuel tanks.
Engines that sputtered and roared in a way no current motorcycle could match.
To Oskar's future-trained eye, they looked like early versions of the motorcycles he'd known in another life. Not perfect — limited by 1906 materials and machining — but decades ahead of anything else on the road.
Current "motorcycles" — tall, unstable contraptions with wooden frames and side-wheels — suddenly looked like museum pieces.
"They're so beautiful, Your Highness," Karl breathed, walking around them with wide eyes. "They're practically works of art. Every man will want the men's version. And the women's version… well, the ladies will be fighting over it."
"Yes," Oskar said, running a hand along the glossy tank. "I think men and women all over the Empire — and beyond — will lose their minds over these."
Paul stepped forward, face flushed with pride.
"Your Highness," he said, "from today, we will devote everything to producing these two models. Once they hit the market, we'll be ready to expand further — more variants, more engines, more power."
"Yes," Oskar agreed. "Let's do just that. This time, we're not just chasing the market."
He smiled.
"We're creating it."
And as the test engines rumbled in the background, Oskar couldn't help but picture it:
Roads full of Muscle Motors bikes.
Hans' helmets shining in the sun.
German steel and rubber and petrol —
all funded by foreign wallets.
Another piece of the future had just clicked into place.