'ᴛʜᴇ ɢʟᴏʙᴀʟ ᴊᴏᴜʀɴᴀʟ' || ʜᴇᴛᴀʟɪᴀ

13

Arthur came back into the meeting room. When asked why he had returned, he said that there wasn't much left to do for dinner, and that Japan had said he was happy to stay in the peace of the kitchen and let time do its magic under his supervision, letting Arthur leave.

"Yeah, I don't know," he shrugged, taking his seat. He told everyone continue as they were, and so they did.

Next to the Brit, Alfred flicked the journal's umpteenth page over, making a childish 'boop' as he did so. Matthew was glad that his brother was at least trying to stay positive; it wasn't just good for America personally, but there was always something about Alfred's smile and happiness that was contagious. Antonio and Feliciano were similarly infectiously happy, but Matthew never felt so relaxed around them like he was around his brother.

"Alright, this one's from China," Alfred announced, "and I have no idea what it's about, but I see the word 'opium' a few times. . ."

"Oh yay," Yao deadpanned. He looked to Arthur. "Remember those years well, Opium?"

"Unfortunately," Arthur sighed, thinking that perhaps staying in the kitchen would've been a goo idea . . .

Alfred wasn't sure what they were on about, and Yao told him to just hurry up and read it--the sooner it was done, they sooner the whole book was finished.

"China. August 29th, 1842. The war might be over, but that does not mean I am happy. Opium's people have been illegally smuggling his stupid drug into my country, and my own citizens have become addicted, and even now I fear that it will not end here. He's just as pleased as I am. It was selfish, what he and his government did . . . But I'm more disgusted by those smuggling opium in and trying to control my territories."

"Hong Kong pissed him off the most, though," Arthur mumbled to himself. Yao just softly grunted, and folded his arms.

"The Treaty of Nanjing may have been a quick way to stop bloodshed and mindless fighting, but there are so many holes in its terms. Opium--the drug--hasn't been declared legal or illegal, and what's more, Opium--the one with eyebrows--now has control over Hong Kong!"

"There it is," the Brit mouthed, shaking his head.

"Well, it seems that you got bored of him, because you sent him home one-hundred and fifty-five years later," Yao remarked offhandedly. "I guess you couldn't handle him."

"More like he didn't know when to stop," Arthur shot back. "He needed to learn when enough was enough, and those bloody firecrackers were starting to get ridiculous. Sending him back to you was the best option for everyone."

Yao frowned. "Fireworks are are part of who we are, Opium . . ."

"That does not mean I appreciate having them thrown into my bedroom in the middle of the night," England stated. He glared at the Chinese man, and all of a sudden, tension seemed to solidify between the two. "Perhaps you just did a bad job of raising him with proper manners."

Alfred awkwardly laughed in an attempt to diffuse the situation. "A-Alright you two, I think that's enough --"

"No, hang on," Yao interrupted, holding up a hand to silence him. Alfred sunk back into his seat and let the book flop down onto the table. "Are you trying to say that I was a bad parent?"

"Your words, not mine," Arthur replied. "The point is, Leon is happy where he is. Leave it there, will you?"

China muttered something under his breath, and in order to avoid more arguments from developing, America hastily continued onto the next page, and skimmed it over. It was an observation, to his relief. He wasn't so keen on the personal entries, but like Feliciano, he understood their purpose respectfully.