It's the Economy, You Fool #3
The problem was the economy, you idiots. As the two aides departed, the Supreme Leader immediately cracked down on discipline. To box properly, you had to know your opponent's weight class first. That way you could jab and weave, control your pace. But the opponent had roughly gauged our weight class. They'd even heard our answer and left. That meant a full-power punch straight to the vitals might be coming. Naturally, we'd have to bulk up our weight class even more. This nation's goal was unlimited class beyond heavyweight, after all. He'd gained the conviction that hiding behind statistical manipulation was getting harder now.
Ah, of course, the manipulation would continue. Who could you trust to report straight?
"Left Ok-gyun, Right Wan-yong—so what's the answer?"
"Positive reaction, sir."
"They'll do it."
"That's it?"
""?""
"Tell 'em it's first-come, first-served from now on. How big is Busan anyway?"
Busan had always made its money from trade with Japan, past and present. Especially after the Brits took the harbor. Above all, 98% of Korea's trade with Japan and 140% of Japan's trade with Korea flowed through Busan. Grip this place, and you'd have some leverage over Japan's imports and exports, at least. Naturally, the Supreme Leader's order to build Japanese settlements around Busan and its suburbs, along with matching light industry zones, was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for the conglomerates.
But their response was just a "positive reaction"? Their bellies were full, alright.
First, he'd stirred up a loyalty contest among them—like the First Emperor, no, the Secretary General. Next, he'd consider trimming their nipples. Thanks to Britain, Japan was perfectly isolated on the world stage, suckling at Korea's teat and enjoying an unprecedented economic boom. Britain was too busy digesting the indigestible Korea to bother with Japan yet. The Supreme Leader knew it well. Why else let them keep their light industry? Why help them avoid collapse? All for this moment.
But they were playing hard to get? Ito had resigned, and now they couldn't figure out how to behave.
The Supreme Leader himself had mulled creating a Kaesong Industrial Complex—no, a light industry belt—with all the money he'd squeezed out. But sadly, light industry demanded sincerity and history. Half of it was service, reading the public's needs. Sadly, neither he nor Korea had that service spirit. The neighbor's mom service was all the same as the service next door's son got.
Well, then just transplant it from next door. Build massive Japanese pleasure districts—no, settlements—all over the place, and who needed light industry service? Japan would omakase it for us. Korea had its autonomous cities, a Roman system rivaling the Holy Roman Empire. Just bring in a million Japanese and plant 100,000 in each.
But these bastards' bellies were so full they wouldn't cooperate? Time for a good ass-whooping with a club.
"Probably because of Joseon."
"Joseon?"
"…"
Yeah, if the conglomerates all bailed, Joseon tech would leak too. Japan probably thought that was the end of it. What a shame. In this age of imperialism, they couldn't admit they'd been stripped bare. Hiding in Korea's corner like spoiled brats, oblivious to the world's harshness. Or did they know? Hell, even I could see Japan was about to be sold off to America. I had no intention of buying, but America was dying to pay me top dollar for Japan. That's why I was greasing the conglomerates early. With their rapport, the rest of Japan's subjects could be sold to Hawaii or Peru for all I cared.
But, "If that's the case, compromising over just food won't cut it, huh?"
"Yes, probably."
"Tell 'em we'll build battleships if they cooperate."
"You're serious?"
"Not thrilled about it, but what can you do."
I settled on exactly three. No more, no less. Enough for self-defense, at least. To Japan, selling off overseas assets to pay Britain reparations, advance pounds from Korea would be a ray of light.
"Send people, send resources, let 'em build those battleships they crave. Bill it all in national bonds, right?"
"We'll negotiate that way, sir."
I lined up the Japanese firms and moved to the next issue. Japan's advanced light industry was just a nice warm-up. For this massive market called Korea to survive this brutal age of imperialism and total war, what it needed wasn't that—it needed cheap raw material suppliers. Resource diplomacy was the play. Not the grand canal bullshit.
And for Korea, the closest reachable supplier was Taiwan. Under British oversight, in a peace deal with China, one country two systems—no, two countries two systems.
The issue? Exploiting the Chinese there would spread rumors, irking some Korean Empire citizens. They'd go along with my economic rhetoric for now, but if I screwed up, their discomfort wouldn't vanish—it'd just lurk below the surface.
So... no Chinese, then.
I fired off an urgent telegram to Theodore via the just-opened undersea cable from Korea to America, the one we'd contracted and laid last time. Asking him to send excess people our way.
"English speakers."
"Able to work long hours under the sun."
"Farmers if possible, and yellow-skinned."
"You think that's feasible?"
"Even scraping every illegal coolie in America, we couldn't send that many if our lives depended on it."
Theodore lit a cigarette.
"Farms be damned—this is just sabotage because Taiwan's about to fall into British mouths, right?"
"Like what they did to us in the Philippines."
"Cough, hack hack."
The Philippines were in a lull. Independence fighters had burrowed in. But everyone here knew they'd resurface soon. We were all descendants of independence fighters.
"Tch, but what's this ridiculous demand? They want payment to send people?"
"Doesn't matter—it's a vote-winner. How many whites hate coolies?"
"You really think we should accept this crap?"
"You need a second term. '94—next year."
Coolies were hated by whites and blacks alike. Even blacks hated them—that was the punchline. Kicking coolies off the American continent? Instant popularity boost. Even in the Northeast with few coolies, he'd rack up support.
"I could win a second term without this."
"Of course."
Theodore pondered as he said it. The proposal would leak, inevitably. Oppose it? Lose votes. Kicking out coolies might irk beef customers, but farmers wanted it—workers would love it. The problem was paying to deport them. Was it worth it? He hadn't minded hiring 100,000 for the Panama Canal, but paying to boot coolies felt wasteful. Why spend on that?
But one thing was clear: Theodore wanted power seized, not inherited.
The Supreme Leader's observation room
"Your Excellency, it's finally complete!"
"What is…"
"Juche Submarine No. 1! Made entirely with our own tech!"
"The new engine—that diesel—solved the issues, right? That's why you called me here. Probably swiped from London this year."
"Couldn't we really not use coal? Instead of oil."
I chatted with the National Tech Development Director as I opened the secret factory door.
"…"
"It's the same size. What's the point of a submarine as big as a freighter? Might as well advertise 'I'm right here' everywhere."
"We'll improve it step by step. Size aside, the new engine makes it fast—eight of 'em!"
"Fine, whatever. But that makes it louder."
I accepted it in the end. I'd given them money, time, resources—just build it. Prototypes build data; skip that, and it's straight to torpedo scandals.
I patted the director's shoulder with a grumpy face. The coming Great War would be submarines and trenches. Hustle on R&D now—tech might lag, but we could operate them.
Problem was, I'd said "ocean voyages over six months, or faster," but this was excessive. A sub bigger than a battleship! New engine my ass—solved nothing, just louder. This country had a long way to go.
"Still, looks cool."
But like this, it was just a diving freighter. Nazis would love it…
Hm?
Come to think of it, this world had another group that loved Nazis as much as Nazis. Yankees.
"Shall we throw a grand debut for yellow skins in America?"
Militarily worthless superweapon—Nazi bait—but Yankees might see it differently. They'd been taking hits lately, craving a counterpunch.
I called Theodore: "We'll take the coolies—let's meet in LA."
The day the yellow tide ebbs, they'll fear the tsunami crashing in.