Locatelli's First Response
Locatelli's first response to the support declarations from the two great powers regarding imperialism came faster than expected. "Mr. Chairman, the Italian delegation requests to speak." It was the moment the speeches from France and the Korean Empire ended. I caught it out of the corner of my eye and quietly took my seat. Massimo Locatelli was younger than Giuseppe Colli di Felizzano, with an even sharper impression. Straight forehead, aquiline nose—the classic look of an Italian diplomat... but those eyes were anything but ordinary. They held the gaze of someone determined to push something through, or compelled to do so no matter what. His mere presence here today was a clear sign of how gravely Italy viewed the situation. After Colli di Felizzano returned empty-handed from the Addis Ababa garrison ten days ago, Rome had decided to dispatch this man to Geneva.
"Permission granted." At the chairman's voice, Locatelli rose. And the instant he uttered his opening line, I confirmed something inwardly.
"The Italian delegation wishes to make it clear to the Council that the Ethiopian Empire's letter seriously distorts the facts."
Ah, he's flustered. His voice was steady. His pronunciation crisp. But the order of his sentences wasn't that of a seasoned diplomat. Leading with "distorts the facts" revealed that this wasn't a prepared offensive—it was starting from the defensive.
I gazed at him, relaxing the tension in my hands resting on the table.
"The exchange of letters between the Italian Empire and Britain is purely bilateral diplomatic communication. The claim that it infringes on Ethiopia's sovereignty is an overly arbitrary interpretation by the Ethiopian government..."
He paused there, and a faint murmur rippled through the chamber. It was subtle, but the kind anyone with over a decade on the diplomatic stage would notice.
"Overly arbitrary interpretation" isn't phrasing you use for a party claiming harm, Consul. Of course, I kept it to myself, and Locatelli pressed on with his explanation.
"The infrastructure plan connecting western Ethiopia is for the economic development of the entire region. The railway linking Eritrea and Somalia will expand trade routes in the areas near Ethiopia, and Ethiopia itself stands to benefit. Italy desires friendly cooperation with Ethiopia..."
At that point, I lowered and raised my eyelids once. Civilizing mission logic. The exact frame Colli di Felizzano had used in Versailles in 1919. We're doing this for your own good. You should be grateful. The problem was, that logic had already been neatly dismantled here by Marshal Park Yeong-ho. And now, in this chamber, Ethiopia carried a different weight than it had seven years ago.
As Locatelli continued, I mentally categorized the direction of his argument. Broadly, three points. First, the Italian-British agreement wasn't excluding Ethiopia—it was about regional development. Second, Ethiopia's submission of the agreement to the League was an overreaction, an act that heightened diplomatic tensions. Third, Ethiopia lacked the capacity to manage its own territory adequately, making infrastructure cooperation necessary.
When the third point emerged, a more distinct murmur stirred in the chamber. Hear that? What did he just say? I kept it internal. Lacked sufficient capacity to manage its own territory. For that statement to emerge as an official remark here revealed Italy's desperation better than anything. It wasn't suitable for a formal setting—and worse, it wasn't even true.
To claim Ethiopia couldn't manage its territory, they'd need proof. But I'd already submitted documents to this Council detailing Ethiopia's current status. Rifle production. The Alesa steel mill. University hospital. Military academy. Textile exports. The moment Italy made that claim, every delegation in the room began comparing the numbers they'd just heard against it.
"...That concludes our remarks."
When Locatelli finished, I waited a moment. Then I glanced at the British side. It wasn't Consul Russell. I'd heard from Herui that the lead for Britain this time was an aide to Foreign Secretary Chamberlain. And what was he doing? Just staring at his papers. Eyes downcast. No request to speak. Silence.
Italy had probably expected Britain's agreement when laying out those three arguments. At minimum, a united front to pressure Ethiopia. But Britain stayed silent. Staring at papers. It took less than three seconds for the chamber to feel the weight of that silence. Locatelli sensed it too—you could tell from his face. The smile had vanished, unlike Versailles. Back then, Colli di Felizzano had maintained perfect composure until Marshal Park's remark broke him. But now, faint tension creased around Locatelli's eyes.
