hwadam-stories

[hwadam-stories]

MASTER OF THE SUN | 태양의주인 | SIDE STORY 2: PART 1

||| VOLUME 1: Prologue

||| TYPE: Light Novel (MTL)

||| TOOL: Google Gemini

||| CONTENT: contains dark and triggering themes (dead dove content), viewer discretion advised.

The black sedan glided along the deserted late-night highway, a silent sentinel against the inky canvas of the sky. Inside, Sunwoo, perched on the edge of the passenger seat, watched his boss in the rearview mirror. Danteo, reclined in the back, seemed lost in thought, a low aria drifting from the speakers, a jarringly elegant counterpoint to the late hour.

"Mr. Yoon," Sunwoo murmured, his voice a silken thread cutting through the music, "Could you please lower the volume a bit?"

"Yes, Director," the chauffeur replied, his voice a low rumble.

The music subsided, leaving an unsettling silence in its wake. Sunwoo loosened his tie, the knot feeling unbearably tight around his neck. Another late night. Another day bleeding into the next, consumed by the relentless demands of his workaholic boss.

"When was the last time I left work on time...?" he mused, the question hanging heavy in the air. He couldn't remember. Not a single instance. The realization hit him with the force of a physical blow. He closed his eyes, the image of his reflection in the office window, a gaunt face illuminated by the harsh fluorescent lights, flashing before him.

He was 32, a prisoner in his own gilded cage. Danteo, his enigmatic and utterly unpredictable boss, had transformed him into a high-earning machine, a cog in the relentless pursuit of wealth and power.

But what good was the money? He never had time to enjoy it. Momo, his beloved cat, had long since given up on him. He'd come home to an empty apartment, the only sound the mournful meows echoing through the sterile silence.

"What if I lose him?" the thought struck him, cold and sharp. "What if I lose the only thing that truly matters?"

He bit his nails, a nervous habit he couldn't seem to break. The same agonizing question replayed in his mind, a broken record: "Should I just quit?"

The fear of burnout, of collapsing under the immense pressure, gnawed at him. He was young, he had a life to live. He had earned enough money, surely. There had to be other opportunities, other paths. But was he truly willing to walk away? To defy Danteo, a man who ruled his life with an iron fist?

"Compatible, my foot," he scoffed inwardly. Danteo was a force of nature, a whirlwind of unpredictable moods and ruthless ambition. He was charming and terrifying in equal measure, a man who inspired both fear and a strange, twisted fascination. He was the epitome of the Dan family, a dynasty built on a foundation of violence and ruthlessness, now attempting to launder its blood-stained past with a veneer of respectability.

But despite it all, Sunwoo couldn't seem to break free. A strange, inexplicable loyalty bound him to Danteo, a loyalty that bordered on the perverse.

"Stop," Danteo's voice cut through the silence, startling Sunwoo.

"Here?" Sunwoo questioned, his eyes wide with apprehension. They were on the bridge, a ribbon of concrete snaking across the dark expanse of water.

"Yes," Dhan said, his voice flat and emotionless.

Sunwoo's heart pounded against his ribs. The late-night stillness, the vast emptiness of the water below, it all felt eerily symbolic. Danteo, with his history of erratic behavior, his unsettling obsession with control, had always made him uneasy.

"Mr. Lee," Sunwoo began, his voice strained, "Parking on a bridge is illegal. It could cause a traffic hazard, and it would certainly damage the company's image..."

Danteo let out a low, amused chuckle. "What image? This is the Dan family. We don't care about image."

Sunwoo winced. The Dan family. The name itself was a legend, whispered in hushed tones in the business world. A family built on a foundation of violence and ruthlessness, now attempting to launder its blood-stained past with a veneer of respectability. Daeho Construction, the company Danteo headed, was a prime example of this facade, a successful enterprise built on a legacy of violence and deceit.

He knew he was playing a dangerous game. Disobeying Danteo was tantamount to treason. But the thought of stopping on the bridge, of being trapped in this confined space with a man whose moods were as unpredictable as the weather, filled him with a chilling dread.

Taeo, with a chilling nonchalance, dismissed both his family and company as a "den of gangsters," a label he readily applied to himself, a product and beneficiary of this very lifestyle.

Sunwoo, though aware of the truth behind this bravado, couldn't help but offer a wry smile. "It's getting colder, sir. You might catch a cold. Please be patient. We'll arrive soon."

Taeo, who had been listening in a brooding silence, slowly opened his eyes. The darkness seemed to amplify the intensity of his gaze, his pitch-black eyes gleaming with an unsettling light. There was no sign of fatigue, no hint of weariness in their depths. "I know you're here because that old woman thinks I'm going to die," he said, his voice a low growl, "but don't overdo it. You're starting to annoy me."

"Chairman Kim always worries about you, sir," Sunwoo replied, his voice carefully neutral.

"She's worried more about the company than me," Taeo scoffed, his voice laced with a bitter amusement. "Enough of this nonsense. Just stop the car."

Watching him speak, his voice smooth and controlled, Sunwoo was momentarily disarmed. It was hard to believe that this man, who just moments ago had been so casually dismissive of life and death, was capable of the terrifying rages that periodically consumed him.

As he scrutinized Taeo's face, a flicker of concern crossed Sunwoo's eyes. Taeo's complexion was unusually pale, an unnatural pallor that starkly contrasted with his usual ruddy health. A sheen of sweat, cold and clammy, clung to his forehead. "Sir, are you... feeling unwell again?"

Taeo, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon, offered no response. His fist, clenched tightly at his side, was a testament to the silent torment within. The veins in his hand bulged, a stark contrast to the stillness of his outward demeanor. It was a clear sign that the phantom pain, that insidious tormentor that plagued him, had returned.

"When did it start?" Sunwoo asked, his voice laced with concern.

"Before we left, I think. I'm not sure," Taeo replied, his tone surprisingly indifferent, almost detached, as if discussing someone else's ailment. Yet, the underlying tension in his voice belied his outward composure. He had been enduring this agonizing pain for over an hour, a silent prisoner within his own body.

Phantom pain. It was a cruel irony, a torment inflicted upon him by his own mind, a constant, insidious reminder of the invisible scars that marred his soul. There was no escape, no cure. He would endure it, pushing through the waves of agonizing pain, until he reached his breaking point, until the rage erupted, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake.

This was the reality of living with Taeo, a constant vigilance, a perpetual state of readiness for the inevitable explosion. It was the reason for Sunwoo's continued employment, a grim duty born out of a shared past and a reluctant sense of responsibility.

"Sunwoo, please take care of Taeo," Chairman Kim Ok-bun's voice echoed in his mind. "Even though he's difficult, he does listen to you."

Sunwoo and Taeo were more than just colleagues; they were childhood companions, bound by the invisible threads of a shared upbringing. Perhaps that was why Taeo, despite his volatile nature, seemed to exhibit a begrudging respect, even a begrudging affection, towards Sunwoo. Of course, this "gentler" side of him was a rare and fleeting phenomenon, a fragile flower blooming only in the rare moments when his inner demons were temporarily subdued.

Remembering his grandmother's request, Sunwoo handed Taeo the painkillers and water he always carried with him. "Here."

"It won't work anyway," Taeo dismissed the gesture with a wave of his hand. "So what's the point? Just stop the car. Maybe the cold air will help."

"... Mr. Yoon, please pull over," Sunwoo instructed, his voice firm.

"Yes, sir."

The luxurious sedan came to a halt in the middle of the bridge, an island of stillness in the vast, inky expanse of the night. Sunwoo watched Taeo step out of the car, his movements stiff and deliberate, and couldn't help but feel a surge of pity.

'Poor guy,' he thought, his gaze following Taeo's retreating figure. Despite his wealth, his power, his undeniable charisma, Taeo was a prisoner in his own gilded cage, a victim of his own demons. He had everything, yet he possessed nothing.

Taeo leaned against the icy railing of the bridge, the cold October wind biting through his clothes. He had stepped out of the car not to escape the pain, as Sunwoo had assumed, but to escape the fury that threatened to consume him. The rage was building, a monstrous thing clawing at the edges of his sanity. If he remained in the confined space of the car, he feared he might unleash a torrent of violence, a destructive force that could leave him broken and isolated.

This phantom pain, this torment that had plagued him for lifetimes, was a constant, a suffocating presence in his life. It began in the distant past, when he had lived as 'Dan', a name that echoed through the corridors of his forgotten memories. Over seven reincarnations, he had experienced countless realities, from the grime and grit of medieval Europe to the vibrant, fantastical worlds where magic reigned and dragons soared through the skies. His appearance, his occupation, his very existence had shifted with each rebirth, yet one constant remained – the agonizing, inexplicable pain.

For nearly 500 years, across these disparate lifetimes, Taeo had endured this inexplicable agony. It wasn't that he resented the pain itself. In a way, it was a perverse comfort, a tangible proof of his connection to her.

