Chapter Text
The Door Opens
♡︎
They were so close.
Just a few more months—maybe even weeks—of keeping it quiet. Of staying in their neat little UN corner, sipping overpriced coffee, and pretending they were just quirky, long-term diplomats who happened to speak every language and win every war history quiz.
But then.
Then some gremlin-level genius hacker had to go and ruin everything.
♡︎
“WHO EVEN HAS THE TIME TO—?!”
America (a.k.a. Alfred F. Jones, a.k.a. The Walking Meltdown) was pacing the oversized living room of their new shared mansion—the one the UN had given them after the whole “oops, humans found out we’re immortal embodiments of geopolitical territories” situation.
“Who just casually breaks into UN-level security, steals classified emails about immortal national personifications, and then drops it on social media with the caption: ‘So like. This is real. 😳’?!”
“Gen Z,” Japan answered calmly, sipping his tea. “They’re terrifying.”
♡
The hacker—known only as ‘UnificationIsHot’—had pulled actual footage from a closed-door World Conference and plastered it everywhere: Reddit, TikTok, encrypted forums, national news.
The humans demanded answers. Some protested in front of government buildings. Others lit candles in front of embassies. One man in Ohio reportedly tried to marry a flag.
The UN, panicking harder than the nations, decided on damage control: a live, internationally broadcasted tour of the Hetalians' shared home. Let the public see they were safe. Harmless. Approachable.
One problem.
No one told the Hetalians.
♡
A hand-picked crew of elite journalists, camera operators, and multilingual interpreters stood now on the pristine porch of a mountain estate nestled deep in the Swiss Alps. It looked like a royal palace and cost more than most nations' GDPs to build.
“Do you think they forgot?”
A German reporter muttered into her mic, half to herself.
“They can’t forget,” an American journalist replied, checking her hair in the reflection of the lens. “They’re literally nations. Like… with memories dating back to plague years.”
“Exactly,” said a British cameraman with a nervous chuckle. “What if they remember too much? Like… what if they hold grudges?”
One of the younger interns whispered, “What if they’re not even human?”
A chill went through the group.
Some of the reporters were excited. Some were nervous. A few muttered about propaganda and ethics, but most were too busy checking their mics and fidgeting with cue cards.
No one had any idea what these so-called "Hetalians" looked like.
No names. No faces.
Just whispered rumors about how they weren’t quite human.
♡
Then, the door creaked open.
And the camera crew held their breath.
And the world stopped breathing.
A man stood in the doorway.
No—not a man. A sculpture brought to life.
Blond hair, neatly slicked back. Jaw sharp enough to break glass. Pale blue eyes like twin glaciers locked onto the crew with military precision. His body looked carved from stone, all lean muscle and rigid discipline.
And unfortunately for everyone’s self-control, he was half-shirtless, wearing only gray sweatpants and a towel slung over one shoulder, glistening faintly from a workout or a shower. Maybe both.
Someone dropped a mic.
♡
“Uh… hello?” he said, voice clipped and heavily accented. “Was this… scheduled?”
The crew exchanged glances.
“N-No. I mean yes! Yes. We’re the press team! From the UN?” a brave British reporter stammered. “This is the scheduled broadcast tour. It’s, um… live.”
“Live?” The man blinked. Then blanched. “Wait here.”
The door slammed.
♡
Inside the mansion:
“Feliciano!”
“Why are you yelling, Ludwig?”
“DID WE AUTHORIZE A LIVE GLOBAL CAMERA CREW TO BE ON OUR FRONT DOORSTEP?!”
“…No?”
“EXACTLY!”
♡
Back outside, the reporters waited awkwardly.
A few whispered nervously.
“Why was he so hot?”
“Was that normal? Are they all like that?”
“If that’s Germany, then I’m going to cry.”
♡
The door creaked open again.
This time, the man had put on a black compression shirt. He still looked like a Greek statue brought to life, but now slightly more like someone who might be able to answer questions.
“…Apologies,” he muttered. “There was… a miscommunication.”
“You’re… the first we’ve met,” a Japanese reporter offered gently. “Would you mind telling us your name?”
The man hesitated, then stood straighter, like a soldier reporting for duty.
“My name is Ludwig,” he said crisply. “You may refer to me as Germany.”
♡
There was a collective intake of breath.
Germany.
This was Germany.
The entire country. A thousand years of war, culture, reunification, and bratwurst… standing barefoot in a doorway, giving them the look of a man who'd been deeply betrayed by his email inbox.
♡
“I will… act as your guide,” he sighed, rubbing his temple like the world's worst migraine just walked up and shook his hand. “Until the others are informed and, hopefully, decent. Please. Come in.”
He stepped aside stiffly, clearly regretting every life decision that led him here.
The crew filed in slowly, overwhelmed by the opulence: glass chandeliers, polished wood floors, ancient paintings (some of which looked suspiciously familiar), and the faint scent of something floral and old.
Their historic tour had begun.
The world’s first real look into the nations had just begun—and it started with Ludwig, shirtless, unknowingly launching ten thousand crushes live on air.
