"Perfect Harmony" — Tales of the Imperial House of Fusan

[Daitō]

   When one thinks of the Imperial House of Fusan, their mind might first drift to the grand ceremonies which surround it, or perhaps the ancient lineage which they can claim their heritage from. Others might think of individual members: the Emperor, the Empress, the Crown Prince, and the various Princes and Princesses which make up the house. But fewer still think of the men and women behind those roles—the people behind the masks, so to speak—save perhaps as gossip. But there is more to these people than what they let the world see, and in truth, they are like anyone else, with their own dreams and desires, hopes and fears. And as the world changes, they must now seek to navigate it as best they can.

   Note: While posts may not necessarily be in chronological order, they will be sorted as such in the index below:
Index
Pre-2020
   •
2020
   • The Passing of Seasons — 04-30-2020
   • Returning Home — 04-30-2020
   • Passing the Torch — 04-30-2020
2021
   •
2022
   •
2023
   •
2024
   • The Briefing — 11-30-2024
   • The Intelligence Coup of the Decade — 12-06-2024
   •
   •
   •
   •
   •
   •
   •
   •
   •
   •
   •
   •

[Daitō]

The Passing of SeasonsHinomisaki, Ojika, Tsukishima Circuit
April 30th, 2020
8:16 AM TST

   A dense fog had rolled in over the wind-swept coast of Cape Hino, just a few kilometers away from Kojo on the southern coast of Tsukishima, and yet, a man stood on the cliff, staring out to sea as he listened to the waves crashing below. From where he stood, looking down, it might’ve seemed as though he were standing above the clouds, and yet, beneath them he was, for better or for worse. He had come out here to clear his mind before a long day of work, knowing that he would not soar above the clouds this day—he wasn’t assigned to do so—nor the day after, but rather would be confined to an office, all for the sake of an Empire that he was more than proud to serve. Twenty-seven years on this rock, but a life spent in servitude to a cause greater than himself, though a cause which had nearly gotten himself killed, too. As for the locale, Hinomisaki was a nice place, he admitted to himself privately as he looked up at the lighthouse, that great white tower which loomed overhead, casting forth guiding rays to any ship in the area. Yes, it was small and secluded, but in the year since he and his wife had arrived here alongside the Hiryu, they had come to see it as their retreat, their shelter, and their home. Whenever time had permitted, they’d both visit the local church or participate in the town's festivals, or, more often than not, they’d simply spend their time together, exploring the town and the surrounding area. In a way, they’d become fixtures of the local community, not merely because they lived there nor because they took an active role in the important goings-on of the town, but for a far more simple reason.

   He was the Crown Prince of Fusan.

   Crown Prince Eijiro Akitsukuni, in fact. It was a name which few in the nation didn’t know, especially after he’d been in the news back in 2017 during the war, but recognition, sadly, brought more attention than the prince would’ve wanted. The media had dogged his every step since childhood, and the “heroics” he’d pulled off since had only made the issue worse. It seemed at times that every waking moment was one where the constant flash of cameras and shouts for statements by some journalist or another were present, yet here, in Hinomisaki, he had some semblance of peace and of normalcy. Yes, there were members of the Imperial Guard assigned to guard his villa on the coast and to escort him whenever he made trips outside of the town, but as far as it was possible for someone in his station, this was as close as he could get to a normal life. He thought it might’ve been different when he first joined the navy—and indeed, for his time at Nomijima, it had been—but even that had proven to be a vain, fleeting hope at best. Nomijima… The mainland.

   Home.

   His mind had begun to drift, as it often did on mornings such as these, to the land he called his home. He wondered, briefly, what his parents, his siblings, his aunts and uncles, and even his grandfather were up to at a time like this. No doubt, his father was likely getting ready for the day, or perhaps he’d woken up early and had already started going through paperwork, his mother, ever faithful both as spouse and as Empress, at his side. His brother, Hidehiko, was likely busy with his studies, while Satomi was… Well, she was doing whatever someone working at an embassy did. Yet here he was, nearly five-thousand kilometers away, standing on a cliff and listening to the sea. And evidently, if the sound of motors nearby was anything to go by, it was time that he too must be leaving. Duty called, and so, he would answer by slowly making his way back home.

   It was a quiet walk, much as it usually was; he didn’t usually listen to any music this early, instead electing to enjoy the sounds of the natural world as opposed to the works of man. He’d occasionally pass a student on their way to their classes or an old man walking his dog, and he’d get the occasional bow or nod as he did so, but today, there was nothing of the sort. Nothing out of the ordinary there. Yet as he drew closer and closer to the place he called home, the more he’d notice that something was, in fact, amiss. There usually weren’t this many vehicles parked on the side of the road, nor were the police or the Imperial Guard typically out in force, even here. Something had to have happened, though he simply brushed it aside as just someone trying to jump the fence dividing the property from the outside world. It happened at Kawazu far more often than he cared to keep track of, after all, so why should this be any different? Yet, upon entering the front yard of that old villa, once built to house the nephew of the last King of Balhae, he realized, at least in part, that this was no ordinary security breach, as he would be greeted both by Mayumi, whom he’d thought had already left for work herself, and his personal secretary, one Hiroshi Yoshimatsu, whom would begin to walk towards him.

   Something bad had happened.