No, his anger was directed at the unseen, the unknown force that was inflicting this suffering upon her. His violent outbursts, those terrifying episodes of self-destruction, were born from the unbearable frustration of being unable to protect her, to shield her from the cruelties of the world.

"Damn it, they must have hit her hard," he muttered, his voice a low growl, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.

Even though the pain was a phantom, a mere echo of a distant suffering, it felt agonizingly real. The phantom blows, the phantom injuries, mirrored her own with chilling accuracy. If she had been struck as violently as he was experiencing it, her lip would be split, her skin bruised, her delicate form ravaged.

As the initial wave of pain began to subside, a cold sweat broke out on his back, clinging to his skin like a shroud.

His clenched fist ached, the deep crescent marks where his nails had dug into his flesh a stark reminder of the internal struggle he had endured. It was a strange dichotomy, this disconnect between the intensity of her suffering and the relative insignificance of his own physical pain.

Her pain was a beacon, a searing, inescapable truth, while his own agony felt like a pale imitation, a shadow of the true suffering.

Taeo lifted his gaze, his eyes drawn to the night sky. The recent rain had washed the city clean, and the stars were unusually bright, a breathtaking spectacle in the heart of the bustling metropolis.

The full moon, a luminous orb hanging heavy in the inky canvas of the night, cast an ethereal glow on the river below. It was a scene of breathtaking beauty, yet Taeo felt nothing. He was a vessel, hollowed out by centuries of pain and longing, incapable of experiencing joy or wonder.

He could only truly feel when he was experiencing phantom pain, when the echoes of her suffering resonated through his very being, or when the ghosts of his past lives rose up to haunt him.

"Hey, Your Majesty, shall we meet again in our next lives?"

"Of course, are you trying to abandon me?"

"Alright, alright. I'll be your servant again in our next lives. I'll give you all my love, my pain, and even my last breath."

"Very well. Take it all. It's all yours."

"... I love you, Dan."

"I cherish you. I cherish you with all my being, Bayan."

The words, spoken in a language long forgotten, echoed through his mind, a haunting melody from a forgotten era. He had promised to find her, to be her protector, her servant, to devote his existence to her well-being. Yet, after seven lifetimes, he had failed. He had no clues, no hints about her identity. He didn't know her age, her appearance, her race, or even her gender. All he knew was that she was a woman, and that her suffering was inextricably linked to his own.

The phantom pain was the only evidence of her existence, a cruel, tantalizing reminder that she was out there, somewhere, suffering. But even that was a dead end. He couldn't go around inflicting pain on others, testing their reactions, searching for a mirror image of his own agony.

So, in his fifth lifetime, he had given up hope. He had accepted his fate, the endless cycle of pain and longing. He had no reason to live, no purpose to his existence. Yet, he continued to exist, a ghost haunting the edges of his own life, enduring the agony of a life without meaning.

"I promised to give you everything..." he whispered, the words a mere breath against the cold night air.

Seven lifetimes. Seven chances to find her. And yet, he had failed every time. The thought was both infuriating and heartbreaking.

He closed his eyes, the weight of centuries pressing down on him. At thirty-two years old, his body was young, but his soul was ancient, weary from the endless cycle of rebirth and suffering. He didn't know how much longer he could endure this existence, this endless cycle of pain and longing, this eternal search for a woman he might never find.

He opened his eyes and gazed at the river flowing silently below. Tears refused to come. Over countless lifetimes, he had learned to suppress his emotions, to harden his heart against the pain, becoming a vessel of suffering, devoid of any genuine human emotion.

Taeo leaned against the bridge railing, the cool evening air doing little to soothe the turmoil within him. He had come here not to escape the pain, as Sunwoo had assumed, but to quell the rage that threatened to consume him. The memories, vivid and agonizing, kept flashing before his eyes: the woman's terrified face, the sound of her cries, the cold, metallic taste of blood in his mouth.

"I wonder if she's feeling the same way," he thought to himself, his voice a mere whisper against the wind. "Lost and alone, like a ship adrift at sea. Maybe she's crying right now, overwhelmed by it all."

The words echoed in his mind, a haunting reminder of his own loneliness, a loneliness that had deepened with each passing year.

"If I have to give you up for your happiness, then so be it," he had whispered, his voice hoarse with unshed tears. "You live your life. I'll endure the time."

"So please... please don't cry somewhere I can't reach you."

The words, spoken with a desperation he hadn't realized he possessed, still echoed in his mind.

Taeo stood there for a long time, lost in thought, the city lights blurring before his eyes. Sunwoo, who had been watching him intently the entire time, let out a sigh of relief.

"Shall we go, sir?"

Taeo leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. Sunwoo knew he would have to report today's incident to Chairman Kim Ok-bun, which meant his plans for a peaceful weekend were likely ruined. He could already hear her nagging: "Go to the hospital, see a counselor, or maybe try dating..."

"Anywhere but the mansion," Taeo said flatly, his voice devoid of emotion.

"Where would you like to go, sir?"

"Somewhere quiet," Taeo repeated, his voice a mere whisper.

Sunwoo inwardly groaned. It was late, and finding a suitable place at such short notice would be difficult. Nevertheless, he quickly began searching for options.

A hotel was out of the question; he needed something more secluded. The apartment he had prepared for entertaining overseas clients would be perfect.

A short while later, they arrived at a high-end apartment complex in Ilsan. Sunwoo handed Taeo the key card. "It's number 4501. There's another apartment on the same floor, but I think it's vacant. Please rest comfortably this weekend. I'll pick you up at 8 AM on Monday."

Taeo took the card without a word and stepped into the elevator. He was feeling particularly low after today's ordeal. The memories, vivid and agonizing, kept flashing before his eyes, a constant torment that he couldn't seem to escape.

As the elevator doors opened on the 45th floor, a young girl in a school uniform was sitting on the doorstep of the apartment opposite his. She was barefoot, her hair a mess, and she was clearly crying. She looked as if she had been kicked out of her home, a picture of vulnerability that mirrored his own internal state.

Taeo felt a surge of irritation. It seemed his peaceful retreat was already being disrupted. He would have ignored her, but something about the girl's forlorn figure made him pause.

Noticing his presence, the girl quickly wiped away her tears and tried to compose herself. She had long, dark hair that she hurriedly tucked behind her ears. As she looked up, Taeo was struck by her face. It wasn't just her beauty that caught his attention, but the large, red handprint that marred her pale cheek.

**********

EARLIER....

Hayeon stared at the mock exam results, a wave of familiar dread washing over her. Though her score had improved slightly, the familiar knot of anxiety tightened in her stomach. It was a rare day indeed when she wasn't met with criticism or disappointment.

The memory of her adoption, a calculated political move orchestrated by her ambitious father, still lingered. Five years old, she had been plucked from her orphanage and thrust into a world of gilded cages and carefully constructed facades. Ban Ik-jung, her adoptive father, a rising star in the political arena, had used her adoption to rehabilitate his image after a public scandal.

The press had lavished praise upon him, portraying him as a compassionate and benevolent figure. He had even held a press conference, his face etched with feigned remorse, as he cradled the tiny orphan in his arms.

Public opinion, easily swayed and easily manipulated, had quickly turned in his favor. The scandal was forgotten, replaced by a narrative of redemption and compassion. Ban Ik-jung, the disgraced politician, had been reborn as a hero, a man of the people.

And Hayeon? She had become a prop, a symbol of his newfound virtue.

Since then, he had relentlessly cultivated the image of the loving and devoted father. He would appear on television, his face beaming with pride as he spoke of his "daughter," a constant reminder to the public of his charitable nature. Each time he gushed about how lucky he was to have a daughter like her, a wave of nausea would wash over Hayeon.

"Who treats their 'lucky charm' like this?" she muttered to herself, her voice a low growl.

She began her walk home, the cold autumn wind doing little to chill the simmering anger within her. The memory of her childhood, once filled with fleeting moments of joy, now felt like a distant, forgotten dream.

As she approached the imposing apartment building, a familiar dread washed over her. Her home, a place that should have offered safety and comfort, had become a prison, a constant source of stress and anxiety.

She longed to escape, to break free from the suffocating grip of this gilded cage. To run away, to disappear, to find a place where she could finally breathe. But she was a realist. She had no money, no resources, no support system.

And her adoptive parents, with their obsession with appearances, would never allow her to simply vanish. They would hunt her down, bring her back, and punish her for daring to defy them.

She had been planning her escape for a long time, a meticulous and carefully constructed plan. She knew she needed to be patient, to bide her time. She had survived fourteen years of this; she could endure a few more months. "Almost there," she murmured to herself, a mantra to keep her spirits afloat, as she stepped into the elevator.

As she opened the door to the apartment, the scene that greeted her was a familiar one. Her adoptive parents were ensconced on the plush sofa, a bottle of expensive liquor gleaming on the coffee table. A bowl overflowing with exotic fruits sat between them, a testament to their privileged lifestyle.

Hayeon forced a neutral expression, knowing that her father's mood would be unpredictable after a few drinks.

