Perhaps it was the sense of intimidation brought by the word "Queen."
The three interviewers simultaneously straightened their clothes and quietly bowed their heads.
The students being interviewed did the same.
It was when both Jack and Benedict, with solemn faces, waited for the next words.
"You must be Ji-hoon."
The man, who had come on behalf of the royal family, approached me and spoke.
"Daring indeed, to request a letter of recommendation from the Queen."
"Fortunately, Her Majesty seems eager to support even that boldness."
Just as he was about to take out the Queen's personal letter—
"What is the meaning of this!"
Timothy sharply raised his head.
"There's no way the Queen would write a letter of recommendation for someone like him…"
"Are you presuming to judge Her Majesty's will?"
"That's not it… but no matter how I think about it, it doesn't make sense…"
"So, are you calling me a liar now?"
"N-no, not a lie, but there must be some mistake…"
"Are you ready to take responsibility for those words?"
"Pardon?"
"Professor Timothy Bell of Oxford's Art History Department, are you really planning to throw away even the honorable retirement you've been barely holding onto?"
"What are you saying…"
"The spectacle you made, tearing apart the nation's dignity by accusing others of fabrication! Do you really not understand why the university turned a blind eye to that? You don't know who to thank for that?"
"Should I really proceed according to the rules? Will that make you feel better?"
For a moment, the wild outburst ceased.
"Please, from now on, only say things you can take responsibility for."
Timothy could only lower his head with a resentful face.
But that resigned reaction did not last long.
Trembling, he shook as if overwhelmed by anger.
Thud!
In the end, he collapsed as if fainting.
But even then, the man's reaction was cold.
He soon turned to the staff members and said,
"It's time to relay Her Majesty's will. Clear the area, please."
***
A few days earlier.
A painting had been delivered to the Queen of England.
She was a queen of a nation.
Not just anyone could give her a gift, but since it had been delivered through a chair professor of Oxford, the Queen had accepted it willingly.
The painting was simple.
The sea stretching between shabby buildings.
And a young couple strolling along the beach.
The Queen immediately recognized the setting of the painting.
'Malta, Marsaxlokk Harbor.'
It was where she had spent her honeymoon.
The last memory of a normal life before she became Queen.
So, she felt even more affection for this place—Malta.
The young couple, too, must represent the Queen and her husband during their honeymoon days.
The Queen stood before the painting, lost in thought for a while.
How could a single piece of landscape bring back so many memories?
'This is what you call a true gift.'
A gentle smile began to spread across the Queen's lips.
"Didn't they say there was a letter?"
At her words, the staff brought over the letter that was enclosed with the artwork.
Who could have sent such a painting?
With anticipation, the Queen slowly began to read the letter.
It expressed a need for the Queen's recommendation in order to gain admission to the Royal School.
In such situations, one would typically bow their head and plead for leniency.
However, the content of the letter was quite unusual.
…(omission)… But I assume that change is not what you want. After all, England is a nation that values tradition above all else.>
The Queen grasped the meaning hidden between the lines.
How strongly they must value tradition to maintain the monarchy to this day—that's what they were trying to say.
But there was no sense of criticism in those words.
That was the reason why the Queen continued reading.
The values that England strives to uphold through the monarchy are clear. Responsibility and dedication.
But what do students expect to gain by entering the Royal School? Is it not just 'distinction' from others and 'privileges' granted only to them?
The Queen continued reading.
This must be quite pleasing to the monarchy. Prime ministers may come and go, but the monarchy that produces them remains ever steadfast.
…(omission)… But what good does it do for this nation to continually produce prime ministers who are so full of a sense of entitlement? Please wield the sword of change.
If the Royal School changes, England can change.>
The monarchy, the symbol of preservation and defense, is being asked… to become the vanguard of reform?
And the first step is recommending this foreign boy to the Royal School?
Whenever a young musician plays a piece by Bach, I'm the first to rush to listen.
…(omission)… I still cannot forget the joy I felt when I heard Glenn Gould's rendition of 'The Well-Tempered Clavier'.
Through such masterful performances, Bach's music takes a step forward each day…(omission)… An updated classic, isn't that what everyone hopes the monarchy will become?>
"An updated classic."
The Queen gazed at that sentence for a long time.
So that's why they sent a painting of her honeymoon.
To starkly contrast the day she first stepped forward with the weight she bears under the crown today.
The Queen continued to stare at the letter for a long time after that.
***
I've been a writer all my life.
Naturally, my specialty is crafting narratives.
The story I proposed to the Queen was simple.
'A Queen who wields the sword of reform to fully embrace the values of responsibility and dedication!'
I selected the ingredients, prepared the meal, and even delivered it myself.
All the Queen had to do was pick up the spoon and eat.
Judging by the fact that a letter of recommendation arrived, she must have enjoyed her meal and digested it well.
Indeed, the man holding the Queen's letter looked me in the eyes and said,
"Since it is a school established by the monarchy, the Queen's recommendation equates to admission. You will be treated on par with nobility…"
So, no matter what Timothy decided, I had already been accepted under the Queen's authority.
