War Never Again #7: Tourism Bonds and Hidden Blades

Britain was setting the world ablaze, while Japan tried to spark fires in East Asia. Caught between those two powers, Korea was suffering. Why was I trying to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠stay close to both countries while keeping a careful distance? Get too far, and they'd drag us into war; get too close, and we'd have to fight it ourselves. Lose that war, and we'd have to spit ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠out Manchuria and North China just like Austria-Hungary did.

The reports made it look like everything was going smoothly, but was there really no separatist movement brewing? I was skeptical. Deep down, my real desire was to spend the next twenty years—at most thirty—just cranking out smokestacks and pushing industrialization in silence. But as time passed, Britain and Japan's demands started crossing lines. Decisively, their bilateral relations soured, complicating things further.

Japan bowed its head to Britain on the surface but openly pressured us: if it came to a head-on clash with Britain, whose side would Korea take? They suggested a "Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere" with a sly wink. Britain parked its fleet in Incheon Harbor and scattered its citizens across the empire like seeds. It was a blatant show: You know how to play this, right?

In this mess, talks with China—eager to sideline Japan—and Russia, keen to smooth things over with Britain, proved surprisingly ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠constructive. Countless Chinese miners rode Korean rails all the way to Siberia, breathing life into frozen gold veins. From Korea's perspective, it was so good I wanted to shout, "Let's keep this going!"

But our independent moves irked Britain and Japan. They welcomed it outwardly while slipping in sharper demands behind the scenes. Lately, British Minister Arthur—looking like he had no plans to ever go home—finally came out and said he wanted Britain to buy up Korea's bonds too.

They've caught on. Corporate bonds were functioning as de facto currency, with legal tender circulating only on paper. Britain had finally noticed. But since they couldn't touch it directly, their plan was to suck those bonds into their own coffers.

You want us to feel the pinch of a currency drought, huh? What could I do? Local companies would just print twice or three times as many. If rates were high, Britain could suck up the interest, but they'd already bottomed out. Knowing that, Arthur just applied subtle pressure: Enough games.

Tricky. Still, I planned to keep going. With the global economy in recession, blowing money on futile dreams like building battleships for export or market pioneering was dumb. Better to borrow and invest in development. Just look at Japan next door.

"The government can't block corporate trade."

"Then don't guarantee it."

They'd figured out quite a bit.

"If the government doesn't back the banks, who will?"

"Not banks—bonds."

"We can't do that. Credit matters. We can't deny bonds we've already guaranteed."

"Then stop new issuances. It's risky."

"That oversteps into corporate trade."

It was endless wordplay. When threats failed, Britain switched to coaxing.

"Your economic setup makes imports and exports tough. Worried? We'll sell you battleships."

In short: stop the bond game at home and trade battleships. I shot it down flat. That's for Gojong to do—not me. If it really made money, Britain would've done it themselves; recommending it to others was suspicious from the start. To them, I must've looked like a fool rejecting rice for barley.

How the hell does he plan to borrow for growth?

Borrowed money must be repaid—how?

By British common sense, bubbles needed trade to build fundamentals. But we went all-in on heavy industry. Strangely, everything we made sold. Utterly baffling. To them, it was alchemy. Investigations found no gold—just credit and self-dealing that looked like alchemy.

Korea itself couldn't even tally how much it'd stripped from the Qing. So China, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Japan, Britain—no one knew the real numbers. Investors poured in on vague faith: There's gotta be more.

The banks guarantee it anyway.

This Korea was still a mystery to Britain. So they concluded: If the fool won't eat rice, scout more.

Japan knew Korea far better—and lagged behind. So they got blatant.

"Keep this up, and the army's leash snaps."

Japan's army had lately been called British spies, but navy ties drove the collusion. Now, with Britain squeezing the navy, blame fell on them. Under glares of What were you doing? the navy couldn't explain, and as cabinet members, they took the hit.

Recession crippled the cabinet; its weakness let the army check the navy. The once-near-collapse army now ground its teeth, prepping a coup. Their pitch? A threat: Help us, or we both go down. Army or not, they were hardliners. Their line was clear: Korea's strong now, but navy-weak. Strike first. Same spiel as against Qing or Russia.

I sent Ito's lackey Hitomi back with a dog biscuit. No matter how I sliced it, now wasn't war time. Time to endure with politics, focus on quiet growth. War didn't add up anymore—Britain dodging it proved that. Problem: only Japan didn't get it. Or maybe they pretended not to.

I wanted to isolate and sideline Japan long-term, but this risked dragging me into war. Instigate Russo-Japanese? Nah, 100% we'd get pulled in.

The Supreme Leader spread a map and sank into thought. Isn't there... something else?

Scanning the East Asia map, his eyes hit a spot. Philippines. Felipe II's islands. Not yet American territory.

"Guess... I gotta go myself?"

The Supreme Leader told Hitomi—prepping to return home—that he'd rush to Japan over the dog biscuit issue. Obviously not just for biscuits that he stirred his heavy frame.

His visit followed a week after Hitomi brought the proposal to the cabinet. It proposed luring over 10 million foreign tourists to Japan. The cabinet—briefed by Hitomi—reeled, but the Japanese archipelago was shocked by the sheer scale.

Is this the common economic sphere? Same as inner-outer unity?

Tourists flooding in like mad—that's it?

Economics ran on boom expectations alone. No tourists yet, but Japan stretched like it was waking up. Add seed money, and that was that. The seed? Korea investing its scant gold in Japan. Announcing it'd pour Britain-borrowed gold into Japan instead of battleships threw the cabinet into panic.

Chinese silver and British gold flooded Japanese hotels, ryokans, beaches. Japanese breathed relief at the vibe that things were turning around. Even hardliners yelled "Korea's submitting!" but couldn't outright oppose the treaty's thrust.

This "financial therapy" revived the idling cabinet's clout. Urgent fire doused. Meanwhile, the Supreme Leader paused his schedule: "Since I'm here, I'll stay a few more days."

In Japan, he was a celebrity of sorts. Pro-Japan, enacted reforms, fluent in Japanese. Ito Hirobumi's old villa—where he'd studied—was a must-see tourist spot long ago.

So a "star" like that shows up, signs a blockbuster treaty, and lingers? Crowds swarmed nationwide—no surprise. But naturally, he wasn't here for shows. Tourists just glimpsed him from afar during moves.

Why? This treaty was mere preamble. He prepped real talks with power players—hone the blade.