Shin Ae-jung, her stepmother, barely acknowledged her presence. "Received your report card?" she inquired, her tone devoid of warmth.

Hayeon had grown accustomed to this curt dismissal, this casual disregard for her feelings. It was a daily ritual, a constant reminder of her secondary status in this household.

Shin Ae-jung, with her carefully cultivated image of the doting mother, loved to boast about her son's academic achievements. Hyukjun, their biological son, was the golden child, the heir apparent to the family legacy. He received the best tutors, the most expensive clothes, the unwavering support of his parents.

Hayeon, on the other hand, was an afterthought, a mere accessory, a pawn in their carefully orchestrated public relations campaign.

"Of course, you can aim even higher," Shin Ae-jung said, addressing her husband, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. "Maybe even Korea University."

Hayeon felt a pang of bitterness, a familiar ache in her chest. Hyukjun, with his private tutors and unwavering parental support, was destined for greatness. While she, the unwanted daughter, was expected to succeed on her own.

She handed over her report card, the crumpled paper a testament to her frustration. Shin Ae-jung's expression soured as she glanced at the grades.

"Look at this mess," she scolded, her voice sharp. "Why are you so careless? Do you want to ruin this family?"

Hayeon remained silent, her gaze fixed on the floor. She had heard these accusations countless times before. Her adoptive mother, obsessed with maintaining their carefully constructed image, seemed to believe that Hayeon's failures were a reflection on their own inadequacies.

"A shaman once warned me that you would bring misfortune to this family," Shin Ae-jung hissed, her voice laced with venom. "That's why you need to be kept in check. You need to be broken."

The irony of the situation was not lost on Hayeon. Her adoptive parents, driven by superstition and a desire to control her, were actively sabotaging her own well-being. They were the ones who were truly destroying the family, their obsession with appearances and their relentless pursuit of perfection tearing them apart from within.

"I'm trying my best," Hayeon replied calmly, her voice steady despite the rising fear within her. "I can't sacrifice my future to boost Hyukjun's ego."

Before she could speak any further, her father's hand lashed out, striking her across the face with a resounding slap.

Hayeon crumpled to the floor, the impact jarring her already throbbing knees against the cold, unforgiving marble. The burning sensation on her cheek, where Ban Ik-jung’s hand had landed, pulsed with a dull ache, yet it was a distant echo compared to the hollowness inside her.

“Is that how you repay us for everything we’ve done for you?” his voice boomed, laced with a venom that chilled her more than the marble floor. “If it weren’t for us, where would you be now? Get up!”

Hayeon remained motionless, her gaze fixed on a dark stain on the carpet. The words, so often repeated, were like barbs piercing her skin, each one twisting deeper with familiarity.

“Can’t you hear me? Get up!” He yanked her hair, the sudden force snapping her head back. Before she could even register the pain, his hand connected with her face again, sending her sprawling. She landed with a sickening thud, her breath catching in her throat.

“Ha, ha,” she gasped, trying to draw air into her lungs. Even though she had offered no resistance, had simply stood there and absorbed the blows, her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence of her acquiescence. Her left cheek throbbed, the numbness spreading.

She tried to push herself up, but her limbs felt like lead. She stumbled, her vision blurring, and fell again. The room swam around her, the ornate chandelier above her head a dizzying kaleidoscope of light.

“Honey, don’t hit her so hard. She has school on Monday,” Shin Ae-jung’s voice drifted in from the background, devoid of genuine concern. It was a casual observation, a mere suggestion, not a plea for Hayeon’s well-being.

Ban Ik-jung ignored her. His face, contorted with rage, loomed over Hayeon. “How dare you, not even groan? You’re so heartless!” he roared, the remnants of his earlier drinks slurring his words. He drained the last of his glass and tossed it aside. “You don’t deserve to study. Go get a bag. We’re going to burn all your textbooks and notebooks.”

Shin Ae-jung, ever compliant, returned moments later with a large shopping bag. Ban Ik-jung snatched it from her, his eyes burning with a cruel satisfaction. He stormed out of the apartment, leaving Shin Ae-jung trailing silently behind him.

As soon as the door slammed shut, the oppressive silence descended, broken only by the frantic pounding of Hayeon’s heart. She scrambled to her feet, her movements clumsy and desperate. She stumbled towards the front door, her only thought to escape. She burst out of the apartment and into the hallway, the cool night air a stark contrast to the stifling atmosphere she had left behind.

She jabbed at the elevator buttons, her fingers trembling. But as she waited, her hand hovering over the call button, she froze. Where would she go? The question hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. She had no money, no friends she could impose on, no place to call her own. Despair washed over her, and she sank to the floor, tears streaming down her face, mingling with the lingering sting on her cheek.

Just as she was about to succumb to the waves of despair, she heard the distant hum of the elevator ascending. Someone was coming. A surge of panic coursed through her. She quickly wiped at her tears with the back of her hand, trying desperately to compose herself. She couldn’t let anyone see her like this, broken and vulnerable.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft whoosh, revealing a tall, imposing figure. He paused in the doorway, his eyes scanning the hallway. Hayeon’s breath hitched. He was the last person she wanted to see right now.

He was incredibly tall, easily over six feet, his broad shoulders and powerful frame filling the hallway with his presence. Hayeon could feel her heart pounding in her chest, each beat echoing in the sudden silence.

But it wasn’t just his height that made her freeze. It was his face. She had never seen anyone so handsome. His features were sharp and defined, sculpted with an almost arrogant grace. His eyes, dark and piercing, seemed to hold a depth she couldn’t fathom.

She forced herself to look away, her gaze darting to the patterned wallpaper, but she couldn’t resist the urge to glance back. It was as if she were drawn to him, captivated by his presence. She knew she had to stop staring. It was rude, inappropriate. She tried to offer a polite smile, but it felt forced and awkward, a grimace rather than a greeting.

Just as she was about to avert her gaze again, she noticed something strange. The man was staring at her, his eyes wide with surprise, bordering on shock. It was as if he had seen a ghost, his expression a mixture of disbelief and recognition.

Hayeon felt her cheeks flush crimson. She quickly looked away, suddenly acutely aware of her disheveled appearance. She was a mess, her face bruised and swollen, her hair tangled and dirty. She imagined the dark circles under her eyes, the remnants of her tears.

She wanted to disappear, to melt into the floor and vanish from his sight. But she was frozen in place, her limbs refusing to obey her commands. She could only stand there, trapped in the awkward silence, under the intense scrutiny of his gaze, feeling more vulnerable and exposed than she had ever felt in her life.

******************

Taeo glanced at the name tag on the girl's uniform, his eyes lingering on the unfamiliar name. Hayeon. He looked up, his gaze meeting hers. Her dark, bright eyes, wide with a mixture of apprehension and defiance, met his own. A spark, unexpected and unsettling, ignited within him.

"Hello. I think you just moved in next door," she said, her voice surprisingly steady despite the late hour.

He didn't respond, his mind still reeling from the encounter with his parents. The phantom pain, a constant, agonizing reminder of his past, seemed to have receded, replaced by a strange sense of calm.

"We moved into 4502 three months ago," she continued, her voice slightly hesitant.

Taeo remained silent, lost in his thoughts. The girl's bruised cheek, the echo of her father's violent outburst, it all seemed to fade into the background. Were they just a coincidence? A fleeting image, a momentary connection?

"Don't worry, I'm not weird," she said, her voice softening. "I just... came out for some air while studying."

Taeo finally nodded, acknowledging her presence. "Student?"

"Yes, I'm in my third year of high school."

Third year? How old would that make her? He mentally calculated her age, then chuckled at himself. What difference did it make? This girl, with her fiery spirit and defiant gaze, was a stranger in his life.

"I didn't ask your age," he said, his voice gruff.

"Oh... Well, why did you even ask?"

"To tell you to shut up. I don't want to be woken up by some kid crying in the middle of the night."

The girl's eyes widened in surprise, but she didn't shrink back. There was a spark of defiance in her eyes, a refusal to be intimidated. Most people, even hardened criminals, would cower in front of him. But this girl, she was different. She stared at him, her gaze unwavering, her chin tilted slightly upwards.

Taeo was surprised. He had faced down countless adversaries, but this girl, with her fiery spirit and defiant attitude, was something else entirely.

Taeo couldn't help but smile. There was something oddly refreshing about this girl's audacity.

He leaned in slightly, his tone softening, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Listen, kid, I'm not a good person. You should stay away from me."

The girl's eyes widened. "You're even meaner than you look."

Taeo chuckled, the sound low and rumbling. He hadn't intended to scare her, but he supposed it was a natural reaction given his reputation. "You're pretty brave for a kid your age," he admitted. "Most people would be terrified of me."

The girl shrugged. "I've seen worse."

Taeo was taken aback by her nonchalant response. He had faced down countless adversaries, but this girl, with her defiant gaze and fearless attitude, was something else entirely.

