Tanzimat #1
Whenever that mad Supreme Leader of Korea crushed the real insanity and declared he had no need for that damn Kangaroo Federation Republic, pulling out of the bidding, Sultan Abdul Hamid II of the Ottoman Empire—Ottoman Turks—wanted to wash his eyes, no, his ears, clean from all the Korean, no, Korean Empire's stories.
It was because he'd heard it so much from the British bastards. "You have to listen to us well to develop like that, Your Majesty." What utter bullshit. How the hell was that the British's doing? I had eyes and ears too. That was Korea succeeding on its own merits, not because the British made it happen. Especially that crap about local autonomy, religious freedom, and parliamentary democracy—god, I wanted them to shut up about it.
Our homeland was rotting away precisely because of ethnic conflicts, religious strife, and rebellious local powers. Where the hell were they getting off with that nonsense? The Ottoman Empire was in crisis right now, and to overcome it, more than anything, we needed unity centered on the Sultan and Islamic law. Not naive ideas like Pan-Turkism or Western-style democracy! Korea had been on a winning streak forever, so maybe they could afford to loosen up, but our empire sure as hell couldn't!!
But no matter how much he washed his ears, some things just wouldn't come clean—like the sound of someone else's house buying land and mountains. Why had the Ottomans, closer to the advanced West and starting modernization even earlier, fallen so far behind Korea? The Sultan wanted to know that. So in the end, he summoned him. It wasn't about pride anymore.
"Truly wise decision, Your Majesty Abdul Hamid II, monarch of the Ottoman Empire, leader of the faithful, Caliph of the earthly realm, son of Abdulmejid Han."
"Hmph. So spill that interesting tale."
"Ahem, this story begins with a boy leaving his beloved homeland—"
"No, no, no, no—that's way too far back."
What he wanted wasn't some origin story. More than that...
"What the hell did that country eat wrong to end up like this?"
"Then you must hear this tale? It's profoundly instructive."
"...Summarize it briefly."
A boy who went abroad, returned home, and faced a nation on the brink of ruin. He embraced the weak—the beggars, women and children, thugs—and began reforms, integrating lowly jobs like fishermen, miners, merchants into society's framework to civilize them. Through many failures and successes, when foreign powers invaded, he won yet demanded nothing in return, forgiving them and asking only for freedom, self-determination, autonomy. When foreign powers tried to strip his friends' freedom, he rose alone to save them, charging heroically at the forefront against enemies ten times their number, and ultimately triumphed.
A truly instructive tale. Was it Allah's grace? But 'Isn't that a bit too short?' Even summarized, it felt overly condensed. But since he'd demanded a short version, he said nothing. Pride, you see.
'More interesting than I expected, though?'
Wasn't that too much spice? It could fit right into a Muslim children's fairy tale. More stimulating and moral than anticipated.
"That's the intro. Shall we move to the middle act?"
The Sultan silently gestured for him to continue.
A young man who grew amid failures and opposition back home. He toppled oppressors of freedom, but his trials didn't end there. Above all, territory suddenly expanded by war, economy reduced to ashes in contrast. For him, it meant providing jobs for disabled veterans, widows, orphans. That was the true extension of battle.
'Oh, yes—this is it. This is what I wanted to hear.'
He wasn't after the little Korea's struggle; he craved the mighty Korean Empire's dominance. The Sultan pretended nonchalance but perked his ears, listening intently. He...
"If I may be so bold, Your Excellency, I believe allies shouldn't hide anything from each other. Now that we're allied, just show us that rumored gold once."
I pushed away McDonald, who was whispering slyly in my ear, with one hand.
"I told you, there's none. Where do you keep hearing this crap about 200 tons, 1,000 tons of bullion? It keeps growing every year."
"Next it'll be a straight 2,000 tons?"
Even limiting alliance's mandatory intervention to attacks on home soil, the Supreme Leader sometimes wondered if this was right, drowning his regrets in drink. McDonald quietly sipped his own, pondering what this man was thinking.
