It's the Economy, Stupid #2
The problem was the economy, you idiots. Korea dumped CDOs on the market, flooded it with Korean francs, and stockpiled gold reserves. It was late 1903 now, with maybe a decade left before the real World War kicked off. If we were going to rise up strong, it had to be now. Sure, Britain could stomach the CDOs, but they questioned why the francs were flooding the streets. Lies were only allowed from their side in this relationship.
But Korea's response was a masterpiece. They declared they'd redeem them unlimited and indefinite, just as promised to Britain. And it was true—Britain had to admit that. They'd promised redemption, redeemed them, and unlimited redemption fit the spirit. But in practice? No way it'd work. "Unlimited and indefinite" basically screamed government guarantee. And that turned it into bearer perpetual bonds backed by land. Redemption? Fat chance. It was superior to the Korean pound, which would turn to toilet paper without gold. Land-backed currency, after all. To actually redeem, it should've been limited and time-bound. But from the redeemer's perspective, unlimited and indefinite made sense in theory. Problem was, once it hit government hands, it vanished. Who'd sell to the government?
Worst of all for Britain: over 90% of those francs were already printed and shoved into local banks, cooperatives, and private hands. The Korean franc had a fixed issuance from the start—telling them not to print more now was pointless. Britain plunged into internal conflict. With America playing with fire in Panama, was souring the mood over francs already in circulation really smart?
In the end, Britain opted for magnanimous concessions. Think constructively. Take something from them in return. Plus, Korea had ordered British battleships earlier, speeding up the Dreadnought-class launch, which had been dismissed as experimental. Surprisingly, Korea gave Britain almost everything it asked for. Ganghwa Island, Busan Port—they hadn't handed those over completely. Just economic control and the Supreme Leader's slush fund stayed off-limits. Even Britain figured those were things Korea wouldn't yield easily.
'We'll take them eventually anyway.' So Britain stepped back and snagged contracts from Korea. The Han-German Nauru phosphate venture became Anglo-German. Korea just sent workers. South Africa and Canada gold mines, where Korea got scraps, now funneled all gold to Britain. Korea agreed readily. Too readily—Britain felt miffed. It was like Korea knew them too well.
But that wasn't the point now. Britain's key project was burning: Panama's independence. While Britain tussled with Korea, Teddy Bear slyly seared Panama with his cigar, prompting Colombia's Panama to declare independence from the world.
Panama's Declaration of Independence
The Panama Canal, bought and built by Rothschilds in Colombia, vaporized in an instant. They'd contracted with Colombia, not some non-existent Panama.
With things turning sour, the 100,000 conscripted Korean laborers wondered, "Should we pack up?" Unpaid wages loomed. No liens in this era. But they kept digging. The bosses wanted it.
"Just keep digging like before. You know my tie to the Supreme Leader? Think I'd stiff Korea?"
Panama—no, America—promised. They'd taken the project from Panama; keep building, they'd pay the arrears. Without those 100,000 coolies, who'd clear those rocky mountains? Even the Emperor of the United States shrank from sending 100,000 unruly Americans into the jungle. Only the Great East Asia Federation's Secretary-General, who valued lives like flies, could slather those 100,000 souls in insecticide and shove them into that plague den.
Teddy Bear quivered at such power. Alternatives existed—like the engineers' lock-gate canal. But with the Supreme Leader carving a transcontinental canal through mountains, could America whine about one puny hill? So he threw money. An offer irresistible to the ever-hungry Supreme Leader. Naturally, he agreed. As long as arrears came in, London or New York didn't matter. And it wasn't his fight anyway. Crucially, they promised to finish the shipyards.
The issue? Britain's fat cats in London thought differently.
"How much did I lend Rothschild?!"
"Darién redux!"
The London exchange tanked. Some yelled "short-term correction," but everyone knew. Post-Panama independence crash—who didn't know?
Suez was maxed out anyway. Double it or dig Panama. They chose the lesser evil: Panama. But Britain's plan to double-dip Korea via Suez and Panama sank from the start.
Korea's massive economy, juiced by currency matching its scale, rocketed even lifting abject Chinese poor from destitution. Koreans were content with rice and meat soup; Britons knew better. Goods sold changed daily.
Britons, eyeing Panama, went long on Korean markets—and turned clowns overnight.
'Panama Canal's private property, you lunatics!'
'Private, national, your mom's—Europe's out of America!'
'Like Suez, international canal? We opened Suez to all.'
'Think about it. Suez ain't our problem.'
They cursed upfront, negotiated behind. They knew each other too well. Britain couldn't recoup or heads rolled. Concessions to guest Korea? Fine. To rival America? Never.
'Really no?'
'Nope, mine. You got Suez. I need Panama. I licked it first.'
'Just buy it?'
'Deal. Name your price.'
Negotiations accelerated. War someday, but not now. Anglo-Saxon summit war? Too early—or never. Plans were set, though.
But the seemingly easy deal hit snags: valuing sea lanes. Canal worth equals route markets. Back on the table: Korea's potential as a market.
Core issue: neither knew precisely, just guessed. No hard evidence. America lowballed, Britain highballed. Britain cited exchange drops; America said only Korean agribusiness sold there. Truth clashed—no compromise.
They agreed to haul it to someone who knew: him.
"Your Excellency!"
"Ahem!"
"...What brings you here?"
The Supreme Leader, prepping his rise with leveraged cash, startled at the two ambassadors' visit. He'd done plenty they'd hate. And plotting shady real-time moves, his heart raced. If they knew and came together, surrender inevitable. Overwhelming foes.
Luckily, one question: "What's Korea's economic scale?"
Tricky. Gold standard? Consumption? Wrong answer meant icy stares from Britain. "Didn't know even if tortured," then spill to America? Truth serum room.
But the Supreme Leader had the perfect reply.
"One Africa?"
"Fuck."
"Bullshit."
The Anglo-American duo naturally scoffed. Korea, not conquering all Asia, claiming the whole vast African continent? Guests gifting nonsense—the fat cats pressed.
He felt queasy. Finally, raised another finger.
"Two Africas! Two! That's double, DOUBLE!"
Absurd. They knew he twisted for currency. Economy too big for issuance. Silver-standard China swallowed half—sudden gold? Shortage obvious. If he flung open gold vaults, maybe. But this guy? No way.
So... yeah. Fat cats uncorked courtesy liquor—declaration: no paltry figure, no leaving.
He raised another finger.
"Triple."
Pre-visit, they'd eyed each other: Korea's GDP, Africa-equivalent, five-to-six times. Fight was four, five, or six. This guy? Laughable. Defied their science. Too deceptive.
US farmers pondered cheese sales sans Republicans; British rich schemed squeezing Korea.
'Fight us, but make 'em cough four.'
'Deal.'
Soul duo—Anglo-American. Drunk glances spoke volumes. Only the flinching Supreme Leader prayed they'd leave.
"Four Africas."
They got "four times," left satisfied. No evidence, but in Korea, his word was truth. Authority incarnate. They knew. Their capitals would too.