Taeo found himself intrigued by this girl. There was something about her that reminded him of himself, a certain rebellious spirit, a defiance of the expected. He thought about the woman in his dreams, the woman he had been searching for lifetimes, a woman who, he imagined, would possess a similar strength and resilience. And then he thought about this girl, standing before him, her eyes filled with a mixture of fear and defiance.

He took a cigarette from his pocket and lit it, the flame flickering in the darkness. As he inhaled the smoke, he watched the girl carefully. She was staring at him with a mixture of curiosity and contempt, her eyes assessing him with an unexpected intensity.

"You know," he said, exhaling a plume of smoke, "I'm not all bad."

The girl raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, right. And I'm a princess."

Taeo chuckled, the sound low and rumbling. "Maybe you are."

He watched her for a moment longer, a strange sense of amusement washing over him. He hadn't felt this… amused in a long time. It was a strange sensation, a flicker of something unexpected, something that might just break through the years of isolation and despair that had been his constant companion.

Dhan, a flicker of amusement still dancing in his eyes, leaned against the cool wall, a cigarette dangling loosely between his fingers. “You know what a gangster is, right?” he asked, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate in the quiet hallway. “Those guys who stuff people into drums and bury them in the mountains. I have tons of those underlings.”

Hayeon, despite the prickle of fear that ran down her spine, couldn't help the scoff that escaped her lips. “Don’t lie,” she said, her voice laced with disbelief. “How could a gangster live in a place like this? This apartment is really expensive.”

Dhan chuckled, a dark, unsettling sound that sent a shiver down her back. “Haven’t you seen any movies?” he countered, his eyes glinting in the dim light. “I bought this place with money from selling drugs and organs.”

Hayeon’s gaze remained fixed on him, her expression unreadable.

“So next time you see someone like me, run away,” he continued, his voice hardening, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by something colder, more menacing. “And don’t be so friendly. Don’t go around giving out personal information like that.”

“Are you threatening me?” she asked, her voice surprisingly steady despite the tremor in her hands.

“Threat? More like giving you a friendly warning,” he corrected her, a cruel smile twisting his lips. “If you so much as touch me, you’ll regret it.”

Hayeon felt a chill crawl up her spine. She understood now. He wasn’t just trying to scare her; he was playing a game, a dangerous game of cat and mouse, and he was enjoying the power he held over her.

“I’m only telling you this because I’m feeling generous today,” he said, his voice softening slightly, the menace receding, but not entirely disappearing. “Don’t forget it.”

Dhan smirked, a predatory smile that sent another shiver down Hayeon’s spine. He raised his head, as if about to spit on the ground, a gesture of casual disregard. But something in her eyes, a flicker of defiance that refused to be extinguished, made him pause. He crushed his cigarette butt under the heel of his expensive shoe, the small sound echoing in the quiet hallway. He turned and walked towards his apartment door, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer, a silent message passing between them.

He swiped his card and stepped inside, the door closing behind him with a soft, decisive click. For a moment, he stood in the darkness of his hallway, the lingering echo of her rapid heartbeat, or perhaps his own, resonating in his ears.

A moment later, he heard the distinct click of a door closing in the apartment next door. The hallway lights, triggered by his presence, flickered and then turned off, plunging him back into darkness.

Dhan’s lips curved into a slight frown. The fleeting amusement he had felt with the girl, the spark of something different, was gone, replaced by a familiar, gnawing emptiness. He kicked off his shoes, expensive Italian loafers, and walked into his spacious apartment. The silence was deafening, a heavy blanket that smothered all sound.

Everything was perfectly in order, meticulously maintained by his staff. The furniture gleamed, the artwork hung precisely, the temperature was perfectly regulated. Yet, it felt devoid of life, a sterile reflection of his own soul. A deep sense of loneliness washed over him, a familiar ache in his chest. It was as if his apartment was a mirror, reflecting the cold, empty spaces within him, devoid of any genuine connection.

He thought of the girl, Hayeon. Her defiance, her unexpected resilience, the way she had looked at him, not with fear, but with a strange mix of apprehension and something else… something he couldn’t quite decipher. She reminded him of a stray kitten he had once seen – small and fierce, unafraid to hiss and scratch. But there was also something else there, something deeper, a spark of vulnerability hidden beneath the bravado. A connection he couldn't quite explain, a flicker of something unexpected, a spark of something that might just break through the years of carefully constructed walls, the years of isolation and despair that had been his constant companion.

He walked deeper into his apartment, the darkness enveloping him like a shroud. He was a man who had everything – wealth, power, respect. Yet, he felt an emptiness that no amount of material possessions could fill. He was a prisoner of his own making, trapped in a gilded cage of his own design. And tonight, in the quiet solitude of his luxurious prison, he wondered if the girl next door, with her defiant spirit and her unwavering gaze, had somehow, unknowingly, offered him a glimpse of something more, a flicker of hope in the darkness.

***********

THE NEXT DAY

Hayeon’s eyes fluttered open, greeted by the harsh glare of morning light filtering through the blinds. A groan escaped her lips, her head throbbing like a drum. The events of the previous night surged back, vivid and unsettling – the stinging slap, the white-hot rage, the icy grip of fear as she’d fled the apartment. Every muscle in her body protested as she tried to sit up, a symphony of aches and pains.

“Ugh,” she moaned, the sound muffled by the thick comforter. Her cheek throbbed, a dull ache radiating outwards, and her knees screamed in protest, a reminder of their brutal encounter with the marble floor. She’d anticipated some soreness, but this… this was debilitating. A feverish heat crept through her limbs, adding to her misery.

“I should have known better than to go out in the cold yesterday,” she muttered, pulling the comforter tighter around her.

The apartment was eerily silent. Her parents were likely already gone, embarking on their annual charity pilgrimage to the orphanage. Every year, the ritual was the same: a visit to the orphanage where Hayeon had spent her early childhood, a generous donation (carefully calculated for maximum publicity), a few obligatory photographs with the wide-eyed children, and then a swift retreat to a luxurious resort for a weekend of “relaxation” and self-congratulatory indulgence.

While they played the role of benevolent philanthropists, meticulously crafting their public image, Hayeon was left to navigate the wreckage of their emotional neglect. She was an afterthought, a prop in their carefully constructed facade.

Two days of freedom. Finally, she thought, a fragile sense of relief flickering within her. The constant scrutiny, the veiled criticisms, the ever-present tension – all of it would vanish in their absence, leaving behind a blessed, if temporary, peace.

She finally managed to drag herself out of bed, her movements slow and deliberate. Her stomach rumbled, but the thought of food was unappetizing. She usually ate at school, a convenient way to avoid the awkward, tension-filled meals at home.

“Wow, this is a mess,” she murmured, surveying the chaos of her room. Her desk, usually a sanctuary of order, was a disaster zone, books and papers strewn across the surface like debris after a storm. Her parents, in their blind rage, had ransacked her belongings, systematically destroying her study materials.

She’d managed to salvage a few essential textbooks, hiding them under her mattress, but everything else was gone. Even her notebooks, filled with her meticulous notes and carefully crafted diagrams, had been confiscated, leaving her desk bare and desolate.

She wasn't a prodigy, but she was a dedicated student. She genuinely enjoyed learning, finding a strange comfort in the rhythm of studying, the way it focused her mind and allowed her to escape, if only for a while, the suffocating reality of her life. Studying gave her a sense of purpose, a way to carve out her own identity in a world where she was constantly being molded into someone else’s image.

She sank into her chair, the emptiness of the room pressing down on her. She pulled out one of the hidden textbooks, its pages filled with her annotations and highlighted passages. As she flipped through the book, a small, dark stain caught her eye. She sniffed, and a metallic scent filled her nostrils.

Her nose was bleeding.

“Oh, great,” she muttered, grabbing a tissue from the drawer. She pinched her nostrils, trying to stem the flow, but the bleeding seemed to be getting worse, not better.

She realized she needed a bandage, but her parents had probably hidden the first-aid kit, along with everything else they deemed “dangerous” or “unnecessary.” She considered going to their room, but she knew the door would be locked, as always. They always locked their door when they left, a silent accusation, as if she were a common thief, ready to pilfer their precious belongings, or worse, invade their carefully guarded privacy.

She leaned her forehead against the cool wood of their bedroom door, a wave of helplessness washing over her. She was trapped, not just by the locked door, but by the invisible bars of their indifference.

Just as she was about to give up, a memory surfaced – the tall stranger from the night before, the intimidating man with the piercing red eyes. He might be able to help her. She hesitated, the memory of his gruff voice and intimidating presence flashing through her mind. But the throbbing in her head was intensifying, and the nosebleed showed no signs of stopping.

Hopefully if she came knocking at his door, he won't be as heartless as he seemed.

Maybe he can help… ugh, but what if he’s actually dangerous? He did seem kinda intense last night. Hayeon’s thoughts were a jumbled mess. Still, her feet were already moving, like they had their own little rebellion going on. Next thing she knew, she was standing outside his door, hand hovering over the bell. Okay, seriously? This is a terrible idea. Her heart was going nuts, a full-on drum solo in her chest. She remembered his gruff voice and that whole intimidating vibe and almost bolted. But her head was pounding, and the thought of being alone and helpless in her apartment was just…no.