   Every footstep he took seemed slower than the last, and every breath which Eijiro took felt longer than the one which came before, but after a moment, Hiroshi said the words which he had been dreading from the moment that he first learned of his future duties to the nation.
   “Sir, I regret to inform you that your father, the Emperor, has just passed away.” The secretary said before taking a step back and offering a bow deeper than any which he had received before. There was no ceremony, no pomp, nothing. Just the silent bow of a servant and a friend who had now exercised the most important duty of his career. No words could express what the new Emperor felt in that moment as he stood in the doorway, stunned by what he had just heard. He knew it was true; after all, his father had been terribly ill these past few weeks, so much so that he’d made plans to return home on Saturday to be with him and his family, and yet, that opportunity had been snatched from him. He felt bereaved, of course, though he did everything in his power to push it down, but at the same time, he felt… glad, in a way. Not that he was dead, of course, but that his father was no longer suffering, even if it meant that he, like everyone else in his family, was left behind.
   "Did… Did he go peacefully?” Eijiro asked, his voice frail as he tried to muster the courage to carry on.
   "Yes, your Majesty." Hiroshi answered. "I've been told your father... Emperor Antei went in his sleep." Hearing his father referred to as such was a strange feeling, as until just moments ago, Eijiro knew him as just his father or as ‘the Emperor’, yet now, that was a role he had to fill.
   "...Then like the… like the passing of the seasons, so too has a new era dawned.” The Emperor replied before retreating to his study, if only to process what had happened. Soon enough, he, Mayumi, and a few others assigned to this place would have to depart, back to Shinkyo, to home. His only regrets were that it was under circumstances such as these and that he didn’t have the opportunity to bid his friends and this town a proper farewell. A few hours later, and he would be on the plane back to the land of his forebears.

[Daitō]

Returning HomeSomewhere over the Dauntel Sea
April 30th, 2020
9:53 AM TST

   As the AS-2100 now dubbed “Suzaku One” darted across the sky at just shy of Mach 3, Eijiro looked down at the sea, mournful for both his father and for the life he was leaving behind. There was a time, when he was yet young, that he’d deeply wanted to be Emperor, but that was before he had to reckon with the fact that he would, almost inevitably, be in this position. Yes, his grandfather had abdicated, and there had been some calls from within both the Imperial House Council and the Privy Council that, following his father’s diagnosis, he should follow suit, but with how stubborn the late Emperor Antei was, that was never a genuine prospect. And it wasn’t like in Achkaerin, that land where he’d spent years of his youth as an exchange student, where the Emperor could be impeached by the Senate if deemed unfit to serve. Even if the Diet knew of his illness, how could you impeach a man who was, under the constitution, ”sacred and inviolable”? A man like his father. A man like himself.

   Some might think that such wording would essentially make the office of Emperor an absolute monarch, and indeed, it had been a particular favorite of propagandists in nations opposed to Fusan, but one could scarcely be further from the truth in making that argument. Growing up, he had been taught that rather than such a narrow-minded view, the phrase was meant to preserve the position and cement the nation as a monarchy. One which was ordained from on high, sure, but not in the same manner that he had observed during his travels across the globe. He'd seen that most every king and queen, emperor and empress, and in some cases, even a few presidents claimed the same. In practice, the office of Emperor was one meant to be an example of nobility and of dutiful service, something for the common man to strive to emulate, but not a position which was afforded, save in a time of crisis, genuine political power. Influence, yes, but not control. Not that he would have it any different, of course. If called on to lead, and not merely as he had today, then he would want to rule alongside the people, not over them. Naturally, he prayed that he would never be forced to do so.

   ”The throne will change you if you allow it, Eiji.”

   Those words, given to him by his father when last they spoke in person, echoed in his mind as the plane passed over a handful of islands. He’d seen it for himself, when his father first took the throne nearly twenty years ago. In taking on the mantle of Emperor, Nobukatsu Akitsukuni, his father, had been made subservient to Emperor Antei, a father to the nation. Though he had tried his best to remain the man he once knew, the demands of duty had meant that he had far less time to spend raising his children, and it had only been in these last few years that anything resembling the life they once knew had resurfaced. And of course, the same might’ve been said of Nobukatsu and his father, the Emperor-Emeritus, though they were perhaps blessed that his grandfather had come to the throne when he was already in adulthood. And here, Eijiro was, childless and knowing that any scion of the Imperial House might not know the same relationship that he had with his father. No, he wouldn’t allow that. As the Lord was his witness, he would make sure that wasn’t the case.
   "Are you ever going to talk about it?” Mayumi asked, taking a seat next to him as some of his staff walked the aisle. His sole comfort at this time and in this world, and yet, she felt distant to him in this moment. Almost everyone had to say goodbye to someone they loved, but… There were few who knew what he was going through. On top of losing his father, he now had the weight of the world thrust upon his shoulders, and worst of all, he had to hide his grief from the world around him, for at this moment, the nation needed its Emperor, not Eijiro Akitsukuni.
   "What is there to talk about?” He asked, his face scarcely betraying a hint of emotion, let alone grief. His time in the navy had made him good at hiding that sort of thing. When it became clear that she wouldn’t take that for an answer, he finally admitted “Okay, fine. The truth is, I… I wish I had returned home sooner. While my family needed me, we were away galavanting across Tsukishima when not tied to… I was going to say home, but I guess that isn’t true, is it?”
   "It was.” Mayumi answered. “And for what it’s worth, it’s not your fault that you weren’t home. Your father-”
   "Don’t you dare say he’s to blame.”
   "I wasn’t. He simply asked that you continue to serve, to live your life as normally as you can. I’d say we did well enough.”
   "I suppose you’re right.” Eijiro said, taking her hand in his. “But it doesn’t feel that way.”Joint Base Koshu, Shinkyo Metropolis
10:31 AM AST