♡︎
Surprise Pasta and Internet Panic
♡︎
“This house,” Ludwig said stiffly, leading the camera crew down an arched hallway lined with sunlit windows, “was originally designed to hold the core diplomatic members of the international embodiment council. Security is reinforced through both modern and… older methods.”
Behind him, the reporters nodded, scribbled notes, or just stared at his back like he was walking fanfiction.
♡︎
[Live Chat Stream – Global Broadcast]
@spaghetti4life: IS THAT HIS VOICE??
@historybuff1945: bro said “Guten Tag” and I blacked out
@italyluvr88: who the hell paints a 20-foot ceiling for fun
@hacktheplanetpls: someone TACKLE the hacker and give them a medal
@idliketounify: Germany, I am free Tuesday. Call me.
♡
“Some of these paintings,” Ludwig continued, gesturing to an ornate gold-framed canvas of a battlefield at sunset, “were done by Spain. That tapestry was made by Hungary. These bookshelves were crafted by France when he was banned from having ‘free time’ unsupervised.”
He paused. “They are bolted to the wall now.”
One of the reporters, a brave soul from Brazil, asked shyly, “So… these are all original works? From centuries ago?”
“Yes,” Ludwig said, walking like this wasn’t the most chaotic day of his immortal life. “It’s one way we pass the time between summits and world crises. Italy paints, China builds gardens, America… glues things.”
♡
[Twitter/X Trending]
📢 @dailydisastertv: BREAKING: Germany from #HetaliaTour is hot, talented, and apparently owns priceless furniture. Is he single??
🎨 @artdecoded: “Spain paints” is now a trending aesthetic tag
👀 @globalwatchdog: Is France okay? No, seriously, where is France right now?
🇯🇵 @kawaiiintel: Japan, blink twice if you have a full art museum in the house
♡
Back in the hall, a CNN anchor whispered, “Mr. Germany—uh, Ludwig—do you mind answering a few more questions?”
He didn’t stop walking. “You may ask.”
“Are you… immortal?”
“Yes.”
“Do you feel pain?”
“I have met England’s cooking. So yes.”
The group snorted, several reporters hiding their laughter behind their clipboards.
♡
Meanwhile, every major YouTuber and streamer alive was live-reacting to the tour.
🎮 Markiplier (10.9M watching): “WAIT. WAIT. THEY’RE REAL?? HE’S JUST GIVING A TOUR?? THIS GUY LOOKS LIKE HE BENCH PRESSES DIPLOMACY.”
📚 Oversimplified (new short): “So Germany is real, and he’s hot, terrifying, and probably knows 28 types of swords.”
💄 Safiya Nygaard: “These immortal beings are stunning. The aesthetic! The symmetry! The bookshelves!”
🎥 Valkyrae (laughing): “Did he say America glues things?! Bro what are they doing in there??”
💬 Ludwig (the streamer): “Imagine being named Ludwig and then this guy shows up. Unfair. I’m changing my name to Dave.”
♡
The crew turned a corner and passed through a pair of tall, glass doors into—
“The kitchen,” Ludwig announced with a small sigh. “Where most of us cook. Or attempt to.”
The moment the cameras rolled in, they caught a whirlwind of soft curls, flour-dusted cheeks, and boiling tomato sauce.
Italy.
Or more accurately—Feliciano Vargas, barefoot, in a messy apron that said “Kiss the Chef or I Cry”, his chestnut hair tied back with a red ribbon. He had a wooden spoon in one hand, a pot lid in the other, and a face full of startled betrayal.
“EH?!”
He dropped the lid. It clattered to the floor.
“G-Germany?! Why is there a news crew in my sacred pasta space?!”
Ludwig visibly winced. “We were… not warned.”
Feliciano’s cheeks puffed up, red and flustered, but—somehow—even more devastatingly adorable than the entire front page of Vogue.
♡︎
[Live Chat Stream – Global Broadcast]
@mamaimintheoven: OH MY GOD WHO IS THAT
@flowerbunbun: Baby??? Angel???? Flour-dusted prince???
@whiskfightclub: HIS APRON—HE’S WEARING A KISS ME APRON I’M LOSING IT
@whatsinthatpasta: why are they ALL so attractive??? What is in immortal air???
♡
Italy tried brushing flour off his cheek with the back of his hand. It didn’t help. His apron smeared tomato paste onto his chin.
“I wasn’t ready for my debut,” he whimpered to Ludwig, clearly half-horrified and half-ready to cry.
“You look fine,” Ludwig muttered in damage control mode, quickly stepping in front of the nearest camera. “This is Feliciano. He is… Italy.”
A collective gasp.
Italy looked up shyly, waved, and then promptly tripped over his own shoelace and had to grab Ludwig’s sleeve to stay upright.
“I—uh—I made too much pasta. Does anyone want some?” he said, voice cracking adorably.
♡
[Twitter/X]
🍝 @chefqueenivy: “Italy is like if a Disney prince ran a cooking channel.”
💘 @softcorediplomacy: “Germany walked so Italy could stumble into our hearts.”
🫠 @whiskylives: I would die for this man and his pasta pot.
♡
Germany pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Perhaps we should take a break,” he said tightly. “While I… check if any of the others are in states of public acceptability.”