Fine. Just ring the bell and get it over with. She jabbed the button. The chime echoed down the quiet hallway. She waited, holding her breath like she was about to jump into a pool of ice water. Then, the intercom buzzed, and she heard someone walking to the door. The lock clicked, and the door creaked open.

He was standing there, hair all wet like he’d just gotten out of the shower. He was wearing just a plain white t-shirt and some gray sweats, way more chill than his whole “intimidating stranger” look from last night. He looked surprised to see her, his eyes widening a little. They looked…worried, maybe? And something else, something she couldn't quite place. His eyebrows were all furrowed, like he was seriously alarmed.

Damn. He was even better looking up close. His face was sharper, more defined, and his eyes – those same crazy blue ones – were intense enough to make her forget what she was even doing there. She opened her mouth to say something, like, “Hey, sorry to bug you,” or “I’m kinda dying here,” but before she could get a single word out, the room started to do that spinny thing.

“You okay?” he asked, and he actually sounded…concerned. Like, for real. His face was all scrunched up, his eyes searching hers like he was looking for something.

Hayeon shook her head, feeling super dizzy. The next thing she knew, she was being scooped up into his arms, like she was a feather or something, and carried inside. The last thing she saw before she passed out was his face, all scrunched up with worry. Which, honestly, was the weirdest, most unexpected thing of all. He looked genuinely freaked out, which was kind of a trip.

**********"""""

That morning, Dhan braced himself. The phantom pains, a constant torment since the previous night, had intensified, a relentless throbbing in his skull that threatened to overwhelm him. He’d tried to push through them, to drown them out with a punishing workout, but the exertion only made them worse. It was as if his body was a traitor, a constant, agonizing reminder of a past he desperately wanted to forget.

He stood at the kitchen window, the morning light a weak imitation of the vibrant sun he craved. He took a slow sip of water, the cool liquid doing little to soothe the burning in his throat. His head pounded, and a strange tingling sensation started in his nose. Great. Am I getting a cold now, too?

Just as he was indulging in a moment of self-pity, a sharp knock echoed through the quiet apartment. He frowned. He never had visitors, especially not at this hour. He glanced at the clock. It was still early. With a groan, he went to answer the door.

He was surprised to find Hayeon standing there. She looked pale, almost sickly, with dark circles under her eyes. Her nose was bleeding, and she clutched a tissue to her face, her expression a mask of pain.

Dhan was taken aback. He hadn’t stopped thinking about her since their strange encounter the night before. The unsettling connection he felt to her, the inexplicable pull, had only grown stronger with the intensifying phantom pains that had plagued him all night.

He watched as Hayeon swayed, her knees buckling. Instinctively, he reached out, catching her before she could fall. Her body was burning against his, her skin clammy and cold. He carefully lifted her into his arms, surprised by the surge of protectiveness that washed over him. He carried her inside, his movements surprisingly gentle.

He laid her gently on the couch, his gaze fixed on her pale face. Her breathing was shallow and rapid, and a small moan escaped her lips. He placed a cool cloth on her forehead, his touch hesitant but surprisingly tender.

He’d seen his share of violence, of suffering. But seeing her like this, so vulnerable, so clearly in pain, stirred something within him. The phantom pains, the echoes of his own past, seemed to recede, replaced by an all-consuming concern for her well-being.

He’d spent years searching for an explanation for the recurring pains, consulting countless doctors and specialists, all to no avail. And now, this girl, suffering from what seemed like similar symptoms… It was as if their lives were intertwined, their destinies inexplicably linked by some force he couldn’t comprehend.

He sat beside her, his gaze fixed on her pale face, a strange sense of calm settling over him. For the first time in years, the gnawing emptiness that had haunted him seemed to lessen, replaced by a nascent sense of purpose.

“Hayeon…”

Dhan murmured her name, a strange sense of recognition washing over him. He paused, his gaze drawn to her. She was clutching a tissue to her nose and mouth, her face ashen. He couldn’t tell if the blood staining the tissue was from her nose or her mouth, but the sight of it, the sheer vulnerability it represented, tightened something in his chest.

He wasn’t unaccustomed to blood, to injury. His… experiences… had ensured that. But this was different. Something about her situation resonated deep within him, a chilling echo of his own pain.

He remembered their brief encounter the night before, the way she’d looked at him, a mixture of fear and a defiance that seemed too fragile to hold. He’d sensed a vulnerability beneath the surface, a hidden hurt that mirrored his own.

He tried to dismiss the feeling, telling himself it was just a coincidence, a trick of his tired mind. But the image of her pale face, the blood-soaked tissue, lingered, a haunting reminder of their shared fragility.

Dhan’s heart pounded against his ribs as he watched Hayeon struggle for breath. A wave of panic surged through him, a primal instinct to protect, to shield. He had to help her. He couldn’t just stand there and watch her suffer.

He forgot about the intercom, about the simple button that would unlock the door. He bolted from his apartment, his footsteps echoing in the hallway. He threw open her apartment door, his eyes frantically searching for her.

Hayeon was standing just inside the doorway, her eyes wide with surprise. She managed a weak smile, her lips trembling. “Mister…” she croaked, her voice barely a whisper.

Before she could say another word, her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed. Dhan reacted instinctively, his arms reaching out to catch her. He pulled her close, her body limp and heavy in his embrace.

He felt the heat radiating from her skin, a burning fever that sent a chill down his spine. He carried her inside, his mind racing. He had to get her help. He had to do something.

As he gently laid her on the couch, he was struck by a chilling sense of déjà vu. He felt like he’d seen this before, that he’d experienced this pain himself. The phantom pains that had plagued him for years suddenly seemed to make sense. They weren't just echoes of his past; they were a connection to her, a shared suffering that bound them together in some inexplicable way.

He stared at her face, his heart still pounding. Who is she? What is her connection to me? And why did he feel this overwhelming urge to protect her?

He didn’t have time to think. He needed to act. He gently lifted her head and placed a cool cloth on her forehead, his touch surprisingly tender.

As he sat there, watching her sleep, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was caught in something larger than himself.

Was it fate? Coincidence? Or something far more profound?

LATER....

“Her fever was high, which is why the nosebleed was so persistent,” Dr. Choi explained, his voice calm and professional. “The bleeding’s under control now, so you don’t need to worry.” He glanced at Dhan, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “She seems to have a nasty cold. I gave her an IV with a fever reducer. Let her sleep it off, then give her the medicine I prescribed. Oh, and it’s strong stuff, so make sure she eats something beforehand.”

He paused, waiting for a response, but Dhan remained silent, his gaze fixed on Hayeon’s sleeping form. Dr. Choi frowned. Was he even listening? He knew Dhan wasn’t one for idle chatter, but this level of detachment was…unusual, even for him.

Dr. Choi, the Dan family’s personal physician, had been summoned urgently by Dhan. He’d half-expected to find Dhan injured again, a frequent occurrence when the phantom pains became unbearable. Instead, he’d found Dhan perfectly fine, but a young girl he’d never seen before unconscious on the couch.

Who is this child? he wondered. She looked far too young to be mixed up with Dhan. A student, maybe? How had they met, and why was she here, in Dhan’s private apartment? The pieces simply didn’t fit.

Adding to the puzzle was Dhan’s strange demeanor. The usually sharp and guarded man seemed…distant, almost vacant. He was never exactly “normal,” but this level of dissociation was unprecedented.

“Just to be clear,” Dr. Choi said cautiously, breaking the silence, “Assaulting a minor is a serious crime. Especially given your…history.” He chose his words carefully, mindful of Dhan’s volatile nature.

Dhan finally reacted, his eyebrows arching with a hint of annoyance. But his gaze didn’t waver from Hayeon. “Do you think I hit her?”

“I didn’t know for sure,” Dr. Choi admitted. “You called me here in a panic, and…” He trailed off, letting the unspoken question hang in the air.

“I may be a jerk,” Dhan said, his voice low and even, “but I’m not that low.”

“So you’re saying you had nothing to do with her condition?” Dr. Choi pressed. “That’s a relief.” He’d been considering the possibility of calling a lawyer or reporting the incident, so he was genuinely relieved by Dhan’s denial.

Dr. Choi relaxed slightly, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes as he removed his gloves. “I thought you’d finally gotten yourself into real trouble, bringing a minor into your apartment. Who is she, anyway?”

“She’s my neighbor,” Dhan replied, his voice flat.

“Oh, your neighbor… wait, what? Neighbor?” Dr. Choi’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. He knew Dhan often retreated to this apartment when Chairman Kim’s pressure became too much. It was clearly a place for privacy, a refuge from the constant scrutiny of his family.

“Yes, neighbor,” Dhan repeated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Dr. Choi was stunned. He knew Dhan valued his privacy above everything else. This apartment, with its sterile, almost uninhabited feel, was proof of that. How had he even noticed who lived next door?