   Back when he was still a child, following the trip home from Tsukishima, Eijiro would joke about how he was the fastest person on the planet, crossing a distance of more than five-thousand kilometers in just about thirty minutes, thanks to the speed of the aircraft and the difference in time zones, since Tsukishima was two hours ahead of Shinkyo. But he was in no joking mood, as one might expect, when the aircraft touched down at Joint Base Koshu, located just a few kilometers outside of Shinkyo. For as long as he could remember, this was always the point of departure when going on a long-distance voyage, at least unless the family was to travel by sea, but today, it was instead marking the end of a voyage, not merely back home, but a journey which he had been on since the day he was born.

   This wasn’t the way it should’ve been. His father should’ve been here, should’ve grown old in peace, having presided over an era of peace and stability not seen since the halcyon days of Emperor Keio’s reign. Yet time was the enemy of all, and unfortunately, it seemed that for the late Emperor Antei, it was an enemy aided by another of man's most insidious foes. Duodenal cancer, the doctor had said when first diagnosed. An awful way to go, but at least he did so in his sleep. Not that it brought any real comfort, though. The fact of the matter was that his father had died, he wasn’t there for it, and now, jet-lagged as he was, he now had to participate in a ceremony confirming his position as sovereign. Not only that, he had to do it before an audience not merely comprising members of the Imperial Family and the government, but millions across the globe who would be tuning in to see it. After all, even though there were plenty of monarchies which yet survived, few were as wrapped up in ritual and ceremony as that of Fusan, so it would certainly be quite the spectacle. But that was still a few hours away.

   Instead, for the moment, Eijiro and Mayumi’s attention would be taken by a group of people who had come aboard to assist them in their final preparations before facing the public. This “entourage”, if it might be called such, was led by Natsuki Uematsu, the serving private secretary to the emperor, who was a man with whom Eijiro was personally acquainted and who was on good enough terms with him. Also present were representatives of the privy council, Kanetake Hayashi, the keeper of the privy seal, and Hisato Watase, the grand steward of the Imperial Household Ministry. Not present, thankfully, was Sachio Heike, the current president of the privy council, who was someone that Eijiro wasn't fond of, but whom still played an important role, both in the day’s activities and as an advisor, if self-interested, to the office of Emperor… which meant to him, now.
   "Your Majesty," Natsuki said with a bow. “I’ve been asked to escort you to the palace.”
   “Thank you, Uematsu-san.” Eijiro answered before turning to Hiroshi Yoshimatsu, who was waiting on the opposite side of the aisle, and giving him a knowing nod.
   “You’re dismissed, Yoshimatsu.” The elder secretary said, ushering him to depart the plane. It was an unceremonious changing of the guard, so to speak, but Natsuki outranked him, and thus was obligated to take over in the running of the Emperor’s affairs. He would still be around, of course, but not as present in Eijiro and Mayumi’s lives going forwards.
   “Good luck.” Eijiro said under his breath as his former secretary—his friend—departed as he straightened his outfit. It was a plain, black suit and tie, devoid of any decorations or accouterments of his station, for none of that mattered now. After a moment, he turned to Natsuki, who seemed to be waiting for him.
   “Ready, sir?” The elder gentleman asked, to which he nodded in response before stepping towards the door. As he did so, he almost instinctively reached for Mayumi’s hand, but in that moment, he would find no such comfort. “I’m sorry, sir-” Natsuki explained “-but from now on, the throne takes precedence.”

   So that was how it would be, Eijiro thought as he looked at his wife, knowing that so much had changed. In her eyes, he saw all of the fear, the sorrow, and the worry that he himself felt in that moment. He wanted to say something, to protest the future which awaited her, but now, it was too late, and she knew what she was getting into. And so, he turned away, and soon, he stepped outside. From now on, he would walk alone.

   The first thing that struck Eijiro as he left the plane was not the flash of the cameras, nor was it the rather pleasant weather which betrayed the grim reason he was back on the mainland, but rather, the members of the Imperial Guard who had assembled outside to welcome their new charge, liege, and commander. It was a frankly overwhelming sight, a sea of soldiers standing on both sides of the plane, forming a cordon from the stairs to the car. And as he, followed by Mayumi and the rest walked forwards, each step drawing closer to the beginning of a new life, each and every one turned around, averting their gaze in reverence for him.

   Now, all that was left was to take the throne. That, and to mourn.

[Daitō]

The StudyImperial Palace, Sendo Ward, Shinkyo
April 30th, 2020
11:41 AM

   Just two months. That was how long it had been since Eijiro had last stood here, joining his family to celebrate National Foundation day, not knowing that it would be the last time he saw his father as he drew breath. It had been a sad occasion for those present, knowing that it would, in all likelihood, be the last time the head of the House of Akitsukuni was able to celebrate that most important of holidays, yet everyone had tried to keep in good spirits nonetheless. Yet, as he walked through his father’s study—his study, now—he realized, back then, that he should’ve resigned his post then and there; the navy would’ve been more than willing to accommodate, given the circumstances. He could’ve been there, not only for his father during his last days, but the rest of his family, too.