Feliciano just kept smiling, slowly spinning spaghetti noodles onto a fork, oblivious to the millions of hearts he’d just stolen live on air.
♡︎
Books, Dragons, and a New Problem
♡︎
The pasta was gone.
Not finished politely, but devoured by a group of flustered, overworked journalists who had just collectively experienced the equivalent of a diplomatic fever dream and then got handed a steaming plate of homemade comfort food by a literal living personification of Italy.
Feliciano beamed.
“I’m so glad you liked it~!” he chirped, practically glowing with joy as he gathered empty bowls. “I used Nonna’s recipe… I think? Maybe it was Austria’s. He yelled a lot, but the sauce was really good!”
♡
“I told you,” Ludwig muttered, voice grim as he wiped sauce off the reporter from South Korea’s sleeve. “He cooks as a coping mechanism.”
“No complaints,” one BBC journalist mumbled through a food coma. “I’d sell my passport for another plate.”
♡
[Live Chat Stream – Global Broadcast]
@basedonabook: not me crying over pasta on a livestream
@tiredpressintern: i would kill for this kind of soft power diplomacy
@geopolitikfan96: y’all ever cry because a nation made you dinner??
@justwantpeacepls: THAT WAS REAL TOMATO SAUCE?? FROM SCRATCH????
♡
Once bowls were returned and small crises avoided (Feliciano tried to give someone seconds, tripped, and Germany caught the plate like a ninja), Ludwig exhaled deeply and led the crew back into the hallway.
“I will now show you the library,” he said stiffly, as if that sentence didn’t feel like doom. “Do not touch anything. Some of these volumes are… extremely old. And cursed.”
He didn’t elaborate.
♡
The hallway ended in twin arching doors of carved mahogany. Germany pushed them open—
And the room that opened up was straight out of a fantasy epic.
Bookshelves soared all the way to the domed ceiling, where constellations were painted in glimmering gold. Velvet armchairs, crystal lamps, scroll displays, and ladders on rails filled the space with quiet majesty.
But the real centerpiece?
A sun-drenched reading nook by a wide window.
And sitting there, legs crossed on a silk floor cushion, surrounded by open tomes and scrolls, was China.
♡
He didn’t notice them at first.
The sunlight streamed in gently, illuminating the wisps of long dark hair cascading down one shoulder. A loose, red silk robe hung off one shoulder—an elegant traditional Chinese style, embroidered with gold thread. A single sleeve had slipped low enough to reveal a beautifully inked dragon curling down his arm, its body twisting from shoulder to wrist in delicate, menacing coils.
Reading glasses perched lightly on his nose.
The man looked like a scholar who had just stepped out of time.
♡
[Live Chat Stream – Global Broadcast]
@dragonsoul42: I’m sorry IS THAT CHINA
@librarywitch: I HAVE NEVER BEEN MORE AROUSED BY A LIBRARY
@redinktattoo: that TATTOO?! WHO did that?! Let me shake their hand
@scrollsandspice: im naming my next cat after him no questions asked
♡
China glanced up at the sudden silence.
He blinked once. Then calmly removed his glasses.
“Ludwig,” he said in Mandarin, voice smooth and unimpressed. “Why are there people breathing near my calligraphy section?”
Germany switched languages without missing a beat. “The humans are touring. It’s being broadcast. We weren’t told.”
Yao sighed. “Of course not.”
He stood gracefully, robe shifting with the motion, and only then did several reporters finally remember how to breathe.
♡
“Um—excuse me—” a reporter from Spain spoke up, “sir, are you… the embodiment of China?”
“Yes,” Yao answered, voice rich and calm. “You may call me China. Or Yao, if you prefer.”
“And, uh, the tattoo?” another brave soul asked, clearly struggling to form thoughts in the presence of so much elegance. “It’s…?”
“Drawn by Thailand,” China said simply, adjusting his sleeve to hide it again. “He insists on practicing.”
♡
[YouTuber Reactions]
🎮 Markiplier (laughing, again): “Dude. Duuuude. That man wrote calligraphy while the apocalypse was trending.”
📖 Jacksepticeye: “How do they all look like they stepped out of myths?! That dragon tattoo needs its own Netflix show.”
🌸 Michelle Phan: “His skincare, that robe, the grace—are you telling me immortals have beauty standards this high?”
🎥 Valkyrae: “I want to live in that library and be ignored by him for 900 years.”
♡
China stepped forward and calmly plucked a camera boom mic out of the air like it was mildly annoying incense smoke.
“You have 3 minutes,” he told them with a polite but icy smile. “Then I expect silence for the remainder of my reading hour.”
The crew nodded like scared baby ducks.
♡
Germany cleared his throat. “This concludes the library section. Please refrain from trying to flirt with national archives.”
As the group turned to leave, several reporters were definitely still whispering about the tattoo.
And in the far corner, a phone buzzed to life on the desk China had just vacated.
A notification:
[Incoming Group Chat Message: [REDACTED] Hetalian Crisis Hotline]
🇫🇷 [francis_baguette]: mon dieu—WHY ARE WE ON LIVE TELEVISION??