“Do you know her name?” Dr. Choi asked, still trying to make sense of it all.

“Ban Hayeon.”

“She looks like a student,” Dr. Choi observed.

“She’s a high school senior,” Dhan confirmed.

Dr. Choi was taken aback by the casual way Dhan answered his questions. He himself had only learned Dhan’s full name recently, despite being the Dan family’s physician for two decades. He probably still didn’t know his age.

“You seem to know a lot about her,” he commented, a hint of suspicion in his voice.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Dhan scoffed. “I just met her yesterday.”

“…And you brought her here?” Dr. Choi couldn’t help but ask, incredulous.

“I couldn’t just leave her there, injured,” Dhan replied, his voice devoid of emotion.

Dr. Choi was astonished. He’d never expected such a “normal” response from Dhan. He sensed a subtle but significant shift in the man’s demeanor.

Dhan was notoriously averse to having anyone in his personal space. It was the reason he chose to live apart from the main family residence, preferring the isolation of the annex. While helping an injured person was basic human decency, such common decency rarely factored into Dhan’s actions. He was, for all intents and purposes, emotionally detached from the world around him.

It was likely a result of the years of suffering from phantom pain, a psychosomatic condition that had warped his perception of reality. He was indifferent to everything and everyone, except, perhaps, the woman who haunted his dreams.

For him to bring an injured girl into his home…it was nothing short of a miracle. Dr. Choi could easily imagine Dhan remaining completely unmoved even if someone were dying right next to him.

“Hayeon is very weak,” Dr. Choi observed, his professional gaze assessing her condition. “She’s a senior in high school, so her parents must be feeding her all sorts of supplements, but she’s so thin.”

Dhan said nothing.

“She probably starves herself to lose weight,” Dr. Choi continued, his voice laced with concern. “This could be a serious problem. You need to tell her parents to make sure she eats properly.”

Again. Nothing.

“Mr. Tae-oh?” Dr. Choi prompted, waiting for a response. He was witnessing a side of Dhan he had never seen before, a side that hinted at empathy and compassion he never suspected existed. This unexpected development left him both intrigued and slightly uneasy.

Dhan remained fixated on Hayeon, seemingly oblivious to Dr. Choi’s parting words. He couldn’t tear his gaze away. She lay still, her breathing shallow and even. He wondered what it was about her that held him captive, what strange pull she exerted.

Dr. Choi, observing Dhan’s intense focus, felt a prickle of unease. He couldn’t quite define it, but something about the situation felt…off. He dismissed the thought as quickly as it came. Don’t be ridiculous, he chided himself. Dhan falling for someone? Impossible. Especially someone so young. She was barely nineteen. Even if she was technically an adult in a few months, Dhan wasn’t the type… He wasn’t a monster. Was he?

“Well, I should be going,” Dr. Choi announced, breaking the silence. “Call me anytime if you need anything.” He gave Dhan one last, searching look, then turned and left.

Even after Dr. Choi had gone, Dhan remained by Hayeon’s side, his eyes never leaving her. She was so small, so fragile-looking, lying there with the IV drip attached to her thin arm. Her face, pale against the dark cushions of the sofa, seemed even more vulnerable, more innocent.

Dhan slowly reached out a hand towards her bruised lip. He needed to know. He needed to confirm the connection he felt, the inexplicable link between her pain and his own phantom pains. He’d felt a pang of sympathy, a sympathetic ache in his arm, when Dr. Choi had inserted the IV. But was it real? Or was it just his imagination, playing tricks on him?

He hovered his hand just above her lip, his fingers trembling slightly. He hesitated. He was afraid. Afraid of what he might find. Afraid that this was all a delusion, a cruel trick of his mind, desperate for the connection he had craved for centuries.

Frozen in place, Dhan watched as Hayeon’s long eyelashes fluttered. A small, almost imperceptible movement. Then, a soft groan escaped her lips.

“Ugh…”

It was the first sign of life in nearly eight hours. Dhan held his breath, his heart pounding in his chest. He watched as Hayeon slowly began to stir, her eyes still closed. He could see her pupils moving beneath her thin eyelids. Finally, her eyelids fluttered open, revealing large, dark eyes that seemed to take in her surroundings with a mixture of confusion and disorientation.

“Mister…” she murmured, a weak smile gracing her lips.

Dhan couldn't speak. His throat felt tight, his emotions a tangled mess. He felt a lump forming, a sensation he hadn’t experienced in…centuries?

“Did I faint?” Hayeon asked, her voice still groggy. “Where am I…oh?”

She suddenly sat up, her eyes widening as she took in her surroundings. The movement made her dizzy, and she swayed slightly.

Dhan instinctively reached out and grabbed her arm, steadying her. The moment his fingers touched her skin, a jolt of pain shot through his arm, a sharp, unmistakable phantom pain.

At the same moment, Hayeon winced, her face contorting in pain. “Ah, it hurts,” she gasped.

“…Hurts?” Dhan asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“Of course it hurts,” Hayeon said, her tone slightly irritated. “You’re pressing on the IV site.”

“It really hurts?” Dhan pressed, his grip tightening slightly on her arm.

“…It hurts,” Hayeon confirmed, wincing again. “Why are you holding it so tight?”

“It’s real,” Dhan whispered, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “It’s not a dream.”

“What?” Hayeon asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.

“Finally…” Dhan choked out, his voice thick with emotion. “I found you…”

Hayeon looked at him, her confusion deepening. She was the one who had been sick, yet Dhan seemed to be in a far worse state.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice filled with concern. “You look so pale. You’re going to faint…”

She reached out a hand towards him, then stopped, unsure. Dhan was crying, tears streaming down his face.

“Mister, why are you crying?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly. “Is it because you’re really in pain?”

She frantically grabbed some tissues and offered them to him, her movements awkward and hesitant.

Dhan didn’t even look at the tissues. He just stood there, tears silently falling.

Hayeon was taken aback. It wasn't at all what she had expected. Seeing a grown man cry like that…it wasn't pathetic. It was…beautiful. And heartbreaking. She felt a pang of sympathy for him, an unexpected wave of tenderness.

“If it hurts that much, you should have said something,” she said softly. “Please stop crying. Where does it hurt? Should we go to the hospital?”

She desperately wanted to hug him, to comfort him, but she didn't dare. Instead, she gently dabbed at his tears with the tissues she had given him.

“But…” she began, a playful glint in her eyes, “why is a gangster so emotional?”

“I yearned for you, desperately,” Dhan whispered, his voice thick with centuries of unshed tears, each word heavy with the weight of longing. “The pain of life was unbearable, each breath a stab wound to my heart, a constant, gnawing ache. I even wished you free of this cursed cycle, even if it meant forgetting me, erasing me from your memory entirely. If forgetting me would bring you happiness, a life free from the suffering we shared, then so be it. I’d bear the pain, the loneliness, the endless yearning, for both of us, if it meant you could finally be at peace.”

“But then we met,” he continued, his voice trembling, raw with emotion, each syllable a testament to the depth of his love. “Without warning, like a sudden, unexpected gift, a miracle I hadn't dared to hope for. After five hundred years…you're back by my side.”

Dhan clenched his fists, his entire body shaking with the force of emotions he’d held captive, buried deep within him, for centuries. Emotions that threatened to shatter the carefully constructed walls around his heart.

How is this even possible? The question echoed in his mind, a mixture of disbelief and overwhelming joy.

The world, moments before a dull monochrome, a muted landscape of gray, exploded into vibrant color. A torrent of sensations flooded his senses, overwhelming him, each one a revelation. He could feel the warmth of the sun streaming through the window, a gentle caress on his skin, the soft texture of the couch beneath his fingertips, a comforting reminder of the present. A faint, sweet fragrance, like honeysuckle and rain, drifted through the air, a scent he hadn't realized he'd missed, a scent that spoke of life and renewal.

And then, the tears he thought had long since dried up, frozen by centuries of pain, began to flow, unstoppable, a deluge of relief and joy, washing away the accumulated sorrow of ages.

He wasn't ashamed to show her his tears. He was simply overjoyed that he could cry again, that the wellspring of human emotion hadn’t been completely frozen within him, that he was still capable of feeling, of loving. He felt alive, truly alive, for the first time in centuries, the weight of his immortality momentarily lifted.

Hayeon gently patted his cheeks with a tissue, dabbing at his tears with a soft, concerned expression, her brow furrowed with worry.

“If it hurts that much, you should have said something…” she murmured, her voice soft with concern, her touch gentle and reassuring. “Please stop crying. Where does it hurt? Should we go to the hospital?”

Her dark eyes, filled with worry, her gentle gaze, her earnest words…

My…my… His heart swelled with an emotion he couldn't name, a feeling of overwhelming tenderness.

Damn it, I’m so happy. The thought echoed in his mind, a burst of pure, unadulterated joy.