   “Just what did you mean, back then?” He murmured to himself as he looked at an old globe which dated to the start of the last century. “Just how will I change?” He continued, spinning the globe for a moment before stopping it, his finger landing on the island of Tsukishima, still labeled as Dalseom upon it. To think, he had been there instead of here. A mistake, and one which would live with him for the rest of his days on this earth. His father often spoke of how he had been forced to choose between his family and his nation, and how oftentimes, they had to come secondary to it, but… That wasn’t something he would be willing to compromise on. Perhaps it was just his general attitude towards life after taking the throne. Whatever that had meant, it would escape from him for the moment, as he soon heard a knock on the door before Natsuki entered the room.

   “Your Majesty, Prince Etsuji has come to see you.” The fifty-four year old secretary said before stepping out of the room, soon to be replaced by a familiar face. Prince Etsuji, Eijiro’s uncle by way of his father, the recently-departed Emperor, was a man whom many had a great deal of respect for, himself included, not only as a result of his role in 2017’s liberation of Paechon, but also due to his service as a diplomat on the country’s behalf. And to say that he and the new Emperor were close was something of an understatement; after all, due to Nobukatsu’s schedule as Emperor, he often had little time to spend with his family, and thus, the elder prince had come to be something of a surrogate father-figure to him.
   “Your Majesty.” Etsuji said with a bow. “I… I wanted to offer you my condolences. Your father was a good man, one of the best I had the pleasure of knowing.”
   “Thank you, uncle.” Eijiro answered. “I suppose we can take some measure of peace in knowing his suffering is over, though.”
   “Quite right, Eiji. Quite right.” The prince said. “Listen, if you ever need to talk, I’m here for you.” He continued, taking a seat on one of the many chairs in the study. “We all are.”
   “...Thanks.” The new emperor said after a moment. “The truth is, I’ve been trying to figure out what dad meant, last time I saw him. He said the throne would change me.”
   “He said exactly what he meant.” Etsuji said. “But I’m also not really the one you should be asking that. Your grandfather, on the other hand… Well, I’m sure he’ll happily tell you, one day.”
   “I suppose you’re right.”
   “Anyways, I suppose I should let you know, but we’re all ready for you to formally… Well, you know.”
   “Right.” Eijiro said. “Shall we?”

[Daitō]

Passing the TorchImperial Palace, Sendo Ward, Shinkyo
April 30th, 2020
12:30 PM

   It had all been leading up to this moment, Eijiro thought to himself as he looked out over the matsu-no-ma—the main audience hall of the Imperial Palace—just thirty minutes after noon. Arrayed before him stood representatives of the government, including the Prime Minister, Shizuka Chiba, the heads of the various ministries, ambassadors belonging to a great many nations, and four chamberlains who held in their arms four boxes, each wrapped in elaborately patterned silk. He knew exactly what they contained, of course, as like nearly every Fusanese alive, he had been raised to know of them and what they meant, but also because he had watched—though not attended on account of his age—this very ceremony just over nineteen years prior. On his right, the adult members of his family stood, watching, waiting, and so too did members of the cadet branches stand on his left. His father’s death had deeply affected them all, but for the sake of the nation’s stability, none would show it. Not now.

   For a moment, his mind drifted to the legacy he was inheriting. By merit of where he was standing, that sense was almost palpable, as under the coffered ceilings and on the parquet floors, his ancestors, too, had once stood tall. It was in this very spot that Emperor Keio—Keio the Great, as he was often nicknamed in the years following his death—had first promulgated the constitution which had guided the nation to this very day. In this hall, nearly ninety years ago, Emperor Kunan, like himself, first received the Imperial Regalia following his grandfather’s death, and from the throne behind him, had helped to guide the nation through the fires of the Greater East Ardian War, then later received word that man had landed on the surface of the moon. Now, it was his turn to stand here, to lead and to serve in accordance with the terms of the constitution and the needs of the people. Some may have called it a calling from God himself, but at this moment, it felt almost like a curse.

   Today, he was to leave behind who he once was. No longer was he just a brother and a son, nor a pilot and a sailor. Instead, as he stood there, stoic in expression as the chamberlains stepped forwards, methodical in their movements and carrying aloft those ancient relics, he was now Emperor, a man peerless in station who would serve as an example of nobility and duty to the common man. Though there were yet many ceremonies to perform in the coming months, an era of "perfect harmony", as the name of his era translated into English, had formally begun. To tell the truth, he thought it was perhaps a bit optimistic, given all he had seen growing up, but it was to be an ideal worth striving for. A moment later, the chamberlains had placed the regalia and seals upon their table and bowed, and so, it was official. All that was left was to offer a speech, one which had been written for him while he was on the plane, and which was not, ultimately, his own words. With all that had happened, that was perhaps for the best, he thought as he unfolded the paper upon which it was written.

