Day Zero of the Imperial Household New Media Team: Zero Accidents

Who films and edits the videos that go up on the Sofya's Daily Life channel?

Who else would it be? As if they would ever hand material that might expose imperial secrets over to outsiders.

Of course, officials of the Imperial Household handle it.

Naturally, the Imperial Household had never started out with anything resembling a YouTube editing officer on staff.

Sofya had edited the first video herself, since no one had been told about it — but the moment word reached the Imperial Household that the Empress was debuting as a YouTuber, they immediately established a New Media Team.

The name sounded grand. In truth, it was a team assembled when certain lofty figures in the Imperial Household said, "Round up some of the younger ones who know a bit about YouTube."

A team thrown together overnight, its actual job reducible to a single line: help the Empress with her hobby.

Any proper civil servant would have watched their morale hit the floor. The people assigned to the New Media Team, however, quietly liked it.

That had everything to do with the peculiar nature of the Imperial Household itself.

Though the Imperial Household belonged to the government's administrative apparatus, far more of its staff entered through special appointments under "imperial standards" than through the ordinary open civil service exam.

Those who came in through open recruitment did the kind of work people usually associated with civil servants. A great many of them never so much as set eyes on the imperial family, working instead in the Imperial Household's own offices.

Special appointees split into attendant posts and other specialist posts. Attendants spent their days glued to the imperial family; specialists handled everything from security to the Jeguk Ikmunsa — work that, broadly speaking, concerned the safety of the imperial household.

That was why special appointments came with thorough background investigations under the banner of "imperial standards." Among those selected, the capable and the loyal tended to be steered into specialist posts, while the rest filled the attendant ranks.

In the old days, attendants had stood close enough to the Emperor to wield a kind of "doorknob power," and ambitious, highly competent people had flocked to the role. Once the imperial house delegated real authority to the cabinet, however, attendant posts became workplaces for so-called idlers — people who stood at a considerable distance from any elite career path.

They were Gyeonghwa Sajok by birth. They had never caused any serious trouble, and they were not without ability, but when it came to going out into society and taking the lead on anything, laziness usually won. Under pressure from parents who begged them to live like functional human beings, their last-resort job was an attendant post in the Imperial Household.

They were called attendants, but they did not actually do the "grunt work." Meals were handled by chefs hired by the palace; anything that could be called housework was taken care of by outside staff. Calling them secretaries would also be a stretch — truly important duties fell to chamberlains of higher rank, and a large share of those chamberlains belonged to the specialist posts. More precisely, most of them were agents of the Jeguk Ikmunsa.

In the end, what these idlers ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠mostly did was leverage their backgrounds to draw up lists of luxury goods for the palace, or serve as conversation partners for Her Majesty the Empress — which, to be fair, was important work.

Even ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that sort of task had grown rare in the current imperial household.

The Emperor was a man who had ascended the throne by chance, and he was about as far from "nobility" as one could get; his tastes leaned closer to those of ordinary commoners. He was a good person, and the face he showed the public was that of an Emperor for the people, but he still had not fully adjusted to anything resembling an aristocratic lifestyle, which made it hard for the attendants to approach him first.

The previous Emperor, for instance, had spent free days hunting or riding, and indoors he practiced calligraphy, attended performances and exhibitions, or — when he wanted to look closer to the people — watched sports. On those occasions the attendants had more than enough to do: assisting with the hunt, riding alongside him, offering a well-placed remark from years of cultivated learning while he practiced calligraphy… or, at the very least, tossing in a few comments while they watched a game.

The present Emperor, when he had no official schedule, simply shut ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠himself in his room.

He was doing something, apparently — "historical research," he called it. When His Majesty the Emperor took up historical research as a hobby, what exactly were attendants supposed to contribute? It would have been more useful to summon history PhDs from Sungkyunkwan than to keep them around.

At first they had held out hope that marriage would change things. The imperial house urgently needed an heir, so he would surely marry a woman from the Gyeonghwa Sajok soon enough, and under the Empress's influence his life would draw closer to something properly aristocratic.