An overwhelming joy surged through him, a feeling beyond anything he could have imagined, a feeling that made the sacrifices, the suffering, the endless wait, all worthwhile. If someone told him he had suffered for five hundred years just for this moment, just to see her again, to hear her voice, to feel her touch, he would have readily agreed.

This euphoria, this overwhelming happiness, was worth any price, even five hundred years of torment.

“But why does a gangster cry so easily?” Hayeon teased gently, a playful glint in her eyes, her lips curved in a soft smile.

Dhan looked down at her, his tears still flowing freely, his heart overflowing with love.

Hayeon’s expression was one of concern and sympathy, nothing more. There was no spark of recognition, no flicker of shared memory, no echo of their past lives in her eyes.

Bayan’s hadn’t been like that.

Even without words, just by looking into her eyes, he had always known the depth of her love, a love that was his and his alone, a love that transcended time and space.

But Hayeon’s eyes held no such affection, no recognition of their shared past, no hint of the profound connection he felt so deeply.

Could it be…? A cold dread began to creep into his heart, a chilling premonition that threatened to extinguish the fragile flame of his joy.

“Are you feeling better now?” Hayeon asked, tilting her head, her expression curious, her eyes searching his.

“You…” he began, his voice hoarse, the joy beginning to recede, replaced by a chilling premonition, a sense of impending doom.

“Yes?”

“You…you don't remember?” He forced the words out, his voice barely a whisper, clinging to the last vestiges of hope.

“Remember what? Did I do something weird while I was asleep?” Hayeon’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“Don't you recognize me?” He pressed, his voice desperate.

“Recognize you?” Hayeon’s expression remained blank, her eyes searching his face, but finding nothing familiar.

Hayeon studied his face intently, then her eyes widened, a flicker of something akin to recognition sparking within them.

“Ah! There is something!” She exclaimed, a hint of excitement in her voice.

“What?” Dhan asked, hope flickering in his chest, a desperate grasp at a lifeline, a desperate plea for her to remember.

“Well, when I saw you yesterday, you looked strangely familiar.” Hayeon explained, her eyes sparkling.

“Really?” Dhan’s heart leaped with renewed hope.

“So I thought about it, and you know what? You look a lot like Kim Dan-woo, the actor!” Hayeon declared triumphantly, her face beaming with the satisfaction of solving a puzzle.

“……” The air seemed to thicken, the silence heavy with unspoken words.

“Actually, you’re a bit more handsome, though.” Hayeon added, a playful smile gracing her lips.

The wave of euphoria, the overwhelming joy, crashed against the jagged rocks of reality, leaving him gasping for air, the force of the disappointment a physical blow. Dhan stared at Hayeon, a forced smile plastered on his face, a mask to hide the crushing disappointment, the agonizing realization that threatened to engulf him entirely.

He had been so sure that once they met again, their love would rekindle, just like when they were Bayan and Dan, their souls recognizing each other across the vast expanse of time.

Hayeon's age wasn't a problem. He could wait. He had waited centuries, what was a few more years?

After living for five hundred years, age was a mere number, an insignificant detail in the grand tapestry of time. He would have loved her even if she were an eighty-year-old woman.

But Hayeon didn't remember their past life. She didn't remember their love. And it seemed the phantom pains, the agonizing connection to their shared past, were unique to him, a cruel reminder of his enduring love, a love she no longer shared, a bond she no longer recognized.

Could she ever love him in this life? Could a nineteen-year-old girl see a thirty-two-year-old man, a man burdened by centuries of memories and pain, as anything more than this?

Of course not. The thought echoed in his mind, a cold, hard truth that settled in his heart like a stone.

What am I supposed to do now? The question echoed in the sudden emptiness that had opened up inside him, a vast, echoing chasm that threatened to swallow him whole, leaving him adrift in a sea of despair.

After centuries of yearning, he had finally found her. The reality of her presence, so close yet so unattainable, was a torment. He craved her, a primal hunger that clawed at him, demanding to be sated. He imagined the feel of her lips beneath his, the warmth of her skin against his. He wanted to kiss her deeply, passionately, until she cried out, to explore every inch of her with his touch. The agonizing distance between them felt unbearable, a chasm he desperately wanted to bridge.

He could restrain himself… for now. But he knew his control was a fragile thing, a thin thread stretched to its limit. There would be a breaking point, a moment when the dam of his restraint would shatter, and the torrent of his desire would be unleashed.

And when that happened… he didn't know what he was capable of. The darkness within him, the primal urge to possess what he had finally found, terrified him. He might even force himself upon her, a thought that both thrilled and repulsed him in equal measure.

The realization was a crushing blow. He had to push her away. If she stayed, he wouldn't be able to control the overwhelming emotions and desires that threatened to consume him, to corrupt him.

After 500 years, he had finally found her, only to realize he couldn't have her. The irony was a bitter pill he couldn't swallow. He closed his eyes, a wave of despair washing over him.

"…Go," he commanded, his voice rough and strained, hoping the harshness would drive her away.

"Excuse me?" Hayeon responded, her voice laced with confusion, her eyes searching his.

"I said go," he repeated, his tone colder this time, sharper, anything to make her leave.

Hayeon, clearly taken aback by his sudden shift in demeanor, bowed politely, a flicker of hurt in her eyes. "It seems I've stayed too late," she said, a hint of disappointment in her voice. "Thank you so much for your help today."

"There's medicine on the dining table. Take it with you," he said, his voice still hard, unwilling to soften.

"Um, is it medicine to take after a meal?" she asked hesitantly, her hand reaching for the doorknob.

"Of cour—"

Grumble.

A loud, undeniable growl emanated from Hayeon's stomach. She blushed slightly and rubbed her belly sheepishly. "I haven't eaten since last night," she admitted, her eyes meeting his again.

"…So?" he replied, trying to maintain his cold facade, his heart twisting at her vulnerability.

"Could you give me some food?" she asked, her large, expressive eyes pleading with him.

"Why should I?" he challenged, his resolve wavering.

"I don't have anything to eat at home," she explained, her voice small. "Since you've helped me this far, could you buy me a meal?"

Hayeon looked up at him, her dark, expressive eyes meeting his. The familiarity in her gaze, the innocent trust, was almost unbearable, a painful reminder of what he had lost, what he could never have again.

He hated himself for finding her shamelessness, her audacity, so endearing. Why can't you recognize me? he thought desperately, the question a constant ache in his heart.

He wanted to grab her, to beg her to remember, to tell him she loved him as she once did.

But he couldn't. He had to protect her, even from himself. He forced himself to remain indifferent, his voice flat, betraying none of the turmoil within him.

"Alright," he said, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. "I can buy you a meal."

"Really?" Hayeon's face lit up, her earlier confusion and hurt replaced by a bright, hopeful smile.

"But it's not for free," he added quickly, his voice hardening again, trying to rebuild the wall he had so desperately tried to erect between them. "Is that okay with you?"

Hayeon's smile faltered slightly, a hint of uncertainty flickering in her eyes. But her gaze remained steady, unwavering. She stared at him, her large eyes beneath her thick eyelashes searching his, trying to read him.

Taeo knew what that look meant. It was trust. Blind, unwavering trust that he wouldn't hurt her. It was a trust he knew he didn't deserve.

"I know you won't do anything to me," she said softly, her voice filled with a conviction that made his heart ache. "You're… different from other adults."

"You're not a good student, are you?" he scoffed, trying to deflect the warmth of her trust with a cynical jab.

"No," she retorted, a hint of playfulness returning to her eyes. "I'm quite good at studying."

"Then why are you so dense?" he snapped, his words harsher than he intended. "I told you last night. I'm a scumbag."

"But you helped me," she argued, her voice gentle but firm. "You even gave me medicine."

"I was thinking of taking advantage of you," he growled, trying to intimidate her, to push her away, to make her see him as the monster he feared he was.

"…I'm a minor," she reminded him, her voice unwavering, her gaze unwavering.

"I didn't think you'd see me as someone with a conscience," he sneered, the self-loathing in his voice thick. "Didn't you think I'd be even more eager since you're a minor?"

"Don't lie," she insisted, her eyes still locked on his, refusing to be intimidated. "You're not that kind of person."

"I don't know what you believe about a lowlife like me," he said, his voice laced with self-disgust. "Hey, student, why do you think I cried?"

"…I don't know," she whispered, her eyes filled with genuine confusion.

"Tears are the most effective on innocent kids like you," he explained, his voice dripping with cynicism, trying to paint himself in the worst possible light. "They're easy to deceive."

"Then why did you tell me to leave?" she asked, her voice barely audible, her eyes searching his, as if trying to unravel the complex emotions swirling within him.

“Thinking about it,” Dhan began, his voice laced with a cruel indifference he didn’t truly feel, each word a carefully crafted weapon, “it seems like I won’t be getting anything out of you for the time being. You had your fun yesterday.” He watched as Hayeon’s confused expression twisted into hurt, then anger. Good. Let her be angry. It was better than the trust he didn’t deserve, the hope he knew he would only crush.

