Chapter Text
In Hyangguk, they had spent the past week trying to write a new, more contemporary version of the national anthem.
“It cannot begin with ‘O Scent, thou who guidest our nation,’” Novice Han muttered, sitting at the table with a quill between his teeth. He had just crossed out the third draft. “It simply cannot begin like that…”
“Right. It needs something more martial,” General Changbin agreed, standing over him with his arms crossed over his chest. “Something with strength. With majesty. Write this: ‘Rise, nation, and victoriousify.’”
Han slowly raised his head.
“General, there is no such word as ‘victoriousify’.”
“Oh, really?” Changbin was not about to let the dictionary stand in his way.
“Maybe the chorus should be simpler. Something people can chant. For example: ‘Hip, hip, hip, hip, hip, hip, hip (Hooray)!’” Bang Chan, as usual, felt obliged to contribute.
“Like a chant at a cadet match.” Jisung did not bother to hide his disgust.
Bang Chan did not take offense. He rarely did; he was far more likely to calculate everything in terms of profit.
He braced his hands against the table and looked at Han’s draft again. By now, he could already see more than an anthem: a line of mugs, two commemorative posters, a limited edition of Scent of Unity candles, and three themed nights at the tavern.
“That is exactly why it makes sense,” he said. “An anthem cannot function only ceremonially. It has to sell.”
Han could not believe what he was hearing.
“What?”
“Not literally,” Bang Chan lied without a trace of embarrassment. “I mean reach. It has to land with people. The nation should be able to sing it without holding a brochure and consulting a spiritual guide.”
“You know, Chan, then it wouldn’t be an anthem. It would be an advertising campaign,” Han muttered, crossing out another two lines so forcefully that his quill tore straight through the page.
“The two are not mutually exclusive,” General Changbin observed. He had spent the last fifteen minutes staring at the page, increasingly convinced that the homeland needed something stronger and less metaphorical. “The chorus should be something people can shout. With a fist in the air.”
“With a fist in the air?” Han shut his eyes. He was beginning to wonder whether the General was serious or just testing how much he could take.
“Absolutely! The nation has to feel the impact. It cannot just be ‘ah, scent, dawn, fellowship.’ It needs something that makes a person want to get to their feet at once.”
“Or buy a souvenir,” Bang Chan added, now entirely honest.
Novice Han set down his quill and looked at both of them with clear disapproval.
“I hate both of you,” he said with complete conviction.
Bang Chan nodded, as though accepting this as part of the creative process.
“Good. That usually means we’re getting somewhere.”
General Changbin slid the page closer to Novice Han.
“Write ‘rise.’”
“No.”
“Then at least ‘nation.’”
“It’s an anthem. Of course it’s going to have ‘nation’ in it!”
Bang Chan leaned over the table.
“And leave room for a chorus people will want to repeat by the third jug of soju.”
Han looked at the blank page for a moment. Then he sighed, bit the end of his quill, and wrote the first line again.
In Hyangguk, even the national anthem had no chance of being written in peace. Not with those three at the table. Whatever they tried to create, it always ended up catchy, loud, and potentially dangerous to public order.