a writing blog for anything and everything related to the elixir of the sun manhwa, originally written by Soldam and illustrated by Song Yi, a historical romance story about fate, destiny and an eternal love. 3/7/24.
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🌺 INTRODUCTION
first and foremost, this blog is a sideblog to my roleplay blogs IMPERIALSIYO and JEUNGHWA you'll receive a follow back from those blogs upon following this one.
my name is moe (she / her) twenty-four. black and cherokee-indian, thank you for coming by and checking out my blog. I highly encouraged coming into my inbox and interacting with me (messages, requests, etc) because I genuinely love that stuff with my whole heart.
due to the nature of my blog and the manhwa itself, minors and ageless blogs are prohibited from interacting with me and will receive an immediate block. this blog and it's contents caters only to an adult audience. Please refer to this post to know more
🌺 REQUESTS / GUIDELINES
I do not consent to my work being translated, plagiarized or reposted anywhere else.
Sharing is caring! Likes do nothing for my fics other than serving a bookmark for you, so please consider reblogging my fics to share with others so more people can read and enjoy them!
While my inbox is open to requests (both anonymously and non) I do reserve the right to decline any submissions that either breaks my rules or makes me uncomfortable.
That being said, I love crossover content of any kind and absolutely encourage more than just reader x character fics! I'm in many fandoms like Wandavision, Castlevania, Inuyasha, Disney, Jujutsu Kaisen, American Dad, Archer, Hazbin Hotel etc.
POINTS OF VIEW: male, female, deaf, blind, black (African-American), etc.
WHAT I WON'T WRITE: non-con, pedophilia, beastiality, gross / weird kinks, illegal age gaps, etc.
WHAT I WILL WRITE: fluff, smut, familial dynamics, romance, violence, blood, death, alternate universes, alternate scenes, legal age gaps, Headcanons, oneshots, yandere, etc.
[concubines]: Sama Hyeon, Han Bia, Ye Tae Im, Karan
characters from other fandoms
🌺 ABOUT THE MANHWA 🌺
READ THE MANWHA | READ LIGHT NOVEL
Bayan is an outcast amongst the Siyo, a people who have healing powers. Considered worthless because she doesn’t have the ability to heal others, Bayan is sent to the court of Dhan, the Great Sun Emperor, who is cursed with unrelenting bloodlust and slaughters his concubines mercilessly. It seems that Bayan’s fate is sealed the moment she reaches the emperor’s palace and Dhan is fated to suffer from madness forever... But together, Bayan and Dhan just might be able to change each other’s destiny.
Elixir Of The Sun is a historical romance about our main characters Dhan and Bayan overcoming fate and finding love in one another through trials and tribulations. The Manwha is adapted from the light novel "Lord Of The Sun" written by Soldam and does contain dark, sensitive and explicitly adult scenes where as the manhwa is careful to tone it down for a mature audience.
🌺 TRIGGER WARNINGS!
Should you choose to read Elixir Of The Sun, please keep in mind that:
- sexual violence is part of its story in terms of information (no scene is ever depicted but there is a close call regarding the main character in chapters 9 & 10)
- depictions of self inflicted injuries (the main character has healing blood and has to stab herself multiple times throughout the story)
- a failed un-aliving attempt in chapters 41 & 42. The main character was sleepwalking.
- In Chapters 110 - 115 there is a extreme depiction of excessive blood and violence but no gore is present.
Thankfully, the story doesn't force its plot to have these things as the main point, it merely uses these plot devices to reinforce and focus on the romance and subtle fantasy plot surrounding the bond of Bayan and Dhan.
While the world outside celebrated the return of spring, a melancholy premonition began to cast a shadow over the woodcutter’s heart. He watched with growing dread as the sun climbed higher each day, its golden rays lingering longer and more intensely over the valley. The stronger the sun grew, the more the maiden seemed to fade, her form becoming translucent and fragile, like parchment held to a flame. She spent her hours drifting toward the edge of the woods, standing beneath the skeletal boughs of a majestic cherry tree. Even without its blossoms, the tree stood like a silent titan, a monument to the life waiting just beneath the bark.
"Soon, it will bloom," she murmured one afternoon, her voice so thin it was nearly lost to the breeze. She extended a delicate, trembling hand toward a low-hanging branch. As she moved, the last, paper-thin veil of frost fell away from the wood. Her fingertips brushed against a sensation she had not felt in an eternity: something tender, pulsing, and warm. It was a tiny bud, a herald of the thousands that would soon ignite the tree in a riot of pink.
She recoiled as if burned, a small gasp escaping her lips. The woodcutter, watching from a distance, saw her eyes fill with moisture. He stood frozen as a single tear tracked down her cheek—a cheek as smooth and clear as fine crystal. As the tear reached her chin and plummeted toward the earth, a stray gust of wind caught it. Before it could touch the warming soil, it crystallized, transforming into a perfect, solitary snowflake—the final, dying breath of winter.
That night, the woodcutter lay awake on his futon, his ears tuned to the sounds of the house. When he heard the soft, familiar creak of the door, he rose in silence to watch through the gap. The maiden was making her way to the cherry tree one last time for her meeting with the white fox. The creature was already there, its plumed tail sweeping the snow in a rhythmic greeting.
But as she reached the animal, her legs gave way. She collapsed into the slush, her body racked with a profound weakness. In a desperate, final act, she dug her fingers into the last of the brittle, melting snow that remained in the shadows of the roots. She squeezed the ice as if it were a lifeline, drawing the fading cold into her veins, desperately trying to summon the last of her vanishing strength for whatever goodbye was yet to come.
"Spring will be your end. It will be fatal," the white fox whispered, its voice sounding like the crackling of dry leaves. "Are you truly certain of this choice?"
Listening from the shadows, the woodcutter felt a chill that had nothing to do with the night air. He had been right all along: this creature was no mere animal, but a powerful spirit, an entity capable of human speech and the ancient art of shifting its form to entrap and deceive the hearts of men.
"A ghost of the frost, a phantom of the drifts like you... you cannot survive the rebirth of the world," the fox hissed, its eyes glowing with an eerie light. "The man you dwell with is wise to fear our kind. It is our legacy, our very essence, to prey upon the weaknesses of mortals, to drain them of their spirit. That is your purpose. Why do you deny your own nature?"
The maiden did not recoil. Her expression remained serene and mild, though her body trembled with a fatigue that seemed to reach into her very soul. She forced a small, flickering smile to her lips.
"It was his deep, aching solitude that first called to me through the storm," she whispered, her voice a fading echo. "But it was the pure goodness of his spirit that compelled me to remain. I have always known that heat is my enemy—that fire is my death. But because of him, I discovered a warmth I never knew existed: the radiant glow of a life shared, the quiet heat of a companionship that does not burn, but heals.
I longed to confess this to him—to tell him what he has given me—but as my sands run dry, my courage fails. Spring is at the threshold, and I am dissolving. My final wish is for you, my old friend, to remain by his side. Do not let the silence reclaim his home when I am gone."
Behind the wall of the cabin, the woodcutter stood paralyzed. The air left his lungs and a sudden, sharp ache pierced his chest. As the truth of her sacrifice crashed over him, it seemed as if the very gears of his heart had ground to a halt, leaving him suspended in a moment of unbearable beauty and devastating grief.
As the embers pulsed a low, rhythmic red in the hearth, the woodcutter’s mind drifted back to the stories of his youth. He remembered clearly how the elders would huddle around the fire, their voices dropping to a rasping whisper as they spoke of the mountain spirits. In those legends told to him as a child, spirits were never friends; they were described as malevolent, wretched, and cold-hearted beings who sought only to lead travelers astray.
Yet, as he sat there, he realized that he had not doubted the maiden’s intentions for a single heartbeat. She had brought life to his home, not death. But a heavy knowledge sat in his chest like a stone: the ancient lore also warned that when a human being discovers the true identity of a spirit, the magic is broken, and the spirit must vanish from the world of men forever.
When the door finally groaned on its hinges and she stepped back into the cabin, she found him sitting upright, wide awake and watching. No words were exchanged, but as their gazes locked, a profound understanding passed between them. In the eyes of both, there was the same desperate, flickering hope—a silent prayer that their love might be the one exception to the ancient rules of the world.
But the sun continued its inexorable climb. Soon, the vibrant, waking colors of spring had completely overtaken the stark, silent purity of the cold season. The world turned from white to a thousand shades of green and gold. To the busy inhabitants of the valley, the long darkness and the biting frost of the winter blizzard seemed like nothing more than a distant, half-forgotten memory. The village was transformed; flowers decorated the wooden tables, were tucked behind ears, and were embroidered onto the silken kimonos of the young women as they celebrated the thaw.
High above the village, the great cherry tree near the woodcutter’s house reached its full glory. It stood in a state of bloom that was majestic beyond all expectation, a massive cloud of soft pink that seemed to hum with the energy of the earth.
Returning as he did every day from his heavy labor in the forest, the young man paused in the clearing. He was no longer a man of absolute solitude. The white fox that now accompanied him—the same spirit-friend he had seen in the snow—stopped beside him, lying down docilely at his feet like a faithful hound.
The woodcutter looked up at the towering canopy of blossoms, his heart aching with a quiet, sacred grief. "She would have liked this very much," he thought, the memory of her pale face more vivid than the sunlight.
As if in response to his thoughts, a sudden, spirited gust of wind swept through the clearing. It surged through the immense, flowering canopy, shaking the branches with a gentle force. A multitude of pale petals were torn free, taking flight into the air and swirling in a great, shimmering cloud. They began to drift downward, coating the green grass and the woodcutter’s shoulders, descending as peacefully and as softly as the flakes of snow that had first brought her to his door.
AFTERWARD
The silhouette of the Yuki-onna is etched into the cultural memory of Japan: she is a vision of the night, appearing amidst the jagged, frozen peaks with lips the color of ice and skin so translucently pale it defies the living. Her hair, a cascading river of black or white, is often depicted heavy with the weight of fallen drifts. In the most haunting accounts, she possesses no feet, allowing her to glide soundlessly over the pristine snow, a ghost in a white kimono leaving no footprints behind. While history usually paints her as a lethal omen—a predator of the frost—there exists a small, precious collection of stories where she is granted the burden of human emotion. It was this rare, shimmering facet of her myth that inspired me to breathe life into my own protagonist.
In the world of Yokai, these beings are far more than "monsters" in the Western sense; they are the personification of the natural world. They are born from the human psyche’s need to translate the incomprehensible—the sudden blizzard, the eerie silence of the deep woods—into a tangible form. My Yuki-onna is a daughter of the snow in every sense. I wanted her to inherit not just the cold's power to kill, but the fragility and ephemerality of a single flake. She is the embodiment of winter’s contradictions: she is an enigma, a bringer of silence, and a force that can transform a familiar forest into an alien, enchanted realm.
A Kindred Solitude
The choice of a woodcutter as the hero is a nod to tradition, as these solitary laborers are the classic victims of the snow spirit. Usually, their encounter is a cautionary tale of beauty leading to a frozen grave. However, I sought to rewrite that destiny. My woodcutter is not a victim of the woods, but a part of them. Because he is introverted and shuns the clamor of village life, he possesses a soul that is already tuned to the frequency of the mountains. He does not fear the silence; he understands it. This shared isolation creates a bridge between him and the spirit. He is kindred to the snow, and therefore, he is the only one capable of seeing the warmth hidden within its heart.
Though the maiden had materialized out of the absolute nothingness of the storm, arriving without a past or a single word of introduction, her presence felt strangely inevitable. It was as if the floorboards of that house had long been waiting for her step, and the hearth for her shadow. To the woodcutter, it felt as though a vacant seat had been kept at his table since the day he built it—a hollow space in his life that was now, at last, perfectly filled.
She was the embodiment of gentleness and care, moving through the cramped rooms with a poise that made the rough-hewn walls seem grander. She brought a sense of grace and ethereal lightness to every mundane chore, turning the simple act of sweeping or stoking the fire into something rhythmic and beautiful. It was clear she felt a deep debt of gratitude; she worked with a quiet intensity, as if she could wash away the mystery of her arrival with the sheer scale of her devotion and hard work.
Yet, beneath the comfort of their shared routine, a quiet tension lingered. The woodcutter, observant by nature, could not ignore the unusual aura that clung to her. She did not breathe the same way he did; she did not flinch at the drafts that made him shiver, and her skin remained as pale and cool as a river stone. She seemed to be made of a different substance entirely—a nature far removed from his own rugged earthiness or the sturdy, predictable lives of the people in the village. It was a distance he could feel but never define.
Whenever he tried to bridge that distance with a question—asking of her kin, her home, or the path that led her to his door—she would perform a delicate dance of evasion. With a soft smile, a sudden change of subject, or a well-timed task, she would pull a veil over her history. She remained an open book written in a language he couldn't yet read, keeping her secrets as tightly guarded as the forest keeps its shadows.
*****
Every evening, once the meal was finished, the young woodcutter followed his long-standing ritual of sitting before the crackling fire. He would linger there, watching the orange light dance on the walls, silently hoping the maiden would come and sit beside him. But she never did. She always found some task to keep her busy in the kitchen, lingering far from the heat of the hearth. He noticed a strange pattern: as the night deepened and the cold grew sharper, biting through the cracks in the wood, she didn't shiver. Instead, she seemed to transform, becoming even more luminous and radiant, as if the frost were her true element.
One night, his watchful eyes caught her heading toward the door with a small bundle clutched in her hands. Though his heart raced with questions, he remained silent, feigning indifference so as not to startle her. Yet, the moment the door clicked shut behind her, his curiosity became unbearable. He crept to the window and peered through a small patch of clear glass into the moonlit night.
There she was, a pale ghost against the dark trees. She knelt gracefully, leaning toward the pristine snow to set down her bundle. When she pulled back the fabric, the woodcutter saw she had brought the remains of their dinner, arranged with the care of a sacred offering.
As he watched, a movement in the shadows caught his eye. A fox, as snow-white as the maiden herself, stepped out from the treeline. It didn't approach with the caution of a wild animal, but with the familiarity of a companion. The woodcutter’s breath hitched in his throat when the girl began to speak. Though the glass muffled her words, the intimacy of their posture was unmistakable; they murmured to one another in the frozen dark like two old friends sharing secrets.
Panicked that he might be caught spying, he scrambled back to his place by the fire, heart pounding against his ribs. He threw himself into his chair and stared intently at the flames, pretending to be lost in thought just as the latch lifted and she stepped back inside.
He said nothing. But the scene stayed with him, playing on the back of his eyelids. It happened again the next night, and the night after that—a silent, snowy ritual that confirmed what he had long suspected: his guest belonged to the world of the forest far more than the world of men.
The weight of the secret finally became too heavy for the woodcutter to carry in silence. One afternoon, as the steam from their tea rose in lazy spirals, he decided to test the waters. Feigning a casual indifference he didn't truly feel, he looked toward the frosted window and remarked: "I've noticed a white fox lingering near our door lately. You haven't happened to be... encouraging it with food, have you?"
The maiden didn't flinch. Her hands remained steady as she continued to serve the meal with a grace that felt almost practiced. She looked up at him, her eyes bright and clear. "Ah, so you’ve seen her as well! She is quite lovely, don't you think?" Her response was so natural, so devoid of guilt, that for a moment the woodcutter felt foolish for his suspicions.
But the stories he had heard since childhood wouldn't be silenced. "Perhaps you don't realize," he said, his voice dropping an octave, "but out here, one must be cautious. The elders in the village speak of dark and ancient legends involving those creatures. They say a white fox is rarely just an animal; they are often spirits wearing a mask of fur, camouflaging themselves to better ensnare and deceive the hearts of men."
At his words, the light seemed to drain from the room. The maiden’s eyes widened, reflecting the flickering hearth fire, and her face immediately grew somber, as if a cloud had passed over the moon. The playful atmosphere evaporated, replaced by a heavy, suffocating silence.
She sat perfectly still for several long, agonizing moments, her gaze lost among the white grains of rice in her bowl. When she finally spoke, her voice was nothing more than a fragile whisper that barely cut through the crackle of the logs. "And tell me," she began, her breath catching, "even if it were a spirit... would it truly be such a grave thing? Is a spirit's company so much worse than a human's?"
The woodcutter’s heart hammered against his ribs. He opened his mouth to give a practical, village-taught answer, but the words died in his throat. He was struck by the raw vulnerability in her eyes. In all the weeks they had shared, through storms and silence, he had seen her radiant, mysterious, and kind—but he had never seen her look so profoundly, inconsolably sad.
As the final embers of the meal faded, the woodcutter did not follow his usual path to the hearth to sit in solitary reflection. Instead, he rose with a new purpose. He crossed the small room and approached her, standing by the table where the remnants of their dinner lay. Without uttering a single word to break the fragile silence, he reached for a clean cloth and began to carefully settle the leftovers into its folds, meticulously tying the corners to create a bundle—imitating the exact ritual he had secretively witnessed her perform every night before.
The maiden froze, her breath hitching. She stared at him in utter disbelief for several long seconds, her eyes searching his face for judgment or fear. Finding only a quiet, steady kindness, the shadow that had darkened her spirit vanished. A radiant smile, more beautiful than the first thaw of spring, finally returned to her lips. It was a silent pact; he was telling her that he did not care if she was a spirit or a girl—he chose to be her companion.
That evening, they did not act as strangers keeping secrets. They stepped out into the biting night air together, their boots crunching on the frozen crust of the snow. Together, they walked toward the treeline to meet the white fox, who waited like a silent guardian in the moonlight. The woodcutter watched as the two ethereal beings interacted, no longer an outsider peering through a pane of glass, but a participant in their mysterious world.
From that night onward, the atmosphere in the cabin shifted. The heavy, suffocating silence of the high mountains was replaced by a shared warmth that no hearth fire could replicate. And as they lived through the following weeks, it seemed as if nature itself responded to the softening of the woodcutter’s heart; day after day, the brutal cold of the winter began to retreat, finally loosening its icy, relentless grip on the Hida Mountains.
The Whispers of the Thaw
The heavy, white shroud that had smothered the Hida Mountains for months was finally thinning and receding, revealing the dark, wet earth beneath. Here and there, small emerald-green glimpses of the hidden vegetation began to peek through the slush. Each morning, a new sound filled the cabin: the rhythmic, crystal-clear murmur of the nearby stream. It was no longer choked by ice; it was as if winter itself were gracefully bowing out, paying its final respects to the approaching spring.
A Village Reborn
Down in the valley, the village was shaking off its lethargy. The faces of the townspeople were no longer numbed by the frost, and as the paths cleared, their social appetites grew. Doors flew open, and groups gathered on street corners, their tongues loosened by the warming air. They were hungry for talk, for news, and for the secrets that had been buried under the drifts for so long.
The Secret Sanctuary
The woodcutter, however, felt like a stranger among his own kind. While the villagers lingered to chat, he moved with a singular, quiet urgency. He wanted only to finish his labor in the timber stands and hurry back to the silence of the woods, back to the maiden who waited by his hearth.
He had made a conscious choice to keep her existence a secret. He knew the people of the village all too well—their curiosity was a sharp blade, and their insatiable thirst for gossip was a fire that could consume anything it touched. He was certain that if a single word of his "guest" reached the village, the world would come knocking at his door with questions and superstitions. He would not risk it; he would protect their fragile, enchanted bond from the prying eyes of the world at any cost.
The forest had become a labyrinth of shadows and blinding white. Inside his small, weathered cabin, the woodcutter sat by a dying fire, the scent of pine resin and old wool hanging heavy in the air. Outside, the world was vanishing. A "buriana"—the fierce winter gale—had descended, erasing the border between the earth and the sky.
Then, he saw it through the frost-rimed glass: a light silhouette, barely visible, moving with a grace that defied the violence of the storm.
The woodcutter rubbed his eyes, convinced the flickering hearth was playing tricks on his mind. But as he leaned closer, the figure solidified. It was no trick of the light. The figure was real: a young woman, snow-white and slender, stood motionless in the very heart of that chaotic, white whirlwind. She wore no cloak, yet she did not shiver; she seemed less a victim of the cold and more a part of it.
Compelled by a mixture of terror and a strange, desperate curiosity, he rushed to the door. As he threw it open, the latch nearly tore from his hand. The wind instantly took possession of the room, a wild animal lunging into the warmth. It brought with it a multitude of white flakes, swirling like tiny, sharp diamonds. There, standing on the threshold between the howling dark and his flickering sanctuary, the maiden waited, her eyes reflecting the infinite silence of the frost.
*******
The Author: Jessica Cioffi (Loputyn)
Jessica Cioffi, known to the international art community by her pseudonym Loputyn, is a visionary illustrator and comic artist based in Brescia, Italy. Her work is celebrated for its ethereal, almost otherworldly quality, blending a delicate Victorian aesthetic with dark, melancholic undercurrents.
Her journey began in her youth, fueled by a relentless passion for the macabre and the beautiful. This path led her through the rigors of a traditional artistic education, graduating first from an art-focused high school and subsequently from the prestigious Academy of Fine Arts in Bergamo. This formal training is evident in her meticulous line work and sophisticated use of color palettes—often favoring muted pastels, sepia tones, and ghostly whites.
Key Works and Career Milestones
Francis (2017): This breakout graphic novel introduced readers to her unique storytelling style. It follows the life of a witch and her spirit familiar (a large, somewhat gluttonous rabbit), balancing dark magic with poignant, human emotions.
Aether (2021): A sprawling collection of illustrations, this volume serves as an exploration of the four classical elements. It showcases her ability to personify abstract concepts into hauntingly beautiful figures.
Editorial Success: Her reach extends into mainstream icons; she famously provided the cover art for the nineteenth issue of Dylan Dog Color Fest for Sergio Bonelli Editore, bringing her gothic sensibility to Italy’s most famous "Nightmare Investigator."
Reimagining the Classics: Through ReBelle Edizioni, she launched "Le favole di Loputyn" (Loputyn’s Fairy Tales), reimagining staples like Alice in Wonderland with a dreamlike, slightly unsettling twist that has become her hallmark.
International Recognition
Her fascination with folklore—particularly the supernatural entities of the East—culminated in the volume Japanese Tales (Hop Edizioni). The impact of this work was so profound that six of its original pieces were selected for the prestigious exhibition “Yokai: Ancient Prints of Japanese Monsters.” Curated by Paolo Linetti, these works were displayed at the Belvedere of the Villa Reale in Monza and later traveled to the L Gallery in Hiroshima, marking a significant bridge between contemporary Italian illustration and traditional Japanese art.
*******
In the very heart of Japan, nestled where the earth rises to meet the jagged, snow-dusted peaks of the Hida Mountains, there lay a small, unassuming village. Just a short distance away from the cluster of communal fires, immersed in the heavy, profound silence of the ancient forest, stood a small house.
It was a modest dwelling, built of weathered cedar and stone, yet it was meticulously well-kept—a testament to a disciplined life. The home stood solitary and quiet, an island of stillness among the whispering pines, mirroring the soul of the young woodcutter who dwelt within its walls.
The young man had grown accustomed to the rhythmic swaying of the boughs and the creaking of timber; he found more comfort in the company of trees than in the bustling, often noisy lives of his fellow men. His descents into the village were rare, occurring only when the moon signaled the need for supplies, and were always limited strictly to what was necessary.
It was precisely because of this temperament—this shy yet tireless nature—that he earned a quiet, unspoken respect from the villagers. They saw him as a man of few words but great strength, a shadow that moved through the woods with the grace of a mountain spirit.
Despite their respect, curiosity bloomed in the village tea houses. Both men and women frequently wondered why such a capable young man lived without a wife to share his hearth. When the local gossips—the comari—would corner him with a playful giggle and a prying question, he would not take offense. Instead, he would simply offer a gentle, fleeting smile, explaining that he had long since grown used to the peace of his own company. He found a strange, quiet joy in the solitude that others feared.
That year, however, the air changed early. The sky turned the color of bruised iron, and the wind began to howl with a predatory edge; the winter promised to be particularly harsh, even by the standards of the Hida range.
Deep in his heart, where the silence usually brought peace, the woodcutter felt a sharp flicker of worry. He looked at his calloused hands and thought of the months ahead, realizing the heavy burden of having to rely solely on his own dwindling strength against the elements. He looked out at the darkening woods and saw only the cycle that awaited him: yet more cold, yet more silence, and yet more endless, suffocating snow.
One afternoon, without warning, the sky turned a bruised purple and a violent blizzard descended upon the forest. The wind didn't just blow; it screamed through the canopy, snapping frozen branches and turning the air into a wall of ice. The woodcutter, caught in the thick of it, was forced to drop his axe and leave his labor half-finished, struggling through the deepening drifts to reach the threshold of his cabin.
Once inside, he barred the door against the cold. The heavy timber of the walls groaned and creaked under the lashing blows of the gale, sounding like a ship tossed on a white sea. Yet, despite the roar of the storm, he felt a deep sense of peace. This was his sanctuary—a home he had raised with his own two hands, stone by stone and beam by beam. Within these walls, the world’s fury felt distant and manageable.
He pulled a chair to the window and sat, watching the light fade. Outside, the familiar landmarks of the forest—the ancient oaks and the winding path—had vanished. There was nothing left but a dense, blinding swarm of white flakes, caught in a chaotic dance, swirling incessantly as if the sky itself were coming undone.
Drowsiness had begun to settle over the woodcutter like a heavy blanket; he was just on the verge of succumbing to a deep sleep. Because of this, he was absolutely certain his mind was playing tricks on him—surely he was dreaming—when a figure suddenly manifested within the pristine, untouched landscape of the storm.
She was a light silhouette, an apparition so faint she was barely visible against the white-out. The woodcutter rubbed his eyes, blinking away the exhaustion, but the image remained. The figure was real: a young woman, ethereal and slender, stood composed and upright in the very heart of that chaotic, white whirlwind. She looked as though she were made of the storm itself.
He scrambled to his feet, rushing to the door and heaving it open. The wind seized the opportunity, lunging into the room and taking possession of the warmth, swirling a multitude of white flakes across the floor. With frantic, wide gestures, he beckoned the girl, inviting her to escape the lethal cold and take shelter within his walls.
The moment the heavy door groaned shut and the latch clicked into place, the room seemed to plunge back into a sudden, eerie tranquility. Outside, the wind howled with an indignant fury, frustrated by the solid walls of the cabin. However, as the young man turned to face his guest, a shiver ran down his spine. He realized with a start that the cold had not left the room with the closing of the door.
He stood frozen, struck by the sight of her face. It was flawless—not the least bit weathered or reddened by the biting frost that should have frozen the blood in her veins. She returned his gaze with an unnerving stillness, her eyes silent and deep. Much like the ancient forest that stood watch outside, her presence was hauntingly beautiful, her form draped in a gown that looked less like fabric and more like a delicate, shimmering veil of fallen snow.
"Thank you for welcoming me into your home," the girl said, her voice carrying a gentle, refined tone that seemed to resonate with the clarity of a silver bell.
The woodcutter, caught off guard by such elegance in his humble shack, could only manage a clumsy, awkward bow in response. His mind was a storm of its own; he wanted to ask her a thousand and one questions—where she had come from, how she had survived the drifts, and why she was alone—but the words died in his throat. He remained rooted to the spot, simply staring at her in breathless astonishment.
Every detail of her presence mirrored the fragility and ethereal lightness of the snow outside. There was something about her that defied the physical world—an enigmatic and intangible quality, as if she were a dream that might dissolve if he reached out to touch her. She stood there, a pale flame in the dim light of his hearth, appearing both vulnerable and ancient.
"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," she continued. Her movements were impeccably graceful, yet they carried an algid, icy stillness that made the hair on his neck stand up.
Finally, the woodcutter shook himself, snapping out of his daze. He realized that formal pleasantries and polite introductions could wait. Reality came rushing back—the lethal wind, the sub-zero temperatures, and the white-out conditions. What could possibly have driven her out into the wilderness in such treacherous weather? Did she have no regard for her own life? Did she truly intend to stay out there until she froze to death?
The girl’s eyes widened, fixing on him with a look of pure bewilderment. It was as if the very concept of human concern—of being asked why she was out in the storm—was the most alien and unusual thing she had ever encountered. Her lips parted, and a faint, whispered response began to form like a winter bud, but before the words could take flight, her strength failed. She swayed, caught in a sudden, violent dizzy spell.
The woodcutter didn't hesitate. He stepped forward quickly, his rough, calloused hands reaching out to steady her frail frame. Even through her garments, she felt unnervingly light, as if she were made of nothing but air and frost.
"It is... so warm in here," she murmured, her voice trailing off as if the heat of the hearth were a heavy weight she wasn't used to carrying. "After so long... in the snow..."
"You are reaching your limit," the woodcutter said softly. "You must be exhausted. Please, take my futon and rest." With a shy, hesitant nod, she accepted his offer, collapsing into the bedding like a falling petal.
While she drifted into a slumber so deep it seemed almost like a trance, the woodcutter retreated to the adjacent room. He stood by the frosted glass, watching as the world outside transformed. The sky had finally emptied itself; the vicious tormenta had spent its fury, leaving behind a world buried in a thick, eerie silence. The trees were no longer thrashing; they stood like white-clad sentinels under the fading moon.
The following morning, the young man was pulled from sleep not by the cold, but by a rich, delightful aroma that filled the small cabin. Confused and still half-dreaming, he peeked into the kitchen. The sight stopped him in his tracks. There stood the maiden—no longer weak or trembling—standing beside a table laden with a magnificent feast. Steaming bowls and delicate dishes filled the room with warmth.
"I wanted to thank you," she said, a small, knowing smile touching her lips as she gestured to the delicacies. "For the kindness of your hospitality and for the sanctuary of your home."
He offered his thanks with a clumsy, bashful tongue, gesturing for her to sit and join him. As they ate, a strange realization settled over him: for the first time since he had raised the beams of this cabin, the silence of his table was broken by the sound of another’s breath. The solitude he had worn like armor for years felt suddenly thin.
As the warmth of the food filled him, the urgent questions he had suppressed began to claw at his mind. He watched her across the steam of the bowls. Who was this girl? What path could have led her into the maw of a mountain storm, shielded by nothing more than a pale kimono that seemed better suited for a spring breeze than a lethal winter?
He opened his mouth to ask, but the words withered. He was struck by an inexplicable sensation—a premonition that their peace was a glass sculpture. He felt that the moment he tried to pin her down with facts and origins, the enchanted atmosphere would shatter, dissolving as surely as a single snowflake vanishes the instant it touches the warm, dark earth.
Instead, they chose the safety of the present. They spoke of the smell of pine, the taste of the broth, and the small wonders of the woods. Outside, the world continued to vanish; the drifts had piled so high they now smothered the lower halves of the windows, casting a soft, blue-white light into the room. It was a winter of legend, the kind grandfathers spoke of in hushed tones.
The woodcutter knew the labor ahead of him would be grueling. He would have to carve a tunnel through the frozen white just to reach his woodpile and the forest beyond.
"May I offer my help?" she asked, her voice like the chime of ice on a frozen lake.
The woodcutter was taken aback. He, a man who had built his life on the pride of reclusive self-reliance, found a secret, glowing spark of joy at her offer. He wasn't just accepting help; he was accepting her presence. He gave a small nod, and he accepted her offer.
And so, as the weeks turned into a blur of white, the two of them became the heartbeat of that small cabin. Together, the maiden and the woodcutter, they tended the fire, cleared the heavy snow, and cared for their sanctuary in the woods, turning a season of survival into a shared life.
summary: you're reading late at night, and your husband grows impatient waiting for you.
warnings: minors and ageless blogs dni regardless of content.
tags: fluff | one-shot | vampire! reader | established marriage | clingy! vlad | you fight like an old married couple (you are an old married couple)
a/n: HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!! finally a new fanfic after 4 months. i'm really proud of this one so i hope you all like it! thank you to everyone who gave me advice, i really needed it. i appreciate you all so much! p.s i made the dividers featured, so please do not use them.
date started: 5:02PM, december 31st, 2024.
date finished: 5:56PM, january 8th, 2025.
ib: @creativepromptsforwriting ♡ | wc: 2.9k | ao3
Darkness cradles the Earth in a loving embrace while the clouds cry. The moon cannot give its glow for beings below, and the stars are unable to watch the wonders of the night unfold for long without the clouds covering their view. It has been this way all evening, rain pouring down anywhere from thirty minutes to an hour, stopping for around the same amount of time before starting again. The plants and animals of the forest are grateful for the sky's nourishment, and the clouds feel so encouraged by nature's gratitude that there are no signs of this pattern letting up anytime soon.
You appreciate the weather, too, for it is perfect for reading. At the moment, you find yourself sat in one of many libraries in the castle. The rocking chair that you find yourself in is rather comfortable, and the book in your hands pulls you further into its story with every word you follow. In your most comfortable nightwear with a blanket on your lap and a cardigan around your shoulders, not many other things come to mind when you try to think of a better way to spend your evening.
"I'll be to bed soon, dear. I'm almost finished with this chapter." Your voice breaks the comfortable silence and echoes across the wooden shelves enveloping you in your little corner to reach the ears of the rather large man that is making a very poor attempt to hide.
Standing not far from you, partially behind a bookcase, is your husband, Vlad Țepeș. You've felt his presence for the past few minutes, deciding that you would wait for him to speak first, but as quiet lingered in the air, you quickly realized that he wasn't going to announce himself. Your history with Vlad goes far beyond your marriage, for the two of you were some of the first vampires to ever walk the Earth. You were good friends for a very long time, and to save the novel-worthy story, you found each other after many years of being separated and romance fiercely set ablaze. No divine being could send you someone that's close in comparison to him, and he could say the same about you.
There are a few more moments of silence before you feel wind hastily rushing against the back of your neck, followed by large, strong arms tightly wrapping around your shoulders and cold skin resting right where the air had just wafted past you. Many would find it hard to believe that Count Dracula is a clingy lover, but this behavior is of no surprise to you. For as long as the two of you have been together, Vlad has always craved closeness. When he is without you for a certain period of time, he searches the castle to take his rightful place by your side once more. He didn't have to look for long tonight, for he knew exactly where you were.
You have been obsessed with this book that you found in the library, and while he is glad that you are enjoying it, it is taking your attention away from him. This is not something that pleases Vlad very deeply, so he is planning on making some changes tonight. "You've been in here for hours. Come to bed, now." His deep voice comes with a rumble from his chest, tone composed of a gentleness reserved for you alone.
His plea does not go unheard, for you know that all he wants is for you to snuggle up with him and doze into night's comfortable slumber together. Fondness takes hold of your heart as a small, tender smile curls onto your lips. It's difficult to refuse him such an innocent ask, but it is just as difficult to pull yourself away from the narrative in your hands, so you assure your beloved, "There isn't much left. You'll be alright a few minutes more."
This earns a disappointed groan from Vlad, burying his face further into your neck. "How much more is there?"
You tilt your head and take each remaining page between your fingers until you find the next chapter, and when you find your answer, you tell him, "Three pages."
Another groan grates from Vlad's throat, prolonged from the previous one as he nestles impossibly further into your skin with his large frame leaning against the back of the wooden chair. "Remind me why we sleep at night." Your darling requests, peaking up at your face.
"Hey, you don't have to sleep at night if you don't want to. It was your idea to change your sleep schedule so that we could match," You grant Vlad his request and recall the commitment that he made to sleeping throughout the night so that the two of you would be able to be together when the sun comes up.
You have preferred day to night for as long as you could remember. You have no reason for favoring daytime other than feeling that the Earth is so much more lively and bright. The plants are so vibrant beneath the sunlight, and there are so many things that you want to experience that you wouldn't be able to otherwise. Vlad always knew that you enjoyed day more than night, therefore adjusting your sleeping schedule accordingly; As a result, Vlad told you that he was going to start sleeping through the night too. At first, you were a bit worried about such a major change to his routine, but he insisted that he wanted to see the world through your eyes. This has been the arrangement ever since, and you cannot help but feel so smitten by the idea that he is willing to introduce such adjustments to his agenda in order to be with you.
With this transition in his life, Vlad knew that he was going to be groggy. While he has a substantial amount of energy compared to most vampires, this does not exempt him from needing the same amount of sleep. Have no doubt when he swears that there is nothing that he would change about dedicating himself to your lifestyle. You were right when you said that it was his choice, but unfortunately, it does not cure the fatigue that he often finds himself with when he stirs from his night's rest.
In attempt to adjust to the pattern he promised you, he likes going to bed early. Vlad tries to be tucked in anywhere from seven to nine P.M, and typically, you are by his side. You go to bed around the same time that he does, if not a little later, so when he was preparing himself for bed without you, he got worried. He figured that you would come to bed soon, so he laid down in attempt to fall asleep. As the hours ticked by with still no sign of you, he became restless, eventually making the decision to go look for you.
A defeated huff leaves Vlad's lips as he rests his forehead against the back of your neck again. One of many reasons why he fell in love with you was because of your smart mouth, and you pick the most bedeviling times to use it. "I know that," He mumbles lowly, peaking back up at you before resting his chin on your shoulder and closing his eyes.
"You know that I can't sleep without you. Please, come to bed." The count pleads again, sweeter this time.
You almost give in to his honeyed words, their innocent warmth daring to bewitch you. Nevertheless, you keep your composure while your eyes remain on the page before you, as they have throughout the entire conversation, "You will be just fine, dear. Only a few minutes longer."
Vlad has learned much about patience in his life, especially when he found you again. All good things come to those who wait is something that the dark-haired vampire has commonly watched play out, so normally, this wouldn't be the end of the world for him. He would do naught more than pout and refuse to detach himself from you until you came to bed. Tonight, however, Vlad will not be indulging in your distractions. Quick to stand, sending a blast of wind against your back once more, the count steps to your side before lifting you up into his arms. You yelp at the unexpected change of location and almost drop your book in the process, barely being able to catch it by its spine before holding it closed to your chest and leaning against your husband. "Vlad!!" You exclaim, laughter tickling its way from your lungs moments after.
"No. I have had enough. You are coming to bed with me." The vampire declares as he begins to make his way towards the library's exit.
"Vlad, put me down!!" You demand, only moderately annoyed with him as you flail in his grasp in attempt to escape, "Right now!!"
"Nope. So sorry, my dear, but your book is going to have to wait." Vlad proclaims, lips tilting upwards in a cheeky grin as his head turns to the side so that radiant red eyes can meet yours, "Your husband requires your attendance to the nightly snuggle session. You're late."
Any attempts you're making to escape the security of this man's arms are greatly failing you, so you decide to admit defeat now rather than later. His strength serves well, and while you are grateful for it most days, this is a good example of the cons of being married to one of Earth's most powerful vampires. He can, and will, wrangle you around whenever he pleases. Your bottom lip pokes out from its place as you lean against the man's chest, determined to uphold your front of unwavering stubbornness.
Amused by your dramatics, Vlad rolls his eyes playfully and allows them to close while a chuckle vibrates up his chest and past his lips. He opens them again to admire your sullen expression, musing, "Oh, come now. I can't be that bad of a cuddler since you're pitching a fit."
Your pout is quick to dispel from your face, a long sigh expelling from your lungs just afterwards. You avoid eye contact as you agree with him, "No, you're not."
Another chuckle escapes the mouth of your lover, a sound that you are secretly glad to hear that reassures you that he isn't taking you seriously. He draws you closer to his chest as he softly murmurs against your forehead before placing a kiss to it, "Don't worry, you can read more tomorrow."
You sulk and avoid eye contact for a bit before dropping the act. It wasn't much longer before you arrived into your shared bedroom, the door coming open to reveal a sight that has grown comforting to you over the years. The room is decorated primarily in red and black, as you both adore the colors, but there are a few distinct shades around too which sets apart your individual styles. Assorted trinkets rest across dressers and shelves from the many travels that you two have taken over the years, gifts and ornaments that you've made for each other through a plethora of shared anniversaries that always bring a smile to your face every time you pay mind to them.
Variously styled mirrors, decor, and paintings hang on the walls. There is no real purpose for the mirrors other than to enhance the elegance of the room, as they are too high for both you and Vlad to see anything from. The paintings, however, hold much importance to both of you. Each illustration that lays across your walls tells a story from one of your memorable moments together. Vlad personally hired the best artist he could find to perfectly capture your most treasured experiences, and whenever you are having a bad day, all you have to do is look up to brighten your spirits.
Your husband walks over to his side of the bed and holds you above the center before dropping you onto the soft surface, causing you to puff out an exhale before your laughter sings into the air. You lay yourself across the bed and remain still while Vlad adjusts the canopy draped over the wooden post by his pillow before he launches at you. With no time to move away, he plops over your stomach, the impact of his weight causing you to wheeze. You look down at him with an astonished grin on your lips as he lays in momentary silence before lifting himself off of you to settle onto you comfortably. You sit up and adjust all of the pillows behind you before leaning back against them, prying your book open again before it is promptly snatched out of your hands and slammed onto Vlad's nightstand. You laugh and try to reach for it, imploring for its return, but that is quickly shut-down by the vampire hovering above you, "No. Sincerest apologies. You'll get it back tomorrow."
Slowly, he stations himself on top of you with his head against your abdomen just under your chest. He is mindful of your body language to ensure your comfort, and when he descends his full weight with no awkward shifting or complaints from you after a few minutes, he concludes your contentment with the position and nestles his head against you with closed eyes. Your arms lift as he gets himself cozy, and once he relaxes, you wrap your arms around his shoulders while your fingers begin to comb through his hair. A smile graces the vampire's lips as your touch serves to soothe all worries away from his mind.
You cannot stop the smile that grows onto your own face as you watch his lips curl up. No soul, alive or dead, can say that they have experienced Vlad Țepeș' joy the way that you do, and for this, you are grateful. Vlad has spent so much of his life keeping up a cold, merciless profile for all vampires that dare to step to him, but charades with you are unnecessary. All of the walls that he spent centuries building are torn to shreds in your presence, and no matter his methods, they could never withstand your blinding iridescence. There is comfort in your arms that he has never found in another, and this tranquility that he has the luxury of being the only person to experience is something that he holds close to his heart. This is not something that you do knowingly, for it is who you are. You are a constant source of peace that quells the ever-roaring fire in his soul to a quiet crackle. You are what inspires him to be curious about the world, you keep his thirst for knowledge abundant with your differing perspectives, and he firmly believes that your ideas could change the world.
It's truly a shame that your eyes cannot convey the amount of love that you hold for this man, but they are doing their best. Your gaze displays your overwhelming adoration for him, and he surely feels how loved he is. When you look at him, Vlad knows that he is admired in every way he never dreamed of. Your eyes do not have to meet for him to know that you look at him like he is the greatest thing in the world, and that is all you could ever wish for. You finally decide to break the silence after watching him rest for a bit, teasing him, "Is this going to be your spot for the night?"
Any thoughts that Vlad was having before you embraced him have completely vanished. Now, it's just you, him, and your warm bed. All he can muster out is a low, "Mhm."
You giggle as you recognize his sleepiness and lift your legs slightly, asking, "Then can we at least get under the covers so that we don't freeze to death?"
A lazy, amused smirk curls onto Vlad's face at your suggestion, his nostrils flaring in a huff. "I'm not even sure that we can freeze," He admits.
You chuckle and move your hands from his hair onto his back to pat it. "Well, I don't want to risk finding out. So come on."
An agitated groans leaves your comfy husband before he begrudgingly eases himself off of you so that you could get under the covers. The two of you adjust the pillows to their normal spaces and you shake off your cardigan to toss it aside before you slip your legs beneath the sheets. A corner of the sheets lay open, and you lift them up to welcome him inside. Vlad's lips form a gentle smile, and his eyes soften affectionately at the sight before he climbs into the covers and rests himself back on top of you. Your fingers return to threading through his hair, a blissful sigh respiring from his lungs as he resumes a comfortable position. You look down at the top of his head with the same benevolent expression that you wear every time that you look at him, and your voice comes out soft when you say, "Goodnight, my dearest. I love you."
The words that you tell him every night are words that he could never tire of hearing. When you say it, he knows that you mean it, and it fills him with ease to know that when you wake up in the morning, he will get to hear you say it again. "Goodnight, my darling. I love you too." Vlad returns the sentiment, falling into an inescapable slumber with you not far behind him.
@BUNNYLUVX ,, all rights reserved. do not copy/plagiarize any of my works or submit it into ai. any and all support is appreciated! <3
Pairing: Dracula/Count Dracula/Vlad Tepes x Female Reader
Warnings: Death, Murder, Blood, Gore, Injuries and Violence.
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Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5
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Sleeping wasn’t exactly what Dracula did. He remembered sleeping. It was a warm embrace with something that proved restful and fulfilling. As the creature he was now, it was silent, a quiet rest with blackness yet no peace. He did not dream delights anymore, at least not like when he was human. The dreams were rarely joyous or fulfilling. As a young man he could remember waking with Elisabeta on his mind and the hardness between his legs. Those days were gone. The dreams of her he had now revolved around her death. A bloodied face haunted his memories along with the twisted nightmare of her burning away, her face rotting into the mud as she reached for him. In the nightmare he could never reach her before she dissolved into ash and smoke. Other dreams were of dying faces or fire on the battlefield. His nightmares haunted him often, but most of the time the daylight made his mind silent, his eyes closed but his brain aware of the passage of time as it slowly ticked by around him. This morning, however, his brain was rife with activity as he listened to the bin men take the household rubbish from his drive. The rubbish lorry thundered as it emptied the bins, men shouting before it moved on down the hill.
Dracula closed his eyes inside his resting place, pushing his fingers deeper into the soil from his homeland as he turned his chin upwards, towards the wooden floorboards over his head. The vampire gurgled, blood churning in the spittle of his throat as he found some respite from the noise in the world around him. This time, the dreams were odd. He felt the noise outside melt away as his chest froze, mouth open in pause as death held his muscles still and taut. As the world outside disappeared, a new one appeared before his eyes. He awoke with a gasp, the bright white light blinding to his eyes as he fell to his knees. The vampire gasped at the sunlight, covering his eyes with one hand, the other burying itself into the sand beneath him. Dust stained the knees of his dark trousers, his shirt billowing with the hot wind. He looked down at the sand through squinted eyes and held a handful of the pure white dust. Dark, curly hair obscured his view as the wind blew again, blowing the sand from his grasp as the heat burned every inch of his skin. It was oppressive. Dracula reached for his shirt and stumbled to his feet, only to realise that he was barefoot, his toes sinking in the hot, white sand as he took a step. It was like walking on hot coals, as he headed forwards, towards the searing sun.
The day mocked the solemnity of the occasion. The sky above was a brilliant, cloudless blue, and the sunlight was so intensely dazzling it felt almost aggressive. It was, in every sense, a day far too joyous and temperate to host a funeral. The grounds where the rites were commencing were thronged with people, a powerful visual display of the sheer political clout and social standing of the Elient Marquisate.
The ceremony for the Marquise was being conducted strictly according to the Empire’s rigorous funerary rites for high nobility.
Imperial protocol for the deceased differed sharply by rank. Members of the Imperial family were interred in massive mausoleums built to house their bodies and all their necessary earthly possessions. While one might expect the historical record to be littered with these tombs, those actually interred were rare, thanks to the centuries-long tradition of fratricidal strife that often purged the line.
Contrasting sharply with the Imperial tradition of earthen burial, nobles and commoners were typically cremated, their remains placed in a family columbarium. Those lacking such luxury were reduced to scattering the ashes over the sea or on a mountain peak.
The Marquise's body, following the custom, was scheduled for cremation, after which her remains would be enshrined in the Elient family columbarium.
The cremation itself was a private affair, occurring only after all external guests had departed, with only the immediate, closest family present. The public's participation was limited to the ceremony that took place before the body was reduced to ash.
The coffin, a heavy, imposing object draped in black velvet, was borne into the viewing area. Customarily, this was a task for family members or intimate friends. It was carried by the Marquis, the Marquise’s father (Count Pisheon), and several sturdy family Knights, and was finally presented before the assembled mourners.
The full procedure dictated that the coffin lid be opened to display the deceased. Guests would then offer their final farewells and bestow blessings for the Marquise’s journey into the afterlife.
In this Empire's belief system, the afterlife was not about reincarnation. It was believed that upon death, the individual’s soul simply transferred to a different realm, retaining their current, physical appearance.
The core conviction was that the more beautiful and serene the deceased’s final appearance, the happier their destiny in the next world would be. Therefore, the body displayed for public viewing was meticulously and elaborately prepared.
The corpse would be reverently cleansed, and skilled makeup artists would apply cosmetics to the pallid skin, restoring the illusion of the vibrant complexion the deceased had in life. The body was dressed in its finest, most splendid gown, adorned with the requisite jewels, all to ensure she appeared as lifelike and majestic as possible. This was a profession in its own right: individuals specializing in preparing the noble dead for their grand exit.
Page 29: The Violation of Rites
The vast crowd gathered for the Marquise’s funeral stood in expectant silence, waiting for the Marquis to perform the duty of opening the coffin. This solemn public presentation was usually carried out by the closest male relative: the spouse, the father, or a son.
Once the lid was lifted and the body displayed, the ritual of farewells would commence, beginning with the individual closest to the deceased. This ritual required placing a single yellow flower next to the body and addressing the deceased verbally, treating them as if they could still hear. Only when every single person in attendance had completed this personal farewell was the public ceremony deemed finished.
Given the sheer number of people present, and the requirement that the farewells proceed sequentially, starting with the closest acquaintance and moving outward, this portion of the rite alone could easily extend over several days.
‘Among this staggering number of people, how many are truly here because they are genuinely saddened by her death?’ I wondered with cold detachment.
I swept my gaze across the throng. I recognized some faces, but the majority were complete strangers. The Marquise herself, I calculated, probably would not have known even half of these people. The size of the crowd was so overwhelming it fueled this cynical, unnecessary curiosity. If every person here insisted on offering a farewell, the schedule would undoubtedly last for days.
I was frowning internally at the logistical nightmare when a distinct ripple of agitation swept through the assembled crowd. Before I could process the cause, I instantly understood.
“...”
The Marquis did not open the coffin lid. Instead, with a stiff, minimalist movement, he simply placed a single yellow flower directly on top of the closed, black velvet lid. He then stepped back from the coffin, his action completed, without speaking a single syllable.
There were no words of final parting. There were no blessings offered for the Marquise’s eternal repose. He behaved as if this one, minute gesture had fulfilled every requirement of his duty and returned immediately to his place, standing unnaturally rigid and erect.
“Hah,” I sighed, the sound barely audible.
I had known this was coming, yet the coldness of the scene still forced the air from my lungs.
It was the exact same scenario as my previous life. Back then, I had reacted with a torrent of tears and furious shouting. My grief was not for the loss of a mother—a relationship I had never known—but for the public slight. I remembered feeling a strange sense of relief mixed with pure, incandescent rage.
In the past, I had been ignorant of the cause of her death; the Marquis had ensured strict secrecy. Knowing the details only heightened my fury at him for so blatantly disgracing her memory by violating the rites. I had been convinced his refusal to bless her afterlife meant he utterly despised her. And the naive Biyonne had made the illogical jump: that if he hated the Marquise, he must surely hate me just as much.
Page 30: The Confirmation of Scandal
“The rumors must be true then!”
“The Marquis truly despised his wife…”
The collective murmuring from the crowd swelled into a loud, persistent buzz. They were bewildered by the Marquis’s flagrant disregard for custom. Speculative conversations and theories flew rampant. Some of their theories were highly convincing, and a few were disturbingly close to the hidden facts of the marital dysfunction.
They rapidly treated their own speculations as established truth. From their lips, a dozen different dramatic narratives, starring the Marquis and the Marquise, were invented on the spot.
There were well over a hundred people in attendance. Even spoken sotto voce, their conversations were clearly audible to me. The Marquis, standing so much closer, could not possibly be deaf to them. Yet, he remained stoically silent, perfectly still in his designated spot. His total indifference served only to fuel the crowd’s wildest misunderstandings.
“Then, the Elient Young Lady, as rumored, truly is a…”
“Shhh, she will hear you! Lower your voice!”
Several guests, firmly convinced by their own theories, began to direct pitying glances toward me. The Marquis’s complete refusal to even glance my way throughout the ceremony solidified their certainty. In their eyes, I was merely a poor, abandoned child cast out by her father.
The Biyonne of the past, unable to withstand the cumulative assault of the Marquis's callousness, the crowd's whispering, and their insufferable pity, had exploded in a blinding fit of rage and abandoned the funeral grounds. She had completely forgotten the imperative of saying her final goodbyes.
The Marquis had not moved to stop her then. I knew that even if I were to storm out now, he would remain exactly where he was.
I looked at him, standing rigid under the harsh sunlight. He was ignoring the surrounding chatter just as he had before. Amid the whispers were now direct criticisms of the Prime Minister, yet he was unmoving, seemingly impervious to the sound.
The non-disclosure of the body at a funeral was an extreme deviation from rite. It was acceptable only in two dire circumstances: if the body was horribly mutilated beyond recognition, or if the deceased succumbed to a highly contagious disease. Even in these exceptions, custom dictated that attendees be informed beforehand, and their understanding formally requested. The Marquis had done neither.
💝🤗
Page 31: The Unspeakable Truth
The Marquis had not even extended the courtesy of seeking the crowd’s understanding. From his calculated perspective, he couldn't possibly have done so. To apologize for the non-disclosure of the body, he would have been forced to divulge the exact, shocking reason for its necessity.
‘And of course, he couldn't disclose that reason.’
The truth, stark and brutal, was that the Marquise had taken her own life.
In a momentary lapse of supervision by her assigned ladies-in-waiting, she had thrown herself from the third-floor window of the manor. The Elient estate was immense, meaning the vertical drop, even from the third story, was considerable due to the high ceilings of noble architecture. She had been killed instantly, the impact leaving no chance for survival or even intervention.
Her skull was fractured, and her limbs were grotesquely twisted. It was a terrible, ungraceful death. Her body was catastrophically mutilated—far too gruesome to ever be displayed publicly. Furthermore, the act of suicide was not just a stain on the family's honor; it was a fatal spiritual blow.
Suicide was one of the Empire’s greatest taboos. The prevailing belief was that those who committed the act were damned to an eternally unfortunate existence in the afterlife. Such individuals were denied final farewells and were never blessed. In extreme cases, families connected to a suicide could be socially ostracized, treated as if they were tacitly associated with criminality.
This explains the absolute secrecy surrounding her death. The Marquis’s silence order was total and unyielding. Not a single servant dared breathe the truth to me. It was only after a long, frustrating period that my Wet Nurse had finally broken the seal of silence, before which I had been completely ignorant that the Marquise had killed herself.
The Marquise’s official, public cause of death was announced as a lingering illness. Her social life had been nonexistent for years, confined as she was to the manor. Her isolation had already spawned countless rumors: that she was gravely ill, that she was already secretly dead, or that she had gone mad. The madness rumor hadn't gained significant traction because the sheer volume of speculation diluted any single theory.
The Marquis cleverly weaponized the illness narrative. He announced her passing, claiming the long-standing sickness that had forced her seclusion had finally claimed her life. Given her extended absence from society, the public accepted the news with unnerving ease.
‘The problem, the true political crisis, was...’
Page 32: The Calculated Gambit
...the funeral itself. Displaying the body would have immediately and undeniably exposed her suicide. The Marquis chose to resolve the crisis by simply refusing to display the body without offering any specific excuse.
He opted to shoulder the burden of the inevitable gossip and suspicion—a scandal, though severe—rather than face the external condemnation and religious damnation that would follow the revelation of suicide. He calculated that even if someone suspected the truth, they wouldn't dare utter it aloud. Without concrete evidence, and with her death officially logged as illness, her true cause would never be publicly challenged. By keeping the coffin sealed, the Marquis had effectively eliminated every last possibility of the truth coming to light.
To expose the Marquise’s shame would be equivalent to declaring oneself the sworn enemy of the Elient Marquisate. No one who valued their social standing would risk the Marquis’s retribution. Her true cause of death would remain perpetually concealed.
“Oh!”
“My!”
I began a slow, deliberate walk toward the closed coffin. The persistent chatter of the crowd died instantly, all eyes locking onto me. Some spectators watched with detached curiosity, others with dramatic pity. Yet, I also distinctly felt a few gazes charged with an unmistakable, cold malicious intent.
For the first time since my arrival at the funeral, the Marquis's gaze finally settled on me. I gave him a small, challenging smile. His face remained perfectly impassive, a chilling mask of indifference.
I placed the single yellow rose I carried onto the black velvet. The vibrant color stood out sharply against the deep, somber fabric.
“...”
Mirroring the Marquis, I offered neither a final spoken farewell nor a blessing for the afterlife. Instead, I performed a brief, stylized bow toward the casket. Following the abbreviated noble protocol, I placed my left hand over my heart and held my skirt with my right. Rather than sinking into a full curtsey, I inclined my body deeply from the waist, conveying my final, formal respect.
My duty done, I walked over and took my place directly beside the Marquis. His expression was still fixed and distant, but standing in such close proximity, I caught the faintest tremor in his eyes—a minute instability in his glacial facade. His gaze, which had briefly flickered onto me, immediately returned to its fixed point. I, too, stood rigidly erect, staring straight ahead.
The crowd was silent as a graveyard. They looked nervously between the unmoving Marquis and me, completely unsure how to proceed. It was into this paralyzed silence that a single individual, carrying a yellow flower, stepped forward.
Page 33: The Grandfather’s Grief
The elderly gentleman with a shock of thick, white hair approached the coffin. He placed his flower on the velvet and knelt slowly. He wrapped his wrinkled hands around the casket’s velvet covering, stroking the fabric with agonizing slowness. His face, etched with the deep lines of age, looked utterly haggard and defeated.
‘Count Pisheon.’
A famous and immensely successful merchant, he was the Marquise’s father and therefore my maternal grandfather. He remained completely silent. He was counted among the rare few who were privy to the Marquise’s true cause of death.
He remained kneeling for a long time, his hand moving over the velvet. He offered no spoken farewell, no blessing. Finally, he slowly, painstakingly rose to his feet. For a moment, his body swayed precariously, threatening to collapse.
“Oh, dear!”
“Gasp!”
“My word!”
Startled cries and worried murmurs escaped the onlookers. In that fleeting, critical instant, someone moved with astonishing speed and agility, seizing the Count before he could fall to the ground.
‘Who is that? A boy? A young man?’
His face was too mature to be a mere boy, yet too youthful to be a hardened man. The male attendant helped the half-fainting Count regain his stability. A faint, almost ghost-like expression—one that could almost be called a relieved smile—appeared on the Count's strained lips as he leaned on the man for support.
‘Is he affiliated with the Count's retainers?’
The attendant turned his head, and our eyes clashed. His deep, slate-blue eyes stared directly into mine, the intensity of the look almost physically painful.
‘Does he know me?’
The man’s gaze was overtly, intensely frank. I glared back, refusing to yield ground to his mysterious challenge.
‘What is his problem? Is he challenging me right here?’
Just as the uncomfortable intensity peaked, the man abruptly turned away. I watched his back as he began to escort the Count, feeling a strange sense of hollow anticlimax.
‘Did I just work myself up over nothing?’
The Count, leaning on the man's strength, was guided back to his spot. I saw the Count's lips move as he addressed the man. I was too far away to hear the words, but the man nodded respectfully and swiftly exited the funeral grounds.
“...”
I thought I caught his eye again just before he vanished, but there was no time to dwell on the intriguing stranger. With the Marquis and the Count having paid their respects, the previously hesitant crowd began to move. One by one, they approached the coffin.
No one spoke a word. The speechless procession of final farewells had formally begun.
Page 34: The Fire of Relinquishment
The Marquise’s funeral ceremony, drawn out by the necessity of the lengthy, personal farewells, had spanned a grueling three entire days. It finally drew to a close with the last polite departure—a Baron and his wife, names utterly unremarkable, whom I had no intention of ever remembering. The public rites were over. Now, the private, unofficial, and most solemn procedures remained.
Following the precise dictates of the Imperial funerary code, her body was taken to the pyre and cremated in the presence of only the Marquis and myself. A fierce, brilliant scarlet flame erupted, instantly and ferociously consuming her mortal form. As I watched her body rapidly reduce to a handful of ash, my emotions were a tangle of strange, detached complexities.
There had been a period in my life where I had been a small, lonely girl, desperately craving her affection. I had played the perfect daughter to try and earn her praise, and I had even adopted boisterous, masculine behaviors, hoping to catch her eye. But I had never once registered in her existence. Her entire focus, her sight, her blind, absolute devotion, was fixed solely upon the Marquis.
‘If I had, by some miracle, borne even the slightest physical resemblance to the Marquis, would she have given me any of her attention?’
The question was moot; I couldn't interrogate the dead, and I was certain that even in life, she wouldn't have known the answer.
And yet, despite the emotional chasm between us, we were chillingly similar. From our physical appearance to the tragic, looping trajectory of our lives, everything was eerily alike. They say a daughter inherits her mother's destiny. Just as she had been driven to madness by her love for the Marquis, I, too, had been consumed by a devouring obsession for one man. I loved him without reason, without restraint, completely blind to the fact that this devotion was a slow-acting poison. Whether this was the common fate of women consumed by love, or simply a horrifying mother-daughter resemblance, our narratives were identical: we loved a man who didn't see us, we starved for his affection, and that madness of love led directly to our ruin.
The intense heat of the flames consuming her felt like it was scorching my own throat, leaving a profoundly bitter taste in my mouth.
I slowly turned my head, studying the Marquis’s profile. Standing directly beside me, his face was, as usual, an empty canvas—devoid of any readable emotion.
Page 35: The Alluring Vacancy
The deep navy-blue of the Marquis’s hair caught the flickering firelight, briefly illuminating it with a strange reddish cast. As the flames danced, casting deep shadows and then light across his features, did his otherwise cold face look momentarily, infinitesimally sad? Or was that merely a projection of my own internal drama?
He was only 41 years old. His remarkable handsomeness, now coupled with a refined, deeply mature charm, and a physique as sturdy as any trained Knight's, made him an irresistibly attractive figure to women of all ages. Even when the Marquise was alive and present, the stream of women shamelessly pursuing him had never ceased.
He was not only exceptionally well-featured but also the powerful head of a prominent Marquisate. Crucially, his only officially recognized heir was a daughter, who could not inherit the title. The death of the Marquise had left her elevated position glaringly vacant. The Marquis currently lacked a male successor. The ability to claim the seat beside him meant instantly grasping immense wealth and power.
The women targeting this powerful vacancy were endless: from wide-eyed young ladies making their nervous debut, to savvy, sophisticated widows looking to secure their next position, and aristocratic families desperately pushing their eligible daughters forward. They gathered like a swarm of ants drawn irresistibly to sweet candy, circling his orbit.
Yet, just as he had consistently done while the Marquise was alive, he systematically ignored the advances of these women. He flatly dismissed the nobles who presented their daughters. He had even forbidden his own household staff from ever mentioning the possibility of a second marriage.
‘The Marquis never took a second wife, not until the moment of my death in the future I remember.’
Perhaps he hadn't hated her as intensely as I had always believed. No, I realized, I desperately wanted to believe he hadn't hated her. If she, who was my tragic double, was not hated by the man she sacrificed everything for, then maybe I could find some measure of comfort that the man I had loved didn't entirely despise me, either.
The fire, which had roared with such terrifying intensity, finally subsided into a warm glow, and then a quiet pile of ashes and bone fragments. The cremated remains were collected, placed into a small wooden box, and handed to the Marquis. He then extended the box toward me. I received the box with both hands, following his silent instruction. The urn, barely two spans wide, was surprisingly light.
The Marquis then produced a small knife. The blade, about a span in length, was finely polished and looked dangerously sharp. He gathered a thick handful of his own navy-blue hair and, with a swift movement, sliced it off. The strands fell away, and he carefully collected them, placing them inside the box with her ashes. This was the final, intimate rite before the interment in the columbarium.
This ritual of placing a lock of hair from the direct blood relative inside the urn symbolized the belief that the bond and relationship would continue, unbroken, even in death.
Page 36: The Unexpected Entrant
The Marquis then turned and, without a word, cut a lock of my golden-brown hair as well. The two distinct colors—his navy-blue and my gold-brown—mingled inside the box. He closed the lid and took the urn back from me. The final step—interment in the columbarium—was all that remained.
The Marquise’s remaining immediate family included the Marquis, me, and her father, Count Pisheon. But the Count was absent. After standing vigil by the Marquis for three grueling days, the elderly man had finally collapsed just before the final procedure. Although usually vigorous for his age, even his strength was no match for the shock and sorrow of his daughter's suicide.
He had lost his wife young and had raised the Marquise with a degree of devotion and affection that was legendary even among the devoted nobles. His daughter's self-destruction must have been a debilitating trauma.
He remained unconscious. The doctor's firm diagnosis was severe stress and exhaustion caused by profound shock. As the final rites could not be delayed, they proceeded with only the Marquis and me.
The Marquis held the urn and began walking toward the columbarium. I followed silently behind him.
“I hope I haven’t arrived too late.”
A woman was waiting near the entrance to the columbarium, blocking our path. She executed a deep, elegant curtsey toward the Marquis.
“I was regretfully unable to enter the cremation site, as I am not direct family, so I waited patiently here.”
She covered her mouth with her hand, a coy, apologetic gesture suggesting her presence was entirely necessary. Her eyes, which narrowed into charming crescent moons, formed a practiced, flirtatious eye-smile.
“You have no idea how anxious I was that I might have missed the end of the ceremony,” she murmured.
She dropped the smile and approached us. Without the cheerful eye-smile, her face suddenly appeared pitifully fragile and sorrowful. Her naturally downturned eyes gave her a perpetually mournful look, and a distinct beauty mark just beneath one eye enhanced this impression, making it look like a single, black tear.
Contrasting sharply with her sorrowful expression, the black dress she wore hugged her body, revealing a conspicuously voluptuous form. Her large, pale bosom, prominently displayed, was attractive even to my female eye.
She reached into the folds of her dress and retrieved a small black silk pouch. Her movements were subtly refined, yet deliberately seductive. She opened the pouch, and a clump of cut hair spilled out—mostly white, but interspersed with streaks of vivid red.
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Page 37: The Second Countess
“I fear that he will be utterly heartbroken when he awakens and realizes he missed the final rites, so I took the liberty of this unconventional intrusion,” she explained, her voice a soft, melodic plea.
Her dark eyes were already glistening, moist with unshed tears. This sorrowful fragility, perfectly interwoven with her general aura, was a potent combination, instantly capable of eliciting a powerful protective response from any man who beheld her.
This woman was the second wife of Count Pisheon. This relationship designated her as my step-maternal-grandmother, though the complete absence of any blood relation was obvious. Notably, she was five years younger than the deceased Marquise. The gap between her age and the Count’s was an astounding thirty-two years.
I recalled the history: the first Countess Pisheon, my true grandmother, had died in childbirth, bringing the Marquise into the world. The Count, in his profound grief, had vowed never to forget her, living a solitary life for decades. His abrupt, unexpected remarriage three years ago—to a woman thirty-two years his junior—had been a massive social shock.
The age gap itself was not exceptional in aristocratic circles; men of immense power often took wives young enough to be their grandchildren. The true scandal was the mere fact of his remarriage. The man who seemed consecrated to lifelong mourning had defied all expectations, igniting fierce speculation: was he bewitched by the young lady, or had he succumbed to the folly of old age and senility?
‘Looking at her now, the rumors seem entirely credible.’
Seeing the new Countess in person, I realized her unique blend of the seductive and the fragile must have been the potent catalyst for the gossip.
This was my first time seeing her up close. In my past life, I had fled the funeral on the very first day and remained barricaded in my room for the rest of the three-day ceremony, ensuring we never crossed paths. Even afterwards, I had deliberately refused every attempt she made to meet. At the time, fueled by my haughty aristocratic pride, I had viewed her with utter contempt.
She was of commoner origin, and her past was virtually unknown, cloaked in vague rumors. The Biyonne of the past, in her insufferable arrogance, did not consider commoners to be worthy of recognition. Though she held the title of Countess and was technically my grandmother, I had never once acknowledged her.
‘I consciously acted as if she did not exist.’
The narrative of my past life continued: Shortly after the Marquise's funeral, Count Pisheon suddenly died, seemingly mirroring his daughter’s fate. The swift demise of a powerful, active man sparked immediate, widespread suspicion.
The Countess was quickly named the primary suspect in what became a protracted legal battle fueled by the unimaginable, astronomical size of the Count’s fortune. I had pieced together that she was eventually acquitted due to a lack of irrefutable evidence and successfully inherited his vast fortune as his legal wife. I recalled my Wet Nurse’s bitter, constant complaints that "that wicked, scheming woman had stolen the master’s fortune, which by rights should have belonged to the Young Lady!"
Page 38: The Cost of Obsession
The exact details of that inheritance struggle had escaped me then. The Biyonne of the past considered a single moment of the Emperor’s attention infinitely more valuable than any astronomical sum of money. Obsessed and blindly devoted, I held no interest in the fortune that was technically mine.
‘And I possessed absolutely no understanding of finances.’
As the Marquis’s legitimate daughter, I lived in perpetual financial abundance. I had never known a material lack. The Marquis, while emotionally distant, placed no restrictions on my spending habits.
My extravagance was excessive. Objectively, I had probably spent enough money to crash the economy of several smaller cities. My spending only escalated after I became Empress. The deeper my emotional thirst for the Emperor’s love grew, the more desperately I tried to quench that emptiness with luxury and reckless consumption. The colder and more indifferent he became, the larger my spending became.
The annual personal budget for the Empress was limited. But once those funds were depleted, I did not stop. I recklessly burned through the Marquisate's funds and my substantial private inheritance from the Marquise. But even that inheritance, however substantial, was not an endless spring. The law of the world dictated that what is spent must run out.
I had never felt a pinch of financial hardship before my death. However, recalling my consumption, I highly doubted that my wealth could have truly supported my decade of extreme decadence. A sudden, practical urgency seized me: I needed to immediately assess my current financial standing.
“These are his hairs, my Lord,” she stated, holding the silk pouch toward the Marquis. He wordlessly opened the urn’s lid. With careful, graceful movements, she transferred the lock of hair from the pouch into the box.
Once she was finished, the Marquis closed the lid. She executed another deep, respectful bow toward him.
“I truly cannot find the words to express my gratitude to you, my Lord.”
“I merely performed my duty,” he replied, his voice flat.
With that, he turned and stepped through the entrance into the columbarium. I moved to follow, but the Countess reached out and placed a surprisingly firm, yet gentle, hand on my arm.
“Young Lady, would you please consider going to see him?”
Page 39: The Glimmer of Value
I looked up at her, meeting her gaze. Her eyes, still slightly watery, were captivating. She possessed a dual nature that was heartbreakingly vulnerable and strangely alluring.
