Gaining Support
December 25, 1918, Versailles Palace.
"The Korean Empire supports Ethiopia's agenda item."
He paused mid-motion as he picked up his documents from the table, slowly scanning the entire conference room with an emotionless gaze, like one reading the front lines of a battlefield. I recognized that look.
"Allow me to add."
He nodded to the chairman, signaling for him to continue. Sonnino opened his mouth to speak but stopped. Interrupting that soldier's words was something no one in this room could easily do.
Marshal Park Young-ho pressed on.
"This peace conference is a forum to establish an international order for lasting peace. Under that purpose, the creation of the League of Nations is under discussion. The fundamental principles of the League are the sovereign equality of member states and collective security."
His voice was low and even. Not an emotional appeal, but a statement of fact.
"If the preservation of certain nations' territories is selectively protected based on the interests of the great powers in this peace treaty, it would undermine the trust foundation of the League of Nations from the outset. To uphold the principle of territorial guarantees in Europe while ignoring it in Africa would be to admit that the League is merely a mechanism for coordinating the interests of Europe's great powers."
Balfour slowly set down his documents. I read the meaning in that gesture. It was a signal that he was listening. Truly listening, not just the formal pretense up to now.
"From the perspective of postwar peace maintenance efficiency, the same applies. If Italy is allowed to establish exclusive influence in East Africa, the stable buffer zone of Ethiopia will collapse. The result could be instability in the Red Sea routes, heightened tensions along the Sudan border, and chain reactions of power clashes in the Somalia region. This poses a direct threat to Britain's India routes and equally to France's Djibouti railway interests."
Clemenceau's eyelids twitched. Djibouti railway. I reevaluated Marshal Park Young-ho inwardly. This man had come prepared. He'd calculated each nation's interests, knowing exactly where to strike to make them move. India routes for Britain. Djibouti railway for France. And for Italy...
Marshal Park Young-ho paused briefly. The silence was very short, but I sensed something in it. He was creating space for what came next.
"The Korean Empire has several agenda items pending in this peace conference, including Asian territorial issues—particularly the international confirmation of Manchukuo rights and the Jiandao region. These are currently under coordination among the Big Five, and the Korean Empire has cooperated constructively in that process."
Each sentence was laid down deliberately.
"The premise of that cooperation was that this peace conference proceeds on the principle of respecting the sovereignty of weaker nations. If that principle is not upheld, the Korean Empire will have no choice but to reconsider its position on the pending agenda items."
The conference room froze. It wasn't hyperbole—the air in the room literally changed.
Sonnino's hand stopped on the table. Balfour whispered something low to the man beside him. Real consternation showed on his face for the first time. Clemenceau's eyes fully opened, fixed on Marshal Park Young-ho.
Manchukuo rights. Jiandao. The Asian territorial issues secured by the Korean Empire at this conference were matters of interest to both Britain and France. For the Korean Empire to withdraw cooperation there wasn't mere blackmail—it was the revocation of pre-calculated deal terms. If Italy's excessive demands shattered the principle on African issues, the entire framework of cooperation with the Korean Empire in Asia would shake. From Britain and France's perspective, which was more important was clear.
Marshal Park Young-ho sat down, his statement concluded. No one reacted immediately. Balfour cleared his throat softly once—I knew it was a way to buy time before reaching any conclusion.
Sonnino requested the floor. The chairman granted it. But Sonnino's voice was different from before.
"Italy has today expressed its legitimate demands at this table. However..." His words weren't smooth. It was the tone of someone who had prepared arguments but didn't know how to deploy them.
"...it seems more efficient to discuss the specifics in a subcommittee."
As I heard those words, I slowly released the tension from my hand on the table. He was retreating. Sonnino, the head of the Italian delegation, had chosen tactical withdrawal here.
The chairman wrapped up the remarks.
