A Shared Pride

On the speaker's platform, Frederick's upright figure looked especially resolute in the firelight.

He raised his right arm and waved to the crowd surging in every direction like a sea tide, offering a simple yet powerful greeting.

His gesture was not exaggerated, yet it carried an indescribable power to rally people, as though this simple motion alone could ignite a fire in the hearts of millions.

The square instantly became an ocean of cheers.

"Weissen! Weissen! Weissen!"

The shouts were no longer mere words, but a force that shook the earth. Tens of thousands cheered, shouted, and applauded like a real, surging tide, sweeping away the stillness of the winter night.

The roar struck the facades of the buildings around the square, bounced back, echoed, and swelled, eventually gathering into a mighty torrent that surged straight toward the deep night sky, where the first stars were appearing.

People waved whatever they could get their hands on—gloves, felt hats, woolen scarves.

Many had tears in their eyes. They did not know one another, yet in that moment they were bound together by the same emotion.

Young children rode on their fathers' shoulders, waving their arms with all their might, as if they, too, understood that this moment would surely be written into history.

The flickering firelight wavered and danced with the vibrations of the roar. The light and shadows across the entire square seemed to come alive, dancing wildly along with it.

James stood among the crowd and had no choice but to clap along with those around him.

His palms struck together, bringing a numb, stinging pain, but he could barely feel it.

The tumult rising in his heart was far more intense than the feverish scene before him.

He had never seen this degree of wholehearted popular support in