If Britain stayed silent, Italy stood alone. And pushing anything through this Council against Ethiopia with Italy's voice alone had been impossible from the start. That calculation was surely churning in his head now.
"...The Ethiopian government is overly suspicious of Italy's good intentions. We seek constructive dialogue through this body." The final line carried a different tone. "Constructive dialogue" might sound like an overture, but in this setting, it meant something clearer. We're backing off.
I confirmed Locatelli sitting with a peripheral glance and turned back to the chairman. Herui requested the floor.
"The Ethiopian delegation requests to speak."
Permission granted, I stood. This time, no papers in hand.
"The Italian delegation stated that Ethiopia lacks sufficient capacity to manage its own territory."
I quoted it verbatim, slowly sweeping my gaze across the chamber.
"The documents submitted by the Ethiopian Empire to this body summarize the past decade's achievements. Rifles and light machine guns designed by Ethiopian engineers and produced in Ethiopian arsenals. Steel mills operated by Ethiopian technicians. University hospitals run by Ethiopian doctors. Military academies and universities attended by Ethiopian students."
I paused a beat before continuing.
"If you wish to claim here that we lack sufficient capacity, the proper course is to present evidence refuting those materials."
The room fell silent.
"Ethiopia desires no external interference. From any nation, under any pretext. We ask only one thing from this body: that the treaty signed in Versailles in 1919 apply fully to this continent as well. That is all."
As I sat, I quietly exhaled. I kept my expression neutral. But today, the weight of the pistol holstered inside my belt pressed vividly against my side rather than my palm. Strangely, feeling that weight here steadied my mind. A psychology I wouldn't have grasped in my past life—but now, it just was.
It's fine. I'm still standing.
The vote began after three rounds of additional remarks. Belgium endorsed the logic of Ethiopia's letter. Sweden took a similar stance. The Spanish delegation remained silent without speaking. Italy offered no further rebuttals. Nor did Britain. I already knew what kind of silence it was. Not outright refusal of cooperation, but a decision to avoid being tied to Italy.
Ten days ago in Addis Ababa, Russell had floated the joint consultative body. As long as that card remained viable, Britain didn't want to fully align with Italy on this stage. Italy needed the railway. Britain needed water. And those interests had never truly aligned. In December 1925, when they exchanged letters, they'd calculated that jointly pressuring Ethiopia would be more efficient. But the moment Ethiopia dragged it to the international stage, their interests began to diverge.
Italy's railway demand directly challenged Ethiopian sovereignty—hard to defend. Britain's water demands, however, could be framed as the joint consultative body alternative. Because Ethiopia had left that door open.
"Judging that the Anglo-Italian letter agreement of December 1925 has the potential to infringe on the Ethiopian Empire's sovereignty and political independence, we propose a resolution declaring said agreement null and void."
Finally, the chairman wrapped up and read the voting motion. As I heard it, I felt the slightest tremor in my fingertips on the table. My expression didn't change.
For. Against. Abstain. The chamber stayed hushed as the tally mounted. This pre-announcement silence differed from Versailles' subcommittee or Addis Ababa's Ras Council. It felt like waiting for exam results from my past life. My mind flickered between the three possibilities.
"21 votes in favor, 4 against, 7 abstentions."
The chairman's voice rang out.
"The resolution passes."
In that moment, I did nothing. No smile. No tears. No straightening my back or twitching fingers. I just stared straight ahead. From beside me, I heard Herui's faint exhale. It carried the weight of nearly ten days' accumulation.
I directed my gaze naturally toward the Korean Empire delegation. Consul Yeunhyeong sat with hands on the table, watching me. I knew what his eyes conveyed without words. It's done, Your Majesty. I gave a brief nod.
The chamber rose, and I deliberately stood slowly. No rush. With the poise drilled in the palace, I silently pushed back my chair and rose.