“He has missed you deeply, Young Lady.”
Count Pisheon was a colossal figure in commerce. His influence, though based in the Empire, extended globally.
His legendary business acumen was encapsulated in the phrase, ‘All money flows into the Pisheon Trading Company.’ While the Pisheon family had always been rich, the current Count had reached the zenith of financial power.
He was a man who personally traveled the world, rarely spending more than a handful of days each year in the Imperial capital. Once the Marquise had gone mad, he had avoided the capital entirely.
The claim that he missed me was therefore utterly ridiculous. Had he truly wished to see me, his means were unlimited; he would have come. His absence had been a clear, conscious choice.
“Why?” I asked, my voice flat and devoid of expected politeness.
My bluntness seemed to momentarily disarm her; her eyes widened slightly in surprise. But the shock vanished instantly, and she quickly masked her emotion, replacing it with a soft, gentle smile.
“Because you are his only living blood relative,” she explained.
Her tone was profoundly unsettling. Her voice was soft and gentle, but her words felt subtly edged with a sharp, calculating meaning. Her overall manner toward me appeared genuinely benevolent, which only made her underlying intention harder to discern.
Was she implying he desired to see me because I was a blood relative (driven by genuine familial affection), or due to the fact that I was his blood relative (meaning I held some inherent value or utility)? The former suggests emotion; the latter suggests exploitation or necessity.
‘Is her motive simple familial love? Or is it cold utility?’
I slowly dropped my gaze, letting it settle on the area of her lower abdomen. Her waist was incredibly slender, a stark contrast to her generous bosom, which only enhanced her delicate appearance, matching her sorrowful expression.
At the time of my death, I had been too distracted by my obsession with the Emperor to pay close attention to the Count’s situation. However, certain memories, particularly the incessant complaints from my Wet Nurse, were vivid and detailed in that regard.
Page 40: The Echo of Guilt
The animosity of my Wet Nurse toward the Countess was absolute. Whenever she had the chance, she would launch into scathing monologues filled with unsubstantiated slander. Her outrage reached its fever pitch following the Count’s death. The Wet Nurse was utterly convinced that the Countess was a cold-blooded murderer who had poisoned the Count for his astronomical fortune, and she loudly insisted the woman should be tortured until she confessed the truth.
In my previous life, I held little interest in the Countess or the inheritance, but I grew so weary of the constant, grating demands of the Wet Nurse that, to silence her, I ended up offering a false, highly damaging testimony against the Countess. It is highly probable that my fabricated account, coming from a direct blood relative, contributed significantly to the Countess remaining a prime suspect for an extended period, despite the lack of solid evidence.
‘And the consequence of that careless lie…’
During the lengthy investigation and interrogation process, she suffered a devastating miscarriage.
It was necessary to clarify that she was not subjected to the physical torture the Wet Nurse had wished for. As the formally recognized Countess, even a commoner by birth, physical abuse would have constituted a massive scandal.
However, the absence of physical violence did not equate to the absence of brutal psychological distress. Being publicly accused of murder and subjected to official questioning is profoundly taxing for a stable person. For a woman in the vulnerable state of early pregnancy, those days must have been impossibly grueling and traumatic.
I clearly remembered the Wet Nurse's wicked, triumphant reaction to the news of the miscarriage, declaring it to be divine punishment. Now, staring at the Countess, I subtly directed my gaze toward her lower abdomen, which, naturally, showed no outward signs of pregnancy yet.
“You are no longer destined to be his sole living blood relative.”
The Countess’s face froze instantly, a mask of shock replacing her practiced fragility.
I was genuinely uncertain whether she was guilty of murder. She could be the wicked opportunist seeking the Count’s wealth, as the rumors suggested, or she could be a pathetic woman tragically caught in the web of malicious gossip.
Just as before, I wasn't deeply concerned with her true character. I simply found myself clinging to the faint hope that the child in her womb would survive. Even if, as rumor suggested, the child was not the Count's, I felt an inexplicable urge to save that life, if it were possible.
‘This foreign emotion... it is so unlike me.’
This wasn't a sudden, grand epiphany of moral goodness. I knew I was still fundamentally an intensely selfish, self-absorbed person, primarily concerned with my own comfort and safety. The thought of making any sacrifice for this unknown child was entirely outside the realm of possibility.
Perhaps this was merely a fleeting sentiment, a passing whim typical of my unstable nature. But right now, in this moment, I desperately wished that this unborn child would not die. I had witnessed enough death, and I wanted no more extinguished lives.
Page 41: The Volatile Secret
‘…Perhaps, in the end, it is nothing more than a faint sliver of self-inflicted guilt.’
“You must be laboring under some serious delusion, Young Lady. You are his only blood relative, categorically.”
Her face was now deeply shadowed, the expression carefully guarded. Despite her efforts, the dark intensity of the emotions swirling beneath the surface was palpable. It was clear there was a painful, complicated history involving the child. Ignoring her distress, I drilled straight to the core issue.
“Is that child not truly of the Pisheon bloodline?”
“Young Lady, I must insist, your words are utterly unpardonable!”
Her mouth trembled violently. This sudden eruption of fierce, unrestrained emotion was a dramatic departure from her previous soft, alluring persona. The look in her eyes was viscerally murderous. Had intent been lethal, I would have instantly collapsed; the sheer hatred in her gaze was shocking.
Judging by the intensity of her reaction, it appeared she was still unaware of the child's existence. The Count was scheduled to die exactly two months after the Marquise's funeral. The official, publicized cause of his death was natural causes stemming from profound grief.
The Countess had suffered the miscarriage after his funeral, during her interrogation. It was highly plausible that she had been completely ignorant of the pregnancy until the physical loss occurred.
“Extreme excitement is highly detrimental to the child’s health.”
“Young Lady!”
Her tightly clenched fist was shaking visibly. Her reaction was extremely volatile and disproportionate. Although the Count was advanced in age, he was certainly capable of siring a child. A typical person would likely react with a questioning "What if? Surely not?" and consider the possibility of pregnancy. However, the Countess seemed to reject the very notion entirely.
I hesitated to overstep, but having started this impossible conversation, I felt compelled to see it through, accepting the minor inconvenience.
‘A few more words will cost me nothing.’
“Whether you choose to believe me is entirely your freedom, Countess. However, if you genuinely wish to avoid losing that child, you must take proper care of your health. You should also consider informing the Count, if he is indeed the father.”
If he suddenly discovered he had a child on the way, no parent would willingly choose to surrender their life. It was possible the Count might survive—provided, of course, that his death was genuinely natural, and not the result of foul play.
“He is your maternal grandfather.”
Page 42: The True Source of Animosity
She was undeniably adept at emotional control. She regarded me with an unsettling composure, as if her recent burst of fury had never occurred. However, something remained unconcealed—or perhaps, something she chose not to mask. Her eyes were still ablaze with intense scrutiny directed squarely at me.
“He is the Count, not the grandfather.”
“…”
Her fury regarding the child was understandable; my questioning of the child’s lineage was a blatant insult. But her outrage over my choice of address for the Count was genuinely confusing.
She was reacting with far greater sensitivity to my use of a relational title than to the suggestion of her own infidelity.
“My form of address remains my prerogative, Countess.”
“Why do you people… why do you always receive so much from him…?”
‘Ah.’
The realization struck me with the force of an epiphany. I finally understood the complex mix of genuine kindness and hidden resentment she directed at me. Women in love, I concluded, were all essentially the same: utterly blind, and often fiercely possessive. She felt a strange, inherent warmth for me because I physically resembled the Count, but she was simultaneously overcome with intense jealousy because I, as his blood relative, received his attention and concern naturally.
She was deeply in love with the Count.
“By ‘you people,’ are you referring to the Marquise and myself?” I challenged.
Her face twisted in utter bewilderment. She looked at me as if I were a complete lunatic.
“The Marquise? She is your…”
“My family is no more than a collection of strangers to me now,” I interrupted her. In my former life, I had desperately yearned for my parents' affection. I craved my father, the Marquis’s, attention and the warmth of my mother, the Marquise.
But as Lee Jia, I had received all the love a daughter could need: my father’s reliable affection and nagging, who walked me home every single day, and my mother’s warmth, who lovingly packed me side dishes for my time away.
My consciousness as Lee Jia was currently the dominant force within me. To this current self, the individuals related by blood were simply not family.
A significant amount of time had been wasted. I had nothing further to say to her.
‘My brief attempt at intervention ends here.’
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Page 43: The Performance of Grief
I had delivered my warning with absolute clarity. The child’s fate was now entirely in the Countess’s hands. If she heeded my unusual caution, the life would be spared; if she disregarded it, the outcome would tragically repeat. While I sincerely hoped the child would survive, my involvement ended here. I could do no more.
“He is your maternal grandfather! Are you truly going to refuse to visit him?” she called out, her voice filled with desperate urgency as I continued toward the columbarium. I left her standing alone and entered the solemn stone building.
When I eventually returned to my suite after the quiet interment of the ashes, the first thing I saw was the dramatically tear-streaked face of my Wet Nurse.
“Oh, my poor, poor, abandoned Young Lady!” she wailed, rushing toward me. “How could my Lady be so cruelly heartless? To leave the Young Lady all alone to face this world… sob, sob.”
The truth was, I had managed perfectly well by myself even when the Marquise was alive—a solitary child, self-sufficient out of necessity. Yet, the Wet Nurse wept with a harrowing, theatrical sorrow, as if my entire life structure had been destroyed. Two young ladies-in-waiting stood awkwardly beside her, patting her back and offering murmured consolations.
‘The exhaustion is immense.’
A sudden, dizzying wave of fatigue washed over me.
Although I hadn't been required to maintain a presence throughout the three-day funeral—as a minor, only the first and last days were mandatory—even that limited attendance had exhausted this young, unprepared body.
Despite my physical fatigue, I couldn’t help but observe their performance. What was the purpose of this blatant display of grief and pity? I sank into the plush sofa. The soft, yielding cushions of the elegant furniture wrapped around my body, offering immediate comfort. The urge to simply close my eyes and sleep was overwhelming.
“Please, Wet Nurse, you must stop crying.”
“You will surely collapse from the strain if you continue.”
“Be strong for her! If even you fall ill, what will become of our poor, vulnerable Young Lady?”
‘This entire scene is utterly ridiculous.’
Perhaps they were too invested in their own roles to notice the cold appraisal in my eyes, but they continued their persistent flattery disguised as sympathetic comfort. Apparently energized by their empty words, the Wet Nurse only wept louder and more sorrowfully.
“I know I must be strong! I must! But how can I… sob, sob, my poor, poor, darling Young Lady!”
‘I am neither poor nor pathetic.’
If a stranger were to listen, they would assume I was the one who had been placed in the urn.
Page 44: A Vexing Disturbance
The Wet Nurse had always possessed an irritating tendency to exaggerate every small tribulation into a major crisis. The Marquise's death was not a small matter, but the reality was that her passing carried little emotional weight for me, then or now.
I could accept the Wet Nurse’s genuine grief; she and the Marquise had been raised side-by-side, almost as sisters. To feel no sadness would be unnatural.
While I tried to be tolerant of her sincere sorrow, my rising irritation was now battling with my profound drowsiness. The sleep was winning the battle, and I decided to prioritize rest over correction. My eyelids slowly began to drift closed. Across the threshold of my vision, the call of deep sleep beckoned—the world’s most potent, seductive invitation.
“...You absolutely cannot enter.”
“I insist, step aside! I must have an audience…”
Faint, muffled sounds of a sharp argument penetrated my drowsy state. They say that the heaviest thing in the world is the eyelid. My mind was attempting to surface, but the enormous weight of my lids kept my eyes shut. Since I felt no immediate, personal danger, I tried to sink back into the seductive darkness.
If my presence were truly required, the Wet Nurse would have roused me instantly. Since no one was attempting to wake me, I assumed the argument was irrelevant. I prepared to surrender fully to sleep. The allure of slumber was overwhelming, and I would have been completely lost to it had the commotion not intensified dramatically.
“I demand you let me pass.”
“The Young Lady has expressed no desire to see you.”
“I will only accept that refusal if I hear it from the Young Lady herself.”
“If you continue this unseemly behavior, I will be forced to summon the Marquis’s Knights.”
The Wet Nurse was clearly engaged in a heated dispute. I tried to ignore it, but the voices escalated further.
There was no female servant in this Marquisate who would dare to challenge the Wet Nurse. She had been the Marquise’s milk-sister and was brought into the Elient house as her personal attendant upon marriage. After my birth, she served as my Wet Nurse and eventually assumed the functional role of head of all domestic staff.
No maid or servant would dream of questioning her authority. The Marquis rarely interfered with internal domestic affairs, and the Marquise was disinterested in management. The Wet Nurse was the functional mistress of the household. Only three people had the standing to contradict her: the master, the Marquis; myself; and the house butler, who oversaw general administration.
Page 45: Challenging Authority
The Marquis was currently occupied and thus unavailable—pass. I was currently semi-conscious—excluded.
‘That leaves only the butler…’
But the butler was a man. Furthermore, the unfamiliar, arguing female voice sounded strangely familiar, resonating with a memory. Finally, I exerted the monumental effort required to lift my heavy eyelids. A sharp spike of irritation flared against the two women who were sabotaging my rest.
“I am the Young Lady’s maternal-grandmother, in private matters. I possess more than enough right to see her, do I not?”
“How dare an upstart like you…” the Wet Nurse began to hiss.
“What exactly is going on?” I cut in, interrupting the Wet Nurse mid-sentence.
While I understood the Wet Nurse’s deep-seated contempt for the Countess, openly disrespecting her was a serious breach of decorum. Regardless of her commoner past, the woman was a recognized noble. A commoner maid adopting such a rude tone toward an aristocrat was unacceptable.
“It is nothing at all, Young Lady. You are fatigued. Please, go and rest more,” the Wet Nurse quickly insisted, rushing toward me. She attempted to use her considerable bulk to block my view and guide me toward the bedroom. I gently evaded her grasp and walked toward the Countess, who remained trapped at the doorway by the obstructing maids.
“Young Lady!” the Wet Nurse shouted, her face contorted with displeasure; she was livid at my action. Ignoring her visible disapproval, I gestured toward the Countess.
“Do not stand out there. Please, come inside.”
The maids, who were physically blocking the Countess, exchanged frantic, confused glances between me and the Wet Nurse, unsure whose authority to follow. I narrowed my eyes at the maids. Yet, they remained frozen, shifting awkwardly and sending agonizing, pleading looks toward the Wet Nurse.
“Young Lady, that woman is…”
“Who are you referring to with such a crass lack of respect?” I demanded, my voice dangerously cold.
“Ah, Young Lady…?” The Wet Nurse’s eyes widened in utter shock. My current tone and challenge to her domestic authority were entirely foreign and terrifying to her.
Page 46: The Chilling Residue of Power
For eight grueling years, I had held the title of Empress. To preserve any shred of my dignity or authority in that relentless environment, I was forced to cultivate the ability to crush any perceived weakness. The very moment any individual, especially a subordinate, sensed a crack of vulnerability, they would instantly transform into a sharp, opportunistic weapon, ready to strike and wound me.
As a young woman, I had only understood the language of childish, reckless demands. I would whine and make persistent demands, like a spoiled child begging for a toy. The people around me, recognizing my status, would fawn and submit, and I grew increasingly smug, utterly oblivious to the fact that they were mocking me internally. I blindly believed their deferential expressions and elaborate flattery were absolute, genuine truths.
I convinced myself I was special, chosen, and that their endless praise and obedience were simply the rightful tribute to my exalted position. The possibility that the entire social structure surrounding me was an elaborate sham and a colossal lie never once occurred to me. It was an appalling display of youthful arrogance and profound foolishness.
When the illusion finally shattered, the reality that followed was unadulterated hell. The same mouths that had once showered me with compliments were then used to spew venom and curses, and the influence and wealth I had naively shared were turned into the very instruments used to destroy me. Through that crucible, I was forced to learn, quickly and alone, how to survive.
I still retained a vestige of political power, and I mastered its use. A cold, detached tone and high-handed, uncompromising commands proved to be the most effective tools for wielding that residual authority. They learned to genuinely fear me. At the very least, anyone who dared to speak ill of me within earshot vanished from my life. That learned ruthlessness was what preserved me for eight years as Empress.
“Unless you have a sudden, urgent desire to keep your mouth absolutely sealed, you will exit this room immediately.”
I delivered the command to the Wet Nurse with sharp, deliberate cruelty. Her eyes instantly brimmed with tears; she looked devastated by the rejection. In my former, naive life, I would have instinctively rushed to comfort and defend her, blind to the consequences. But I could not afford that indulgence now. This cold, calculated severity was, ironically, the only way to truly protect her.
If the Countess, a woman I knew to be calculating, decided to press charges over the Wet Nurse’s public insult, the situation would escalate into an uncontrollable crisis. The Countess was a recognized aristocrat; the Wet Nurse, a commoner. That massive, rigid class difference was an unbreakable, deadly wall here.
Should the Countess make a formal request for punishment to the Marquisate, the Marquis would have no option but to comply with the noble’s demands. The Wet Nurse had undeniably insulted a member of the peerage, and the crime of contempt against the aristocracy was considered one of the most severe offenses under Imperial law.
“Oh, h-how could the Young Lady… how could you do this… to me?”
The Wet Nurse appeared utterly shattered, her lips trembling uncontrollably. For her, who had only ever known the spoiled child nestled comfortably beneath her protective skirts, this unexpected, icy rejection was a devastating betrayal.
Page 47: The Price of Disobedience
I had no patience left to deal with the Wet Nurse’s profound, debilitating distress. My priority was clearing the room. I pointed decisively toward the two maids who were still blocking the Countess's way at the entrance.
“The two of you will take the Wet Nurse and escort her out of my sight.”
“…Pardon, Young Lady?”
“Young Lady!” the Wet Nurse shrieked.
Despite receiving a direct, unambiguous command from their Young Lady, the maids still instinctively looked nervously toward the Wet Nurse for confirmation. Their moment of hesitation was a loud, clear testament to how deeply I had been controlled by the Wet Nurse's influence in the past. I had suspected the extent of my own submission, but their outright disobedience was far worse than I had estimated.
The complex, power-laden dynamics of my environment, which I had been completely blind to before, were now perfectly transparent. My more dominant Lee Jia ego allowed me to observe the world with a rational, objective clarity that Biyonne never possessed.
I hardened my voice further, addressing the cowering maids with a chilling intensity.
“Do you both wish to be formally charged and dragged out alongside her?”
Terrified by the implied threat of official punishment, the maids instantly grabbed the Wet Nurse's arms. However, the combined strength of the two slender women was insufficient to move the Wet Nurse’s considerable, resisting bulk. I shot a harsh look toward another maid standing uselessly nearby. Unlike the first two, she had the presence of mind to realize the danger and quickly rushed to assist her companions.
“Oh, Young Lady, how could you… how could you…?” the Wet Nurse continued to wail, her voice fading as she was physically pulled from the room. She would undoubtedly be deeply offended and hold a bitter grudge. The mere thought of having to placate her later was enough to make my head throb. I was uniquely and profoundly exhausted today.
“Please, do not remain standing, Countess. Take a seat.”
I moved to an elegant chair beside a small side table and indicated the opposite seat for the Countess. She looked at me with an odd, penetrating expression as she moved.
“I assume you did not come here merely to admire my room’s decor?” I prompted, my tone neutral.
“You are, quite definitively, not the girl I was told about, Young Lady,” she murmured, accepting the chair. Her gaze never wavered from me. Ignoring her intense scrutiny, I waved a hand, summoning the last remaining maid in the room. The maid scurried instantly to my side.
“Two cups of lavender tea.”
The maid, relieved to have a clear task, hurried out of the room. I settled deep into the luxurious chair, continuing to observe the Countess. She maintained that strange, unreadable expression. We were now completely and dangerously alone.
Page 48: The Negotiation
“I strongly suspect that is not the substance of the conversation you traveled here to have, is it?”
I met her stare directly, refusing to flinch.
A heavy, deliberate silence settled between us, thick with unspoken tension. The Countess finally let out a small, measured sigh, conceding the opening move.
“Regarding your Wet Nurse, as you call her. If I were to formally press charges for the severe crime of contempt against the aristocracy, what would your course of action be?”
Just as my calculated move predicted, she was not going to let the insult pass unpunished. I had taken the preemptive, harsh action precisely to avoid this entanglement. The realization tasted bitter.
“I find evasion utterly tedious. Please, state your demands clearly, Countess. What do you want?”
“I want you to meet him. Just once—please, grant the Count a single meeting.”
💝🤗
Page 49: The Count's Final Regret
Under the duress of the Wet Nurse's threatened prosecution, I eventually found myself agreeing to go and visit the Count.
He was being accommodated in the private, most luxurious wing of the guest annex, a detached building from the main mansion. After his dramatic collapse mid-funeral, he had, according to reports, stabilized and regained consciousness only a short while after the interment ceremony had concluded.
The Countess had informed me that the very first person the Count had requested to see upon waking was me. The subtle, almost imperceptible hardening of her features as she relayed this piece of information betrayed a bitterness that transcended mere formality; it was the pain of a lover realizing her position was secondary.
“M-my ch… my dear child…”
The Count, who was propped up in the grand bed, brightened momentarily when he saw me and attempted to push himself into a sitting position. He was terribly weak and struggled visibly, unable to complete the simple action in a single attempt. The Countess, ever watchful, swiftly moved to his side, placing careful hands on his back to support his dangerously frail body.
In the span of just a few days, the Count appeared to have aged a full decade. He was severely emaciated, his wrinkled cheeks sunken, creating deep, hollow shadows. He weakly extended a hand, motioning for me to come closer. Even that feeble gesture seemed to cost him immense, agonizing effort. His arm, trembling uncontrollably, resembled nothing so much as the brittle, dry branch of an ancient tree.
Witnessing his pathetic state, I felt a sharp, definitive confirmation: the circulating conjecture was utterly wrong. The Countess had not murdered the Count. The truth was far simpler and more tragic. She had no reason to; the Count’s eyes already reflected a profound abandonment of the will to live.
The shocking death of his daughter must have delivered a blow so catastrophic that it effectively severed his final attachment to the world. His urgent desire to see me now, I surmised, was rooted in the heartbreaking certainty that this was to be his final farewell.
I moved across the room and stood by his bedside. The Count stretched his hand out again, and his fingers closed over mine in a grasp that was disconcertingly fragile. His skin, as dry and parchment-like as it appeared, felt intensely rough and coarse against my own.
“Are you… are you truly alright, my dear child?” he managed, his voice a strained whisper.
Page 50: The Silent Tears
I simply stared at the Count. There was no rational reason for me not to be alright. The Marquise and I had maintained the distant, formal relationship of two strangers, even when she was alive. In the past, the resentment I harbored for her was deep and personal. Now, she was merely a detached, unfortunate character from a life I had rejected. I held no lingering remorse or bitterness toward her. My feelings were reduced to a purely objective, distant pity for her as a woman.
‘Could she truly find no option other than that desperate, extreme act of suicide?’
I was in no position to judge. I, too, had chosen that very same final path. I remembered vividly cursing the man who refused to see me, and cursing the entire world that had relentlessly driven me to the edge of the abyss.
‘In that past life, was there truly no alternative? Could I not have found a different, better choice?’
The raw agony and absolute desperation of that self-destructive moment remained chillingly vivid in my mind. At that time, my mind could not conceive of any solution other than destroying myself. I craved an immediate, profound release from that hellish torment. Moreover, I had already reached a state of utter, profound exhaustion from my relentless love for him.
Because I had made the Marquise's choice, I possessed a horrifying understanding of her final desperation and pain. Both she and I had been too blindly devoted to the corrosive power of love. With our vision clouded by that powerful emotion, we had committed the ultimate folly.
‘And now? Can I stop myself from repeating that foolish, self-destructive decision this time?’
The sudden, chilling realization made my entire body feel like it was doused in liquid ice. Emotions I had meticulously suppressed began to surface, creeping and insidious. I had not yet encountered him, the Emperor. If I were to see him again, what catastrophic path would I follow?
‘Will I fall instantly in love again, destined to repeat those identical, destructive choices?’
My fingertips began to tremble violently, an uncontrollable tremor. I was gripped by an overwhelming fear of a future that had not yet materialized. I was terrified of the Biyonne who would inevitably succumb to that fatal love once more.
“I am so profoundly sorry for everything.”
A sudden, unexpected warmth engulfed me. The Count had, with a surge of hidden strength, pulled me into his arms. He stroked my back slowly, repeatedly, with his rough, enormous hands.
“No matter how distracted or tormented I was, I should never, ever have ignored you. This failure, this crushing sorrow, is all my fault.”
The Count’s body, holding me tightly, began to shake with a subtle, painful tremor. He was weeping. I gently eased myself out of his embrace and looked up at his face. Warm tears were carving paths down the deep, dry lines of his wrinkles.
He cupped my cheeks with both of his hands. They were coarse and calloused, yet radiated a comforting warmth.
“Everything—it is all your grandfather’s terrible mistake. So please, stop crying like this, my child.”
I was confused by the Count’s words. It was clearly he who was weeping, not I. His face was crumpled with overwhelming, genuine sorrow as he stared at me.
He gently brushed his thumb beneath my eyes. Under his touch, I felt something warm and unmistakably wet.
“Don’t weep so terribly, my child, when you cannot even make a sound.”
Reflected in his tear-filled eyes, I saw the undeniable truth: I was silently crying.
The name echoed in a sterile void, and as if a curtain had risen on a grand, tragic stage, I found myself an unwilling spectator to a woman's entire, tumultuous life. It was a dizzying, accelerated viewing, like flipping through a thousand-page memoir in a single breath.
She was ushered into the world not just as the legitimate daughter of a powerful Marquisate, but as an ornament, a jewel polished by immense privilege. From her very first breath, the world seemed to bend to her will. Her unblemished, ethereal beauty—a cascade of gold hair and eyes the color of a winter sky—combined with the unyielding, solid power of her lineage. This confluence of fortune was a poison that seeped into her soul, fostering an arrogance so deeply rooted it became the bedrock of her personality.
To Biyonne, life was a stage, and she was the eternal, flawless protagonist. Anywhere she went, the air thickened with attention. Praise overflowed; it was the ceaseless background music of her existence. Courtiers, hopeful suitors, and envious ladies alike formed a constant, glittering entourage. When she achieved the pinnacle, the absolute highest station a woman in that society could aspire to—the title of Empress—she didn't feel gratitude or awe. She felt only a cold, profound certainty. It was only natural. That sacred, supreme place was hers, predestined. To her mind, no one possessed the audacity, the inherent right, to covet her position. It was a delusion of iron and glass.
The Downward Spiral
"A foolish woman," I muttered, the words tasting of ash in the void.
Her conviction was a fragile, self-constructed bubble. And like all bubbles, it was not destined to last. Time, the relentless executioner of all delusions, began its work. The years marched on, and the life that had once climbed with the effortless speed of a peregrine falcon began its inexorable, horrifying descent.
The absolute, supreme position she had so coveted transformed with brutal speed. It became a gilded cage, a fiercely sharp blade that slowly, deliberately choked her neck. Her authority, once a source of strength, now drew blood. The beautiful façade of her life began to crack, revealing the rot and resentment beneath.
The glittering crowd that had once sung her praises—the friends, the vassals, the lovers—all underwent a grotesque metamorphosis. They twisted into a pack of starving hyenas, their smiles replaced by bared teeth, rushing in a frenzy to tear her magnificent reign, and her very being, to shreds. The whispers became accusations, the adoration curdled into hate, and the loyalty proved to be nothing more than self-serving ambition.
The Bitter End
In the last, horrifying act of her play, she was cornered. Stripped of her title, her retinue, and her dignity, she was nothing more than a woman facing the scaffold. Until the very last, ragged moment, she didn't accept her fate. Her cries were not pleas for mercy, but furious, heart-wrenching screams of injustice.
She didn't just lament her fate; she cursed the world. She spat blood, a final, visceral rejection of a universe that had dared to take back the gifts it had so lavishly bestowed.
A low, scornful scoff involuntarily escaped me at her frantic, utterly wasteful suffering. Why? I wondered with a detached fury. Why does she crave their fleeting love? Why does she desire what is not hers to keep?
The answer was stark, simple, and utterly ignored by the pathetic figure before me. "All she has to do is abandon those who do not love her." To simply let go of the poisoned fruit of their attention.
Her last, shallow, rattling breath was drawn. Her body, once so regal and defiant, finally collapsed, a tragic heap of expensive fabric and broken pride, scattering a startling crimson blood upon the cold stone floor.
I thought, with a sense of finality, it is over.
But as the red seeped into the ground, she moved. Slowly, agonizingly, she lifted her head. Her eyes, once a frosty sky, were now steeped in a deep, terrifying green light, transparent and shining like a jewel, yet entirely unhinged. It was the luminescence of pure, distilled madness, and it was fixed not on the indifferent sky, but directly at me.
Her lips, painted a vivid red as if already stained with her own lifeblood, curved into a slow, chilling smile as they slowly moved. The words were a whisper, but they cut through the void like a scream, carrying the weight of a dying soul's curse.
"Don't forget. I am you. Ee. Ji. Ah."
The green light intensified, consuming everything. A pitch-black darkness, cold and suffocating, erupted from her and enveloped me, pulling me down into a terrifying abyss of shared destiny. The spectator was now the participant. The play had ended, and the new life was about to begin.
******
Awakening in a Gilded Cage
Page 4: The Body of a Child
My dazed mind, which had just witnessed the entire rise and catastrophic fall of a woman's life—her brief, soaring laughter, her bitter tears, and her final, blood-soaked screams—slowly began to coalesce and clear. The panoramic reel of Biyonne Rossa Elient's tragedy folded away, leaving only the chilling echo of her last words: "I am you. Ee. Ji. Ah."
I slowly opened my eyes. The room was submerged in the faint, gray darkness of predawn, a transitional light that seemed to swallow sound and dimension. Lying still, I held a hand up toward the gloom. In the weak light, I saw a hand that was unnervingly small, white, and delicately soft.
"It's small," I whispered, the voice that emerged from my throat a high, unfamiliar treble.
I slowly clenched and unclenched the tiny fist a couple of times. The hand, with its perfect, childish obedience, faithfully executed my command. My consciousness, or whatever fragmented entities now comprised 'me,' was tethered to this body. I pushed my upper body up, the movement feeling surprisingly light, and pulled my feet out from under the heavy silk blanket.
Sure enough, my toes—white and almost doll-like—wiggled according to my command. I spread my palm out again, comparing its miniature scale to the distant, wiggling toes. The feeling was a profound paradox: familiar in its mechanical function, yet strangely foreign in its size and texture.
I pulled my feet completely out of the blanket’s warmth and slipped them into the slippers waiting dutifully below the bed. The cold air of the dawn kissed my ankles, instantly followed by the fluffy, exquisite texture of the fur lining inside the slippers. The contrast sent a thrilling, wake-up jolt through me.
'That certainly woke me up,' I thought, rubbing my soles against the plush lining, savoring the subtle, ticklish sensation. This acute, hyper-realistic sensory input was the undeniable proof. This was no fleeting nightmare; this was reality.
I adjusted the slippers and moved with an almost dreamlike certainty. Even in the dim light, my body—or the deep, instinctive memory stored within it—knew the exact location of the window, concealed behind the thick, heavy blackout curtains. I grabbed one side of the luxurious fabric and pulled it back forcefully, expecting the smooth, familiar slide of a modern curtain rail.
Instead of the expected swish and sweep, the curtain fluttered violently once, then, tethered by some unseen restraint, it stubbornly returned to its place, completely re-covering the window. I was stunned by the simple, incomprehensible resistance.
'Why? What is going on?' I lifted one side of the curtain with my hand. Although dim, enough light illuminated the room to show me the truth. Holding the curtain back, I looked at the seam where it was attached. Instead of the familiar, sleek curtain rail, stout, decorative hooks protruding from the wall were firmly securing the heavy drapery. This too, like the small hands and high bed, was a sight that felt both familiar from the memory-play and utterly unfamiliar to the core of Ee Ji Ah.
After manually unfastening and tying back both sides of the thick curtain to the hooks next to the window frame, I turned around. The room flooded with the clear, cool light allowed by the enormous window. Satisfied that the sunlight was reaching every corner, I sought my original, desperate goal: the mirror.
It stood exactly where the Biyonne memories dictated, tall and imposing, quietly waiting.
Page 5: The Reflection and the Riddle
I walked slowly, the soft fur of the slippers muffling my steps, and stood directly before the mirror's silvered surface.
My hair—a luxurious, slightly tangled mane of gold-brown that appeared pure blonde in the direct sunlight—cascaded past my shoulders and down to my waist, curling in soft, expensive-looking waves.
In the reflection, a child with sparkling, unnervingly deep green eyes stared back, blinking slowly. The slight, elegant upturn of her eyes gave her a perpetually poised and haughty look, like a perfectly bred cat with a volatile temper. This was Biyonne Rossa Elient, but younger than the final, cursed Biyonne I had witnessed.
I lifted a tiny finger and gently pressed my cheek. The chubby, resilient baby fat, characteristic of early childhood, pressed down then sprang back with a disconcerting liveliness.
It was a face both familiar from the tragic play and yet wholly not my own. I gave a hard tug at my cheek. The skin stretched out, elastic and 'mochi-like,' accompanied by a sharp, undeniably real pain. This was either a much younger version than the adult Biyonne I remembered, or perhaps exactly the age she was when her fateful, cursed path began.
"Biyonne Rossa Elient."
The name, both her final curse and my current identity, lingered in my mouth, the foreign sound echoing my confusion.
I looked deeper into the mirror. The image of the child with chubby cheeks wavered, and a split-second vision—the adult Biyonne—was super-imposed on the glass.
‘Don't forget. I am you.’
The green eyes, steeped in madness and vengeance, stared straight at me from inside the mirror, the ghost of her fury palpable. Her painted red lips slowly parted in a silent accusation.
‘Ee Ji Ah.’
In an instant, her image dissolved, replaced by a third face: an exhausted, utterly ordinary woman. It was a face different from Biyonne's exquisite beauty, yet overwhelmingly familiar. That was the face of Ee Ji Ah, the life I remembered as my own.
Just like watching a play, Ee Ji Ah had been a third party observing Biyonne’s life. But now, the roles were impossibly intertwined.
Am I the resurrected Biyonne, who died cursing the world? Am I Ee Ji Ah, who simply died after living a fairly ordinary, boring life? Or am I the young Biyonne who has been granted a horrifying vision of the future? Which life came first, and which followed?
In the mirror, the young Biyonne's reflection solidified once more, staring intently, her green eyes now a mirror of my own confusion.
"Perhaps this entire thing is just a simple dream, not a memory," I mused aloud, the suggestion sounding thin and desperate even to my own ears.
My head was flooded with impossible questions, yet surprisingly, I wasn't lost in panic. With such a jumbled mess of identities—a dead noblewoman, a modern office worker, and a childhood self—one would expect a full-blown identity crisis. Instead, my mind was startlingly clear. It was almost as if someone had simply handed me the definitive answer to a difficult problem:
I was Biyonne Rossa Elient, who died cursing the world, and I was Ee Ji Ah, who died after living a moderately unremarkable life, and now, I was Biyonne Rossa Elient, standing before the mirror and observing my own reflection. All three were true.
“Oh, my!”
Page 6: The Maid and the Scrutiny
Startled by the short, sharp gasp, I spun my head towards the sound. A young woman, a maid, stood frozen in the doorway, a porcelain washbasin clutched in her hands. The moment our eyes met, she instantly covered her mouth and dropped into a low, frightened bow.
“I—I did not realize you were awake, Miss. I will fetch the washbasin immediately.”
Before I could form a response, the woman fled the room, moving with the terrified speed of a hunted deer. She was clearly rattled by my unusually early wake-up.
The 'me' of Biyonne's memories, the imperious child whose life I had just watched, would have demanded utter perfection. Everything had to be prepared the moment I stirred: lukewarm washing water—infused with fragrant flower petals, no less—and the day's elaborate dress and accessories carefully laid out. Any lapse, any sign of imperfection, meant I would be irritable and punishing all day. The logistical impossibility of perfectly predicting my erratic wake-up time was never a consideration for the original Biyonne.
At least, not until yesterday.
“I—I apologize,” the maid whimpered, having returned with the basin and a new, desperate fear in her eyes. She knelt and bowed her head so low her forehead nearly touched the carpet.
The 'me' of yesterday—the haughty child—would have been instantly furious and issued a harsh reprimand, perhaps even a summary firing. But the 'me' of now, this composite soul, was not angry at all.
'It's just that the situation is a bit awkward,' I decided, trying to figure out the appropriate response for a spoiled young noble.
I looked down at her, analyzing her posture. Her hands, clasped tightly and anxiously between the folds of her apron, were twitching pitifully. Her skin, where visible, was rough and tanned, covered in small cuts and nicks—the undeniable marks of hard labor.
"What is your name?" I asked, keeping my voice level, the question simply a way to gain a moment to think.
“...Pardon?” The maid looked up, her wide eyes reflecting genuine shock.
"I asked what your name is."
It was clearly an unexpected question. She was older than my child-body, perhaps sixteen or seventeen, but her face was still soft with lingering baby fat. Her tanned skin and work-worn hands marked her as the lowest rank among the household staff.
Even among the maids, there was a rigid hierarchy. There were those who did all the menial tasks like laundry and dishwashing, and those who directly attended to the master or mistress. The latter group, who served the nobility's personal needs, were often called ladies-in-waiting (or handmaidens) and notoriously looked down on the grunt-working maids.
‘In the eyes of the true nobles, they all look equally base anyway,’ Biyonne's old, cruel thought pattern surfaced, only to be immediately rejected by Ee Ji Ah's conscience. This was a new life, and the contempt felt foreign and wasteful.
"My name... it is Lian, Miss." She finally managed to whisper, her eyes still wide with apprehension, waiting for the inevitable lash of my childish temper.
I had the knowledge of the past and the future—a monstrous, double-edged weapon. This maid, Lian, was an unfamiliar face in Biyonne’s final, bitter memories. Perhaps she was one who would soon be dismissed, or maybe one whose path was inconsequential. But as the new Biyonne, my path, and perhaps hers, was about to change.
"Lian," I repeated, tasting the name. "Stand up. And tell me what you have in the washbasin."
*******
A Shift in the Hierarchy
Page 7: The Unseemly Attendant
The social chasm within the staff was immediately apparent. The maids assigned to menial tasks like laundry, scrubbing floors, and washing dishes spent their days in the courtyard and service areas. Their long exposure to the sun meant their skin was inevitably darkened and weather-beaten.
In sharp contrast, the ladies-in-waiting who attended the mistress personally seldom left the shaded confines of the estate. Their duties were confined to the delicate work of dressing, grooming, and running personal errands. While they certainly had their own pressures—the terror of displeasing a capricious noble, for instance—they commanded a greater degree of temporal and financial freedom than the chore maids. They had the resources to maintain their appearance, a subtle but critical marker of their superior standing within the household hierarchy.
"Ma, Mari, Miss." The young woman—Lian, I reminded myself, or was it Mari? The fear made her stammer—finally offered a name.
"Good, Mari. Why are you here?" I repeated, my gaze analytical.
The evidence was damning: rough, chapped lips, a dark complexion, and the visible scars and calluses marring the backs of her hands. Mari was unequivocally a chore maid. She was not the appropriate rank to even be in my chamber, much less to be bringing my ceremonial washing water or assisting with my elaborate toilette.
This world was a stratified horror show, where class was an unbreakable law. Below the Emperor were the Nobles, below them the Commoners, and at the absolute bottom, the Slaves. The social disparity was so profound, so deeply codified, that a noble could inflict lethal harm upon a commoner without legal consequence; murder charges simply didn't exist across that vast social gulf. While fines might be levied to discourage wanton slaughter, the sanctity of a commoner's life was nonexistent to the aristocracy.
The nobles, in their self-declared high-born state, were meticulously selective about their personal staff. Those who touched their bodies had to possess a certain beauty, grace, and an adequate level of intelligence.
As the sole legitimate daughter of the influential Marquisate of Elient, my personal service was reserved for my wet nurse—my mother’s trusted companion—and a select group of rigorously vetted ladies-in-waiting. A low-ranking chore maid had absolutely no business attending me.
“Th-that is… the Wet Nurse… I am sorry.”
The name of my primary attendant, the Wet Nurse, confirmed my suspicion of a conspiracy or, at the very least, a desperate act. Mari’s face drained to a deathly white. She understood the perilous nature of her transgression. A single, petulant word from me—the pampered child—could end her employment, ruin her family, or worse, cost her life on the spot. She immediately fell, hitting her knees hard on the expensive carpet, and prostrated herself at my feet.
“P-please spare me, Miss!” she choked out.
What would the 'me' of yesterday, the old Biyonne, have done?
I watched Mari's small body tremble violently beneath the worn cloth of her simple uniform. I knew the answer with grim certainty. The old Biyonne would have exploded in a tempest of spoiled fury, shrieking, "How dare a lowly creature even breathe the air in my room!"
‘Even if I decided to grant a meager show of leniency, the minimum consequence would be a severe beating. The absolute worst, but not improbable, scenario would be execution,’ the cold logic of the adult Ee Ji Ah reasoned, filtered through the knowledge of Biyonne’s character.
I was now nearing my 11th birthday. I was at the perfect, volatile age where the phrase "arrogant, ignorant wild child" applied perfectly. Not a pure, guileless infant, nor a mature person guided by reason. I had no self-control and absolutely no mercy.
Page 8: The Price of a Past Temper
Having been indulged and coddled by a host of employees whose very employment depended on constantly anticipating and appeasing my every fleeting mood, my knowledge of the real world was nil. Anything that displeased me was immediately destroyed, and I was notorious for relentlessly tormenting the staff. The Biyonne of the past did not view the maids, the servants, or even the ladies-in-waiting as fellow human beings. The old Biyonne had absolutely no concept that they too were humans who felt pain when struck and wept when sad.
“What about the Wet Nurse? Did she say anything, or did she just send you?”
“P-please spare… Huh?”
I suppressed a sigh and clicked my tongue, looking at Mari, who was now weeping disgracefully, her face a mess of tears and snot.
‘I haven't even done anything, and she's already this much of a wreck. If I had displayed my usual hellish temper, she would have fainted dead away,’ I observed with detached clinicality.
Though her hysterical display was repellent, I wasn't angry. Her fear was simply a tangible artifact of the old Biyonne’s cruelty. I was only curious why she, specifically, was here.
‘Count yourself incredibly lucky, child. You were saved by a single day’s difference in my consciousness,’ I thought, a shiver running through me.
“Did the Wet Nurse send you, yes or no?” I asked again, my voice flat.
“Yes? Yes… Hiccup!”
Watching Mari’s distress escalate into a full-blown attack of hiccups, I clicked my tongue once more. Her extreme reaction perfectly summarized the monstrous reputation I had acquired.
I didn't plan on suddenly becoming a saint, but continuing down the path of the original Biyonne was clearly a death sentence—or worse, a return to the agony and despair I had witnessed in her final moments.
“Why did the Wet Nurse send you? You are not a regular attendant.”
“Sob, I don't rightly know… Hiccup.”
Mari covered her mouth, her face turning crimson as she tried to force the hiccups down. The desperate effort made her look utterly pathetic.
The pain of persistent hiccups is a wretched misery I, as Ee Ji Ah, was all too familiar with. The cramps in the diaphragm can be excruciating. I gave a swift, dismissive wave of my hand.
“Leave.”
“Sob, Hiccup… What?”
“Don’t stand there on the floor; go outside and attend to your duties.”
“Sob… B-but, Hiccup, but…”
Page 9: A Moment of Calculated Mercy
“You intend to attend to me in that state?” I countered, gesturing to her sobbing, hiccupping, messy form.
Mari, who was still crouched, covering her mouth with trembling hands, immediately dropped her head. The tips of her ears, visible through her hair, were bright red—a clear sign of shame and acute embarrassment. She likely believed I was refusing her service out of snobbish contempt for her chore maid status.
The truth was more practical: For the current me, a maid or a lady-in-waiting was functionally the same. However, I didn’t want Mari’s service because she was clearly unfamiliar and untrained for personal attendance.
She would undoubtedly be clumsy and awkward. After spending the morning fighting for control of my body and identity, I would not tolerate such a petty inconvenience.
“Go outside, drink some water, and calm those hiccups down. You’ll choke if you keep this up,” I instructed, attempting a tone that was neither cruel nor overly kind.
Mari snapped her head up, her watery eyes shimmering as she stared at me with the baffled intensity of a dog offered a forbidden treat. I decided to offer one small piece of Ee Ji Ah's modern knowledge.
“Try this: Bend over and drink water from the opposite side of the cup. It should stop the hiccups quickly.”
“…”
Her blank look confirmed my earlier guess: the simple folk remedy was alien to her. My fleeting moment of goodwill expired.
“Go out and summon one of the other ladies-in-waiting. Now!”
My voice finally cracked with a genuine noble command, and Mari scrambled to her feet, dashing out of the room instantly, her form quickly disappearing without the time for a proper farewell.
“Is she a little slow?” I murmured to myself.
Mari, I concluded, should be profusely thanking the heavens that she encountered the 'me' of today—the calculated, self-preserving entity—and not the 'me' of yesterday, who would have had her whipped for the interruption.
Thankfully, she executed the most important part of her errand. In less than a minute, two ladies-in-waiting entered my chamber. They moved with a graceful composure and impeccable manners that starkly contrasted with the frantic Mari. They looked familiar, confirming they had served me previously. Aside from the Wet Nurse, my attendants were not a fixed group. The Wet Nurse simply selected and brought a few whenever my needs required.
I had always regarded my attendants as mere household furniture—a mindset inherited from the old Biyonne. But now, observing this odd rotation, I found it strange.
‘Doesn't a girl of my standing usually have one or two fixed, high-ranking ladies-in-waiting? Is this normal?’
My previous lack of interest in my surroundings meant I truly didn't know the proper protocols of my peers. It wasn't a concern I felt motivated to solve right now.
Without waiting for me to issue a command, the ladies-in-waiting immediately set to work, helping me into a fresh dress and meticulously arranging my hair, seamlessly assisting with my preparations for the day. The machine of the Marquisate's routine continued, now with a new, dangerous spirit behind its eyes.
*******
An Audience with the Past
Page 10: The Disturbance and the Hierarchy
The mere thought of enduring Mari's clumsy assistance was enough to make my current situation seem unbearable. If she had stayed, I'd have been forced to either micromanage her every move—a task requiring energy I lacked—or tolerate my morning rituals being performed with the jarring incompetence of a novice. It was the absolute necessity of comfortable, familiar service that drove my immediate dismissal of her.
The fact that the Wet Nurse, who possessed an encyclopedic knowledge of my explosive temperament, had sent a chore maid like Mari spoke volumes. It meant the Wet Nurse was either entirely distracted or had been forced to act with a haste that overrode basic household protocol. She must have been in the grip of an extreme urgency so consuming she hadn’t even registered the maid's inappropriate rank and unkempt appearance.
“Where is the Wet Nurse?” I demanded, the question sharp and to the point.
“She is in the Mistress’s chambers,” the nearest lady-in-waiting responded with a practiced, smooth delivery, as if she'd been expecting the inquiry since the dawn broke. The stark difference in her professional demeanor compared to Mari's hysteria was a perfect illustration of the household's strict grading system. Crucially, she didn’t just answer; her eyes darted to my face, keenly gauging my reaction, knowing the words "Mistress’s chambers" were typically an automatic trigger for my anger.
The Mistress was, of course, the Marquise, the woman who presided over this magnificent cage.
My Wet Nurse had a uniquely privileged position. She was the Marquise’s milk-sister, a bond forged by the fact that her own mother had been the Marquise’s wet nurse. They had allegedly grown up like two halves of a sisterhood. This history meant the Wet Nurse’s devotion was always split; even while serving as my primary caregiver, she never neglected the Marquise. She frequently slipped away from my side to attend her childhood companion.
The old Biyonne had viewed this divided loyalty as a profound betrayal. The notion that her person—the Wet Nurse—would give attention to any other entity was a direct offense to her self-centered universe, instantly igniting a blazing, childish fury. The consequence was always the same: my habitual lashing out at the nearest, safest targets—the unfortunate ladies-in-waiting.
The Wet Nurse, a master of self-preservation, usually employed great discretion to conceal her visits. For her to openly disregard my routine and rush to the Marquise’s chambers was a rare, unambiguous sign of crisis.
I pushed off the vanity table and started to move toward the door. The two ladies-in-waiting flinches were visible, a synchronized wave of apprehension. They were trained to perfection, and their faces remained dutifully blank, but the fear trembling in their eyes was a failure of composure they couldn't hide.
In their minds, they were already bracing for the storm. They envisioned the furious, tantrum-throwing child—a scene where their hair would undoubtedly be grabbed and yanked. Biyonne’s reputation wasn't merely one of a rotten temper; it was one of physical aggression.
Page 11: The Absence of Rage
I was indeed the Biyonne they knew, the inheritor of that terrifying ego, but I was also fundamentally different. The old Biyonne would have unleashed her fury without restraint. I knew that power was available to me.
But they were unaware of the most critical truth: contrary to all their expectations, I was not displeased right now. I felt only a cool, detached curiosity.
The Wet Nurse was undeniably Biyonne’s most significant attachment. She was the one who had personally raised Biyonne, filling the vacuum left by the Marquis and Marquise, who had merely produced her and then moved on. Biyonne’s fervent attachment was logical. Furthermore, the Wet Nurse had facilitated Biyonne's worst traits by catering to her every whim and acting like a spineless shadow. Her indulgence was the primary incubator of Biyonne’s horrific, self-centered personality.
Yet, the Wet Nurse's deepest loyalty remained with the Marquise. Biyonne had never accepted this, which led to her explosive tantrums whenever the Wet Nurse prioritized her milk-sister.
The remarkable reason for my present calm was simple: I no longer possessed that degree of attachment to the Wet Nurse. Her actions simply failed to impact my emotional state. Her clear preference for the Marquise did not register as a deep sense of betrayal or offense.
The root of this indifference remained mysterious. Was it the horrifying foresight of the future stripping away petty emotional attachments? Or was it the residual, rational memory of Ee Ji Ah that neutralized Biyonne’s old feelings? The cause was secondary. The undeniable reality was that my mood was far more unmoved and placid by these external cues than it had any right to be.
“Miss?” the ladies-in-waiting whispered, their faces clouded with confusion at my unnatural silence.
I had zero interest in relieving their puzzlement. I simply ignored them and walked toward the door. My sudden movement caused them to panic further, and they scrambled to follow.
“M-Miss, where are you going?!”
I didn't want to engage in conversation, so I merely gave a dismissive wave of my hand over my shoulder, signaling them to leave me and attend to their proper duties.
Yet, they continued to trail behind me. Since their soft footfalls weren't overly bothersome, I ignored them, my pace quickening as I closed in on my destination.
“A-Ack!”
Smash!
Page 12: The Unopened Door
“Mistress!”
The sound of shattering ceramics and a loud shriek echoed dramatically down the opulent corridor, perfectly fulfilling the expectations created by the Wet Nurse's hasty flight. I realized I didn't need to be told what was happening; the scale of the disturbance alone told the story.
A small group of other ladies-in-waiting were hovering anxiously near the Marquise’s chamber door. When they saw me approaching, their faces immediately drained of color. While I understood their fear of me, their shift in expression from concern for the Marquise to pure terror at my presence was profoundly irritating.
I reiterated, I was not a good person. I was not operating on some moral imperative. The common fiction trope—‘Now that I know the tragic future, I must live virtuously to change it’—was utterly alien to my current thought process. Kindness felt meaningless and ultimately ineffective here.
‘I’d be fortunate just to avoid developing a stress disorder from trying to navigate this,’ I mused bitterly.
Devoting myself to a pointless quest for goodness was idiotic. Moreover, having died once, I genuinely felt no great fear of dying again. My only vague desire was the aspiration to live out a moderately ordinary life, perhaps like the one Ee Ji Ah had led, if such a thing were even possible now.
“Open the door,” I commanded, stopping directly in front of the chamber.
My ladies-in-waiting hesitated, their eyes flickering between my face and the imposing door. I understood the dilemma: no matter my authority as the Marquis’s daughter, forcing open the Marquise’s private chamber was a severe transgression they could be punished for. But intellectual comprehension did not equal forgiveness for disobedience.
‘This is wasting time. Should I just punish them all now to establish dominance?’
The dark thought surfaced and was instantly rejected. I wanted to get inside immediately, and meting out punishment felt like a cumbersome drain on my limited time and energy.
“Oh!”
I simply shoved the ladies-in-waiting aside and opened the heavy door myself. They cried out in a mixture of shock and terror, having clearly not anticipated such direct, physical action from me. Even if they had, they wouldn’t have dared place a hand on me to stop me.
Yet, even I couldn't fully grasp my own motivation. I felt no urgent love for the Marquise, nor did I have vital business with the Wet Nurse. The old Biyonne had voluntarily visited the Marquise’s chambers perhaps five times in her entire life. But the sheer, irresistible force of curiosity, combined with the compelling memory of the future I now carried, was pulling me into the room. I had to know what was happening.
********
An Audience with Madness
Page 13: The Unwanted Witness
Despite the cold logic I'd inherited from Ee Ji Ah, a residual, illogical impulse from the original Biyonne tugged at me. I wanted to see the Marquise. For all her past tantrums and self-inflicted misery, the old Biyonne had perpetually craved her parents' fleeting affection. My reckless, impulsive dash to the chamber was likely the last gasp of that childish, desperate yearning.
CRASH!
The chamber door flew inward, striking the adjacent wall with a sound loud enough to silence the room. Three sets of eyes—the Marquis, the Marquise, and the Wet Nurse—swiveled toward the dramatic interruption.
My theatrical entry had certainly announced my presence. Yet, its impact, intended or not, lasted less than a second.
“Knowing that, I shall take my leave.”
“No!”
The Marquis, a figure of polished, chilling indifference, glanced at me once—a flicker of recognition, no more—then turned back to deliver his cold, final statement to his wife. He strode past me and out the door, his back rigid with detachment. The Marquise immediately let out a wail of despair, collapsing toward the floor. The Wet Nurse, acting on instinct honed over decades, rushed forward and caught her.
I was not surprised by the indifference of the Marquis and Marquise, but I couldn't help but feel a prickle of annoyance. Few things are more infuriating than being utterly ignored to your face.
“Aaaaagh—”
The Marquise's despair transformed into a frightening hysteria. She began violently tearing at her own hair, sending strands of curly, fiery red locks flying. Her face was gaunt, the skin tight over her prominent cheekbones, yet her bloodshot eyes radiated a pure, terrifying malice.
I was struck by a terrifying thought. The saying goes that a daughter inherits her mother's fate. Was the prophecy in Biyonne’s memory true? The Marquise, in her current state, was a chilling mirror image of the adult Biyonne I had witnessed dying—a woman consumed by hatred and curses against the world.
I let the memories of the Marquise’s past flood my mind: She had been the only daughter of Count Pisheon, marrying the Marquis Elient at 18. Her years-long, obsessive pursuit of the Marquis was legendary gossip—a love-at-first-sight fixation that drove her to secure him at any cost.
She spent years meticulously stalking and infiltrating his life, buying off his staff and circling his social sphere. The young Marquis, only 24 and newly titled, was the ultimate prize in the social season.
Page 14
Many women tried to approach him. She used her status and her immense wealth as weapons. She systematically blocked every woman who dared approach him, even resorting to personal confrontations and physical abuse against her rivals. The Marquis was her obsession, and she was unstoppable.
Her wedding day had been the happiest day of her life.
The whispers that the Pisheon family had nearly bankrupted themselves with her astronomical dowry were true, but she didn't care in the slightest. To her, the vast sum only validated her worth as a woman capable of conquering such a man.
She was deaf to the whispers that she had "bought" the Marquis with money. He was now hers, and she believed her future would be filled with roses.
But her reality had been a frigid, agonizing betrayal of her fantasy.
The Marquis was an ice statue. He was utterly devoid of affection, actively shunning any physical intimacy or warm expression. No one knew why he had agreed to the marriage. Only the Marquis knew if he had truly succumbed to the rumors of money, or if there was another reason.
One thing was clear: he had not married her for love. He treated her with the respect due to the Marquise, but that was all.
Over the years, her craving intensified, warping into an agonizing mental illness. As the Marquis matured into a handsome, charismatic man, the Marquise’s hysteria also escalated.
She was wholly consumed by her obsession with him. To such a woman, a child—even her own flesh and blood—was an inconsequential distraction. Perhaps if he had shown any interest in their daughter, things might have changed. But a girl, incapable of inheriting the title, was meaningless to him.
The ultimate priorities were laid bare:
To him: The safety and prosperity of the Elient family.
To her: Him, and him alone.
Neither of them had a single shred of interest in their daughter: me.
“It’s all your fault!”
The sudden, venomous scream dragged me from my internal analysis. The Marquise had finally focused her blistering hatred on the most immediate target.
“If only you had been born a son!” she shrieked, her voice cracking.
A wave of bitter amusement washed over me, and a small, cynical chuckle escaped my lips.
‘Even if I had been born a boy, would my existence truly have been different? Would he have suddenly loved her? Unlikely.’
Page 15
The Marquise was gripped by a colossal delusion. The Marquis’s indifference to her and to me was not because I was a girl and not the heir. It was because he was fundamentally incapable of caring for either of us. Explaining this cold, hard truth to her now would be futile; a logic-based argument is useless against pure, unadulterated madness. I’d only waste my breath.
“A-Ack! It’s your fault! I tell you, it’s your fault! Die! Die! Just die!”
Her voice reached a fever pitch, and she lunged, her hands extended. Her long, sharp fingernails slashed dangerously close to my face.
“Mistress, please calm down, ugh!” the Wet Nurse cried, desperately struggling to restrain her. But the adage that madness grants superhuman strength proved true. The Marquise violently shoved the Wet Nurse, who was a large woman, and bore down on me. Seeing the madwoman, her eyes scarlet with homicidal intent, charging to kill, even my new, detached personality couldn't remain passive.
The instinct for survival is powerful. Before my mind could even process a strategy, my body reacted. I quickly backed away from her attack, my hand instinctively seizing the doorknob.
WHUMP!
A dull, jarring impact resonated through the solid wood as I slammed the door shut. I felt a slight vibration against my back as the Marquise collided with the wood. The sturdiness of the door and the heavy latch filled me with an unexpected sense of gratitude.
“Ah, Miss?”
The ladies-in-waiting outside stared at me, their faces wide with shock, alternating their gaze between my composed face and the thudding door I was leaning on. I forced my expression to remain neutral, a feat easily accomplished by the person who had been called the most shameless—or perhaps indifferent—in the empire. Their stares were meaningless.
“Aaaaaaaaargh—”
A shrill, tormented scream pierced the thick wood. I motioned to the Knight who had been standing guard outside the room. His face was rigid with confusion and horror. I pointed to the doorknob with my finger.
“Hold it.”
Though clearly bewildered, he grabbed the handle obediently. At that moment, the door rattled violently as the Marquise tried to wrench it open. The Knight reflexively gripped the handle, pulling back hard to keep it sealed. The screaming escalated into a terrifying howl from beyond the door. The Knight began to sweat profusely, casting a pitiful, pleading look at me, trapped between his orders and the spectacle of a noblewoman’s breakdown.
********
Page 16: Securing the Madwoman
I ignored the Knight's pitiful gaze and signaled to the nearest lady-in-waiting. She hesitated, confusion warring with fear, before tentatively approaching me.
“Take this,” I instructed, my voice flat.
“Pardon?” Her reflexive question earned her a frown. My patience was already wearing thin. I pointed sharply to the Knight’s scabbarded sword.
“Hook that through the doorknob. Secure it so she can’t get out.”
“Pardon?”
I let my eyes narrow, and she flinched perceptibly. That was enough. She instinctively moved, unfastened the sword from the bewildered Knight's belt, and awkwardly wedged the sword’s blade and hilt across the two handles, effectively jamming the latch. The Knight stared, utterly lost, alternating his gaze between his commandeered weapon and my unreadable face.
Screeeech!
“Mistress, please!”
The chilling sound of fingernails scraping wood—or perhaps a heavy object being dragged—came from inside as the Marquise realized the door wouldn't yield. The Wet Nurse’s desperate, pleading voice followed instantly.
I straightened up, turned toward the frozen group of servants, and offered a small, sweet smile.
“Well, you’ve all earned your pay for the day.”
My dark humor was lost on them. They were utterly stunned, mouths agape at the sight of their young mistress—the Marquis's daughter—imprisoning her own mother.
I gave a casual little wave to the dumbfounded group and walked away without a second thought. My two primary ladies-in-waiting, finally recalling their duty, scrambled to catch up.
The Marquise’s extreme hysteria today was clearly abnormal, even for her. It was undoubtedly linked to the Marquis's sudden presence in her room.
I was genuinely astonished to have seen the Marquis there at all. In my entire eleven years, I had never once witnessed him set foot inside the Marquise’s private chambers. I could count on one hand the occasions I had seen them voluntarily occupy the same space.
While the Marquise regularly stormed the Marquis’s private rooms, he was notoriously absent from hers. In fact, he had stationed Knights at his own office and chambers specifically to bar her unwanted intrusions. The very existence of a child—me—from this frigid union seemed nothing short of miraculous.
This improbability fueled the endless, ugly gossip: that I was not the Marquis’s biological child. Any unfortunate soul caught spreading the rumor was dealt with brutally—crippling was standard, and I had, on occasion, even authorized execution. Yet, the whispers, like an insidious weed, refused to die.
Page 17: The Question of Blood
Based purely on appearance, the rumors had a certain weight. I did not possess a single feature that resembled the Marquis. My face was a perfect mirror of the Marquise. There was no trace of him in my features.
The enduring power of the gossip lay in my hair color. The Marquis possessed a deep navy-blue shade; the Marquise had striking red hair. Yet, neither my close relatives nor my extended family, from either side of the house, had my unique gold-brown hair.
The Marquis’s response to the growing scandal was a complete silence. He neither confirmed nor denied the rumors. This neutrality, more potent than any defense, allowed the whispers to circulate and solidify as undeniable truth.
Those who disliked me used the rumors as a subtle weapon, mocking me behind my back. A few brave (or foolish) souls even dared to sneer openly in my presence. Given my legendary temperament, I never tolerated it; I met their insults with my own, often resorting to physical violence. My reputation plunged further with every act, but my pride forbade me from passively enduring the slights.
‘Am I truly the Marquis’s biological child?’
It felt impossible that the Marquise, consumed by her obsession with her husband, would commit adultery. Yet, the lack of external resemblance to the Marquis was damning. The truth was guarded by the two most dysfunctional people in the house: the Marquis and the Marquise.
To secure a definitive answer, asking the Marquis would be the clearer path than confronting the currently insane Marquise. This, of course, hinged on the highly doubtful premise that the Marquis would choose to speak. I realized then that the old Biyonne had been terrified of the truth, which fueled her ferocious reaction to the rumors.
Biyonne Rossa Elient.
This name was the very core of my existence. The title of legitimate daughter of the Elient Marquisate was my self-worth, the untouchable foundation of my life.
“Should I go ask him now?” I muttered, testing the thought aloud.
“Pardon?” My casual question startled the ladies-in-waiting trailing behind me.
Ignoring their confusion, I turned and headed toward the corridor that housed the Marquis’s office.
For a house governed by such an unenthusiastic couple, the corridor’s interior was surprisingly well-maintained—moderately stately and adequately lavish. I'd never paid attention to the decor before, but someone on the staff was clearly quite competent at their job.
Page 18: The Direct Approach
“Miss, that is—!”
My quick, relentless pace caused my ladies-in-waiting to stumble and panic behind me. Their agitation was palpable; they knew exactly where I was going, and their expressions were filled with dread.
I was no longer afraid of the truth. In fact, my curiosity was now an intense, compelling force.
I decided to strike while the iron was hot. Whether I was his biological daughter or not would not actually impede my life. After all, I had lived well, despite the torrent of rumors, right up until my untimely death.
‘Though, granted, that ending was catastrophic.’
I was resigned to the likelihood that the Marquis would simply maintain his years-long pattern of cold, noncommittal silence.
“What brings you here?”
Two Knights stood guard at the office door. They made no attempt to hide their astonishment at my arrival; I was a figure who never once willingly approached the Marquis's vicinity.
“I—no, I’ve come to see Father. Is he inside?”
“He is, but…”
They exchanged nervous glances, letting the sentence hang unfinished. I couldn't fathom why the entire staff was so frustratingly slow-witted today.
Since I was the one with the power, I felt no need for patience. I boldly reached out and opened the office door myself.
The Knights were positioned there primarily to block the Marquise. Since I had never shown the slightest interest in his office, the Marquis had never ordered them to restrict my entry. They were unable to physically stop me, only capable of looking helpless.
I opened the door carefully and quietly, unlike my previous dramatic entry, and it swung open smoothly. As expected, the Marquis was seated behind his massive desk, working. Beside him, the Butler stood perfectly erect, a pillar of professional composure.
“Miss, you have arrived?” the Butler greeted me, his expression softening slightly.
************
An Interview with the Ice Heart
Page 19: The Father's Indifference
The Butler, caught momentarily off guard by my sudden, unannounced entrance, quickly recovered. The surprise that had flickered in his eyes vanished instantly, replaced by professional composure as he offered a stiff, respectful bow. He was the Marquis’s most loyal retainer, exhibiting a certain unyielding discipline tempered by a slight, almost human warmth.
The Marquis, however, displayed no such courtesy. He didn't even shift his gaze toward me. He knew I was there, informed by the Butler’s greeting, yet he remained motionless, his attention locked on the parchment spread across his immense mahogany desk.
‘He is truly a man devoid of humanity. An emotional vacuum,’ I judged, a strange mix of analysis and inherited bitterness forming the thought.
It was baffling to consider the depths of the Marquise’s obsession. Why fixate so completely on this ice statue?
I conceded his aesthetic appeal. His deep navy-blue hair and piercing blue eyes framed sharp, powerful features, radiating an undeniable, coolly masculine aura. His physique, though he was a politician, spoke of a military lineage; he was solidly built, not unlike a seasoned Knight. The old society whispers—that young women had succumbed to lovesickness over him—must have been entirely true. The Marquise's total fixation offered all the necessary proof.
Even the passing of time, which had etched fine lines around his eyes, did not diminish his appeal. They simply added a layer of mature authority and complexity. His competence was legendary: a man from a martial family who had used his sheer intellect and political acumen to secure the powerful position of the Empire’s Prime Minister.
The cosmic balance, I reflected, seemed to hold true. Heaven had bestowed upon him exceptional looks and profound ability, but had omitted the necessary grace of a decent nature. His frigid temperament and utter indifference to everyone around him could only be viewed as a fundamental character flaw.
This contemplation only reinforced the credibility of the rumors about my parentage. It wasn't just my gold-brown hair and my features, which were a perfect copy of the Marquise. In temperament and spirit, I resembled the Marquis in no way whatsoever.
“Would you care for some tea, Miss?”
The Butler, perhaps sensing the oppressive silence and my uncomfortable, prolonged scrutiny of his master, offered the question with a rare, gentle smile. A gleaming silver tea set—prepared meticulously for the Marquis’s long hours—was already arranged nearby.
I didn't intend to delay, so I shook my head quickly. The Butler, reading my impatience, didn’t press. He poured a cup for his master and set it precisely on the desk.
The tea steamed, releasing a faint, luxurious aroma. Without shifting his gaze from the documents, the Marquis extended his left hand, grasped the cup, and raised it to his lips, all while his right hand continued the rhythmic scribbling of his signature.
Page 20: The Bomb at the Desk
His prominent Adam’s apple bobbed once as he swallowed the tea. His movements were the epitome of seamless efficiency and noble grace, but they were executed entirely while his eyes remained glued to the paperwork.
It became abundantly clear: the Marquis had no intention of affording me even a moment of eye contact until he deemed his work complete. I had no intention of adhering to his schedule. Waiting for his convenience was an exercise in futility. I also refused to leave empty-handed.
If you draw the sword, you should at least stab the rotten radish.
I decided to bypass all noble niceties and protocols and asked the question I had walked across the mansion to deliver:
“Am I your biological daughter?”
A chorus of stunned exclamations erupted from behind me:
“Gasp!”
“Hmph!”
“Cough!”
Even the usually imperturbable Butler flinched violently, nearly dropping the steaming tea pot he held. Only his superb reflexes saved the valuable porcelain from shattering against the marble floor.
Finally, the Marquis's right hand stopped moving. The pen froze mid-stroke. For the first time since I entered, he slowly raised his head, his blue eyes—calm, still, and utterly devoid of feeling—locking onto mine.
My question was, even in a house of such high drama, a verbal bombshell. Yet, he betrayed no surprise, maintaining a perfect, chilling poker face. His self-control was truly formidable.
I had half-anticipated his cold reaction, so I met his gaze without faltering. He opened his lips, his voice a low, even baritone.
“What do you mean by that, child?”
“Exactly what I said, Father.”
His eyebrows furrowed slightly. This visible reaction was, in itself, a victory. The Marquis was famously stoic; his nicknames—Iron-Blooded Prime Minister, Ice Heart, Iron Mask—were testament to his impenetrable facade.
His cold stare bore down on me, probing and calculating. I held his gaze, refusing to yield my intentions. The office was filled with a heavy, almost suffocating silence. I could hear the distinct sound of someone behind me nervously swallowing.
“Is that, in the grand scheme of things, truly important?” he asked dismissively.
“No,” I replied instantly.
Page 21: The Empress's Ambition
My immediate, concise denial caused his eyebrow to twitch again. I was witnessing more varied expressions from the Marquis in these few minutes than Biyonne had seen in her entire life. Perhaps due to this rare, emotional expenditure, he emitted a faint sigh, a sound of genuine, though quickly suppressed, weariness.
“Take your silly games elsewhere, child. I am busy.”
He clearly dismissed my inquiry as nothing more than a childish prank and turned his attention back to his stack of documents.
His right hand resumed its work. It was a clear, unambiguous order to leave.
“It might not be a significant detail to me, but it is a hindrance if I want to reach the very top,” I countered, not moving.
His right hand stopped again. Slowly and deliberately, he set his pen down. When he looked up, his eyes were frosty and dangerously cold.
“Do you intend to become Empress?”
The cacophony of gasps behind me was even more pronounced this time:
“Gasp!”
“Hmph!”
“Cough!”
