Yo, Hikou no Kokoro back already. I hope you are all enjoying the various national holidays of this month. Anyway, I bring you your very first reason chapter! It only 10 chapters to reach here! Hahah... Well, anyway, the format is much different from either theory or law. Now, we're going to see what's going on Gilbert.

Anyway, remember the last chapter I said that I'll give gift!fics for reviewers? Well, I regret that now. It's utter arrogance for me to do something like that; my writing is far from perfect, and I highly doubt that everybody wants to see something like this given to them. If I practice this habit, I will only bar myself from real constructive criticism, only expecting praises from people who actually like what I write. Now that's not right, isn't it?

Nevertheless, special thanks for the reviewers of the previous chapter: Crazy Green Earphones, ForestFireSong and Fei. Thank you so much for spending your time to review! You have no idea how much I cherish each and every review and reviewer. I write for you guys. :)

Well, enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Axis Powers: Hetalia. It belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz. I simply own the AU plot.

To Create Perfection

"When I was young, I observed that nine out of ten things I did were failures. So I did ten times more work."
—George Bernard Shaw

"Reason 1: Tower of Babel, Part 1"

Let me tell you a story.

Gilbert never really belonged in this world. Someone such as he would have been better off in the Middle Ages when his habits would have been normal and inconsequential. But he was one of the unfortunate children who were born from the wrong family at the wrong time, in the wrong place, and with the wrong opportunities.

He and his brother Ludwig were born as the third of generations of immigrants. Some say that the first generation are earnest workers; the second geniuses; and the third scum. The Beilschmidts fit perfectly into the stereotype. Their grandfather was the famed Alan Beilschmidt, who had emigrated from Germany to the World Domain and had found the miraculous cure of Alzheimer's. Obviously, anyone who dedicated his time to find a cure of such a devastating and common ailment would have to be excruciatingly earnest. The boy's parents were also, in every way, geniuses. They didn't do anything as awesome as Alan, but their genius gave rise to preliminary equations to advance accurate predictions and general statistics. And finally, the third generation. They truly didn't fit in. Well, Ludwig did; he was an exception: He was a loyal, obedient, little boy who only sought to please his parents. Gilbert was not. For years, from age five to seventeen, he was rebellious, belligerent, and outright lazy. He didn't care to work, paid little attention, and learnt nothing. Unfortunately, he acted with impunity. His parents—bless their souls—were too kind for their own good, too lenient to discipline, too unwilling to yell at this terrible troublemaker. All they did was look upon Gilbert with disappointment. And after years and years of condescension and patronising looks, Gilbert didn't care anymore. He liked his careless lifestyle, and no pained expressions were going to stop him.

Then, suddenly, everything slipped from Gilbert's feet and dragged Ludwig down with him. At age fourteen and Ludwig age nine, his parents died in a car crash. Their deaths were almost instantaneous. There was no shouts, no screams—just blaring lights. Gilbert's father had been driving with his wife directly behind him and Gilbert at shotgun and Ludwig behind him. Gilbert's father was driving at night, playing classical radio at a low volume. The roads were practically empty except for a few cars going by on the lane beside them. Then a car came barrelling down towards them. The speeding driver as absolutely drunk while texting on his phone. But the Beilschmidt family didn't know that. The car swerved into their lane. Gilbert's father made a split second decision and the driver's side crumpled upon impact. Gilbert's father was dead before Ludwig could even shout. The car slid a few metres backwards. His mother died waiting for an ambulance. Ludwig gained a fractured forearm and bleeding head. Gilbert was unscathed except for a bruise on his chest. But Ludwig was the one who called the ambulance.

After that fateful night of March 15, Gilbert and his brother were tossed around. The Beilschmidt relatives were happy to take in the orphans, except Gilbert. Ludwig was fine; he was an angel in every sense of the word. But Gilbert was a loose cannon; he was better at picking fights than following directions. Nobody wanted him, and he couldn't care less. However, Ludwig cared. He refused to leave his one and only big brother; only God knew why.

So as those old men and women debated about the orphans' futures, Gilbert and Ludwig lived alone in their old home. Money was sent to them so they could eat. But instead of shaping up and standing up to responsibility, Gilbert squandered the allowance. Soon the generous donors learnt the truth. Two years later, the umbilical cord was cut.

At age seventeen, Gilbert was cleaning out the house. Once his relatives cut away all the allowance, he had to rely on inheritance, which he also squandered as well. Without any money, Gilbert could no longer sustain his lifestyle, so he had to sell the house and drag Ludwig down with him. He didn't care.