"The request to submit Ethiopia's agenda is accepted. The Eritrea border dispute and provisions related to Ethiopia's territorial integrity will be incorporated into subcommittee discussions. The specific subcommittee composition and schedule will be notified tomorrow morning."
With that, the day's conference agenda concluded.
Mateos exhaled silently beside me. I felt his shoulders drop ever so slightly. I didn't look his way.
The Italian delegation rose from their seats. I saw Sonnino's face clearly for the first and last time. It was pale. The face that had been flushed moments ago was now ashen, like lead. The December sky beyond Versailles' windows seemed to have transferred to his complexion. He led his entourage out of the conference room. Their footsteps struck the marble floor firmly. The sound of someone swallowing anger or humiliation quietly.
I didn't watch their backs to the end. I neatly gathered my documents, slipped them into an envelope, and handed my belongings to Mateos. Then I stood.
The corridor was far colder than the conference room. Versailles' corridors had high ceilings and many windows; on cloudy days, the light filtered in dimly, and the chill seeped into the stone.
The click of heels on marble echoed clearly. Delegations from each nation were streaming out, filling the corridor. Amid the flow of aides and diplomats moving swiftly, I walked slowly. Mateos followed two steps behind.
"Your Majesty."
A voice came. Not from behind—from the side. I turned to see Marshal Park Young-ho. One aide officer trailed two steps behind him, in the same uniform from the conference. The gold embroidery on his epaulets caught the dim light from the corridor windows.
"Well done."
It was in Korean. Low, concise. I kept looking ahead as I replied.
"Thanks to you, Marshal."
"I merely organized the arguments. You raised the agenda."
I couldn't tell if it was praise or a statement of fact. His words always hovered on that boundary.
We walked in silence for a moment. The junction where delegations split was nearing at the corridor's end. From there, we'd go our separate ways.
"The subcommittee discussions won't be easy."
Marshal Park Young-ho said.
"I know."
"Italy's retreat today was tactical. They'll push to dilute the content in the subcommittee. They'll keep the border guarantee clause but narrow the scope of the military action prohibition or create interpretive wiggle room."
As I listened, I recalled memories from my past life. 1928. The Kellogg-Briand Pact. A treaty declaring the outlawry of war. And how it failed to stop Mussolini's invasion in 1935. Signatures on paper meant nothing without force.
"I know. That's why we need to make this clause as specific as possible. Not just 'prohibition of military action,' but 'any form of military intervention in Ethiopian territory requires prior approval from the League of Nations Council.' No room for interpretation."
Marshal Park Young-ho glanced at me briefly.
"That phrasing doesn't just bind Italy."
"Yes, it binds Britain and France too. That's the point. No country can touch Ethiopia unilaterally."
A brief silence fell. The corridor's end approached.
"Can the Korean Empire maintain the same direction in the subcommittee discussions?"
It was a direct request, no time for circumlocution. Of course, Marshal Park Young-ho said it without breaking stride.
"As long as our agreement's terms are fulfilled, yes."
A clear answer. I nodded.
We reached the junction. The Korean Empire delegation's quarters were in a different direction from the Ethiopian delegation's temporary lodgings, so Marshal Park Young-ho paused briefly.
"One more thing."
I stopped too. He looked at me. Not the conference room gaze. It was like the look when he first recognized the Ethiopian Empress in the observer seat. Fleeting. Gone in an instant.
"After this peace conference concludes next spring—at the latest by May—the Korean Empire will dispatch diplomats to Addis Ababa."
I turned those words over in my mind once. Addis Ababa. Korean Empire diplomats. The establishment of official diplomatic channels—the first step in converting our secret agreement into formal relations.
"Thank you. We'll prepare."
At my greeting, Marshal Park Young-ho nodded curtly.
"Then."
He turned. His aide followed. The rhythmic sound of military boots faded on the marble floor. I watched his back for a moment. That 47-year-old frame showed no stoop.
I withdrew my gaze and said to Mateos,
"Let's head to the lodgings."