Anyone with even a basic grasp of geopolitics knew this:
The Maritime Province was of immense value to Russia.
Unless they could completely crush the Ottomans and seize the Bosporus—which they couldn't—Russia needed as many warm-water access points as possible.
And with the Maritime Province secured, they could link it to Kamchatka, allowing their navy to operate freely across the Sea of Okhotsk and into the Pacific.
There was a reason they had stubbornly built a base at Vladivostok.
But what if Sakhalin suddenly disappeared?
Then Russia's control over the Sea of Okhotsk would quite literally be split in half—isolated.
Even if they concentrated their Pacific fleet in Kamchatka, it would still be a problem.
With Alaska already gone to Canada, that region was effectively a ticking time bomb.
And now they would also have to worry about Sakhalin.
For Russia, the one issue they most wanted to avoid in Asia had been dragged right into the open.
"Sakhalin… you're asking us to hand over the entire island to Japan? That's unreasonable. Japan lacks the administrative capacity to govern such a territory."
"Is that so? Then perhaps Britain should assist them. We could establish a small military base in southern Sakhalin—"
"No, that won't be necessary. Upon reconsideration, Japan should be capable enough. But surrendering the entire island is excessive. How about splitting it in half?"
"No. It won't be just Japan. Joseon will be included as well. Half to Joseon, half to Japan."
Joseon had already expressed concerns about maintaining additional territory.
But that wasn't the point.
The real objective was to tear Sakhalin away from Russia entirely.
Besides, both nations had played their roles in the war. Granting such a large territory to only one would create imbalance.
Of course, neither Joseon nor Japan truly had the capacity to govern half of Sakhalin.
Which meant—
Their good friend, the British Empire, would have to step in and "assist."
Perhaps with a few weapons.
Perhaps with a few bases.
If Britain built installations under the pretext of "support," Russia would have no grounds to object.
After all, it wasn't aimed at Russia.
It was merely… assistance.
To be stripped of territory by Asian nations, however—
That humiliation was something the European powers found highly amusing.
Even Bismarck, after checking the map, couldn't suppress a grin.
"So this is the land Japan has taken? They forcibly occupied territory held by Russia?"
The Ottomans, naturally, joined in.
Ali Pasha shook his head.
"Well, what can one do? Even a great power like Russia cannot station elite troops in such distant regions. I don't know much about Japan, but even a stray dog barks louder in its own yard. Russia being defeated there isn't so surprising."
"Defeated? I believe you misunderstand. Japan attacked our base in Sakhalin without even declaring war. Should we not hold them accountable, Your Highness?"
"That is true. But as we all know, declarations of war are a European custom. Asian nations are… less familiar with such formalities."
"Yet Joseon declared war properly."
"Yes. They take etiquette quite seriously. Different traditions, you see. Of course, I will ensure Japan is warned so such incidents do not occur again."
The irony was rich.
The same people who casually called Asians "uncivilized" could hardly now insist they be treated as equals under European norms.
And in truth, there was no formal international law yet requiring declarations of war.
At most, they could complain about "uncivilized behavior."
Which, conveniently, aligned perfectly with their existing prejudices.
"Perhaps Russia should have considered that when dealing with Asia," Bismarck added with a smile.
"Indeed," Ali Pasha chuckled. "Different rules apply there."
Even Austria joined in.
"Japan is rather mild, I hear. Qing once signed an alliance… then attacked anyway. Expecting European standards in Asia was Russia's mistake."
Laughter spread across the room.
Russia could do nothing.
"Very well," I said lightly. "I'll have Japan submit a formal apology."
Then I shifted the topic.
"Speaking of which, this war has seen far too many… incidents. With photography advancing, public perception of war will only grow more negative. Perhaps it is time we establish formal international rules of warfare."
"A treaty…?"
"If these are already customary practices, codifying them would be beneficial."
"Prussia agrees."
Even Russia, though belated, had no choice but to accept.
If they intended to fight future wars, they would need rules.
Weapons would only grow deadlier.
Casualties would only increase.
Some form of restraint was necessary.
After several hours, the framework of the Treaty of Paris was complete.
Further details would be handled by officials.
Russia would lie low for the foreseeable future.
Britain had obtained everything it wanted.
And beneath the surface—
A new struggle had already begun.
Who would claim the position of Europe's second power?
"Then we entrust the drafting of the detailed terms to our respective delegations."
Such a simple act.
A signature on paper.
And yet—
How many had died for these few lines of ink?
The black drops on the pen's tip looked like condensed tears of despair.
Hundreds of thousands of lives—
Reduced to ink,
Then to names.
And with that—
The war that had threatened to engulf the world finally came to an end.
It was time to go home.
1851
Before the world's first Great Exhibition in Britain—
The Crimean War came to a complete end.
With the Treaty of Paris, Britain emerged as the undisputed victor.
Russia paid enormous reparations.
Its influence in Asia was shattered.
And across Western Europe, a quiet consensus formed—
Northeast Asia now lay within Britain's sphere.
Back in London, the newspapers erupted.
The Suez Canal.
Grain agreements with Russia.
Global maritime dominance.
And at the center of it all—
Killian Gore Hanover.
The victory parade swept through the city.
While Russia had suffered hundreds of thousands of casualties,
Britain had lost barely six thousand.
Credit was given to reforms in military medicine—
And to the man who had led them.
Flowers filled the streets.
Music filled the air.
And at last—
He stood before the Queen.
Even Victoria could not hold back her tears as she embraced him.
The entire city watched in silence.
"…This is a bit much, isn't it?"
"Is it? Everything written there is true. My wife cried reading it."
"…She cried?"
"Anyway, you've done well, Prime Minister."
"The credit is yours, Your Highness."
"How does it feel to be home?"
"…I feel guilty, actually."
His children had grown.
His youngest—once unborn—was now speaking.
Time had not waited.
"I'm staying in the palace for at least a year," I said firmly. "No work. You handle everything."
"…About that."
"…What?"
"There's a report from across the Atlantic."
Across the Atlantic.
Canada.
The United States.
Ah.
Right.
Them.
The war between America and Mexico.
I had completely forgotten.
"…You've got to be kidding me."
So much for rest.
My peaceful family life—
Collapsed before it even began.