“Hiccup... Gulp!”
I cursed silently. I couldn't understand why my ladies-in-waiting, and especially the Knights whose job was to guard the door, were still clustered there. I should have locked the door as soon as I entered, but my body, unused to such menial tasks, had simply forgotten.
‘This is the ultimate disadvantage of a body raised in spoiled luxury.’
The noise finally broke the Marquis's composure. He sent a swift, silent glance toward the Butler. The highly competent man understood instantly.
The Butler offered a respectful bow to both of us, then efficiently moved past me to dismiss the startled Knights and ladies-in-waiting lingering outside. The thick oak door clicked shut, leaving only the Marquis and me in the profound quiet of the office. After a pregnant pause, he broke the silence.
“I ask again. Do you intend to become Empress?”
“If I intended to, could I actually become one, Father?” I asked, meeting his challenge.
He simply observed me with a strange, calculating look. My image was perfectly reflected in the cold blue depths of his eyes.
“You entertain quite the useless notions,” he stated, the dismissal in his tone absolute.
*********
Page 22: The Fatal Weakness
A fractional, almost imperceptible upturn of his lip momentarily touched the Marquis's mouth. I immediately recognized it, though. It was not a smile of amusement, but a subtle expression of derision aimed squarely at my current line of questioning.
He settled deeper into his chair, beginning to observe me with the detached curiosity one reserves for a peculiar specimen—an insect caught in a glass. While finally capturing his full, cold attention was a victory, the feeling was strangely unsettling.
“Noise surrounding one's bloodline can often be a fatal weakness,” I stated, my voice steady, cutting through the silence he had created.
I knew this truth better than anyone. When I had been Empress, the constant, unspoken question of my parentage had acted like a political anchor, severely limiting my influence. Even as I was metaphorically "torn apart" by countless invisible blades of rumor and innuendo, the Marquis had never once offered a word of defense.
Technically, the issue was never formally addressed because the Marquis, with his unyielding indifference, refused to dignify the gossip by acknowledging it. His absolute silence had been a powerful, if cold, defense, preventing the rumors from ever becoming public doctrine.
However, his rigid non-response had only driven the matter underground, where it fermented into a torrent of insidious rumors. In the viper's nest of high society, especially among the women, these whispers were the true currency of power. Even the Empress could not escape these rules; her elevated position made her a more lucrative target. The possibility of doubt regarding my lineage was a fatal vulnerability, allowing those jackals to tear at my standing with impunity. The truth was irrelevant; the doubt was the weapon.
“I am not foolish enough to jump into a fire carrying a weakness,” I concluded.
The original Biyonne had harbored a deep, burning resentment toward the Marquis for his lack of defense. His silence had forced her into years of draining, needless emotional battles and had created a legion of enemies. While her own terrible personality was primarily to blame for that carnage, the rumor had been the catalyst.
Biyonne had cursed him and the world until her final, agonizing breath. That raw bitterness and despair was not my own, but it still resided in the deep recesses of my heart, an emotional residue that felt like the lingering pain of a past life.
Regardless of my feelings, the fact remained that so long as the Marquis held his tongue, I was, and had always been, the legitimate daughter of the Elient Marquisate. My legal status was secure.
Page 23: The Silence Explained
My visit to the Marquis’s office wasn't truly about seeking proof of my blood. I knew my legal standing. My genuine curiosity was focused on a different question entirely: the Marquis’s motivation.
The Marquis’s work was legendary for its fastidiousness, bordering on obsessive perfection. He tolerated zero ambiguity or inefficiency in his professional life. Yet, the only matters he handled with intentional, profound ambiguity were those concerning his wife and me. Instead of his typical decisive action, he had chosen absolute, unyielding silence.
The affair was never formalized, but it was the undisputed center of social scandal. Knowing his family was a target of scorn, why did he remain silent? Even a simple, definitive statement from him would have minimized the damage. I needed to understand the calculus behind his choice.
“Am I the legitimate daughter of the Elient Marquisate?” I asked again, adjusting the focus of the inquiry.
“A question not worth answering,” he stated flatly.
His gaze, unwavering and absolute, was locked onto mine. His deep blue eyes, perfectly reflecting my image, held no trace of uncertainty. Staring into that profound stillness, the crucial piece of the puzzle finally settled. The Marquis’s incomprehensible actions suddenly became perfectly clear.
‘A question not worth answering.’
The Marquis hadn't been deliberately withholding a secret or using silence as a political tool. He had been stating the absolute truth all along. He had never, not once, doubted that I was his daughter, and therefore, he saw no logical reason to expend energy affirming or denying it. He simply felt no necessity to answer.
The Marquis was a man of extreme emotional restraint, famously known as the "Ice Heart." His rare emotional displays often made people doubt his humanity, and his speech was equally sparse. The fact that today marked the most extended conversation we had ever shared as father and daughter was a testament to his reticence.
I, and everyone else, had misinterpreted and twisted his intent. He hadn't been defending a secret; he was merely refusing to dignify the senseless rumors manufactured by others with a response. The issue that had tormented me for years was nothing more than a phantom born of my own insecurity and the malice of the social world.
“If you intend to speak only nonsense, you may leave,” he said, breaking his profound focus on me to return, momentarily, to his work.
Page 24: The Weight of the Throne
A genuine, unbidden smile spread across my face. In this moment, I was utterly, irrefutably certain: I was undoubtedly his daughter.
The Marquis’s eyebrow subtly arched upward—a look of genuine bewilderment. My unexpected smile in the face of his brusque dismissal clearly struck him as odd. I had witnessed more of his expressions in the last ten minutes than in my entire previous life. Feeling a strange surge of amusement, I answered his earlier question.
“You asked if I wanted to become Empress, Father. How many unmarried women in the Empire do not dream of becoming Empress?”
The Empress held the absolute pinnacle of power available to a woman in this Empire. Every noble lady dreamed of it, much as they dreamed of passionate romance and a fairy-tale ending.
Biyonne, too, had yearned for that sweet, imagined happiness. She had believed that as Empress, she would stand proudly beside the Emperor, guaranteeing her a 'happily ever after'.
The thought had been exhilarating.
Her tragedy was that her ambition was too vast to let the dream remain a fantasy. Furthermore, her immense status and family background had given her the frightening capacity to force that dream into reality.
Biyonne Rossa Elient had craved the title, and she had ultimately achieved it. But reality was brutal. The throne was no happy fairy tale, a fact she had learned with her painful death.
I now possessed the memory of that life as Empress. That coveted position had brought me no happiness.
Now, armed with the knowledge of the future, did I still want the throne? Did I wish to live that same, inevitable, miserable life I vividly remembered?
( What did I truly want now? )
“Do you also mean to say that?” he pressed, his gaze piercing.
I had once desperately sought the position. But the role of Empress was not simply achieved through personal desire. It was a seat inextricably woven with the intertwining interests of countless political players. Crucially, this meant it was also not a seat I could easily avoid if the interests demanded I take it.
Despite the scandals, I had become Empress because my own ambition had aligned with the mutual interests of the Emperor and the powerful nobles. And those underlying political interests—the ones that drove my prior fate—were still valid right now.
Page 25: The Violent Interruption
“Was my personal will ever important?” I countered. My question implied that my fate was already dictated by the web of political interests, not my wishes.
“You…” the Marquis began, his voice low, but he was instantly cut off.
CRASH!
The heavy office door burst open with a brutal force, slamming against the wall. The sound was jarringly similar to the force I had used moments earlier at the Marquise’s chamber. The Marquis’s brow instantly furrowed with profound displeasure. I swiveled my head toward the door to identify the brazen intruder.
Who in this entire mansion held the audacity to disregard the Marquis’s absolute authority and barge into his private office? I mentally ran through the only two plausible suspects who might survive the transgression.
The primary suspect was the Marquise. The Knights stood guard precisely to stop her, but their power was a political illusion. She was the lady of the house, and their absolute constraint from laying a hand on a noblewoman meant that physical strength—which they had in abundance—was negated by social status. Even though she was mad, they could not touch her, much less restrain her.
( But I am currently standing here, questioning the paternity of my host body, so I am safely ruled out. )
The second candidate was myself. I had, after all, just proven that the door was not inviolable.
Excluding the two of us, no one could commit this act and retain their position, let alone their safety. The culprit had to be the Marquise.
I looked toward the door, my certainty absolute, only to find a figure I had not remotely anticipated.
It was the Butler, and he was completely undone. His appearance, usually a study in impeccable order, was a wreck. His face, which typically mirrored the Marquis's own unflappable mask of indifference, was badly contorted with distress. His trademark, flawlessly slicked-back hair—a symbol of his professional rigidity—was messily disheveled, with strands falling across his forehead.
Seeing the usually bloodless, straitlaced Butler in such a state of collapse was genuinely shocking.
Pages 26-27: The Prophetic Memory
The Marquis, too, seemed to recognize this as an unprecedented event. Instead of instantly dispensing a cold reprimand for the unauthorized entry, he simply demanded an explanation.
“What is it?” the Marquis asked, his voice low and commanding, despite the situation.
“My… my sincere apologies, my Lord,” the Butler stammered, his voice shaking badly. He appeared to be struggling against a physical blockage, fighting to force the words out. He gaped, his mouth moving silently two or three times before he managed to whisper the name.
“The… the Marquise…”
At the sight of his trembling, broken figure, a long-forgotten memory—a piece of Biyonne's past life that I had not yet accessed—flashed across my mind with agonizing clarity. I realized this was not the first time I had seen him like this.
In the vision, the Butler had been similarly paralyzed by an inability to speak. His normally immaculate garments had been rumpled, and his calm, measured pace had been replaced by a frantic urgency.
That past day had started much like this morning: I woke up to find the Wet Nurse absent. I was immediately told she had been urgently summoned to the Marquise’s side. I was, predictably, furious. I remembered feeling a particularly volatile rage that day.
I had summarily slapped the cheek of the lady-in-waiting who nervously tried to explain the situation. Her name, I now recalled, was Marie.
Though Marie was doing her best, her awkwardness and fear only served to stoke my already blazing temper. My famous lack of patience exploded. I began hurling objects, and soon, I was physically attacking Marie.
A mere maid, Marie couldn't possibly defend herself or flee from a noble lady. She could only endure the beating. The other ladies-in-waiting rushed in, but they could only hover, wringing their hands, unable to intervene.
Crucially, no one who held the authority to restrain me—not the Wet Nurse, not the Butler—came.
I continued the abuse until my fury finally began to recede. I had thrown things, scratched, kicked, and pulled her hair. Marie, who had endured the violence, was left in a truly pitiable, dreadful state.
I was left panting, my anger not fully spent, while Marie lay unconscious and absolutely still. The terrified maids, watching my every move, didn't dare approach her or carry her away.
It was then, as I struggled to catch my breath, that the Butler had approached me with those same frantic steps. His lack of professional composure was so utterly shocking it instantly extinguished my residual anger.
He was as disheveled then as he was now. With the exact same tormented expression, he paused, taking a deep, desperate breath before his lips slowly began to move.
I knew the words before they even left his mouth.
“The Marquise has passed away!”
It was a cinematic moment: a complete life flashing before my eyes. It was Biyonne’s past, my present as Ee Ji Ah, and the rushing future that was now inevitably upon me.
Bayan is an outcast amongst the Siyo, a people who have healing powers. Considered worthless because she doesn’t have the ability to heal others, Bayan is sent to the court of Dhan, the Great Sun Emperor, who is cursed with unrelenting bloodlust and slaughters his concubines mercilessly. It seems that Bayan’s fate is sealed the moment she reaches the emperor’s palace and Dhan is fated to suffer from madness forever...but together, Bayan and Dhan just might be able to change each other’s destiny.
THE MAIN STORY: VOLUME 1 - VOLUME 5
VOLUME ONE: THE BLACK SIYO
1. CHAPTER 1 - ONE |
2. CHAPTER 2 - ONE |
3. CHAPTER 3 - ONE |
4. CHAPTER 4 - ONE |
5. CHAPTER 5 - ONE |
6. CHAPTER 6 - ONE |
7. CHAPTER 7 - ONE |
8. CHAPTER 8 - ONE |
9. CHAPTER 9 - ONE |
10. CHAPTER 10 - ONE |
11. CHAPTER 11 - ONE |
12. CHAPTER 12 - ONE |
13. CHAPTER 13 - ONE |
VOLUME TWO: THE SUN EMPEROR
14. CHAPTER 14 - ONE
15. CHAPTER 15 - ONE
16. CHAPTER 16 - ONE
17. CHAPTER 17 - ONE | TWO
18. CHAPTER 18 - ONE
VOLUME THREE:
19. CHAPTER 19 - ONE
20. CHAPTER 20 - ONE
21. CHAP. 21 & 22 - ONE
VOLUME FOUR:
23. CHAPTER 23 - ONE
24. CHAPTER 24 - ONE
25. CHAPTER 25 - ONE
26. CHAPTER 26 - ONE
27. CHAPTER 27 - ONE | TWO
VOLUME FIVE:
28. CHAPTER 28 - ONE
29. CHAPTER 29 - ONE
30. CHAPTER 30 - ONE
31. CHAPTER 31 - ONE
32. CHAPTER 32 - ONE
33. CHAPTER 33 - ONE
SIDE STORY 1: VOLUME 6
1. CHAPTER 2 - ONE
PROLOGUE | CHAPTER 1 - ONE
2. CHAPTER 3 - ONE | TWO
3. CHAPTER 4 - ONE
4. CHAPTER 5 - ONE
SIDE STORY 2: VOLUME 7
5. EPILOGUE | CHAPTER 6 - ONE
1. CHAPTER 1 - ONE
2. CHAPTER 2 - ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR | FIVE | SIX
The call should have been triumphant, but it was fraught with annoyance.
“Shit!” Ban Ik-jung chewed on his cigarette, uttering curses. The bitter taste of tobacco mirrored his mood. The gravel drive of the orphanage grounds was unforgiving, and his temper was short.
It was the first time he had attended the orphanage volunteer event alone. This annual photo opportunity was a cornerstone of his image, and yet his family had abandoned him. His wife had excused herself, claiming an important appointment, and his son had entered a boarding school to study for his college retake exam.
“Honestly, neither my bitch of a wife nor my little brat of a son is any help!” He spat the cigarette butt out the window. “Who do they think is providing for them so well! They owe me this much.”
He was already distracted by his domestic woes. He was already nervous because Shin Ae-jung had been going out a lot lately. Her sudden independence rankled him. It also looked like she was siphoning off money little by little.
What the hell is she up to? Did she start an affair? The thought was irritating, but secondary to his political machinations.
Usually, the whole family attended to show a picture of domestic harmony, and it was obvious that people would talk if he showed up alone. The optics were terrible. The car entered a mountain road, isolating him further from the city’s gossip.
Maybe a domestic strife article will surface tomorrow. What a situation, with the gubernatorial election just a few months away. His carefully constructed life was unraveling, and all he could do was grip the steering wheel tighter.
PAGE 221 (Extended)
The winding two-lane road surrounded by forest was deserted. The trees pressed in, making the isolation heavy and claustrophobic. Driving alone without anyone to talk to was boring and made him sleepy. He needed a distraction.
Ban Ik-jung took out a piece of gum and chewed it, then rolled down the car window. The cool mountain air failed to settle his nerves.
“But why is that guy so quiet? He should have contacted me by now.” His greatest source of anxiety was Dan Tae-oh’s total lack of response. There had been no word from Dan Tae-oh. Even after Ban Ik-jung had deliberately leaked the news about Ha-yeon—the story about her questionable family background—Tae-oh remained silent.
“He couldn't have missed the article, so does he not care that she’s a crazy bitch?” He tried to rationalize the silence, but doubt crept in. “It really bothers me.”
If he was going to threaten or negotiate, he needed some kind of reaction so Ban Ik-jung could play his hand. He needed to know where the line was drawn. But the silence made him uneasy. It suggested a confidence that Ban Ik-jung couldn't match.
He felt like he would be relieved if he had Ha-yeon in his possession, but for now, there was no way to capture her. She was protected by a fortress.
How can I drag away the girl who’s hiding under the Dan family’s roof? I heard Chairwoman Kim Ok-bun is bragging about her, saying she’s her own granddaughter. The sheer audacity of the girl infuriated him.
“I don’t know how she managed to get in the good graces of that stubborn Chairwoman Kim. It makes no sense. Who knew that cunning bitch had such talent? Shit, it’s killing me how much of an opportunity I’m missing.” The asset he had dismissed was now the key to an empire.
The situation wasn't all bad. He reassured himself. The more the Dan family protected Ha-yeon, the less they would dare to mess with him, who held Ha-yeon’s weakness. He had leverage, even if the timing was off.
Let's wait until the end of this month, and if there's still no reaction, let's make a move first. He formulated a plan of attack.
First, let's break the news about the inappropriate relationship between a young entrepreneur and a minor. The scandal would rock the foundations of the Dan Group.
Around the time it’s revealed that the entrepreneur is Dan Tae-oh, Ha-yeon will publicly announce that she was sexually assaulted by an entrepreneur much older than her. The public outcry would be deafening.
PAGE 222 (Extended)
“She’ll have to cry to make it look natural. I wonder if the tears will come out.” He smiled, a flash of genuine wickedness on his face. He didn't care about Ha-yeon's well-being, only her performance.
Ban Ik-jung smiled cunningly and pulled out his cell phone. This plan was brilliant.
If done well, it was a win-win strategy: he could hold the Dan family accountable and gain public sympathy. The Dan Group would suffer a massive public relations disaster.
Around the time the Dan family was cornered, he would demand marriage. The political and economic necessity would be overwhelming.
Dan Tae-oh would have no other option. How could he refuse when his company's stock price is plummeting because of him? He’ll have to get married to cover it up. The only way to silence the scandal and stabilize the company would be to legitimize the relationship.
'If Madam Kim Ok-bun is that fond of the girl, it might be resolved more easily than I thought.' She would push for the marriage to protect her new favorite.
Becoming in-laws with the Dan family. The presidency was no longer just a dream. It was within his grasp.
Just as the call connection signal sounded, his hand, tightly gripping the phone in excitement, paused. The ring was answered.
—……Ba, Assemblyman Ban? The voice on the other end was thin, nervous.
“Yes, Reporter Park. What were you doing that made you answer the phone so late? You should be waiting for my call.”
—I, I was in a meeting…… I apologize.
Is it my imagination? Reporter Park’s voice seemed to be trembling today. Ban Ik-jung, blinded by his own ambition, dismissed the strange tone. Ban Ik-jung chewed his gum loudly, not thinking much of it.
“Get ready to break a story early next month. I’ll send you the details later. The headline: 'Young Businessman Mr. D, Inappropriate Relationship with a Minor.' That should be good, what do you think? It’s juicy enough.”
—Yes……. The reporter’s response was weak, lacking its usual journalistic eagerness.
“Of course, everyone should be able to figure out that Mr. D is Dan Tae-oh. You understand? We want the connection to be subtle, but undeniable.” Ban Ik-jung waited for confirmation, completely unaware of the unseen forces that had already begun to move against him.
*******
A Standoff on the Mountain Road
PAGE 223 (Extended)
“Hello? Can’t you hear me? Reporter Park! Why aren’t you answering my simple question!” Ban Ik-jung shouted into the phone.
Click.
The connection died. The phone was cut off. He pulled the device away from his ear, staring in disbelief and saw the 'out of service area' notification.
“Seriously, are there still places like this in the Republic of Korea? Unbelievable rural infrastructure! You have to hand it to these mobile companies for being incompetent. If I ever become President, I’m going to clean all of you out.” His political promise was born out of petty annoyance.
It was as he was fuming and taking a wide turn on the corner that he saw a black sedan blocking the middle of the road. It was an expensive, imposing vehicle, perfectly positioned to cut off his path.
“Huh? Wh-What is that! Get out of the way!”
A collision was unavoidable. Instinct took over. A panicked Ban Ik-jung stomped hard on the brakes and swerved the wheel.
Screeech!
The tires screamed. The heavy car skidded, burst through the guardrail, and flew off the road. The momentum carried him right to the edge.
“Huk! Huk! C-Crazy……” He gasped, chest heaving.
Right in front of him was a cliff. A dizzying, fatal drop. If he had stepped on the brake even a moment later, he would have plunged down.
His shock at the near-fatal situation lasted only a moment before anger surged up to his head. Fear turned instantly into blinding rage.
“Shit! What lunatic drives like that! I’ll sue them into oblivion!”
Ban Ik-jung spewed curses and kicked the car door open, getting out. His legs were shaking, but his voice was loud.
He drives like that, but his car is nice. He probably took out tons of loans to buy it without the ability to pay it back. These beggar bastards are full of nothing but bluff... He mentally diminished the driver to regain his superiority.
PAGE 224 (Extended)
“Do you know who I am? I'm Assemblyman Ban Ik-jung! Come out, you bastard! Come out, you son of a bitch!”
The driver's window slid down slowly, revealing an interior darker than the exterior.
An appearance that revealed a distinct presence even with dark sunglasses hiding his eyes. The man radiated power and intensity. Ban Ik-jung’s eyes snapped wide open. The arrogance in his voice died instantly.
“…… D-Director Dan? Dan Tae-oh?”
The driver's door opened.
A long leg emerged first, stepping onto the asphalt, followed by the sleek body pulling out from the black car frame. Tae-oh moved with slow, deliberate grace.
He hadn't uttered a curse, nor was any weapon visible. Yet, simply by getting out of the car silently, Ban Ik-jung felt an inexplicable prickling on his scalp. It was the primal fear of a dominant predator.
Ban Ik-jung involuntarily took a few hesitant steps back.
“W-Why are you here…… Wh-What is the matter…… Did you arrange this accident?”
“You’re so disingenuous. Stop playing the victim. You were waiting for my call, weren’t you? You engineered this meeting.” Tae-oh’s voice was calm, cutting through the mountain air.
“I, why would I wait for your call? Y-You’re delusional. I have more important things to do than deal with a young punk.”
“Then why did you leak those articles? If you didn’t want to meet me. You left breadcrumbs.”
“Articles? What are you talking about? Oh, are you perhaps referring to the article about the politician’s adopted daughter being mentally ill? It’s a misunderstanding. I only found out after the article came out.” Ban Ik-jung's denial was fluid, practiced.
“I heard that the 'closest aide' mentioned in the article was Assemblyman Ban himself. The one who provided the insider source.”
“Who would make such a malicious accusation…… No! Why would I do such a thing? That girl means nothing to me!”
“Stop wasting your energy. Your game is over. Reporter Park told me everything.” Tae-oh’s words were the final stake through Ban Ik-jung's facade.
PAGE 225 (Extended)
That goddamn son of a bitch……. He sold me out!
If he was going to blab to Dan Tae-oh, he should have at least tipped me off when we talked a moment ago! I would have been prepared! Ban Ik-jung cursed the reporter's treachery and his own bad luck.
A narrow road in the middle of the mountains with no one around. A cell phone that had lost signal. The feeling was ominous. He realized he was isolated, a sheep cornered by a wolf.
'That cunning bitch must have seen the article and begged him for revenge……. How do I get out of this?' He frantically searched for an exit strategy.
Just then, he saw a few cars speeding toward them in the distance. A flicker of hope.
Right, what can this guy do to me in broad daylight with witnesses? He needed to assert authority. Ban Ik-jung asked brazenly.
“Who is Reporter Park? I don't recall. You didn't come chasing me based only on the word of some unknown person, did you? That's hardly a basis for assault. How did you know I would be passing this way at this time? Did you perhaps tail me? This is harassment, Director Dan!”
“Assemblyman Ban.” Tae-oh spoke his name like a sentence.
“No matter if you come from a gangster family, what era do you think this is, to pull a stunt like this! You'll ruin your family's reputation! Does Chairwoman Kim know you’re running around doing things like this? I doubt she approves of attempted murder.”
Tae-oh silently pressed his temple. He looked utterly bored by the politician's bluster. Ban Ik-jung, taking this as hesitation, became even more triumphant. He believed he had struck a nerve regarding the Chairwoman.
“This is why lineage is important. This is why! You lack class, Dan Tae-oh! I absolutely will not let today's incident slide! I'll call the police!”
“Shit, just shut your mouth. You’re giving me a headache.”
The low tone, casually laced with profanity, was colder than mid-winter. It was a pure threat, stripped of all corporate politeness. Ban Ik-jung’s heavy body flinched. He was dealing with a monster, not a businessman.
Just then, the passing vehicles stopped nearby, probably intending to watch the scene. Seeing them gave Ban Ik-jung a surge of courage. He had his witnesses. He puffed out his bulky chest. He was safe, for now.
********
The Disposal
PAGE 226 (Extended)
Ban Ik-jung attempted to seize control of the conversation, drawing upon his political authority, though his voice lacked conviction. “A-Anyway, I have nothing more to say to you. I will meet with Chairwoman Kim in a few days to discuss this separately, so you should leave now. This matter is above your pay grade, Director Dan.”
“Stop.” Tae-oh’s single word was a silent, unbreakable command.
Ban Ik-jung pretended not to hear anything and slowly started backing away. He took a small, nervous step toward his wrecked car.
“My schedule is packed these days, so I really don’t have time. I have a mandatory volunteer event. Tell Chairwoman Kim that she can contact me first. I will not be waiting for her.” He tried to exit the scene with a veneer of importance.
Tae-oh watched his foot move, a cold smile touching his lips. “From this moment, I will cut off one toe for every step you take. Consider that your movement penalty.”
“……Wh-What kind of pathetic threat is that! You're bluffing! Go ahead! Just try!” Ban Ik-jung’s face was slick with sweat, but he forced himself to stand his ground.
Ban Ik-jung, who had stepped closer to Tae-oh while pointing a finger, lowered his voice to a whisper intended to be intimidating.
“You can't, can you? With so many witnesses, how are you going to touch me? You’re caught on camera now. Stop being arrogant and go home, you little brat. Go run your daddy’s company.”
“They aren’t witnesses.” Tae-oh simply gestured to the two vehicles parked down the road.
“……They? Who are they then?”
In answer, over a dozen men in black suits got out of the cars. They were young, fit, and moved with a terrifying economy of motion. They were not sightseers; they were a unit.
The men, appearing with perfect synchronization, first dealt with Ban Ik-jung’s car. They ignored the politician entirely.
One man casually tossed a white envelope into the car. It vanished onto the passenger seat. Immediately, the other men pushed the trunk, sending it tumbling over the cliff. The sound of tearing metal and smashing glass preceded the fatal drop.
Ban Ik-jung could only stare blankly, unable to even think of stopping them. His insurance-covered property was irrelevant compared to the sight. The entire process was seamless and natural, as if they had done it countless times.
CRASH! A tremendous explosion sounded, and a plume of black smoke billowed upward from the canyon below, sealing the fate of the vehicle.
PAGE 227 (Extended)
The stench of burning fuel and the echoing roar of the explosion hung in the air. The meaning of destroying the car was singular. They intend to kill me. The realization hit Ban Ik-jung with paralyzing force. Ban Ik-jung’s legs trembled uncontrollably. He was a political heavyweight rendered utterly helpless.
“Wh-What are you going to do to me……. D-D-D-Do you think you’ll get a-a-a-a-away with m-m-m-murdering a member of the Korean National Assembly? The world will not forget this!” His voice cracked high with hysteria.
“Don’t be such a scaredy-cat. I told you, I'm not a fool.”
Tae-oh took off his sunglasses and handed them to his subordinate. He revealed his eyes—eyes that held no mercy, only cold calculation. The smile he put on, meant to be reassuring, was so charming that it was only more terrifying.
“I’m not going to kill you, Assemblyman. That would be messy and short-sighted. I'm far more creative than that.”
“Th-Then why did you destroy the car…… Why all this theatrical violence?”
“Starting tomorrow, the entire country will be loud with your corruption charges. We've filed the reports and supplied the evidence. Prosecutors, police, and reporters will all be looking for you.” Tae-oh detailed the destruction of his public life.
“Co-Corruption charges! I have no idea what you're talking about!” Ban Ik-jung stammered a final, desperate denial.
“But no one will be able to find you. You will have conveniently vanished before the incident broke, thanks to your close acquaintance, Reporter Park. He has already confessed to receiving a final message from you.”
“……” Ban Ik-jung finally went silent, understanding the trap.
“The police will investigate your case as a flight (to avoid justice). Then, when the car and a suicide note are found nearby, it will turn into a disappearance intended for extreme self-harm. A deep depression, brought on by mounting pressure. It will probably be concluded as suicide a few years from now.”
Was the white envelope thrown into the car a fabricated suicide note? The answer was clear. He was being erased, systematically and thoroughly.
“B-But you said you wouldn't kill me…… You swore you wouldn't commit murder.”
“Why would I kill you? That's too easy for a man who tried to hurt Ha-yeon. I'm going to mash your hands and face a bit and sell you to a nearby island. You’ll be working a fishery for the rest of your life. Unrecognizable, untraceable, and utterly insignificant.”
******
The Price of Betrayal
PAGE 228 (Extended)
The horror of his fate—lifelong slavery, anonymity, and mutilation—was a final, crushing reality check. The true nature of the gates of hell was finally revealed. It wasn't death; it was utter annihilation of identity. Assemblyman Ban clung to Tae-oh’s leg. All pretense of political dignity vanished. He couldn't live as an island slave with his face mashed beyond recognition and no way to prove his identity.
“Director Dan! What have I done so wrong to deserve this, huh? We can negotiate! There’s no need for this!”
Tae-oh looked down at the pathetic figure with cold contempt. “Then why did you lay a hand on the child? Ha-yeon is mine. Even an animal doesn’t hit its own cub. Did you truly believe I wouldn't retaliate? Should the mob boss next door be scared to live near you?”
“Th-That was wrong of me! I, I did terrible things to Ha-yeon. I admit it! P-Please, just forgive me this once. I'll compensate you! I’ll apologize to Ha-yeon as soon as I get home, please…… Let me go!”
“What were you doing for 19 years that you’re only apologizing now? Your apology is worthless and far too late.”
Desperation led Ban Ik-jung to his final, feeble attempt at a bargain. “I-I’ll let you marry Ha-yeon! I'll sign the papers, I’ll force it! Who knows when that young girl’s heart will change! She's unstable! Wouldn’t it be better for you to legally bind her before that happens? Ri-Right? I can give you security!”
Tae-oh tilted his head slightly, a gesture of mockery.
“Why is a bastard who will be legally declared dead around the time Ha-yeon gets married worried about that……. Secretary Dan, do you understand?”
“No, Director. It’s incomprehensible.” Secretary Dan’s voice was emotionless.
Ban Ik-jung swallowed hard. He was speaking to a force that operated outside of law and logic.
“T-That’s right, I did hit Ha-yeon a bit! I was stressed! But that’s not enough to deserve this treatment! It’s excessive, even for a criminal!”
“It’s because I’m a bit rotten. You misunderstood my nature. I’m not satisfied with just giving back what I received. You tried to take my future. Just think of it as bad luck that you ran into me.” He delivered the line with perfect, chilling nonchalance.
( ‘Ajussi, you’re a really mean person, aren’t you?’ ) The echo of Ha-yeon's words justified his malice.
PAGE 229 (Extended)
Tae-oh smiled faintly, recalling his first meeting with Ha-yeon. Her fearless honesty was what drove him now.
I really miss her. My Ha-yeon. He needed to finish this so he could return to her, cleansed of the filth Ban Ik-jung represented.
“Director, we need to leave now to make the ferry time.” Secretary Dan was the voice of cold efficiency.
“Ah, then we have to settle the score first. Hold him. Secure him for transport.”
“Yes.”
The men grabbed Ban Ik-jung and pulled him to his feet. Two powerful hands clamped onto his arms.
“Why, why, why are you doing this! Let go! Let go, you bastards! I'm a public servant! How dare you lay a hand on me! Do you know who I am? All of you are dead! I won’t let this go!”
Ban Ik-jung screamed hysterically, but he couldn't overcome the men’s strength. His weight was irrelevant against their practiced force.
Just then, a man handed Tae-oh a hammer. It was a heavy, industrial tool, not a weapon of assassination, but of incapacitation.
S-Surely not? His mind scrambled for a new terror.
The moment Ban Ik-jung’s eyes snapped wide, Tae-oh brought the hammer down on Ban Ik-jung’s big toe. The blow was precise, devastating, and delivered with casual force.
“Kuaaaaak! My foot! My foot!”
A desperate scream echoed across the winter mountain. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated pain.
Thump! Thump! Tae-oh, who had finished his task with a bored expression, smiled faintly as he handed the hammer back.
“One toe for one step, just as promised. You took one step back, so that’s the toll. I didn't cut it off. It's still attached. I keep my word.”
Then, as if granting a favor, he patted Ban Ik-jung’s shoulder and returned to his car. The message was clear: this was a calculated punishment, not a fit of rage.
“Dan Tae-oh! Director Dan! Please, spare me! Please! I’ll give you anything!”
Leaving Ban Ik-jung, who was howling like a dying animal, behind, the black sedan smoothly drove away. The mountain road fell silent, leaving only the cries of the man whose life had just ended, even though he was still breathing.
////////
******
Homecoming and a Lingering Question
PAGE 230 (Extended)
The digital clock glowed 3:30 PM.
Tae-oh checked the time and frowned. His meticulous schedule had been thrown off. He had spent half a day dealing with Ban Ik-jung. The disposal of the politician had been necessary but time-consuming. The fact that he had wasted such valuable time on something so distasteful made him displeased.
He stripped away his clothes, which still carried the faint, acrid smell of mountain air and exertion. He meticulously finished showering and entered the bedroom. The room was dim, quiet, a sanctuary. His heart softened instantly when he saw Ha-yeon asleep in his bed. She was a tiny, luminous presence against the vast sheets.
He knelt beside her. Ha-yeon’s eyes and lips were pitifully swollen, puffy and sensitive from his intense affection. The area between her legs must have been worse. He knew his own brutal stamina. It was his fault for tormenting her right up until he left for Yangpyeong this morning. A mix of regret and possessive satisfaction washed over him.
Tae-oh quietly lay down on the bed. The shift in the mattress was all the signal she needed. Ha-yeon naturally rolled over and clung to him. Her body, instinctively seeking his heat and scent, melted against his side. She pressed her face right into his firm chest and wiggled her adorable nose.
“Ajussi……” Her voice was a soft, drowsy murmur.
“Hmm.”
“What time…… is it right now? Did you just get back?”
“Almost 4 PM.”
PAGE 231 (Extended)
She burrowed deeper into his warmth, her eyes still mostly closed.
“Are you…… finished with your business?” she asked, meaning the ugly business that had pulled him away.
“Yes. It’s done. Completely resolved.”
“Oohng……. I should get up…… why am I so sleepy……” Her willpower was non-existent.
“Sleep more. I’m not going anywhere.”
The bedroom fell silent. The only sounds were their synchronized breathing.
Ha-yeon, who was tossing and turning as if falling in and out of sleep, asked in a drowsy voice: She paused, her mind drifting to a half-seen detail.
“But……”
“Hmm. What is it?”
“What does bayan…… mean? You whisper it sometimes.”
“What?” His body went rigid beneath her.
With her eyes closed, Ha-yeon groped around Tae-oh’s chest. Her slender finger traced the lettering tattooed above his heart. The script was intricate and ancient.
“This…… the tattoo, I mean. What is that word?”
“……You read this?” His voice was barely a whisper. It was impossible.
“My second foreign language was Chinese, so I’m good with Hanzi……. Haam, I’m sleepy. Tell me later.” She yawned, dismissing the question as a mundane curiosity.
Ha-yeon rubbed her face against his chest like a sleepy child and then became quiet. Her breathing deepened into sleep.
Tae-oh traced the tattoo with his fingertip. He felt the faint ridges of the ink.
This wasn't Hanzi; it was the script of the country he ruled a very long time ago. A language spoken only in myth. A script that only one person in this world could read—the one who had invented it.
PAGE 232 (Extended)
Is her memory returning? Is the long, slow process of reincarnation finally ending?
“……” He held his breath, staring at the ceiling, overwhelmed by the possibility. The word, Bayan, meant "Mistress" or "Master" in that forgotten tongue. The vow of a loyal subject to their sovereign.
Tae-oh cradled the back of Ha-yeon’s small head and pressed his lips to her round forehead. He kissed her gently, a silent prayer and a renewed commitment.
“Sleep well. Rest, my love.”
It's fine if you remember, and fine if you don't. The past no longer mattered, only the now.
No matter what happens, you are my master. The millennia of searching had ended in this bed, in this moment. He would serve her, protect her, and love her, for all the lives to come.
The weight of academic pressure was off Ha-yeon’s shoulders. She learned that she had proudly passed the entrance exam for Hankuk University, majoring in Law. Even better, she had entered as the top student, securing a scholarship. The financial victory was immense; she figured she would only need to cover her living expenses with a part-time tutoring job.
However, academic success was secondary to her primary frustration. The current problem wasn't university.
Despite consistently seducing Tae-oh since her birthday, she hadn’t achieved any results. Her bold advances were met with calculated indifference. Instead, she only earned his mockery, his sharp wit used as a shield.
There was less than two months until the university entrance ceremony. The clock was ticking on her temporary cohabitation with him. I want to have Ajussi before I leave this house, at least. At this rate, it seemed she wouldn't even manage a kiss, let alone sex. The realization was demoralizing.
‘Why isn't it working? I thought Ajussi liked me… or did he not?’ As time passed, her confidence slowly dwindled. Her carefully constructed fantasy was showing cracks. She began to suspect she had been mistaken and that Tae-oh felt nothing for her. The thought was terrifying.
Feeling anxious, Ha-yeon opened the internet. She needed an instruction manual for the man who was immune to her charms. She was deep into researching "how to understand a man's heart," scrolling through articles about subtle hints and emotional barriers, when Madam Kim Ok-bun’s voice suddenly called from outside.
“Child, are you in your room? I have company.”
She said she was having dinner with her friends, did it end early? Ha-yeon quickly closed her tabs.
“Grandmother, you're back?”
When Ha-yeon went out to the living room, Madam Kim Ok-bun and four other elderly women turned to look at her simultaneously. The annex felt suddenly crowded.
The friends murmured to each other in excited rural dialects. “Is this her? The one Dan-yi brought home?”
“Looks like it. No wonder Ok-bun is beside herself.”
“Oh my, she’s beautiful, so beautiful. She looks like a calf licked her smooth.” (A traditional idiom implying a very smooth, unblemished, and attractive face.)
“What good fortune did Ok-bun have in her later years? I’m dying of envy. Look at her skin!”
Ha-yeon bowed awkwardly. The attention was intense, like being assessed by a panel of judges.
“You must be Grandmother’s friends. Please sit down. I’ll bring refreshments. Shall I get you all a cup of tea?”
PAGE 184 (Extended)
Madam Kim Ok-bun waved her off dismissively. “Why bother with old women you’ll only see once? Don’t strain yourself. Just showing us your face is enough. You’ve done your duty.”
“Even so… I’d like to be polite.”
Madam Kim Ok-bun pulled Ha-yeon close to her side, clearly positioning her like a precious trophy. “Stand here, child. Now listen, ladies.”
She puffed out her chest with unrestrained pride. “My child entered Hankuk University Law School as the top student. Hankuk University, you’ve heard of it, haven’t you? The one Dan-yi’s family funds.”
The friends erupted in congratulatory awe. “Goodness, isn’t that the best university in our country! I hear the entrance tests are impossible!”
“Hankuk University? Isn’t that the place only, what is it, gifted students go? And she was the top student there?” The woman’s voice was pitched high with disbelief.
“Hee-ya, that’s amazing. A genius!”
I wondered why she brought her friends all the way here… She must have wanted to show off. Ha-yeon realized the whole gathering was a pretext for this grand announcement.
Ha-yeon’s cheeks flushed slightly. Despite the awkwardness, the praise felt genuinely warm.
She was clearly not related to Madam Kim Ok-bun by blood. Yet, the sheer, unqualified pride radiating from the matriarch was powerful. Strangely, there was something that felt like family. It was the fierce, protective boastfulness of a loving relative. Perhaps it was because she had heard so many times that they must have been mother and daughter in a past life.
One of the friends, feeling generous, nudged the matriarch. “Well, shouldn’t we get her a present for being so impressive? You need to reward such excellence!”
The second friend sighed dramatically. “What’s there to talk about? Ok-bun here only has money, she'll take care of it. Let her spoil the girl.”
The first friend turned back to Ha-yeon, remembering the conversation from the day before. “Still, you should buy her something she actually needs. Child, ask your Grandmother for that thing. What was it, ah, 그렇지, a laptop! A good one for all those law books.”
Ha-yeon smiled faintly, nodding toward her room. “She already bought me one. It’s enough. I truly have everything I need.”
Madam Kim Ok-bun, who had been smiling proudly, snapped her head around, her pride momentarily replaced by confusion and indignation.
“What did you say? Who dared to buy you something before I could!”
The Secret Purchaser
PAGE 185 (Extended)
“What did you say?” Madam Kim Ok-bun demanded, her voice sharp with possessiveness.
“What did I buy?”
“The laptop,” Ha-yeon answered, confused by the reaction. “I was just using it a moment ago.”
A short silence descended on the room, punctuated by the nervous coughs of the friends. Finally, Madam Kim Ok-bun let out a meaningful laugh. It wasn't a genuine laugh, but a conspiratorial sound.
“It seems my memory is fading as I approach death.” She winked at her friends. “What else did I buy for my child besides a laptop?”
“Clothes and the computer and… all the items in my room, Grandmother, you bought them all, didn’t you?” Ha-yeon insisted, recalling Tae-oh's words.
“Did that boy say that? That I bought all of that?”
“……Wasn’t it you?”
Madam Kim Ok-bun only smiled in response, then led her friends back to the main residence. She didn't confirm or deny anything, merely leaving a trail of doubt.
Ha-yeon was dumbfounded. She stood in the middle of the living room, processing the conversation. That's strange. Ajussi clearly said Grandmother had bought them. If it wasn't Grandmother, then who…?
“Ah!”
Ha-yeon’s face slowly turned red. The truth of the buyer’s identity dawned on her. The slippers, the mirror, the pink toothbrush—items Tae-oh claimed he’d never use. He hadn't bought them for himself; he had bought them for her, but insisted his grandmother was the source to maintain his distance.
“Look at that. Ajussi does like me.” Her confidence soared instantly. Who would do that much just out of sympathy? Buying a university student a fully furnished room of new electronics and soft goods is impossible without affection.
If that’s the case, then there must be another reason why my seduction wasn't working. Ha-yeon analyzed the cause of her failure.
PAGE 186 (Extended)
She paced the room, the answer suddenly feeling obvious. "Was my overly passive attitude the problem?"
Of course. She figured Ajussi must be very experienced. His demeanor suggested a history of easy conquests. His personality was prickly, and he never spoke kindly, but given his incredible looks and body, his surroundings wouldn't have left him alone. He would expect more effort.
In contrast, Ha-yeon had only shown him a relaxed appearance, using her injuries as an excuse. She hadn't been able to properly wash in the hospital, and even after arriving at this house, she hadn't put on any makeup or even lip balm. She’d been too focused on her inner feelings, neglecting the external presentation.
I tried to seduce him in that state, so naturally, he mocked me. The more she thought about it, the more complacent she realized she had been.
Ha-yeon rummaged through her desk and pulled out a lip balm. It was a strawberry-scented lip balm she had bought a long time ago while imagining a kiss with Tae-oh.
The moment she went to apply it to her lips, a line of text from an article she had open on the laptop caught her eye.
The headline was jarring, a poisonous dart aimed straight at her life: <Political Behind-the-Scenes: Is a Famous Politician's Adopted Daughter a Schizophrenia Patient?>
////////
*******
The Price of Exposure
PAGE 187 (Extended)
The cold glow of the tablet screen illuminated Tae-oh’s face as he read. Tae-oh pulled up the article on his tablet and read it silently. The words were a calculated attack on Ha-yeon’s reputation and a clear political hit on Assemblyman Ban Ik-jung.
“Politician B’s adopted daughter showed symptoms of delusional disorder, non-suicidal self-injury, and intermittent explosive disorder (anger control disorder) from a young age. She was eventually diagnosed with early-stage schizophrenia eight years ago. According to a close aide of Mr. B…”
His voice was tranquil, as if he were reading an essay. His tone was also calm. It was a terrifying sign of his inner fury. However, Seon-woo felt like he was walking on thin ice. He’d worked with Tae-oh for years and knew that the angrier Tae-oh became, the calmer he got. This unnerving tranquility was a prelude to total destruction.
Time passed even after he finished reading the article. The silence stretched, thick and painful. Yet, Tae-oh still had no reaction. Only the sound of his fingers drumming the desk could be heard—a slow, measured rhythm that felt like a death knell.
Just as Seon-woo was breaking out in a cold sweat and about to speak, Tae-oh’s cell phone rang. It was his grandmother, Madam Kim Ok-bun, her voice booming even through the earpiece.
“Yes, Grandmother.”
- Why are you sitting there when you can’t even protect my person? The maternal reprimand was sharp. Step away. I’ll take care of it from now on. You're too slow.
“Don’t touch Ban Ik-jung. He’s mine.” Tae-oh’s grip on the tablet tightened. The tone was possessive and final.
- If you didn’t want to lose him, you should have moved quicker. Why are you dragging your feet when there are so many flaws in the Ban family? I can’t watch this anymore, it’s frustrating.
“I have no intention of solving this legally. My methods are my own.”
- ……The child shouldn't know. Her reputation must be protected.
“I know.” He knew the pain the fabricated disorder would inflict on her.
PAGE 188 (Extended)
- I will handle the article. I am still faster than you. Hang up. The line clicked dead.
After finishing the call, Tae-oh checked the portal site. He scrolled through the main newsfeed. In less than an hour, all the articles about politician B were simultaneously taken down. His grandmother’s influence was staggering, reaching into the highest levels of the media industry. Only then did his sharply strained nerves relax slightly. The immediate public threat was neutralized.
Tae-oh snapped the tablet shut and looked at Seon-woo. “Report the progress. Detail everything.”
“The setting is ready, timed with Assemblyman Ban’s Yangpyeong schedule.” Seon-woo quickly briefed him on the planned sabotage of Ban Ik-jung. “Since it’s a volunteer activity attended only by family members without an aide, there shouldn’t be a big problem. It’s isolated.”
“And Shin Ae-jung? I want all of them neutralized.”
“Since she shows no interest in men, we are proceeding with the gambling angle. She’s obsessed with high stakes. We have arranged for a major game to be held this weekend at a discrete location.”
Shin Ae-jung, who was addicted to gambling, wouldn't miss a game held on the weekend. The trap was set. Since her son, Ban Hyuk-jun, had also entered a cram school for re-examination, Assemblyman Ban Ik-jung was alone for this volunteer activity. The target was clear.
“What about the orphanage director? I want him dismantled.”
“An investigation has begun regarding the illegal receipt of national subsidies. He’s already in trouble. There are also charges of accepting bribes during the adoption process. They won't be able to get out of it. The evidence is solid.”
Tae-oh leaned forward, his voice turning to ice. “Also deal with the psychiatrist who treated Ha-yeon. He signed off on the diagnosis. Publicly expose him for false diagnoses, patient confidentiality breaches, and illegal detention in a mental hospital all at once and destroy his career. Make sure he never wears a doctor’s gown again.”
“An application to invalidate Ms. Ha-yeon’s psychiatric treatment records will also be easier now. We have grounds for malice. I will proceed.”
Tae-oh’s focus shifted to Ha-yeon. Tae-oh checked his phone. If Ha-yeon had seen the article, she would have contacted him, but she was quiet. He felt a knot tighten in his chest.
He tried calling her, but the ringtone played for a long time before going to voicemail. He contacted the main residence and was only told that Ha-yeon was not home.
PAGE 189 (Extended)
A sense of dread washed over him. Ha-yeon was not the type of person to leave the house without notice. She was always meticulous and polite. She must have seen the article. The shame and shock would have sent her running.
“Damn it.” He slammed his hand on the desk, the smooth surface vibrating.
Tae-oh cursed himself for not having activated location tracking on her new phone—a security measure he usually mandated—and placed another call. He desperately redialed, needing to hear her voice.
Just as the call history exceeded 16 attempts, a message arrived from Ha-yeon. The text was garbled, proof of her impaired state.
[Ajussi I'm dnruk] 9:58. The single, slurred text was a beacon of disaster.
“……” The calm was instantly replaced by cold, urgent action.
Tae-oh snatched his suit jacket and stood up. He didn't wait for Seon-woo to react. He had to find her before she made a terrible decision. The operation against the Ban family could wait; Ha-yeon couldn't.
********
/////////
The Confrontation and the Drive Home
PAGE 190 (Extended)
Tae-oh’s fury was a cold, driving force. He finally confirmed the location after 35 attempts at calling, which only fueled his urgency. The bar Ha-yeon was in wasn't too far from the main residence.
The moment Tae-oh appeared, the bar went silent. Heads swiveled. A man in an expensive suit, exuding an extraordinary atmosphere, stood framed in the doorway, instantly signaling he wasn't local clientele. Tae-oh, who contrasted sharply with the bar mainly frequented by people in their 20s, like oil and water, drew all the attention.
Tae-oh instantly found Ha-yeon amidst the crowd filling the bar. She wore a white coat, and her face was fair. Perhaps due to the alcohol, her rosy cheeks looked temptingly flushed. The sight made his jaw clench—she was too exposed. Sitting alone and isolated in the bar, Ha-yeon was like prey surrounded by predators. Every available male was eagerly waiting for an opportunity to approach her.
Finally, one guy approached Ha-yeon and started talking to her. Ha-yeon shifted uncomfortably, and shook her head in a flustered manner. The man had likely asked her to join his table. However, the jerk didn't leave; instead, he pulled up a chair and sat in front of Ha-yeon. He leaned in, smirked and even poured her a drink. In the dirty glass he had been drinking from.
Fortunately, Ha-yeon didn't accept the glass. If she had, she would have been seriously scolded today. Our Ha-yeon is lucky, Tae-oh thought, a silent promise of punishment mixed with relief.
As he closed the distance, the guy's voice grew louder. Tae-oh’s mouth curled into a sneer at the sound of the overconfident, boastful voice.
“Wanna go for a drive with Oppa? Oppa drives a 911, you know Porsche, right? It’s the kind of car that turns heads, baby.”
“……” Ha-yeon kept her eyes fixed on the condensation on her own glass.
“I have two more besides that. A Benz and a Ferrari. Want to see them? I have an officetel nearby. We could go there instead of my place.”
“……”
“Wanna leave now? Oppa will take you home after we rest at the officetel and you sober up a bit. How about it? It’s a nice, quiet place.”
Ha-yeon, who had been silent the whole time, finally spoke, her words slow but precisely enunciated.
PAGE 191 (Extended)
“Do you have a driver’s license?” she inquired, her tone deceptively sweet.
“Of course. Oppa has a Class 1 license. Fully legal and insured.”
“Even I, who doesn’t have a license, know that drunk driving is illegal.” She pointed a finger at the glass he'd just refilled. “You shouldn’t be driving then.”
The quick, clever retort earned a rare sound from Tae-oh. Tae-oh let out a short laugh. His mood improved slightly. He reached the table, casting a shadow that swallowed the smirking man. Ha-yeon’s eyes widened slightly as she recognized him.
“Ajussi?”
The man turned, irritated. “Huh? What 'Ajussi'? Who are you?” The jerk quickly turned his head. His scowling, hostile face instantly softened when he met Tae-oh's glaring, pale-eyed gaze (Sam-baek-an)—a look that promised a permanent end to his car collection.
“I, I didn’t know you had company. I’m sorry, I should go. Uh, th-then I’ll just head back to my seat…” He started to stand up.
“Student.” Tae-oh’s voice was like grinding gravel.
“Yes? Me?” The man froze.
“You shouldn't share glasses so carelessly. You don’t know where those germs have been. You should try to live a long life. Take better care of yourself. Especially since you have three cars. You wouldn't want to lose them in an accident.”
“S-sorry… I understand, sir.”
The jerk clutched his own glass and returned to his group. Tae-oh didn't have to watch them leave; he simply knew they wouldn't return. He then turned his full, severe attention to Ha-yeon.
“Get up. Now. Before I lose my temper.”
“I have some alcohol left…” She gestured weakly at the bottle. “It’s a waste of money.”
“Do you want me to drag you out? You've already caused enough of a scene for one night.”
PAGE 192 (Extended)
“……I’m coming.” She muttered, sliding out of the booth and pulling her coat tighter.
He paid for the drinks and went outside. Tae-oh’s nerves were on edge due to the patter of Ha-yeon’s footsteps behind him. He listened for any waver in her stride, any sound of her falling.
Her footsteps are calmer than I expected. She doesn’t seem very drunk. The relief was a small, tight knot easing in his chest. He’d thought she’d be passed out, judging by her message.
Tae-oh got into the car first and started the engine. As the car door opened, a fragrant scent rushed inside. It was an intoxicating mix of cold air and her own warmth. It wasn't an artificial scent like perfume, but Ha-yeon’s natural bodily scent, familiar and dangerously appealing.
Tae-oh rolled down the car window a fraction, needing the cold air to maintain control.
“Why did you drink alcohol? I thought you hated it.”
“Just… I saw the article, and I had too many thoughts. It all came rushing back. I thought I could sleep soundly if I got drunk, but it was too bitter, so I couldn’t drink many glasses. I just got a little buzz.”
So she did see the article. The fact was confirmed. Tae-oh’s voice softened slightly.
“The article is all taken down. Don’t worry about it. My grandmother and I handled it.”
“Are you going to solve it this time too, Ajussi? The lies, the records, everything?”
“Yes. Completely. You won't have to worry about that shadow again.”
“Why? Why are you so good to me? Why do you risk so much for a stranger?”
“Because it’s nothing to me. It’s easy. It’s a simple transaction of power.” He couldn't speak the truth.
“I didn’t know you had such a benevolent personality. You’re hiding something noble. But why do you pretend not to notice my feelings? That isn't nothing to me.”
“You’re a terrible drunk. Don't try to have this conversation now. If you can’t sleep in the future, drink milk instead of alcohol. It's safer and less emotional.”
****""
The Reckless Confession
PAGE 193 (Extended)
“……” Ha-yeon’s frustration was palpable. She glared at Tae-oh with tearful, watery eyes. The alcohol had stripped away her inhibition, leaving raw emotion exposed.
With a sudden, decisive movement, she quickly climbed over to the driver's seat and straddled his thighs. Her right hand, still in its cast, braced on the steering wheel, making the action seem deliberate and dangerous.
Tae-oh’s face instantly hardened. His breath hitched. Ha-yeon was pressing her bottom down on his erection, a blatant acknowledgment of his arousal. The heat between them was explosive.
“……What are you doing? Get off me, now.” His voice was a low, dangerous rumble.
“You told me to drink milk.” She looked directly into his eyes, a fierce challenge in her gaze.
“And? I meant cow’s milk, you brat!”
“I want to drink your milk, Ajussi.” She leaned closer, her scent filling the confined space.
“……What?” His composure fractured. He physically recoiled, albeit minimally.
“I said I want to drink your milk. I know what I’m saying.”
“Do you even know what that means? What kind of vulgarity are you spouting?”
“I do. It means I want to consume your semen—”
“Ban Ha-yeon!” Tae-oh quickly clapped his hand over Ha-yeon’s mouth, his fingers pressing hard against her lips, trying to stop the unbelievable torrent of words. Ha-yeon blinked her large eyes, as if asking what the problem was. Her innocence in that moment was completely at odds with her statement.
My God. How could she say something like that with such an innocent face. This was Tae-oh’s worst nightmare of drunken behavior. The culmination of 500 years of waiting was being detonated by cheap liquor and a lack of filter.
“Hoo…” He dragged a trembling breath through his nose. “Where on earth did you learn such a phrase? Stop this nonsense right now.”
Ha-yeon suddenly scowled and snatched Tae-oh’s hand away. “I'm an adult too! It's not nonsense. I’m old enough to do everything with you! You can’t use my age as an excuse anymore!”
PAGE 194 (Extended)
Tae-oh fought back with his preferred weapon: mockery and distance. “I’m a gourmet, and I don’t touch anything fishy. And you’re clearly not sober enough to offer a proper meal.”
Usually, when Tae-oh treated her like a child, Ha-yeon would sulk, and the situation would be settled. Her hurt feelings would provide a much-needed cooling period. But today was different. Perhaps because she was drunk, Ha-yeon boldly retorted.
“How do you know if it’s fishy or not without even trying it? You’re making assumptions, Ajussi.”
I know I would devour it, even if it were fishy, because I can’t think straight right now. I’m consumed by the thought of kissing your lips and thrusting my dick between your thighs. His internal monologue was a desperate plea for self-control.
Tae-oh struggled to gather his depleted patience. The pressure of her weight was almost unbearable.
“Stop it and get off. My patience is gone.”
“No. Not until you give me something.”
“Ban Ha-yeon. Don't test me.”
“Kiss me. Then I’ll get off. A real one, not a childish peck.”
“Are you truly fearless…? Are you going to keep acting cheap? That’s not how a lady of a prestigious university should behave.”
“I asked you to kiss me because I want to kiss you, and I asked you to have sex because I want to have sex with you. That is the truth. Why is that cheap? This is called being honest. The only thing cheap here is your continuous avoidance.”
The moment Tae-oh furrowed his brow, Ha-yeon grabbed his cheeks and kissed him before he could dodge.
Chyok— Their lips touched briefly and parted. Just that minimal contact completely froze Tae-oh's mind. The scent of strawberry lip balm was a sweet shock to his senses.
“You…”
PAGE 195 (Extended)
Ha-yeon’s lips approached again. This time, they were firmer. They pressed against his like a stamp, holding longer than the first time. A silent, persistent demand.
Tae-oh couldn't even breathe until Ha-yeon broke the contact. His entire body was rigid, paralyzed by the sudden breach of his final boundary.
Ha-yeon whispered softly right in front of his lips. Her breath was warm and smelled faintly of sour liquor. Her voice was husky, as if they had just shared a passionate kiss.
“Can’t you open your mouth for me? Just a little?”
Tae-oh bit down on the tip of his tongue. He tasted blood, a desperate measure to keep himself from giving in.
Someone needs to tell me. How can I stop this rapidly dwindling patience? He had to remove her. Now.
Tae-oh fought the urge to grip Ha-yeon tightly and pull her into the back seat. Instead, he forced his hand to open the driver's side door. A burst of cold air flooded the car, hitting them both. He was moments away from getting a full erection.
“Get out.” His voice was guttural, raw.
“What? You’re going to abandon me again?”
“You small thing, where do you get off being a drunk. This is not you. Go get some fresh air and clear your head. Now, Ha-yeon.”
She finally conceded, but not before delivering a final, stinging insult. “……Coward.”
“What? Say that again.”
“I wear the clothes you bought, I eat the food you make, and I study with the laptop you bought. My life is entirely built around one person! You are the center of everything I do! Who does that for someone they don’t like? Stop lying to me and to yourself!”
“……” He had no response. She had stripped away his defenses with the brutal honesty of a drunk woman, and he hated himself for the truth she spoke.
******
The Surrender
PAGE 196 (Extended)
Ha-yeon’s voice was broken, rising in volume as she spat out her final accusation. “You like me. You really do like me. So why do you keep running away? What are you so afraid of! You’re terrified of your own feelings!”
Tae-oh countered with the cruelest weapon he possessed: calculated disgust. “I told you. What I did for you is nothing to me. It’s merely a practical investment. It’s nice that you’re offering your pussy as thanks for just that much, but I only eat what whets my appetite. I’m not desperate.”
Ha-yeon bit her lip so hard Tae-oh saw the white line appear. Her eyes were brimming with wounded pride and unshed tears as she got out of the car. She didn't look back.
Slam! The car door shut with all her might. The violent sound echoed in the quiet street, a physical manifestation of her heartbreak.
Tae-oh finally buried his face in the steering wheel. He pressed his forehead against the cool leather, releasing a shuddering breath. The exhaustion from keeping his entire body tense now washed over him. He felt hollowed out.
My mind is blown over a single kiss. It was pathetic.
“Shit, I’m not some animal. I can control myself.”
No, maybe I am. A primal urge, 500 years in the making, had been awakened by a strawberry-scented peck.
Just as he was thinking blankly, the passenger door violently flew open again. He didn't even have time to curse. Tae-oh quickly composed his expression, steeling his features into a mask of cold indifference.
“If you’ve come to your senses, get in. We’re going home.”
Ha-yeon got into the car without a word, but her silence was a lie. She immediately lunged across the console, her hands moving with fierce intention. And she firmly grabbed Tae-oh’s face, framing his rigid jaw between her palms.
“It’s okay if you say things you don’t mean. I know those words were lies meant to push me away. I don’t get hurt by things like that. Not anymore.”
“……” He couldn't speak, trapped by her resolute gaze.
“You can keep being a coward, Ajussi. You can hide behind your money and your threats. I’ll be brave enough for both of us.”
“What? Wait, Ban Ha-yeon…… Don't you dare—”
PAGE 197 (Extended)
He should have anticipated the move. Ha-yeon bit down hard on Tae-oh’s lips, which had parted to speak. It wasn't a kiss; it was a punishment, a claim.
She gnawed on his lower lip with her front teeth as if venting her frustration, then slyly licked over the spot with her tongue. The pain was instantly replaced by dizzying pleasure. She was tasting him, owning him.
Tae-oh’s eyes squeezed shut. The pressure was too much. Crunch, the hands gripping the steering wheel tightened with effort, the leather groaning under the force. He fought the urge to reciprocate, to flip her into his lap and end the charade.
Ha-yeon’s lips pulled away. A thin string of saliva connected their mouths before snapping. The contact point burned. She whispered softly, her voice low and triumphant.
“Your lips taste good, Ajussi. Much better than any stale milk.”
“……” His throat was constricted.
“Honestly, I only know up to this point. All the moves I’ve read about end right here. You have to take it from here, Ajussi.” She surrendered the control she had just seized, handing the devastating consequences back to him.
The feeling of defeat was total. He was hard. His denial had failed utterly.
Tae-oh let out a hollow sigh. He felt completely defeated. There was simply no way to overcome this audacious girl. She had seen past his carefully constructed walls and delivered an ultimatum.
The time he had stubbornly spent ignoring her—because she was too precious, too valuable to be held hostage by a madman like him without memories of their past lives—now felt futile. It was a spectacular waste of five centuries of self-control.
Why did I grit my teeth and hold back if I was going to be conquered this easily?
Tae-oh grabbed Ha-yeon’s wrist, his grip firm but not bruising. His eyes, when they opened, were dark with decision.
“Are you sure you won’t regret this? I won’t stop once I start. I’m not a safe man.”
“I won’t regret it. This is what I want.”
“I’m not a bastard who refuses what’s offered. I take everything. If I desire something, I’ll cling to it even more fiercely and I won’t let go. You won't be able to escape me.”
“That’s exactly why I like it even more. I don't want to escape. I want you to hold on.”
***""
The Final Boundary Falls
PAGE 198 (Extended)
Ha-yeon reached up, her touch surprisingly tender despite her previous aggression. Ha-yeon gently stroked Tae-oh’s cheek.
“Ajussi, you really look like you’ll greedily want me without any conscience. You won’t care about my past or my future. I like that you look like you’ll never let go once you grab hold—”
She didn't get to finish the sentence. Her words, so perfectly articulating his deepest, darkest desire, were the final trigger. Tae-oh swallowed Ha-yeon’s lips. There was no gentleness, only a desperate need to silence her with sensation. He cupped the back of her round head with one hand and sucked hard, pulling her lower lip until it stretched.
“Ajus—Heeup!” A muffled cry of surprise was all she managed.
As he shoved his tongue between her parted lips, a gasp of surprise burst out. He tasted the strawberry balm and the faint salt of the alcohol. He wrapped his tongue around her fluttering one and rubbed them together sloppily, teaching her the rhythm of passion.
He pulled back a fraction, breathing hard. “Shit, did you put something on your lips? What is this flavor?”
“L-Lip balm. Strawberry. Does it taste bad? Should I take it off?” she asked breathlessly.
Even though he’d thoroughly sucked off everything she had applied to her lips, they still shone. Tae-oh didn't answer with words. Tae-oh pulled Ha-yeon’s nape closer.
“Put it on. Every day.”
Their lips rubbed together again, a wet, searching friction. Tae-oh twisted his head and thrust his tongue deep inside Ha-yeon’s mouth. He was staking a claim, marking her territory. He scraped the roof of her mouth with the tip of his tongue and greedily sucked down the saliva pooling beneath her tongue to wet his throat. It was a possessive, consuming act.
Ha-yeon, who had only been swallowing saliva, gasped for air and clung to Tae-oh. Her arms wrapped around his neck, desperate for an anchor.
Tae-oh strongly wrapped his arms around her slender waist. Her light body was pulled toward him, bringing their groins into tight, seamless contact. She was still straddling his lap.
The sensation of blood rushing to his penis was sharp. The pressure was intense, demanding release. A spark of life ignited the dry libido that had been dormant for 500 years. It wasn't just desire; it was ancient, terrifying hunger.
PAGE 199 (Extended)
A vein stood out tautly on Tae-oh’s neck. He felt the brink of control slipping away completely. He forced himself to release Ha-yeon’s lips, prioritizing the sliver of reason he had left. He couldn't do this here.
“Why did you stop? Do it more. I loved it so much.”
Ha-yeon, her face bright red, demanded audaciously. She was addicted after just a taste. Her moist eyes were full of reckless anticipation, and she subtly swayed her hips, intensifying the friction against him.
“Something feels weird down there. It’s pulsing, Ajussi. It’s all tingly. What should I do?”
“Ha……” Tae-oh let out a low sigh, a sound of deep, tortured resignation.
My dick is about to explode as it is. The pressure was agonizing. His underwear was already damp. He desperately wanted to bury his face between Ha-yeon’s legs, his teeth itching like a fussy toddler’s, demanding comfort and immediate gratification.
“Ajussi…… quickly…… Please don't stop again.”
“Don’t rush me. Control yourself. I’m not going to show you to every jerk who passes by while we have car sex. You are mine, and I will take you properly.”
“Then just kiss my lips again. Please.”
This is driving me crazy. Tae-oh’s voice was hoarse and thick with barely contained lust.
“Hold on. Just for a little longer. I’ll kiss you when we get home. I’ll take care of everything then.”
////////
******
The Gambit Pays Off
PAGE 200 (Extended)
The car pulled up to the annex, and the atmosphere shifted from heated confrontation to tense anticipation. Upon arriving at the annex, Ha-yeon glanced at Tae-oh. Her initial fear was quickly overshadowed by the intoxicating thrill of victory.
She made a show of gathering her belongings. She acted upset after seeing the article, but it was actually an act. The truth was, Ha-yeon’s mental fortitude was not that weak to be hurt by such a thing. She was a survivor. The article had caused no damage to Ha-yeon, but it was a perfect excuse to seduce Tae-oh.
So, she pretended to be drunk, and drank exactly one glass of alcohol because it would be strange if a supposedly drunk person didn't smell like liquor. It gave her just enough courage, but not enough to lose control entirely.
She seemed to have successfully seduced Tae-oh, but now that she was sober, she felt a little scared. It was the fear of the unknown—the massive shadow of the man next to her, no longer held back by reason. The outline of Tae-oh’s erect dick, visible through his pants, was too big. It looked formidable, intimidating.
Ha-yeon slowly backed away, retreating toward the door.
“I’m going to go wash up. I need a minute to compose myself.”
“Ban Ha-yeon.” Tae-oh’s voice was lethal, a whip cracking in the quiet car.
He made a sharp, demanding gesture, Tae-oh tugged at his tie and crooked his finger.
“Stop plotting and come here. The game is over.”
“But I need to wash…” She stalled, needing a moment to process the sheer scale of the danger.
“If I come to you, you won't be able to walk tomorrow. I will take you exactly as you are. What's your choice?”
Ha-yeon lowered her head and timidly approached him. She moved like a reluctant prey, approaching slowly like a turtle. In a blur of motion, Tae-oh swiftly lifted Ha-yeon. Her light body felt weightless in his arms.
“Ah! Ajussi?” she gasped, clinging to his neck.
PAGE 201 (Extended)
He carried her effortlessly across the threshold and into the bedroom. “Your Ajussi is here. Let’s stop calling me that, I’m getting horny.” The casual words belied the tension in his body.
Contrary to his indifferent tone, his body was burning hot. The heat radiated off him even through his expensive suit jacket.
Tae-oh laid Ha-yeon on the bed with surprising gentleness, then stood over her and began unbuttoning his shirt one by one. The methodical pace was a form of torture, a deliberate display of masculine power.
She watched the transformation in stunned silence. The prominent veins on the back of his hands tightened with every movement, the inverted triangle of his shoulder blades visible through his shirt, the distinct presence of his abs, and the slight upturn of his lips.
Everything was excessively stimulating and intensely sensual to Ha-yeon. He was a god, stripped of his tailored armor. Ha-yeon stared at Tae-oh as if mesmerized, then lowered her gaze as he reached his waistband.
Tae-oh unbuckled his pants. The leather snicked loudly. As the fly opened, his dick, bulging prominently over his briefs, was revealed. He looked down at her, meeting her terrified gaze before making a deliberate show of it.
He lowered his briefs ostentatiously, and his hard, swollen cock sprang out. It was thick, long, and impossibly rigid. Ha-yeon swallowed hard at the sight of the organ, which looked more like a weapon than a sex organ.
It was the first time she had seen a man’s genitals in real life. She had read enough, but the reality was overwhelming. It looked so big that it should sag, but it was rigidly standing up, pressed against his lower abdomen.
“Oh, what should I do? It looks too big, I don’t think it will fit.” The panic in her voice was genuine.
“……Are you doing this on purpose? To excite me? Because it's working.”
“I’m being serious right now. I’m scared. Will it really fit?”
“Haa…… I’ll make it fit. I promise.”
“How?”
Tae-oh fixed his gaze on Ha-yeon and, in a breathtaking display of self-control, began to rub his penis.
PAGE 202 (Extended)
Pre-cum oozed slightly from the tip of his cock. The clear, glistening fluid was a testament to his desperation. He rubbed it with his palm, spreading it over the entire shaft, coating himself in his own natural lubricant.
Tae-oh slowly stroked the quickly slicked cock. His hand moved steadily up and down the enormous length. Tzuep, Tzueu-kkeok, the sounds were deeply embarrassing, and Ha-yeon’s face turned bright red.
“Ah……” A small, broken sound escaped her lips.