   "I... I have hereby succeeded to the throne pursuant to the Constitution of Fusan and the precepts of the Imperial House Law. As I ponder the important responsibilities of which I have assumed, I am filled with a deep sense of solemnity.” He began, faltering for a moment at the start. “Looking back, His Majesty, Emperor Antei, since acceding to the throne, performed each of his duties in earnest for nearly twenty years, all the while praying for world peace and the happiness of the people, and at times sharing in the joys and the sorrows which they experienced. He showed a profound sense of compassion through his own bearing. I wish to express my heartfelt respect and appreciation of the comportment shown by His Majesty, Emperor Antei, as sovereign of Fusan and as a unifying symbol for the people of Fusan.” Eijiro continued, thinking back on the life of his father. Every word of it was true, in its own way; he only wished that, upon taking the throne, his father had spent time with him, too. But those thoughts would soon pass, and he would continue his speech, concluding with “In acceding to the throne, I swear that I will reflect deeply upon the course followed by His Majesty and bear in mind the path trodden by my predecessors and by our Imperial Ancestors, and will devote myself to self-improvement. I also solemnly swear that I will act in accordance with the Constitution and fulfill my responsibility as sovereign and as a unifying symbol for the people of Fusan, while always turning my thoughts to the people and standing with them. I sincerely pray for the happiness of the people and the further development of the nation, as well as the peace of the world.”

   Not long after, Prime Minister Chiba would speak up, having moved to stand directly in front of his liege.
   “We respect Your Majesty as the sovereign of Fusan and as a unifying symbol for the people. In a drastically changing global situation, we are determined to ensure a glorious future for Fusan, a country that is peaceful, full of hope, and a place we can be proud of. We are resolved to create an era in which people unite their hearts and develop their culture. We sincerely hope that the Banwa era will be a peaceful one, and that the imperial family will further prosper.” He would say before offering a bow, and in that moment, it was done. Now, the real work could begin.

[Daitō]

The BriefingSituation Room, Imperial Palace, Sendo Ward, Shinkyo
November 30th, 2024
8:30 AM

   Eijiro never really enjoyed sitting in on meetings such as these, especially in the last two years, having to coordinate against his wishes a war against Rokkenjima and then in Kalasin thanks to his role as commander-in-chief at any time that a war had been declared. Every time he stepped into the room, he honestly felt his gut sink, since it was here that the most important decisions on the behalf of the nation were made. Perhaps, he often thought as he looked around the room, it wasn’t too different to how his great-grandfather felt at the height of the Great War, though unlike then, he had more authority in any decision that was made rather than being a mere rubber stamp for men of influence. But thoughts like those only made his actions more painful rather than less. Back at the start of 2023, he could’ve stopped the war before it even began, a fact which was hardly lost on himself, even if attempting it would’ve just left himself isolated at a time when that was not what the country needed. And now, he was faced with a similarly difficult decision, though for differing reasons entirely.

   It was no secret that the events in Falam the day prior had troubled him deeply, as records of his and Prime Minister Konishi’s phone calls amongst themselves and with President Kaikaew’s government would no doubt tell. That Fusanese lives were taken was one thing, a simple reality of war, but it was made worse by the fact that the city was supposed to be under the control of local security forces, and thus an attack like this should never have happened. Clearly, the city had, functionally speaking, been seized by the PAFK and its allies. And to make matters worse, due to the heavily publicized nature of the killings, they had a public which was out for blood to deal with. He couldn’t even blame them for wanting revenge. To tell the truth, some part of him wanted it too, but he worried it would come at a high price.

   “A combined force belonging to the Army and Marines will move to clear out the city, house by house if necessary.” General Hakaru Fukushi, the Chief of Staff, Joint Staff and ranking officer of the Imperial Fusanese Armed Forces, said as he pointed to a map of the city on one of the screens. “Naturally, as it will be taking place on Kalasinese soil, the ARK has agreed to place troops belonging to its 1st and 3rd infantry divisions under Fusanese command for the operation with the understanding that they will perform peacekeeping duties in the city following its liberation from hostile control.”

   “Just for the record, General, given previous efforts to avoid a confrontation in a major urban center like Falam, do we have any estimates regarding the level of casualties we might sustain?” Okimoto asked.

   “Likely on the order of the Battle of Ranong back in 1971.” Hakaru answered. “Of course, due to advances in protection for our soldiers, KIA will almost certainly be lower, but even still, we anticipate that it will be difficult fighting, at least at first.”

   “And if we don’t attack?” Eijiro asked, albeit rhetorically as he understood the stakes, though he did hope there was a way out without having to send more men and women to die. “What then?”

   “Respectfully, your majesty, if we do not capture Falam, then the rest of the country will turn over to the PAFK. They will have an area where they will be able to retreat to, rearm and stage further attacks from. We could stop just outside of the city and leave it isolated, but starving out a city of two-hundred thousand would only turn us into a global pariah and cause more people to flock to whatever cause will send us packing. At the end of the day, every road leads to Falam.”

   “Alright.” Eijiro said. “Before I sign off on this plan, though, I have one final question since the answer is first thing the Achkaerinese and Rokkenjimans are going to want to know when I inform them. Do we have any reason at all to believe that Prateung is in Falam or at least still in the region?”

