The Braggart Jester
September 20, 1779, Versailles Palace, council chamber.
"Your Majesty, the term of the Brittany lumberyard manager has ended. The next overseer is the president of the company supplying provisions to the Lorraine steelworks. We expect synergies with his own business."
Another day of peacefully reviewing state affairs.
"Your Majesty, the Mediterranean microstates have expressed gratitude for the suppression of the Barbary pirates and sent a golden music box as a gift. The Neapolitan envoy requests guidance on diplomatic principles."
Normally, these minor matters wouldn't even be reported to me. But with my power so absolute, every department now reports directly to me for approval. It wasn't a bad thing. Still, just listening to reports and saying, "Proceed as you see fit," was exhausting. No wonder absolute monarchy crumbles. If it were a dictatorship, I could've routed everything through the intelligence agency first. Handling raw reports without a filter was a hassle. And I couldn't just tell them to manage it themselves—who knew what might happen beyond my sight? All the safeguards I'd deliberately left in place now felt like gaping holes. To eliminate future troubles, it'd be easiest to purge everyone or handle it all myself... Sigh. Hold it in, comrade Stalin within me. The French people don't need an NKVD.
"Speaking of which, I don't see that one jester. Lately, I've been enjoying court just to watch him."
"I heard he came back yesterday beaten to a pulp. Probably couldn't see the stairs right in front of him with those tiny eyes."
A light chuckle rippled through the ministers. Racism... Well, if it persists in the modern world, why not in the 18th century?
"Regardless, unauthorized absence won't do. Fetch him at once. Strangely enough, just seeing that fellow's face puts me at ease and makes me laugh."
"He does have an amusing look about him."
The council fell into a brief lull. It was an unspoken rule I'd established: when I called for the court jester, the meeting paused until his jests were done. A roundabout way of declaring a recess.
"Y-yes... Jester I-Myeonghun has arrived..."
I-Myeonghun's condition was pitiful upon his return. His leg was splinted—broken, no doubt—and his arm wrapped in bandages. Stitches marred his face. Mid- and low-level officials sneered and mocked him. I didn't stop them. Enduring mockery, countering it, or turning it into laughter—that was the jester's role. Naturally, no modern man had the mental fortitude for that. I-Myeonghun must have been dying inside. Surviving near-death only to face jeers... I knew that feeling well. Back in the modern world, I'd worked election campaigns—no stranger to it myself.
"They're Frenchmen; they won't understand anyway. From now on, speak to I-Myeonghun in Chosun tongue."
This was the greatest courtesy I could offer—safeguarding my authority and his dignity. He couldn't afford to kill himself yet, after all.
"So, back from surveying the common folk? Quite the bold observation, it seems. Shall I look forward to it?"
I-Myeonghun clenched his teeth at my words. Fair enough—telling him not to belittle while belittling the man himself wasn't proper protection. He must be furious, but I was his biggest backer; he couldn't complain.
"The jester's cheekbone is broken. How's the body holding up?"
No one laughed. Not because it wasn't funny, but because they didn't understand Chosun speech.
"Yes. Thanks to Your Majesty's grace, the ruffians couldn't quite finish me off."
"Now that's more like a jester."
In the real world, twisting words like that would start a fight, but not in the 18th century. For a jester, dishing it out was the job—serving a table full of grievances to the king as a bitter pill. I-Myeonghun had spat venom in rage, risking his life, but to the ministers and me, it was just that: jester talk. Veteran jesters had insulted me at higher levels. Most were personal jabs, so I'd purged a few. A jester with a noble title from the start? Reeked of corruption. No wonder selling offices heralds a nation's fall.
"Heh heh, strangely, your words alone lift my spirits."
No lie. Seeing an impure non-Frenchman suffer stirred something satisfying within me.
"Thank you, Your Majesty. The common life I saw was nothing special. Even the Seine's ruffians, blessed by Your grace, pack a hell of a punch."