Tae-oh’s breathing grew rough. His chest rose and fell with heavy effort. His lowered eyes, fixed on Ha-yeon, were teeming with lust. They burned with a primitive, consuming fire.
She realized what it meant to be devoured just by a look. She felt stripped bare just under his gaze. Ha-yeon, who was lying still and watching Tae-oh masturbate, rubbed her thighs together, trying to ease the unbearable pressure building inside her.
She could feel her legs were thoroughly wet without even looking. The moisture soaked her panties entirely. Her mouth went dry from the urge to touch herself inside her panties.
“Ban Ha-yeon.” His voice was husky, almost unrecognizable.
“Yes?”
“Do you want to touch your pussy?”
“……” She nodded slightly, unable to form a word.
“Touch it. Don't hold back for me.”
Ha-yeon hesitated but finally couldn't suppress the impulse and lowered her hand between her legs. Her fingers trembled as they reached the damp fabric.
How should I touch it? Unsure of the method, she just pressed down hard on her damp panties. The direct pressure was intoxicating. That alone made her legs twist uncomfortably.
She wiggled her fingers, lightly rubbing up and down. Her plump, ripe clitoris caught on her fingertip. As she gently rubbed it, her vision blurred. The sudden rush of pleasure was too much. Ha-yeon panted and called out Tae-oh’s name.
********
The Climax and The Claim
PAGE 203 (Extended)
Ha-yeon’s breath hitched, her voice a fragile plea. “Uh-uh, here……, can’t you touch it for me, Ajussi? My hand is useless, it’s not enough!”
Tae-oh cursed under his breath, clenching his jaw. He was fighting a losing battle against his own body. Thick veins became entwined on his muscular forearm. The shirt around his shoulders felt suffocatingly tight.
His cock was burning red like molten iron. It pulsed visibly. Pre-cum stretched out long from the head of his throbbing dick and dripped onto Ha-yeon’s belly button. The sight of his own release contaminating her was a dizzying rush of dominance and fulfillment. He gripped his testicles with his other hand, and his spine stiffened. His entire being was focused on this moment.
Tae-oh brought his tightly gripped cock close to Ha-yeon’s face. He hovered it just inches from her lips.
“Hoo……, open your mouth. Now.”
Ha-yeon's eyes were wide, mesmerized by the sheer size. She parted her lips slightly, a mixture of fear and obedience on her face.
“……”
“Hut!” With a spasm, semen shot out from the opening. It was impossible to contain. The slippery white fluid completely filled Ha-yeon’s mouth and spilled over the sides, running down her chin and neck.
“Shit, ah……. Feels good.” Tae-oh’s relief was primal, shouted into the open air of the room.
This was his first ejaculation in 200 years, as he hadn't even masturbated since his fifth reincarnation. The physical sensation was overwhelming. His fine hairs stood on end from the cruel pleasure, which felt like slicing his dick with a razor blade.
Tae-oh massaged his post-ejaculation cock, etching the sight of her pure face being soiled with semen into his memory. This wasn't just lust; it was a deeply symbolic act. His pathological obsession and desire were being fulfilled. Drunk on mental pleasure, Tae-oh curved his long, slanted eyes sweetly.
“You have to swallow it, Ha-yeon-ah. Don't waste it.”
Ha-yeon’s cheeks flushed crimson.
PAGE 204 (Extended)
Hearing "Ha-yeon-ah" spoken sweetly by the Ajussi who usually called her so stiffly made her feel like she would melt. The tender address was a far greater shock than the rough act.
Gulp.
She tried her best to swallow the semen, but the volume was too much. Her throat spasmed. The semen that didn't pass down her throat dripped down Ha-yeon’s chin, leaving a thick, white trail.
“Why are you slobbering.” Tae-oh's tone was teasingly possessive now.
Tae-oh clicked his tongue, then wiped Ha-yeon’s chin with his finger and pushed it into her mouth. He made her clean herself.
Even though the taste was strange, she could tolerate it, thinking it was Ajussi's. It was a flavor she would never forget. Ha-yeon diligently licked the finger that entered her mouth.
Even after the semen on his finger was gone, Tae-oh did not withdraw his hand. He deepened the contact, rubbing her soft tongue between his fingers, testing her obedience and pliability.
He leaned in again, his breath hot. “Want to suck on Ajussi’s cock? I’ll thrust my dick down your throat. We can go deeper.”
Ha-yeon’s eyes glazed over. She understood the raw meaning behind his words, yet Tae-oh’s gaze was so intensely lustful that she didn't even hear the vulgar words. She was completely under his command.
……Nod. Her head barely moved.
“Aah, let’s do that later. I want to see you break when you're sober. Right now, quenching my thirst is more urgent.”
Tae-oh bent down and buried his face between Ha-yeon’s legs. He didn't ask permission. The moment his hot breath hit her damp core, Ha-yeon cried out.
“Ah, Ajussi? No, wait!”
Startled, Ha-yeon tried to close her thighs, but it was useless. His large hands were already on her.
Tae-oh lifted Ha-yeon’s ankles, pushed her panties aside, and looked underneath. The delicate skin was exposed to his hungry eyes.
PAGE 205 (Extended)
“Don’t look! I’m not ready!” she cried, clutching at the sheets.
“I’ve already seen everything. Look at you. You’ve soaked yourself completely. You were ready long before you came back into the car.”
Ha-yeon covered her face, unable to bear the embarrassment. The vulnerability was immense. She felt his breath on her lower body, a warm, moist promise of sensation.
“Why is your pussy so small.” The observation was intimate, a deep invasion of her modesty.
“……Hut!” She convulsed as Tae-oh licked her exposed vulva clean.
He was thorough. He thoroughly licked and drank the profusely spread love juice, then buried his tongue into the long crack. He tasted sweet, musky arousal.
“Ah, Ajussi, wait a minute…… Hnng……” Ha-yeon’s pleas turned into helpless moans.
Tae-oh wrapped his arms around Ha-yeon’s bucking thighs to hold her still and pressed his lips firmly against her vulva. He was home.
His closed eyes trembled. He didn't know how much he had longed to taste this. It wasn't just a sexual act; it was the completion of a desperate need. The days he dreamt of licking between her legs like a dog were tormented by thirst for weeks. He was drinking the life source of his reincarnation.
Tae-oh swallowed the saliva that had pooled in his mouth. Then, he pressed his tongue against her clitoris and sucked her pubic hair into his mouth all at once, a fierce, animalistic pull.
The soft clitoris had swollen and hardened. It was no longer a delicate bud. Now, it was quite delicious.
He rubbed the plump flesh with his tongue, then slowly pushed one finger into the opening and pulled it out. He tested her depth and her reaction. He quenched his thirst with the continuously seeping, sweet and sour fluid from that tiny gap.
Ha-yeon intensely inhaled. Her body arched high off the bed. Even though a place that had been closed all her life was being invaded, it wasn't painful. It was an all-consuming pleasure.
She had no idea it would be like this. She only knew she was entirely his.
********
The Consumption and The Claim
PAGE 206 (Extended)
Under Tae-oh’s devoted attention, Ha-yeon was spiraling into unknown territory. She hadn't known that sex could be this obscene and savage. The pleasure was overwhelming, forcing her into a state of raw, uncontrolled need. She hadn't known that pleasure could be this wicked.
“Stop! Stop! I feel weird! Something’s going to come out……. Ah, what do I do.” She was on the verge of orgasm, terrified of the intense, unfamiliar sensations.
Ha-yeon began to sob, her breathing ragged. Her thin belly trembled. Her body, which had been pushing the sheet with her toes, suddenly went rigidly stiff. She was trembling on the edge.
“Ajussi, Ajussi, I……! Aah!” Her cry peaked, and her muscles convulsed.
Ha-yeon’s hips lifted into the air. A sudden, involuntary gush of release soaked the bed. The white fluid that leaked from her parted vulva flowed down toward her anus.
Without hesitation, Tae-oh caught and drank the fluid before it could hit the bed, a possessive act of consumption. He then emphasized his control by inserting one more finger into the opening.
Ha-yeon scowled, apparently feeling pain now from the aggressive stretch after her climax.
“Haah, haah……, hoot……. Just, don’t move for a second…… Ah…… it hurts.”
Tae-oh gently removed the hair stuck to her wet forehead and kissed her there. His action was tender, contrasting sharply with his cruelty. Her face, flushed red, was pitiful and yet erotic.
“Does it hurt a lot? Tell me, what do you need?”
“Not that much……. Are we going to do this again? Or are we done?”
“We haven't even started yet, student. This was just a warm-up.”
“Th-then hurry up…… Oot!” She couldn't hide her impatience.
“Don’t rush me. I know what I’m doing. If I insert it now, you’ll get hurt. You need to be ready for me.”
The fingers increased to three. The opening was stretched painfully wide. Ha-yeon bit her lip until it turned white, as the pain intensified.
PAGE 207 (Extended)
Tae-oh continued his deliberate preparation. He licked her clitoris and used his fingers to stretch the inner wall. The combination of deep internal pressure and external stimulation was overwhelming. He rolled the prominent flesh with his lips, then scraped it lightly with his front teeth. A little bit of pain sharpened the pleasure.
“J-Just a moment, Ajussi, ah!” Her voice broke into a high-pitched moan.
Ha-yeon’s head tilted back. Her thighs, which had been stiff with pain, trembled violently. The pain was transitioning back to pleasure.
Her moans began to sound sweeter. She was learning what he liked. She writhed her slender waist and pressed her vulva against his lips repeatedly, begging for more.
Pleased, Tae-oh flattened his tongue, giving her a wide, stable surface. Ha-yeon rubbed her clitoris against it, masturbating herself. She was totally shameless now.
“Ah, ah! What do I do……. I feel weird again……, ah, I feel weird! Wait a minute, Ajussi, I need the restroom, the restroom!” The urgency of a second climax was approaching.
“Go ahead. I’ll drink it. Don't worry about leaving the bed.”
“No! Move quickly, Ajussi, ah, no……. Hnng!” She didn't want him to consume her so intimately again.
Ha-yeon, who had been trying to push his head away, squeezed her eyes shut. Fluid leaked profusely from her obscenely wet vulva, a tidal wave of lust.
Tae-oh willingly drank the lustful fluid that flowed into his throat. Regretting the dwindling supply, he put his mouth to her trembling opening and sucked hard. He was taking everything she produced.
Then, he shoved his tongue between the three fingers and simultaneously gouged the inside of the opening. Ha-yeon slapped his shoulder repeatedly.
“Ah, stop it, stop! Stop, hoot! Stop sucking!”
Tae-oh wiped the fluid that had dripped to his chin with the back of his hand and stood up. He was done with the preliminaries.
He then bit on Ha-yeon’s crimson-hot earlobe, a final staking of his claim, and brought his perfectly erect cock, which was dripping water, to her opening.
PAGE 208 (Extended)
With a final, decisive movement, he applied slight force to push it in, and the opening gaped open and bit the head of his penis. The enormous glans pressed against her tight, wet entrance. Tae-oh’s lips parted loosely in a gasp of intense satisfaction.
“Ha……” The sound was purely visceral.
“Heeu, wait…… It’s too big. It hurts. Stop, please!”
“Force is required for the first time. Relax, and it’ll hurt less. I’ll take it slow. Trust me a little longer.”
Tae-oh gently kissed Ha-yeon’s palm. He used his tongue to soothe the panic. As he stroked her soft palm with the tip of his tongue, she shrank her shoulders and smiled tentatively.
The moment a reassured Ha-yeon relaxed, Tae-oh pulled his hips back slightly and thrust forcefully. He betrayed her trust instantly. His rigidly erect cock slipped out halfway, then rammed back into the opening, leaving only his testicles visible outside. The sound of penetration was loud and wet.
“Hoot!” Ha-yeon’s eyes widened in shock. With his gaze fixed on her dilated pupils, Tae-oh drove his hips all the way in. He showed no mercy, demanding complete possession.
“Stop, stop! It’s full! I can't take any more!”
“Hoo, my dick is gonna burst. You’re too tight.”
“You said you’d take it slow…… You liar, ah!”
“So why…… trust a gangster bastard? You should know better. Ah, shit, you’re squeezing too tight.” The pain was excruciatingly delicious.
“Ah, wait, wait. Don’t move! Just let me get used to it.”
“Relax your pussy, Ha-yeon-ah. Give me access.”
Tae-oh held down the struggling Ha-yeon and slammed his hips in. The red inner flesh clinging to the surface of his penis slid out and then disappeared again with every brutal stroke. The rhythm of their destruction had begun.
*********
The Satiated Lion
PAGE 209 (Extended)
The sight of their grinding bodies sent a fresh wave of heat through Tae-oh. At that dizzying sight, Tae-oh licked his own lips. He was completely lost to the moment. And he tightly wrapped Ha-yeon’s slender body, which was shaking helplessly from the shock, with his limbs, trapping her in the inescapable rhythm.
Thwack, thwack! His testicles continuously struck Ha-yeon’s perineum. The impact vibrated through her core. The white foam gathered around her reddened vulva and the hole holding his cock was outrageously obscene due to the fierce friction. The evidence of their coupling was everywhere.
“Shit…… it feels good. I own you.”
Tae-oh groaned heavily. His pleasure was so intense it hurt. The unbearable pleasure surged endlessly, bordering on pain. It felt like something heavy was grinding into his lower abdomen. He was going to explode.
Tae-oh pressed down on Ha-yeon’s hands, which were either pushing him away or grasping for support, holding them above her head. He rendered her powerless, emphasizing his dominance.
He didn't stop there. He lowered his head and latched onto her fully exposed armpit like a suction cup and sucked. Ha-yeon convulsed and violently shook her head. She was utterly undone. He captured her narrow jaw, which was trying to escape, and greedily licked her wet cheek.
“You taste good, Ban Ha-yeon. You taste like desire.”
“Hoo, should I go slow? Huh? Ha-yeon-ah, ah……” The contrast between his tender words and his brutal pace was deliberate.
Contrary to his sweet whispers, his hip thrusts became even more frantic. He couldn't slow down now. Dirty fluid splashed everywhere from between their grinding loins.
Her pitiful cries gradually became strained. She was utterly exhausted. Her mouth seemed dry from panting so heavily. Tae-oh parted Ha-yeon’s lips with his thumb.
“Stick out your tongue. Drink.”
He sucked the pink tongue that peeked out from her lips and fed saliva into her dry mouth. It was a life-saving, intimate gesture.
PAGE 210 (Extended)
Ha-yeon, who had been letting out only high-pitched whimpers as if she were dying, desperately drank the saliva. The instant relief provided by his moisture was astounding. Amusingly, that clumsy action brought on the feeling of ejaculation for Tae-oh.
“Ha-yeon-ah, hang onto my neck. Hold on tight, this is the end.”
“Ung, uh-uh, Ajussi……” Ha-yeon whined and clung to Tae-oh’s neck.
He embraced her body and raised his torso to a sitting position. Their bodies remained impossibly joined. In that posture, he slammed his hips upward like a hammering motion. The angle was deeper, the penetration complete. Ha-yeon gnawed on his firm neck, which was too tough for her teeth, seeking to release her own pain and pleasure.
“Ah, ah, Ajus, Ajussi, good, I like you, hnng…… Heeuk!” Her confession was ripped from her by the pleasure.
Tae-oh’s abdominal muscles tightened. His spine felt like it was burning up from the intense orgasm. His back deeply arched, and his back muscles swelled up in a butterfly shape.
“Kkuh…… Hnng!” Tae-oh let out a loud groan and pulled his cock out from between Ha-yeon’s legs.
Bright white semen sprayed out from the dark red, swollen urethral opening and scattered over Ha-yeon’s naked body. It covered her stomach, thighs, and chest—another act of utter possession.
“Haah, haah……” Tae-oh, who had ejaculated several times, gasped for breath. He massaged his cock, squeezing out the last remaining drop from his testicles and rubbing it onto Ha-yeon’s body.
When he scooped up some of the semen and offered it to her mouth, she opened her mouth like a baby bird. There was no reluctance left.
Shit, she’s cute. His heart felt unbearably full.
Tae-oh hooked his thumb around the corner of Ha-yeon’s mouth, pulled it wider open, and shoved his tongue inside, mixing his saliva with his seed.
PAGE 211 (Extended)
He was not yet finished. He playfully tangled his tongue with her limp one and cupped her breast. Her hard, erect nipples poked his palm. He felt his cock stir again, impossibly. He quickly inserted his just-swollen cock between Ha-yeon’s legs and rubbed it, teasing her opening.
Ha-yeon pushed his shoulder, looking somewhat dumbfounded. The sheer speed of his recovery was beyond her comprehension.
“Are you going to do it again? So soon?”
“Saying things like that just makes me horny. You should know that by now.”
“What did I even do……” She sounded genuinely confused.
The tip of his cock lightly pressed against her opening. Ha-yeon, who had been looking bewildered, changed her strategy and resorted to aegyo.
“Don’t put it in just yet, uun, can we rest a little bit? Down there is stinging.” Her voice was small and pleading.
However, Tae-oh was several steps ahead. He would have his reward first. He smiled seductively, like a jaded courtesan, and stroked Ha-yeon’s calf with his fingertip.
“Open your legs for me. I’ll lick it until it doesn't hurt anymore. Let me take care of you.”
Goosebumps instantly erupted on Ha-yeon’s cheeks. She was mortified by his vulgar suggestion, yet at the same time, fluid gushed out from below. She felt like she was going to die from exhaustion, but she didn't know why this was happening. Her body was betraying her.
Tae-oh whispered into her crimson-red ear.
“Rub your pussy on my face again, like before, Ha-yeon-ah. Show me you want it.”
It was perverse and vulgar, but she was intensely aroused. She knew she shouldn't give in, but she couldn't resist Tae-oh, who was determined to seduce her. Ha-yeon nodded without realizing it.
“Yes……” The single word was a total surrender.
Tae-oh laughed like a satiated lion and descended between Ha-yeon’s legs.
That night.
Ha-yeon’s first experience ended with her passing out around dawn. She only remembered fragments of relentless passion, having been completely devoured by her owner.
////////
******
Aftermath and Aftercare
PAGE 212 (Extended)
Slowly, painfully, her eyes opened. The room was bright with morning light.
Ha-yeon lifted her stiff eyelids and stared blankly at the ceiling. She felt as though she'd been run over by a truck.
Why did I wake up? The silence was jarring.
She realized the space beside her was empty. Tae-oh wasn't there. A vague sense of disappointment mixed with relief. Ha-yeon tried to sit up but clutched her waist and slumped back down. The effort was too much.
“Ugh…… Cough!” Her voice came out brutally hoarse. Muscles she didn't know she had were screaming. Every joint ached. She felt like a full day of hard labor would be better than this.
It felt like the space between her legs was completely split open. It was stinging and throbbing. She shifted slightly on the sheets. It was probably swollen, without a doubt.
How could he do this to someone and where did Ajussi even go? Did he go for a jog? His stamina was truly incredible. The sheer thought of him exerting himself further was exhausting.
“When did he wash me…… I don't remember anything after…” Her thoughts trailed off into mortification.
PAGE 213 (Extended)
She had no memory of washing, yet her body was clean. The sheets had been changed, too. He had taken care of her while she was unconscious. Wow, so you really can pass out during sex. Ha-yeon blushed, recalling last night.
She replayed the events—the raw demands, the intense hunger, the sweet but rough consumption of her. She couldn't have imagined that the man who was usually so brusque and mean would be so messy and obsessive in bed. His usual distance was completely shattered.
“I love it so much.” She whispered the confession to the empty room.
The sex they shared was not romantic at all. It was raw and savage, like the mating of animals. There were no soft words or gentle caresses, only possession.
That was precisely why she could feel Tae-oh’s heart more clearly. It was a desperate, unfiltered need. It was his unfiltered, authentic self. She truly liked that. It was more genuine than any polite courtship.
Ha-yeon buried her face in the sheet, wriggled a little, and gave a small yawn. Her body craved sleep and water.
What time is it? I want water. Ah, it’s too much effort to get up. When will Ajussi be back?
Just as she was thinking these random thoughts and was about to drift back to sleep, the bedroom door opened and Tae-oh walked in.
A cool scent wafted in, mingling with the lingering scent of sex and sweat. It was soap and expensive cologne.
His torso, which looked like it had boulders fixed onto it, and his chiseled abs were completely visible above his grey training pants. He looked refreshed, powerful, and utterly untouched by the night's exertion.
He walked straight to the bed, pulled Ha-yeon up, and immediately kissed her. It wasn't deep, but wet and possessive.
Surely he’s not trying to do it again?
A sense of crisis, the feeling that she might die, loomed over her. Ha-yeon weakly pushed Tae-oh away with her arm.
“I really can’t do any more. I’m too sleepy…… I need a week to recover.”
PAGE 214 (Extended)
Tae-oh ignored the plea for sex but not the underlying exhaustion. “You’ve been asleep for over 10 hours. You need to eat lunch. You have to regain your strength.”
“I don’t even have the strength to chew……. I’ll sleep a little more and eat later—”
Before she could finish her sentence, her jaw was captured, and their lips met. He wasn't kissing her for pleasure this time. Then, sweet fruit pulp was transferred into her mouth.
“I’ll do the chewing. You just swallow. You don't get to starve.”
The low command hit her ears. It was controlling, yet oddly considerate.
Ha-yeon unconsciously swallowed what was in her mouth and lifted her head.
Tae-oh’s handsome face filled her vision. He seemed even more radiant today. His eyes were clear, his skin flawless.
His skin is really good. She casually thought, then lowered her gaze. She noticed the small silver platter. On the small plate he was holding, beautifully cut apple slices were neatly placed.
“Did you swallow it all?” he asked, waiting for confirmation.
“Yes…… It’s gone.”
Tae-oh put the apple, which he had claimed to be allergic to, into his own mouth and crunched on it. His jaw muscle flexed. Then, with a deadpan expression, he kissed Ha-yeon, transferring the freshly chewed, softened fruit directly to her.
“I don’t have a blender, that’s why. Eat a few pieces and go back to sleep. I’ll stay here until you finish.”
She moved her jaw, listening to his indifferent command. The juice was messy, and he gently wiped the messy juice running down her chin with his large hand. It was the most intimate form of care.
And he waited until Ha-yeon had swallowed it all before putting the third apple slice into his mouth and chewing. He did it so naturally, as if he had spent his entire life only serving her. The great, intimidating Tae-oh was acting as her personal, forceful nurse.
*******
The Confession Gambit
PAGE 215 (Extended)
The sweetness lingered in Ha-yeon's mouth, an unusual sensation following the raw intensity of the night. Somehow, her mouth felt ticklish. It wasn't the apple; it was the intimacy of the action. It felt like she had swallowed a handful of sugar, not an apple.
Ha-yeon traced his lips, which were moist from chewing the apple, with her fingertip. Her touch was curious, lingering.
“But you’re allergic to apples. You’ll be fine?”
“So? It's a small risk. Just eat one more.” His focus remained fixed on her nourishment.
“Are you okay? You said it makes you itchy when you eat apples. You need to be careful.”
“Am I eating it right now? I’m feeding you. The reaction is minimal when it’s just the residual juice.” The answer was pragmatic, yet deeply revealing of his priorities.
Ha-yeon grabbed his hand as he was bringing a chunky apple slice to her mouth again. She held him still, needing to shift the conversation back to their emotional reality. He glanced at her hand and asked:
“Why, can't you swallow it? Do you want to eat something like porridge? Just tell me.”
Ha-yeon pushed the food away. “Ajussi, you really like me, don't you? Don't pretend you don't.”
“……” He offered no denial, only a loaded silence.
“You're itching to tell me you love me, aren't you? I can feel it. It's okay. Don't hold back, you can say it as much as you want. I like that kind of thing. I don't need games.”
His reaction was swift, a defense mechanism snapping back into place. “You get cocky after being screwed once. Stay in your lane.”
"You're the one who got screwed, not me," Ha-yeon grumbled internally, pouting her lips. She ignored the crude language. “Why do you always speak so meanly, Ajussi? Even though you like me. Why is it so hard for you?”
“Haa……” He let out a long, suffering breath, rubbing his forehead.
“It's true, isn't it? You like me too. You wouldn't have done all that last night if you didn't.”
PAGE 216 (Extended)
“Don't jump to conclusions. I never said that. Feelings are irrelevant to simple needs.”
There were things she could know without being told in words. The fierce, unmasked hunger in the dark had been a truth more profound than any verbal declaration.
Tae-oh’s feelings were like that. Although she hadn't heard a confession of love, every action, look, and gesture was filled with affection for her. His possessiveness was his love language.
She thought so…… but maybe she was wrong. He was still denying the word 'love.' She was sure he liked her. But thinking it might not be love, Ha-yeon became sullen. A shadow of disappointment crossed her face.
Tae-oh pushed an apple slice toward the dejected Ha-yeon. His manner was still that of a strict guardian.
“Eat it. Don't let your mood affect your health.”
“I don’t have an appetite. Not for dry words.”
“Did you like being chewed and fed? Is that what you need now?” He challenged her, hinting at the intimacy.
“……I’ll eat it myself.” She snatched the apple piece away, her pride wounded.
Ha-yeon pecked at the apple with an expression like she was chewing rubber. She was frustrated by his emotional barricade. Tae-oh, who had been silent for a while, opened his mouth. His words were delivered with a cold, almost detached clarity.
“You were the one following me around. You initiated this. I’m just humoring you because you cling so much.”
“I know that too. I accept it.”
“So if your feelings change later on. If you decide you want normalcy again—” Tae-oh cut off his sentence and looked down at the apple. The words were agonizing for him to speak.
“Just go. Don’t worry about me. I won't chase you. I won't hold you back.”
PAGE 217 (Extended)
Ha-yeon’s lazily moving jaw abruptly stopped. The apple forgotten. The clever girl couldn't possibly misunderstand what Tae-oh meant. He was giving her an escape route, one he would never take for himself.
What if my feelings don't change? Then can Ajussi and I love each other forever? She needed to close that route.
Ha-yeon grabbed Tae-oh’s cheek, forcing his gaze to meet hers. Her grip was firm, refusing to let him look away. Tae-oh raised an eyebrow in displeasure.
“What is this. Let go of my face.”
"My coward Ajussi." She held his eyes and delivered the final blow to his defenses.
“I love you. I love everything about you.”
“……Don’t you know how to play hard to get? Are you trying to make this easy for me?” His voice was a low warning.
“I don’t. I don't care about games.”
“If you expose all your feelings like that, what if I take you for granted? I might get bored. I might throw you away.”
“I want to be an easy woman for Ajussi. I want you to take me for granted. That means you'll always keep me.”
“Ban Ha-yeon. Stop testing my limits.”
“Ah, I don’t know! My heart feels like it’s going to explode because I like Ajussi so much, how can I hold back? I’m going to say it whenever I want to!” Her honesty was a tidal wave he couldn't deflect.
“……” He simply stared at her, the struggle visibly leaving his posture.
“I love you, Ajussi. I’ll make you happy for the rest of your life. Just let me.”
Tae-oh snorted as if amused. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. However, contrary to his expression, his eyes were infinitely soft. They finally held the affection she had craved.
“Don’t try to seduce me. You have no idea what you're promising. What does a twenty-year-old think she knows.” But he didn't pull away. He let her hand remain on his cheek.
******
The Immortal Vow
PAGE 218-219 (Extended)
Ha-yeon held his gaze, her conviction absolute. “There are things one knows regardless of age, Ajussi. It’s not about years, it’s about soul. You are the only man in my life. The one I was destined for. Not just this life, but the next one too. I belong to you, forever.”
At Ha-yeon’s bold declaration, Tae-oh’s expression instantly stiffened. His eyes, so recently softened by her vulnerability, became hard, almost pained. The words touched upon the core of his painful, immortal existence.
“Don’t say things like that. Don't make promises you can't keep. It’s cruel.” His voice was low, dangerous.
“Why? What’s wrong with forever?”
“……” He couldn't articulate the depth of his fear: the endless, agonizing loop of his past.
“What don’t you like? Don’t you want to meet me in the next life? Do you want to be rid of me when this body dies?” She pressed him, her tone gently challenging his cowardice.
“Who said that? I’ve only ever wanted you.”
“Then what is it? Why the hesitation?”
The resistance finally broke. He looked away, staring past her shoulder. “……I’d end up waiting. And waiting would be hell without you.”
He was confessing his immortality, his curse, and the depth of his need, all in one line. Even though she shouldn't have understood the meaning, Ha-yeon smiled brightly. She understood the feeling behind the words—that he couldn't bear the thought of separation and solitude. She pulled Tae-oh’s hand to her face and gently leaned her cheek against it.
“Promise me. Swear it now. I’ll definitely come to meet you when I’m reborn. I will search for you until I find you, no matter how many lives it takes.”
“……” He gripped the edge of the sheet, battling the crushing weight of the promise.
“So you promise me too. Don't try to go on without me. That you’ll wait until I come to meet you. You will wait for your Ha-yeon.”
He didn't know when he would meet her in the next life. He couldn't estimate whether it would take 500 years or 1,000 years. The thought of the empty centuries ahead, now with a definite goal, was both a lifeline and a torment.
He would repeat his endless cycle of reincarnation, dwelling on this very moment over and over again. No matter how painful life became, he wouldn't be able to give up.
Waiting for you, who will come to find me.
Just the thought of it brought a piercing loneliness. It would be less painful to promise nothing at all. It would be simpler to endure his eternity alone, rather than with the burden of expectation.
However, his answer was predetermined. Her fearless love had already broken him.
If you wish it, I will wait forever.
Tae-oh placed a solemn kiss on Ha-yeon’s forehead. The contact was reverent, a binding seal on a contract made between two souls, regardless of time or death.
“Yes. I will be waiting.” The admission was quiet, total, and final.
The sudden emptiness in her schedule felt dangerous. School was ending early these days, leaving her with too much time. She was used to being perpetually busy, and the lack of structure was unnerving. The more idle Ha-yeon was, the more anxious she became, so she was considering getting a part-time job, even if only for a short period. A job would give her freedom, money, and most importantly, a purpose outside of her complicated home life.
Naturally, she couldn't do it in her neighborhood. The risk was too high; Shin Ae-jung wouldn't leave her alone if she found out. Any money Ha-yeon earned would be immediately confiscated or used as a weapon against her.
So, she looked for places near her school that were hiring. She’d spent hours walking through the commercial district. She spent a considerable amount of time looking, but there was little progress. The job market was flooded. If the hourly wage was decent, she failed the age requirement, and if her age passed, the wage was too low or the hours didn't fit her schedule. The irony was painful: she was smart, capable, and legally protected, yet still barred from meaningful work. There were no common coffee shop or convenience store jobs either, due to the rush of students applying right after the CSAT. Everyone had the same idea.
She closed her notebook, disappointed. “I should have looked earlier… Let’s try going a bit further out tomorrow. Maybe the university district will have better options.”
Ha-yeon spent time studying for her essay exam in a nearby coffee shop. The smell of bitter coffee and old books provided a temporary haven. There were few customers in the shop, so she felt it was alright to stay for a while. She watched the clock, a new kind of routine forming in her mind. Should I stay here and head back just in time for Ajussi’s clock-out time? That was her new priority: synchronizing her life with his.
PAGE 146 (Extended)
She reassured herself about her absence from home. Since today was the day the CSAT results were released, no one was home. The family is probably out having a cozy dinner and will return late. They had their own celebration ritual, one that pointedly did not include her.
She studied diligently and suddenly noticed that it was past 6 o’clock. The sky was darkening quickly. Ha-yeon quickly gathered her books and left the shop.
The sky looked gloomy. She stepped onto the cold pavement, pulling her scarf up to her nose and inhaled deeply. She wasn't just breathing in the cold air; she faintly smelled Tae-oh’s scent lingering on the scarf he’d gifted her. Her mood suddenly lifted, and she was about to rush her steps when something cold landed on her face.
“Oh, it’s snow,” she whispered.
The first snowflakes of the year were fluttering down thickly. It was a beautiful, pure event, and it felt like a tiny, secret gift just for her.
Ha-yeon stood still and held out her hand. The snowflakes, dancing lightly on the wind, settled gently on her palm. The sensation of them melting softly was charming. She smiled faintly and took out her phone. She wanted to share this feeling with Tae-oh. He needed to see this beautiful, simple moment.
[Ajussi, look outside quickly!] 6:23
She put her phone away, a deep longing rising in her chest. “I want to see you, my Ajussi.”
A month had passed since her confession, but the relationship between her and Tae-oh remained exactly the same as before. It was a static, frustrating equilibrium.
PAGE 147 (Extended)
Still, it wasn't a total lack of progress. She was certain of one thing: Tae-oh’s expression subtly changed every time she told him she liked him. His eyes would darken, his jaw would clench, and his composure would momentarily break. He clearly didn't seem to dislike it. Then why won't he give in?
He was a master of evasion. He always spoke curtly, avoided her when she subtly tried to get close, and would flick her on the forehead when she stared intently at him with meaningful eyes. She was pouring out adult longing, and he was responding with paternal dismissal. She felt like she was dying to hold his hand and kiss him just by looking at him, but he only treated her like a child, so she couldn't help but feel annoyed.
“He doesn’t look like he dislikes me…” she muttered, reviewing his subtle reactions.
Is it because I’m still a minor? That single legal distinction was a huge wall. She didn't understand why there were so many things she couldn't do when her 'expiration date' was less than a month away. Every passing day felt like a wasted opportunity.
Ha-yeon pouted her lips. She hated her age, which was perched right on the border between minor and adult. It felt like a trap.
‘In the Joseon Dynasty, I would be old enough to have two children by now,’ she thought wryly, recalling a historical detail. Forget the Joseon Dynasty; I’m ready now!
Later, should I pretend to be dizzy and lean into him? Ha-yeon concocted a cunning plan as she entered her house. She was ready to use any means necessary.
The lightness fled instantly. The atmosphere was chilling as she opened the apartment door and stepped inside. The air was heavy, quiet, and wrong.
Ban Ik-jung and Shin Ae-jung were sitting in the living room, which she had expected to be empty. They were watching TV, two cold silhouettes on the sofa. Ha-yeon stopped in her tracks.
“……I’m home,” she said, the greeting tentative.
Ban Ik-jung turned his head slowly. “When did school end? Why are you just getting here?” His voice was low and dangerous.
****
The Reckoning
PAGE 148 (Extended)
The coldness in the air, the stiff posture of the couple, and the fact that they were home at all made the situation dreadfully clear. The moment she saw their grim expressions, she immediately guessed what was going on. Ha-yeon wasn't the only one who received a CSAT score report. Hyuk-joon’s results must have been disastrous.
‘Please let it pass. Please let it pass…’ She knew their scapegoat logic and desperately hoped they were too consumed with their own son’s failure to notice her. She prayed internally and tried to quietly slip into her room, but Ban Ik-jung called out to stop her.
“You! Bring that score report here right now,” the Congressman bellowed.
“……” Ha-yeon hesitated, her hand instinctively tightening on her backpack strap.
“Didn’t you hear me? Take it out now!”
She had no choice but to hand over the score report. The paper felt like a flimsy shield. Ban Ik-jung silently stared at the report, then stood up without a word. His movement was slow, deliberate, and terrifyingly premeditated.
Whack!
The sound was sharp, sickeningly loud in the polished living room. Her vision instantly flashed white with pain.
Ban Ik-jung fiercely grabbed the hair of the staggering Ha-yeon. He yanked her head back, forcing her to look up at his rage-contorted face.
“I knew that bitch would end up blocking our Hyuk-joon’s future! You think you’re so smart, flaunting your little test scores! What did I tell you! I told you to live like a dead person!” The saliva sprayed her face.
Ha-yeon glared at Ban Ik-jung with venomous eyes. She refused to lower her gaze. “What did I do to deserve this?”
Shin Ae-jung shouted hysterically before Ban Ik-jung could reply. Her voice was shrill and high-pitched. “Our Hyuk-joon says he couldn’t take the test well because of you! Because you intimidated him! You stole his focus!”
“He messed up because he was out playing with his girlfriend, not because of me,” Ha-yeon retorted, striking back with the truth she knew they’d deny.
PAGE 149 (Extended)
“Our Hyuk-joon is a boy who only studies! His phone and SNS are all clean! What are you talking about?” Shin Ae-jung shrieked, blindly defending her son’s perfect image.
“You should have checked Teacher Go Min-jung’s SNS, not Ban Hyuk-joon’s. She’s older and smarter than him.”
“Who? Teacher Go? Ha! I’d believe it if it made any sense! Where do you get off slandering my son! Honey, do something about her!”
Ban Ik-jung’s eyes were bloodshot. He released her hair momentarily to confront his wife. “You stay out of this.” He turned back to Ha-yeon, menace returning. “Ban Ha-yeon, you tell me straight. Do you have proof that Hyuk-joon is seeing Teacher Go?”
“Would you believe the evidence if I showed it to you? You’d just say I fabricated it,” Ha-yeon said, her voice steady despite the searing pain in her head. She knew arguing was pointless.
“You’re saying that because you’re guilty! I knew we shouldn’t have let someone like you into this house!”
“You were the one who adopted me, Congressman,” she reminded him, injecting the truth into his manufactured narrative.
“You’re flapping your loose mouth and spouting nonsense. Fine, I’ll fix that insolence of yours today.”
Another blow landed. Her cheek was burning. No, not my face. If her face was injured, the days she couldn't see Ajussi would be longer. That thought, the fear of losing time with Tae-oh, was her sole focus.
Ha-yeon grabbed Ban Ik-jung’s arm and clung to it. She wasn't fighting back, but maneuvering. Ban Ik-jung grabbed her thin arm and flung her onto the marble floor. The impact knocked the wind out of her.
She was dragged around by her hair, then fell to the side. She instinctively curled her body into a fetal position, protecting her vitals. Did he hit my chest wrong? It was hard to breathe. A sharp, suffocating pain seized her lungs. Ban Ik-jung seemed to have lost his reason; there was no hesitation in his blows.
PAGE 150 (Extended)
Kicks rained down across her entire body. She felt the hard leather of his shoe impacting her ribs and back. A sound like ripping leather was heard from somewhere, perhaps her clothes, or worse.
“Rootless bitch! You cancerous tumor! Beg for forgiveness! I said, beg for me to spare your life! You stubborn wench!” His insults were fueled by the humiliation of his son’s failure, twisted into righteous violence.
Ha-yeon didn't make a sound. She held her breath, biting back the screams. Even if she was beaten to death, she wouldn't plead. Pleading would give him satisfaction.
She just tightly covered her head and endured. In her fading consciousness, Tae-oh’s face floated up. She mentally assessed the damage. I won’t be able to see Ajussi for a few days. She had already been hit several times on the face, so the marks would show.
What should I tell Ajussi if he asks why I didn’t come? Should I say I went on a trip with friends? Ah, right. He knows I don’t have friends. The grim humor did nothing to ease the pain.
Suddenly, the thought occurred to her that Tae-oh might not even ask. He might be happier if I’m not around. The sting of that possibility cut deeper than any kick. Her heart felt like it was tearing apart. The mere thought hurt far more than Ban Ik-jung’s beating.
Don’t cry. If I cry, Ban Ik-jung will like it more. Don’t cry.
The moment Ha-yeon desperately swallowed her tears,
Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong—
The doorbell rang frantically. The persistent, violent sound of the bell sliced through the assault. Ban Ik-jung, who was relentlessly stomping on Ha-yeon, let out a furious roar.
“Damn it! Who is it?!”
The sudden interruption gave Ha-yeon a sliver of hope. Ban Ik-jung stalked over to the intercom.
The visitor’s face appeared on the intercom screen. It was a face Ha-yeon knew well, a face now dark with an incomprehensible, controlled fury.
******
The Calamity at the Door
PAGE 151 (Extended)
Ha-yeon saw him: the source of her recent frantic message. On the cheap, grainy intercom screen was a sharp nose bridge, elongated sam-baek-an (three-whites eyes), a jawline crafted by an artisan—the very image of cold perfection. A massive sense of pressure was palpable even through the small screen.
Ban Ik-jung, who initially thought it might be a celebrity, immediately widened his eyes. Recognition dawned, replacing his fury with a desperate, self-serving awe. “D-Dan Tae-oh?”
Shin Ae-jung, rubbing the tears from her face, peered closer. “Oh my, he’s so handsome. But who is that? Don’t tell me that’s Director Dan Tae-oh of Daeho Construction?” Shin Ae-jung, who had been blushing while looking at the intercom, raised her eyebrows. The potential guest's status instantly smoothed her hysteria.
“Honey, if we had a guest coming, you should have told me. What do we do standing here like this?” she scolded Ban Ik-jung, already calculating how to make herself presentable.
“What are you talking about?” Ban Ik-jung snapped back. “I haven’t even seen hide nor hair of him; he always slips away like an eel every time I try to set up a meeting. I’ve been trying to get him here for months!”
“Then who is that person?”
“How should I know?” Ban Ik-jung was genuinely mystified, terrified that he was about to lose a critical opportunity.
The doorbell sound suddenly cut off. The silence was more alarming than the ring. An ominous silence fell, but only for a moment, before a tremendous pounding began. It wasn't a knock; it was an assault.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
The noise was deafening, echoing throughout the house. The repeated, heavy impacts were like a battering ram. The floor vibrated from the impact.
Shin Ae-jung, gripped by fear, grabbed Ban Ik-jung’s arm. “H-Honey, that person must be drunk. Shouldn’t we call the police? He’s going to break the door.”
“Are you crazy? Who is that man to call the police on?” Ban Ik-jung hissed, pulling his arm away. “Open the door quickly.”
PAGE 152 (Extended)
“Open the door? He doesn’t look sane…” Shin Ae-jung hesitated, looking at the crazed image on the screen.
“Haven’t you heard that to become president, you must join hands with the Dan family?” Ban Ik-jung grabbed her shoulders, shaking her slightly to inject urgency into her vanity.
“I’ve heard that,” she admitted.
“To win this gubernatorial election, and to challenge the next presidential election, we absolutely need the Dan family’s connections and capital. Absolute necessity.”
“But it doesn’t necessarily have to be that man. There are other directors,” she argued weakly.
“Director Dan Tae-oh is Chairman Kim Ok-bun’s most cherished grandson! That man is Chairman Kim’s successor! He controls the purse strings!”
“I-is that so?” Her eyes widened at the magnitude of the potential windfall.
“Let’s not make a mistake when opportunity comes knocking, and let’s handle this well. Smile and welcome him. You have to experience being the First Lady, too. Right?” He appealed to her deepest ambition.
“Oh my, he’s a noble guest, a noble guest! Alright, Honey. Trust me.” Shin Ae-jung was instantly composed, ready to play the gracious hostess.
Ban Ik-jung, satisfied, shot a cold, brutal look at Ha-yeon who was still huddled, barely breathing, on the floor.
“You go to your room and stay there. If I hear a peep out of you, you’ll die by my hand today.” His threat was quiet but utterly serious.
“……” Ha-yeon tried to hide the pain.
“What are you doing? Get up now!”
Ha-yeon used her trembling arms to push herself up from the floor. Her vision spun. The combination of blood loss and shock was overwhelming. She wanted to collapse right then, but she bit her tongue and endured. She knew the consequence of delay. If she delayed even a little, Ban Ik-jung might grab her hair and drag her away.
‘No.’
PAGE 153 (Extended)
The thought of Tae-oh seeing her humiliation was her strongest motivator. She didn't want Tae-oh to see her in such a pathetic state. That was something she hated more than death.
Ha-yeon stumbled and crawled into her room. The door had been damaged in a previous outburst and didn't lock. Only then did Shin Ae-jung press the intercom button.
The thunk of the lock disengaging echoed ominously. The front door opened automatically. Tup-tup, the sound of dress shoes was heard. The confident, heavy steps resonated on the marble.
“Aigo, he must have been drinking heavily.” Ban Ik-jung rushed forward, putting on a forced smile. “You should take off your shoes before coming in. But Director Dan, how did you find my house?”
Tae-oh didn't spare Ban Ik-jung a glance and strode across the living room with his shoes on. His path was direct, his face fixed straight ahead. He passed by one door after another until he stopped in front of a door with a loose handle.
Ban Ik-jung, flustered, chased after him. “H-hey. Director Dan, what are you doing? This is my daughter’s room. Please, you seem very drunk, so don’t disturb a sleeping child and come over here. We have important things to discuss!”
Without a reply, Tae-oh simply pushed the door. The urgency in his action was terrifying.
The unlocked door slid open without resistance, revealing the being who constantly delivered terrible phantom pain to Tae-oh.
Tae-oh’s eyes, sunk in deep blackness, meticulously scanned Ha-yeon from head to toe. The bruised cheek, the disheveled clothes, the fetal position—he absorbed every detail.
“Ban Ha-yeon,” he breathed, the sound flat and lethal.
Ha-yeon, who was collapsed on the floor sweating cold, turned her head. Her eyes, stained with pain, met his and quickly became moist. She didn't have to pretend.
“……I’m hurt,” she whispered, the simple confession of her pain breaking his centuries-long stoicism.
Tae-oh, with an expressionless face, slowly lifted Ha-yeon up. He moved with the terrifying speed and grace of a predator, ignoring the two gaping adults behind him.
*******
The Seizure and the Silence
PAGE 154 (Extended)
The cold, raw reality of Ha-yeon's distress hit Tae-oh with the force of a physical blow. The trembling, thin body burrowed into his embrace. Her weight was shockingly light, and her small, cold-sweat-soaked face rubbed against his neck, seeking warmth and safety.
Grind.
Tae-oh’s teeth ground together with a chilling sound. The soft noise betrayed a rage so immense it warped his composure. It was a silent, murderous sound of a predator staking its claim.
Belatedly, Ban Ik-jung came to his senses and tried to interject. He finally processed the scene: Ha-yeon was clearly in a beaten state, visible to anyone. The evidence of the assault, the blood, the fear, was undeniable. Since this was the first time this situation had been discovered by someone outside the family, his reaction was slow. He frantically searched for a believable lie.
“D-Director Dan, please listen to me.” He hurried toward Tae-oh, weaving a pathetic story. “It looks like our child had an accident outside. A fall, perhaps, or a street incident. But no matter how much I ask, she won’t speak. She’s in shock. She was in such bad shape that I was just about to call the police after calming her down.”
Tae-oh’s silence was absolute. “……”
“Hoo, to think something like this would happen to my only daughter.” Ban Ik-jung wrung his hands, feigning agony. “I’m truly heartbroken; I can barely live with the stress.”
Tae-oh turned around, still holding Ha-yeon, and Ban Ik-jung blocked his path. The Congressman realized the man was leaving.
“J-just a moment, Director Dan, are you acquainted with my daughter?” His voice wavered between respect and panic. “Where are you planning to take her?”
Tae-oh walked toward the entrance without even looking at Ban Ik-jung. The disregard was total.
Ban Ik-jung’s face was stained with displeasure. His professional mask was slipping, revealing simmering pride. This was not just a simple disregard; it was treating him like a complete ghost. And in his own home, no less.
“No, where are you taking a child who isn’t even well!” he shouted, the urgency spurred by the knowledge that Ha-yeon was the only proof of his alleged familial stability. “Put her down immediately! Put down my daughter!”
PAGE 155 (Extended)
Desperate, Ban Ik-jung reached out his arm to grab Tae-oh. He had lost all control. At that moment, a sharply dressed man stopped him.
It was Seon-woo, who had been quietly waiting by the entrance. He moved with the practiced economy of a bodyguard.
“It would be better if you didn’t touch him.” Seon-woo’s voice was dangerously smooth. “He’s a mad dog; he bites if you handle him.”
“Wh-what did you say? Who are you!” Ban Ik-jung spluttered.
“Dan Seon-woo of Daeho Construction.” He offered his card as a formality.
Ban Ik-jung had heard the name. Dan Seon-woo, Dan Tae-oh’s right-hand man. On any other day, he would have tried to cultivate a relationship—a handshake, a dinner invitation. But Ban Ik-jung couldn't see anything but the girl being taken away. He sensed his entire political future leaving his grasp. He was beside himself with the premonition that he couldn't let Ha-yeon go like this.
Ban Ik-jung violently swatted away Seon-woo's hand, which was offering a business card. “What is the meaning of this! You suddenly break into someone else’s house and dare to kidnap my daughter?” He grasped for the most damaging accusation he could think of. “They said Daeho was a gangster's den, and it seems that rumor is true!”
“Calm down,” Seon-woo repeated, utterly unconcerned by the threat.
“Calm down? Calm down?! No, these crazy bastards… If you don’t step aside right now, I’ll call the police! Honey! Get my phone!”
Ban Ik-jung was livid, his face bright red. His partially balding hair flew wildly as he raged.
Seon-woo watched his ugly display, then handed him a yellow envelope. “Have a look at this.” The envelope was heavy, final, and yellow—the color of caution tape.
PAGE 156 (Extended)
“Take that away!” Ban Ik-jung fiercely struck the envelope, scattering its contents across the marble floor of the entrance. “Do you think a bribe will work now? Hand over my daughter! My daughter immediately…”
Ban Ik-jung’s voice broke off. The sight of the papers frozen him mid-sentence. With bloodshot eyes, he frantically scanned the scattered documents on the floor. They weren't just papers; they were high-resolution photographs, financial ledgers, and official documents.
“Th-this is… How did you get this…?”
The documents were densely packed with the large and small corruption he had committed. Every backroom deal, every misappropriated fund, every silenced witness. There looked to be hundreds of photos serving as evidence. The sheer volume was staggering.
He knew instantly the catastrophic implications. If even one of these incidents were revealed, the gubernatorial election would be out of the question. His career would be over before the primaries. Not only that, but he didn’t know how many years he might rot in prison for corruption charges. The moment he received a jail sentence, his political career would be over.
Ban Ik-jung’s thick cheeks began to tremble uncontrollably. The rage was replaced by debilitating fear.
“W-what kind of misunderstanding… I, I don’t know anything. These things have absolutely nothing to do with me!” He was reduced to frantic, childlike denials.
“The Director will contact you shortly. Until then, be quiet.” Seon-woo’s tone was cold and definitive, like a judge reading a sentence.
“A-are you threatening me now? Illegally collected materials cannot be evidence! They are just fabricated garbage!” He clung to the single, desperate defense he knew.
“Then you must be very confident,” Seon-woo replied with a thin, mocking smile.
“Why are you doing this to me! What do you want, for God’s sake! Please tell me, please!” The powerful Congressman had collapsed into a groveling victim, sacrificing his last shred of dignity for information.
****
The Architect of Ruin
PAGE 157 (Extended)
Seon-woo stood framed in the doorway, the very picture of polite menace. “That is not a question I can answer. I apologize for the intrusion at this late hour.” He offered a formal bow, completing the horrifying tableau of corporate kidnapping.
“J-just a moment, wait! Hey, Director Dan, how can you just leave like this?” Ban Ik-jung was hysterical, the political mask completely shattered. “Give me just a little time. I—I can explain everything, okay? Wait, Director Dan!”
Seon-woo lightly brushed away Ban Ik-jung’s aggressively clinging hand and stepped out. The ease of the movement spoke volumes about his disdain.
Click.
Ban Ik-jung, following frantically, stopped in dazed dismay in front of the automatically closing entrance door. His reflection stared back at him—a sweaty, disheveled man stripped of his power.
‘Why did Dan Tae-oh investigate me… For what reason?’ He paced the entrance hall, his mind racing through political motives. He knew that the Dan family was deeply involved in the presidential election. He tried to rationalize the intrusion. So, it was possible they investigated Ban Ik-jung to see if he was a suitable person to collaborate with.
‘But……’ That reasoning failed immediately. Dan Tae-oh’s eyes were the sticking point.
The pitch-black pupils were fraught with intense killing intent. He shuddered at the memory. They were so cold, he felt suffocated the moment they met his gaze. That was not the look one gives to a potential business partner. It was the look reserved for an enemy one wishes to tear apart and kill.
A chilling realization washed over him, turning his stomach. “C-could it be… that bitch Ha-yeon’s doing?” He grasped for the most plausible personal motive. Yes, it didn't make sense that Dan Tae-oh would take Ha-yeon away if they weren't somehow connected. It seemed Ha-yeon had somehow approached Dan Tae-oh and asked for revenge. That must be it—a perfect explanation for the sudden, targeted strike. That’s why Dan Tae-oh had dug up Ban Ik-jung’s corruption.
‘How on earth did that bitch get to know Dan Tae-oh? How did she manage to win him over? Did she spread her legs for him?’ He couldn't imagine any other currency the girl possessed that would move a man like Dan Tae-oh.
PAGE 158 (Extended)
His political mind took over, coldly assessing the threat. Regardless, if his assumption was correct, it was obvious how Dan Tae-oh would proceed. He would use the corruption files as leverage.
“This ungrateful wretch…” He spat the words, furious at the betrayal.
Shin Ae-jung, who had been watching nervously, approached cautiously. She picked up a few stray financial records, her eyes wide with incomprehension. “Honey, what is all this about? And what are these documents?”
“It seems this damn girl knew how to use her lower half… We’ve been properly cornered,” he sneered, making the accusation explicit.
“No, what on earth is this man talking about? I’m dying of frustration, so tell me properly!”
“Can’t you see? That bitch Ha-yeon used Dan Tae-oh to try and take me down! These are all the evidence! He’s holding my career in his hand!”
“W-what did you say? Then this is a big problem! What do we do now?” She grabbed his arm, suddenly feeling the weight of the crisis.
“Shit, if even one of these blows up, we’re finished. We have to shut her mouth right now. We need leverage against Dan Tae-oh.”
“Is there a way?”
Ban Ik-jung’s mind, corrupt but sharp, found a solution. “You have that girl’s psychiatric counseling records, right? Bring all of them over. Get a proper opinion from the attending physician too. We’ll use the medical records.”
“Will that work?”
“We have to first present evidence that she’s crazy. That she’s mentally unstable and unreliable. Negotiation comes after that. We turn the tables. We need to make him pay the price for sexually assaulting a minor who isn't even mentally sound.”
A nasty smile spread across the faces of Ban Ik-jung and Shin Ae-jung. The fear was replaced by cold, predatory calculation.
“Oh my, that’s a really good idea.” Shin Ae-jung clapped her hands, relieved. “You were right to make Ha-yeon get psychiatric counseling, just as you said. We almost had a disaster.”
“I am Ban Ik-jung. After all I’ve done to get here! I won’t just take this lying down.” He puffed out his chest, feeling his power return.
PAGE 159 (Extended)
“What are you planning to ask for in return?” Shin Ae-jung asked, her eyes glittering with greed. She saw millions, maybe even the First Lady title, coming out of this blackmail attempt.
“Just wait. I have it all figured out. We'll demand a political alliance, protection, and a massive investment in my campaign fund. He needs to pay to make this evidence disappear.”
Satisfied with turning a crisis into an opportunity, the two entered their bedroom. They began excitedly discussing the lucrative details of their counter-attack, the psychiatric records, and the demands they would place on Dan Tae-oh.
They had no idea that a gigantic gate to hell had just swung wide open right behind them. The documents scattered on the marble floor were not a bargaining chip; they were a death warrant.
///////////////
*****
The Hospital Bed Confession
PAGE 160 (Extended)
The sterile white of the room seemed to absorb all color and warmth. Tae-oh silently watched Ha-yeon, who was asleep with numerous IV lines attached. Perhaps because the hospital bed was white, Ha-yeon looked even more pale, a delicate contrast to the dark bruising visible beneath the sheets.
Professor Choi, looking somewhat disheveled, flipped through the chart. He was a nervous wreck, dealing with a highly illegal situation involving a corporate heir.
“Hmm… Thankfully, there are no wounds that require suturing. We’ve treated everything externally. The busted lip will heal with time. The bruises will fade slowly too. It seems the student defended herself well, using her arms to protect her head and vitals.”
Professor Choi closed the chart and put his hands in his gown pockets. He frowned, the relief quickly evaporating.
“However, there are quite a few internal problems. There are hairline fractures on her right index finger and her 4th and 5th ribs.” He looked meaningfully at Tae-oh. “This is typically the result of being kicked while lying face down. Repeated, blunt force trauma to the torso.”
“……” Tae-oh’s silence was a heavy, dangerous thing.
“We can put a cast on the right hand, but we can't do that for the ribs. We’ve strapped her up tightly. She has to be careful even when coughing until the bones mend. No sudden movements.”
Tae-oh’s sunken eyes passed over Ha-yeon's upper body and slowly swept down to her hand wrapped in a white bandage. The elegant hand was now a brutal, fragile thing. They stopped at her black-and-blue left pinky fingernail.
“Why is the nail like that?” Tae-oh’s voice was a low growl.
“She must have been stepped on or held her hands up incorrectly while blocking. The blow crushed the cuticle and pooled blood beneath the nail bed. We have no choice but to wait until the nail grows out.”
Professor Choi swallowed dryly. He felt like he was hugging a time bomb with only three seconds left.
When he received the frantic call from Seon-woo, he thought Tae-oh had been injured. So he rushed to the hospital in a daze, only to find this: Tae-oh was fine, and some girl was lying in the hospital room. Moreover, she was someone Professor Choi had seen once before: Ha-yeon, the student living next door to Tae-oh.
Why did the rumor that Dan Tae-oh was dating immediately pop into his head the moment he saw her face? Professor Choi, who had unintentionally figured out the relationship between Ha-yeon and Tae-oh, couldn't believe the situation. Dan Tae-oh is with a 19-year-old? Is this a dream? At least it wasn't a crime, thankfully. Though the boundary was perilously close.
He had to address the elephant in the room. “Director, the hospital is required to report patients who show signs of assault immediately upon admission. What should we do? Legally, I have to file a report.”
“……” Tae-oh did not respond, staring only at the girl.
PAGE 161 (Extended)
“Director?” Professor Choi tried again, his tone anxious.
“……”
“Director!” He raised his voice, desperate to break through the man’s terrifying focus.
Tae-oh squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again. His gaze was dark, but clearer now.
Report? An absurd notion. He couldn't let it end that easily. A formal police investigation was too swift, too clean a conclusion for Ban Ik-jung.
“Hold off. Until the child wakes up. We will decide then.”
“Understood.” Relieved for the delay, Professor Choi went out.
In the quiet hospital room, Tae-oh gently placed his ear against Ha-yeon’s chest. Thump-thump. The faint sound of her heart beat against his eardrum. It was regular, steady, proof of life. Only then could he breathe properly.
He hadn't been breathing since he saw her. In truth, ever since the phantom pain began on the drive home, and when he realized the intensity of the pain was different from usual, he hadn’t been entirely sane. He barely remembered how he got here. His mind and body were consumed by an unfamiliar emotion.
No, it was a feeling he had experienced before. The pain was like a monster named Fear, having leapt out of a deep, dark swamp, savagely mutilating his limbs with sharp teeth. It was the pain he felt when he almost lost Bayan, a pure terror of profound loss.
“Ah, fuck.” He clenched his jaw, finally releasing the expletive that contained all his rage.
PAGE 162 (Extended)
Tae-oh pressed his eyelids hard with his palm. His head felt like it would explode. The delayed punishment was eating him alive.
He should have killed that bastard, but the problem was he had delayed it because he didn't want to affect Ha-yeon's plan. He had tried to be patient, to respect her desire for a clean exit. Since when did I become so patient?
He should have just followed his nature and devoured Ban Ik-jung. He should have cut off his fingers one by one and shoved them into his mouth. The violence of his imagination was cold comfort.
It was as Tae-oh was chewing on his murderous intent that a soft object covered his clenched fist.
A small hand stained with bruises.
Ha-yeon, who had somehow regained consciousness, was looking at him.
“Ajussi……”
Her consciousness didn't seem fully returned. Her drug-hazed eyes couldn't focus and wavered widely.
Tae-oh whispered softly into Ha-yeon’s ear. He didn't offer comfort; he offered vengeance, his own personal, lethal brand of bedside manners.
“How should I handle him? Do you want revenge?”
“Ungg…” Ha-yeon made a sound like a sleepy complaint. She stared blankly at him with eyes that didn't know if this was a dream or reality.
“Should I kill him without a trace? Should I just cut off his legs and confine him to an island? I can even make him piss himself just by looking at your shadow. Tell me what you want.”
“Ajussi……” she mumbled, her bruised hand tightening on his fist, anchoring him to the present.
******"
The Request for Solace
PAGE 163 (Extended)
Tae-oh’s face, usually a mask of control, was taut with a silent, promised violence. “You don’t have to do anything. Just choose. Death, ruin, exile—it's all yours.”
Ha-yeon’s eyes, hazy with medication and exhaustion, fixed on him. Her hand tightened its weak grip on his. “……Give me.”
“What?” He leaned closer, expecting a whispered name or a lethal suggestion.
Her voice was barely a breath, filled with a deep, childish need. “……Hold… me.”
Tae-oh’s mind went blank, and he fell silent. The entire purpose of his presence, his carefully cultivated fury, evaporated. He was brought up short by the profound simplicity of her request.
A memory from long ago suddenly came back to him. The image was so clear it might have been yesterday. A very long time ago, the day Bayan was covered in ruby powder on her face. A political attack meant to permanently scar her beauty and her spirit.
Even then, Bayan didn't wish for revenge.
Your Majesty…
“Yes, tell me. Tell me what you want me to do to the traitors. What should I do?” he’d demanded, his heart cold with dread.
Hold, me.
“What did you say?”
Hold… me…
To suffer through a full half-day of terrible agony, yet all she wanted was something so simple. It was baffling then, as it was now.
Why is my master so pitiful and foolish? Why did she always choose comfort and survival over retribution?
His heart, which had been racing with murderous intent, finally quieted. The fury was still there, but it was displaced by an overwhelming protectiveness. Tae-oh carefully moved the IV lines aside and climbed onto the bed, settling himself gently beside her frail body.
PAGE 164 (Extended)
And he slowly embraced Ha-yeon. He was careful of her bandaged hand and fractured ribs, supporting her small frame with immense, constrained strength. Ungg, she groaned like a small animal and nestled into his chest. She found her place against the solid anchor of his body, burying her face into his shirt.
Her eyes, which had been blinking slowly for a while, calmly closed. The fight was over, the fear subdued by his proximity. Soon, she fell into a deep sleep, breathing softly.
Tae-oh gently tucked Ha-yeon’s wildly tangled hair behind her ear. His touch was hesitant, reverent. He gazed down at her pale, bruised face, a silent oath forming in his mind.
He spoke, his voice too low for anyone but her sleeping self to hear. “You were severely injured a long time ago, too. It was the doing of those who were envious and jealous of you. They wanted to end your claim to the throne.”
Ha-yeon’s breathing was barely audible. Tae-oh lowered his voice even further. “You didn't want revenge then either. So, you wouldn't know. What I did. You only saw my face after the fear was gone.”
It was natural she wouldn't know, as he had strictly enforced silence so that she wouldn't know anything. He had sanitized the aftermath, protected her from the true horror.
“Nothing special happened.” He let a flicker of the past violence slip into his words. “I stayed up all night, watched you recover with your self-healing ability, and then attended the court meeting.”
And I massacred them all. He remembered the sheer, cold ecstasy of the carnage.
(“Yes, scream more. Tremble more. Wail more. Even so, it won't be even one-tenth of the terror I felt last night.”) He’d savored their fear, matching their pain to the agony she endured. He cleaved flesh and drank blood until the resentment built up overnight and the fear of potentially losing her disappeared.
“That’s just an old story. Don't worry about it,” he murmured, stroking her back.
Tae-oh cautiously kissed Ha-yeon's black-and-blue fingernail. The small, dark bruise was his new wound, a physical marker of his terrifying loss of control, and his commitment to retribution. He would ensure that Ban Ik-jung learned exactly what his "mad dog" successor did when his master was harmed.
"*******
Discharge and Destination
PAGE 165 (Extended)
The hospital smelled of antiseptic and lingering fear, scents Ha-yeon was eager to leave behind. Ha-yeon was in the hospital for a full week before she was discharged. The timing was fortuitous; since school’s winter break started today, the one week she spent in the hospital was treated as a medical leave. No teachers would question her absence, and no classmates would see the worst of her injuries.
The car was a silent, opulent bubble separating her from the world. Ha-yeon looked around out the car window. Her hair, tied in a ponytail, swayed from side to side. She was healing quickly. The extensive bruises on her face had faded, leaving only a faint yellow tinge. The frequent application of bruise cream by a flurry of attentive hospital staff helped speed up the recovery.
Tae-oh was focused on the road, but his awareness of her was absolute. Tae-oh placed his hand on Ha-yeon’s shoulder and gently pressed her back into the seat.
“I told you not to move around carelessly. Your ribs haven't healed yet.” His voice was a low, steady rumble of authority.
“It doesn’t hurt much, though.” She minimized her pain, a lifelong habit. “But where are we going right now?”
“Home.”
“This isn’t the way to my house…” She recognized the route; it led away from her familiar apartment and deeper into the city’s exclusive districts.
“We’re going to my house. The main family residence. You’re not going back to that house.”
Ha-yeon’s breath hitched. A full week in the hospital was one thing, but this was a permanent relocation. “I’m going with you?”
Tae-oh didn't even glance at her, the statement cold and unequivocal. “If I was going to abandon you, I wouldn’t have tended to you for a week. I don’t waste my time.”
PAGE 166 (Extended)
Ignoring his dry tone, Ha-yeon looked up at him intently and asked, “Are you pitying me?” She needed to know the foundation of his actions.
He didn't flinch. “Yes, I pity you so much it brings tears to my eyes. I’m simply overcome by your misfortune.”
“I didn't know I was pitiful enough to make a gangster cry. That's good.” She smiled, realizing the absurdity of his sarcasm.
Tae-oh, who had been continuing the deadpan joke, fell silent for a moment. He navigated a turn, his expression unreadable. “Normally… don’t people get offended if they’re pitied? People with pride usually reject sympathy.”
“I hate being pitied by other people. They do it to feel superior. But it’s fine if it’s you, Ajussi. I'm grateful for even pity from the person I like, rather than them feeling nothing at all. Any emotion from you is a foothold.”
“……” The silence returned, this time heavier.
Ha-yeon pressed her advantage, her eyes gleaming with sudden, mischievous determination. “But how I choose to use that pity is up to me. So, be prepared.”
“Prepared for what?”
“Your pity might turn into love without you even noticing. It's a very small step from one powerful emotion to another.”
“Dream on.” He scoffed, the sound sharp.
“You’ll regret underestimating me. It looks like you’re already halfway there.”
He let out a genuine, short burst of laughter. “Who? Me? For you? Can I laugh now? What makes you so confident?”
“Look even now. You’re Dan Tae-oh; you could have hired the best bodyguards and a safe house. There were many ways for you to help me. So why did you insist on taking me to the main family residence? It’s because you didn’t want to be separated from me. You want me where you can see me.”
“……That’s what they call over-interpreting a situation. I call it pragmatic security.”
“Just wait and see. You will definitely fall in love with me.” It wasn't a wish; it was a prediction.
PAGE 167 (Extended)
I already succeeded in that 500 years ago. The unspoken thought was a heavy secret that made his denial an act of theater.
Tae-oh turned his head to hide his expression. He couldn't let her see the raw conflict her words caused. Ha-yeon then gently grasped his pinky finger. Her touch was feather-light, yet it felt like a shackle.
The physical contact had increased significantly during her hospitalization. Forced proximity had eroded his defenses. After carrying her, feeding her, and supporting her, it had become second nature at some point.
It was driving Tae-oh crazy. Just being in the same room made his erection stiffen, so what was he supposed to do when she kept touching him? The proximity of her youthful desire was an endless, exquisite torture.
“……What is it now?” he asked, trying to sound annoyed.
“I felt like I hadn’t thanked you properly.”
“Thanked me?”
“Thank you for rescuing me. The terror would have gone on forever without you. I’m also really grateful that you stayed with me in the hospital. It was the first time I felt safe.”
“……”
“I know I’ve received an excessive amount of help from you so far, but please let me impose on you a little longer. Just until I enter university. I’ll be independent then, I promise.”
“……I thought you planned to sponge off me for life. I guess that’s a relief.” The lie felt bitter on his tongue.
“Don’t worry. I’m not that shameless.”
She doesn’t realize that’s what makes it more pitiful. Her pride in not being a burden was heartbreaking. I wish she would shamelessly sponge off me. I wish she would brazenly ask for help. He wanted her dependence, her need.
The polished landscape blurred as the car pulled into the main residence's parking lot. The immense house stood before them, a fortress. Tae-oh finished parking and opened the car door for her.
“Get out. Watch your step. You’re home now.”
****"*
The Master's Quarters
PAGE 168 (Extended)
Ha-yeon stepped gingerly out of the car, looking past the sprawling parking area. “Is this your main family residence, Ajussi?”
It was an overwhelmingly spacious, traditional Korean style (Hanok) detached house. It wasn't just large; it was majestic, a piece of living history nestled in the modern city. Stepping out of the parking lot, a long staircase led up to a courtyard-like garden. The air was crisp, and the landscaping was meticulous. Watching the pine trees, which were part of the landscaping, covered softly with snow, she felt as if she could smell ink nearby—the faint, clean scent of old paper and scholarly contemplation.
“I once visited a museum that was a Hanok, and this looks even better than that,” Ha-yeon said, genuinely impressed.
The part of the estate they approached was the annex, Tae-oh’s private sanctuary. The annex where Tae-oh stayed was structured with a living room centered around a small inner courtyard, two rooms, and a kitchen. Unlike the traditionally built exterior, the interior was entirely modern. The clash of ancient wood beams and sleek contemporary fittings was striking.
“They say Hanoks are drafty, but this is surprisingly warm.” Ha-yeon leaned into the heat emanating from the floor. “Everything looks new too. Did you remodel?”
Tae-oh looked around, his own gaze sharp with surprise. “It’s the first time I’ve seen it like this, too.”
“Pardon?” Ha-yeon tilted her head.
He rarely stayed at the main house. It had been 20 years since Madam Kim Ok-bun had the annex renovated for Tae-oh. He knew its flaws well. While there had been minor repairs in between, the inconvenience of the Hanok structure and the drafts that seeped in every winter were unavoidable. The heating had always been inadequate for his tastes.
But now, it was completely transformed. The walls felt thicker, the air perfectly regulated. It was clear that Madam Kim Ok-bun had completely overhauled everything upon hearing the news that Ha-yeon was coming. A subtle smile touched his lips—his grandmother worked fast.
PAGE 169 (Extended)
She was seeing for the first time that this place could be so warm. Every structural deficiency he’d complained about for years had been quietly eliminated. This was practically a complete gut job, with only the frame remaining. They had invested fortunes into modernizing the insulation and heating system while maintaining the traditional aesthetic.
