London burned with the clash of Asian pride, but strictly speaking, that was little more than a league of their own.
In this era, Europe believed itself inferior to Asia in no field—and pride was no exception.
While Joseon and Qing wrestled over breaking free from the tributary system, Prussia and France contended over who would dominate the European continent—an entirely different scale of rivalry.
Russia, after the recent war, had become the sick man of Europe, needing decades to recover.
And with the British Empire set aside as an island power across the sea, it was only natural that the strongest continental state would wield overwhelming influence.
Of course, both Prussia and France were allied with Britain and had no intention of war—but even so, sharp tensions persisted.
As proof, Prussia had sent none other than Otto von Bismarck himself, while France dispatched its Foreign Minister across the Channel.
"Our Prussian pavilion must be the finest in Europe. This is His Majesty's will—do not fall behind France. Austria is not even worth mentioning."
"Yes! We will show the world that German technology is second to none!"
"Good. And make it more striking. Any ideas?"
"What if we emphasize the black eagle of Prussia, positioned as if looking down upon France?"
"…Too obvious. Keep it inside the pavilion as decoration."
Prussia's exhibits were the embodiment of industrial progress—automatic looms, near-perfect crystal works, and advanced steel products.
Anyone would feel the disciplined strength of Prussia.
"France will probably display nothing more than bread ovens and cooking furnaces. They have little beyond food."
Yet France was no less prepared.
If anything, it matched Prussia's effort.
The war with Russia had created an impression of weakness—one France could not allow to persist.
France had to prove its superiority—not only technologically, but culturally.
"Make sure this Exhibition belongs to France! Hang artworks throughout the halls, and serve wine to every distinguished guest!"
France gathered everything—from steam machinery to haute couture and exquisite wines.
Not merely technology—but culture itself.
"Prussia may try, but they are nothing more than warriors. France excels in both culture and power."
Austria might rival France culturally, but lacked technological strength.
And so—
each side refused to acknowledge the other, even as they competed fiercely.
Meanwhile, among the second-tier powers not recognized as first-rank—
a quieter, more dangerous struggle unfolded.
Unlike France and Prussia, these nations were genuinely probing for conflict.
"Spain will surely try to prove its superiority as well."
"Of course. The United States is preparing for the same."
"In other words, this is also a chance to assess their capabilities."
"It seems Spain will display artworks and colonial treasures."
Ambassador Lawrence smirked.
The difference between a declining empire and a rising power.
The United States displayed none of the plundered goods of colonial empires.
Not because it lacked colonies—
but because it chose not to.
Every exhibit was the product of American innovation.
Though it might not surpass Britain, it would stand equal to Europe.
"Keep a close watch on Spain. And what of the matter we discussed?"
"…Your Highness was correct."
"So they intend to meddle in the Americas again… a relic of a fading empire."
Killian had intended to mediate—
but his words had the opposite effect.
From the American perspective, it was valuable intelligence.
Had Spain acted out of hostility, compromise might have been possible.
But if it sought influence in the Americas—
there would be no compromise.
Only destruction.
Cuba, already an irritation—
now became justification.
The United States would tolerate only one European presence in the Americas:
Britain's Canada.
Nothing else.
"Observe Spain closely. Report everything."
"Yes."
As carriages filled with artworks arrived, American officials watched with cold smiles—
already envisioning a future war.
I was reminded of my first visit to Qing.
Back then, I had played the role of a thoughtful British statesman, sympathetic to the Sinocentric order.
Even Lin Zexu had been fooled.
Still—
it had not been entirely false.
Had Qing restored its strength, I would have been willing to step back.
Even now, my policy remained the same:
Asia, to be handled by Asia.
Considering both past and future, draining Asia dry would not be profitable.
Let Europe indulge in imperial fantasies—
the more they did, the better history would judge me.
Freedom of choice, without coercion.
That was the essence of Britain's Asian policy.
Of course—
not forcing does not mean not shaping.
But still—
compared to France or Russia, who forced submission at gunpoint, or Belgium's brutality in Congo—
this was almost benevolent.
Thus, Joseon's actions and Japan's absurd praise—
had nothing to do with me.
Whether Qing understood this or not—
its first ambassador to Britain, Guo Songtao, sat across from me with a complicated expression.
"Coffee or milk tea?"
"…No need. I came to discuss—"
"Try this. Fresh beans arrived just yesterday."
I was, after all, a royal consort—
no barbaric dilution of coffee here.
Pure espresso.
Years ago, I had once made iced coffee—
Victoria's look of utter disdain still haunted me.
Since then, I drank espresso properly in public.
Guo Songtao took a sip—
and his face twisted.
Was this his first time?
"Europeans enjoy this. Add milk if it is too bitter."
"…I thought something was wrong with it."
Did he think I had poisoned him?
Perhaps I should have added sugar.
"I will prepare milk tea next time. Now—what brings you here?"
"…It is about Joseon. At the banquet…"
"Ah, the shouting? I was quite surprised myself."
"Such behavior is unheard of. But more importantly—Joseon."
Ah. So Qing had sent a capable man, after all.
Even sending an ambassador was considered humiliating in Qing—
which made his presence all the more unusual.
"Why discuss Joseon with me? Should you not go to their embassy?"
"Because they addressed your Queen as the Emperor of the world. Has Joseon become your tributary?"
"I have heard nothing of the sort. And even if so, it is Joseon's decision. Would you like me to arrange a meeting?"
"No. Joseon is Qing's tributary. We will handle it."
So that was their stance.
Do not interfere.
Do not mediate.
Know your place.
Pathetic.
"You misunderstand. Britain does not interfere in Asia. But that does not mean we will prevent others from leaving your system."
"…But Joseon—"
"We know nothing. Speak with them directly."
I gestured at the mountain of documents beside me.
Guo Songtao sighed and stood.
"…Very well. We will confirm matters ourselves."
"A safe return."
If you claim to be a great power, act like one—
not like a whining child.
The moment he left, I reviewed intelligence from Shanghai and Hong Kong.
—The Taiping Rebellion intensifies
—Qing forces failing to suppress it
—Evidence linking Hong Xiuquan's rise to my name
A nation unable to control its own rebellion—
and still clinging to its so-called order.
Pathetic.
I never believed Qing could claim true supremacy with such weakness.
Let them struggle with Joseon and Japan.
And when they think they have stabilized—
the ground will collapse beneath them.
After that meeting, I focused solely on final preparations.
Amid tangled interests and rising tensions—
the first day of the world's first international exposition finally dawned.