What the hell did he really want? Australia for real? A barren wasteland at best, dotted with millions of criminals scattered about. Handing over such land for that fabled gold, alliance, and markets would be a huge win for Britain.
Difference between Australia and Alaska? Slightly less cold, some cows graze—that's it, right? If Alaska could be sold, so could Australia.
Then, with one arm in India, one in Australia, this man would be bound hand and foot, forced to dance to Britain's tune in both places. To protect the massive gold and assets poured there, he'd have no choice.
But he refused. This man claimed he wanted Australia, yet not the land itself. His follow-up words framed it merely as an attractive investment. Digging deeper, he was interested in Australia's open-pit mines. And he'd prefer Britain not meddle, like with Nauru last time. Petty, if anything.
Yet he'd stubbornly refused alliance before, and now accepted it. That made it even stranger. Was that really it? Or testing if Britain would sell Australia? Like the fishing rights negotiation last time? If so, what did it imply? A Pacific policy following the dreadnoughts? Possible. Probing if Britain's Pacific interest was waning.
He couldn't yet tell if Britain was truly willing to sell Australia, got fed up, and cut losses immediately. But one thing was clear: the man before him wasn't driven by mere territorial greed.
What did he want? If told Britain would vanish from Asia forever, even he might scowl, but McDonald yearned to crack open this Supreme Leader's Pandora's box of a mind.
"Oh, and about India—tell your home office we misjudged that one."
"No, it caught us off guard too. Why oppose women's restroom construction? We can't fathom it."
Not even charging high fees. Not forcing anyone. It succeeded in the Korean Empire, and we even sought advice. What was the problem?
One answer: Indians were just that barbaric. That's why Britain couldn't release them into the world. Their anti-restroom slogans were so vulgar, McDonald hesitated to repeat them to the great man before him.
McDonald wanted dignified talk—world affairs, aligned stances, the International Peace Conference where Korea kept screwing around after following Britain...!
Why was that Lee Wan-yong playing dead there? Because this man ordered it! To the Supreme Leader, sacrificing national interest for such audacity looked biologically shameless—and quite to the taste of biologically shameless British eyes.
But the man before Donald had no intention of dropping the filthy restroom topic, against Donald's wishes. Now allied, he hoped Britain would grind Indians harder. That way, Britain wouldn't dare screw allied Korea.
The Supreme Leader had zero intention of letting Britain forget it could gunboat-diplomacy even allies. Not out of personal grudge. Just—better safe than sorry. Strike before struck. Preempt to distract. First-rate. Even if hit, erase it from records—second-rate. Repay if hit—third-rate, barely surviving day-to-day. Fourth-rate whining to international society that "those bastards are evil"?
That very international society was the bastards. Like a cow strolling into a slaughterhouse. So no sniveling to it about Britain screwing Korea: "Those bastards are evil!" Wrong address entirely.
Britain raging openly before me? Fine. Whining internationally? I knew history, guessed Britain's countless dirty tricks on me and Korea. Just, opponent being first-rate, I only realize post-bite like a dog. Hence allying Britain meant: strike its back perfectly timed, undetectably—or even if caught, invincible. That alone.
'Poke till death, eventually I'll claim my little East Asia.'
Witnessing Britain's quiet madness, the Supreme Leader downed a drink, steeling himself to reveal he was crazier than imagined. Ideally without Britain noticing.
"In my view, we should change direction."
"What direction?"
"Not just restrooms—go for bathhouses with restrooms."
"That's a good idea."
"Bathhouses already exist plenty, so no persecution like restrooms."
Label as bathhouse, save most construction costs.
"But one issue arises."
"What?"
"Hinduism and Islam."
"Sadly, bathing is key religious ritual for both."
"Hindu bathhouses might seem like temple territory markers."
"If not Christianity, whose side—Islam or Hindu—would Britain take?"
A thrust straight to the vitals.