Not only that, but unfamiliar items were placed everywhere. It was a catalogue of charming, non-Tae-oh clutter. Slippers with ribbons, an ivory full-length mirror, a vintage floor lamp, a pink electric toothbrush. All of them were far removed from Tae-oh's taste, which ran exclusively to black, steel, and severe minimalism.
“Oh? That!” Ha-yeon discovered something and went into the kitchen, her eyes sparkling.
She approached a coffee machine with a steel body and white color accents, designed with considerable flair. It looked like a museum piece itself.
“I heard this is hard to find in Korea. It was a limited import! How did you get it?”
“I don’t know,” Tae-oh replied flatly.
“It’s really beautiful to see in person. Can I make some coffee?” She already reached for the machine, then paused, looking at her bandaged right hand.
“With that hand?”
“Aw, I can manage this with my left hand. I'm not useless. Where are the beans? And tell me how it works.”
“The beans are underneath that, and I don’t know how it works.”
“Why not?”
“Because I didn't buy it.”
“Then who did?” Ha-yeon asked, genuinely puzzled by the sudden, thoughtful appearance of domestic amenities.
The moment Tae-oh was about to speak, the door to the annex opened and someone walked in.
PAGE 170 (Extended)
It was an elderly woman dressed in a Hanbok, her neatly tied hair completely white. She moved with an undeniable presence. She had a sharp gaze and an imposing demeanor. Her power was palpable. Although she held a walking stick, she didn't appear frail. Her posture was straighter than a young person’s.
Despite her unapproachable impression, Ha-yeon took an immediate liking to the elder. It was a gut reaction, an uncanny recognition. She didn't know why. The moment she looked into the elder’s deep eyes, her heart inexplicably fluttered, and her eyes welled up with tears.
Tae-oh scowled at the appearance of Madam Kim Ok-bun. The source of the new coffee machine and the renovation was clear. He didn't know how she found out the door code and managed to enter, despite him changing the password every time.
“I told you not to enter without permission,” Tae-oh greeted her, his tone one of deep-seated familial annoyance.
“There is no place in my home where I cannot go,” Madam Kim Ok-bun retorted, her voice firm.
“Grandmother,” Tae-oh sighed, resigning himself to the confrontation.
Madam Kim Ok-bun ignored the scowling Tae-oh and continued walking, her attention focused entirely on the bruised girl.
“Child, why are you standing? Your body is not even well.” Her voice, though authoritarian, held a note of concern. “Did that boy make you work?”
Ha-yeon waved her hand with a flustered look. “Ah, no! I was just looking for coffee beans. I promise. The machine is so pretty I wanted to try using it.”
“You like this? My child has good taste.” Madam Kim Ok-bun smiled, a rare, powerful sight.
“Th-thank you. But…” Ha-yeon trailed off and glanced at Tae-oh. It was baffling that the person who should be introducing them was just standing with his hands clasped behind his back, playing the aloof guardian.
*********
The Warm Embrace of the Matriarch
PAGE 171 (Extended)
Ha-yeon understood the social dynamics instantly. "I must absolutely make a good impression on the homeowner." Ha-yeon smiled politely and spoke courteously, projecting a composed gratitude.
“I apologize for the late greeting. My name is Ban Ha-yeon. Ajussi helped me, so I will be imposing for a few days. I appreciate your hospitality deeply. I will stay quietly and leave quietly. I will ensure there is nothing for you to worry about.”
The elder woman, Madam Kim Ok-bun, studied her with an unnerving intensity before speaking. “Why?”
“Pardon?”
“Why only a few days? Stay forever, child. The more the merrier in this dreary place.”
“……Haha, thank you for the sentiment, at least.” Ha-yeon laughed off the shocking offer, attempting to normalize the situation. “Um, may I call you Grandmother?”
“Yes, you may. It’s been too long since I’ve had a child to spoil.”
“Grandmother, is your eyesight okay? You can see well, can’t you?” The question sprang from her lips without thought, an odd, deep-seated impulse.
“Hmm? My eyesight is very good. I can read the small print of a contract without my spectacles. Even at this age, I can thread a needle. But why do you ask?”
Ha-yeon paused. She didn't know why she asked that question. She felt possessed. The words felt ancient and familiar, yet foreign.
“I, I don’t know… I was suddenly curious, I suppose. A strange thought. I apologize if I offended you. Ah, do you drink coffee? Would you like a cup? I’d love to try that beautiful machine.”
“I can't get enough of it. It's strong enough to keep me awake during my dull business calls. Try making one.”
“Yes, please sit down for a moment. I’ll make it right away.” Ha-yeon bustled toward the kitchen, taking charge. “Ajussi, if you want coffee, you should sit there too. You look like you need it.”
Tae-oh let out a faint sigh at his grandmother’s action of settling down instead of leaving. He knew he was trapped.
PAGE 172 (Extended)
He knew his grandmother would like Ha-yeon. Who wouldn't? She was kind, smart, polite, and even pretty. She was the perfect object of his grandmother's singular affection. The problem was his grandmother's eccentric personality.
Wasn't it because of her nature—that she must keep anything she liked close to her—that Tae-oh himself hadn't been able to truly move out and be independent yet? He could practically see the gears turning in her head, the plotting beginning. Now that Ha-yeon had caught her eye, it was clear she would dote on her. She would probably want to take her all over the world, showing off her favorite new pet.
Ha-yeon might enjoy it, but Tae-oh absolutely hated the idea. He needed to monopolize all of Ha-yeon’s time, and he wouldn't share her with anyone. The thought of his grandmother hijacking their shared existence was infuriating. He couldn't tolerate more than 30 minutes, even for his grandmother.
If the hospital hadn't been so close, he wouldn't have come to the main residence. The convenience was now a curse. "I must find a house quickly and move out."
Tae-oh sat down quietly at the dining table with a deadpan expression, already plotting how to anger Madam Kim Ok-bun enough to send her away, without crossing the line into outright disrespect. It was impossible to refuse Ha-yeon's command, however, so he obeyed and sat.
Once the coffee was brewing, Tae-oh led Ha-yeon to the annex’s second bedroom.
“This is your room.”
Ha-yeon’s eyes widened in surprise at the doorway. It was like stepping into a stylish, fully furnished apartment ad.
The room was perfectly furnished. Not a single detail was missing. A PC was set up on a white desk, and there was even a laptop and a tablet. All the items were brand new, and their designs and colors clearly didn't match anything Tae-oh would buy for himself. They were soft, feminine, and welcoming.
PAGE 173 (Extended)
“What is all this?” she whispered, walking past a brand-new bookshelf.
“What’s what? Just furniture,” he tried to dismiss it.
“No, those things…” She gestured to the electronics. “I was wondering if you bought them for me to use.”
“They are for you, but I didn't buy them either. They appeared overnight, like mushrooms.”
“I-is that so? Then who… Did Grandmother buy them?”
“Probably. Who else would dedicate this kind of time and money?**”
“But how did she know about me…? My preferences, even?**”
“Because I told her. I had to give her some warning. It’s been a long time since a young girl like you came into this house, so she seems excited. You’re her new project.”
Ha-yeon understood immediately. Living in a house like this meant they weren't ordinary rich people. They might even have more money than Ban Ik-jung. She realized the extent of the protection Tae-oh was offering her. In that case, refusing might be even more impolite. She didn't want to insult the matriarch's kindness. For Ha-yeon, who hadn't brought anything out of her home, she was simply grateful.
However… she hesitated before touching the keyboard.
“Why are you hesitating?” Tae-oh asked, sensing her internal conflict.
“I don’t know if I should use them. They’re too nice. I don't feel like I've earned them.”
“Is there a special qualification to use things?” His voice was slightly rough. “Just use them, and take them with you when you leave. Don't think twice about it.”
“Me? Take them?”
“Well, do you think I would use things like that? The pink toothbrush, perhaps?”
It would be a lie to say she wasn't tempted. These were things Ha-yeon could only dream of affording with her current means. The gesture felt overwhelming, a symbol of the world he was now allowing her into.
**********
///////
The Domestic Dilemma
PAGE 174-175 (Extended)
Ha-yeon ran her left hand over the smooth, cool surface of the new desk. The sheer generosity was a heavy obligation, but one she could meet. "I should study hard with these things and definitely repay them later." Ha-yeon came to a practical conclusion. Her gratitude was expressed in a promise of future achievement, not immediate gushing.
“Thank you. I’ll use them well. I won't waste them.”
Tae-oh nodded curtly. “Rest. Sleep until dinner. You need to recover.”
“Yes……” She watched him turn toward the door. The immediate practical need resurfaced, overriding her quiet awe.
I should really take a shower. She hadn't been able to properly wash during her hospitalization, and her whole body felt sticky and uncomfortable in the clean, warm air of the room.
Ha-yeon, thinking up to that point, stopped Tae-oh. He was already halfway out.
“But how do I wash?”
“……” He froze, his broad back rigid.
Ha-yeon, with her right hand in a cast, couldn't wash herself. The sheer impossibility of managing the cast, the wound site, and the rest of her body alone was obvious. At the hospital, she could get help from a caregiver, but now there was only Tae-oh. And Tae-oh had the physical strength and proximity to solve the problem instantly.
Tae-oh hid his embarrassment behind a deadpan expression. His jaw clenched slightly. “You won't die if you don't wash for a day. Just wait until tomorrow.”
“I just feel too sticky,” she insisted, her tone plaintive. “It’s been a week.”
“……Wait. I’ll call someone.” He reached for his phone, a reflex to delegate anything personal.
“Who? A maid? They won’t know how to handle the cast. Can’t you just help me, Ajussi? You already moved me and changed my clothes at the hospital.”
The intimacy of her request slammed into him. “Then just wash your hair. I can manage that. I’ll hire a caregiver starting tomorrow. A professional who knows how to handle injuries.”
“But I want to bathe…” she countered, her request becoming more brazen.
His eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “……Do you want to be scolded? Don’t push me.”
Ha-yeon looked intently at Tae-oh, then smiled widely. Her gaze was knowing, and a flicker of her old mischievousness returned.
“You see me as a woman, don’t you?” she challenged him.
“What are you talking about? I see a patient who needs medical attention.”
“If that weren't the case, why can't you help me? You carried me from the car, why is a shower suddenly difficult? It’s because you think you’ll get aroused if you see me, right? Admit it.”
“……” His silence was the only answer she needed. His dark eyes flickered, the self-control costing him visible effort.
“See? Ajussi, you're halfway over to me. You can’t even pretend you don’t find me attractive.”
“Haa… just don’t wash at all.” Tae-oh sighed and walked out, unable to handle the sudden, provocative shift in the conversation. The cold air of the hall was less suffocating than the heat of the bedroom.
Ha-yeon quickly chased after him. “Ah, ah! I’ll do it! I’ll just wash my hair! Okay? Ajussi, open the door! I promise to be good!”
It was the first time the usually silent annex had been so boisterous. Laughter mingled with urgent pleas, breaking the decades of somber quiet that had defined the master’s quarters.
////////
***********
The New Year’s Sunrise
PAGE 176-177 (Extended)
The car cut through the pre-dawn darkness on the first day of the New Year, early morning. It was a pilgrimage born entirely of affection. Tae-oh drove Ha-yeon to Gangneung before sunrise, making good on a casual remark. The trip to Gangneung, undertaken because of a passing remark Ha-yeon made about wanting to see the sunrise at the beach someday, took about three hours of driving—a monumental waste of time by Tae-oh’s usual standards.
As he parked the car near the beach, the surroundings began to brighten. The sky was turning from deep violet to a cold, pale gold.
“Ungg… already?” she mumbled, pulling herself from a deep, drug-induced sleep.
“Yes. The sun won't wait for you.”
“Haam……” Ha-yeon, who had stretched adorably, opened her eyes brightly. The sight of the crashing waves instantly banished her drowsiness.
“The sea! Can I get out?” she asked, reaching for the door handle.
“It’s 13 degrees below zero right now. Are you trying to crack your ribs with pneumonia? Watch from the car.”
Ha-yeon rolled down the window and stretched her face out like a child. The cold air bit her skin, but she didn’t care. She couldn't take her eyes off the scene while the sun was rising, fascinated by everything. The raw power of the ocean and the sky captivated her completely.
The sun slowly rose, scattering its brilliant light across the ocean. It was a fierce, glorious orange, painting the world anew.
“……It’s beautiful……” she breathed, a rare moment of unguarded wonder.
Tae-oh draped a thick wool blanket over Ha-yeon’s shoulders. He did it swiftly, barely looking at her. Ha-yeon shrugged her neck and laughed.
“Strangely, I don’t feel cold at all. I’m usually very sensitive to the cold. Maybe the healing is helping.”
“Then give it here.” He held out a hand. “My bones are getting chilly, so I need to cover up.”
Contrary to his words, Tae-oh didn't even look at the blanket. He watched the horizon, his own coat immaculate and heavy. He's always like this, always speaking so brusquely.
PAGE 178 (Extended)
Ha-yeon knew the routine well. Tae-oh’s way of expressing affection was always like this. He couldn't articulate warmth; it was twisted and thorny, disguised as irritation or pragmatism. Ha-yeon genuinely liked that raw feeling. It was honest, unlike the sweet lies she was used to.
Once the sunrise was over, Ha-yeon pulled her head back in. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, and her eyes shone. The window closed immediately, and the interior temperature rose.
Sensing her gaze, Tae-oh, who was adjusting the temperature, quirked an eyebrow. “What? Done staring at the water?”
“……Nothing. Should we leave now? Grandmother said she would buy me lunch for my birthday.” She settled back into the plush seat.
“Lunch, my ass. That old woman has lost her touch. Tell her to give you cash. Something that can actually be used.”
Ha-yeon's excitement faded slightly. She didn't know her actual date of birth. She had to live her whole life knowing January 1st, the day she was admitted to the orphanage, as her birthday. The date was a marker of abandonment, not celebration.
Ha-yeon replied glumly. “……She already gave me some.”
“How much?”
“She gave it to me in an envelope, but it was too thick… I was too scared to open it. It feels like a small brick.”
“You’re scared of everything. That’s probably the easy part. Have you thought about what you want from me? I’ll give you something real, not cash.”
“Yes.”
“What is it? Spit it out.”
Ha-yeon met Tae-oh’s gaze. Her eyes were serious, erasing the childish enthusiasm.
PAGE 179 (Extended)
“I’ve never liked my birthday until now. It always reminded me of the past. When I lived at the orphanage.” She spoke without bitterness, simply stating a fact.
“You still remember that?” He had hoped the trauma would be buried deeper.
“Not everything, but there was something the director always used to say whenever she saw me. I remember that. It was like her personal mantra.”
“What did she say?” His voice was dangerously low.
“‘If you were abandoned by your parents on the first day of the new year, your fate is obvious. You’ll be unlucky your whole life.’ She would sneer every time.”
Tae-oh’s brow instantly furrowed. The muscle between his eyes tensed. Even someone with a shitty personality shouldn't say that to a child.
He had seen countless types of people over seven reincarnations, but never had there been so many crazy people as in this world. The casual cruelty of ordinary people was often worse than the calculated malice of his enemies.
“Until recently, I thought those words were true.” Her voice was soft. “That my fate must really be dirty. That’s why my mom and dad abandoned me. That’s why I’m living like this.”
Ha-yeon’s voice faded. Then she let out a small laugh. A genuine sound of self-derision and sudden insight.
“But that's not right, is it? If my fate were really that unlucky, I wouldn’t have met you and Grandmother. You are beyond good fortune.”
“……” He couldn't speak, the sheer weight of her innocent realization crushing his prepared callousness.
“I was someone with immense good fortune. The director was wrong. I’m just a little upset that I only realized now that the director was wrong. I could have been happy sooner.” She felt cheated of years of potential happiness.
Tae-oh could vaguely understand Ha-yeon’s words. He remembered his own long centuries of darkness. He, too, used to think he was unhappy. Every day he lived, simply because he couldn't die, was pure unhappiness. He understood the deep, dark belief in one’s own misfortune.
****
The Confession and the Consequence
PAGE 180 (Extended)
Tae-oh stared at the rising sun, the memory of his past lives a sharp ache. But having met Ha-yeon in this life, and realizing that she was the good fortune he was only able to grasp after seven reincarnations, still made him frustrated. Her presence was a blessing that highlighted his current state. If he had known he would meet her, he would have lived his life more properly. He would have cleaned up his life long ago. At the very least, he would have erased the dishonor of being part of a gangster family. He didn't want his origins to taint her.
Ha-yeon interrupted his thoughts, her voice firm. “So, Ajussi. I’m going to apply to universities in Seoul.”
He turned his head slowly. “Didn’t you say you were going to the university furthest from home? You spent weeks researching schools on Jeju Island.”
“What am I supposed to do when the person who makes me happy is in Seoul?” She tilted her head, her logic flawless to her. “I’m worried someone might snatch you away because you’re so handsome. I have no choice but to stay close and keep watch.”
Tae-oh dismissed her flattery, focusing on the danger. “The possibility of running into Ban Ik-jung increases if you stay in Seoul. Your safety is the priority. This isn't a matter to be lightly decided based on a momentary emotion.”
“I changed my decision because it’s not a momentary emotion.” Her tone shifted, becoming solemn.
“Ban Ha-yeon.” His voice was a warning, yet laced with curiosity.
Ha-yeon straightened up and looked directly at him. Her unwavering, direct gaze was what actually made Tae-oh feel flustered. She looked like the Empress Bayan, dignified and resolute.
“I have never thought lightly of you, not for a single moment. It’s been that way from the start, and it is now. I may be young, but my feelings are not childish. Actually, I wanted to tell you before, but I held back because I thought you’d believe me more once I became an adult. Today is the first day of my legal adulthood.”
“……” He felt the foundation of his carefully constructed distance crumble.
“I don’t want to burden you. I understand your position. I just want you to know that my feelings are genuine. That I’m here by choice, not just necessity. This is the birthday gift I want from you, Ajussi. Your acknowledgment.”
PAGE 181-182 (Extended)
Tae-oh was speechless. He didn't just feel love; he felt like he had glimpsed the sheer size of Ha-yeon’s feelings. They were vast, ancient, and utterly devoted.
Sensing the heavy atmosphere, Ha-yeon cheerfully raised her voice to break the tension. “You're in big trouble now, Ajussi. Starting today, I plan to actively seduce you. The rules of the game have changed. You will fall in love with me very soon.”
“Haa… I wondered why you were so quiet. I should have known better. You were just waiting for your birthday to pass, weren’t you?”
“Yes. My goal is to knock you over before I start university. A successful conquest by the fall semester.”
“Is that all you think about? Education, my safety—all secondary concerns, apparently. You're too forward.”
“I must really be too forward.” She nodded, embracing the description. “Lately, all I think about is how I can touch you.”
Ha-yeon subtly shifted her body. She leaned across the console, getting into his personal space. She grabbed Tae-oh’s sleeve and tugged at it lightly, like she was showing affection. The simple, continuous touch was designed to be distracting.
“That's why I can't sleep at night. I keep imagining things. Can I sleep with you starting tonight, Ajussi? To keep me warm.”
She’s acting like a cat. Tae-oh let out a dry, hollow laugh. The situation was ridiculous.
Not because Ha-yeon’s intent stare was alluring, but because it was cute. She was trying to be seductive, but the innocence shone through. And because he found himself pathetic for reacting to such simple seduction. The sheer need she sparked was humiliating.
It wasn't that he was pretending not to notice Ha-yeon’s temptation out of some lingering guilt about devouring her as soon as her birthday passed. He felt no guilt. How long have I waited for her? It had been 500 years. The wait had sterilized his conscience. He was far too desperate to talk about conscience.
However, for now, he felt like he could still let Ha-yeon leave if she wanted to. He still held that sliver of restraint. But if he were to hold her, that would be the end. He knew his own dark nature. He would become obsessed and clingy, and when Ha-yeon eventually grew tired and tried to leave, he would ultimately lock her away. He'd seen that darkness in himself before.
Tae-oh was afraid of that. He knew himself too well to believe he wouldn't do exactly that.
He looked away, stone-faced. “If you can’t sleep, warm up some milk and drink it. That usually puts kids to sleep until morning.”
“……” Ha-yeon fell silent. Her playful energy extinguished, replaced by a wounded, accusing stare. Ignoring her eyes filled with reproach, he said flatly,
“Buckle up. We’re leaving. The lunch appointment awaits.”
Ha-yeon didn't say another word until they arrived in Seoul. The drive was completed in heavy silence, a tangible manifestation of the boundary he had just re-established between them.
The evening’s tumultuous emotions had prolonged her time out, and Ha-yeon was only able to return home close to 11 o’clock. The delay was directly tied to the arrival of her neighbor. This was because Tae-oh came in around that time, ensuring her safety before driving to his real destination.
“I’m home,” Ha-yeon greeted the silent house like a machine. The vast, cold entrance hall swallowed the words whole. Ban Ik-jung and Shin Ae-jung were attending a publication party for a certain congressman, and Ban Hyuk-joon didn't finish his cram school until midnight. The utter emptiness of the house was familiar. The situation of no one scolding her for returning later than usual was also familiar; she was invisible to them.
She went into her room, took off her school uniform, and changed into comfortable, worn clothes. Since she had left her workbooks at Tae-oh’s house, there was nothing to organize—another piece of her life now relocated to his sphere of influence. She simply grabbed her underwear and headed for the bathroom.
Looking in the mirror, she twisted her long hair up, securing it in a knot. Then, suddenly, her lips, which looked fuller than usual—swollen from the bite—caught her eye.
“Ajussi’s lips touched here…” she whispered, the memory a jolt of pure electricity.
Ha-yeon’s face reflected in the mirror instantly burned red. The shame and thrill of the chaotic kiss warred inside her.
The source of the chaos echoed in her mind: “And Ajussi has zero interest in a little kid who smells of fish, like you. Ask for something you can actually get.”
The moment she heard those words, fury surged to her head. The dismissal was total. Of course, it was normal for a fully grown adult not to see a 19-year-old high school student as a woman. Her rational mind knew this. But even knowing that, she was so angry that tears pricked her eyes. She felt utterly infantilized.
So she forcibly kissed him. The memory of her desperate lunge made her wince. She knew it was practically assault, born of emotional desperation, but she couldn't stop herself.
Her true, unspoken motive surfaced: She wanted to let Tae-oh know that in two months, Ha-yeon would also be an adult. ‘Don’t call me a kid! I’m a woman too!’ That was the message she’d tried to send. That was her intention, but she didn’t know why she ended up biting his lip.
Why did she do that? She didn't mean to hurt him… A moment of honesty pierced the confusion. No, actually, she did want to hurt him. A fierce, selfish voice in her soul screamed: She wanted Ajussi to feel the same pain she felt in her heart.
Ha-yeon touched her lip, tracing the slight cut on her own inner lip where she must have grazed it. The situation of biting Tae-oh’s lip kept replaying endlessly in her mind.
PAGE 107 (Extended)
The memory unfolded in vivid detail: The moment she cupped Ajussi’s cheeks, his sharp, monolidded eyes widened slightly, revealing his shock. He had been completely caught off guard. Then, inhaling the faint magnolia scent that clung to his expensive clothes, she bit his lip. It was a possessive, frustrated, and deeply intimate act all at once.
The sensation of his lips, which briefly grazed her tongue, was still vivid. A phantom touch. How warm and soft they were. The violence was undercut by the unexpected, tender reality of his mouth.
Ha-yeon crouched down and hugged her knees to her chest on the cool tile floor. She hid her furiously pounding heart this way, trying to contain the overwhelming sensation.
“What should I do…”
The answer, whispered into her kneecap, was startlingly clear: I think I’m in love with Ajussi.
Admitting her first love was surprisingly easy. The revelation felt natural, like solving an equation she hadn’t realized she was working on. Age wasn't even a concern. In fact, falling in love with Tae-oh felt like the natural order of things, the inevitability of a rescued soul bonding with its savior.
But immediately, the brutal facts returned. But the possibility of this feeling being reciprocated… “There’s none, is there.”
She knew the risk. The moment she confessed, she might never see him again. Tae-oh’s feelings for Ha-yeon would be nothing more than pity for the abused girl next door, nothing more, nothing less. ‘To Ajussi, I’m just a little kid who smells of fish.’ The phrase was a dagger to her self-worth.
The path ahead was bleak. She desperately searched for a loophole: She needed at least a glimmer of possibility to even attempt a confession.
So, should she distance herself from Tae-oh until this feeling disappeared?
Ha-yeon shook her head glumly. The thought was more painful than rejection.
PAGE 108 (Extended)
She would hate not seeing Tae-oh more than she would hate being rejected after a confession. The potential for pain was secondary to the simple need to have him in her life. And she didn't think distancing herself would make her give up. Her feelings had taken root too quickly and too deep.
It had only been a few days since they met, so how could her feelings have grown so intense? She felt hijacked by her own heart. She didn't even want to imagine going back to a life without Tae-oh. The emptiness would be complete.
“Haa…”
She released a long, despairing breath. She had found someone she loved, yet she had to just watch him, let alone confess. She felt trapped by their age difference and his protective rejection.
Is this what a living hell is like? Ha-yeon let out a long sigh, the sound heavy with the misery of unrequited love and the fear of losing her one connection to genuine warmth. Her future, once defined by the CSAT, was now defined by Tae-oh.
///////////
*******
The Deep Chill
PAGE 109 (Extended)
Ha-yeon has been strange lately. Tae-oh noticed it in the subtle shifts of her body language, the abrupt silences, and the way she avoided his gaze. Thinking back to the starting point, it seemed to be the day they went to the bookstore. That night, the night she had bitten his lip, marked a definitive, bewildering change.
Tae-oh slowly recalled the events of two weeks ago. The memory of her intense, desperate kiss-bite was still sharp, both physically and emotionally.
That day, the day Ha-yeon left for home first—bolting from the car after her spontaneous, inexplicable attack—had left him stranded. Tae-oh, left alone, ended up driving for over two hours, an aimless road trip that was completely out of character for the man who scheduled his bathroom breaks. He didn't know where to go or how to process the bizarre interaction.
And when he finally got home after 10 o'clock, Ha-yeon was waiting for him, huffing with indignation.
PAGE 110 (Extended)
She confronted him immediately. “Why are you coming home now?” Her arms were crossed, her stance accusatory.
“What are you talking about? You told me to take my time,” he retorted, wiping the last smear of dried blood from his mouth.
“Even so, why are you so late? It's almost 11!”
“Why are you so whiny? Are you hungry? You could have just taken anything out of the fridge to eat.” He fell back on familiar, transactional logic.
“Do I look like a pig to you, Ajussi? It’s only been a few hours since dinner, why would I eat again!” Ha-yeon angrily yelled and then retreated to her room, slamming the door with an unusual display of teenaged fury.
Despite that, it didn’t seem like she completely disliked Tae-oh. That was the confusing part. She still came to the house diligently, and he could sense her delight, fleeting though it was, every time Tae-oh went to pick her up after school. The moments under the black umbrella still held a connection.
However, she didn't talk to him much. The easy chatter was gone. She would only mumble when asked something, and she sighed frequently. The silence in the car was now heavy, not companionable.
Sometimes, when he looked at her because he felt her gaze, she would instantly quickly turn her head away, as if caught spying. If their hands accidentally touched, reaching for a water bottle or a jacket, she would jump back with a start, reacting as though she had been burned.
Does she hate even touching me? The question twisted in his gut. What did I do wrong? He had bought her books, offered her shelter, and faced down her abuser’s son.
The polite "Good night" messages and the constant, contextless messages she used to send had disappeared. The communication lifeline was cut. Tae-oh couldn't figure out what the problem was.
PAGE 111 (Extended)
His frustration was mounting. He needed answers, but he was going crazy because whenever he tried to approach her to ask what was wrong, Ha-yeon would subtly slip away. He felt like he was chasing a shy animal.
As this distant state with Ha-yeon continued, Tae-oh's mood inevitably became low. His mind, usually sharp and focused on corporate battles, was clouded by adolescent angst. He missed her noise, her demands, and her presence.
But now, Ha-yeon had suddenly sent him a message. It was a lifeline thrown into a silent abyss.
[Do you like strawberries?] 6:02
The content was random for a message after two weeks, completely ignoring the tension, but anyway, it must mean she was no longer angry, right? The sheer relief was palpable.
Thank goodness. He felt much more at ease now that things seemed to be returning to normal. His world had regained its equilibrium.
Tae-oh smiled gently as he typed his reply. He allowed himself a moment of internal amusement. “This girl really knows how to play with people.” She treated his emotions like a cheap toy, discarding and retrieving him at will.
But what could he do? The thought was utterly submissive. If his master wanted to play, he had no choice but to obey.
6:03 [Come out to the front gate]
He quickly sent the command to meet, needing to see her immediately. As he kept his eyes glued to the front gate, anticipating her arrival, a silly, unconscious smile crept onto his face. The game was back on, and he was the willing participant.
*****
An Enduring Devotion
PAGE 112 (Extended)
Tae-oh realized he was completely undone. He felt anxious over Ha-yeon’s every word and action, became depressed when she distanced herself, and picked her up right after work like an overly zealous parent obsessed with a fragile child.
This obsessive, ridiculous side of himself was utterly ridiculous, yet he was happy. The contradiction didn't matter. This short time of waiting for her like a faithful slave was infinitely better than the five hundred years he had lived without even knowing her whereabouts. Her presence validated his entire existence. How wonderful would it be if I could just live like this. Even if he had to discard everything he owned—his power, his organization, his very identity—he would gladly do it for this fragile happiness.
The bell rang, and students poured out of the school's front gate. They all wore identical uniforms with similar hairstyles, creating a blur of youth. Tae-oh found Ha-yeon instantly among them; his vision seemed to isolate her from the crowd. He raised the corner of his mouth slightly.
And as always, with his chin resting on the steering wheel, he waited silently for Ha-yeon to spot him first. It was his silent ritual of devotion.
Ha-yeon stopped in front of the gate and looked around. Her head moved in an organized, methodical search. She checked her phone once, confirming his message, then walked a few steps out to scan the roadside again.
Suddenly, her face, which was usually composed for her age, lit up brightly. The transformation was breathtaking. She had spotted Tae-oh’s car parked across the crosswalk.
Ha-yeon started running. She ran without reserve, a streak of energy and relief. Her vermillion lips were parted widely in a grin, and her long hair streamed in the wind.
Tae-oh imprinted this entire scene into his mind. He knew the precious nature of this borrowed time. Soon, when Ha-yeon left his side—when she went to college, when she finally found the quiet, safe life she deserved—the world would once again become dull and colorless, like a black and white film.
PAGE 113 (Extended)
I should remember today for that time. Then he might be able to endure for a few decades on the memory alone.
The car door burst open with surprising force, and Ha-yeon tumbled in, breathless.
“Ajussi!”
“Get in,” he commanded, his voice gruff to hide his pleasure.
Ha-yeon quickly climbed into the car. She didn't hesitate; she was eager to talk. “I’ve been thinking a lot. Do you know what the method is to make the impossible possible?”
The fact that she was graciously chattering today, after spending the last two weeks silent in the car, was a profound, welcome relief. He could feel the frost around his heart melting. She must really have gotten over her anger. A smile played on Tae-oh’s lips.
“Fasten your seatbelt,” he instructed, avoiding the philosophical question for practical security.
“It’s to try. We might fail at first, but if we keep trying, maybe someday it can be achieved. But if we don’t try at all, it will remain impossible forever.” Her tone was serious, clearly referring to more than just studying.
“Work hard, student,” Tae-oh replied nonchalantly, maintaining his casual, detached persona. He reached over to pull Ha-yeon’s seatbelt across her.
Click.
As he buckled the belt, it was suddenly quiet. The familiar, domestic act had brought them close. Ha-yeon had stopped talking and was staring intently at him. Her eyes, deep and knowing, searched his face.
“…Why,” he murmured, feeling the heat rise under her steady gaze.
“You haven’t answered my question yet.”
PAGE 114 (Extended)
“What question.” He pretended to forget, though he remembered every word she had sent.
“Strawberries. Do you like them?” she asked, her voice soft but insistent.
“I neither dislike nor like them. Why?” He gave the neutral, objective answer of a man who rarely cared about minor preferences.
“Can’t you start liking them from now on?” The question was loaded, clearly a metaphor for accepting her affection.
He chose to interpret it literally. “You want to eat strawberries?”
“What? Um, no. We still have a lot of apples left, don’t we?” She flushed, realizing he'd missed the point entirely.
Tae-oh had bought plenty of apples for her, making sure her physical needs were met, but he hadn’t thought about strawberries. Tae-oh started the car, recalling the location of the nearby grocery store.
“Apples are apples, and strawberries are strawberries. Anything else?” he asked, taking her request as a comprehensive list.
“Anything else?”
“We’re going to the grocery store now, so tell me everything you want to eat.”
“…I do have something I want to possess,” she admitted, her tone turning intimate.
“What is it? Tell me quickly. I'm on a schedule. I have to make a U-turn over there if we need to go to the department store for something non-food related.”
“We can go to the grocery store.” Ha-yeon paused, her gaze holding his. “It’s not something I can get today.”
“When does it come out?”
“…Around January.”
What fruit is in season in January? Tae-oh pondered this as he turned the steering wheel. He ran through all the seasonal produce he could remember, missing the deep context of her answer.
Because of his focus on the mundane, he missed Ha-yeon’s secret smile. The thing she wanted—the right to express her adult love—would be available when she turned twenty, in January.
*****
/////////
The Last Act of Service
PAGE 115 (Extended)
A meticulous, almost reverent domesticity hung in the air. Cooking is finished.
Tae-oh put down the ladle and opened the rice cooker. A rush of savory aroma of multi-grain rice wafted out with the white steam. He wasn't a cook, but for her, he had learned the basics of a warm, comforting meal.
He stirred it with a rice paddle to let out some steam and then packed it into the Eunhyeongaek lunchbox he had prepared beforehand. The lunchbox, though discreetly packaged, came from his exclusive organization, a subtle marker of his wealth and the sheer absurdity of his current task.
The contents were traditional and nourishing: simple rolled omelet with no fillings, shaped into squares; Vienna sausages shaped like octopuses for a touch of childish whimsy; and tender braised potatoes. Kimchi was lightly stir-fried to reduce its sharpness and placed in a small separate container to prevent the scent from overpowering the other dishes.
He added apples and cherry tomatoes for dessert and filled the thermos with spinach soybean paste soup (doenjangguk) made with clams for a refreshing broth. It was a carefully considered meal designed to bring warmth and energy. At last, the preparation was complete.
He placed the finished lunchbox into an Eunhyeongaek paper bag and turned on the TV. The early morning news was dominated by a single story. Since it was the day of the CSAT (College Scholastic Ability Test), all channels were focused on the topic.
The announcer's stern voice carried a warning: - The weather, which had been well above seasonal norms until yesterday, has dropped to minus 6 degrees Celsius today. Test takers should dress warmly.
PAGE 116 (Extended)
“Crap, they said it was unusually high temperature,” Tae-oh swore as he turned off the TV. His concern was immediate; Ha-yeon hadn't been wearing a thick coat. He then opened the door to the room he usually kept locked and stepped inside.
This room was his sanctuary of secret indulgence. The room was filled with items that would make any university freshman's eyes light up. It was a stockpile of future supplies, bought out of a desperate need to provide everything she’d ever lacked. There were two PCs for different purposes, laptops in various sizes, and various peripherals stacked up in their boxes. The built-in closet was packed with clothes, some with the tags still attached, representing an entire, unblemished wardrobe.
He had bought everything he thought Ha-yeon might need, and now the room was practically bursting. He was trying to buy her a better future, brick by material brick.
Tae-oh kicked a box aside and walked inside. He rummaged through the closet and found a cream-colored scarf he had bought recently. It was cashmere, soft and warm. He took it out, removed the tag, cutting away the evidence of its newness, and loosely wrapped it around his neck. It felt a little awkward—a luxury garment on a man whose style was severe and functional—but she probably wouldn’t suspect anything. He had to look like a man who just happened to wear a scarf, not one who was about to deliver an emergency warm-up item.
Just then, his cell phone rang.
[Ajussi, where are you? Should I go out now?] 7:04
Tae-oh, dressed in an expensive suit with a scarf wrapped around his neck, carried the lunchbox down to the apartment parking lot. He was a stark picture of devotion: a criminal mastermind transformed into an anxious domestic provider.
PAGE 117 (Extended)
His reply was short and commanding: 7:12 [Come out]
He had picked Ha-yeon up before, but this was the first time he would drive her to school. The crossing of that final line felt momentous. Of course, he desperately wanted to drive her every day, but he had to restrain himself. He reasoned with his own obsession: It wasn't strange for the man next door to give her a ride home when their working hours aligned, but driving her to school seemed too perverted, didn't it? It crossed the boundary of neighborly charity into something far more intimate and obsessive.
But today is a special day, so it should be fine. He rationalized the breach. Yesterday, when he offered to drive her to the test site, Ha-yeon had been delighted without any suspicion.
Tae-oh looked into the void with chillingly low eyes. The reality of his situation crashed down on him.
“Haa…”
The reason for him to live in this apartment was gone. His vigil was ending. Once Ha-yeon took the CSAT today, she would no longer need his house as a safe haven or a source of sustenance.
This also meant that the day he would see Ha-yeon would be the last. The finality was a physical pain.
When did my greed grow so immense? Just a month ago, he had planned to return neatly to his main residence once Ha-yeon’s exam was over… He had deluded himself into thinking he could walk away.
In fact, he knew this would happen. How could I live without seeing Ha-yeon when I know exactly where she is? The knowledge of her proximity had become his most vital addiction. It was merely a matter of patience; no matter when, he would have sought out Ha-yeon eventually.
The thought led to frantic planning. Should I secretly follow her once I find out which university she enrolls in? He considered the degradation. Even if it was a little pathetic, that might be better than dying of emotional anguish. The former gangster boss was contemplating becoming a university stalker, all for the echo of a love from five centuries past.
*****
The Scarf and the Secret
PAGE 118 (Extended)
Tae-oh closed his eyes, stopping himself from forming any more discreet plans in his mind. The possibilities—following her to college, staking out her dorm, stalking—were seductive, yet beneath the dignity of a man who controlled an empire. “Crazy bastard. You'll be reported as a stalker,” he muttered to himself, chastising his own overwhelming devotion.
He was fighting his desire while leaning back in the seat when he felt a gaze on him. It was that familiar, subtle weight of her attention. When he opened his eyes, Ha-yeon was outside the car, staring intently at him. Her expression was difficult to read, a quiet mix of apprehension and recognition. Tae-oh rolled down the window.
“Why aren’t you getting in?” he asked, his voice rough with impatience.
“……” Ha-yeon just looked at Tae-oh without answering. The silence stretched, charged with the unacknowledged tension of the past two weeks. Usually, she would chatter away as soon as she got into the car, but today the atmosphere was strange. Tae-oh tried again, masking his concern.
“What’s wrong? Did you forget something?”
“……No,” she finally replied, shaking her head almost imperceptibly.
Ha-yeon shrugged and climbed into the car. She settled into the passenger seat, but the usual rush of relief at his presence was muted. Is she nervous about the exam? He decided to give her space. Tae-oh drove quietly, observing Ha-yeon closely.
The drive was short; the test site Ha-yeon was assigned to was about a 20-minute drive from home. Tae-oh parked near the test site, merging with the throng of cars dropping off nervous students, secretly brainstorming a natural way to hand her the scarf. He couldn't just throw it at her; it needed to seem casual.
“The lunchbox is in the back seat. Take it,” he instructed, handing her the first gift.
Ha-yeon looked back and her eyes widened at the sight of the neatly packaged Eunhyeongaek bag. “Did Ajussi make this?” she asked, a softness in her voice that was almost shy.
“Am I crazy? I bought it from Eunhyeongaek (his organization's business),” he lied smoothly.
PAGE 119 (Extended)
“……They deliver lunchboxes too?” Her tone was one of genuine surprise and a hint of innocent wonder at his wealth.
“Everything is possible with money,” he stated, reinforcing his image as a purely practical man.
Ha-yeon silently fiddled with the lunchbox bag. She held it carefully, like a precious artifact, not a meal. Her cheeks were slightly rosy, suggesting she wasn't displeased. The warmth of the homemade food had already reached her.
Tae-oh glanced at Ha-yeon’s bare neck, remembering the frigid morning temperature. Now was his chance. He reached up and then took off his scarf with a decisive motion. At that moment, Ha-yeon lifted her head, her eyes catching his action.
“Ajussi,” she said, her voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial request.
“Why?”
“Could you lend me your scarf? I didn’t think it would be this cold.”
Unexpectedly, his dilemma was solved easily. She had saved him the trouble of an awkward presentation. Tae-oh put on a nonchalant expression and handed over the scarf.
“Take it.”
“……Really?”
He reinforced the necessary distance. “It was bothering me, I was planning to throw it away.”
“But it looks new…” she countered softly, her fingers already tracing the soft cashmere.
“I’m a rich gangster Ajussi, I can buy a hundred of those. You, student, just focus on your test.” He finalized the transaction with a clear dismissal of its sentimental value.
“Yes……” Ha-yeon wrapped the scarf around her neck and buried her face in it. The rich scent of his cologne—magnolia and something sharp and metallic—enveloped her. The cheek visible outside the scarf rose slightly, suggesting she was smiling. She looked small, warm, and protected.
Tae-oh imprinted that image in his mind, committing the sight to his internal gallery of memories, then unlocked the doors. The final moment had arrived. Ha-yeon, who had seemed ready to get out, hesitated for some reason. She clutched the lunchbox and the scarf, looking out the window as if reluctant to leave the bubble of safety he provided.
*****
A Simple Promise, A Final Memory
PAGE 120 (Extended)
“What are you going to do today…?” Ha-yeon asked, twisting the scarf around her fingers. The warmth of the cashmere seemed to give her courage, and her gaze was steady.
“I’ll be working, I suppose.” Tae-oh was curt, the reality of his life hitting him again.
She offered a familiar jab. “You must be busy selling drugs and organs.”
Tae-oh chuckled softly, and Ha-yeon smiled faintly in response. The lighthearted exchange eased the tension. Judging by her expression, she didn't seem nervous about the exam. The earlier quiet was clearly unrelated to test anxiety.
“Will you have dinner with me later? I’ll treat you to celebrate the end of the exam.” The proposal was direct, a continuation of the “impossible made possible” theme she’d started.
“No, save your pocket money.” He dismissed the idea instantly, not wanting her to spend what little she had.
“I really do have money. It’s from my savings, Ajussi. I can’t take you to a fancy place like yours, but I can buy some groceries and cook for you.” She pleaded, wanting to give back.
“I told you you’d be scolded if you touched a knife again, didn’t I?” The memory of her cutting herself while preparing food was still vivid.
“We’ll be grilling meat, so no need for a knife.” She had already thought of a workaround.
“You want to eat meat? Hanwoo?” He tested her, naming the most expensive option.
“Um, how about pork belly (samgyeopsal)? I don’t have the money for beef.” Her practicality returned instantly, rejecting the costly beef.
“Both are at home. Don’t buy any.” He revealed the extent of his readiness.
Ha-yeon blinked. “At home? They weren’t there yesterday…” She realized he must have stocked the fridge purely for her impending return. “Anyway, you will eat with me, right?” She pressed for the promise, ignoring the logistical details.
It should be fine just for today. I won’t be able to see her again anyway. The decision was painful but inevitable. Tae-oh turned his head and replied nonchalantly.
“Fine.”
“Great! Then I’ll see you at home later!”
PAGE 121 (Extended)
Ha-yeon smiled brightly and got out. She grabbed the Eunhyeongaek bag from the back seat, holding both the lunch and the scarf close. Her steps toward the test site were light. Her focus was clearly on the promised dinner, not the exam itself. She seemed relaxed enough that he didn't need to worry about her failing the exam.
Tae-oh watched her disappear into the crowd of students entering the building. I wish I could wait here until the test is over, but that would be a bit crazy, wouldn't it? His inner monologue was a conflict between the loyal gangster and the desperate lover.
He knew he couldn't stay. He was needed elsewhere, pulled back to the world of power and violence that paid for her safety. Tae-oh took out his cell phone, which was set to silent. The enforced quiet of the last two weeks was about to end. As soon as he switched it to vibrate, the silver device buzzed rapidly. It was a torrent of neglected messages from his organization.
He scrolled emotionlessly past the piles of work messages—reports, threats, logistical nightmares—and called Seon-woo.
- Yes, Director.
“Buy some meat and place it at the house. Hanwoo and pork belly.” He was securing the promise immediately.
- …I will take immediate action. Also, when will you be coming to the office? We have a meeting scheduled with Congressman Im of the Daehan Party at lunchtime.
“I’m leaving now.”
The moment he hung up after his curt reply, a message arrived along with a photo.
The photo was simple: A white hand gently holding the cream-colored scarf. The soft, expensive fabric contrasted with the quiet strength of her small grip. Her pale coral fingernails were visible.
[This is my first treasure] 7:49
Tae-oh could not take his eyes off the photo for a long time. It was the first time she had implicitly acknowledged his affection, claiming the scarf—his discarded object—as something precious. It was a sign of devotion, a hidden declaration, and a perfect final memory.
//////////////
******
The First Treasure and the First Move
PAGE 122 (Extended)
The exam was over. Ha-yeon packed her bag and left the test site.
The excited voices of students her age were heard everywhere. The atmosphere was a chaotic mix of exhausted relief and high-strung emotion. She saw a student talking to her mother on the phone, crying, likely overwhelmed by the pressure. Ha-yeon quickly passed them by. Their drama was not hers.
She used to believe in the fairy tale: She used to think her life would change dramatically once the CSAT was over. A finished exam meant freedom, or so the world promised. However, nothing had changed. The fundamental structure of her misery remained: She still had to return to that suffocating house, and the reality of being abused by Ban Ik-jung remained.
Yet, she wasn't disappointed. The truth was, her life had already changed because of one man. Instead, she felt elated and hummed a tune. The high score she was sure to get—her ticket to a better college—had long been forgotten. Her mind was only preoccupied with how to confess without ruining the dinner.
Of course, she didn't expect Ajussi to accept her immediately. She was a realist. Who would take a minor’s confession seriously? He was an adult, powerful and distant. He might dismiss it as a joke, or, in the worst case, get angry at her boundary overstep.
But if I gave up now, I wouldn't be Ban Ha-yeon. The same fierce tenacity that led her to academic excellence now focused on Tae-oh. She would confess again and again until he understood her sincerity. Until she became an adult. ‘I will possess Ajussi then.’ The thought was both a declaration of war and a lifelong commitment.
PAGE 123 (Extended)
The thought of possession led her down a path she hadn't explored. Ha-yeon's knowledge level regarding sexual matters was lower than her peers, having spent her teenage years focused entirely on survival and studying. She needed preliminary knowledge, even for that day. I should study it while preparing for the 논술 (essay/논술-type exam). The irony was not lost on her: she would dedicate the same methodical effort to matters of the heart and body as she did to her college entrance essays. She was confident in studying.
Ha-yeon systematically made plans and arrived at the apartment. The oppressive silence of the house greeted her. No one was home. A quick sweep confirmed her theory: Perhaps the family is going out to eat to celebrate Ban Hyuk-joon’s CSAT being over, and will return later.
In the past, she might have felt a little lonely, but now she was surprisingly indifferent. Her emotional center had shifted entirely to the house next door.
Ha-yeon quickly changed her clothes. She ignored her threadbare casual wear. She put on the prettiest dress she owned—a simple, clean dress bought with her scholarship money—and took out the lip balm she had secretly hidden. It was a lip balm she had bought impulsively the day she made up her mind to confess to Tae-oh. It was her only piece of "feminine preparation."
She looked into a small hand mirror and gently rubbed the lip balm onto her lips. Even though she applied only a little, the color of her lips became much clearer, a soft, natural coral. It was the first time she had put anything on her lips. She felt awkward and just fiddled with her hair before putting the mirror down.
A faint strawberry scent spread through the room. She had chosen the flavor intentionally. She stuck out her tongue and licked her lips. There was no special taste, but because of the strawberry scent, it wasn't unpleasant. I wish Ajussi would come over before I use up this lip balm…
“Ah, it’s hot,” Ha-yeon fanned herself, trying to cool down. The internal heat of her anticipation was unbearable. Then, she stepped across the threshold. Then she went over to Tae-oh’s house.
PAGE 124 (Extended)
She let herself into the quiet house with the spare key. She walked straight to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. “It’s really here,” she murmured in awe. Inside the refrigerator, there were various types of meat that hadn't been there yesterday. The sight confirmed that he had immediately acted on her casual request, proving his devotion once again.
She bypassed the samgyeopsal for something grander. “They say steak is easy to make,” she mused, choosing the most elegant meal she could manage.
Ha-yeon took out two sirloin pieces—one for her, one for him—and sent a message to Tae-oh. The time was approaching their agreed-upon hour.
6:10 [Ajussi, how about steak?]
Just as she was about to open the search bar to look up how to make a delicious steak, a message came from Tae-oh. His response was immediate, reflecting his impatience.
[Arriving in 30 mins] 6:13
A second message followed instantly, proving his knowledge of her current location and intentions.
[You'll be scolded if you touch a knife] 6:14
“He’s always scolding me,” Ha-yeon pouted her lips playfully and then laughed under her breath. The scolding was not a threat, but a form of care. He was worried she'd hurt herself. She knew the knife warning was a sign of affection. She set the sirloin on the counter to temper, deciding to just season the meat and pan-sear it—no complex cutting required. The dinner was set, the stage was ready, and her confession was only 30 minutes away.
******
The Uninvited Guest
PAGE 125 (Extended)
She hummed a tune while preparing the ingredients for a while. The quiet kitchen of Tae-oh’s house, smelling faintly of clean citrus and the raw scent of meat, felt like her own. The rhythm of her work was interrupted abruptly when, a little too soon, the sound of the door lock password being entered was heard.
Is that Ajussi? She checked the time, confused. He said he’d arrive in 30 minutes, so why is he here so early? Anticipation flared hot in her chest. Ha-yeon excitedly ran to the front door.
“Ajussi, you came early…” The welcome died on her lips.
The person who opened the door and entered was not Tae-oh.
A woman in a luxurious coat—long, dark, and clearly expensive—looked at Ha-yeon and widened her eyes. She carried a scent of sophisticated perfume, a smell of expensive otherness.
“Isn’t this Dan Tae-oh’s house?” the woman asked, her voice polished.
Ha-yeon’s expression immediately turned cold. The joyous spark vanished, replaced by an instinctive, chilling dread. “……That’s right.”
“Whew, I was surprised, I thought I’d come to the wrong place. Who are you? Do you know Oppa?”
The woman used the familiar, intimate term Oppa with a casual ease, her perfectly painted lips forming a smooth smile. Those lips probably don’t smell of strawberries, Ha-yeon thought bitterly, an inner voice comparing the woman’s glossy sophistication to her own innocent, strawberry-scented lip balm.
Her mood sank endlessly. The woman in front of her was too similar to the kind of partner she had imagined for Tae-oh—beautiful, grown-up, and part of his world.
“……I live next door,” Ha-yeon managed, the words tasting like ash. And she hated herself for having no choice but to say that, to define herself by proximity, not relation.
“Next door? But what are you doing here?” The woman’s eyebrow arched in polite scrutiny.
“I just… came to get something,” Ha-yeon lied, tightening her fists against the hem of her pretty dress.
PAGE 126 (Extended)
The woman’s smile tightened. “In a house where the owner isn't home? Did Oppa give you permission?” The question was laced with condescension.
“I came in with Ajussi’s permission. I'm not stealing.” Ha-yeon felt the childish defensiveness rising, hating how young and powerless she sounded.
“I’m not suggesting you’re stealing, I’m just a little surprised. Oppa doesn't usually let people into his house.”
She came in, too, and she's not 'people'? The hypocrisy stung.
The moment Ha-yeon pouted her lips, unable to suppress her irritation, the front door opened again and Tae-oh walked in. He was in his suit, his coat slightly rumpled from his hasty arrival.
“Why weren't you answering the phone…” he began, clearly speaking to the woman.
“Oppa!” The woman’s voice became saccharine. She scurried over and clung to Tae-oh’s arm. Tae-oh paused, raising an eyebrow. His confusion was genuine, but his movement was slow.
“……Who are you?” he demanded, his voice devoid of warmth.
“Are you going to keep acting cold? I came to see you because I missed you.” The woman linked her arm through Tae-oh’s and acted coquettishly, rubbing her cheek lightly against his shoulder.
The sight was unbearable. Ha-yeon quickly turned her head away. She felt a terrifying physical sensation: If she looked at the two of them attached like that for even a moment longer, the simmering rage inside her would explode. Her composure, which had survived years of abuse, was breaking over a man and a glamorous rival.
“Please talk. I’ll be going,” she announced, her voice flat, moving backward.
“What? Ban Ha-yeon, Ha-yeon!” Tae-oh’s shout stopped her, but she didn't turn back.
She saw the neatly organized steak and rushed past the kitchen, her hands snatching whatever ingredient she could grasp from the table—a useless handful of green—and ran out of the house blindly.
Ha-yeon returned to her own house in a frenzy and slammed the door shut. She slid her back against the door, breathing hard.
Thinking it over, she felt wronged.
PAGE 127 (Extended)
Why did I leave? The irrationality of her flight struck her. Shouldn’t that woman be the one to go? From what I heard, she came uninvited without permission. She was the interloper, and Ha-yeon, who had been granted the rare privilege of permission, was the one who fled.
She regretted it, but it was too late to go back now. The momentum of her escape was too great, the humiliation too fresh. Ha-yeon placed the scallions she was clutching onto her desk. The useless vegetables were the only evidence of her failed dinner.
“Annoying,” she hissed, frustrated tears pricking her eyes. “I should have at least taken the meat…” It was a lament not just for the food, but for the stolen opportunity, the ruined confession, and the end of her beautiful fantasy.
////////////
********
The Child and the Treasure
PAGE 128 (Extended)
Tae-oh, unable to chase after Ha-yeon because the woman was clinging to him, squeezed his eyes shut. His jaw was clenched, the effort of controlling his lethal temper immense. He had sent the girl who took the CSAT today away without feeding her. The promised celebration meal was ruined. This fact alone made Dan Se-hee guilty of a mortal sin in his eyes.
“Let go. Before I kill you,” he ground out, the threat delivered with chilling sincerity.
“Fine, I’ll let go. There, there, see?” Dan Se-hee quickly backed away, holding her arms up in a gesture of surrender. As Seon-woo’s younger sister, she knew Tae-oh’s savage temper better than anyone and understood that line was genuine.
“Why are you here?” he demanded, turning to face her fully, his eyes narrowed.
“Do you think I wanted to come? Grandma Ok-bun was so curious if you were doing well that I had no choice but to come check on her favorite grandson.”
“Did I give you permission to enter the house?”
“You have to answer the phone to give permission or not! Why weren't you answering? Did you smash your phone again?” she shot back, referencing his infamous habit of destroying communication devices during fits of rage.
“None of your business. Get lost.”
Dan Se-hee was afraid of Tae-oh but stood her ground firmly. It wasn't just because of Grandma Kim Ok-bun's request. The core of her curiosity was the gutsy girl who was walking around this crazy man's house as if it were her own. She was too intrigued to simply leave.
“But Oppa, who was that girl just now? Is she really the girl next door? She looked like she was preparing a meal… Were you going to eat together?” Se-hee pressed, her tone sliding from fear to gossipy suspicion. “She’s not a minor, is she? How old is she? Twenty-one? Twenty-two? She looked really young.”
Tae-oh completely ignored Dan Se-hee’s barrage of questions and checked the kitchen. The sight of the neatly placed food ingredients—the steak ready to be seasoned—confirmed Ha-yeon’s intentions. Was she planning to make steak? Reflexively, the image of Ha-yeon preparing food while waiting for him came to mind. A solitary figure, cooking a celebratory meal in a strange, silent home. Even the sight of her standing alone in an empty house.
“Ha, shit,” he spat, the chilling curse born of fury and self-reproach.
Dan Se-hee flinched again. It seems today is not the day. Tae-oh’s state was worse than she thought.
“Oh, I—I suddenly have an urgent matter! Oppa, I’m leaving. Be sure to contact Grandma. Got it?” Se-hee scrambled for the door and fled.
Left alone, Tae-oh sighed and took off his suit. He walked back to the kitchen, and after making a steak with the ingredients Ha-yeon had prepared, he took out his cell phone. The food was pointless without her.
PAGE 129 (Extended)
He sent the message despite knowing the high probability of rejection.
7:24 [Eat]
The reply took seven minutes, signaling her lingering anger.
[I don’t want to] 7:31
7:31 [Why]
[I have no appetite] 7:36 The lie was transparent.
7:36 [You said you wanted meat] He tried to appeal to her desire.
When she didn’t reply for several minutes, his patience began to unravel.
7:42 [Ban Ha-yeon] He used her full name, a rare, stern warning.
7:48 [Won't you answer]
7:50 [You’ll be scolded] The threat, while meaningless to an adult, was his last resort with her.
The ten-minute wait for Ha-yeon’s reply felt impossibly long. He paced the kitchen, the steak cooling on the plate. I don’t know how I thought I could live without seeing her again, when I can’t even stand this short amount of time. The thought confirmed his inability to leave her.
Just then, Ha-yeon's message arrived, finally revealing the source of her distress.
PAGE 130 (Extended)
[I’m not a kid] 8:17
The message hung in the air, a declaration of identity and a direct retort to his earlier dismissal of her feelings.
“……So what,” he muttered to the phone, utterly bewildered. What on earth is she upset about? No matter how much he racked his brain, he couldn't grasp the reason. He didn't understand the depth of her jealousy or the sting of being dismissed as a "kid" in front of a real rival.
Finally, Tae-oh reached the limit of his patience and pressed the call button. Rational conversation was impossible; he needed to see her.
- ……Ajussi? Her voice was small and tentative.
“Come down to the parking lot,” he commanded, his voice deep and absolute.
He hung up before Ha-yeon could even reply and went down to the parking lot. He sat in the driver's seat, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, waiting in the darkness. After sitting in the car for a while, Ha-yeon appeared, looking hesitant and small in the glow of the streetlights.
“Get in,” he ordered.
Perhaps frightened by Tae-oh’s demeanor, Ha-yeon silently got into the car. She buckled her seatbelt without prompting, clutching the scarf.
The car started smoothly and stopped after a while near a quiet park. It was far from the neighborhood, a place where they could be truly alone.
The wind blew. The pink muhly grass, illuminated by bright lights, fluttered like a massive pink tide. It was an ethereal, unexpected sight.
“Wow…” Ha-yeon lost herself in admiring the spectacular view, then glanced furtively at Tae-oh. He hadn't spoken since she got in the car.
“I’m sorry. For getting angry…” she whispered, offering the apology first.
Tae-oh, who had been silently leaving her alone without asking anything, letting the beautiful scenery diffuse the tension, chuckled softly. He knew she was apologizing for the tantrum, not the reason behind it.
******
The Confession Under the Pink Tide
PAGE 131 (Extended)
Tae-oh’s soft laughter, born of relief and amusement, seemed to betray her. The smile was so captivating that Ha-yeon became depressed again. It was a smile of a powerful, magnetic man. Because she knew that smile would look just as wonderful to other people—to women like the one in his kitchen.
“Are you feeling better now?” Tae-oh asked, his voice calmer.
“Yes……” she mumbled, twisting the scarf tighter around her neck.
“What’s the reason you lost your appetite?” he pressed, sensing the emotional residue.
“No reason,” she insisted, staring out at the hazy pink field.
“There’s no such thing as 'no reason.' Did Dan Se-hee say something to you?” He used the woman’s full name, his voice growing hard at the thought of her disturbing Ha-yeon.
“Dan, Se-hee?” Ha-yeon repeated the unfamiliar name slowly.
“The woman from earlier.”
“……She has the same last name as Ajussi?”
“She’s a relative.” He stated it plainly, as if it explained everything.
“Oh……” Ha-yeon just blinked, her face blank as the immense wave of relief and utter humiliation washed over her.
“I misunderstood.”
“What?” Tae-oh’s patience was thinning again.
“I thought the woman from earlier was in some kind of relationship with Ajussi…” Her voice trailed off, confession and accusation mingled.
“What sort of creepy thing are you saying?” he demanded, annoyed by the romanticized speculation. “Just tell me why you wanted to starve yourself.”
The blunt dismissal shattered her composure. The pressure she had held in for weeks—the fear of abandonment, the jealousy, the overwhelming feeling of inadequacy—burst forth. Tears instantly welled up in Ha-yeon’s previously blank eyes.
Tae-oh froze solid. The sudden shift from sulking to raw despair was immediate and terrifying.
PAGE 132 (Extended)
As Ha-yeon’s tears streamed down, it felt as though blood was seeping from somewhere on his own body. He felt her pain physically, a sharp, cold jab in his chest. What on earth happened to make the kid cry? His primal protectiveness flared. He struggled to suppress his surging anger—anger at the world, at her family, and now at his own incompetence—and asked:
“What is it?” The question was forced out, low and rough.
“What… should I do now?” she sobbed, completely lost.
“What should you do? Did Dan Se-hee insult you or something?” He grasped for a concrete enemy.
Shake, shake (She shook her head vigorously), tears splattering the cream-colored scarf.
“Then why are you crying!” The question was half demand, half plea.
“Heeuk… B-because I like you,” she confessed in a ragged whisper, her face buried in her hands.
“Speak so I can understand,” he insisted, leaning forward.
She lifted her head, her face wet and fierce, the words finally tumbling out in a rush. “I like Ajussi, so much, so much!”
“……What?” The single word was ripped from his throat, a sound of pure shock.
“I want to make Ajussi mine so no one else can see him… But I don’t have the qualifications yet… That frustration just makes me keep crying.” She laid bare the depth of her longing and her self-awareness of their barrier—her age.
Tae-oh stared blankly at the sobbing Ha-yeon. The beautiful, fragile girl in his passenger seat was confessing eternal possession, an echo of a promise from five centuries ago. His mind wasn't working. Everything felt muddled, as if he had been hit on the back of the head while sleeping.
She likes me? She wants to make me hers? Does she even know what that means? His logical mind, the one that managed crime and commerce, analyzed the situation instantly: It was natural for Ha-yeon, who had an affection deficit, to be obsessed with Tae-oh. Because Tae-oh was the only person close to her. He filed it neatly under "trauma response," even as his heart hammered against the label.
********
The Fever of Recognition
PAGE 133 (Extended)
Tae-oh watched the torrent of Ha-yeon's tears, rationalizing her sudden breakdown. But now that the CSAT was over and she was about to enter university, she suddenly became anxious about drifting apart. Her anchor was slipping away. She must be mistaking that anxiety for love. It was the only explanation that protected him from the stunning truth.
Yet, his cold logic failed. Even though he knew this, he couldn't help but feel shaken. The sheer force of her emotional dependence tugged at a deep, ancient chord in his soul. I want to just let her continue to be mistaken. A dark, selfish thought formed: I'll domesticate her in the meantime. Later, even if she realizes it's not love, she won't be able to escape. He would build the cage so gently, she wouldn't even notice the bars.
Tae-oh narrowly managed to suppress the impulse to violently stand up and grab her, to stop her confession before it shattered his carefully constructed walls.
“What are you… saying right now, you little brat?” he managed, forcing scorn into his voice to maintain distance.
“If I’m young, does that mean I don’t have a heart?” she challenged, her voice gaining strength, fueled by righteousness. “I’m only lacking experience; otherwise, I’m the same as an adult. I feel good emotions, bad emotions, everything. Don’t ignore me.”
“You're confused because I was slightly nice to you. Don’t do anything you’ll regret later.” He tried to throw up a defensive shield of paternal concern.
“I’m not that foolish.” Her denial was firm. “Being a little nice doesn't make you want to kiss someone, does it?” She brought up the night at the bookstore, the defining, desperate intimacy of her attack.
“What…?” The word was raw, his voice catching in his throat.
“You understood, so why pretend you didn't? I like Ajussi as a man! I want to hold Ajussi’s hand, kiss him, and have lots of sex too—”
“Ban Ha-yeon!” The roar was involuntary. Tae-oh reached out and covered Ha-yeon’s mouth with his hand. He needed to stop the stream of forbidden words before they burned the air between them.
Ha-yeon rolled her tear-filled eyes and stared intently at him. Her gaze was unwavering, defiant. Tae-oh, for some reason, couldn't meet her gaze and was the first to look away. He felt like the exposed one. Suddenly, he felt a soft, squishy sensation on his palm. Ha-yeon was tapping his palm with the tip of her tongue, a gentle, shocking act of sensual rebellion.
PAGE 134 (Extended)
“Crazy!” The expletive was ripped from him. Tae-oh was so startled that he hastily pulled his hand away.
His fist instinctively clenched. The place where Ha-yeon’s tongue had touched felt burning hot, as if it had been scalded. The sensation was a violent jolt of pure, unwelcome arousal.
Ha-yeon, with eyes shining brighter than usual, no longer apologetic but incandescent with desire, held his gaze and spoke clearly:
“I want to have Ajussi. I feel like I'm going to die wanting you to be mine.” Her words were a chilling echo of possessive passion.
“……” He could only stare, dumbstruck.
“Can't you just give yourself to me?”
The audacity of the question slammed into him, triggering a profound memory:
“I want to have His Majesty.”
He involuntarily looked around the car, transported momentarily back five hundred years. “…What do you want to have?” he whispered, asking the ghost of his past, not the girl.
“His Majesty. Give His Majesty to me.” The words of his previous life's master, the Emperor, mirrored Ha-yeon's demand perfectly.
She never knew how to measure, hide, or calculate her feelings. She was pure, terrifying impulse. She would frown even in front of the Emperor if she was displeased, and she would say "I love you" without hesitation.
Just like this audacious girl who was now boldly claiming ownership. She was exactly the same person.
Belatedly, heat began to rise in Tae-oh’s body. It was a true fever, spreading from his heart outward. This was because he realized that Ha-yeon’s feelings were not a simple misunderstanding. It was a recognition. It was her.
Tae-oh swallowed several times before he could finally utter a single phrase: The only defense he had against the raw power of his destiny and his desire.
“……Don’t be ridiculous.”
It was a truly poor response, even to his own ears.
*****
/////////
The Impossibility of Retreat
PAGE 135 (Extended)
The cold, inescapable fact was that the war for his sanity was lost. The CSAT was over, and half of December had already passed, but Tae-oh still hadn't returned to his main residence. The mansion stood empty, its opulence meaningless. No, he couldn't return. He was tethered by a force more powerful than his criminal empire, held captive by a teenage girl's words.
“I want to have Ajussi. I feel like I’m going to die wanting you to be mine.”
“……”
“Can’t you just give yourself to me?”
“Shit, how can I give up after hearing something like that?” The oath, delivered under his breath, was less a rhetorical question and more a solemn vow.
He tried to file the emotions away, to categorize the relationship as harmless and temporary. It was only a child's first love, after all. A naive infatuation, barely worth calling love, similar to mother imprinting. She was seeking an anchor, not a partner. He didn't expect Ha-yeon, who had no memory of her past life, to love him to the point of sacrificing her life like before. The grand, sweeping passion of the past was surely irrelevant now. He knew this feeling would disappear soon.
Based on logic, it would be a better choice to distance himself from Ha-yeon now while their relationship was good, rather than being hurt later.
PAGE 136 (Extended)
The sensible course of action was a swift, clean break. At least that way, he wouldn't have to be hurt watching Ha-yeon leave him once her feelings cooled. He could maintain his dignity and his control.
But no matter how many times he pondered it, he simply couldn't give up. The prospect of loneliness was too immense. Tae-oh's waiting had been too long to discard the opportunity to monopolize Ha-yeon’s attention.
The five hundred years had been meaningless—a stretch of monochromatic existence. Compared to that time, now was so ecstatic that he felt like dying immediately. The presence of her soul, the sound of her voice, the fire in her eyes—it was everything. How long have I dreamed of this moment?
So, he chose to remain by Ha-yeon's side. He gave himself a strict, internal condition: Even if only until the day her heart cooled. His final, desperate rationalization was the most painful: If Ha-yeon’s feelings change, he’ll send her off with a smile. And then, he would live out his remaining time with the memory of being loved.
The memory of her verbal assault returned, sending a shiver of heat through him. “You understood, so why pretend you didn't? I like Ajussi as a man! I want to hold Ajussi’s hand, kiss him, and have lots of sex too—”
“Hoo……” He exhaled heavily, trying to expel the phantom heat. Suddenly, heat surged through his body.
Tae-oh loosened his necktie and opened the car window. Even as the freezing December wind swept through the car, the heat showed no sign of dissipating. It wasn't the car heater; it was internal. He had been suffering from this unexplained high fever for over a month. It was a psychosomatic reaction, a physiological tax for harboring a forbidden love. Since the symptom only appeared when he thought of Ha-yeon, there was no medicine for it.
His chauffeur, Seon-woo, glanced back with concern. “Director, are you hot? Should I turn off the heater?”
PAGE 137 (Extended)
“No,” Tae-oh clipped out.
“I… Director,” Seon-woo began, choosing his words carefully.
“Why,” Tae-oh responded, his patience nonexistent.
“Are you aware that you are the only one in the company currently utilizing the flexible work hours system? Your current schedule is deeply disruptive to the organization.”
“Director Dan uses it too,” Tae-oh dismissed, referring to Seon-woo's own sister, Se-hee.
Seon-woo instinctively clenched his jaw. The injustice was too much. “……You are mistaken. I do not clock out after dropping the Director off every day; I return to the company to do overtime. I’ve been working sixteen-hour days since your ‘relocation’.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“How about gradually increasing your work hours? If that’s difficult, perhaps you could revert your commute times to the original schedule.” Seon-woo explained the necessary compromise.
Tae-oh frowned. Ha-yeon’s schedule was the key. Her high school had switched to an early dismissal schedule after the CSAT, meaning Ha-yeon’s school day ended earlier, so he could no longer pick her up at the usual evening time. Instead, he had moved his commute times an hour earlier, and this was the source of Seon-woo’s complaint.
“No. Ha-yeon gets out early,” Tae-oh refused instantly, prioritizing her routine over his billion-dollar organization.
Seon-woo’s professional facade cracked. “……What does Ms. Ha-yeon’s schedule have to do with the Director’s commute time? Are you her guardian?”
Tae-oh glared at the rear-view mirror. “Why are you so interested in my life? It’s creepy.”
“Ya!” Seon-woo could no longer hold back and yelled out. He couldn't believe his boss was risking a political scandal and crippling the company for a high school student. The absurdity of the situation finally broke his years of professional discipline.