Instead, out of nowhere, he announced he would marry a Russian grand duchess. That she was noble was a relief, but it also meant personal attendants who had come with the Empress from Russia took up posts of their own. Most positions were still filled by Imperial Household staff, of course, yet an invisible cultural barrier remained.

Around that time, a small rumor began circulating among the attendants.

"I heard His Majesty is cutting the attendant posts in half. He supposedly said he has no idea what they even do on a normal day, so why not just abolish them…"

"Isn't that a little harsh? Saying we don't do anything."

"But… honestly, what are we doing right now…?"

"Now that you mention it, we really aren't doing much."

"Still, it isn't all our fault, is it? Isn't it also a problem that His Majesty never does anything we could actually help with?"

"So what — are we supposed to go to His Majesty and pester him to enjoy some horse racing and hunting with us? Us? Are you insane? Does he even know how to hunt or ride? He grew up middle-class and spent his life as a graduate student."

"You never know. He might pick up a taste for it later…"

"Aigoo. We'd only get blamed for saddling him with hobbies like that."

"If they start cutting attendants, what standard do they use?"

"Well… uselessness, probably…"

"Honestly, most of the Emperor's attendants are going to get the axe. Her Majesty the Empress at least talks with us a lot and gives us small tasks…"

"If we get kicked out of the attendant corps too… I'll have to go work under my father…"

"Ugh. Same."

"I don't want that either… Just looking at numbers makes my head hurt…"

A shared conviction spread among them — somehow, we have to prove we're useful — and right then came the welcome news of the Empress's YouTube debut and the founding of the New Media Team.

"I'll do it!"

"Editing YouTube videos has been my dream since I was a kid!"

"Actually, I ran a YouTube channel before I became an attendant!"

Applicants poured in, and the New Media Team found its footing at once.

"Looking back, I shouldn't have applied. Part of this is my own fault for falling for empty rumors, but still…"

Kim Haewon, the New Media Team's editing lead, muttered to himself as he stared at the long stretch of raw footage on the screen.

"Come on, it wasn't a total rumor. Didn't you hear about the attendants who got packed off for bad attitudes — people who basically did nothing?"

"There were barely ten of them. You really think I would have been one?"

"Well… either way, this job isn't that bad. When we film, we get to see both Their Majesties and actually talk with them."

At least making yourself known by face was vastly better than remaining a complete stranger. For anyone who wanted to keep an attendant post, the former was overwhelmingly advantageous.

"And yeah, there's a lot of work, but compared to what real YouTubers do, uploading two or three videos a week isn't that much."

"That's gaslighting. Anyway, what do you think about this part?"

"Where?"

On the screen, His Majesty the Emperor's "greeting" had been split into different versions. One was ordinary. The other was the "casual" cut.

"Hmm… personally I think the second one's funnier, but… if we post this, won't there be hell to pay?"

"Right? Better to play it safe. Still, it's a shame to throw away source material this good."

His Majesty's looks were, how to put it — handsome, but always wrapped in an air of composure. The kind of man who used formal speech with everyone yet kept a careful distance? That sort of impression.

Hearing someone like that speak in plain, casual language was a first.

"Well. If we're really going for it, maybe we stick it in like a cookie? Final approval goes through Her Majesty the Empress and that chamberlain anyway."

"Fine by me."

Sofya Mikhailovna Fan Gallery.

Talk about Sofya had originally lived in the Pianist Gallery, but the constant flood of posts about Empress Sofya had spun off into this new board. Most of the content was about the Empress and the people around her. In practice, it was a celebrity fan community.

Was this a broadcast disaster? Or a masterstroke carefully dressed up to look like a mistake…

I glanced sideways at Sofya's face. She was diligently scooping mint-chocolate ice cream, insisting the baby suddenly wanted some.

"Want some?"

"No. I've never liked mint chocolate."

Sofya doesn't seem to think much of it either…