Sigh.
At least I avoided the science high school ending!
With that, the interview somehow came to a close.
I was happy to leave with my acceptance, but…
'What about these two?'
They'd been dragged into the same group as me… not only were they caught in an embarrassing situation, but the interview was ruined halfway through…
Of course, the interviewers would likely take that into account when scoring, but I couldn't help feeling guilty.
"How about we have lunch together?"
Even though I'm naturally shy, I forced myself to say something for that reason.
But…
"Sorry, I have a performance this weekend."
Benedict said this calmly as he walked away.
Naturally, I thought Jack would have a similar reaction.
But to my surprise, he just stared at me, silent.
Though it was our first meeting, I strangely found it easy to speak to him.
"Want to grab a bite?"
"For maintaining combat readiness, proper nutrition intake is essential…"
"So, as long as it's high in protein, you're good?"
He nodded.
"Let's go, then."
In the end, Jack and I left the hallway together.
We headed to a nearby steakhouse.
I hadn't noticed earlier due to the interview, but now that the tension was gone…
For some reason, the middle name 'Tiger' felt quite familiar.
I chuckled.
Now I remember where I'd heard it before.
'This guy… isn't he survival exper Bear Grylls? I used to catch his show sometimes while channel surfing.'
The man who would warn about dangerous animals and then, in the next scene, build a fire and roast them over it.
I heard he was ex-special forces.
'I didn't know he applied to the Royal School though.'
Even though we didn't have any real connection, I felt a strange sense of familiarity.
But unlike me, Jack remained silent, focused solely on his nutrient intake.
Perhaps he was concerned about losing combat efficiency.
Chomp, chomp.
He devoured his steak without even dipping it in sauce or sprinkling salt.
Then, during a brief pause for breath, he spoke.
"Why aren't you eating?"
"I'm just eating slowly."
"Skipping meals isn't good."
It had been a long time since I'd heard the word 'skipping meals'… not since my discharge.
I wondered if Jack could have ever imagined.
That the guy sitting across from him was a former sergeant in the South Korean Army.
'He'd probably be pretty surprised.'
Actually, would surprise be enough? After about thirty minutes of admiring looks, he'd probably bombard me with questions about what the Korean military is like.
The thought made me chuckle a little.
"Are you planning to join the special forces?"
Look at that, the moment I mention the military, his eyes light up.
If I told him I was discharged, it would be chaos.
"Why the special forces?"
"Well, my father, being a member of the Noblesse Oblige, made sure I was well-fed and lived well, so I feel I should serve my country."
"That's not the only reason, is it?"
"Isn't it obvious?"
"Huh."
"If you're ever captured as a prisoner, you might be in trouble."
That's not exactly the kind of concern a middle schooler would have, is it? Ahem.
"To be honest, I think it's because it just seems cool."
"There's got to be a reason it seems cool."
"Hmm…"
There are many ways to serve your country.
You don't have to be a soldier, much less in the special forces.
Finally, he put his fork down and seemed to get lost in thought.
After some time passed, he spoke again.
"I think it's kind of a dream."
"A dream?"
"Like, seeing those who are thrown into extreme situations… but who fight through and survive—there's something admirable about it."
"So, the special forces are the ultimate version of that?"
"Maybe."
It made sense.
Given that after his discharge, he'd lectured about how to survive in the wild, it seemed like he had that kind of mindset.
But what I was curious about was why he developed that mindset.
'But it would be rude to ask that right now, wouldn't it?'
I was about to let the moment pass when suddenly he asked:
"Now, tell me about yourself."
"About me?"
"Where you're from, why you applied to the Royal School, how you ended up getting a recommendation from the Queen, stuff like that."
Well, yeah.
I had been the one asking all the questions so far.
"I'm from Korea."
"Wait a minute."
"?"
"South Korea?"
"Yeah."
As soon as I answered, his eyes widened.
"I've never met a Korean person before!"
"Is that something to get excited about?"
"Of course! I've only read about Korea in books, but now I can hear about it in person!"
"What kind of books?"
"What kind of books… obviously war history books!"
As expected, that was a very 'military-enthusiast' answer.
"I usually hate reading history books. Every time I open one, it's full of all the thug stuff England did."
"But, when it comes to the Korean War, at least I can feel proud."
It's true that after the U.S., England sent the second-largest number of troops.
"When I study the Korean War, I feel like, 'Oh, we really did something for freedom,' and it fills me with pride."
He immediately began rattling off everything he knew.
About 81,000 British troops participated in the Korean War.
Among them, he specifically talked about the 29th Infantry Brigade and the Gloucestershire Regiment.
He explained how they fought bravely against the advancing Chinese forces.
"So, how is Korea now?"
He seemed curious about the seed of freedom that their ancestors had helped protect with their blood.
"How did it sprout?"
"The books I read say that it's similar to North Korea. Is it still like that?"
Jack was eagerly awaiting my answer, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.