****
The Scandalous Commute
PAGE 138 (Extended)
Seon-woo’s professional tone evaporated, replaced by familial desperation. “Se-hee says she saw some girl at your house. That was Ms. Ha-yeon, right?” He pressed, his eyes begging for a denial.
Tae-oh offered only silence. “……”
“Are you really dating Ms. Ha-yeon? What on earth is your relationship that you’re even cutting down work hours for her!” Seon-woo exploded, his voice rising. “Is work a joke? Is the company a joke! If you’re going to act like that, just quit everything!”
Tae-oh calmly considered the suggestion. “Should I……”
Seon-woo’s face completely changed color. He knew the weight of that statement. Tae-oh was the type of person who would not just talk, but actually quit his job—leaving billions of dollars and a vast organization headless.
And the one who would be in trouble then wouldn't be Tae-oh, but Seon-woo. As Tae-oh’s right-hand man and family member, the entire infrastructure would fall to him. Tae-oh wouldn't suffer any damage; he had money to spare.
Seon-woo swiftly retreated, forcing a falsely easy tone. “Tae-oh, no matter how much money you have, a jobless man is unattractive. People shine when they work.”
“Is that so,” Tae-oh mused, unconvinced.
“Of course. And, man, a handsome guy working hard looks even cooler. Kids these days like that,” Seon-woo insisted, trying to use Ha-yeon’s perspective as leverage.
“Really?”
“In that sense, how about working overtime tomorrow? Congressman Kang of Shinhwa Corporation is desperate to meet you. This is a major political connection, Tae-oh. I'll set up a dinner appointment for you.”
“No,” Tae-oh responded instantly.
“……Why?” Seon-woo asked, dreading the answer.
“I have to cook dinner for Ha-yeon.”
PAGE 139 (Extended)
Seon-woo clenched his jaw tight. The audacity of the excuse was staggering.
“Just tell her to order delivery. It’s not like you’re cooking the food yourself anyway. You buy it from Eunhyeongaek, right?”
“I am,” Tae-oh stated.
“You’re cooking the food?” Seon-woo’s voice was laced with disbelief.
“Yeah.”
“Since when?”
“A month ago?”
A month ago was around the time Tae-oh’s clock-out time sped up after Ha-yeon finished the CSAT. The puzzle pieces snapped together with a horrifying clarity.
“So… the reason for your flexible work hours system was to cook for the kid?” Seon-woo summarized, his voice a strained mix of outrage and shock.
“Yep.”
“……You crazy bastard! Do you even know how much your one hour is worth?!” Seon-woo threw his hands up, defeated by the sheer idiocy of valuing a massive criminal enterprise below a high schooler’s dinner schedule.
Tae-oh ignored him, the noise becoming a distant buzz. What should I cook for Ha-yeon today? Tae-oh ignored Seon-woo’s nagging and pondered dinner options. Ha-yeon ate small portions but wasn’t picky, so it was rewarding to cook for her.
“Who am I even talking to right now?” Seon-woo’s voice grew desperate. “Man, are you even listening? Hey!”
Just then, a vibration sound was heard from somewhere. It wasn't the car, or Seon-woo's phone. Tae-oh took his cell phone out of his suit and stared intently at the screen for a long time. His expression softened instantly.
It was obvious who the contact was from without asking. It must be Ha-yeon.
PAGE 140 (Extended)
Seon-woo glared at the sight, his eyes narrowed with anger. He watched as his boss, a man who intimidated governments and rivals alike, was momentarily transformed by a text message.
‘He completely ignores my calls…’ Seon-woo thought bitterly. He was staring at his phone so lovingly. If no one had been around, he looked ready to lick the screen. Tae-oh was giving off clear vibes that he was in a relationship. His attention, his time, his very existence had been hijacked. And the partner was clearly Ban Ha-yeon.
My God. A relationship between a 19-year-old and a 32-year-old. Seon-woo rubbed his temples.
It was too embarrassing to tell anyone. The scandal alone could destabilize their operations. He thought this only happened in dramas, but watching it unfold in real-time was giving him a severe headache.
He checked off the minimal consolation. At least it was legally fine. In Korea, the age of consent was 16, and Ha-yeon was almost an adult in terms of age, mitigating the immediate legal risk.
But everything else was a problem.
No, this can’t be right! Is it possible for a 32-year-old to feel romantic feelings for a 19-year-old? Is this normal?
‘Ah, right, he’s always been crazy…’ Seon-woo sighed internally. The rationalization was always the same: Tae-oh was an anomaly, a brilliant monster whose emotional compass was broken.
He hadn't wanted to find out that his cousin was a pervert in this manner. But how could he not know when the person himself was making it so obvious? Thanks to Dan Se-hee's loose lips, everyone in the family knew about Tae-oh's situation. The pressure was mounting. And because of that, Seon-woo was constantly harassed by family phone calls. They all wanted him to intervene and fix their brilliant, powerful, now romantically compromised relative.
Of course, Seon-woo hadn't talked to any of his family members. He couldn't face them until he could get his cousin out of the house next door.
********
The Strategy Session and the Cryptic Message
PAGE 141 (Extended)
Seon-woo fought down a fresh wave of panic, trying to control his racing thoughts. They’ll definitely ask who Tae-oh’s partner is, but how can I tell them it’s a high school senior about to graduate! The scandal was a time bomb. ‘I think Grandma already knows, though……’ That was the most unsettling part.
Seon-woo had recently been collecting information on Ban Ik-jung's corruption at Tae-oh's instruction. To secure the most damaging evidence, he had asked for help from Madam Kim Ok-bun, who had extensive connections in the political world, and had received the requested materials without any conditions. It was as if she had been waiting for him to ask, the documents already packaged and ready to deploy. ‘She seems to know everything, but her not asking anything makes me even more uneasy.’ Her silence was always more terrifying than her demands.
The moment Seon-woo clicked his tongue with an uneasy feeling, Tae-oh asked, cutting through the secretary's internal turmoil.
“What happened with Ban Ik-jung?”
“Haa… Please wait a moment.” Seon-woo took a deep, steadying breath, shedding the agitated cousin persona. He immediately reverted to the capable chief secretary and pulled a thick envelope from his brief case.
“Thanks to the Chairman's help, we were able to handle it easily. They had thoroughly collected all the substantial materials. These aren't just rumors; these are financials and authenticated signatures.”
Tae-oh looked over the various documents and photos with a bored expression, as if examining grocery receipts, then handed the envelope back to Seon-woo. The details didn't interest him; only the outcome mattered.
“How should we proceed? I believe releasing the information as news articles would be more effective than requesting an investigation. The latter is too slow and easily suppressed,” Seon-woo suggested professionally.
Seon-woo felt very negatively toward Ban Ik-jung. The typical contempt for a corrupt politician was magnified tenfold. Not because he was a corrupt politician, but because, in the process of carrying out Tae-oh's instructions, he had found out that Ha-yeon was being abused. Ban Ik-jung was not just a target; he was a monster who hurt the person Tae-oh—and now, begrudgingly, Seon-woo—cared about.
PAGE 142 (Extended)
Tae-oh’s directive was clear and non-negotiable, prioritizing one life over political strategy. “Ha-yeon comes first. It needs to be released after she’s separated from that house to ensure her safety. We need to neutralize the man completely before he can retaliate against her.”
“When will that day be?” Seon-woo inquired, pulling out his internal calendar.
“The day Ha-yeon's university acceptance results are announced. That gives her a clean break, a reason to move out.”
“That would be around February.” Seon-woo quickly calculated the timeline. “Congressman Ban seems likely to run in the gubernatorial election this time, so if you’re going to release it, it should be before that…” He was laying out the optimal corporate hit job.
Before Seon-woo could even finish his report, Tae-oh’s cell phone rang again. The jarring, brief vibration stopped the high-stakes planning cold.
Tae-oh checked the screen without the slightest hesitation and suddenly tilted his head slightly. His usual granite composure softened into a curious, puzzled look.
Intrigued by the strange reaction, Seon-woo couldn't help but ask. “Isn’t that Ms. Ha-yeon? Has some problem arisen?”
“I don’t know,” Tae-oh replied, the answer baffling.
“You don’t know? What did the message say?”
“‘Look outside.’”
“Outside? And what else?”
“That’s it.”
“……What could it mean? Is it a popular phrase? A meme? A generational reference I don't know?” Seon-woo frowned, utterly perplexed.
“I wonder……” Tae-oh murmured.
Tae-oh and Seon-woo looked out the car window simultaneously. The late afternoon cityscape was ordinary, cold, and unremarkable. The street was packed only with cramped buildings; nothing special was visible. The message was a tiny, baffling mystery dropped into their heavily secured world.
*******
The First Snow and the Sudden Fury
PAGE 143 (Extended)
The silence of their confusion was broken by something small and white. Just as Seon-woo and Tae-oh were tilting their heads in mutual confusion, a fingernail-sized piece of fluff flew in from somewhere and slid across the car window.
“It’s snow,” Seon-woo observed, his voice calming.
Starting with Seon-woo’s words, white snow began to flutter through the gray building forest. The flakes, illuminated by the streetlights, swirled down against the backdrop of dreary concrete.
“It seems Ms. Ha-yeon wanted to show the Director the first snow. She must have noticed it first from her apartment,” Seon-woo surmised, understanding the simple, sweet meaning of her cryptic message.
“……It’s pretty,” Tae-oh murmured, the low affirmation indicating a profound shift in mood.
Tae-oh and Seon-woo admired the snow in silence for a while. Ordinarily, they wouldn't have had the time to appreciate the first snow idly. Their lives were too packed with darkness and profit. They would have only discussed work and discovered the snow when it was time to get out of the car. And they would have frowned, worrying about the heavily congested commute the next morning.
But strangely, today the snow felt welcome. It was a gift from her. Just as Ha-yeon suggested, his heart seemed to be a little fluttered. Tae-oh seemed to feel it too, as a faint smile touched his lips. It was a genuine, quiet curve of pleasure.
‘Well… maybe it won’t be so bad,’ Seon-woo thought, feeling a rare moment of acceptance. Yes, what did the age difference matter? She was the one who restored laughter to a man who had lived only to avoid dying, suffering from phantom pain since childhood. For that alone, Ha-yeon was a benefactor to the Dan family. The truth was, she was an emotional necessity for his cousin. Madam Kim Ok-bun might have already prepared some real estate to give to Ha-yeon. He wouldn't be surprised if his grandmother was actively encouraging the attachment. ‘I just have to hope Ms. Ha-yeon falls head over heels for this lunatic.’
PAGE 144 (Extended)
The momentary peace was intoxicating. Should I get her a present? What do kids these days like? It was just as Seon-woo was fumbling for his phone to do a quick search—a truly bizarre act for a chief secretary—that a voice, sounding like it was being chewed and spat out, was heard.
“Dare……”
“Yes? Director, what did you say?” Seon-woo instinctively turned around and was startled.
Tae-oh’s expression, which had been dripping with honey just a moment ago, was now twisted like a monster’s. His features were unrecognizable, his eyes narrowed to slits of cold fury. The switch was instantaneous and terrifying.
“Wha—what is it, Director? Is there a problem or something……” Seon-woo stammered, scanning the view outside for a threat.
Tae-oh pointed a stiff finger, not toward the snow, but down the road. “Run him over.”
“Pardon?” Seon-woo choked, thinking he misheard an instruction to destroy a competitor.
“Run him over. Right now.”
Tae-oh had only uttered the words in a low voice. His tone was flat, devoid of the frantic pitch of excitement, making the command even more chilling.
Yet, goosebumps rose on Seon-woo’s skin. A chill ran down his spine, and the fine hairs on his arms stood up. A coldness filled the car even though the heater was blasting. This was the true Tae-oh: calm, calculated, and terrifyingly homicidal.
‘We’re in trouble!’ Seon-woo realized, not from the danger, but from the instability of his employer. He saw the black car that had momentarily pulled in front of them, delaying their path by a fraction of a second.
Seon-woo pressed himself against his seat and stammered. “Mr. Yoon, you—you need to hurry. The Director is serious!”
“Y-yes, yes, I—I understand,” the chauffeur, Mr. Yoon, stuttered, equally terrified by the order.
The black sedan, which had been cruising leisurely down the road, roared and shot forward with a mighty noise. The peaceful admiration of the first snow was instantly forgotten, replaced by the chaotic rush of a powerful machine obeying a madman's whim.
The next morning. The corporate routine was inflexible.
Tae-oh went down to the parking lot exactly at 8 o’clock. The polished concrete of the underground garage reflected the impeccable shine of the waiting vehicle. Sun-woo was already there, standing stiffly in front of a luxury sedan. His posture suggested he'd been waiting for some time.
“Did you have a comfortable weekend, Director?” Sun-woo offered the polite, formulaic greeting.
Tae-oh didn't even break stride as he approached the car. “No. Because someone handled a simple task like shit.”
Tae-oh got into the car, settling into the plush leather. Sun-woo, who quickly sat in the passenger seat, watched him anxiously, trying to gauge the mood of his volatile superior.
“I… was there some kind of problem?”
“Whose name did you send the abalone porridge under?” Tae-oh’s voice was dangerously even.
Sun-woo, mentally reviewing the hasty weekend task, recited his reasoning. “I checked the owner of unit 4502, and it was Congressman Ban Ik-jung. Miss Ban Ha-yeon is listed as his adopted daughter. So I sent it under the Congressman’s name, naturally, but…”
Tae-oh leaned back, his eyes fixed on the man. “I didn't realize Director Dan thought Ban Ik-jung was a good enough person to send his adopted daughter life-saving porridge.” The rebuke was delivered with cold precision.
Sun-woo floundered. “Th-that’s not it, but… he still publicly shows affection for his adopted daughter in the media, doesn't he? He boasts about her a lot.”
“You must have wanted to believe that.” Tae-oh dismissed the excuse. “Because you were too lazy to investigate properly.”
“…” Stung by the direct accusation, Sun-woo couldn't say anything. The truth was undeniable. If it had been a weekday, he would have checked more thoroughly, confirming the abuse rumors he’d vaguely heard about the Congressman’s home life. But since it was the weekend and he had even drunk beer, the task seemed trivial, and he felt too much bother. Honestly, it didn't even seem like a company-related matter, which should have been his first clue that it was important to Tae-oh.
PAGE 85 (Extended)
Therefore, despite his duty to accurately execute his superior’s orders regardless of time or place, he handled it carelessly. He’d assumed a cursory check was enough for a personal errand.
‘I’m in trouble,’ he thought, the dread sinking in. If this were related to work, Sun-woo would be as good as having made a huge mistake. The error wasn't in the delivery, but in the blatant disrespect of Tae-oh’s unstated intention.
The atmosphere wasn't suggesting anything majorly wrong—there were no shouts, no slammed fists—but the problem was Dan Tae-oh himself. That bastard’s personality means he won’t let a mistake like this slide. His punishment would be subtle, cutting, and absolute.
Sun-woo glanced at Tae-oh out of the corner of his eye. Tae-oh was looking back at him with an attractive smile. The contrast between his pleasant expression and the deadly stillness of his eyes was terrifying.
He didn't look angry, but Sun-woo knew. The silent observation and the slight, unsettling tilt of Tae-oh's head indicated that Tae-oh was furious, right up to the top of his head.
‘I’m really going to get fired this time…’ The thought was both a terror and a morbid relief. Despite wanting to quit so badly, cold sweat beaded on his temples now that he was actually facing the risk of being fired.
How should I beg? Would it work if I asked him to let it slide just once for the sake of his grandmother?
“I apologize—”
The moment Sun-woo opened his mouth while racking his brain, Tae-oh’s phone vibrated—a soft humm cutting across the tension.
Tae-oh glanced at the screen. A message from an unknown number.
[They say if you catch a falling leaf, you'll have good luck] 8:17
PAGE 86 (Extended)
[Photo] 8:18
[You should have it, Ajussi] 8:21
The photo displayed a single red, fallen leaf placed delicately on a white, youthful palm. It was a simple, thoughtful gesture, sent as soon as Ha-yeon must have stepped outside.
Tae-oh quietly stared at the photo Ha-yeon had sent. The image of the fragile leaf held by that small, enduring hand seized his attention completely, wiping away the immediate fury over Sun-woo’s incompetence.
He was lost in a dark contemplation: What I want isn't some leaf that brings good luck, but the hand that caught the leaf. The thought morphed, sickeningly vivid. I want to lick your hand.
He quickly pushed the thought away, his inner beast momentarily startled by its own intensity. What kind of expression would Ha-yeon make if I said that? That innocent face would twist tragically, unable to conceal its contempt. He couldn't risk the purity of her affection.
The darkened phone screen reflected his own face. It was a mask-like expression—impassive, refined, beautiful—where he was furiously stuffing down the desires fiercely boiling beneath.
Tae-oh finally pocketed the phone, securing the image, the memory, and his desire within his suit jacket.
“Drive.”
Sun-woo, relieved and utterly confused, stammered, “Excuse me?”
“Aren’t you going to drive to work?” Tae-oh fixed him with a look that dared him to question the reprieve. The mood had shifted inexplicably, and the crisis had passed. For now.
******
An Unexpected Summons
PAGE 87 (Extended)
Sun-woo, completely bewildered by the sudden halt and rapid dismissal of his mistake, could only manage a stunned whisper. “…Ah, no.” The relief was immense, washing over him in a dizzying wave. This was the first time Tae-oh had let a mistake slide so easily. What incredible luck is this? Sun-woo, fearing Tae-oh’s capriciousness, signaled urgently to the driver, Yoon, before Tae-oh could possibly change his mind. The black sedan smoothly pulled away, accelerating out of the garage.
After a long, tedious day, marked by endless meetings and power plays, only the final schedule item remained. Tae-oh’s business façade was beginning to crack. Tae-oh pressed his weary eyes, the movement masking his internal impatience. It felt as if time was dragging even more slowly than usual, the endless minutes crawling by all because he’d been waiting for a message that never came all day.
Outside, an autumn rain was falling steadily—a cold, miserable drizzle. Raindrops traced long lines down the car window, blurring the city lights into streaks of neon.
Did she remember to bring an umbrella? The paternalistic concern was instant and unwanted. Other students would be picked up by their parents, he thought with a familiar, burning resentment, but there was no way Ha-yeon’s adoptive parents would do that for her. He worried she might be walking home alone, getting drenched miserably. His imagination supplied the image: a small, solitary figure struggling through the downpour.
Tae-oh bit down hard on his lip, the pain a necessary anchor, fighting the fierce, irrational urge to rush to her immediately and shield her from the weather.
Just then, as if sensing his thoughts, his phone vibrated sharply on the seat beside him. His heart gave a hard, unfamiliar thump.
The first text appeared at 5:05 PM:
[I’ll be done in an hour. What time do you get off work, Ajussi?] 5:05
PAGE 88 (Extended)
A second message followed almost instantly:
[Can we eat dinner together? I’ll wait for you] 5:05
And then, a third, arriving a few minutes later:
[Do you have any other food allergies, by the way?] 5:08
Why the question about allergies? A cold knot formed in his stomach. He felt anxious. She’s not planning to cook again, is she? She can’t even handle a knife without nearly severing a digit. The thought of her in his kitchen, clumsy and determined, sent a jolt of alarm through him.
The moment he frowned, his worry peaking, a new message arrived, settling the matter with an order.
[Hurry and come back] 5:10
“Ha…” The sigh that escaped him was a mixture of frustration and utter, unwilling devotion. My blood is running cold worrying she might hurt herself, and she’s just casually sending texts like this, summoning me back to the apartment.
But the fact that he was actually pleased by these meaningless messages made him intensely irritated. His internal struggle was agonizing. ‘Of course I like it when my owner tells me to come. Serves me right for being a dog bastard.’ He silently applied the most humiliating label to himself—a dog, eagerly awaiting its master's call.
Tae-oh sighed deeply and leaned his head back against the plush leather seat. The tedious day and the annoying rain were forgotten. The only thing that mattered was getting back to the apartment now that he had been officially summoned.
*****
Defiance and Domesticity
PAGE 89 (Extended)
Tae-oh stared out at the rainy street, calculating the distance. He was still far from finishing work. The reality was stark: He was planning to stay at his family's main residence starting today, not the Ilsan apartment. Therefore, no matter how long Ha-yeon waited, the scenario of her eating dinner with him wouldn't happen. The logic was flawless, yet deeply unsatisfactory.
…Surely she wouldn't wait until I arrive? He had a sinking premonition that Ha-yeon was exactly the type to do just that, sitting alone out of sheer, stubborn loyalty. Simultaneously, the image of her sitting alone at the large dining table, picking at her food in isolation, flashed before his eyes—a painfully familiar picture of her suffering.
Tae-oh leaned his head back against the headrest, a sigh of internal warfare escaping him. His reason sent a strong warning: He shouldn't see Ha-yeon anymore. She was a risk he couldn't afford, a weakness he couldn't control.
He desperately sought a compromise. But it was only one month until the CSAT. Once she achieved her freedom, once Ha-yeon enrolled in a provincial university, he wouldn't be able to meet her even if he wanted to. I just need to hold out for one month.
Honestly, it was a forced justification. He knew the bitter truth: He couldn't restrain himself for a day, let alone a month, with Ha-yeon by his side. However, as always, reason was useless when it came to anything involving her. His control vanished the moment she was involved.
With a final, sharp resolution, he gave the order. “Turn the car around.”
Sun-woo, startled, spoke quickly. “If we turn the car around now, we’ll have to delay the next appointment.”
“Cancel all subsequent schedules.” The decision was absolute.
Sun-woo looked at Tae-oh with a puzzled expression. What’s going on with this workaholic who even creates tasks for himself? He never cancels, yet he's wiping out his evening.
“…Then, should I take you to the office?” Sun-woo offered the only logical alternative for a man who lived to work.
PAGE 90 (Extended)
Tae-oh glanced at his expensive watch. “Isn't it time to leave work?”
Sun-woo scoffed internally. A man who has never left on time suddenly knows what quitting time is. He stifled a heavy sigh. In any case, Tae-oh was truly strange today. He was constantly looking at his phone during work hours, cancelling schedules, and now leaving work this early. The whole day had been an aberration.
Well, if he quits early, I'm happy. Sun-woo's lips twitched as he thought of Momo waiting for him at home.
He defaulted to the original instruction. “I’ll take you to your family residence.”
“To Ilsan.”
Sun-woo frowned. “Ilsan… sir? Do you mean the apartment you stayed at over the weekend?”
“I'm going to stay there for about a month.” Tae-oh didn't elaborate. “Stock the kitchen with cooking utensils and ingredients. Complete sets. And buy some apples.”
This wasn't just a brief stay. He wasn't just planning to sleep there; he was setting up house. Sun-woo’s eyes widened at the sheer absurdity of the request.
“Why do you need cooking utensils? You’ve never cooked before.” The question was bold, born of confusion. “And why apples, when you have an allergy?”
Tae-oh’s gaze sharpened. “I didn't think I'd have to persuade Director Dan.” The tone implied the conversation was over.
“…I apologize. I will take care of it by tomorrow morning.” Sun-woo mentally added emergency trip to the supply store to his late-night schedule.
The car made a U-turn at the next traffic light.
Tae-oh ignored Sun-woo’s anxiety, watched the traffic flow, then opened the chat window on his phone. He needed to communicate his change of plan quickly.
He sent two messages back to back, the second one a commanding warning disguised as concern.
5:33 [Arriving in 30 minutes]
5:33 [Don't you dare move, just wait]
/////////////
********
An Arrival in the Rain
PAGE 91 (Extended)
Ha-yeon quickly snatched her phone, which she’d briefly set aside, turned the screen back on from black and read the message again. The simple, yet demanding text stood out starkly: [Don't you dare move, just wait] 5:34.
This must mean he's coming to pick me up, right? The realization sent a shiver of pure, simple joy through her. This was the first time anyone had ever come to pick her up from school. It was a small, normal gesture that felt monumental to her. Her cheeks kept twitching uncontrollably with excitement, fighting against her trained expression of neutrality.
She looked outside and saw that the rain was falling steadily. The streets were already slick. The traffic must be even worse today. She worried that Ajussi might be having a difficult time navigating the rush hour traffic in the downpour, just for her. However, she didn't want to refuse. The thought of making him turn back was unbearable. She knew she would see him sooner if he picked her up than if she just went home to see him. The minutes she saved by waiting for him felt like an immense prize.
PAGE 92 (Extended)
With renewed purpose, Ha-yeon put down her phone and took all her workbooks out of her locker and stuffed them into her bag. She meticulously checked every shelf. “I’m glad I didn’t throw them away.”
They were workbooks she had already completed, marked with her previous efforts, but since Ban Ik-jung had confiscated her current books, she considered these her only viable study materials. In any case, this was the important time for review, rather than starting new problem types. She quickly formulated a plan: She thought making an error correction notebook using these workbooks over the remaining month would be helpful. It was a practical path to ensure her scholarship.
Once everything was packed, the weight was quite substantial. She hoisted the heavy bag onto her shoulder. If I take them to Ajussi’s house, I won’t have to worry about them being taken away. The apartment was already a sanctuary in her mind.
Ha-yeon smiled contentedly and headed out of the classroom.
She found the main exit. The area in front of the building, which had been bustling with cars picking up students earlier, was now empty, save for a few maintenance vehicles. Ha-yeon stood by the entrance and watched the continuous rain.
In the past, she had intentionally lingered until most students were gone to avoid letting anyone see her walking home alone in the rain. It was a small act of self-preservation, protecting her dignity. But today, she had someone coming to pick her up. Her heart fluttered with excitement over this first since she started school.
Just then, a sleek black car was visible entering the main gate. It moved with a quiet, expensive glide. It gleamed even from a distance. The dark paint seemed to absorb the light and shine it back. It must be a very expensive car.
PAGE 93 (Extended)
The car gently pulled up and stopped in the designated parking area, a silent testament to the driver's skill. Soon, the driver's door opened, and a large man stepped out. He was instantly imposing, dominating the rainy landscape.
It’s Ajussi!
The moment she instinctively started to run, unable to contain her excitement, Tae-oh held up his palm towards her. The silent gesture clearly communicated: Wait.
He then pulled a large umbrella from the trunk—a black, imposing canopy—and strode quickly towards her. He was a sight of stark contrast against the grey day: The man in the black suit and matching black, long umbrella looked perfectly synchronized. Powerful and immaculate.
Ha-yeon’s cheeks flushed a rosy red. A profound sense of being protected settled over her. She didn't feel cold, despite the rain and the wind. She couldn't hear any other sounds. The world was muted. All she could see was Tae-oh.
“Ha-yeon, who is that? He looks like he’s here to pick you up.”
Ha-yeon flinched at the sudden voice. She had been so focused that she hadn't noticed anyone approaching.
She turned to see the school nurse standing under the overhang. “Oh… Nurse, are you leaving for the day?”
“I wish, but I’m on duty. Anyway, is that your uncle? He’s really handsome.” The nurse's professional detachment was momentarily broken by open admiration.
Uncle? The smile vanished from Ha-yeon’s face, replaced by an odd mix of pride and proprietorship.
“His face is like a celebrity, but his body is like an athlete. What does he do? His aura is no joke.”
Ha-yeon, meeting the nurse’s curious eyes, gave him a direct, deadpan answer that she knew would shock. “He’s a gangster.”
The school nurse paused, then burst into laughter. She thought Ha-yeon was making a joke about his intense look. Her lips, painted with a dried rose color lipstick, parted beautifully with her amusement.
*****
Under the Black Umbrella
PAGE 94 (Extended)
The school nurse laughed, a genuine, warm sound. “I thought you were a quiet student, but you can play jokes like this, too. You’re new to me, Ha-yeon. Should I go say hello to your uncle?”
Ha-yeon’s face hardened slightly, determined to shut down the misinterpretation and solidify her claim. “…That might be a bit difficult.”
“Why?” The nurse was intrigued by the possessive man approaching.
Ha-yeon spoke the lie with conviction. “Because my boyfriend doesn’t really like sudden situations.”
The nurse blinked, momentarily stunned. “B-boyfriend? Who, him?” She gestured toward the imposing figure striding toward them.
“Yes,” Ha-yeon confirmed, her voice ringing with proud ownership. “So I don’t think I can introduce you. I’m sorry.”
“…Oh, no. That’s understandable…” The nurse quickly recovered her professionalism, though her eyes were still wide. “A handsome man like that, I see why you’d keep him to yourself.”
“Then I’ll be going now, Teacher.” Ha-yeon offered a final, polite bow.
“Alright…”
Ha-yeon bowed politely to the school nurse and walked away from the entrance. She couldn’t resist running the last few steps, covering her head poorly with her hand. Tae-oh frowned deeply at the sight of her running toward him, his concern outweighing his annoyance.
“I told you to wait,” he chastised as he reached her, the massive black canopy of the umbrella engulfing her small frame.
Ha-yeon, who had safely slipped under his large umbrella, looked up at him, her eyes sparkling. “If I run, we can meet sooner, can’t we?”
“You got rained on for a few seconds’ difference. That was pointless,” he grumbled, shaking a few drops from the umbrella.
“Even one second is fine.” She didn't budge, her conviction absolute. “If only I can see Ajussi sooner.”
“…” Tae-oh’s breath hitched. Her simple, earnest devotion sliced through his defenses. He repeated his self-preserving mantra silently: Don’t get the wrong idea. It’s just a meaningless phrase.
PAGE 95 (Extended)
Tae-oh chanted this like a mantra—meaningless, meaningless—as he snatched Ha-yeon’s heavy backpack from her. He swung the substantial weight onto his own shoulder without effort. As he turned to walk away, Ha-yeon trotted after him, chattering with the unrestrained energy of a person who suddenly felt safe.
“Ajussi, what do you think of a teacher as a girlfriend's profession?” she asked, still basking in the glow of her lie to the nurse.
“I’m not interested.”
“Don’t most men like teachers, though? They’re stable and educated.”
“What does the job matter? The contents are what’s important.” He meant her content, her soul.
“Really?” She seemed genuinely surprised and pleased.
“I said so,” he confirmed curtly.
“Hehe.” She giggled, a light, carefree sound.
“Why are you laughing?” he demanded, instantly wary of her happiness.
“Just because I’m happy.” Her eyes were clear and truthful. “What are we eating tonight?”
“I made a reservation at a nearby restaurant. It’s not far. We’ll eat there tonight.”
“And tomorrow?”
“We should eat at home. I cancelled my plans to stay at the main house, remember? Eating out too often isn’t good for your health.”
“…” Ha-yeon fell silent. Her steps slowed as the implication sank in. Is he going to cook for me? Why?
Ha-yeon’s expression melted into a soft, blissful look. The thought of him preparing a meal, however simple, for her was overwhelming. Tae-oh narrowed his eyes with a look full of caution. Her expression of pure happiness was almost painful to witness.
“Why do you keep grinning so foolishly?” he asked, trying to introduce sharpness back into the moment.
PAGE 96 (Extended)
“Ajussi… I think something’s wrong with me,” she admitted, sounding bewildered by her own intense emotions.
“Why are you so frail for a young kid? What’s wrong and how?”
“Have you ever been on a Viking ride?” she asked, trying to find a metaphor for the churning in her gut. “I feel like that whenever I see Ajussi.” The extreme highs and lows were making her dizzy.
“What on earth are you talking about…” He stopped, needing to put distance between them before her honesty broke him. “Hey, don’t come any closer. If you don't stay more than a meter away, I’m leaving you behind.”
“One meter means I’d have to step out of the umbrella!” she protested, clutching the handle.
Tae-oh made a frustrated noise. “…Then you use it alone.”
He handed the umbrella to Ha-yeon abruptly, dropping the handle into her grasp, and stepped out into the rain. The cold water instantly soaked the shoulders of his suit jacket.
Stumbling slightly under the unexpectedly heavy weight of the umbrella, which was designed for his height, Ha-yeon ran after Tae-oh. She couldn't bear to leave him exposed.
“Let’s go together, Ajussi!” Her clear voice echoed across the wide school yard, overriding the sound of the rain, a beacon of determination following the man who had just traded his life of solitude for hers.
*******
Dinner and an Interruption
PAGE 97 (Extended)
The place Tae-oh had reserved was a restaurant featuring a lavish course meal of premium Korean beef (Hanwoo), the kind of establishment reserved for the elite. As she entered the opulent, softly lit space, Ha-yeon could not contain her excitement. Even after being seated at the private, reserved counter overlooking the bustling kitchen, she kept looking around, her eyes wide.
Tae-oh chuckled softly at her innocent enthusiasm. “What’s so fascinating?”
Ha-yeon glanced at the chef who was busily preparing food right in front of the table. She leaned in, covered her mouth with her hand and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “This place is the most famous one in the neighborhood. It's exclusive.”
“So?”
“It’s fine dining, and it starts at 300,000 won per person.” She stared at him, aghast. “Did you know that?”
“No.” He shrugged, completely unconcerned.
“…I knew it.” Her voice was a despairing whisper. “How can you make a reservation without even knowing the menu price!”
She wasn't admiring the interior; she was worried about my finances. Tae-oh’s appreciation for her character deepened. His smile deepened. He corrected her gently. “I didn’t make the reservation. My assistant did.”
“Haa… There’s no helping it.” Ha-yeon started to slide out of her seat. “Let’s go. Since the food hasn’t come out yet, they’ll understand if we leave.”
Tae-oh pulled Ha-yeon back down by the wrist, firmly anchoring her. “I told you gangster bastards have a lot of money. Just fleece me.”
Ha-yeon squinted at him. “Money earned from selling organs and drugs? That’s a bit… unappetizing.”
A sharp clink broke the awkward silence. The chef preparing the food right in front of them dropped his tongs. He froze, his face momentarily blank, having clearly overheard the conversation.
When Ha-yeon looked at him, puzzled, the chef instantly put on a wide, practiced, friendly expression. He smoothly retrieved the tongs, then served the finished appetizer, a delicate arrangement of seafood and greens, rapidly explaining the dish in an attempt to cover the preceding exchange.
PAGE 98 (Extended)
“Please enjoy your meal.” The chef’s voice was strained, but polite.
“Wow, it’s beautiful.” Ha-yeon let out a soft gasp at the presentation and put the artistically plated appetizer into her mouth. She chewed thoughtfully, then immediately tilted her head, suggesting it wasn't to her taste.
Tae-oh watched her, his attention entirely focused. He subtly put aside the dishes he knew Ha-yeon would like from his own portion of the course, pushing them toward her. Ha-yeon’s cheeks flushed slightly at the unsolicited care.
“How did you know it starts at 300,000 won per person?” he asked, returning to the earlier topic.
“I heard it from Ban Hyuk-joon. That’s the Congressman’s son. He said the meat here is so good that he comes often.”
“And you?”
“I don’t have the money, and even if I did, I wouldn’t come.” She gave a practical shake of her head. “This money could pay for a month’s rent at a gosiwon (minimal living unit).”
“A gosiwon? You said you were going to a university dormitory.” His voice was sharper now.
“Where in this world is there 100% certainty? I need to be prepared.”
The image of Ha-yeon sleeping fitfully in a gosiwon with minimal safety precautions flashed through Tae-oh’s mind. The thought was intolerable. His brow furrowed slightly.
“But the food here comes out really slowly. I can't eat much if it's interrupted while I'm eating.” She sighed, her appetite already fading due to the gaps between courses.
I should buy an apartment near her university as soon as she decides. The realization was a concrete solution to an emotional problem. Tae-oh made a mental note of his task and nodded toward the chef.
The quick-witted chef immediately presented the next dish, sensing the director's impatience.
The moment Ha-yeon excitedly picked up her chopsticks, someone grabbed her shoulder. It was the man from the couple who had just arrived and were being guided to their reserved seats nearby.
PAGE 99 (Extended)
“Ban Ha-yeon?” The voice was sneeringly familiar.
Ha-yeon’s shoulder instantly tensed, as if she recognized the identity just from the voice. Her excitement was instantly replaced by rigidity.
“It is Ban Ha-yeon, right? What are you doing here?” The younger Ban was loud and accusatory.
Tae-oh’s eyes locked onto the man’s hand grabbing Ha-yeon’s shoulder, the instinct to break the contact overriding all else. His glare then moved to his face.
A college student? The man, Ban Hyuk-joon, had cunning features: narrow, slit eyes and thin lips. The clothes and watch he was wearing alone were worth the price of a mid-sized car.
I know who this must be. The Congressman's spoiled son. Tae-oh’s lips curled into a slanted, cold smile—the kind that promised violence.
“Hey, didn’t you hear me?” Ban Hyuk-joon demanded, shaking her shoulder slightly.
As the man urged her, Ha-yeon sighed and put down her chopsticks. She was resigned to the inevitable annoyance. “Ban Hyuk-joon, why are you here?”
“I came to eat with Min-jung Ssaem (Teacher).” Ban Hyuk-joon replied, shrugging his shoulder proudly.
The woman in his party, Go Min-jung, smiled and waved to Ha-yeon, acknowledging her. “Ha-yeon, long time no see.”
Ha-yeon’s eyebrow quirked up. The tutor was a familiar face. She had run into Go Min-jung, one of Ban Hyuk-joon’s tutors, a few times at home. She had never felt anything particular about the woman before, but she didn’t know why she suddenly disliked her so intensely today.
Was it because Go Min-jung was greeting Ha-yeon but directing her gaze entirely toward Tae-oh? Ha-yeon felt a strange, new possessiveness surge through her.
******
Counterattack at the Dinner Table
PAGE 100 (Extended)
“I came here to eat, too. Let's just stay quiet and leave separately,” Ha-yeon stated plainly, trying to de-escalate the situation and salvage her dinner.
However, Ban Hyuk-joon arbitrarily moved the table next to Ha-yeon's. He shoved the small side table closer and sat right next to her, forcing himself into their space. He glanced back and forth between Ha-yeon and Tae-oh with brazen curiosity, assessing the man who dared to dine with his adopted sister.
“But who did you come here with?” he pressed, his eyes lingering on Tae-oh’s expensive suit and unnerving calm.
“None of your business,” Ha-yeon replied with a low, unwavering voice.
Despite Ha-yeon’s cold answer, Ban Hyuk-joon scoffed with a smug expression. “I was wondering where a charity-case orphan girl got the money to come to a place like this, which is outside her slum rent price range… I guess you must be desperate since Dad took all your books, huh? Selling yourself off for a meal?”
“Ban Hyuk-joon, watch your mouth,” Ha-yeon warned, her eyes flashing, though her body remained seated.
“If you’re going to run errands for money, why didn’t you just ask me? I could’ve given you the stuff I used,” he sneered, implying she was a prostitute.
“Stop right there. I can’t listen to any more of your ignorance.” Ha-yeon’s voice was lethal, calling out his lack of education and class despite his money.
“You bastard, how dare a girl doing quid pro quo call me ignorant. Do you want to die?” Hyuk-joon surged forward, his face twisting in a sneer of petty rage.
I’ve tolerated enough. Tae-oh’s patience had evaporated. The moment Tae-oh uncrossed his legs and started to stand up, a slow, deliberate movement promising immense power, Ha-yeon spoke. Her voice was perfectly timed and calm, cutting through the escalating tension.
“Did you have a good trip to Yangpyeong?”
Ban Hyuk-joon stopped, momentarily thrown off balance. “Why Yangpyeong?”
“I was wondering if you got good tutoring from Go Min-jung Ssaem.”
His face tightened. “…How did you know I got tutoring from Min-jung Ssaem?”
PAGE 101 (Extended)
Ha-yeon gave a slight, confident smile. “The photos you and Go Min-jung Ssaem posted on SNS this weekend looked similar. I’m very observant. They had the same food photos and the same hotel background, only the composition was different. You must have been desperate to hide it. I thought you were together, weren’t you?”
“W-what kind of bullshit is that! No, we weren’t!” Hyuk-joon's voice squeaked, his bravado instantly shattering.
“Oh, I guess not.” Ha-yeon feigned innocence with exaggerated disappointment. “After all, why would a Congressman’s son receive illegal private tutoring from a current academy instructor? That would be a huge scandal. I guess I worried for nothing.”
Ha-yeon smiled innocently, letting the relief sink into his shoulders, then widened her eyes as if struck by a new realization. “Huh? Did you buy a ring?” She pointed at his finger. “But that’s strange. Why is it exactly the same as the ring I saw on Go Min-jung Ssaem’s SNS? They look identical! Surely the two of you wouldn’t have gotten matching couple rings… for your tutoring sessions?”
“A-are you crazy? It was a coincidence!” he stammered, pulling his hand away quickly.
“That’s quite a coincidental coincidence, isn’t it?” she finished, the phrase hanging in the air like a poisoned dart.
Ban Hyuk-joon and Go Min-jung’s faces turned pale. They understood the implications immediately. Private tutoring from a current academy instructor was clearly illegal and politically toxic for Ban Ik-jung. They had agreed to strict silence, but their romantic indiscretion had compromised everything. The trip to Yangpyeong was their 100th-day anniversary of dating.
If this fact became known, the personal and political fallout would be immense. Ban Ik-jung, who viewed his political life as sacred, would never forgive his son. Hyuk-joon’s allowance would be cut, and his future would be jeopardized. Naturally, Go Min-jung wouldn't be safe either. Even deleting the posts now was like spilled water. They never dreamed a single moment of indiscretion would cause such trouble. Ha-yeon held all the cards.
PAGE 102 (Extended)
Ha-yeon looked at the completely defeated Ban Hyuk-joon. He was sweating, his face stripped of its earlier arrogance.
“Will you go back to your seat now? I want to eat quietly with Ajussi.” Her tone was a calm instruction, not a question.
“O-oh, right, sorry. Enjoy your meal…” He mumbled, collecting his composure and turning to leave with his silent date.
Ha-yeon called Ban Hyuk-joon back just as he was turning away awkwardly.
“Ban Hyuk-joon.”
“Huh? Why, why?” He whipped around, expecting a final, devastating blow.
“You can keep our meeting today a secret from the Congressman, right?” She adopted a fearful, wide-eyed look. “It would be a huge problem if my phone got confiscated. I wouldn't even be able to delete your pictures saved in the cloud.”
Ban Hyuk-joon’s expression instantly crumbled. The mention of the cloud was the perfect checkmate. He had been planning to immediately call his father and incite Ban Ik-jung to confiscate Ha-yeon’s phone and destroy the pictures. Now he realized that action would be useless and would only unleash the full contents of the cloud, inviting catastrophe. It would only increase Ha-yeon’s hostility.
“…O-of course. I won't tell Dad.” The words were choked out.
Ban Hyuk-joon and Go Min-jung left the restaurant without eating. Their sudden, hasty departure was a clear sign of defeat. Tae-oh’s eyes narrowed lazily at their shabby retreating figures. He turned back to Ha-yeon, the warmth returning slightly to his expression.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, suddenly self-conscious after the high-stakes confrontation.
“Because I’m surprised.”
“Me? About what?”
“I thought you’d sit there crying foolishly, or hide behind me.” The implication was that he expected weakness, but got a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
*****
An Impossible Equation
PAGE 103 (Extended)
“It’s not in my nature to always be the victim. Please, eat.” Ha-yeon dismissed the dramatic confrontation with a wave of her hand and calmly returned to the remaining course dishes.
Tae-oh looked at Ha-yeon, who was calmly focused on her food as if nothing had happened, and felt an inner admiration. Her composure in the face of conflict was unnerving. He wondered with a fresh sense of awe: When did she search Ban Hyuk-joon’s SNS and collect evidence of illegal tutoring? It suggested a cold, calculating mind beneath the fragile exterior. He had a feeling that the evidence Ha-yeon possessed regarding Ban Ik-jung’s abuse might include more than just photos. She was a quiet strategist.
‘In this respect, she’s like Bayan,’ the memory of his past love surged, overwhelming him. The viciousness to never let an aggressor rest, even if it meant her death. The persistence to prepare meticulously for revenge, even if it took years. Ha-yeon was an echo of that dangerous spirit.
Tae-oh felt like he was going insane every time he caught a glimpse of his past love in Ha-yeon. The desire was a physical, agonizing ache. He wanted to immediately kneel down and lick Ha-yeon’s toes. He wanted to surrender his formidable will. He wanted to place a leash around his own neck and put the end in her hand, making himself her slave. ‘You are my master, so why don't you recognize it?’ The question was a silent, desperate prayer.
Tae-oh drank water, wetting his parched mouth. His suit felt too tight.
The meal finished close to 8 o’clock. The brief, intense encounter with the Ban family’s dirty laundry seemed to have energized Ha-yeon. Tae-oh put Ha-yeon into the car and started the engine.
Ha-yeon, who was humming a tune while holding her full stomach, suddenly widened her eyes as she noticed the direction they were going. “Huh? This isn’t the direction toward home.”
“We’re going to the bookstore.”
“Why the bookstore?”
PAGE 104 (Extended)
“You said all your books were confiscated.” He kept his tone matter-of-fact.
Ha-yeon’s eyes softened, a mix of disbelief and hope. “…Are you going to buy them for me? Without any conditions?”
Tae-oh scoffed, injecting his usual harshness to mask the depth of his goodwill. “What conditions? Are you expecting me to run errands for money, just like that little bastard said?”
“Ah, no, that’s not what I meant… I was just surprised.” She looked down, suddenly embarrassed.
“You get surprised by a lot of things.”
Tae-oh turned the steering wheel toward the bookstore parking lot and continued speaking, summarizing his twisted philosophy. “There are crazy bastards who confiscate all the books from a high school student with a month until the CSAT, so there should also be a crazy bastard who buys them without conditions, just to maintain balance.”
“Ajussi…” Ha-yeon’s voice was warm, filled with a dangerous, burgeoning affection.
He cut her off, needing to establish emotional distance immediately. “And Ajussi has zero interest in a little kid who smells of fish, like you. I'm doing this out of spite for the Congressman, not affection. Ask for something you can actually get.”
The warmth in Ha-yeon’s eyes, which had been shimmering with emotion, narrowed sharply. The light vanished.
Tae-oh, who had finished parking without noticing her change, only paused when the silence became thick. Ha-yeon was glaring at him with a ghost-like expression. Her face was pale, her lips pressed together.
“…What’s wrong?” he asked, genuinely confused.
“I want to go home.”
“Why? Don’t they sell what you need here?”
“I don’t know.”
“‘I don’t know’ is not an answer. At least search it. Use your phone.”
PAGE 105 (Extended)
“…I think Ajussi really doesn’t know anything.” She spoke the words slowly, full of heavy disappointment.
“Well, do you think a gangster is supposed to be knowledgeable? Stop the nonsense, what are you going to do? Should we go to a different bookstore?” He was growing impatient, failing to recognize the injury he had inflicted.
“I don’t know!” Ha-yeon suddenly burst out with a shout, the emotional buildup finally breaking her control. She then firmly grabbed both of Tae-oh’s cheeks, her small hands framing his face.
And with a swift, desperate motion, she bit his lip.
Leaving aside the sharp pain, the metallic taste, and the physical shock, Tae-oh couldn't understand what had just happened. He stared at her, dumbfounded.
Ha-yeon bit Tae-oh’s lip. Why? He couldn't fathom the reason. Was this a frustrated expression of affection? A desperate lash-out against his rejection?
“…Are you a dog bastard? Why are you biting me?” His voice was husky with shock, not anger.
He tasted something metallic. His lip must have split slightly. However, Tae-oh was more concerned about Ha-yeon than the trivial pain. Her chest was heaving.
Her incomprehensible action. Her bright red face. Her gaze fixated on Tae-oh’s lips. She looked on the verge of breakdown. Ha-yeon looked precarious. She’s going to cry.
“It’s okay. It doesn’t hurt,” he said gently, trying to soothe her as one would an upset child.
As Tae-oh roughly wiped the blood from his lip with the back of his hand, Ha-yeon hastily opened the car door and got out. She stumbled onto the wet pavement, not meeting his eyes.
“I-I’ll go study first. Ajussi, take your time with your errand and come back slowly.” She was already walking away quickly.
“What errand?” He watched Ha-yeon’s rapidly retreating figure, then slammed his forehead onto the steering wheel with a frustrated thud.
“I’m going crazy.”
It was an impossible task for a 32-year-old man to understand the heart of a 19-year-old girl, especially one who responded to emotional pain by physically biting him.
An Extended Account: The Aftermath of an Encounter
PAGE 52 (Extended)
BANG! The sound of the apartment door slamming reverberated through the hallway, a violent punctuation mark on her hasty exit.
“Does he think I’m an idiot? A gullible child who can’t tell a genuine feeling from a performance?” Ha-yeon muttered to herself, her breath coming in ragged, angry puffs. She stood rigidly outside his door for a long moment, chest heaving. Instinctively, she strained her ears, half-expecting to hear the lock turn, the door open, and the ajussi—Tae-oh—come after her, perhaps to apologize or offer some clumsy comfort.
But the outside air was as quiet as a grave. The silence of the luxury corridor pressed down on her, magnifying the hollow echo of the apartment door.
With a sigh that carried the weight of her frustration, Ha-yeon’s shoulders slumped. She weakly crouched down in front of the cold, marble floor of the threshold, pulling her knees up to her chest.
She replayed his cruel words, the ones delivered in a voice far too intimate for their content: “An ajussi like me is not the kind of guy who would bring a pretty, young girl like you home and just quietly feed her. So, go back while I’m letting you go.”
“A truly bad person wouldn't even say things like that,” she reasoned, a fierce spark of conviction in her eyes. The cold logic of her life in the Ban household had honed her senses. She knew the difference between a calculated threat and a desperate, clumsy push. The fact that he’d set up an IV drip and even meticulously prepared her medicine for her—a level of care she had never received at home—was irrefutable proof that he had been genuinely worried.
So, why the sudden, vicious attack? Why was he trying so desperately to scare her away?
Ha-yeon was not afraid of Tae-oh. She couldn't possibly be afraid of the only person who had helped her without any expectation of gain. She’d endured fourteen years of Ban Ik-jung’s vile, humiliating insults and threats. Tae-oh’s words, though harsh and laced with an unfamiliar darkness, didn't inflict even a shred of impact on her hardened spirit.
His claim that he shed tears just to deceive her—that she rejected outright. She remembered too clearly the look in his eyes—the raw, exposed pain that mirrored her own silent suffering. It had been so pitiful and heartbreaking that she’d wanted to reach out and hug him, to comfort him. She had, in fact, nearly cried along with him.
For that to have been an act—a performance merely to lure a young girl—was unbelievable. No matter how young Ha-yeon was, she wasn't foolish enough to swallow such a clumsy lie.
The mystery, however, gnawed at her. She needed to know the reason for his abrupt change, why he was so fiercely wary, and why he was so anxious to push her away.
“Does he think I’ll latch onto him? That I’ll become a burden he can’t shake off?” she whispered, the thought sparking a fresh wave of humiliation.
PAGE 53 (Extended)
A deeper truth surfaced amidst her confusion. Truthfully, she had wanted to get closer to him since the first time she saw him. Of course, Tae-oh’s strikingly handsome features and commanding presence had an initial influence, but it was something deeper—a connection she felt to his wounded heart—that truly drew her in.
She didn’t understand it. Ha-yeon also couldn’t logically explain why Tae-oh kept lingering in her mind like a phantom ache.
Then, the second set of cruel words echoed back: “Now that I think about it, nothing will come out even if I wring it out for a while. I tossed and turned enough yesterday.”
And that was the true source of her anger. The moment she heard those words, she had felt so resentful and profoundly hurt by Tae-oh that tears nearly gushed out. It was an irrational, painful reaction, a sharp sense of betrayal as if she had just witnessed a lover cheating on her.
“What does it matter to me if Ajussi sleeps around with a woman? He's just someone I met for the first time yesterday,” she chastised herself fiercely. She knew this logically, but her emotions had taken over, a powerful, swirling vortex she couldn't control.
That volatile mix of hurt and shame was why she had no choice but to run out as if fleeing. She was terrified she might stay and say something desperate, strange, or utterly humiliating to Tae-oh.
“It’s itchy…” she mumbled, her fingers tentatively reaching up to lightly graze her earlobe. The skin there, where Tae-oh’s warm breath had brushed against her, was tingling with an unsettling sensation.
She felt a rush of shame and heat, as if she were touching a forbidden, secret part of herself. Quickly, she lowered her hand and walked over to the full-length mirror attached to the shoe rack, needing to examine the source of the heat.
The girl reflected back had reddened cheeks and delicate, compact features. She knew her appearance was objectively good; she had been told she was pretty countless times. Her neat, calm, and reserved demeanor especially made teachers fond of her, viewing her as the ideal, quiet student.
PAGE 54 (Extended)
But… that wasn't enough.
“He probably doesn’t find me attractive,” she murmured, the crushing insecurity taking root. Ajussi’s demeanor and surroundings suggested a different type of partner: a beautiful, sensual, and mature woman. Only someone like that—someone worldly and sophisticated—would seem to suit Ajussi, complementing his intensity.
Not a young girl like her.
Ha-yeon slumped further, looking glum as she lowered her head. The cold floor was seeping into her leggings. She had been sitting there until her legs were completely numb, yet the outside remained ominously quiet. The silence only deepened her gloomy, self-pitying mood.
“Ajussi wouldn’t come. He made that perfectly clear. But what am I expecting, sitting here in front of the door? How pathetic and melodramatic,” she thought, bitterly chastising her own stubborn hope.
Grrrrrr.
The noise was loud and unavoidable. Her body's natural need finally broke through her emotional turmoil. She must have been there too long. Her stomach was not just empty; it was screaming, and her hands were shaking from the sudden drop in blood sugar.
“...I guess I’ll eat,” she sighed, pushing herself up with difficulty.
A wave of dread washed over her as she considered the food in her own house. For a long time now, whenever she ate at home, she always got sick. The ritual of illness was predictable: throwing up everything she ate, followed by an agonizing, twisting stomach pain that made sleep impossible.
To make matters worse, the thought of seeking comfort was immediately blocked: all the emergency medicine was locked inside her adoptive parents’ bolted bedroom.
The choice was clear, a grim calculation she was used to making: Rather than risk going down and having to beg her foster parents for a pill in the middle of the night, it was infinitely better to skip the meal, even if her stomach was protesting.
She could just endure the hunger now and eat something safe and uncontaminated at school the next day. The familiar routine of self-denial and emotional suppression was strangely comforting.
***
page 55
An Unexpected Delivery
PAGE 55 (Extended)
Ha-yeon knew the harsh reality: she had to eat at home today. The stomach turmoil was a risk, but it was a necessity, a lesser of two evils. She clutched the medicine packet Tae-oh had given her; the instructions were clear—take this after a meal. She pushed off the cold floor, her legs aching with pins and needles from crouching so long, when a sudden, insistent trill cut through the silence: the doorbell.
Her heart gave a violent lurch, instantly overriding the discomfort in her legs. Could it be him? A surge of irrational hope propelled her to the door. She flung the heavy door open so fast she barely noticed the sudden rush of cool air from the hallway or the disappearance of her leg numbness.
“Ajussi?” she gasped, her voice barely a whisper, a mixture of hope and nerves tightening her throat.
It wasn't him. Standing there, imposing and still, was a very large man dressed in an immaculate black suit. His shoulders seemed too wide for the frame of the door.
Ha-yeon's face fell, the sparkle in her eyes dying out instantly. “It’s not him…” The disappointment was a sharp, physical pain.
As she stood there, silent and deflated, the man—who seemed momentarily taken aback by the intensity of her reaction—cleared his throat. He spoke in a low, professional monotone.
“Are you Ban Ha-yeon, young lady?” he inquired, with an unsettling formality.
“Yes…”
“Please accept this. It is a gift being sent from the Congressman.” He held out a thick paper shopping bag with expensive-looking rope handles.
“A gift?” Ha-yeon’s brow furrowed. She mechanically took the bag; it was warm and surprisingly heavy. A powerful, incredibly savory, rich smell—like slow-cooked goodness—wafted out, making her empty stomach clench painfully. The bag bore the logo of an unfamiliar place: Eunhyeongak. Was that a restaurant?
She held the bag loosely, her suspicion outweighing her hunger. “Did the Congressman… send this to me?”
“That is correct.” The man remained impassive.
PAGE 56 (Extended)
Ha-yeon narrowed her eyes. This story was already ridiculous. “Are you sure Congressman Ban Ik-jung sent it?” she pressed, her voice edged with disbelief. She knew the Congressman. He wouldn't spend a single won on her unless it was for a public relations photo-op.
“Yes, I am.”
“Really? Swear on your life, right now?” She fixed him with a challenging gaze, looking for the slightest flicker of hesitation.
The man paused, just for a beat, before replying with a forced, sterile politeness. “…Yes.”
The preposterousness of the situation was overwhelming. Ban Ik-jung, who was currently enjoying a paid vacation—happily swinging a golf club in Yangpyeong—would never spare a thought, much less an expensive meal, for her. “She wouldn't believe it unless it made sense,” she thought.
Ha-yeon began a thorough, suspicious inspection of the man. She tried to reconcile his story with his appearance. Was it his exceptionally massive physique that felt wrong? Or the long, jagged scar etched deep into his temple, giving him a look of permanent danger? He was perfectly neat and tidy, his suit flawless, but a strange, unsettling feeling of dissonance radiated from him.
She was sure she had never seen this person before. So, why was he giving her a lie to cover the true sender?
The memory of Tae-oh's words, his harsh warning from last night, suddenly slammed into her mind, providing the only logical answer:
‘He looks like a gangster from some movie...’
Her expression suddenly turned blank, her mind racing to connect the dots.
“Student, the ajussi isn't just a very bad person, he's a damn lowlife thug.”
“You know gangsters? Those bad bastards who put people in oil drums and bury them on mountains. The ajussi has tons of guys like that working for him.”
The ajussi must have sent it.
PAGE 57 (Extended)
A fierce, crimson flush of color spread across Ha-yeon’s pale cheeks. It wasn't just embarrassment; it was the heady, overwhelming rush of feeling cared for, protected, and seen. Her earlier gloomy mood instantly lifted, flying away like a startled bird. She realized, with a shocking sense of elation, that his lie wasn't to deceive her; it was to preserve her self-respect, to make sure she wasn't forced to thank him or feel indebted to him.
“What should I do? The corners of my mouth keep turning up,” she thought in a flurry of nervous excitement. She didn't want the man to see her expression.
Ha-yeon quickly bowed her head low, fiddling with the shopping bag, pretending to examine the logo. She spoke quickly, her voice thick with gratitude she couldn't properly express.
“Please tell the Congressman… that I am truly grateful and and that I will eat well.” She emphasized the words, knowing the message would, in its ridiculous detour, reach the only person she meant it for.
The delivery man simply nodded. “Understood. Please go inside now.”
Ha-yeon didn't need telling twice. Hugging the warm shopping bag protectively against her chest as if it contained a great treasure, she hurried back into her room.
She set up her meal on her desolate desk. The container held abalone porridge, thick and steaming, accompanied by several small, regal bowls of jeonggal-han side dishes (banchan), arranged with meticulous care. Ha-yeon’s eyes genuinely sparkled at the sight of the food.
It was clearly a really high-class restaurant. The utensils weren't the cheap disposable plastic she was used to; the chopsticks and spoon were heavy, elegant bronze.
She sat on her chair, the simple act feeling like a profound luxury, and slowly spooned the abalone porridge into her mouth. The savory richness of the abalone and the creamy, warm rice was an intense wave of flavor. Her eyes closed on their own—a completely involuntary reaction to the profound comfort of the meal.
This was the most delicious thing she had ever tasted. The flavor was so deeply moving that she got goosebumps. It wasn't just food; it was warmth, it was security, and it was a promise.
She ate with a thoroughness she rarely allowed herself, scraping up every last bit of the side dishes. Even though she ate much more than usual, her stomach—which had betrayed her so reliably at home—remained calm. She felt neither bloated nor uncomfortable.
That night,
Ha-yeon was able to sleep soundly for the first time without suffering from stomach pain. Her last thought before drifting off was not of her adoptive parents, but of the man who sent a gangster to deliver her the first decent, safe meal she’d had in a long time.
***
Confrontation in the Hallway
PAGE 58 (Extended)
Tae-oh slowly opened his eyes, the lids feeling heavy, gritty, and resistant. He rolled his tired eyes to confirm the time on the digital clock: 8:30 a.m. He hadn't so much slept as succumbed to exhaustion. He must have fallen asleep for only about two hours after watching the colorless gray of dawn break. His body, having subsisted on inadequate rest and the remnants of centuries-old guilt, screamed in protest at the premature awakening.
He couldn't recall the last time he had a good night's sleep—a deep, healing slumber that lasted longer than a few restless hours. Insomnia was as familiar as a shadow, an expected companion, yet today the weariness felt particularly taxing, pressing down on his mind and spirit.
“Hoo…” Sighing, he dragged himself off the bed and headed to the kitchen. He gulped down a glass of water to cut through the dryness in his throat and immediately went out. He completed his punishing morning jog, pounding the pavement until his muscles burned, hoping the physical exertion would dull his mind. But when he returned, showered, and checked the time, it was still only 10 o'clock.
Time was passing at a dreadfully slow pace, mocking his desire for oblivion. He wished months would pass every time he managed to fall asleep, a bland fantasy born of profound weariness.
He was making this empty, internal joke as he stepped out of the elevator into his pristine hallway, only to stop dead in his tracks. There was Ha-yeon, standing directly in front of his apartment door, 4501, holding a reusable bag and a few scattered items.
Did she actually come back again? After the utterly humiliating way he’d driven her out yesterday? Tae-oh’s jaw tightened.
“What is it, you?” he snapped, his voice rough from his run and lack of sleep.
Ha-yeon, instead of flinching, quickly approached him with a familiar, open expression. Her face was bright, completely lacking the red-rimmed eyes he'd last seen.
“Are you back from your workout?” she asked, her voice cheerful and utterly unaffected by his hostile tone.
He ignored the question, his cold gaze pinning her down. “I asked what you’re doing there.”
PAGE 59 (Extended)
Ha-yeon didn't back down. Instead, she took another step closer, holding up the bag. “I was waiting for Ajussi.” She paused, tilting her head slightly, her gaze unwavering. “I thought we could eat breakfast together.”
She smiled, her face transforming as her eyes crinkling into perfect half-moons.
The curiosity and affection she felt for him were displayed so openly, so innocently, without any trace of caution or artifice, that Tae-oh was truly astonished. His mind flashed back to just last night when she was trembling with betrayal and deep humiliation—yet she had recovered in a single night.
Is she emotionally volatile because she's young? he wondered, analyzing her through his vast experience. Or does she simply possess extraordinary, almost unbelievable resilience?
‘What a headache…’ The phrase echoed his deepest exasperation. In his five hundred years of life, he had never seen anyone purer than Bayan. But Ha-yeon somehow was even more so. She seemed devoid of any sense of caution or self-preservation.
Of course, he reasoned, just as Tae-oh's own personality was drastically different from his former self, ‘Dan,’ Ha-yeon's personality would naturally differ from Bayan's.
“But this is too much,” he thought, a flicker of genuine alarm piercing his cold facade. “What if she can't recognize danger like this? She’s utterly exposed. What would those bad bastards do to her?”
The fear, however, only fueled his resolve to push her away. Tae-oh’s expression hardened into a cold, terrifying mask.
“Why do you keep lingering around?” he hissed, his voice dropping to a dangerous level. “Do you want to be completely screwed over, broken, and then only after that finally come to your senses?”
Ha-yeon’s persistent smile quickly faded. Tae-oh deliberately stepped closer to her, crowding her space, and growled in a low, menacing whisper.
“This is your final warning. If you keep drooling all over me like that, I’ll strip you down to the bone. I will take everything and leave nothing.”
At that precise moment, Ha-yeon bit her lip hard and covered her ears with her hands. Her pale face instantly flushed crimson, the heat radiating outward.
PAGE 60 (Extended)
“Stop doing that!” she cried out, her voice tight and high-pitched, echoing slightly in the quiet hallway.
Tae-oh froze, utterly thrown off. “Why, is it too vulgar for you to listen to?” he challenged, trying to regain control of the conversation.
“Not that!” she protested, shaking her head vehemently. “Talking next to my ear!”
“…What?” Tae-oh stared at her, genuinely baffled. This was an entirely unexpected reaction to his most calculated intimidation tactic.
“It makes me feel really strange,” she admitted, her voice dropping to a near whisper of embarrassment.
“…” Tae-oh was speechless, his elaborate threat deflated by her simple, honest confession. He could only stare at Ha-yeon, whose head was still bowed slightly.
Ha-yeon, nervously fiddling with the shell of her ear, finally glanced up at him, shifting the topic abruptly.
“The Congressman sent me abalone porridge yesterday.”
“The Congressman?” he repeated, the word tasting sour.
“Congressman Ban Ik-jung of the Daehan Party. He’s my adoptive father.”
Did Seon-woo send the abalone porridge in the adoptive father's name? Tae-oh's previous deduction now clicked into place, but the identity of the adoptive father was a sickening surprise. He hadn't known Ha-yeon was adopted, but he certainly hadn't dreamed that her adoptive father was Ban Ik-jung.
‘Why Ban Ik-jung of all people,’ he thought with a surge of disgust.
In the complex web of his long-standing business empire, having ties with politicians is inevitable. Ban Ik-jung was a figure famous for that sort of necessary, grimy connection. He was often sought out by businessmen because his influence was adequate for low-key favors and, most importantly, he was easily swayed by bribes.
Naturally, Tae-oh knew a good deal about Ban Ik-jung. He knew that he was a corrupt, self-serving politician who would use his adopted daughter to gain popularity and score political points whenever possible. The dots connected: the abuse, the isolation, and now the convenient timing of the "gift." The realization of Ha-yeon's home life struck him with renewed force.
***
Breakfast Ambush
PAGE 61 (Extended)
“He’s not the type of person to send expensive abalone porridge to his adopted daughter…” Tae-oh’s mind raced, his inner turmoil hidden behind a practiced blank expression. “Surely she hasn't figured out that I was the one who sent it. That she’s smart enough to see through Seon-woo’s clumsy cover story.” The thought sparked an internal, nervous chuckle, a reflex action to mask his sudden uneasy feeling.
He kept his tone dismissive, hoping to shut down the conversation. “I don't care what your father sent you, or what he didn't.”
Ha-yeon's demeanor, however, was stubbornly bright. She ignored his coldness and plunged ahead, compelled to share her small victory. “The Congressman has never once given me anything. Not once. Whether it was a gift or food, I’m invisible to him.”
“…” Tae-oh stayed silent, his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on her. The admission was raw, yet Ha-yeon delivered it as a simple statement of fact, not a plea for sympathy.
“But yesterday, he sent me porridge.” Her voice was soft, laced with a genuine wonder that twisted something tight in Tae-oh’s chest. “It was abalone porridge, and it came in a small, beautiful, ceramic bowl about this size.”
Ha-yeon cupped her hands shyly, demonstrating the size of the container, a radiant smile blooming on her face. Her slightly reddened cheeks plumped up with her genuine joy. “It was the most delicious food I’ve ever eaten,” she confessed, the memory of the meal clearly vivid and moving.
Tae-oh felt a sharp pang—a mix of satisfaction that she ate and frustration that she connected it to him. “…Why are you telling me that?” he asked, his voice strained.
“Just because, I wanted to brag,” she said simply, her eyes sparkling with challenge.
Judging by her excited, knowing expression, she had definitely figured it out. The sheer delight on her face confirmed that his attempt to remain anonymous had failed spectacularly. There was no way she'd believe him if he denied it now.
“Ha, I’m screwed. Why does this damn Seon-woo botch things up like this and make me…” Tae-oh thought, chewing back a vulgar curse in his mouth. Just as the frustrated expletive died on his tongue, Ha-yeon made her move. She gently reached out and tugged on the hem of his black athletic wear, a casual, intimate gesture that spoke volumes.
“But when are we going inside? I’m hungry,” she asked, her voice light and expectant.
The word she used—“We”—hung in the air between them, an innocent declaration of shared purpose.
PAGE 62 (Extended)
To his profound and internal horror, Tae-oh was the ultimate soft spot when it came to Ha-yeon. He realized he was easily swayed by even a single, casually spoken word from her, his five centuries of resolve dissolving in her presence.
He desperately tried to rationalize his behavior. He wasn't assigning any deep, romantic meaning to a child's momentary curiosity. His original plan was still clear: naturally, he intended to scold her one final time, forcefully, and send her back immediately.
And once she returned to her family home tomorrow, the problem would be solved. He wouldn't have to face Ha-yeon again. The old, cynical saying provided comfort: Out of sight, out of mind.
He told himself that while right now, Ha-yeon might have a crush on him, a fleeting fascination with the dangerous neighbor, she would soon forget him. Life would intervene: She would go to college, make friends, and experience fresh, simple romance with boys her own age.
His role, he concluded—the conclusion he had struggled with all night yesterday—was now clear: His duty in this life was simply to protect her from the shadows, a silent, powerful guardian from a distance.
But contrary to his deeply held intentions, his hand acted entirely on its own. Without conscious command, he reached out and touched his card key to the door lock, and with a soft click-whirr, the lock disengaged.
“Ah! It opened,” Ha-yeon exclaimed, her face lighting up with triumph. She didn't wait for an invitation. She opened the door herself and slipped inside as if it were her own house, disappearing into the entryway.
Tae-oh, left alone in the hallway, covered his forehead with his hand, pressing hard against the tension headache blooming there.
He had a terrible, sinking feeling things were not going to go according to plan. His tightly-held future—the future he had sacrificed everything for—felt suddenly unstable.
“Ajussi, come in quickly!” Ha-yeon’s eager shout echoed from within the apartment, an irresistible pull.
“Haa…” Tae-oh let out a heavy sigh, a sound of resignation, and moved his leaden feet into the apartment he had just failed to protect from invasion.
PAGE 63 (Extended)
Once inside, Ha-yeon was all business. She had taken out all the fresh ingredients she had packed from home—a small, carefully chosen bag of items—and laid them out across the large, sleek island counter in his ultramodern kitchen.
As Tae-oh watched her, his irritation began to soften, replaced by something less familiar. He registered a change in the atmosphere. Suddenly, a pleasant, subtle scent wafted towards him, mingling with the faint trace of ozone left from his morning jog.
She looked up, catching him off guard. She met the eyes of Tae-oh, who was standing there with his arms crossed, watching her with intense, silent scrutiny.
“Ajussi smells good even after exercising, not like sweat,” she thought, a completely random, oddly specific observation that made her heart flutter. Ha-yeon was convinced the scent coming from him was that of magnolia, though she realized with a slight frown that she had never actually smelled magnolia before in her life.