"That's the stuff!"
I couldn't hold back and burst into laughter. The ministers glanced between us in confusion. From their view, it must've seemed odd: the king and jester chattering in some foreign tongue, then the king cracking up.
"Ahh, it's been ages since I laughed like this."
"Did the jester say something?"
"Nothing much. Just that Seine security is poor."
But I-Myeonghun, this is the 18th century. Common life here isn't just that.
"Anything else to report?"
"No. I came straight back."
"Disappointing."
National Intelligence Agency staff flinched, but I waved them back to their seats.
"The jester claims Paris security is the issue. What say you? Police chief, speak first."
"The jester overinterprets personal experience, I believe. France enjoys unprecedented safety."
"The prosecutor's office concurs. Our judicial system is ironclad. None dare commit crime, I assure you."
"Is that so? Hear that, jester? Do you truly think security is that bad?"
"It's true! The markets are crawling with thugs!"
Words not landing, he switched to French for a tirade. Having lived in a top-modern security state, he hadn't tasted true 18th-century grit yet.
"Then let's wager. Winner gets one wish granted. The bet... yes, have an official check security firsthand. The police chief should go."
"I shall obey Your Majesty's command."
*
I-Myeonghun went with the police chief to the spot he'd been beaten. Right in the market center. Naturally, no ruffians in sight. To them, the jester was easy prey, but a wigged, suited police chief spelled danger. Thugs kept a wide berth, like an invisible shield around him.
"Peaceful. A bit crowded, but that's it."
"There were definitely ruffians..."
The chief patted I-Myeonghun's shoulder.
"It happens. I understand, rookie. Common trick for newbies."
"No, definitely..."
"Anxious for results, rookies invent troubles or exaggerate real ones to prove their worth."
I-Myeonghun flailed his hands, watching his attackers pretend to inspect wares like upstanding folk.
"Lying's still bad, though. Even craving attention, you can't fool your superiors. Since you're the king's favorite jester, I'll let this slide once. Oh, and naturally, you lose the bet."
*
After that, I-Myeonghun's treatment shifted subtly. Before, he was just "fun-to-mock Eastern jester"; now, "the guy who cracks people up with words." His standing improved oddly. From exotic pet to amusing friend. A senior jester with overlapping style grumbled, but he pivoted to wordplay, honing his niche. Wandering troupes across Europe heard his rags-to-riches tale and dreamed of catching a king's eye. But I-Myeonghun wasn't thrilled.
"Why won't anyone believe me!!"
"Why should we believe you!!"
Hahaha!
No matter how he flushed and protested, folks dismissed him. Even officials intrigued by his "homeland" Choson wrote off his tales as bluster.
"Haha, this guy's something. Asked about home, and he spins tall tales."
"It's true!"
I-Myeonghun had once regaled a treasury official— avid alternate-history fan—with tales from Choson novels: the Bi Gyeok Jin Cheon Noe and Shin Gi Jeon.
"A land lobbing exploding cannons, attaching bursting arrows to them? No such nation exists. Our artillery fires iron balls alone. An army like that would've swept Europe like the old Tatars or Turks."
"That's... because our people love peace..."
I-Myeonghun fumbled his explanation, and the novels exaggerated anyway. Real Bi Gyeok Jin Cheon Noe was a timed bomb splitting into chunks, but he'd painted it like a Claymore; low-accuracy Shin Gi Jeon fireworks became cluster munitions. Officials naturally called bullshit.
"Haha, treasurer. Our army does use exploding shells over iron balls. But we 'love peace,' so we don't use the ones that kill crowds. Haha!"
"Is that so! I'm no military man. Haha!"
Court officials subtly flaunted France with I-Myeonghun as prop.
"It's real... just powder shortages keep us from using them often..."
"Treasurer, enough. You'll make the kid cry."
"Haha, alright. Don't take it to heart, I-Myeonghun! It was fun. Hahaha!"