   “I can answer that.” Katsutarō Abe, the chairman of the Joint Intelligence Council, spoke up. “As we’ve discussed over the last few months, we have been hearing through intelligence channels that the PAFK is planning something big, to say the very least, and that Thaksin Prateung, being a man who possesses, with all due respect to our ‘friend’, a colossal ego, wishes to be present for it in some fashion.” He continued. “So I can say with some degree of confidence that yes, we have reason to suspect as much, and if not, then any intel we gather during the operation will put us that much closer to finding and neutralizing him.”

   “...So be it.” Eijiro said. “Gentlemen,” he said, standing up before everyone else in the room followed suit. It was, perhaps, folly to think that a single, decisive battle would solve their problems, but it seemed as though that opportunity may have finally arrived. "You may proceed."

[Daitō]

“The Intelligence Coup of the Decade”Situation Room, Imperial Palace, Shinkyo
December 7, 2024
5:28 AM

   Early morning briefings were, in Eijiro’s opinion, the worst of all, especially if, like recently, he had been getting very little sleep as a result. It couldn’t be helped; in the days leading up to the war back in 2017, he hardly slept a wink, other than mayhaps that one time he fell asleep in the briefing room aboard Jun’yo, and likewise, after the shootdown of Akawashi 304 back in early 2023, he didn’t sleep much either, to say the least of last year’s attack in Awara. These last few days were no different, and for not too dissimilar a reason, either. He was worried, worried for the people he had served with, for those who were certainly caught in the crossfire, and most of all, for those back home who might lose someone they cared so deeply for. But in a way, he was also just fixated on the battle, so much so that he had, at least from his vague recollection of a few hours before, fallen asleep watching coverage of the fighting on TV Shinkyo and TBS—the Fusanese broadcaster, as opposed to the arguably more well known Tytorian Broadcasting Service—though he wasn’t too sure. What he was sure about, however, was his annoyance at Natsuki Uematsu, who had come to fetch him for this meeting.

   “Was it really necessary to drag me out of bed this early, Natsuki?” Eijiro complained as they walked along the subterranean corridor towards the situation room. “You know I haven’t been sleeping well these past few days.”

   Natsuki, for his part, was patient with the Emperor, having likewise been woken up for this, though in his case, he didn’t have the luxury of living on site for it. “Sorry, but you know how it is.” He said. “If the NSC wants to convene a meeting, they’re gonna do it, even if it means calling us in at two in the morning like you-know-when.” He continued, referencing the war with Rokkenjima over some islands in the Azukishima sea.

   “The less I have to think about that, the better.” Eijiro said as they reached the doorway, which was soon opened by two members of the Imperial Guard before he and Natsuki entered. Once they entered, everyone present who was sitting, including both Prime Minister Konishi and Okimoto Esashi, the Minister of War, stood up. “Keep your seats.”

   “Good morning, Your Majesty.” Sadazane spoke up as Eijiro and Natsuki took their seats at the table.

   “I certainly hope it is if you’ve got us coming down here so early.” Eijiro replied with a smile before turning to the war minister. “So, what do you have for us?”

   “Quite possibly something that will win us this war, Your Majesty.” Esashi replied as an aide passed out a handful of files to everyone sitting at the table. Each folder was marked with the emblem of the War Ministry and the word ”KIMITSU”—classified, in Fusanese—and appeared to be rather thick, as per usual. “Yesterday, at approximately 11:56 AM local time—12:56 PM here—a squad belonging to RCT-1 operating in Falam took control of an apartment complex in the city’s Bang Sue district. What they did not know, as we discovered shortly thereafter, was that the building was being used as a headquarters for the PAFK.” He said, looking around the table as he spoke. “Inside, they found that while some effort had been made to tear down this district HQ, they had been unsuccessful in destroying everything, including what I must say is some rather vital intel for our war effort.”

   “Oh? How so?” Sadazane asked, bemused. If it was what everyone hoped it was, then, he figured, it would certainly propel him forwards, politically speaking.

   “I’m getting to that, sir.” Okimoto said. “Now, as I was saying, vital intel for the war effort. While a full translation is still in progress, what we have now—including what is in those folders of yours—has all but confirmed something that we in the War Ministry had long hoped. A firm location for Thaksin Prateung within the last three days.”

   The room suddenly seemed very quiet, as though one could hear a pin hit the floor if dropped. If that were true, then… Well, it would be everything those assembled here had wanted and more. It would be the intelligence coup of the decade if so. Take out the linchpin and the whole rotten organization would come crumbling down, torn apart by internal conflicts that would enable coalition forces to defeat in detail the organization at large. At least, that was the idea. As General Haruyoshi Nishiōji wrote in his account of the Fusanese Civil War, no plan survives contact with the enemy intact, which is to say, once faced with a real-world issue, any plans that there may be would need to be adjusted to account for factors outside of one’s control. For all they knew, the power struggle they hoped for might not emerge, and suddenly, they’d be fighting for another decade. Regardless, though, eventually Eijiro would speak up, breaking the silence that had fallen over the room.

   “And where is he, exactly? I’m assuming he isn’t in Falam?”

   “Correct, sir.” Esashi answered. “Ever heard of a town called Tamu?”

   That name was one which Eijiro didn’t like to think about, but he knew about it. The grimace he wore upon his face upon hearing told as much to everyone else in the room. After all, it was near Tamu that, back in 2017, he had been shot down. It was a standard Iron Hand flight to take out a hostile air defense site, one which they were successful in completing, but they came under attack by enemy aircraft on the way home. He didn’t make it home that day, but he was the lucky one in his aircraft, given his RIO died of his injuries on the ground. To say the very least, he didn’t like thinking about it, though he had to admit, there was some poetry in it given that the war might end where he nearly died seven years ago.