Why was she so aware of him? Every movement, every scent, every lowered tone of his voice was amplified. She felt strangely nervous, a tingling feeling of acute self-consciousness that wasn't fear. Ha-yeon deliberately fixed her gaze on the ingredients, focusing on the task to distract herself from the powerful man standing just a few feet away.
“Um, can I open the sink cabinet? I need a kitchen knife and a cutting board,” she asked, trying to sound competent.
Tae-oh pushed off the wall. “Use scissors, not a knife.”
She stared at him, bewildered. “How can I cut a carrot with scissors?”
He returned her stare, an eyebrow arching in doubt. “Have you ever cooked before?”
Ha-yeon lifted her chin, offended. “How old do you think I am? Of course, I have.” The truth was, she'd learned to cook basic meals for herself in secret, simple things that wouldn't draw attention and were guaranteed not to make her sick. She was determined to show him she wasn't the helpless child he thought she was.
****
Culinary Hostage
PAGE 64 (Extended)
Ha-yeon, shamelessly maintaining her lie about her cooking experience, quickly located the kitchen tools. She found and washed the knife and cutting board in the sleek, deep sink. Her movements were slightly awkward, betraying her unfamiliarity, but she proceeded with determined focus. She thoroughly washed the carrots and onions she had brought and placed them in a stainless steel bowl. Next, she assembled the rest of her ingredients, laying out sliced ham, sandwich bread, and eggs on a spare plate, attempting to make the mise-en-place look plausible.
With the basic setup complete, she finally firmly grabbed the knife, placing the carrot precisely in the center of the cutting board.
Tae-oh, who had been leaning silently against the kitchen counter with an air of lethal impatience, abruptly asked, “What are you making?”
“French toast,” she announced proudly, mentally rehearsing the steps she’d memorized.
He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Then why the onion and carrot?”
“I thought it might be lacking in nutrients,” Ha-yeon explained, serious about her improvised fortification. “I’m going to chop them up finely and mix them into the egg batter.”
The moment he heard that detail, the last shred of doubt vanished. He knew instantly: She's never cooked a proper meal in her life. French toast, a sweet dessert or breakfast item, does not traditionally feature savory root vegetables mixed into the batter.
“I need to concentrate now, so please don't talk to me,” she said, attempting to establish authority over her own kitchen disaster.
Ha-yeon firmly gripped the knife, holding the handle high and placing the edge on the center of the carrot, preparing to execute a forceful, dangerous downward chop.
Just as she was about to firmly press and slice, Tae-oh reacted with the speed of centuries. He urgently snatched her arm, his grip surprisingly gentle but absolute. The sudden contact made her gasp. He then tightly closed and opened his eyes, a momentary, intense flicker of a man suppressing something violent—likely the impulse to lash out at the danger she put herself in.
“…Get out,” he commanded, his voice barely a rough whisper.
“Pardon?”
“I’ll do it, so get out of the way.”
“But I can do it myself?” she protested, trying to pull free.
“You almost sliced your thumb off. Look at your grip. Get out.”
PAGE 65 (Extended)
Ha-yeon tried one last, desperate excuse. “…Oh, it’s just because it’s been a while since I held a knife,” she mumbled, already coloring. “I’ll be careful.”
Tae-oh’s patience evaporated. His voice, though still low, carried an undeniable threat. “I said, get out.”
She resorted to deflection. “You haven’t cooked either, Ajussi. Why should you do it?”
He didn't bother arguing. He simply delivered the final, non-negotiable ultimatum. “Do you want to go home?”
“…” Her shoulders slumped. The threat was effective, immediately silencing her.
Ha-yeon put down the kitchen knife with a soft clink and glumly retreated. The sting of his rejection was momentary, quickly replaced by a sense of failure.
I wanted to do something for him… she thought, feeling hollow. She wanted to give him something in return for his help, for the abalone porridge, for his protection. But she had nothing to offer.
The only thing she was remotely good at was studying, a skill worthless in this situation. She couldn’t exactly gift Tae-oh a report card showing her perfect marks. That’s why she had spent all night searching the internet for the simplest possible recipe and had prepared the ingredients for the toast… yet even this small, earnest gesture was ruined.
Ha-yeon backed up awkwardly and stood in a corner, feeling small and useless. Tae-oh, now firmly established at the counter, gestured to a nearby dining chair with his chin.
“Sit down,” he instructed.
“No, I won't. I don't have the nerve to ask Ajussi to do my work while I just watch,” she countered, clinging to a scrap of pride.
“Stop the nonsense and sit down. You're distracting me,” he said simply, already preparing to work.
“…Yes,” she whispered, finally obeying.
As she obediently sat in the chair, Tae-oh rolled up the sleeves of his athletic top with a swift, decisive movement and picked up the kitchen knife. Below the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his clearly defined forearm muscles were revealed—taut, powerful, and strangely beautiful.
Her heart kept pounding. The sight of his muscular arms, the casual intensity with which he handled the knife, sent an unfamiliar warmth through her. Why was she so embarrassed? I feel like my face is going to turn red at the sight of him merely preparing vegetables.
PAGE 66 (Extended)
Clack-clack-clack-clack-clack.
The sound filling the kitchen was steady and rhythmic, not the clumsy, chaotic thudding she would have produced. The sound of the cutting board was stable, the rapid succession of taps indicating mastery. Ha-yeon’s eyes widened at the sight of the carrots and onions being sliced into perfectly uniform, minute pieces in an instant. It was an astonishing display of precision.
She hadn't expected him to be so skilled. He had the face and air of a man who commanded corporations and legions, someone who had never even held a kitchen knife, let alone cooked a meal himself.
“You must cook often,” she murmured, a genuine note of admiration in her voice.
“More often than you, certainly,” he retorted without looking up, his focus absolute.
“I think you’re better than the chef I saw in the video yesterday,” she continued, unable to stop watching the hypnotic movement of the knife. “Did you learn from a professional?”
“…” Tae-oh offered no answer. He simply silently whisked the eggs, his face expressionless.
He couldn't exactly tell her he learned it 300 years ago to impress her, he thought wryly.
The truth was, up until her fifth reincarnation, he had lived very diligently, his life fueled by the desperate hope that he could finally meet her and offer her a better existence. He built up his strength and fortune for her, and in his spare time, he learned anything he thought she might like—from multiple languages to painting to, yes, cooking. Cooking was just one of the many things Tae-oh learned. It was only possible because he lived as if a day had 48 hours.
However, from her fifth reincarnation, he stopped all effort. He had finally accepted the painful reality that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't meet her under happy circumstances. From that point on, his time flowed at a horrifyingly slow pace.
He quickly finished the French toast, placing the perfectly golden, fragrant ham and vegetable-laced slices onto a plate. He set it down in front of her.
“Eat,” he commanded, the single word a strange mix of order and care.
*****
Losing Control
PAGE 67 (Extended)
Tae-oh, moving with brutal efficiency, handed the quickly finished toast to Ha-yeon. The simple meal was anything but. The French toast was perfectly golden-brown, the finely diced vegetables invisible within the fluffy batter, and the presentation was immaculate. Ha-yeon gasped in admiration at the sight of the plate, the food neatly sliced and arranged with precision.
“Wow, it’s beautiful. It really looks professional,” she exclaimed, her appreciation completely genuine.
The corners of her mouth lifted involuntarily into a wide, happy smile. Seeing it, Tae-oh’s resolve stiffened. He frowned, forcing her smile away with the sheer force of his cold expression.
“I’m going to shower, so eat quickly and leave,” he commanded, his voice clipped.
Ha-yeon, however, was already comfortable. “I’ll wait. Let’s eat together.”
“I don’t eat breakfast,” he retorted, stepping back toward the bathroom entrance.
She simply adjusted her plan. “Then let’s eat lunch together a little later.”
“…” Tae-oh was silenced.
This is driving me crazy. Every attempt to create distance was immediately bridged by her pure, baffling simplicity.
Tae-oh ran a hand through his hair—a rare gesture of visible frustration—and let out a long, ragged breath.
“Ajussi?”
Ha-yeon looked at him with wide, round eyes, entirely innocent. She had no idea that the man in front of her was a beast who had abstained for 500 years for a phantom love, his self-control hanging by the thinnest of threads.
Until now, since she wasn’t physically present, the violent, ancient, animalistic urge itself hadn't manifested, remaining dormant. But now it was different.
The sight, the proximity, the scent of Ha-yeon was the equivalent of an excitant, a trigger designed solely for Tae-oh. She was right in front of his eyes. Close enough to grab with just an outstretched hand.
It was natural, therefore, that his patience was wearing thin by the minute. The constant pressure of restraining himself made his skin crawl. He felt his mouth go dry, certain that he was about to get an erection simply from the stress of proximity.
“Hoo…” He exhaled again, trying to regain equilibrium.
PAGE 68 (Extended)
Tae-oh cracked his neck from side to side to relieve tension, the sound a dull pop in the quiet apartment.
That relief lasted only a moment, and immediately the familiar tension returned to his back and spine. Even trying to force his mind onto his business dealings or the political maneuverings of Ban Ik-jung was useless; he felt an involuntary, physical tightening below his navel.
“Ajussi, hurry up and come back after your shower,” Ha-yeon chirped, still oblivious.
She’s young, but there are certain things you just don’t say when you're alone with a man in an apartment you shouldn't be in…
Tae-oh couldn't stand it anymore. The self-control snapped. He threw the kitchen knife into the sink with reckless force. Clang! The huge, echoing noise made Ha-yeon flinch her shoulders and freeze.
“What is your intention?” he demanded, his voice dropping into a guttural, dangerous register.
“My intention?” she repeated, confused but still defiant.
“I told you to leave. Why won't you listen?”
“Because I want to eat with Ajussi…” she confessed, simple and direct.
He went for the nuclear option, the vulgarity meant to shatter her naive affection and send her screaming. “Are you flirting because you want Ajussi to take your virginity? Then go into the bedroom, spread your legs, and lie down.”
He thought if he said this, she would immediately cry and run out—a horrifying but necessary outcome.
However, Ha-yeon only pouted her lips stubbornly and looked down at her lap.
“You don’t even mean that…” she muttered under her breath.
“What?”
Just as he was about to burst out in anger and grab her, Ha-yeon raised her head and said quietly, with a sincerity that cut through his rage.
“I can’t eat at home.”
PAGE 69 (Extended)
“…” Tae-oh’s anger instantly stalled, replaced by a sudden, cold wave of comprehension.
“I get indigestion whenever I eat the same food, but only at home,” she explained, her gaze fixed on the countertop. “I asked a doctor, and they said it seems to be a psychological issue.” The doctor's words were a clinical euphemism for abuse.
He knew exactly what caused that psychological issue: it was likely related to the bastard who beat Ha-yeon the other day.
Tae-oh was now absolutely certain that bastard was Ban Ik-jung. The pieces of her tragic background clicked into place. She wasn't seeking him out for flirting; she was seeking a safe haven and a safe meal.
“This is the first reason,” Ha-yeon continued, holding up one finger, “and actually, the second reason is more important.”
“What is it?” he asked, his voice now carefully neutral.
“They say that if you want to get closer to someone, you should eat together,” she finished, looking up with genuine, hopeful eyes.
“…” He was so taken aback he couldn't say anything. The sheer, earnest banality of her method—a childhood lesson applied to a man like him—had successfully blocked his reply. Ha-yeon stared straight at him, challenging him with her openness.
“I want to get closer to Ajussi,” she affirmed.
“…Do you even know the age difference between you and me?” he struggled, reverting to the most basic defense. “Get closer, what are you talking about?”
“Age isn't important for getting close, is it?”
“It is for me. I don’t deal with brats like you.” He tried to sound harsh, but the conviction was leaking out.
“I’m 19 years old,” she countered, throwing her age out like a credential.
“Are you proud of being born yesterday?” he scoffed.
“…Ajussi, you don’t have any friends, do you?” she asked, the direct question hitting home.
Ha-yeon sulked and glared at him, having successfully exposed his isolation. Tae-oh scoffed openly to mask his discomfort.
“What’s a gangster bastard like me doing with friends? Subordinates, maybe.”
****
Persistent Strategy
PAGE 70 (Extended)
Ha-yeon, recognizing Tae-oh’s defensive withdrawal, leaned into her best weapon: her mind. “I’m good at studying.”
“So what? I’m not interested,” he countered, his voice flat with forced indifference.
“I’ve never attended the private academies everyone else goes to, and I’ve never received tutoring.” She was stating facts, building her case with quiet intensity. “Do you know why I still do well in school?”
“I said I’m not interested,” he repeated, the repetition a sign of his internal struggle.
“I tend to be quite persistent. Once I set my mind to something, I absolutely never give up.” Her gaze, usually so meek, now held a fierce, unyielding light.
You were always like that, Tae-oh thought, a silent, bitter smile forming internally. You didn't even know how to read at first, but you studied so hard you later passed the imperial talent recruitment exam with top honors. You don't remember, though. The memory of her past persistence, now directed squarely at him, was both maddening and deeply familiar.
He attempted one last, severe pushback. “Are you proudly declaring that you're going to sponge off me?”
“No, I’m telling you that I’ve decided to get close to Ajussi,” she corrected, her tone earnest and utterly non-flirtatious.
“Ajussi is busy selling drugs and human organs.” He threw out the most appalling lie he could manage, hoping to repel her. “You have lots of friends, go play with them.”
Ha-yeon’s expression suddenly turned gloomy, the cheerfulness draining away as if a light switch had been flipped. Her hand, which had been fidgeting with the corner of the polished island table, paused. She muttered so quietly that Tae-oh barely caught the words.
“…I don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Friends.”
“…” The single word, stripped of any drama or self-pity, hit him like a physical blow. Her life was an empty landscape, and he was the only structure on it.
PAGE 71 (Extended)
Ah, shit.
A curse word escaped him involuntarily, a small, ragged sound of defeat. A thousand aggressive things swelled in his mouth and then vanished, leaving him stranded with no defense. Tae-oh ran a hand through his hair again, dragging it back from his forehead as he fought for control. He couldn't force her out now, not with the knowledge of her painful isolation.
He chose a delaying tactic, hoping she would lose patience in his absence. “I take a long time to shower.”
“…” She waited, barely breathing.
“You can wait, if you want,” he offered, his voice heavy with resignation.
“I’ll wait!” Ha-yeon’s face immediately brightened, transforming instantly back into an innocent bloom of relief and victory. Tae-oh felt somewhat cheated, manipulated by a nineteen-year-old girl, but he couldn't help but smile internally.
Seeing her smile rather than her gloomy expression made him feel better. The undeniable warmth that spread through his chest was alarming, yet welcome. He felt like such an idiot for it.
He retreated, emerging about twenty minutes later. The kitchen was neatly cleaned up. The cutting board and knife were gone, the sink empty. Next to the plate of toast, she had searched his cabinets and poured juice into a glass she’d found somewhere.
Tae-oh took a sip of the juice without thinking, reaching for the cold, tangy liquid, and froze instantly. Every muscle in his body seized. His face became a perfect mask of stillness. Ha-yeon tilted her head at his reaction.
“What’s wrong? Does it taste strange?”
Without a word, he turned, strode to the bathroom, and spat out what was in his mouth, rinsing several times with aggressive force.
He returned to the kitchen, fighting to appear composed, and took a large bite of the toast as if nothing had happened, chewing mechanically.
Ha-yeon, who had been patiently waiting for him to say something, couldn’t hold back any longer. Her confusion was palpable.
“It’s my favorite juice… Was it really that bad?”
PAGE 72 (Extended)
“No.” His voice was flat, final.
“Then what is it?” she insisted, pushing her plate aside. “You have to tell me what you don't like, Ajussi.”
He sighed, knowing he had to explain. “I have an allergy.”
“An allergy? Apple allergy?” Her eyes went wide with panic. The gentle, domestic scene instantly dissolved into crisis. “Oh, what should we do! Shouldn’t we go to the hospital right away?”
He shot her a look that silenced her immediate hysterics. “Eating it only makes me a little itchy. It was a trace amount. I spat it out because I didn’t want that. Don't make a fuss.”
Ha-yeon’s panic was replaced by crushing guilt. “I should have asked first… I’m sorry. Since apples are my favorite fruit, I didn’t even think about allergies.”
“It’s fine,” he clipped.
“I’m sorry…” she repeated, her head bowed.
“I said it’s fine.” The patience he had gained earlier was entirely gone. “If you apologize one more time, I’m sending you out.”
“…” Ha-yeon finally fell silent, chastened.
“Eat,” he repeated, the command soft this time.
Only then did Ha-yeon open her mouth slightly and take a tentative bite of the corner of the toast. She chewed slowly with her lips pursed, savoring the warm, unexpected flavor. She covered her mouth with a look of genuine surprise.
“Wow, it’s really delicious. It’s the best toast I’ve ever eaten,” she exclaimed, the compliment entirely spontaneous.
“Stop flattering me,” he grumbled, though his eyes softened slightly at her reaction.
“But it’s true…” Ha-yeon pouted her lips stubbornly again, proving she wasn't lying, then happily continued eating the toast. The threat of allergies, the anger, and the tension were momentarily forgotten in the simple pleasure of a shared, safe meal.
**
An Unseen Wound
PAGE 73 (Extended)
Tae-oh watched Ha-yeon eat. Judging by the small sounds of pleasure and her bright face, she clearly liked the taste. The way she chewed, taking small, earnest bites, and exclaimed in admiration with every bite was adorably tempting—a sight that momentarily softened his hardened demeanor.
Tae-oh’s expression, which had unconsciously softened into a smile, instantly changed. A sudden, sharp phantom pain—a sympathetic echo—jolted the tip of his tongue. He had felt it the instant she flinched.
Acting on instinct before she could react further, Tae-oh grabbed Ha-yeon’s chin, his fingers firm against her jawbone.
“Open your mouth,” he instructed sharply.
“Pardon?” she squeaked, utterly startled.
“I said open it. You bit your tongue.”
Before Ha-yeon could formulate a coherent response, Tae-oh pressed her cheek to pry her jaw open. He then leaned his face incredibly close to examine the interior.
“Uh…” A sound of shock escaped her.
Ha-yeon squeezed her eyes shut, overwhelmed by the sudden, extreme proximity, then slowly opened them to find him still right there.
Tae-oh was right in front of her. The angle of their heads, his closeness, and the intense focus of his eyes resembled a posture right before a kiss. She took in his features in a dizzying instant: His skin was flawlessly smooth, devoid of blemish; his eyes, somewhat cold, were framed by surprisingly long eyelashes; the line of his nose bridge boasted a perfect angle and height; and his lips—so close—were lips she instinctively wanted to press against.
Her breathing became ragged. The sheer presence of Tae-oh, his scent, and his overwhelming physicality were overwhelmingly stimulating. If she relaxed her guard even a little, she felt she would start panting like a pervert.
Tae-oh, utterly oblivious to her inner turmoil, frowned as he carefully examined the side of her reddened tongue.
“You bit down hard.” He released her cheek slightly but kept a hand on her chin. “Why on earth are you biting your tongue while eating and causing a commotion?”
“…” Ha-yeon couldn't speak, her mind too busy processing the rush of blood to her head.
PAGE 74 (Extended)
“You’ll need some ointment,” he stated, clinical again. “Can you eat any more?”
Ha-yeon could only manage a slight nod of her head.
Tae-oh released her chin with a look of displeasure at her clumsiness, but not at her. Ha-yeon slowly closed her tingling lips.
Her heart, which had been in shock and completely stopped when Ajussi grabbed her chin, was now pounding as if it would burst against her ribs. Her pulse was so fast it made her dizzy.
Why is it so hot? Her internal temperature seemed to be soaring. Even fanning herself with her hand, her flushed cheeks wouldn't cool down.
Beep—
At that very moment, a mechanical sound filled the air, and the air conditioner suddenly turned on, emitting a stream of cool air.
Could he have noticed my flushed face and turned on the air conditioner because of me? Ha-yeon’s cheeks deepened to a richer red at the thought of his attention.
“Ajussi, how did you know I bit my tongue?” she asked, her voice slightly breathless.
Tae-oh shrugged, completely nonchalant. “…By your expression.”
“Did I show it?”
“Yes.”
No, I didn't, she insisted internally.
She flashed back to her house. Ban Ik-jung and Shin Ae-jeong grew more delighted the more Ha-yeon suffered. She knew the rules of their house.
She hadn't expressed it verbally, of course. That would have been weakness.
However, when Ha-yeon cried from the pain, Shin Ae-jeong’s mouth corners subtly lifted, and when Ha-yeon screamed, Ban Ik-jung’s eyes glistened with pleasure.
Since realizing that, Ha-yeon hadn't made a single sound, even when beaten to death.
PAGE 75 (Extended)
Because her adoptive parents, who pretended to be sophisticated outside yet enjoyed abuse at home, were so disgusting, she refused to give them the satisfaction of her pain. The more she resisted, the more violent Ban Ik-jung became, but she stubbornly endured.
She held onto the logic: If she didn't show her pain, she could at least steal a bit of her adoptive parents’ pleasure.
Now, ten years later, Ha-yeon was confident that she wouldn't show any change in expression, no matter how much pain she was in. Her face had been meticulously trained to neutrality. She was that used to suffering.
But how did Ajussi know? She hadn't shown any signs.
She felt strange. The realization that he could read her so easily, where her abusers could not, was profoundly unsettling. Her stomach churned as if she were seasick.
“Why aren't you eating?” Tae-oh asked, pulling her from her thoughts.
“…I am eating.” She picked up her fork again, determined.
Tae-oh had already finished his toast and moved away from the counter. Ha-yeon hesitated, then, taking a risk, offered her own plate.
“Do you want some more?”
“The one you’ve been eating?” Tae-oh scoffed lightly. “I didn't realize we were that intimate.”
“…I meant the parts I haven't touched,” she clarified quickly, a fresh wave of embarrassment washing over her.
“You eat plenty, student. You still have a lot of growing up to do,” he dismissed her, his gaze sweeping over her thin frame.
“You’re just too tall, Ajussi…” she muttered in defense.
Tae-oh chuckled softly—a brief, low sound—got up, and put a capsule into the coffee machine.
A fragrant aroma began to spread through the kitchen as the machine whirred to life. While the coffee was brewing, he leaned against the sink and watched Ha-yeon with a deliberate, guarded patience that made her skin prickle.
***
The Offer of Vengeance
PAGE 76 (Extended)
Tae-oh leaned against the sink, slowly sipping his coffee, his eyes tracking Ha-yeon’s methodical, almost painfully slow eating speed. It was truly enough to make one yawn. He had finished and brewed his coffee, yet she still had half her toast left. How big could a piece of toast be? he thought, exasperated by the lingering domestic scene.
“Will you finish that today?” he asked, the sarcasm heavy.
Ha-yeon paused, her fork hovering. “I think being careful not to get indigestion became a habit. I’ll eat faster.”
“Eat at your own pace.” His tone softened, betraying concern. “Don’t get indigestion for no reason.”
“I’m fine outside the house. I eat perfectly fine at school.” She was quick to assure him that her inability to eat was house-specific.
Tae-oh took another slow sip of his coffee, the warmth doing nothing to cool his internal temperature. He asked in a deceptively casual manner: “It seems like you’re fine as long as you’re not at home.”
“Yes,” she confirmed with a weak smile. “Other people say home is the most comfortable place, but I guess I’m a bit strange.” A faint scar was still visible near Ha-yeon’s mouth, a tiny, pink line, even as she smiled.
Tae-oh slowly drank his coffee. Contrary to his cool, composed expression, his insides were boiling. The casual acceptance of her own "strangeness" grated on him.
‘That son of a bitch, how dare he hit her?’ The simple fact of her trauma fueled his rage. Considering when the phantom pain began, the psychic bond confirming her hurt, Ban Ik-jung’s abuse must have started at least ten years ago. Not just a day or two, but a whole ten years of systematic abuse. If a person could eat comfortably and sleep well in a household like that, wouldn't that be more abnormal? Her broken psyche was a completely logical response to an unbearable environment.
He set down his cup. “Have you collected evidence?”
“Um… I’ve taken some photos.”
PAGE 77 (Extended)
“Collect them all and sue. Don’t waste time on this. I’ll introduce you to the best lawyer money can buy.”
Ha-yeon shook her head, her gaze dropping to the plate. “It won’t be any use. I receive psychological treatment during every vacation.”
“What does that have to do with—” Tae-oh, who was replying casually, stopped abruptly. He understood the sinister implication. He slowly raised an eyebrow.
“Did Ban Ik-jung make you?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“…Typical politician.” The political maneuver was disgustingly simple and effective.
Ban Ik-jung’s intention was obvious. He was laying the groundwork for his defense. If Ha-yeon exposed the abuse to the media, he planned to use her psychiatric treatment records as evidence to claim she had a mental illness—a disturbed, attention-seeking daughter making false accusations. In the worst-case scenario, he could even end up locking Ha-yeon in a mental hospital. Ban Ik-jung had enough power and money to make that happen.
Tae-oh’s voice dropped, almost like a dark seduction, inviting her into his world of total power. “Don’t you want revenge?”
“I do,” Ha-yeon answered instantly, speaking from a deep, hidden well of pain. She had been enchanted by the sheer simplicity of his question, the stark validity of the desire. Then, reality set back in, and she quickly changed her mind.
“No, I wanted to.”
“And now you don’t?”
“I’m too realistic to dream impossible dreams.” Her voice was tinged with bitter resignation.
PAGE 78 (Extended)
At one point, she used to dream of killing Ban Ik-jung every single night. She visualized the knife, the blood, the silencing of his smug cruelty.
However, after she matured and realized the difficulty of true revenge—the social and legal barriers—her only desire was to escape.
She analyzed her options clearly: Of course, if she truly set her mind to killing him, it wouldn't be difficult. She could just stab him with a kitchen knife while everyone was asleep. But after the revenge was complete, she would have to rot in prison. She felt she was too precious to ruin her life because of Ban Ik-jung.
It wasn't far off anyway. Just a few more months of patience and she would be free. She would turn twenty, legally an adult, and she would simply walk out.
Wait a minute… then she won't be able to see Ajussi either?
“…” She stared down at her untouched toast, suddenly quiet.
For the first time, freedom didn't feel particularly joyful. What was the big deal, she thought dismissively, about separating from someone she had only known since the day before yesterday? Yet, the thought brought an unexpected pang of grief.
To her, slumped and slightly melancholic, Tae-oh asked, his voice dangerously calm.
“Should I kill him for you?”
“Keck!” Ha-yeon burst into a violent fit of coughing, sputtering bread and air. She quickly took a long gulp of juice to soothe her throat, then stared at him with wide, round eyes—her innocence momentarily shocked by his brutality.
“Wh-who?” she stammered.
“Ban Ik-jung.”
“…” Ha-yeon couldn't formulate a response, caught between terror and a dark, exhilarating hope.
*****
A Place to Study
PAGE 79 (Extended)
Tae-oh continued to present his morbid options with chilling calm, leaning into his persona as a dangerous criminal. “Should I mix him with concrete and dump him in the sea, or roll him up in a burlap sack and bury him on the mountain? I could even put him through a meat grinder and scatter him in the river. You decide the method.”
Ha-yeon frowned, pulling back from the darkness in his words. “…Why are all the methods like that?”
“Did you think gangster bastards sit around elegantly having polite arguments?” he retorted with a dry, bitter laugh.
“Gangsters look cool in the movies, though,” she insisted, the influence of media clear in her mind.
“Cool, my ass. Seriously, movies are ruining all the kids.” He shook his head dismissively.
“I don’t want to ruin the rest of my life because of the Congressman. Please don't ruin yours either, Ajussi.” Her rejection of his offer was firm. She was choosing a long-term future over immediate, self-destructive vengeance.
Tae-oh stared at Ha-yeon silently. The former you would have risked your life for revenge, he mused, a phantom memory of his past love, Bayan, flickering in his mind. Ha-yeon had many similarities to the Bayan he knew, but also many differences. This pragmatism was new. Yet, she was still lovable. He knew the unalterable truth: The option of not loving her had never existed in the first place.
“Let me know if you change your mind.” He picked up his coffee cup. “Since we’re neighbors, I’ll give you a discount.”
“Not that kind of thing.” Ha-yeon leaned forward, her expression shifting to one of hopeful solicitation. “Could you grant me a different favor?”
When Ha-yeon smiled affectionately, a familiar, cautious look instantly appeared on Tae-oh’s face. “You’re getting cheeky again. I told you not to cling to me discreetly.”
“Couldn’t you just listen first and then judge? I promise I won't nag if you refuse,” she pleaded.
As she said this, she extended her pinky finger for a solemn promise, which looked pathetically thin enough to snap with just a little pressure.
PAGE 80 (Extended)
Tae-oh averted his gaze from her small, pink fingernail, not wanting to feel the sudden urge to protect it.
“…What is it?” he asked, finally giving in.
“My school usually stops evening self-study a month before the College Scholastic Ability Test (CSAT) to help us manage our condition. I have to study at home starting next week.”
“And,” he prompted, knowing the worst was coming.
“But my adoptive parents… they slightly, well, really dislike me studying.”
Tae-oh put his coffee down, incredulous. “There are people who dislike their student child studying?”
“They say if I succeed, the family will be ruined. It’s some kind of curse belief,” she explained, rolling her eyes. “They want me to study just enough and go to an average university. They just want me not to be embarrassing when they marry me off.”
“What kind of crazy…” He choked off the insult. This was far worse than he imagined.
“So, I wanted to ask. Could I study here until I take the CSAT?” she asked, her voice small but determined.
“Do it at your place. You can just lock your door to keep them out.”
Ha-yeon's expression grew bleak. “My door doesn’t lock. The Congressman broke the doorknob.”
The moment he heard that, Tae-oh knew he was beaten. He had a premonition. I’m going to be an idiot and accept this, too.
More than anything, he didn't want to send Ha-yeon back to a crazy household where the father broke his grown daughter's door. It was a profound violation of privacy and security.
He rationalized the decision: He himself was leaving for his family home tomorrow anyway. It didn't matter if Ha-yeon used his place.
“Why bother studying that hard? Planning to go to Korea University just to show off?” he asked, trying to find her ambition.
PAGE 81 (Extended)
“No, I’m going to a provincial university,” she said simply.
“…Provincial university?” He expected her to aim for the top, given her academic prowess.
“Yes,” she confirmed, pointing to her small, determined strategy. “I’ve already researched the university that is farthest away from home and has the best dormitory and overseas exchange student program.” Distance and self-sufficiency were her primary goals, not prestige.
“You said you’re good at studying. Isn’t your current skill level enough?”
“You never know what might happen. I also need to secure scholarships, so I need to study hard to be sure. And…” Ha-yeon paused, her gaze distant, then mumbled to herself.
“I have nothing else to do. Only studying.”
“…” Her stark admission of loneliness twisted his gut.
“I promise I won't ever mess up and will just study quietly. I’ll leave when it’s time. I won't disrupt Ajussi.”
He looked at her small, earnest face, and the decision was final. “Fine.”
“…Really?” Her eyes widened in disbelief and joy.
“I’ll give you an access card, use it as you wish. You can even settle in here permanently while I’m gone.”
“Ajussi!” Ha-yeon jumped up and abruptly wrapped her arms tightly around his waist, hugging him with all her strength.
Tae-oh, who had instinctively hugged Ha-yeon back, instantly scowled at his own reflexive action and the sudden, dangerous contact.
“You’ve got some nerve… Let go. I said let go! Are you desperate to get laid right now?” he snarled, pushing her away and using the crudest language to create distance.
***
Reluctant Retreat
PAGE 82 (Extended)
“I’m s-sorry. I didn’t mean to… huh?” Ha-yeon stammered, her face a bright red from the abrupt intimacy and Tae-oh’s harsh reaction. She quickly backed away from him and stumbled, losing her balance completely.
Tae-oh’s body moved faster than his willpower. He instinctively grabbed her arm to steady her, preventing a fall. He clicked his tongue internally, furious at his lack of self-control. He wanted to avoid contact as much as possible, but he didn't know why his body was moving on its own, defying his commands. He immediately let go of Ha-yeon's arm as if shaking her off.
“You should leave now,” he insisted, the urgency back in his voice.
“Am I bothering you a lot?” she asked, her voice small.
“Yes, you’re annoying me to death,” he lied, wanting her to believe it, wanting her to go.
“I’ll go…” Ha-yeon hung her head low, the sudden shift from elation to rejection taking its toll. She slowly gathered her remaining ingredients—the half-eaten toast, the leftover ham, and the empty juice glass—and then stared intently at him one last time.
“Could you just give me your phone number?”
“Why would you need a gangster’s number? To borrow private loans?” he asked dryly, a final attempt to scare her off with his reputation.
“I might need to ask you something while borrowing your house, you know,” she reasoned, her request practical.
“Don’t ask. Just use it,” he countered, not wanting the distraction.
“What if something urgent suddenly comes up…” Her eyes, wide and glistening, gave him a pitiful, wet-puppy look.
His heart softened again at her expression. It was no longer surprising that his mind and actions were completely disconnected when he was around Ha-yeon. His centuries of discipline melted against her pure need. Tae-oh held out his hand in a feeling of complete resignation.
“Give me your phone. I’ll enter it for you.”
PAGE 83 (Extended)
“Here!” Ha-yeon practically launched the phone into his waiting hand.
The look of dejection she wore just moments ago immediately changed to one of vitality and triumph. She radiated a joyful energy. Her changes in expression were so rapid that just watching her would prevent any boredom. Tae-oh felt a grudging, internal admission that she was, if nothing else, compellingly alive.
He quickly entered his number, handed the phone back, and watched her gather her belongings and leave, finally securing the quiet he desperately needed.
That night.
Later, long after the noise of the city had quieted, a new chat window appeared on Tae-oh’s mobile phone, lighting up the dark silence of his apartment.
[Good night, Ajussi] 10:32
He unlocked the screen. The new contact’s profile picture showed the French toast he’d made, neatly photographed on the plate. The message was neat, just like its sender.
It was an unfamiliar number, yet there was no mistaking who it was. He felt a faint, unwanted warmth spread through him.
“When did she even take a picture of this?” he muttered to himself, a mix of annoyance and curiosity in his tone.
Tae-oh looked at the short message again and again until dawn broke. The simple two-word greeting, paired with the picture of the toast—a symbol of the small, safe space she was carving out for herself—kept him tethered to his phone, unable to dismiss her or sleep. It was a minuscule, yet massive, victory for the girl he was trying so hard to push away.
MASTER OF THE SUN, SIDE STORY CHAPTER 6 + EPILOGUE
page 295
Chapter 6: The Unprecedented Journey
The Silent Ministers
The calendar had finally turned, the season shedding the chill of winter. The biting cold wind had gradually subsided, and the afternoons were now warm enough to invite a pleasant drowsiness when the official letter of invitation finally arrived from the Raon Kingdom.
The Emperor taking a trip abroad was not unheard of; historical records even show that inner court officials often worried because Emperor Dan traveled frequently. However, for the Emperor and the Empress (Hae-gae) to visit a foreign country together had never happened in the history of the Hwadam Empire. This was a crucial security measure. Usually, if the Emperor was away, the Empress remained at the palace, taking his place and protecting the palace as a powerful symbol of continuous imperial rule. The imperial couple generally avoided appearing in public together abroad because if an assassination attempt were to occur, both their lives—the anchors of the Empire—would be simultaneously at risk.
In the past, imperial ministers would have thrown themselves at the palace gates, risking their lives to stop it. Petitions demanding the reversal of the decision would have flooded the Emperor’s desk. Yet, this time, the palace was unusually quiet. The ministers did not strongly object, and the expected torrent of protests never materialized.
The key to this quiet acceptance was the clever wording of the invitation: Karahan had formally invited only Bayen. This allowed Dan to frame his accompanying her not as a sovereign visiting a foreign state, but merely as her consort, attendant, guard, and protector. In the Hwadam Empire, where the scarcity of women often led to kidnappings, it was a profound cultural custom for a married woman to travel with her partner. To argue that the Emperor should rescind his decision "for the sake of the Empire" when he was merely intending to protect his wife made the situation diplomatically and socially awkward for the ministers. Their objections, while rooted in state security, would sound like trivial interference in a husband's duty.
The Inevitable Conclusion
More importantly, the seasoned officials were realists. Crucially, no one actually believed Dan would ever agree to send Bayen to a foreign country alone, especially after the recent incident involving Karahan. The ministers knew that any attempt to argue against them going together would fall on deaf ears with Dan; the Emperor’s will, when concerning Bayen, was absolute and immovable. Recognizing the futility of a political battle they could not win, the wise officials had tacitly agreed that engaging in a meaningless debate was a waste of valuable time. Instead, they had shifted their focus to making thorough preparations. Therefore, the Imperial Palace was currently undergoing extensive, highly detailed arrangements for the unprecedented event of the imperial couple traveling abroad.
However, Juhyul remained the exception. He was truly a man who did not know how to give up, nor was he a man who ever tired. As was his custom, he first went out to the marketplace and shouted "Long Live Her Ladyship Hae-gae," fulfilling his public devotion, but upon returning to the palace, he immediately headed for the Emperor's office. He paid his respects to Dan and delivered his predictable protest:
"Your Majesty, I beg you, please reconsider your visit to the Raon Kingdom."
He is tenacious, Dan thought, letting out a soft sigh that barely disturbed the silence of the office.
"Hyul," Dan replied, his voice firm. "Not only the Gold Guard but the entire Black Ghost (Heukgwi) and Silent Tiger (Mukho) will be accompanying me. I will be surrounded by the best security forces the world has ever known. The world might collapse, but nothing will happen to me, understand?"
Juhyul dropped to his knees, his plea desperate. "I apologize, Your Majesty, but do you not remember the Celestial Rite? You were harmed even with the Silent Tiger present. A foreign land poses a thousand more dangers!"
The Weight of Regret
Recalling that terrible day, Dan's mind did not immediately dwell on the poisoning incident that nearly killed him, but on the subsequent pain and distress he had inflicted upon Bayen. Dan frowned so deeply his brows nearly met.
"Do not ever mention that day in my presence again," he commanded, his voice low and dangerous, a clear warning.
"Your Majesty! I, too, hate to think of that day!" Juhyul insisted, refusing to back down. "However, if reminding you of it is what it takes to change Your Majesty's mind, what would I refuse to endure? Your Majesty, please see reason!"
Dan took a slow breath, knowing Juhyul spoke from genuine concern. If the trip were internal, the objection would be minor. It was the foreign country that amplified the risk and the worry. Dan knew well how much Juhyul was suffering; he would have felt the same way himself. Logically, for the sake of the country's stability, it was correct for him to stay.
But no matter how many hundreds or thousands of times I think about it, I cannot send Bayen alone. His decision was not based on petty jealousy, the mere suspicion that Karahan might try to court her. What if she is harmed if I send her alone? Due to their profound, empathic link, he would instantly know, and would likely die of shock and grief at the palace. Of course, he was not afraid of death. He had absolutely no desire to live in a world without her.
However, the thought of not being with her in her final moments was terrifying. The mere idea of her facing a threat or death alone sent shivers down his spine. How frightened will she be? How desperately will she call my name? And I will end my life bitterly regretting not being able to hold her hand.
No matter how many times he deliberated, the conclusion was always the same: She and he had to be together. Any temporary problem that might arise at the palace in his absence could somehow be managed by the ministers. With Bayen by his side, they could conquer any crisis that arose. In the worst-case scenario, even if they faced death together during the journey, Dan knew he could greet it with joy. Because he would be with her.
***
page 298
The Final Defense Line
"Are you worried that someone will tamper with the food?" Dan asked, his tone dry, cutting straight through Juhyul’s polite deference to the real issue. Poisoning, not physical force, was the silent, unseen threat to the Emperor's life.
Juhyul remained silent, his head bowed deeper, a tacit affirmation of his fear. He knew, as Dan had just stated, that in terms of sheer military might, no assassin could breach the Gold Guard, the Silent Tiger (Mukho), or the Black Ghost (Heukgwi). Dan’s own combat skill was beyond question, evidenced by the severe, lifelong scars etched across his body. Dan read the clear worry in his chief attendant’s posture and allowed himself a small, knowing chuckle.
"That is why Bayen asked the old woman her intentions. To see if she would accompany us."
"...The old woman, Your Majesty?" Juhyul asked, lifting his head in bewildered surprise. The thought had never occurred to him.
"Yes. Hyemin," Dan clarified. "She, Myung-ha, and Bayen’s head serving lady will be in charge of the food and provisions. We will be using silver tableware exclusively, and to prepare for the modern poisons that do not react with silver, Mak-rim of the Black Ghost, who is specifically competent in chemistry and toxins, will check everything separately."
Juhyul’s rigid posture finally slackened. Every member of the palace knew the extent of Hyemin’s fierce, almost maternal care for Bayen. The old woman had routinely tasted even medicinal broths meant for Bayen first—a habit that caused her constant friction and arguments with the chief physician, Kang-yeom. If Hyemin was accompanying them, Juhyul could visualize the meticulous, terrifying level of scrutiny that would be placed on every single morsel of food.
Juhyul’s Embarrassment
"Are you reassured now?" Dan asked, a touch of amusement in his voice.
"...Is her accompanying us confirmed?" Juhyul asked, still cautious.
"Since she is not a palace official, I cannot force her," Dan explained. "And she is certainly not the type to obey willingly, even if I demanded it. But since Bayen is the one asking, there is a nine-out-of-ten chance she will agree. Hyemin would cross a burning sea if Bayen asked her to."
Juhyul felt a sudden wave of relief wash over him, immediately followed by deep embarrassment. He had overlooked Hyemin’s existence precisely because she was not a palace official—her influence was purely personal, not bureaucratic. Thinking that she, the ultimate guardian against tainted food, would be coming along, his immense anxiety evaporated. So, that's why the Royal Merchant, Myung-ha, kept silent! Juhyul felt his cheeks flush, and his eyebrows drooped slightly. He had caused such a dramatic fuss, wasting the Emperor’s time, all by himself.
"It would have been better if you had mentioned this earlier, Your Majesty... I was beside myself with worry," he mumbled.
"Bayen noted your constant anxiety just the other day. It was her idea," Dan admitted. "She mentioned that she wished to bring the old woman along as a precaution. To be honest, I hadn't even thought of it until then."
"Oh! Indeed, Her Ladyship!" Juhyul exclaimed, instantly forgiving the lack of communication. How incredibly thorough our Ladyship is! He had foolishly thought she was merely acting like a spoiled child begging for a pleasure trip, oblivious to the risks. In reality, she had already plotted the necessary defenses, protecting both the Emperor's life and her own desire to travel.
The Unexpected Obstacle
Juhyul cleared his throat, pushing his personal relief aside to focus on state affairs. "Ahem, ahem. Then, let us discuss today's agenda. The first issue is the trade route construction. The architectural masters dispatched to the area have sent their first report, and it states that the construction is expected to be delayed for a significantly longer period than anticipated."
Dan, who had been watching Juhyul's flushed face with an amused tolerance, calmly ignored the man’s embarrassment and focused on the document. "The problem isn't the cost, but the construction materials?"
"Precisely, Your Majesty. Because it is a large-scale project spanning the ravine, we decided to build a stone bridge for maximum safety and permanence. However, the difficulty lies in the procurement and transport of the stone materials."
"Didn't they say the area was all cliffs and rocky mountains?"
"Yes, but they present an equal problem. They said carving the cliffs that will support the bridge is too risky; a slight error could cause a catastrophic collapse into the chasm. And while there are rocky mountains nearby with suitable materials, the path is too rugged and steep, making it nearly impossible to safely transport the immense amounts of cut stone."
"Hmm..." Dan nodded thoughtfully. The logic was sound. It would be too precarious to cut into the foundational cliffs, and carrying massive stone blocks up narrow, steep mountain paths defied practicality.
"Does Bayen know of this report?"
"You instructed us to report all construction-related matters to Her Ladyship as well, so the same document was sent to the Department of Budget this morning," Juhyul confirmed.
"Have the architectural masters who can elaborate on the situation enter the palace immediately," Dan instructed. "We will discuss it again with Bayen later this afternoon."
"I will arrange that, Your Majesty."
Dan leaned back slightly, a flicker of anticipation in his eyes. What expression will Bayen wear when confronted with such a major obstacle before the project even begins? Will she sigh in frustration, lamenting that it’s one problem after another? Or, as she always did when faced with a seemingly insurmountable difficulty, will she complain briefly but let her eyes shine brightly with the challenge?
In truth, Dan did not care if the construction took a long time, or even if it never reached completion. He placed greater significance on the fact that the two nations were cooperating, a monument to their partnership. Most importantly, he understood the deeply personal, secret meaning Bayen had hidden within the bridge’s name.
Dan smiled unhurriedly, confident in her ability to solve the problem, and turned the document's page to the next item on the agenda.
/////////
**
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The Fury in the Medical Office
The Imperial journey required the presence of an Imperial physician, so the Medical Office (Eui-gung) was in a state of controlled frenzy. To prepare for any contingency on the road, the staff was packing an excessive amount of supplies—from portable moxibustion kits and specialized medicinal plasters to potent ointments and a vast array of emergency herbs. Since they now had the unprecedented duty of preparing provisions for Bayen as well, the Eui-gung felt less like a center of healing and more like a battlefield supply depot.
Bayen, who had walked directly to the Medical Office to speak with Hyemin, paused outside the entrance, listening to the loud, bustling noise spilling out. The sounds were a mixture of hurried feet, rustling parchment, and sharp, demanding voices. She raised her hand, stopping Suyeon, her usually boisterous handmaid, who was already drawing a deep breath to loudly announce her arrival.
Suyeon’s eyes widened in confusion. "Her Ladyship, why are you stopping? Should I not announce you?"
A Retreat of Respect
"I don't want to disturb those who are already busy," Bayen quietly explained. "If I enter now, they’ll all stop working."
"Disturb? Who would dare harbor such a thought?" Suyeon instantly bristled, rolling up her sleeves with aggressive devotion, as if ready to physically confront any imaginary offender. "They should be bowing down in gratitude if Her Ladyship personally visits them! There is absolutely no one who would think otherwise. So please, don't worry unnecessarily. If I see even a hint of displeasure or delay, I will not let it pass! I’ll make sure they remember their manners! Absolutely not!"
Bayen smiled faintly at the show of loyalty but remained firm. She knew she had seen Kang-yeom (the Chief Physician) rushing off somewhere important on her way in, meaning the Medical Office was likely staffed only by junior court physicians and medical ladies (Eui-nyeo). If she announced her presence, they would not only stop their urgent work but also become stiff and mortified with formality. Bayen thought for a moment, deciding that practicality should win over protocol.
"I can visit the old woman at her residence later tonight and tell her then," Bayen concluded, shaking her head. "Let’s just quietly go back for now."
"...Are you sure about that?" Suyeon asked, surprised by her mistress's choice to retreat.
"Yes," Bayen confirmed.
Just as Bayen was gently turning her body to make a silent departure, a shrill, irritable man's voice suddenly sliced through the noise, exploding from inside the Medical Office with terrifying clarity.
The Outrage
The voice was venomous, seething with class resentment and unchecked arrogance.
"No, you old hag! Do you think words are all that matters? You're nothing but a tavern owner who scraped by in the countryside, a peddler of questionable folk remedies, and you dare speak such outrageous nonsense to us—the qualified, imperial staff! Do you think a court physician is so easily dismissed? We passed the official medical examination! A difficult, highly structured test that those women—who only became Eui-nyeo by washing the sick and scraping excrement from hospital wards—can't even begin to imagine passing! I suppose you felt important having those lowly medical ladies fawn over your common-sense 'wisdom,' but you've picked the wrong venue! This is the Imperial Palace, not the muddy marketplace where foolish commoners wander! Who do you think you are, showing off your paltry knowledge like this? If you dare gather those medical ladies again and babble your paltry knowledge, I will not let it go! I will have you barred from these halls!"
The man was clearly beside himself; his tone was not just sharp but savage and brutal. The angry diatribe was followed immediately by a distinct small crashing sound, confirming he was shouting while smashing some kind of ceramic or glass object.
Everyone standing outside the Medical Office—Bayen, Suyeon, and the attending guards—visibly paled and nervously glanced at Bayen. Bayen, however, did not react violently or emotionally. She simply held a finger to her lips, silencing her staff.
"Shh, be quiet," she instructed in a low voice.
This is a disaster, Suyeon thought, her blood running cold. She wrung her hands, seeing the rare, utterly expressionless, mask-like face Bayen wore. The only person inside the Medical Office who could be referred to as "the old hag" and endure such abuse was Hyemin, the inn owner. And who was Hyemin? The person Her Ladyship regarded and followed like a mother, the one whose safety was paramount on this entire trip.
Whoever you are, just shut your mouth! Shut up! Suyeon pleaded silently. But mocking her desperate wish, the man inside continued his furious, high-pitched rant.
***
page 304
The Open Door
The physician’s voice, a torrent of unchecked malice, reached its horrifying climax. “In a little while, Her Ladyship Hae-gae will depart for the Raon Kingdom. The backing you were relying on will finally be gone, won’t it? And once that happens, what do you think will happen? Is it really that difficult to bury an old woman with no one to protect her in the back mountain and disguise it as an accident? So, shut your mouth, eat the rice the Imperial Palace gives you, and quietly leave the palace, old hag. Don't cling on and meet an untimely end to the little life you have left.”
Suyeon let out a tiny, involuntary, muffled snort of fury. The crazy bastard! He’s signing his own death warrant! The resort to death threats confirmed his guilt; he must have been terrified that Hyemin would run to Bayen and tattle. The fool had no idea they were standing right outside, listening to his every word. This is why one must always guard their tongue in the Imperial Palace, asleep or awake, Suyeon thought grimly.
The physician pressed his advantage against Hyemin’s silence. “Now, do you understand? Why aren’t you answering? Your eyes might be damaged, but your ears are fine, aren’t they? And since the subject has come up, can’t you just close your eyes and walk around? Do you have any idea how disgusting it feels to be confronted with those dead white eyes?”
Oh my god! Suyeon winced, pressing a hand to her own mouth. If he had witnessed even once how Her Ladyship felt, how much she missed her mother whenever she saw the unique color of Hyemin's eyes, he would never have uttered such cruel words. Suyeon huddled her shoulders and anxiously checked Bayen’s reaction. Bayen was listening with an utterly indifferent face, a mask of porcelain calm. She did slightly curl one corner of her mouth at the mention of the "dead white eyes"—a minute twitch of dark humor or profound offense—but otherwise, her expression was so blank it was impossible to read her mood.
As the man's voice finally faded into an ominous silence, Bayen turned her gaze to Suyeon, who was trembling with a mix of anxiety and rage. “Suyeon, what are you doing?”
The Apology Demanded
“Yes? Uh, what do you mean, Your Ladyship?” Suyeon stammered, momentarily thrown by the Emperor’s wife’s unnerving calm.
“Announce my arrival. Loudly.”
Suyeon swallowed hard, recognizing the gravity of the command. She took a huge, shuddering breath, filling her lungs, and unleashed the required proclamation. “Her Ladyship Hae-gae arrives!”
The doors of the Medical Office were thrown open, and Bayen stepped inside. The court physicians who had been circling Hyemin instantly realized their doom. Their faces turned a deathly, bloodless pale, and they dropped to the floor in a unified, desperate deep bow. The Eui-nyeo (medical ladies) huddled in a corner also quickly paid their respects, though their relief at the interruption was overshadowed by terror. Bayen looked at the group and let out a small, disbelieving snort of laughter.
They were all here, she realized. These people, who had received counsel and kind words from Hyemin, had simply stood by and watched the old woman endure the abuse and the threat. Bayen now understood why Hyemin had been so uncharacteristically quiet. Hyemin, with her fierce loyalty, must have remained silent because the court physicians had pressured the Eui-nyeo to keep quiet, and Hyemin was enduring the onslaught to protect the careers of the junior staff.
However, that noble realization did not quell Bayen's cold fury. She was even more incensed at the passive, cowardly behavior of the Eui-nyeo than at the court physician who had threatened Hyemin.
"Is this truly the Medical Office?" she asked, her voice low and dangerously even.
The court physician who had been berating Hyemin cautiously raised his head a fraction, his voice shaky. "...Yes, Your Ladyship?"
"From what I heard outside, I couldn't distinguish if this was the Medical Office or a back alley where thugs gather to plan murder," Bayen said, letting the words hang in the air.
"...We are deeply sorry for causing a disturbance," the physician quickly conceded, trying to placate her.
"Are you apologizing to the right person?" Bayen's voice turned icy.
The physician could not have failed to understand the implication: apologize to Hyemin. He gritted his teeth, his jaw visibly working. No matter how I think about it, I did nothing fundamentally wrong. In his mind, the problem was the uneducated old woman, who wasn't even an imperial physician, inciting the medical ladies. I merely pointed out a fundamental flaw in the system and hierarchy.
But Bayen’s expression was utterly devoid of warmth; her mood was clearly very foul. The atmosphere was turning dangerous. Should he grovel and escape this crisis with his life and career intact, or should he stubbornly defend his righteousness? As the highest-ranking physician present, his pride wouldn't let him simply back down. The physician pondered for a moment, then remembered the widely circulated, albeit unverified, belief that Bayen was open-minded and willing to listen to subordinates who spoke the truth. She won't execute me on the spot for speaking my honest opinion, even if she dislikes it. He cleared his throat loudly, gathering what little courage he had left.
"Hmph, hmph! Your Ladyship, I know it is presumptuous to speak, but may I offer a piece of honest advice, even if it costs me my life?"
"Speak your mind," Bayen instructed, her voice flat, waiting for the doomed man to dig his own grave deeper.
***
page 307
The Pitfalls of Pride
"We have the paramount duty of looking after the health of the court officials as well as His Majesty," the physician asserted, his voice regaining a semblance of authority despite his inwardly churning stomach. "That is why we passed the difficult medical examination, a true testament to our skill."
"And your point is?" Bayen prompted, her tone utterly neutral, giving nothing away.
"We must maintain composure at all times to calmly apply our medical skills, wherever we are," he continued, warming to his argument. "In an emergency, to save a life, possessing outstanding medical skill is necessary, but maintaining composure is the key factor. And the current disturbance..."
"I don't have time," Bayen interrupted, cutting him off sharply. "Get to the main point."
This is not going well... The court physician swallowed hard. Bayen's expression had not softened at all; in fact, her eyes seemed colder and sharper than before, two chips of ice analyzing his every move. Did I choose the wrong tactic? Should I grovel now? He glanced around. Too many eyes were watching. As the highest-ranking physician present after the Chief, his pride would not allow him to yield. He chose to double down on his calculated insult.
"...Until recently, our Medical Office operated perfectly without any issues. However, recently, the medical ladies, who should be assisting the court physicians, have become arrogant and restless, making the once-orderly office noisy. This is entirely due to the presence of a single person. An ordinary old woman who has neither formally learned medicine nor passed the medical examination dares to stir up trouble and sow seeds of disrespect in the Medical Office! I apologize to Your Ladyship for saying this, but this chaos and insubordination would not have happened if you had not showed her such undue favor."
This was a daring move: a backhanded accusation that the blame for Hyemin's perceived arrogance lay with Bayen's poor judgment. It was a formal complaint that Bayen's subordinate was behaving disrespectfully, relying solely on her protection.
Bayen, who had been watching him with unwavering coldness, suddenly broke into a serene, gentle smile. The shift was utterly disarming and terrifying.
The Trap is Sprung
"Listening to you, that makes sense," Bayen murmured, the warmth of her smile not reaching her eyes. "I wondered what possessed you to verbally abuse and threaten a helpless old woman, but I see now: this was all for the development and integrity of the Medical Office, not merely to protect a petty ego or to conceal inadequate abilities. Just as you said, I was hesitant to allow murder and threats in an office dedicated to saving lives. Phew, what a relief that your motives are so pure."
W-Was she truly planning to have me killed before I spoke? The physician’s sudden certainty crumbled. He quickly wiped the copious cold sweat from his brow with the edge of his sleeve.
"To cherish the Medical Office so deeply, I am truly touched as the mistress of the Imperial Palace," Bayen continued, her voice soft and dangerously patronizing. "At the same time, I feel regret that a court physician with such outstanding skill and proper intentions has not become the Chief Physician. Therefore, I want to offer you, and everyone belonging to the Medical Office, a new opportunity to prove your excellence."
"...An opportunity, Your Ladyship?" he stammered, unsure if this was a reward or a prelude to execution.
Just at that moment, Kang-yeom, the Chief Physician, who had been out on his duties, returned and paid his respects to Bayen. He smiled warmly upon seeing Bayen, but then belatedly sensed the unusual tension—the rigid postures, the pale faces—and widened his eyes in alarm.
"Your Ladyship, is something amiss? Why is everyone gathered here and silent?"
The Structural Solution
"Ah, Chief Physician, you have arrived just in time. Welcome," Bayen said, turning her radiant, sincere smile onto Kang-yeom. "I wanted to discuss with you a way for the Medical Office to develop and improve."
Kang-yeom, oblivious to the preceding drama, brightened immediately. "You must be preoccupied with the trade route construction, yet you are still mindful of our Medical Office. You truly are Her Ladyship. I, Kang-yeom, will listen intently. Please share your wise opinion."
Anyone with a moment to think would have noticed the strange atmosphere, but Kang-yeom, without an ounce of suspicion, beamed with enthusiasm. Although he was over seventy, his eyes were clear and pure. They were not bloodshot with greed or yellowed by neglect. These were the eyes of a man who had dedicated his life solely to medicine without ever looking sideways—a stark contrast to the man cowering beside him. If such an honest man as Kang-yeom had been the one to speak, Bayen might have hesitated. But for a man whose eyes were bloodshot and laden with selfish ambition to dare insult the old woman...
In a flash, the painful memories of the people of Ganok Village who had insulted and persecuted her own mother resurfaced, and Bayen felt her vision momentarily turn red with suppressed fury. She forced the anger down with monumental effort.
"Hoo," she exhaled, forcing herself back to the technical issue. "First, I think it would be best to divide the Medical Office into two departments to improve efficiency. A Pharmacy Department (Yak-gwa), which deals exclusively with preparing and dispensing medicines and decoctions, and a Medical Treatment Department (Eui-gwa), which handles direct examination and treatment."
Bayen explained the logic clearly: "Even now, for minor illnesses like a cold or small injuries, only medicine or ointment is prescribed. Until now, all patients—from a bruised foot to a fever—have been treated by a small, limited number of court physicians. This means people with minor injuries had to wait a long time, causing unnecessary frustration, and conversely, those in critical condition often had difficulty receiving quick treatment."
Since those skilled in medicine were few, the number of court physicians was limited, while the number of court personnel was immense. The palace maids who performed menial tasks or prepared food were often injured, but even a simple blister on their hand had to be shown to an exclusive court physician, making the system unnecessarily inefficient and clogged with minor ailments. Bayen was proposing a solution that would streamline care, elevate the role of the medical ladies, and, most importantly, create a new hierarchy that would bypass the current arrogant physician.
***
page 310
Revolutionizing the Medical Office
"Hmm... that is true," Chief Physician Kang-yeom conceded, slowly stroking his beard as he absorbed the unexpected critique of the current system.
"By separating them," Bayen continued, her tone authoritative and practical, "you allow the patient to exercise some agency and choose their path: whether to go to the Pharmacy Department (Yak-gwa) for simple medication or the Medical Treatment Department (Eui-gwa) for a full diagnosis. When the overwhelming number of patients is divided and categorized, you will be able to treat everyone much more swiftly and systematically."
"Oh! That makes perfect sense, Your Ladyship. That addresses the issue of long wait times for minor injuries. In that case, we must first determine which of the current court physicians belong to which new department."
"Don't select them, Chief Physician," Bayen instructed. "Take applications from everyone. From both the court physicians and the medical ladies."
Kang-yeom’s surprise was palpable. "...Even the medical ladies (Eui-nyeo)?"
"The medical ladies have always been in charge of preparing the decoctions and medicines anyway, haven't they? They possess the practical knowledge of materials and preparation," Bayen pointed out. It was already obvious that the Eui-nyeo would eagerly apply for the Pharmacy Department, viewing it as a clear path to greater responsibility. Kang-yeom subtly glanced at the medical ladies, who were still huddled together, ashamed and silent from the previous abuse.
"But if they all transfer to the Pharmacy Department," Kang-yeom worried, "who will handle the day-to-day patient care duties like bathing, feeding, and monitoring?"
"Shouldn't the court physicians handle the patients?" Bayen questioned, her voice expressing genuine confusion at the current practice. "I always found the current system strange. Why does someone else have to check and report the color of a patient's excrement or how often they vomit? This reliance on secondary reports often leads to confusion and diagnostic mistakes."
"It would certainly be best for the court physician to personally check their assigned patient, Your Ladyship, but the chronic shortage of qualified staff left us with no choice but to delegate those tasks," Kang-yeom explained, defending the necessity of the old way.
"That is exactly why you must divide the departments and elevate the support staff," Bayen countered. "The majority of the palace population presents with only minor ailments or injuries. If the number of patients is reduced for each physician, they can treat the serious cases with greater focus and diligence."
Merit Over Seniority
Kang-yeom acknowledged the logic. He knew there were very few court officials suffering from severe, life-threatening diseases, as those who were gravely ill usually left the palace to stay at home. The main hurdle, however, was authority. The Eui-nyeo were not trained or tested to prescribe medicine.
"That is a brilliant idea for efficiency, Your Ladyship, but... the medical ladies simply do not have the certified skill to issue prescriptions themselves," Kang-yeom stated awkwardly.
"We will find out," Bayen stated simply, a challenge in her voice.
"How do you mean, Your Ladyship?"
"Divide the departments and accept applications, but then re-evaluate everyone's skills through a rigorous process. Based on their performance, you will assign positions accordingly. Only those in the highest-ranked positions—regardless of their previous title—will be able to prescribe medicine and treat patients."
Bayen was striking at the very core of the Medical Office's outdated structure. Unlike other departments, positions here were traditionally determined by sheer seniority and years of service. A brilliant, young doctor had to start as a low-ranking court physician and wait years for advancement.
"So... you are saying we should re-verify everyone's skill level?" Kang-yeom asked, the magnitude of the change dawning on him.
"Not just the court physicians, but the medical ladies as well—treat everyone equally. Merit over tenure. Even an Eui-nyeo, if she has the skill, can be promoted to a rank superior to a court physician. Conversely, a court physician, if they possess the skill, can occupy a high position even if they just entered the palace yesterday. Furthermore, it would be beneficial to hold regular examinations—say, once a year—to re-determine positions based on scores. Positions tend to breed complacency," Bayen finished, her eyes flicking momentarily toward the cowering physician who had threatened Hyemin.
The Stagnant Water
This was more than just a reform; it was a revolution. It was an implicit command to shake the complacency of the court physicians, but also a massive opportunity for the medical ladies to advance based on hard work. The Eui-nyeo, who had been terrified and silent under the court physician's recent threats, were now deeply moved, covering their mouths and weeping silently at the prospect of this golden opportunity.
"Of course," Bayen added, driving the point home, "just as the court physicians, if a medical lady lacks the skill, she will have to leave the palace. Also, unify the titles—don't divide them into 'court physician' and 'medical lady.' We will be changing the system so that women can participate in the full medical examination in the future, just like the talent recruitment system."
This merit-based upheaval would surely shock the arrogant and complacent court physicians into working diligently. Kang-yeom listened carefully to Bayen's concluding thoughts.
"I want the Medical Office to develop and improve," she summarized. "To achieve that, all members must constantly strive and study. It will be tiring and difficult, but isn't that a natural expectation when you are responsible for human life? If you are stagnant in the 'stale water' of the Imperial Palace and don't know how much the world has changed or how much treatment methods have advanced, do you truly deserve the title of court physician? What is your opinion, Chief Physician?"
Kang-yeom nodded, agreeing entirely with Bayen's philosophy, but then sighed deeply, his relief mixed with resignation.
"Your Ladyship, I agree that those who practice medicine must study without ceasing. Even I research new treatments when faced with a difficult disease. However, Your Ladyship, there are limitations. Although the Empire's most famous physicians are gathered here, as you said, stagnant water is still stagnant water. To advance, we need fresh ideas from outside."
***
page 313
Exchange with Raon: The Seeds of Modern Medicine
"Your insight is profound, Chief Physician," Bayen began, acknowledging his worry about stagnation. "To introduce new perspectives, you need to break out of the palace walls. You are visiting the Raon Kingdom this time. Why don't you try to exchange knowledge with their healers?"
Kang-yeom blinked slowly, processing the idea. Foreign medical exchange was simply unheard of. "Is the medical science in the Raon Kingdom truly that developed?"
"Oh? You didn't know?" Bayen adopted a teaching tone, sharing knowledge she’d gleaned from the trade talks. "Here, when we get boils, abscesses, or spreading infections, we rely primarily on plasters and internal decoctions. Minor cases are manageable, but the problem arises when the infection spreads throughout the body. People often die, and we have no definitive treatment method once the illness turns systemic. At least, that's how it is in our country."
Kang-yeom leaned forward, his professional curiosity overriding his shock. "Do they have a method to treat those severe, spreading infections?"
"They say that over there, they cut out the infected boil or tissue before it can spread. They call it 'surgery,' I believe?"
"Hah! You mean they cut into the living body with a knife?" Kang-yeom was horrified, his seventy years of traditional practice screaming in protest. The idea was barbaric.
"If we use needles to puncture and stimulate, why wouldn't they use a knife to remove the source of the disease?" Bayen countered calmly. "Furthermore, they say their anesthetics and potent painkillers are incredibly advanced. They've devoted rigorous study to figuring out how to reduce the unbearable agony caused by such invasive procedures."
Bayen paused, letting the implication sink in. This knowledge explained a long-standing mystery: it was why the tattoo artisans in the Raon Kingdom were so famously skilled. They could use delicate, sharp needles to inflict wounds deep enough to draw blood for complex patterns without causing lasting pain or, crucially, severe infection. Their advancements in wound care and pain management were clearly tied to their medical development.
The Ultimate Temptation
"I will arrange a meeting for you with the Chief Physician of the Raon Kingdom," Bayen offered, seeing the fire light in his eyes. "Have a long, technical conversation with him. Oh, and I heard they have many systematic medical texts recorded—complete works detailing procedures and herbal uses. Shall I try to obtain those books for you?"
Kang-yeom, a scholar and a physician, was so devoted to medical books that he would practically jump out of bed for them. The promise of forbidden, advanced foreign knowledge was the ultimate temptation. His eyes widened to an impossible, almost cartoonish degree.
"B-Books too? Is that true, Your Ladyship?! I will never forget this kindness! It is an unmatched blessing to the Medical Office! Um, but precisely how many volumes might you be able to procure? Are we speaking of dozens?"
"Obtaining the texts isn't difficult once the trade route opens. I can get you as many as you need to satisfy your curiosity," Bayen said with a wave of her hand. "Of course, I must do this for the advancement of our Imperial studies. However, now that the office will be divided into the Pharmacy and Treatment Departments, won't everyone else have more free time, but you, the Chief Physician, will become twice as busy managing both?"
"Ah..."
Kang-yeom’s face, which had been radiating with the greed for knowledge, quickly wrinkled with a heavy, realistic dread. His subordinates would benefit from lighter workloads, but from his perspective, the administrative and oversight duties had effectively doubled. Would he really have the leisure time to read and study those precious new books? Seeing Kang-yeom's sudden, profound gloom, Bayen subtly offered the final piece of her solution.
"Therefore, to give you the time needed for study and high-level medical strategy, how about appointing a separate Head for the Pharmacy Department?"
Kang-yeom frowned. "None of the current court physicians are proficient enough solely in pharmacology to lead an entire department. They are skilled enough to prescribe medicine, but they lack the specialist expertise and depth required to be a proper administrator and master pharmacist."
The Appointment by Merit
"You have one right here. Look, over there," Bayen said, inclining her head toward Hyemin, who had been standing silently throughout the exchange.
Kang-yeom stared blankly at the old woman. "...Are you speaking of Hayeon Hyemin?"
"She comes from the Hayeon family, which was once called the 'Divine Pharmacists' (Uiseong-ga). Her family history is steeped in pharmacology. Furthermore, she is so proficient in herbal knowledge and decoction preparation that even you, the Chief Physician, often defer to her judgment and advice. Do we need any other qualifications besides recognized expertise?"
Kang-yeom knew better than anyone that her practical, traditional knowledge was unparalleled. She even possessed pharmaceutical knowledge that surpassed his own formal training. Her skill, which he had personally witnessed and benefited from, was certainly sufficient. But tradition and protocol still held sway. He stroked his beard nervously.
"Since she will be responsible for the core preparation of medicine for the entire Imperial Palace, she needs a qualification that everyone can acknowledge—not just our private recognition. How about I, as the Chief Physician, formally test her abilities? A thorough, professional examination to eliminate any doubt or future argument from my staff," he proposed, finally finding a compromise between merit and protocol.
Bayen turned to the old woman. "Grandmother, what do you say? Are you willing to take a test to become the Head of the Pharmacy Department?"
Hyemin, who had been listening to the entire exchange in silent, watchful incomprehension—from the insults to the revolution—suddenly had her dead white eyes momentarily flash with profound understanding and acceptance. The challenge had been issued, and the opportunity for respect had arrived.
***
page 316
The Head of Pharmacy Chooses Her Assistant
"I have one condition," Hyemin stated, her voice slicing through the tension with sudden clarity and confidence. "You must allow me to choose one subordinate. With my eyes being what they are, I absolutely require someone to assist me in sorting and preparing the complex herbal mixtures."
She then smiled, but it was a cold, chilling expression that seemed to promise torment rather than reward. It was clear she wasn't asking for an aide, but selecting a victim. She was never afraid; she was merely waiting for her chance, Bayen realized, barely managing to conceal her own amusement.
"She has stated her request. Is this possible, Chief Physician?" Bayen asked Kang-yeom.
Kang-yeom’s enthusiasm was completely unrestrained. Hyemin, the source of so much administrative friction, was not only staying but was taking charge of a department and opening the door to revolutionary foreign knowledge. He felt an urge to literally carry her around the palace.
"Of course, we must grant that!" Kang-yeom declared with a hearty laugh. "Please just take good care of the Pharmacy Department and ensure no problems arise. Hmph, hmph. And if you happen to have any extra time, perhaps you could look over the Medical Treatment Department as well. Your insight would be invaluable."
That way, I'll have even more time to pour over those Raon books, he thought, masking his transparent self-interest with pompous formality. "But, if I may ask, whom have you set your eyes on for this critical role?"