But one day, he did. He had invaded Ludwig's room while the boy was at school. Gilbert himself had long since dropped out, and he tore down everything. While he was cleaning out Ludwig's desk, he had found many papers. Ludwig had always been a studious individual and did the best of work. However, Gilbert didn't spare the perfect scores a glance. But when he reached to the far back, he had found a crumpled piece of paper. Curious, he flattened it out. It was one of those silly surveys asking about the child's dream for the future. "What do you want to do in the future?" it asked. Ludwig's first choice said, "Take care of Big Brother." Then his second and third choices were left empty.

A drop fell upon the page. Gilbert scowled and his fingers curled around the page. In a fit of rage, he ripped the paper apart.

Ludwig had only been ten.

When the brothers moved into a shaggy flat, Gilbert's whole demeanour changed. He had never cared for anyone except himself, but suddenly he cared for nothing except Ludwig. Everything he did became for Ludwig. Gilbert dropped his lazy habits and got a job as a waiter at some café. He tried to get back into school, but he wasn't smart, so he mainly worked all day. Ludwig stayed in school though. Unfortunately, his abilities were never up to par, no matter how hard he worked. And in the World Domain, the ability was worth more than money. Ludwig couldn't fit in.

But it was okay. Ludwig was happy; Gilbert was happy. And the two became inseparable. They couldn't ask for anything else.

Except Gilbert could.

One day, the two were eating dinner bought with an employee discount. Gilbert was twenty, and Ludwig going onto thirteen. Gilbert put down his sandwich back on the box container and weaved his fingers together.

"Have you ever thought about going to college?"

Ludwig gave a weird look. Then he scratched his cheek with a finger. "Sometimes," he replied. He was too truthful for his own good. "But I don't think I can. I don't have the grades or the abilities for scholarships."

Gilbert paused. Then he asked, "But what's your dream college?"

"BCWD University," Ludwig said, just like all the other kids in the World Domain. "But anywhere is really nice already."

Gilbert ended the conversation there. Ludwig was confused, but he left his brother alone, unaware of anything.

A week later, Gilbert was arrested.

He was a fool. After doing so well with only debt being his sole problem, he slipped up once again. He tried to hack the system and failed miserably. Right when he cut through the security walls, the janitor caught him.

But what made this a nightmare was that Ludwig had been caught as well.

"Brother, where are you going?" he had asked Gilbert, who stood by the door in all black with a portfolio stashed under his arm.

"The late shift," Gilbert responded.

Ludwig should have left it at that. But at that time, he was too sharp for his own good. He knew Gilbert's workplace was never open past midnight. So impulsively Ludwig slipped out of the house, tailing his brother.

He was shocked to see Gilbert breaking into the BCWD headquarters late at night. Gilbert slunk around, picking locks with bent paperclips and cutting glass with knives. The purpose was much too evident.

Ludwig was a good kid; he really was. But when placed between morality and his brother, he chose his brother. He always would, no matter how much he wavered. So instead of going to help the police or the security guards, he went to help Gilbert.

Within minutes, Ludwig was captured from behind. The janitor caught him. He shouted, and Gilbert went immediately to his aid. Then the police came. The Beilschmidt brothers were arrested with little struggle.

There was no trial. The tools and papers in Gilbert's pockets and hands gave too much away, and Ludwig pleaded guilty. Only moments later, they were sent behind bars. Gilbert was twenty, Ludwig fourteen. Ludwig had spent his birthday in a courtroom.

A year later, when Gilbert was twenty-one and Ludwig was turning fifteen, a man from BCWD headquarters came to the prison. That day had been Gilbert's worst nightmare; it became his Judgement Day. But that day, he and his brother were saved.

The inmates were lined up alphabetically outside with packets of papers in their hands and guards watching them. The papers supposedly contained each person's profile and background, each averaging about ten pages. Gilbert's and Ludwig's were relatively short compared to others, containing only seven and six pages, respectively. Gilbert didn't bother looking through the papers, but apparently, they spoke millions for the strange man of BCWD. The man would scan through each profile and decide the inmate's fate in matters of minutes. "Skeletal muscle," he would sometimes say. "Sensory nerves," he could also say. The categories seemed limitless, and the placements spanned to everywhere. Unfortunately, Gilbert knew what each meant.

Finally, the strange man arrived to Gilbert. Two female secretaries stood beside like sentinels. Gilbert gulped and handed his papers to the man. The man appeared old; wrinkles crossed his face and white hair came down in wisps before joining into a loose ponytail. He appeared to be somebody's grandfather, but he had the air of a dangerous man. He wore a military uniform and his posture was that of a chimney. A rifle labelled with a golden "The Black Eagle" hung from his side, and a pouch of ammunition sat beside it. The man obviously didn't use the firearm solely for decoration. Gilbert knew the man wasn't somebody to mess with, and under the intimidating gaze, Gilbert looked down at his feet.