   With a nod, Okimoto said “Small town just a couple dozen kilometers northeast of Falam, up in the hills. Very hard to get to on the ground—” as Eijiro nodded along; he could personally attest to that fact—”which makes an assault into it a challenge as we learned back in the early 70s. It’s part of why the region was a trouble-spot for us, even back then. At the same time, however, it’s equally difficult to get out of, especially for the leader of a militant group like the PAFK.”

   “That’s all well and good, Marshal Esashi, but how do we even know which building, if any, he’s holed up in?” Natsuki asked, tapping his finger on the table as he spoke.

   “That’s where I can be of assistance.” Katsutaro Abe, the Chairman of the Joint Intelligence Council, interjected. “As you’re no doubt aware, we’ve been monitoring communications between Prateung and his subordinates since well before the war as part of our assistance to the Union State in dealing with these insurgents.” He clarified; he did not, however, mention the failure of the JIC in learning about the attack, other than a vague idea that something was coming, until it actually happened under his predecessor’s watch. “While naturally, anything direct is hard to come by, given that he relies on a vast network of runners and other intermediaries to pass on his orders, CIRA has had its own ‘lucky break’ recently.”
   As Katsutaro spoke, an officer handed out copies of a photograph to everyone seated around the table. The photograph showed a Kalasinese male, middle-aged and with a full head of dark brown hair, and with a scar on his lower lip. He seemed rather ordinary to Eijiro, though given what the PAFK was, that was likely to their advantage.

   “Meet Prawat Solikham, aged 37. A native of Bok Ten, his family moved to Tamu when he was eight.” Katsutaro explained. “Enlisted in the NPRA in 2006 before retiring following its initial dissolution in 2017 with the fall of the People’s Republic. Notably, he served under Colonel Thaksin Prateung in the last few years of the state’s existence and now, he’s one of the PAFK’s top commanders.” He continued before pausing for a moment. “It may interest you to know that we have been closely monitoring him for some time now, both through indirect and more direct means, and he appears to frequent a compound on the outskirts of the town, one which is detailed in the file Marshal Esashi has provided you all.” Katsutaro noted. “That, with the addition of the intel found yesterday in Falam has, short of directly seeing him there, confirmed for us that Prateung is in that compound in Tamu.”

   “How soon?” Eijiro asked. “How soon can we hit them?”

   “Once you approve the strike?” Marshal Esashi asked. “Three days, tops.”

   That news surprised Eijiro for a moment, given what he understood of the kind of training that would be necessary for such a raid. “That’s… quick.” He said. “Are you sure whoever’s going to… neutralize him won’t need more training?”

   “Yes. SFOD-Iroha has been training for this mission since the compound came up on our radar, so for about twelve days now.”

   “And what of our allies?” Eijiro inquired. “What do they know about this?”

   With a sigh, Okimoto said “Exactly what they need to know.” before clarifying “That we are investigating a lead into a national security threat and that we are taking the appropriate measures to mitigate-”

   “I’m sorry, Marshal Esashi, but that’s not good enough.” Eijiro said, annoyed. “Much as I understand the need for secrecy regarding matters such as this, especially if we’re gonna try and get him alive, I can’t just call after the raid and say ‘Surprise, we got Prateung. Oh, by the way, we completely violated the Dunwich charter and a couple intelligence-sharing agreements because Marshal Esashi decided to keep you all in the dark.’”

   “You’re wrong, sir.” Esashi said.

   “Pardon?”

   “I said you are wrong, sir.” Esashi repeated himself. “Sure, we’ll say that our goal was to bring him in alive for appearance’s sake, but you and I both know this is a kill-or-capture mission.” He explained. “If he throws up his hands and surrenders, then of course we'll capture him, but…”

   “But Iroha will have full authority to kill him otherwise.” Katsutaro interjected.

   “The Achkaerinese aren’t gonna be pleased about that.” Sadazane sighed.

   “Better than having attacks every month in an attempt to force us to release him, I say.” Natsuki opined. “Don’t want the PAFK to be able to say ’release him or we keep killing Fusanese.’” He added; of course, they’d still do that either way, but taking him alive would likely just pour fuel on the fire, so to speak.

   “And that’s before considering him making a spectacle of his trial.” Tadakatsu Haruno, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, pointed out. “It’s already gonna be a nightmare, putting the others on trial starting next year. Just imagine what he’d try.”

   “That may be so,” Yudai Sasabe, the Minister of Justice, said. “But what right do we have to deny the families of his victims their day in court? To deny the world the opportunity to rebuke Prateung’s ideology of total subservience to the state, of a ‘permanent revolution’? If the opportunity had arisen to put Stalin on trial, would we have killed him instead because it might be inconvenient to us?”