Hyemin’s expression remained unreadable, but her words were laced with heavy irony. "There is a court physician who passed the medical examination with excellent marks and treats the Medical Office as if it were his own life. He cherishes it so much that he would bury anyone—regardless of gender or age—who threatens the Medical Office in the mountains and make it look like an accident."
The Appointment of Court Physician Bang
"Eh?" Kang-yeom was utterly confused, his head tilting like a puzzled bird. "Is she joking? That sounds like high praise mixed with a bizarre threat. Who is this exceptional, and slightly terrifying, physician?"
Hyemin finally delivered the punchline, her voice even and devastating. "I choose Court Physician Bang."
Court Physician Bang's face turned the color of dirt, then ash. He was the most senior, most arrogant, and the one who had just spent ten minutes threatening Hyemin with a shallow grave. The tables had not just turned; the entire Medical Office floor had flipped over. He was now faced with the nightmare of serving an old woman he had openly insulted and physically threatened as his immediate superior and personal assistant.
What should I do? Should I resign right now? The thought flashed through his mind, but died instantly. His pride was immense, but his professional competence was negligible. He had neglected his studies so badly that he was functionally unfit to be a village doctor. He could not quit the court physician’s post even if it meant death, for outside the palace, he had no means of survival.
And oh, right! I have to take that exam too... Will I even be able to pass the re-verification? Court Physician Bang was instantly enveloped in a cold, paralyzing wave of utter despair.
"Court Physician Bang? But he..." Kang-yeom started, frowning as he looked at the utterly defeated man.
The Chief Physician found Bang thoroughly distasteful; despite having the longest tenure, the man was notoriously lazy and selfish. That man cherishes the Medical Office as his own life? Kang-yeom thought contemptuously. Even a stray dog would laugh at such a lie! While he was happy someone was taking the administrative burden of the troublesome physician off his hands, he worried about Hyemin. "How about choosing one of the medical ladies instead? They're far more diligent."
"He is the best choice for me," Hyemin insisted, refusing to budge. "Of course, he will have to pass the skill re-verification exam first, like everyone else. But I, an old woman, have faith in Court Physician Bang's incredible skill." Her emphasis on 'incredible skill' was the final, perfect twist of the knife.
Court Physician Bang's incredible skill? Kang-yeom nearly choked. Who in the world spread that bald-faced lie? Bang would be the first person to fail the new re-verification! Ah, well, never mind, he concluded with a shrug. We can discuss it again if he actually manages to pass the exam.
"If you insist... then so be it," Kang-yeom said, deciding not to argue with his source of foreign texts. "If you change your mind later, just tell me. I am entirely on the side of the Head of our Pharmacy Department. Umhahahahaha!"
Kang-yeom was now openly fawning over Hyemin, who had not even passed her own test yet. His mind was already lost among the systematic medical texts he was going to procure from the Raon Kingdom.
In stark contrast to the elated and buoyant Chief Physician, the atmosphere among the other court physicians was like a funeral. They had spent years strutting around as 'court physicians,' but they couldn't remember the last time they had cracked a textbook. The truth was, since the only patients they encountered mostly had minor cuts from kitchen knives or simple blisters from kitchen burns, they had grown completely complacent, seeing no need to study or practice. Now, their comfortable, stagnant world had just been shattered by an untested old woman and an Imperial decree for meritocracy.
**
page 319
Repentance and an Unexpected Messenger
The young medical ladies (Eui-nyeo) were completely overcome. They had stood motionless while Hyemin was subjected to vile insults and death threats. Now, facing the woman who had shared her knowledge freely, they couldn't lift their heads due to overwhelming guilt and shame. They had enjoyed Hyemin's informal teachings, which surpassed their formal training, yet in the moment of crisis, they had chosen self-preservation, remaining silent. Tears of remorse dripped onto the floor of the Medical Office.
Chief Physician Kang-yeom, utterly unaware of the emotional undercurrents, grew deeply flustered by the sudden, widespread weeping. "Why, why are you all doing this? Why are you suddenly crying!" he exclaimed, wringing his hands. "Is it because of the proposed skill test? I will give you time to study! Plenty of time! Just stop crying! Ah, quickly! Crying in a place dedicated to saving lives drives away good fortune!"
Kang-yeom, who was famously sentimental and weak against women's tears, was on the verge of declaring that the entire reform was canceled when the youngest Eui-nyeo gathered her courage. She stepped forward, her face stained with tears, and took Hyemin's hand first.
"Ma'am, we are so sorry," she whispered, her voice choked with sobs. "You have been so kind to us, teaching us so much... we were so wicked, weren't we? We have no excuse even if you hold a permanent grudge against us."
"What sin did you commit? It is the fault of the men who threatened you with force and pride," Hyemin replied gently, squeezing the girl's hand. Her tone was unexpectedly warm, devoid of bitterness. "I have never seen a man who loves wielding power and his lower body end up doing well in life. Look at today. This is the very definition of being caught in one's own trap—the retribution of cause and effect is swift. I do not hold a grudge, so wipe your tears."
"Ma'am..." The young Eui-nyeo broke down entirely and hugged Hyemin around the waist. Quickly, all the medical ladies rushed forward, surrounding Hyemin, weeping and offering their apologies.
The court physicians watched the scene unfold, their anxiety palpable. They wanted desperately to intervene and diffuse the emotional display, but given their previous malicious actions, and the fact that the entire system was being reformed because of them, they knew it was far too late. They could only stand frozen in their positions.
Bayen watched the sincere exchange with a pleased, satisfied smile. Justice, even bureaucratic justice, was being served. However, the scene was suddenly disrupted by a sound of frantic, hurried footsteps coming from the entrance.
Bayen turned her head to see Mogwa (Quince), one of her junior handmaids, charging toward her. Mogwa was running so fast and so recklessly that her outer skirt was practically flipped over her head. The entire palace staff’s eyes widened, as such undignified rushing was absolutely unheard of within the confines of the Imperial Palace.
The News of Departure
"Your—Your Ladyship!" Mogwa gasped, collapsing onto her knees near Bayen, completely out of breath. Her chest heaved dramatically.
"Mogwa, what is it? Is there a problem at the inn?" Bayen asked, concerned that Mihu's mother might be ill or that the inn was facing a crisis.
As soon as Bayen decided that Hyemin would accompany her, she had immediately dispatched Mogwa to the inn. The inn was currently being looked after by Mihu's mother, a reliable woman who routinely updated Hyemin on business matters. Mogwa was sent as a messenger to inform Mihu's mother that Hyemin would be unavailable for a long period and to handle necessary preparations.
At the sudden, confusing mention of her business, Hyemin’s white eyes snapped open wide. She had been so caught up in the palace drama and the prospect of the test that she had forgotten the initial reason for Bayen’s presence.
"What inn? Mogwa, are you talking about my inn? Why did you go there?" Hyemin demanded, her calm demeanor vanishing instantly.
Mogwa struggled to catch her breath, stammering out the disastrous news. "B-B-Because the Ma'am is leaving for the Raon Kingdom w-w-with Her Ladyship for the time being, I w-w-went to tell Mihu's mother to come to the palace quickly if she had anything to report before the departure."
"Eh? I'm going where? The Raon Kingdom?" Hyemin exclaimed, her voice rising in genuine shock. Bayen quickly placed a comforting hand on Hyemin’s shoulder, trying to soothe her.
"Grandmother, I will explain that detail to you later. It was part of the plan for your safety," Bayen said. "First, finish your story, Mogwa. Continue."
***
page 321
The Incident at the Inn
Mogwa finally managed to calm her frantic breathing, her chest heaving as she tried to force the words past her constricted throat. She swallowed a great gulp of air and saliva.
"Th-The inn is in an uproar right now," she managed to gasp out. "A small boy—a child, not even a man—barged in and is relentlessly throwing a massive tantrum, demanding to meet the Ma'am! Business has stopped completely, and even the regular guests who were staying there were so frightened out of their wits that they fled!"
Hyemin, who had initially worn a look of dismissive annoyance—assuming it was just another garden-variety troublesome customer—suddenly looked furious.
"...They fled instead of kicking him out?" Hyemin’s voice was dangerously low. "No, there are so many able-bodied men around the inn—the workers and the patrons—they can't handle one little brat? I'll deal with those fools! They’ll be sweeping floors for a month!"
Mogwa frantically waved her hands, nearly hitting her own face. "No, no! Ma'am, it's not like that! That child possesses a strange, strange power—something utterly abnormal! Because of that power, no one could even get near him to restrain him."
"Power, you say?" Hyemin demanded, her dead white eyes fixed on the frightened maid.
"Y-Yes," Mogwa confirmed, her voice cracking. "At first, Mihu's mother bravely approached him and tried to reason with him, to persuade him to leave. There were plenty of people to back her up, so she wanted to resolve it peacefully. B-B-But no words, no threats, would reach that child. He just kept stubbornly insisting he must meet the Ma'am! H-Having no choice, a few strong men—the brawniest ones we had—surrounded the boy. They intended to simply pick him up, toss him outside, and bar the door. B-But suddenly, the child just laughed loudly—a high, chilling giggle—and started taking off his gloves!"
The Boy with the Strange Power
Chief Physician Kang-yeom, who had been listening to the narrative of the 'strange power' with wide-eyed, academic interest, eagerly thrust his face in front of Mogwa, nearly knocking his beard into her shoulder.
"Eh? He suddenly took off his gloves and did what? Did he then realize his folly and beg for his life, weeping profusely?"
"N-No," Mogwa stammered, shaking her head. "He then turned to the nearest furniture and caressed the dining table."
"The table?" Kang-yeom echoed, dropping his hands in confusion.
Why on earth would he touch the table? Everyone in the Medical Office—the physicians, the crying medical ladies, and the guards—exchanged confused glances. The story had gone from dramatic to utterly nonsensical.
"But in that instant!" Mogwa whispered, her voice tightening with renewed terror.
Everyone's attention snapped back to her. Their eyes were fixed intensely on Mogwa's lips, desperate for the conclusion. Mogwa licked her dry lips, looking truly bewildered. Even having seen it with her own eyes, the memory was unbelievable. How could such a thing happen in the real world? As she faltered, unable to speak, Hyemin roared impatiently.
"What is it! Why do you stop in the middle of your sentence! Finish the story, girl!"
At Hyemin's furious prompt, Mogwa squeezed her eyes shut, trying to exorcise the image, and then shouted the unbelievable truth, her voice echoing in the shocked silence of the Medical Office.
"The entire table turned into solid stone!"
/////////
page 323
The Intrusion into the Crown Prince’s Palace
The small boy who possessed the terrifying ability to turn a wooden object into solid stone instantly became the sensation of the capital. Rumors about the child swept through the city in less than half a day, magnified by the fear of the guests who had fled the inn. Furthermore, for reasons known only to the highest echelons, the child was promptly summoned into the Imperial Palace. It seemed certain that Emperor Dan had quickly figured out the child's identity—or perhaps the nature of his ability—and was deeply intrigued. The palace staff and court officials were delighted by the unusual occurrence, which provided them with exciting new fodder for their endless rounds of gossip.
But there was one person who could not discuss the matter lightheartedly: Bayen. The news that a child with a terrifying, uncontrolled power was now within the same walls as her own son sent a paralyzing wave of dread through her. As soon as she received the urgent notice that the child had been summoned by Dan, she immediately hiked up her skirts and rushed to the Crown Prince's Palace.
Lady Ye (Ye Sang-gung), the meticulous head attendant of the Crown Prince’s quarters, discovered Bayen’s unexpected arrival and bowed deeply in surprise. "Your Ladyship! What brings you here without prior notice? Is something wrong?"
Bayen barely paused to catch her breath. "Is Yeonhwi—the Crown Prince—studying right now?"
"Yes, Your Ladyship," Lady Ye replied, noting the anxiety clouding Bayen’s features. "He is currently learning the Sinae language with the Grand Tutor."
"Announce me," Bayen commanded, her voice low and sharp.
Is something urgent happening in the Inner Court? Her complexion looks terrible, almost gray... Lady Ye did not question the breach of protocol, recognizing the look of high emergency. She silently opened the study door.
A Private Audience with the Prince
"Grand Tutor, Her Ladyship Hae-gae has arrived," Lady Ye announced respectfully into the study.
"Now?" The Grand Tutor, a venerable scholar whose pure white beard reached his chest, widened his eyes in utter surprise. This was an unprecedented intrusion, as Bayen had a well-known policy of never once disturbing Yeonhwi while he was engaged in his studies. As the surprised Grand Tutor hesitated, Bayen, unwilling to wait another moment for courtesy, simply stepped into the study.
"Grand Tutor, I apologize for this rude interruption, but could you step out for a moment? I have an urgent and private matter to discuss with the Crown Prince."
"Yes? Ah, yes. Of course, Your Ladyship. I shall wait outside."
The Grand Tutor quickly gathered his scrolls and left the study, closing the door behind him. As soon as the latch clicked shut, Bayen rushed forward, gently lifted Yeonhwi from his small chair, and settled him securely on her lap. Yeonhwi's small cheeks immediately flushed slightly from the unexpected closeness and the disruption, but he was composed, instantly adjusting his posture to minimize the burden on his mother. There wasn't a hint of complaint in his demeanor, despite the sudden end to his lesson.
Bayen looked at him, her heart aching with both pride and worry. Shouldn't a child of two years old be at the peak of troublemaking and demanding attention? Yet, Yeonhwi was exceptional; he never threw a tantrum and rarely even asked for coddling. He was startlingly intelligent, having learned to speak early and read simple texts well before his peers. The Grand Tutor praised him as a genius for his rapid achievements, which filled Bayen with pride, but she also felt a poignant sadness. Sometimes, it's okay to be spoiled and act like a child, she thought. Bayen gazed tenderly at Yeonhwi, her focus entirely on him, and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.
"Crown Prince, you should kiss Mother, too," she instructed softly.
The Secret Mandate
"...Yes, Mother," Yeonhwi whispered.
Yeonhwi was visibly shy, his innocence radiating from him, but he dutifully raised his hand to cup Bayen's cheek and pressed a return kiss. The crimson flush on his downy cheek grew deeper from the shyness. Bayen smiled gently at his obedience, then leaned in close, lowering her voice to a barely audible, confidential tone.
"You haven't been hurt anywhere, have you, my son? No scrapes, no accidental falls?"
Yeonhwi shook his head, his tiny hand patting her arm. His pronunciation was still imperfect, but his meaning was clear.
"You must be careful, extremely careful, not to get hurt," Bayen emphasized, her eyes boring into his. Her voice conveyed a desperate earnestness he could not fully grasp.
"Ung, I know," he mumbled in confirmation.
"And if you are hurt, even the slightest cut or bruise, what did I tell you to do?"
Yeonhwi repeated the strange, secret mandate perfectly. "You told me not to tell anyone."
"Well done, my clever boy. You absolutely must not tell anyone you are hurt. Not your teachers, not your guards, and not even Lady Ye. Do you understand the importance of this?"
Bayen squeezed Yeonhwi's small hand so tightly that it almost hurt. Her grip was born of sheer desperation and fear. Yeonhwi, sensing the urgent, almost tearful worry in his mother, could only lower his eyebrows in deep confusion. What great secret was his little body hiding?
***
page 326
The Heavy Burden of the Siyo Secret
"Mother," Yeonhwi asked, his small brow furrowed in concentration.
"Yes, Crown Prince. Speak plainly."
"Why can't I tell anyone if I get hurt?"
Bayen offered a faint, strained smile at his lisping question, but inwardly, her panic was absolute. If Yeonhwi were to receive even a small cut and it instantly healed before witness’s eyes, it would be impossible to hide. That single event would expose the fact that Yeonhwi was a Siyo-tribe member, the last remnant of her cursed lineage. The consequences would be catastrophic. Bayen quickly began biting her fingernails, a nervous habit she rarely indulged in.
Everything touched by their hands turns to stone.
Bayen recalled the legend with chilling clarity. This power was the horrific curse the God had placed upon Neunghwamyeol, one of the divine children. Among the three children of the God—Gayu, Taemuryeong, and Neunghwamyeol—only the first two were known to have been freed from their curses. The status of Neunghwamyeol remained a terrifying mystery.
Whoever the child causing the destructive commotion at Hyemin's inn was, he was clearly linked to Neunghwamyeol, either as the cursed one himself or an agent thereof. He must have been desperately searching for the Siyo-tribe to fulfill the condition necessary to break the curse. And now, he had finally figured out who the sole surviving Siyo-tribe member was.
The fact that Hyemin—an associate of the Siyo-tribe—had a close, public relationship with Bayen was already widespread knowledge throughout the Empire. The cursed individual's first move was to target Hyemin, confirming that his true objective was ultimately to reach Bayen, the mistress of the Imperial Palace.
But Bayen had sacrificed her own life force to Emperor Dan years ago; in doing so, she had lost her legendary healing power, the very symbol of the Siyo-tribe. This meant that the only remaining Siyo-tribe member, the final piece of the divine puzzle, was her son, Yeonhwi. This critical, terrifying secret was known to absolutely no one but Bayen herself.
Defying Divine Logic
The official requirements for breaking the curse were rigid: the child of the God and the Siyo-tribe member had to love each other deeply—so deeply they would readily lay down their own lives for the other. Given that Yeonhwi was a boy, and the child of the God was also presumably a boy, the possibility of this exact, romantic condition being met was extremely low based on traditional expectations.
But who could ever guarantee such things? Bayen thought, glancing at her perfect son. Her own life was the most profound proof that destiny could be shattered. Who, in the village where she was despised as a dangerous mutant, could have ever predicted that she would become the mistress of the Sun (Empress)? The cruel, ancient fate imposed on the child of the God and the Siyo-tribe member might not be governed by something as trivial as gender. Love, sacrifice, and necessity often found ways around the rules.
Bayen knew she could not take that risk. She planned to conceal the truth—the fact that Yeonhwi was Siyo-tribe—until her dying breath, just in case any desperate person tried to force the impossible ritual.
She softened her expression and pulled him closer. "Later, when the Crown Prince is the same age as your mother, I will explain the entire story to you then. But for now, please just consider it to be Mother's most earnest and urgent wish."
"Your son will definitely grant Mother's wish!" Yeonhwi promised instantly, his lisp still endearing but his small voice full of earnest determination.
"Thank you, Crown Prince. Thank you so much for being so good."
But why do I keep feeling so anxious? Despite Yeonhwi’s perfect promise, a chill of dread settled over Bayen. She stifled a deep, silent sigh, knowing that with the cursed child now inside the palace, she had to prepare for a fight she hadn't yet named.
**
page 328
A Confrontation in the Emperor's Office
Leaving the Crown Prince's palace, Bayen wasted no time, heading directly for the Emperor's private office. Her heart pounded with urgency. The descendant of Neunghwamyeol was now in the palace, and she needed to size him up immediately to protect Yeonhwi. Her plan was simple: if the boy sought the Siyo's power to lift his curse, she would inform him that she had lost her own healing ability, hopefully forcing him to abandon his search.
Bayen arrived at Dan's office in a flurry of movement, but was stopped dead by the thunderous, furious voice that erupted from inside.
"In whose sacred presence do you dare to look straight ahead!" It was Myeongha, the Chief Eunuch, his voice ringing with absolute, chilling authority.
Bayen signaled the inner attendant to maintain silence and quietly eased the door open. The source of the commotion was standing stiffly in the exact center of the immense office. He looked no older than ten. He had short, prickly hair like a chestnut burr, round, defiant eyes, a prominent forehead, and dark, sun-touched skin. Normally, his features might have suggested playful mischief, but now they were set in a look of deep-seated resentment and scorn. Myeongha continued his furious scolding.
"Get down on your knees at once, insolent child!"
Despite the Chief Eunuch's razor-sharp command, the boy did not flinch or even blink. Instead, he stared directly at Myeongha and answered with a clear, infuriatingly methodical retort.
"Why should I kneel?"
"What did you say?!" Myeongha sputtered, completely outraged.
"That man may be your Emperor, but he is not my Emperor," the boy declared, planting his feet firmly. "I have an obligation as the representative of my tribe to not bow to just anyone."
How incredibly audacious. And so utterly defiant. This truly must be the bloodline of the Child of the God, Dan mused, taking a slow, amused sip of his tea. He then extended a hand toward Bayen, who had slipped silently into the room, her attention focused entirely on the child.
"Where have you been, my Empress?"
"To the Crown Prince's Palace," Bayen replied, her voice taut with suppressed anxiety. "But that child..."
The Doo-eok Tribe's Leader
"He must be the bloodline of Neunghwamyeol," Dan confirmed calmly, his voice low.
"...Are you absolutely certain?" Bayen asked, urgency creeping into her tone.
"Yes, I feel it instinctively," Dan confirmed. "A strength—a primal energy—that is both alien and yet intrinsically familiar."
They say the Children of the God have a unique bond that allows them to recognize each other, Bayen thought, accepting Dan's supernatural confirmation. If Dan was certain, the boy was indeed a descendant of Neunghwamyeol. Bayen calmed her spiraling anxiety by wiping her dry lips with her sleeve.
"Chief Eunuch, leave him be for a moment," Bayen instructed Myeongha, overriding the attendant’s authority. "He claims he is the Head of his tribe. We must at least treat him with the respect that position warrants until we determine the truth."
"Your Ladyship," Myeongha grumbled, still shaking with indignation. "Do you truly believe the words of such an arrogant, power-drunk child?"
"We shall find out now whether it is true or not." Bayen forced a polite, though thin, smile onto her lips as she addressed the boy.
"What is your name?"
"My name is Chechek."
"And may I ask, Chechek, which tribe you lead?"
"The Doo-eok Tribe."
The name hit a chord of memory within Bayen. The Doo-eok Tribe? I have definitely heard that name somewhere before... Bayen quickly searched her memory, scrolling through the numerous names of assimilated tribes and war records. Suddenly, the memory surfaced, and she snapped her fingers on her knee, a flash of recognition lighting her eyes.
"The Fountain!"
She remembered the enormous, elaborate water-spouting mechanism that stood so prominently in front of the Emperor's palace—a marvel of engineering. She recalled what Suyeon had told her about its origins:
"There was a minority tribe His Majesty absorbed during the last great war. They were called the—what was it? The Doo-eok (鬥訲) Tribe? They are a small group who primarily live in the stone mountains and are immensely skilled at making various metal objects and precise tools. Their craftsmanship is so excellent that they presented such an object [the fountain] as tribute to our Emperor."
"Are you the tribe that actually built the fountain in front of the Emperor's palace?" Bayen asked Chechek, her voice rising with interest.
Chechek lifted his chin high and crossed his arms firmly, a fierce sense of tribal pride overflowing from his young face.
"That's right! We built it!"
"If that is the case," Bayen said, her voice dropping the feigned pleasantry and shifting to a sharp, authoritative tone, "then you must immediately show respect to His Majesty. Your people, young Chechek, were absorbed and conquered during the last war."
***
page 331
The Case of the Misunderstood Conquest
The claim that the Doo-eok Tribe had been conquered hit Chechek like a physical blow. His eyes widened like saucers, reflecting genuine astonishment as though he were hearing the most unbelievable fabrication.
"What do you mean by that?" he demanded, his voice ringing with disbelief. "We were absorbed? When, where, who, how, and why did you absorb us? I demand every detail!"
Bayen was momentarily speechless, taken aback by his persistent and comprehensive cross-examination. This was not the behavior of a disgruntled conquered subject; it was the behavior of a confused diplomat. She tried to pivot back to the one piece of evidence she thought was solid.
"...Then why did your tribe present the fountain as tribute if you weren't submitting?" she asked, regaining her composure.
"Oh, the fountain! Since it's come up, I must finally speak my mind," Chechek declared, puffing out his chest. "I kept silent until now so as not to seem petty, but our tribe meticulously built that fountain and sent it as a grand gift to initiate a friendly relationship, didn't we? It was meant as a token of goodwill between two powerful nations! But how can you, the Empire, not even acknowledge it once? Even if the gift didn't entirely suit your tastes, you could have at least sent a letter, considering the immense effort and sincerity of the senders! How can the ruler of an entire nation be so utterly small-minded?"
The utter absurdity of the situation hung heavy in the air. They hadn't presented the fountain as a plea for mercy or as a sign of submission to Dan? It was meant as a diplomatic gift? Dan, the all-powerful Emperor, looked utterly bewildered by the boy's earnest, petty grievance.
"...You sent the fountain simply to initiate a friendly relationship?" Dan slowly repeated, his voice laced with disbelief.
"That's right!" Chechek confirmed triumphantly. "It was a gesture of peace and respect for craftsmanship!"
The General Summoned
Dan leaned back, massaging the bridge of his nose. "During the conquest war," Dan explained, trying to stick to the historical record, "your tribe willingly raised the white flag. You essentially walked into our fold to avoid battle, making an easy transition. Don't you recall this act of surrender?"
"White flag?" Chechek shouted. "When did we raise a white flag? I've never even heard of holding a white banner! We were ready to defend ourselves!"
"No, that white flag is not that white flag..." Dan muttered, his frustration mounting. The semantic wall between the two was insurmountable.
Dan rarely personally participated in absorbing smaller tribes during the conquest period. He had delegated the duty, sending his trusted generals to each territory to offer the choice: submission or war. The territory of any surrendering tribe was then immediately granted to the general who accepted the surrender—who became a kind of vassal lord, or yeong-ju, with the collected taxes belonging to him. Therefore, the generals were highly incentivized to secure surrender with minimum bloodshed.
Dan's records showed the Doo-eok Tribe had been conquered using this standard method, yet their leader claimed they had never surrendered. How could this be? Where did the catastrophic clerical—or diplomatic—mistake occur? Dan stopped trying to explain to the confused Chechek and simply waved his hand at the Chief Eunuch.
"No, never mind. Juhyul."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Who was in charge of the conquest and assimilation of the Doo-eok Tribe?"
Myeongha, relieved to speak about something concrete, replied promptly: "...It was Grand General Ga Ye-rang."
"Summon him," Dan ordered sharply.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
The Stone-Maker's Pride
Dan pressed his temples, sighing softly as he waited for the general to be located.
"We will investigate this unusual conquest issue later..." Dan said, refocusing on the immediate problem. "You said you were the Head of the Doo-eok Tribe? How old are you, precisely?"
"I am nine years old," Chechek replied, standing tall. "But age is not important in our culture. Only those with a special, innate ability can become the head of our tribe. And that ability is..."
Bayen, who was watching the boy intently, muttered the answer under her breath, a sense of dread confirming her suspicions.
"The power to turn anything into stone."
"Oh? How did you know that?" Chechek asked, genuinely startled and impressed.
"...The rumor about you turning an inn's dining table to stone reached even here in the palace within hours," Bayen explained, trying to keep her tone casual. "I simply made an educated guess based on your tribe's history and the tale."
"Aha!" Chechek nodded knowingly, as if the connection between his strange power and the Empire’s gossip mill made perfect sense. There was absolutely no sense of shame or aversion regarding his terrifying ability on his young face; in fact, he looked distinctly proud of it, striking a boastful pose. Bayen narrowed her eyes, observing him closely.
"You seem quite pleased with that ability...?" she questioned, wondering if he understood the gravity of the curse attached to that power.
**
page 334
The Blessing, Not the Curse
“Of course, I am pleased! For the Doo-eok Tribe, this ability is nothing short of a divine blessing!” Chechek asserted, his small face alight with fierce pride. His power wasn't a punishment; it was their cultural asset.
Bayen's mouth hung open, utterly speechless at this fundamental contradiction. All her carefully constructed fears and plans—the protective secrecy around Yeonhwi, the rush to the palace—were based on the assumption that the descendant of Neunghwamyeol sought freedom.
Instead of Bayen, who was still trying to process the revelation, Dan calmly interjected. “Then why are you trying to be free of it? Why go to all this trouble?”
Chechek tilted his head sideways, genuinely confused. "Free of what? I have no desire for freedom from my tribe's greatest gift."
“Didn’t you want to be free of the God’s curse?” Dan pressed, his tone revealing a touch of his own deep-seated knowledge of the divine lineage. “Your power—the turning of organic matter to stone—is the curse the God placed upon Neunghwamyeol. Surely you didn’t not know that history?”
“No, I know that legend well enough,” Chechek replied dismissively. “But I have never once thought about giving up this power. It is what defines our leaders! Not just me, but every leader of our tribe before me felt the same, I’m sure.”
If that’s the case, Bayen thought, her mind racing, then why did he target Hyemin’s inn, why did he cause such a panicked commotion, and why did he immediately obey the Imperial summons to the palace? She had been certain he was a desperate man seeking the Siyo-tribe’s healing touch. Now, it seemed her premise was entirely wrong. Dan, too, frowned, his imperial brow deeply furrowed.
The Mystery of the Imperial Summons
“Then if the curse means nothing to you, you wanted to meet me?” Dan asked, pointing to himself.
“Yes,” Chechek confirmed, his demeanor instantly turning earnest and businesslike. “I wanted to meet the head of this nation—the Emperor.”
The conversation had completely derailed, leading them into an unexpected political mystery. Dan stared blankly at Chechek, feeling less like an Emperor and more like a bewildered host.
“Why me?” Dan prompted.
Chechek took a deep breath, puffing out his chest again before making his demand. "Please allow us to participate in the current construction project."
“You mean the enormous trade route construction connecting us with the Raon Kingdom?” Dan clarified, his voice laced with renewed astonishment.
“Yes,” Chechek affirmed with passionate enthusiasm.
This was the one thing neither Bayen nor Dan had ever predicted. The nine-year-old boy, the descendant of a cursed deity, had just utterly silenced every highly-ranked adult in the room with a request for a construction contract.
“Building a massive, permanent bridge and route made of stone across such challenging terrain—when I heard that news, I was so excited I couldn’t delay a single day! I left immediately,” Chechek explained, his words tumbling out with childlike zeal. “It is the sacred duty of the Doo-eok Tribe, the tribe that handles bedrock and stone, to participate in such a monumental construction project!”
Dan had originally summoned the boy under false pretenses—to issue a warning that Bayen's Siyo-tribe power was lost, hoping to make him abandon his supposed desperate search for a cure. It was astonishing enough that the person he met wasn't an adult, but the leader of a tribe. But the crucial realization was this: the boy had zero desire to be freed from the supposed divine curse.
A Proposal of Historical Significance
Instantly relieved of his great worry over Yeonhwi’s safety, Dan relaxed completely and leaned back against his chair, the heavy back supporting his frame. It looked like the situation would resolve itself in a manner far better—and far stranger—than he could have hoped. Still, he did not immediately give a positive answer, maintaining a façade of imperial consideration.
“Well, this is an unexpected proposal, young Chechek,” Dan stated. “And I find myself a little taken aback by your directness.”
“Honestly, I could have sneaked our best people onto the construction site and started working without formally notifying you,” Chechek countered, his logic surprisingly sound. “If we simply participate, the job is already half done for us. But the reason I came all the way here to formally request permission is to ensure a historical record is made that our tribe participated in that colossal, world-changing project.”
Up until now, the Doo-eok Tribe had deliberately kept a low profile despite their unique abilities and incredible craftsmanship. They had lived secluded in the stone mountains, using their power and skill to make ingenious devices for profit, but made no effort to advertise their tribe's influence. It was clear the tribe’s attitude had shifted dramatically since this ambitious nine-year-old became their new Head.
“Our tribe may not have a huge population, but we possess the best skill in handling stone and rock in the Empire,” Chechek pitched confidently. “One of our experienced members can easily do the work of ten ordinary laborers! Furthermore, our village is very close to the construction site. We know the surrounding terrain better than any of your engineers. If you join hands with the Doo-eok Tribe, Your Majesty, you will absolutely not regret it.”
***
page 337
The Deal is Struck
“He is indeed the Head of a tribe; age truly doesn't matter,” Dan murmured, acknowledging the boy’s unexpected acumen. Listening to Chechek's enthusiastic pitch, Bayen felt an irresistible urge to join forces with the Doo-eok Tribe. Chechek had made a compelling case for competence and efficiency. Furthermore, considering the notorious difficulty of procuring materials at the remote construction site, wouldn't the boy’s unique ability to turn anything into stone be a tremendous and unexpected asset? It seems the Goddess of Fortune is finally on my side, delivering a bizarre solution right to the palace.
“I will, of course, need to consult formally with the Raon Kingdom, as this is a joint venture,” Dan stated, resting his chin on his hand. “But since this entire project is about inter-nation exchange and development, having one more skilled tribe participate shouldn't be a major issue. I grant permission for the Doo-eok Tribe to formally participate.”
Chechek’s eyes lit up, demanding confirmation that this was a binding agreement. “So, we’re officially participating now, right? No takebacks?”
“Yes,” Dan affirmed with a genuine smile.
“Yahoo!”
The nine-year-old threw his hands up, abandoning all pretenses of formality, and jumped up and down excitedly in the middle of the Emperor’s office. He had acted so maturely and defiantly just moments ago, but now he finally looked his actual age. Dan chuckled softly at the sight of the boy’s unbridled joy, then turned his attention to Bayen.
She was pressing her hand against her chest, and her expression was a profound mixture of relief that the threat to Yeonhwi had vanished, and a subtle, wistful sadness. Dan stared at her for a moment, then took her hand, his fingers enclosing hers.
"What is it, my Empress? Why the troubled look now?"
"...It's nothing, Your Majesty."
"Again with 'nothing'? Do not hide your heart from me, Bayen."
"It's just that... I thought I had finally escaped the maze of curses and divine fate," she confessed quietly, leaning into his warmth. "But now I realize that I still have a long, uncertain way to go, and the choices are far more complicated than I imagined."
The Choice of Fate
Is she feeling sympathy for the boy who hasn't been freed from the divine curse, the fate I managed to spare her from? Dan gently pulled Bayen’s hand closer and kissed the back of it, his touch warm and firm.
“Not everyone must follow the path of escape,” Dan reasoned softly, knowing she understood the weight of divine history. “Gayu was freed from the curse, yet he still chose to abandon life. Neunghwamyeol seems to have adapted and found a way to live with the curse rather than frantically escaping it. One chooses one’s own life path, Bayen. You don't need to feel guilty for not being able to lead him down a 'better' path. What is good for me and you may be a thorn-filled path for someone else, especially a proud boy like him.”
The boy had no desire to be freed from what he perceived as a divine gift. Feeling guilt over his choice was utterly pointless. Bayen could not sacrifice Yeonhwi—her only remaining connection to the Siyo power—simply out of misplaced pity for Chechek. The logic was harsh but absolute.
Bayen squeezed Dan's hand tightly, anchoring herself. The physical warmth transferred from his hand suddenly felt incredibly reassuring and solid. That's right, I have Dan. She realized she was anxious about when the boy's mind might change, and worried about when Yeonhwi’s secret might accidentally be exposed, but the key was that she was not alone. Holding his hand, she felt she could overcome whatever despair or torment awaited them in the future.
Besides, when did I ever start worrying about the future so much? I should just live my life as myself, seizing the moment.
Bayen cleanly erased the subtle anxiety that had been plaguing her mind. She smiled openly at Dan, her relief now genuine, and he returned a soft smile, his eyes communicating that he understood every nuance of her inner turmoil. My solid pillar of support. My man. My Sun. Overwhelmed by a wave of gratitude and pure affection, Bayen spontaneously moved her lips.
A Private Moment Interrupted
"I love you," she mouthed silently, her confession meant only for him.
Dan’s eyes widened slightly, surprised that she had expressed it so openly in his office, but the shock quickly transformed into a brilliant, dazzling smile. As he brought her hand back to his lips for a second, lingering kiss, his eyes met hers, now filled with a deep, sensual, charged intensity. Bayen stared at him, mesmerized by his familiar, powerful attraction, and involuntarily swallowed hard. It was always like this with him; when he looked at her with such intent, focused entirely on her, she could barely maintain her composure. Her whole body instantly flushed hot, and her throat went dry.
Just as she was about to push the boundaries of court etiquette and ask, 'When are we done with work so we can retire?' the inner attendant cleared his throat and announced the arrival of Ga Ye-rang. Dan, who had been teasingly fondling Bayen's fingers, subtly frowned at the intrusion for a brief instant, then instantly wiped the expression away, returning to his imperial composure.
"Your Majesty, you called for me." Ga Ye-rang's imposing figure filled the doorway.
"Are you busy, General?" Dan asked, his voice now entirely businesslike.
Ga Ye-rang, who had given Bayen a respectful nod upon entering, concealed his own excitement about the upcoming mission and bowed courteously. "I apologize for the slight delay, Your Majesty. I was organizing the royal guard in preparation for our visit to the Raon Kingdom."
"You seem to be in good spirits, General," Dan observed, a knowing smirk touching his lips.
After months of being confined to the Imperial Palace, when he was used to moving freely across the battlefields, the prospect of a foreign assignment had clearly made him restless. Ga Ye-rang gave an awkward laugh and scratched the back of his head.
***
page 340
The Emperor’s Embarrassment
“It’s my first time going to the Raon Kingdom, Your Majesty, and it’s been a while since I was on proper escort duty. I must confess, I’m a little excited,” Ga Ye-rang admitted, scratching his ear.
“Hmm, I see,” Dan replied, resting his chin on his hand with a lack of concern that suggested he was already bored. Not just a little, but immensely excited, you mean. Ga Ye-rang’s expression was as eager as a child before an outing. His infectious anticipation made it seem like he was going on a joyous vacation, not a dangerous diplomatic and protective mission.
Dan turned his gaze from the General to the small, defiant figure in the room. “Rang, have you seen this child before, the one who caused the ruckus at the inn?”
Ga Ye-rang studied Chechek carefully up and down, his military mind cataloging the boy's features, and then suddenly snapped his fingers in recognition.
“Oh…? Ah! Yes! That child is the Head of the Doo-eok Tribe! He is so young that his face has always stuck vividly in my memory. But… what brings him all the way here to the palace?”
“He says he wants to officially participate in the trade route construction,” Dan supplied casually.
“Is that so? Since they are a tribe famous for their excellent craftsmanship and deep knowledge of stone and architecture, that is truly good news for the project.”
“And,” Dan continued, his voice taking on a dry, humorous edge, “he is also accusing me of being small-minded because I never sent a single word of thanks after they sent the elaborate fountain as a gift of friendship.”
Ga Ye-rang’s broad, eager smile froze completely on his face.
The Semantic Disaster
“Pardon, Your Majesty?” Ga Ye-rang stammered, his eyes darting between Dan and the boy. The joyous anticipation in the room had evaporated, replaced by a dense, awkward silence.
“I suddenly became the Emperor who accepts a grand gift and then ignores the sender, washing my hands of all courtesy,” Dan explained, sounding mildly aggrieved. “That’s his accusation.”
“Uh, what exactly are you saying, Your Majesty? Friendship?” Ga Ye-rang repeated the word as if it were a foreign curse.
“Do you not know the meaning of friendship, General?” Dan asked pointedly. “It is an act to establish a close, mutually beneficial relationship with an opponent who stands on equal footing. That is what friendship means, not conquest.”
“E-Equal footing, Your Majesty?!” Ga Ye-rang was aghast. “But I clearly accepted their surrender at the time, there’s no way that can be true! They were supposed to be absorbed into the Empire!”
Ga Ye-rang’s bewildered expression looked genuinely and profoundly confused, as if he truly didn’t understand the catastrophic misunderstanding. Dan let out a low, heavy sigh—the sound of profound imperial disappointment.
“When you went to conquer the Doo-eok Tribe,” Dan pressed, his tone dropping in severity, “what exactly did that child—the Head of the Doo-eok Tribe—say to you, precisely?”
Ga Ye-rang cautiously looked at Chechek, Myeongha, Juhyul, and then Dan. The atmosphere felt suddenly charged, and he recognized he was standing in a trap. Did I do something catastrophic?
“He said ‘let's be friends and not fight,’” Ga Ye-rang recited, trying to recall the exact, simple words.
“And you took that as a sign of surrender, and simply returned to the capital without establishing a garrison or taking any further action to solidify the conquest?” Dan demanded, leaning forward.
“Was I supposed to take further action?” Ga Ye-rang cried, bewildered. “The truth is, Your Majesty, no one informed me that I needed to do anything else to finalize a bloodless surrender!”
The General's Folly
“Hoo.”
Dan closed his eyes tightly, his facial muscles tensing as he suppressed his mounting, volcanic fury. The sound of his breath escaping was strained.
A man must look out for his own interests; who is going to spoon-feed him basic instructions on conquest and resource management? Dan reminded himself that he had deliberately chosen a somewhat prosperous, skilled tribe for the highly decorated Ga Ye-rang to conquer. The taxes and resources generated from that land were meant to provide for the General’s family for generations. However, this strategically important territory was also coveted by several other ambitious generals, who would certainly never kindly inform Ga Ye-rang of the necessary procedures to secure his new domain.
Even so... Wasn't establishing a military garrison immediately after a conquest basic common sense? That was standard operating procedure for any newly acquired land! To simply retreat based on an ambiguous statement of 'friendship' from a child? Ga Ye-rang had literally kicked away a goldmine!
How could he be so incredibly foolish? Ga Ye-rang was known for being trustworthy precisely because he was straightforward and earnest, rather than quick-witted or cunning. But this wasn't mere sincerity—this was an astounding, almost debilitating level of stupidity.
“You should have stationed troops there to collect taxes and maintain order! They were your subjects, not your friends!” Dan roared, his voice dangerously low but powerful. “How, then, did you collect the taxes all this time if you never took control?”
“Huh? Was I supposed to collect taxes? I thought the land was given to me to simply enjoy! Nobody mentioned taxes!”
“...You utterly foolish man!”
CRASH! Dan slammed his fist down onto the desk, the sound echoing like a gunshot, rattling every scroll and piece of furniture in the enormous office.
**
page 343
The General’s Humiliation and Reprieve
Startled by the furious CRASH! of the Emperor's fist hitting the desk, Ga Ye-rang immediately threw himself forward, prostrating himself completely on the cold floor. He had no precise idea what disaster he had wrought, but the Emperor’s fury confirmed his failure. He was certain that, in this endless saga of his own clumsy errors, nine times out of ten, he was the cause. Ga Ye-rang, resigned to his fate, began pleading instantly.
“Your Majesty, your servant has committed a mortal sin. Please, have mercy!”
He doesn't even know what he did wrong, yet he speaks the language of the doomed... The thought was so absurd it drained the last of the fury from Dan. Hoo. I'd rather die than suffer this headache. Dan slumped heavily back into his chair, utterly defeated by the General’s monumental stupidity.
“Grand General Ga Ye-rang, effective today, I order your confinement to your residence,” Dan declared, his voice heavy with finality. “Naturally, you are also excluded from the escort mission to the Raon Kingdom.”
The punishment hit Ga Ye-rang harder than any physical blow. “What?! Your Majesty! Please, just kill your servant instead! Let me die in battle!”
“Should I? Shall I just grant your wish and cut off your head for dereliction of duty, then?” Dan countered, his tone dangerously flat.
“...” Ga Ye-rang instantly clamped his mouth shut, silent as a mute man who had swallowed honey. The threat was terrifyingly real. His eyebrows drooped so low it looked like he was about to burst into tears of shame and frustration. Dan watched his General’s ashen, miserable expression for a long moment, then asked abruptly:
“How do you feel right now?”
“...About what, Your Majesty?” Ga Ye-rang whispered into the floor.
The Seed of Anger
“You were visibly excited, thinking you were going on a grand trip to the Raon Kingdom, but now that excitement has been snatched away and you cannot go. How do you feel about that sudden reversal of fortune?”
“...” You'd feel good about it? was the visceral question that screamed in Ga Ye-rang's head, but of course, he could not utter such insolence to the Emperor. He maintained a miserable silence.
“Are you angry, General?” Dan prodded.
“...How dare I harbor anger, Your Majesty? It is your supreme command. I accept my fate.”
“That is inconvenient,” Dan stated, a strange glint entering his eye. “I need you to get angry. I need you to be so thoroughly angry that you can barely stand it unless you vent that fury somewhere productive.”
“...Pardon?” Ga Ye-rang finally lifted his head, completely unable to grasp Dan’s incomprehensible intent.
Dan leaned forward, sending the General a deeply meaningful, almost challenging smile.
“I am bestowing a new, crucial mission upon Grand General Ga Ye-rang. Report to the command post and join the Imperial Guard regiment leaving at dawn tomorrow.”
Ga Ye-rang scrambled to his knees. “...What is the destination, Your Majesty?”
Dan twisted his lips into a cold, hard line, the smile vanishing to reveal a core of steel.
The Reckoning at Garnak Village
“Garnak Village.”
Ga Ye-rang instinctively glanced over at Bayen’s face. She, too, looked utterly surprised, as if she were hearing this brutal destination for the very first time.
“Garnak Village, Your Majesty? Why there...?” Ga Ye-rang asked, confused, knowing the village was isolated and insignificant.
“To capture every single one of the fake Siyo-tribe members,” Dan explained, his voice chillingly practical. “They haven't paid their protection tax in years, so shouldn't they repay their debt to the Empire with their bodies? Coincidentally, we have a massive construction project scheduled, and I intend to use them not as simple paid laborers, but as slaves. Therefore, Ga Ye-rang.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“You are responsible for bringing every last one of them back, without exception. Especially, there are certain individuals—key Siyo-tribe figures—you must absolutely not let escape under any circumstance. You already know their faces from your past dealings with Bayen's family. If you fail this time, if even one of them slips through your fingers, I will personally ensure you experience death. Do you understand the severity of this mandate?”
Ga Ye-rang understood perfectly. Even if the village was suddenly raided, some people might manage to slip away like rats in the confusion. Dan was sending him, the one man who had been a regular visitor and who knew the faces of the key villagers, to completely seal off any possibility of escape. He was being given a second chance, a dangerous but vital mission to redeem his failure.
The gloomy, self-pitying mood that had sunk him instantly lifted and dissolved into a surge of adrenaline and focus. Ga Ye-rang answered with a booming, ferocious voice, the full force of his battlefield persona returning:
“Grand General Ga Ye-rang! I will succeed at all costs!”
***
page 346
The Price of Vengeance
“I will trust you to carry out this order effectively,” Dan affirmed.
“...However, Your Majesty,” Ga Ye-rang leaned in, his excitement quickly morphing into a predatory focus.
“What is it, General?”
“I fear I will be unable to contain the rage of being unable to escort Your Majesty unless I unleash it somewhere. May I unleash that necessary violence upon them to ensure compliance?”
“You may discipline them as needed, but do not kill them.”
“They are valuable construction labor, Your Majesty; I wouldn't dream of it. Please do not worry.”
Though he had been publicly humiliated and excluded from the prestigious escort mission, Ga Ye-rang, now entrusted with a far more crucial, unrestrained task, practically swaggered out of the office, his shoulders slightly dancing with dark excitement.
Once he was gone, Bayen forced her tightly set, expressionless face to relax and spoke softly, her voice barely audible.
“Could everyone please leave us alone?”
Myeongha, Juhyul, and the confused child Chechek, who had been standing stiffly like an unwanted sack of grain, quietly left the office. Bayen remained utterly silent for a long time, rooted to the spot after being left alone with Dan. Dan watched her with a calm, penetrating expression. Her lips were pressed so tightly they were white, and her clenched fists were bloodless. He knew exactly what words she was struggling to contain in her chest. She wants to demand why I acted so arbitrarily without consulting her. She wants to scream at me for taking the revenge that was rightfully hers. Dan reached out and gently wrapped his large hands around her tightly balled fists, forcing them open.
The Shared Body
“I knew you believed you hadn't fully completed your revenge against your village. And I knew that was why you were sometimes withdrawn and depressed,” Dan stated, his voice low and steady.
Unable to bear the quiet certainty of his knowledge any longer, Bayen pulled her hands free with a sharp tug and stood up abruptly.
“But, Your Majesty, the revenge must be carried out by my own hands! It must be mine!” she cried out, her voice raw with conviction. “You know that! You watched me during those years of torment! You saw how many tears of blood I cried for what they did! You know how much I hate them, how I’ve waited for this moment!”
“I know,” Dan replied simply.
“You know all of that, and yet how could you not say a single word to me before giving that order? How could you?!”
Her voice, which poured out like a scream of betrayal, trembled violently with fury and despair. Dan gently re-wrapped his hands around Bayen’s white-knuckled fists, restraining her without force, and spoke with calm finality.
“What does it matter who carries out the final act? You and I are one body, Bayen. Your score is my score. Your vengeance is my vengeance.”
A large tear finally escaped Bayen’s eye. Watching her stand stock-still, weeping silently without a single sob, felt like her anguish was physically tightening his very soul. Dan pulled Bayen into his strong embrace, anchoring her to him, and slowly stroked her back, allowing her silent storm to break against his chest.
“It is time to tie the final knot, Bayen. It is time for this particular suffering to end.”
“...But I wanted to do it with my own hands,” she choked out against his shoulder.
“But you couldn't, Bayen. And I know why. You couldn't because your younger brother is in that village.”
The Half-Brother
“...!”
Bayen snapped her head up, pulling back just enough to look at him, her eyes wide with shock. She had never for a moment considered that he would know about Zahan’s existence, let alone his identity.
“You have known for a long time that the Siyo-tribe village wasn't paying their protection tax. I assumed you had already formulated a clear plan for revenge using that financial leverage. But you just watched them, year after year. At first, I didn't know why you were holding back so absolutely. Then, a certain memory came back to me, and I ordered an investigation.”
Dan quietly looked into Bayen’s wide, shocked eyes, demanding her full attention.
“That man who lied under oath in court, claiming you were not Siyo-tribe and nearly ruined your life? The one named Zahan? I investigated his background fully. He is the son of the village Elder. And that Elder is also your birth father. Ultimately, Zahan is your half-brother.”
As Dan said, Bayen had known the truth about the unpaid protection tax—as Head of the Treasury, it was impossible for her to be ignorant. She had indeed formulated a plan to use that debt as an effective means of ultimate revenge. But the reason she could never bring herself to act, to give the final, punishing order, was entirely because of Zahan. Even though his malicious false testimony had once led to her near-downfall, she could never bring herself to condemn her own flesh and blood with the entire village. Dan had recognized her invisible shackle and cut it for her.
***
page 349
The Final Release from the Past
He had buried her mother. That single, simple act—the memory of Zahan's hands, dirty from digging a grave in the frozen ground, his clothes soaked with sweat—and his desperate voice urging her to survive for the sake of revenge—all of it kept shimmering in Bayen's mind, a constant, agonizing shackle. She only needed to bring the knife down, to give the order for their destruction, but the memory made it impossible to be resolute. Did Dan know all of this about my heart? And for how long did he carry this knowledge?
As Bayen’s lips compressed into a thin, white line of self-recrimination, Dan gently reached out, his fingertip tracing her mouth in a soothing gesture.
“Do you remember what I told you a long time ago, when you first began your journey here? What must the one who walks ahead do?” Dan asked, his voice a low reminder.
“...They must be careful not to be caught by the past,” Bayen recited, her voice trembling slightly. “If you cannot forget it, do not be obsessed with it.”
“I want you to be free from the clutches of revenge, Bayen. I don't want you to cling to it any longer,” he stated, his intent now crystal clear. “Haven't I told you before? I am a very jealous man. I am jealous of books, old women, the Black Demon creatures, your personal maids, and even pretty little pebbles.... I am jealous of anything that draws your gaze or touch, and I do not wish to add 'Revenge' to that list of rivals who occupy your thoughts.”
It was a humorous, almost absurd analogy, personifying revenge as a rival lover, but Bayen understood his profound, selfless intent. He was trying to take on the final, bloody burden so that she wouldn't have to stain her own hands with the blood of her kin—the blood of her half-brother Zahan—ensuring she wouldn't have a lifetime of regret. She felt the weight of his enormous love, its magnitude hitting her with an overwhelming, absolute force.
Ah! I see now. I was wrong all this time.
The True Gift of Sacrifice
The revelation struck her with the clarity of lightning. Her mother hadn't simply sent her to the Imperial Palace just so Bayen could survive the Siyo-tribe’s wrath. Her mother had sent her here so she could receive this kind of love—the love of a man powerful enough to challenge destiny itself. To let her feel how profoundly happy it is to be loved so enormously, a love almost too vast and precious to bear. That is why she had sacrificed her life to send her to the Palace.
The moment this truth settled in her soul, the tears that had just begun to subside burst forth in a fresh, unstoppable flood. Bayen buried her face deep in Dan's broad chest, clutching the silks of his robe. Dan responded by slowly, hypnotically stroking the back of Bayen's head, then lowered his voice, making it deliberately solemn and intimate.
“Therefore, I shall issue a command to you, my love, not as your Emperor, but as your Consort. From this moment forward, Hae-gae Bayen must only be obsessed with me.”
Bayen nuzzled her face into Dan's chest like a spoiled child testing the limits of its parent's affection and mumbled playfully through her tears.
“...What punishment will I receive if I disobey your command and think of others?”
Dan paused for dramatic effect. “Well, should I sentence you to a punishment of kissing me until you die? Or perhaps a sentence of saying ‘I love you’ until you die? You choose your fate, my Empress.”
Bayen finally stopped crying entirely and burst into genuine laughter. The absurd sweetness of his threat was the final catharsis.
“The punishments are far too attractive, Your Majesty; they only make me want to disobey your command! Perhaps a different penalty would be better.”
“Is that so? I shall have to contemplate this deeply, then,” Dan replied, still playing the role of the stern, jealous Consort.
The Last Tear
Dan pretended to muse over the problem for a brief moment, then laughed playfully, his eyes full of warmth, and pressed his lips to Bayen’s forehead. Chok. As his lips parted, Bayen lifted her head and gazed into Dan’s face. His eyes, overflowing with such raw, sincere affection it was like warm honey, were fixed solely on her—straight and without a hint of waver. Bayen raised her hand and gently traced the tender corner of his eye, the gesture a physical promise of her devotion.
“What should I do now?” she whispered, her voice husky from tears but light with relief. “Since Your Majesty handles everything, I have nothing left to do.”
Dan smiled, a deeply seductive expression that promised a different kind of labor entirely.
“Just be in my arms, Bayen. That is the entirety of your duty. That is all I need.”
Though he said she should be in his arms, Dan was the one who pulled her closer first. He drew her in strongly, so fiercely that her chest felt constricted by his embrace, and he lowered his head to kiss her lips with absolute, possessive certainty. A long, shaky sigh escaped Bayen as she felt his breath mingle with hers. She hugged him tightly, returning the fierce pressure, and closed her eyes.
A single, final tear rolled down the corner of her eye, slipping into the dark hair near his shoulder.
It was her last tear. The tears of pain, vengeance, and a lifetime of being alone were finally shed.
////////
page 352
The Imperial Farewell
The main street of the capital was a sea of people. Countless Imperial citizens were packed shoulder-to-shoulder along the grand thoroughfare, creating a deafening wave of excitement. They waved colorful banners and personal trinkets, cheering toward the line of majestic carriages passing down the road. Flowers signifying "A pleasant journey" rained down from every window and rooftop, fluttering onto the imperial procession, and talismans wishing for safe return piled up around the wheels of the lead carriage.
“So this is why you specifically told me to prepare an empty carriage for the return journey,” Dan commented, his voice dryly amused as he returned the citizens' cheers with a regal wave of his hand. He sighed, the sound a mix of imperial obligation and profound relief that the internal crisis was resolved, which only made Bayen burst into happy laughter.
“Of course, Your Majesty. We have to collect every last one of those well-wishes, talismans, and gifts. It is only polite to our people,” she teased.
Dan turned to her, his eyes warm and deeply intimate despite the thousands of spectators. “Then I only need to collect one thing for my return journey.”
“Oh? What is that, my Emperor?” Bayen asked, intrigued by his playful mood.
“You.”
Dan pointed directly at Bayen, confirming his sentiment, and then, without any regard for propriety or the assembled crowd, he leaned in and kissed her cheek lightly.
“I only need to take care of you.”
The citizens who witnessed this extraordinarily intimate, public display of affection from the Emperor—a man known for his reserve—responded with a roar of cheers that momentarily shook the very ground.
A New Imperial Tradition
“WHOOAAAAAAA!” The unified cry of the populace was a colossal sound, a force of nature that drowned out everything else.
“Long live the Emperor! The Sun of the Empire!”
“Long live Empress Hae-gae! The Moon who guides him!”
The cheers were so massive the very air seemed to vibrate with the collective sound of their loyalty and affection for the Imperial Couple.
“I told you we should only do things like that when we are alone!” Bayen’s sharp, playful protest burst from inside the protective curtains of the carriage, instantly causing another wave of delighted laughter to erupt among the citizens. Their laughter followed the Imperial procession as it moved out of the city gates. The people stood on the street, cheering and waving their wishes until the carriage carrying the Emperor and Empress was a mere speck, completely out of sight.
This was the first significant diplomatic visit for the construction of the massive trade route between the Raon Kingdom and the Hwadam Empire. It was Bayen's diplomatic triumph. The stubborn, strict, and notoriously difficult elders of the Raon Kingdom's council were, famously, no match for Bayen’s sharp wit and eloquent persuasion. Employing direct negotiation and fiscal logic at times, and subtle flattery and charm at others, she managed not only to secure a lucrative deal for the Raon Kingdom to purchase a substantial amount of Hwadam's weaponry but also secured a continuous, annual invitation to their exclusive hunting competition every winter.
This successful mission set an indelible precedent: from that year forward, a tradition was established where the Raon Kingdom officially visited the Hwadam Empire every summer for trade and negotiation, and the Hwadam Empire, led by the Emperor and Empress, visited the Raon Kingdom every winter. This tradition of shared governance, diplomacy, and enduring love continued until Dan and Bayen breathed their last breath on the same day, at the same time.
/////////
page 354
The Final Gathering
The light of the midday sun streamed through the immense windows of the imperial bedchamber, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. The room, usually reserved for the most private moments of the ruling couple, was filled with many of the most important people in the Empire. Heuk-gwi (the faithful attendant), Suyeon, Mogwa (now senior officials), and even Yeonhwi, the newly ascended 58th Emperor of the Hwadam Empire, stood quietly. His younger brother, Yeondam, who had chosen the studious path of a royal mathematician, was also present.
Bayen, resting peacefully in the enormous bed, met the gaze of each beloved person one by one, her eyes lingering with tender farewells. A faint, peaceful smile touched her lips. She could see them all trying desperately to hold back their tears—a collective effort that was deeply touching to her. Dan, his face lined with age but his powerful aura undiminished, was embracing her from behind, his arms securely wrapped around her frail body. He must have felt the slight tremor of her quiet laughter, as he whispered into her ear, his voice rough with emotion.
“Why are you smiling like that, my Bayen?”
“Because I am happy, my love.”
“What exactly makes you happy at this very moment?” he pressed, his cheek resting against her hair.
“The fact that I can share this last moment—this final breath—with all the people I love, and especially with you... it truly makes me happy.”
“And me. You almost forgot to mention me, didn’t you?”
His voice was a low, grumpy rumble, clearly communicating his mock-offense. Why are you leaving me out of your final list? This man was truly unwavering in his affection and his possessiveness. To show such charming, irrational jealousy right up until the very end was, perhaps, his most endearing, lovable trait.
“Your Majesty belongs entirely to me, after all. It’s only natural and assumed that we are together at the end,” Bayen replied, her voice soft but sure.
Seemingly pleased with this absolute declaration of ownership, Dan pressed his lips firmly against Bayen’s cheek, the lingering warmth a final, sensual reassurance.
The Promise of Eternity
“You are right, as always. I am yours, completely and eternally,” Dan affirmed, his voice thick with devotion.
Bayen shivered slightly at the lingering heat of his breath on her skin. She slowly managed to turn her head and looked up at Dan, her gaze searching his.
“Your Majesty,” she whispered, her strength rapidly failing.
“Hmm?”
“Were you happy? Truly happy with this life we built together?”
“Yes, I was happy,” Dan replied immediately, without hesitation. “Happy beyond words. It was a joy so complete, I struggle even now to describe it.”
Bayen slowly, painstakingly imprinted Dan’s face—which was still remarkably handsome, marked only by the distinguished lines of their shared reign—onto her memory. The familiar red eyes, the prominent nose, the elegant eyebrows, the alluring lips. My man. My Sun.
Her life was complete; she had no regrets or disappointments about her journey. But the sudden, agonizing thought of never seeing this face, of never feeling his touch again, filled her with deep, poignant sorrow. Bayen laboriously raised her hand—it felt impossibly heavy—and stroked Dan’s cheek one final time.
“Listen, Your Majesty,” she murmured, her voice now fragile as glass. “Shall we meet again in our next life?”
Dan gently rubbed his cheek against Bayen’s dry hand, confirming the promise, and then he tenderly kissed each of her short, rounded fingernails.
The Last Breath
“And if I hadn’t suggested it,” Dan teased, his voice husky, “were you planning to abandon me in the next life?”
Bayen’s fading eyes curved into sweet crescent moons, and she offered him a final, serene smile. Dan smiled brightly back at her, his own heart already slowing. Even the fan-like wrinkles etched around his eyes from decades of laughter were beautiful to her now. Looking back, there was never a single moment, from the very first day she burst into his office to this very second, when she wasn't beautiful, wasn't everything. She had always shone like the sun, and he had watched her devotedly, forgetting the blinding light, for she was his absolute center.
My owner. My destiny.
Dan kissed her eyelids, the simple touch lingering. Bayen, who chuckled faintly like a soft, departing breeze, let out a deep, final sigh, utterly exhausted. Then, she spoke softly, her last coherent words.
“I promise. I will be your owner in the next life, too. Give me all of your love, your pain, and your final breath.”
“Yes, take it all, my Bayen. I will give it all to you.”
“...I love you. Dan.”
Whispering her words clearly, though not loudly, she slowly closed her eyes, the expression one of absolute peace, as if she had completed her final, greatest task.
Dan watched her until the very end, his gaze unwavering, and as he felt both his and her breath slow and fade together, he smiled brilliantly. No tears fell. Because he and she would be together forever—their union was immutable. He was not sad. Because he knew, with absolute certainty, this was not the end of their story.
“I cherish you. I cherish you with my entire being, Bayen.”
Dan used the last of his strength to press one final, absolute kiss onto her cold lips. And Bayen breathed her last, feeling his final breath against her own.
Emperor Taemu, Dan, who brought a true golden age of prosperity and stability to the Hwadam Empire, and his Empress Hae-gae, Bayen.
Famous throughout history for the depth of their devotion, they closed their eyes on the same day, at the same time.
/////////
page 358
The Emperor’s Undercover Mission
The young Emperor, Yeonhwi, frowned, adjusting the rough, ill-fitting clothes he wore. They were meant to disguise him as a common laborer, a stark contrast to his usual fine silks.
“Ryeohan, I need you to be extremely careful that no one recognizes my true identity. Do you understand the severity of this?” Yeonhwi commanded.
Ryeohan, the Chief Eunuch, who looked deeply miserable in his own shabby disguise, his face heavily furrowed with aristocratic displeasure, lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Must you truly insist on this elaborate ruse, Your Majesty? If Empress Hae-gae were to find out about this unauthorized trip, the consequences would be... severe.”
“My mother believes I am merely visiting the Raon Kingdom to celebrate my coming of age with a diplomatic tour, so she won't worry,” Yeonhwi countered with a casual wave of his hand. “Besides, technically, it’s not entirely a lie, is it? We are indeed on the road to the Raon Kingdom, just with a little detour first.”
Yeonhwi had fabricated the tale of a celebratory trip to the Raon Kingdom, but the place they had actually arrived was the massive Danleung Bridge construction site—the very project that sealed the legacy of his parents.
“I intend to do some actual, physical work here for a while, to understand the process firsthand,” Yeonhwi explained. “So, you must not, under any circumstances, let anyone discover that you are a eunuch. That means you are not to speak or act with the same flowery airs and pampered demeanor you use in the palace. Is that explicitly understood?”
Eunuch Difficulties
Yeonhwi firmly gave the instruction, then let out a low, exasperated sigh, watching Ryeohan instinctively attempt to brush away a speck of dirt from his sleeve. He immediately snapped in a hushed but dangerously irritated tone.
“Stop fussing over your clothes! They’re supposed to be dirty! How many times do I have to tell you that you won't perish just because a little dust gets on you! And for the sake of the Empire, straighten your shoulders and stand like a man!”
“...I will bear that in mind, Your Majesty,” Ryeohan murmured obediently.
Yeonhwi frowned even more deeply at the eunuch’s sing-song, effeminate speaking style. “I told you not to speak in that manner, either! We need you to sound rough and unrefined!”
“I understand!” Ryeohan immediately shouted in a low, gravelly, and overly spirited tone, trying too hard to correct the error. He then turned away, declaring he needed to register himself as a temporary laborer first. Yeonhwi shook his head, burying his face in his hands as he watched the dramatic, feminine sway of Ryeohan’s hips as he walked off. Was my request to merely stop acting like a eunuch so fundamentally difficult to execute? A chilling premonition settled over the young Emperor: their identities would be exposed before the sun set.
“Hey, you! Who are you?”
“Huk!”
The Doo-eok Flower
Startled by the rough, unexpected voice right behind him, Yeonhwi flinched and quickly spun around, his heart leaping into his throat.
“I asked, who are you? I’ve never seen your face around here. You look like you got lost on your way to a flower shop.”
Yeonhwi took a moment to assess the speaker: short, practical hair, a dark, sun-weathered complexion, and on their hands, a pair of thick, unique gloves emblazoned with an odd geometric pattern—clearly identifying them as a member of the Doo-eok Tribe. He quickly calmed his wildly beating heart, attempting to appear as nonchalant as a common laborer.
“...Ahem, ahem. My name is Yeonhwi,” he managed, trying to sound gruff.
“Wow. That’s a pretty name. It sounds like a name for a scholar,” the person said, walking closer. “I’m Chechek.”
“...Chechek?”
“It means ‘flower’ in the Doo-eok Tribe’s ancient language. Pretty ironic, huh? Doesn’t suit me at all, right?”
You are completely wrong. It suits you perfectly, Yeonhwi thought, finding himself strangely captivated by the person's sharp eyes and bold demeanor. He couldn't quite bring himself to voice the compliment.
“It is not good for a young woman to use such rough, coarse language,” Yeonhwi chastised, adopting a proper, imperial tone by habit.
Chechek’s eyes widened like a surprised rabbit’s, her mouth dropping open in genuine shock.
“...How did you know I was a girl?”
******
page 361
The Peculiar Speech of a 'Novice'
“Because you wouldn't choose the name ‘Flower’ for a boy—it's that simple,” Yeonhwi explained, recovering his composure.
“Ah, I see! So that’s how you noticed?” Chechek exclaimed, her surprise softening to amusement. “I was completely thrown off, because no one has ever figured it out until now. As you can see, my appearance is completely like a boy. The short hair and the clothes really throw people off.”
Round eyes, a cute nose, small lips... Where exactly does she see a resemblance to a boy? Yeonhwi thought, scrutinizing her features. Although the hair was short, her features were delicate; it wasn't enough to genuinely mistake her gender. Yeonhwi slightly tilted his head, ready to offer a proper, courtly explanation, but Chechek’s next question derailed him completely.
“But why is your manner of speaking so strange?”
“...Hm?” Yeonhwi blinked, caught off guard.
“Do you know how weird your tone is? You’re not a palace person, so why do you talk like that? The way you address people is incredibly polite, stiff, and formal. It’s seriously—no, it looks incredibly old-fashioned and pompous.”
Ah! The General was right to worry about my habits! Yeonhwi realized instantly. If he was truly trying to hide his identity as an Emperor, he should have shed his imperial and courtly manner of speaking first. He shouldn't have been so busy chastising only Ryeohan for his eunuch airs.
“I... I am just not used to speaking casually yet, having spent all my life in a very secluded household. No, that... that’s right,” he stammered, awkwardly trying to switch to a more common dialect.
“Hmm. Is that so? Well, it’s bizarre,” Chechek concluded, unconvinced.
The Handshake of Subordination
I sincerely hope I don't get found out before I even start working and ruin my entire mission! Yeonhwi nervously calmed his racing heart, constantly adjusting his collar and looking around. Chechek, however, seemed to have moved on entirely and suddenly thrust out a small, gloved hand towards him.
“...What does this mean?” Yeonhwi asked, confused by the strange tribal custom. “Ah, no, what is this gesture?”
“It’s a handshake,” Chechek said simply.
“...Why?”
“I will kindly take you on as my subordinate. The handshake is like that promise—a formal acknowledgment of the deal.”
Yeonhwi scoffed lightly. “I don’t want to become anyone’s subordinate or follower... I came here to work on my own.”
Chechek threw her head back and shook her shoulders with rough laughter, as if she had heard the funniest joke in the world.
“Ah, I almost died laughing! You are truly a total novice, aren’t you?”
“A novice?”
“You’ve never been on a construction site like this before, have you?”
“...That’s true,” Yeonhwi admitted begrudgingly.
“That must be why you can say such naive things. Alright, listen up,” Chechek said, becoming serious. “You might not know this, but on a construction site, the work is strictly divided and hierarchical. That’s the only way to ensure fast progress and fewer accidents. Therefore, who you align with is extremely important. If you choose the right side and get protection, everything from your assignments to your meals and sleeping quarters will be comfortable.”
The Weight of Destiny
Chechek finished her practical explanation, then puffed out her chest with a confident expression and shrugged her shoulders with proprietary pride.
“I run this place, boy. The Doo-eok Tribe makes the stone for the entire foundation, and I’m the Head. This site basically doesn't move without me, okay? That means I know exactly which jobs are easy, which dining halls serve the best food, and which tents are warm and cozy. You just need to trust me and follow me. Consider yourself lucky to have met the real boss. Now, hurry up and shake my hand! Hurry!”
“Uh... th-thank you, I look forward to working with you,” Yeonhwi murmured, feeling strangely pressured, and clasped Chechek’s outstretched hand. Even though she was wearing thick, patterned gloves, the skin-on-skin contact through the rough material felt inexplicably warm and grounding against his palm.
Perhaps because of that unexpected warmth, his heart suddenly started pounding uncontrollably against his ribs.
Yeonhwi quickly released Chechek’s hand, worried she might notice the strange flush on his face. Chechek immediately snatched his hand back, however, holding his wrist loosely but firmly, and began walking ahead. She pulled him along and said she would give him a personal tour of the workers’ quarters, though he hadn't even asked. He easily could have pulled his hand away—she was small and young—but strangely, he didn't want to.
Yeonhwi fluttered his free hand against his own face, trying to cool his cheeks, but the heat refused to dissipate. Ultimately, Yeonhwi had no choice but to follow Chechek, his face flushed and bowed low, feeling entirely out of control.
With that simple, mandatory handshake, another destiny began to intertwine.