"Southern Branch, Sector 660 of Area 7," the man said, "vegetative conscious."

Gilbert winced. The man handed the document to one of the secretaries while the other copied down what the man said. Then he moved to Ludwig and took the boy's papers. He didn't take long to make a decision; the words came out only seconds after he flipped to the next page.

"Central Headquarters. Pain and sensory receptors."

Gilbert snapped. The look of pure fear in his brother's eyes sent him into frenzy. "No!" he roared. He wasn't thinking when he stepped out of line, raising his clenched fist towards the man.

Everything went in a blur. Gilbert didn't feel his fist connect with anything. Instead, he heard a click. His feet went out from under him. Female voices shouted, "Sir!" And Gilbert was pinned on the ground. His arms were wrenched back and a heavy knee slammed against his back. "Brother!" he heard Ludwig cry. The next thing Gilbert knew was eating the pebbles and dirt.

"May I help you?" the man asked. His voice was calm: no surprise, no condescension, no anger. He spoke as if Gilbert didn't try to assault him.

"Let go of me!" Gilbert screamed, kicking his legs. "You bastard! Don't you dare think you can do this to us!" He stared upwards at Ludwig, his heart clenching in his chest. The look of sheer terror was too visible on the poor boy's face; tears streamed down in long streaks and the bottom lip trembled.

Gilbert hated everybody who did this to him. His parents. The police. That stupid janitor. And, most of all, these silly officers who would dare to think that they could dictate his life. Their gazes looked down upon him—he was the snake eating the dust. An aura of condescension oppressed him, and he couldn't get away. He wanted nothing more than to punch each and every arrogant face in, including the face of the old man on top of him. And Gilbert fought to achieve such a satisfaction, wriggling and trying ever so desperately to throw the man off his back.

But the man wrenched Gilbert's arms back. Gilbert let out a scream. Pain coursed from his arm and concentrated at his shoulder. Above, Ludwig was crying, "Brother! Brother!" And Gilbert was forced to look back at the ground.

"What do you want?" Gilbert snapped.

"I had asked you what you want," the old man repeated, "so speak, child."

Gilbert shifted and tried to glare over his forehead. However, he couldn't see the man's face; he could only see the heavy boots tipped with an iron toe. He couldn't believe that he had to resort to begging.

"Ludwig. My brother. Put him somewhere else."

"He is the fifteen year-old child, correct?"

But the man didn't wait for a response. He moved, one hand letting go of Gilbert's. The grip was loosened, so Gilbert once again began to squirm, kicking up more dirt and pebbles. But as soon as he did so, the pressure was back and Gilbert couldn't move.

"Lenalee, give me the boy's documents." The man held a hand out to one of the secretaries.

"Yes, sir!" the woman picked up the first document of the pile and handed it to him.

The man flipped through the pages and handed it back. "This child's, I meant." He patted Gilbert's back.

The woman gave him a questioning look, but she didn't object and simply took out the next profile and handed it over. Once again, the man flipped through the pages, reading the words much slower than before. Nevertheless, the decision was again quick and simple. Only a matter of seconds had passed—Gilbert knew that—but he felt that the moment only stretched on in suspense and droned with the sounds of wind, paper, feet, and sniffles. Gilbert looked back up at Ludwig, but his eyes shot back down before making eye contact. No message was sent between the brothers, even though they had tried.

The BCWD official finally closed the packet and gave it back to the secretary. "I have changed my decision." He stood up and released Gilbert.

The outraged teen shot up to his feet and raised another fist against the old man. Once again, the hand didn't connect; the old man grabbed the fist and pushed it down to Gilbert's side, unblinking as he used his other hand to pat down his own clothes. In fact, the man didn't seem to notice the sudden exchange, the weary glances, or the gasping of his secretaries. He just continued, "Gilbert Beilschmidt: Central BCWD Headquarters. My jurisdiction."

The words sent a shock through the guards and the lines of the inmates. Lenalee opened her mouth to question, but the man shot her a glare.

"I am sure with my decision." He held his hands behind his back, standing straight and gazing forward with shockingly blue eyes. "I will be bringing Ludwig along as well. I will personally decide what I will do with them."

The secretary saluted. Then a guard was pulled out of the line and led the two brothers away from the line of inmates. No words were spoken; only piercing glares were exchanged as Gilbert and Ludwig were taken away. The only one who didn't glare back was the old man. A strange smile was stretched on his face as he watched the Beilschmidts leave. The wrinkles around his eyes made him look like a grandfather. And then he saluted.

This old man was Frederick Hohenzollern.