   With a sigh, Eijiro spoke up, saying “In an ideal world, Yudai, I would like to see him put on trial for his crimes, but Natsuki is right on this one, as is Mr. Haruno.” as he looked at Yudai. “Ignoring the possibility of an international tribunal in, say, Valtheim or Northfort, something which I suspect our friends over in Pyrettania would reject just as quickly as many in this room would, we’ll have to bend over backwards to even give the illusion of a fair trial for him, let alone one that is genuinely fair. Obviously, it can’t be in Awara or Pyrettania, since any jury would be prejudiced against him by default, and we’d be hard-pressed to find anywhere else that wouldn’t face the same issue. It’s not like we can put him on trial in the middle of nowhere up in Hokuriku. And what about the kind of defense he will offer?” He paused. “He might decide to serve as a sacrificial lamb, seeking to justify his crimes, or he might simply refuse to acknowledge the legitimacy of the trial, making it a sham in the process. For all we know, he might even try to deny everything, delve into every conspiracy under the sun as part of an effort to provide any sort of doubt as to his guilt.

   “And like Natsuki said, we’ll certainly see attacks and kidnappings every week demanding his release. Hope is a dangerous tool when given to our enemy. If they think, even though we all know that it won’t work, that by escalating kidnappings and the sort, they can get what they want, then what reason will they have to do anything but try harder? And what are we to say if they take over a school here? What will we say to the parents whose children would be butchered on Fusanese soil? Is there anything we could say? And just for the sake of argument, let’s look forwards a bit. Prateung will be found guilty, almost certainly sentenced to death if we’re lucky, which means we will essentially be stuck with THE living martyr for months if not years. I’m sorry, Yudai” he said before pulling out a cigarette and lighting it before taking a drag off it “but there is absolutely zero chance we can let him leave that compound alive. Too many people would die as a result of it.”

   “So do we have permission to take him out, sir?” Esashi asked.

   “Yes.” Eijiro answered. “I’ll make the calls to our allies, only tell them what is absolutely necessary to fulfill our treaty obligations, but not enough to make… those scenarios we discussed happen.” He continued before standing up, which was followed by everyone else who was sitting doing the same. “Gentlemen,” he said as he extinguished his cigarette. “Start your clocks. In three days’ time, we will either make history by putting down a rabid dog who has run amok in Kalasin for seven years too many, or for authorizing what the the history books will deem one of the worst planned raids in modern military history, despite all of the hard work that has gone into it. Let’s make our country proud and do the former, alright? Dismissed.”

[Daitō]

RequiemCathedral of the Immaculate Conception, Tenkyo
May 7th, 2020
7:53 PM

   Under the cavernous roof of the Cathedral of Tenkyo, Eijiro stood, looking down at what had, until a few hours ago, been an open hole into the ancient structure’s crypt. It had been a peculiar sight, watching his father’s casket descend into what would be his final resting place, where he would await the return of his savior. Beyond merely a farewell to his father, who now joined his ancestors beneath the church, it had been a sobering reminder of his own inevitable mortality, which was something he had long accepted but which had really struck home today. And what a day it had been, he might’ve thought before now, for the sky had been clear and the wind calm, as though mother nature herself was taking a moment of silence for the fallen Emperor of Fusan. Yet now, under the dim glow of candlelight, he had to bid his final farewell to a man who had so drastically shaped his life forever and to a father whom he wouldn’t see again.

   He was joined this evening by close members of his family, namely his wife, his grandfather and his mother, the Empress-Dowager, his siblings, and his aunt and uncle, but also by the heads of the four hereditary cadet branches of the House of Akitsukuni; all of them were there, taking a minute of silence before they would part. The first to leave was Prince Satonari Ukita, the head of the junior-most yet wealthiest branch of the Imperial House, followed closely by the heads of the Asukai, Tokudaiji, and finally Arisugawa families. They were, in turn, followed by his aunt and uncle, Countess Kotomi Yanagihara and Prince Etsuji, the siblings of the recently-departed, then his own siblings. His mother was next, being the fourth-most senior member of the family and the only person neither related by blood to the fallen Emperor nor married to his successor. He couldn’t help but feel horrible for her; while he had lost a father, she had lost the man she had loved, and due to protocol, she wouldn’t even be the last to stand by his grave.

   After his mother had left him, it had finally come for his grandfather, the Emperor-Emeritus—Nobukatsu’s father—to leave the site of his son’s tomb. At ninety-four years old, he was the longest-living Emperor in the nation’s history, though far from its longest reigning monarch, having been on the throne merely from 1982 until 2001 before he had abdicated. Just a month ago, he had seemed so full of life, eager to spend his twilight years in peace out in the countryside, doing those things which he loved most. Now, he seemed so… frail. It honestly reminded him of when his grandmother had died, just under a decade ago. Even at such an age, it was wrong for a parent to bury their child, and he knew it. But soon enough, in keeping with the tradition, he too would leave, though not before exchanging a knowing look with his grandson. He, too, had once been in this exact position, nearly forty years ago. Finally, his wife would also leave, and before he knew it, he was alone.

   There was so much that Eijiro had wished to say in that moment, so many words for his dearly departed father, and yet, at that moment, they eluded him. He wanted to say it was unfair that he should be taken so soon, that he wasn’t ready for the throne—a fact which he had known for some time, now—and that his father didn’t deserve this fate, but most of all, he just wanted his father back. It really was as simple as that, a son mourning a father he wouldn’t see again, at least in this life. After a moment, he would compose himself before offering three prayers, one for his father, another for his family, and a third for his nation, after which he, too, would depart from the graveside.