What is she thinking with that little head of hers? he wondered, a pang of guilt twisting in his gut, a sharp, unwelcome reminder of his humanity. Betrayal, hurt, disgust…it must be a whirlwind of emotions. Precisely what he intended.

He leaned closer to Hayeon, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her skin, a warmth that both attracted and repelled him, a dangerous temptation he had to resist. Gently, he blew on her face, a feather-light touch that sent her glossy black hair swaying softly, a silent apology, a touch he longed to give but knew he couldn't. He wanted to touch her, to hold her, to pull her close and confess everything, but he knew he couldn't. He had to protect her, even from himself.

Hayeon glared at him, her eyes narrowed with resentment, a spark of defiance flickering within their depths. Good. Let her hate him. It was better than the truth, better than the pity he didn’t want, the love he didn’t deserve.

Dhan whispered into her ear, his voice dangerously soft, a stark contrast to the harshness of his words, each syllable a carefully honed blade, “I’m not the kind of guy who brings a cute little thing like you home just to feed you. So, why don’t you run along while I’m still letting you go?” He saw her eyes glisten, the threat of tears hovering just beneath the surface, a fragile dam about to break. But she didn't cry. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, wouldn’t show him the pain he was inflicting. And that, somehow, hurt even more than her tears would have.

Dhan clenched his trembling hands into fists, digging his nails into his palms, the pain a welcome distraction from the turmoil within him. He had to remain cold, distant, untouchable. He turned away from her, his back a shield against her hurt, his posture radiating indifference.

“Go,” he repeated, his voice firm, brooking no argument, each word a nail hammered into the coffin of their brief connection.

He grabbed a glass, his hand shaking slightly, the tremor betraying the carefully constructed facade of indifference, and poured himself some water. Drip…Drip… The glass was half full when he heard hurried footsteps, the sound of her retreating, the echo of her leaving.

A moment later, the front door slammed shut, the sound echoing through the quiet apartment, a sharp, decisive punctuation mark to their encounter. The finality of it, the sharp, decisive sound, resonated within him, a hollow echo in the emptiness he had so carefully cultivated, an emptiness that suddenly felt vast and unbearable.

The water overflowed from the glass, spilling onto the sink, a mirror of the turmoil within him, the chaos he was desperately trying to contain. Dhan stared at the water pooling on the floor, a dark stain spreading across the pristine surface, then closed his eyes tightly, trying to shut out the image of her hurt, confused face, the memory of her pain.

She won't come back now. The thought echoed in his mind, hollow and unconvincing, a desperate attempt to justify his cruelty. Hate me. Despise me. Run far, far away from me. Don't ever come back.

Before I lose control and grab you, he finished the thought, the fear of his own desires, his overwhelming longing for her, a cold knot in his stomach, a constant reminder of his weakness.

Dhan emptied the glass into the sink, the clatter of glass against metal a sharp punctuation mark in the silence, a futile attempt to silence the voices in his head. He went into the bedroom, his movements heavy, his body weary, his spirit broken.

He collapsed onto the bed, covering his eyes with his arm, trying to block out the memories, the images that haunted him, the echo of her hurt voice. He wanted to forget everything, to simply shut down, to sleep, to escape the reality of what he had done. But his mind was too clear, too alert, replaying the events of the day, every word, every look, every touch, every stolen moment of connection.

“Ha…” he sighed, the sound a mixture of exhaustion and despair, a sound that spoke of centuries of pain.

Hayeon's tearful eyes, her hurt expression, kept flashing before him, haunting him, a constant, agonizing reminder of his cruelty.

Please, stop thinking about her! Please! he pleaded with himself, but the image of her was burned into his mind, etched into his soul.

Dhan couldn't stay still any longer. He suddenly sat up, his body restless, his mind tormented, driven by a concern he couldn't suppress.

She needs to eat before taking the medicine, he thought, the concern for her wellbeing overriding his desire to forget her, to push her away. He immediately chastised himself for the thought, recognizing the weakness it represented, but he couldn't help it. He cared. He grabbed his phone, his hand moving almost instinctively, and called Sunwoo.

“Sir, or should I say, Taeo,” Sunwoo answered, his voice laced with exasperation, a hint of long-suffering patience. “Can’t you take a break on the weekend?”

“Have the abalone porridge set from Eunhyeon-gak delivered to 4502,” Dhan instructed, his voice curt and businesslike, masking the turmoil within him.

“What? Where?” Sunwoo asked, confused.

“4502. And don’t tell her I sent it,” Dhan clarified, his voice hardening, trying to distance himself from the act of kindness.

“Then who should I say sent it?” Sunwoo asked, his confusion deepening.

“Just make something up. Say it was you,” Dhan replied, dismissing the details, not wanting to admit his concern, his lingering connection.

“…Does that make sense?” Sunwoo muttered, clearly unconvinced.

“And find out everything you can about someone,” Dhan continued, ignoring Sunwoo’s question, his mind already moving on to the next task. “Name: Ban Ha-yeon, Yeongmyeong Girls' High School, 3rd year. From her family relations to her school life, everything.”

“Ban, who? Wait, are you drunk?” Sunwoo asked, concern lacing his voice, sensing the change in Dhan, the shift in his usual demeanor.

“As soon as possible,” Dhan emphasized, his voice brooking no argument, his tone demanding.

He hung up, tossed his phone onto the bed, and stared out the window.

Outside, darkness had fallen, enveloping the city in its embrace, mirroring the darkness that had settled in his heart.

He knew he would be having another sleepless night, his mind replaying the events of the day, the image of Hayeon's hurt eyes a constant torment, a wound that refused to heal.

[hwadam-stories]

MASTER OF THE SUN | 태양의주인 | PART 3 (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT)

||| VOLUME 1: CHAPTER 3

||| TYPE: Light Novel (MTL)

||| TOOL: ChatGPT

||| CONTENT: contains dark and triggering themes (dead dove content), viewer discretion advised.

"Those damned girls. Is it really my fault they couldn’t make it to the Empire? What was I supposed to do when Saran left them behind? She’s the one who abandoned them! And here I am, picking up the pieces! Ugh!"

Bayan winced, her lips sore from the previous outburst. The corners of her mouth had split slightly, and now the sting of the fresh wound throbbed painfully. She gingerly touched her lips, trying to ease the discomfort. As the pain lessened, her fingers ran through her hair, which was now in disarray from the fight. So much of it had been yanked out that her scalp felt raw in places.

Even though Saran had been gone for two months, the harassment from Galmi and Yul hadn't stopped. The two girls, once careful not to escalate things physically, now attacked her without restraint. It wasn’t even just physical anymore — they had abandoned their pretensions of civility, and every encounter felt like an assault. They were no longer simply unkind; they were vicious.

Bayan longed to fight back, to stand up to their cruelty. But she knew better. If she dared to defend herself, their parents would be quick to intervene, and the consequences for her would be severe. The thought of such retaliation didn't scare her, though. What really troubled her was the idea of her mother finding out. She could endure the physical pain — the bruises and cuts would fade. But the idea of her mother, knowing that her grown daughter was still being tormented by a couple of village girls, filled her with shame. She would rather bear the pain in silence than let her mother see her humiliation.

By the time she reached her home, the cuts on her face had already begun to heal. She wiped the dried blood from her lips with the edge of her sleeve, hoping it would be enough to cover the traces of the recent fight. But just as she was about to open the door, her steps faltered.

Standing in front of her house was a figure, tall and commanding, pacing with measured steps. It was Danim, the elder and head of Ganak Village.

His silver hair was immaculately combed, and his long white beard gave him an air of dignity and power. His eyes, sharp and unforgiving, seemed to pierce through anyone who dared to meet his gaze. Though his body was stooped with age, and his belly hung low, Bayan knew that Danim was younger than he appeared. The rumors said he had ascended to the position of elder at a remarkably young age, gaining an almost unnatural level of influence.

Bayan lowered her head in respect. "Elder, what brings you here today?"

"What concern is it of yours?" he responded sharply.

"...I apologize."

Danim's face twisted into a sneer, his eyes filled with contempt. The disdain in his gaze made Bayan feel smaller than she already did.

"What is this nonsense with your hair? You look like you’ve been tumbling with a fool. It’s clear you inherited your mother’s talents for spreading your legs. Don’t you think about the diseases you might catch? You’re behaving recklessly."

"Elder..." Bayan mumbled, feeling the weight of his words like a physical blow.

Everyone in Ganak Village knew of the torment she endured at the hands of Galmi and Yul, but Danim's cruelty cut deeper. He didn’t simply stand by and watch — he participated, adding his own venom to her suffering. His insults weren’t just directed at her; they were a judgment on her mother as well, as though their very existence was a stain on the village’s reputation. Though she had grown accustomed to his verbal abuse, it never stopped hurting.

How much longer could she endure this torment? How much more of her dignity could she sacrifice before it broke her?

A bitter laugh almost escaped her lips, but she quickly swallowed it, her chest tight with emotion. Her voice barely above a whisper, she replied, "...That’s not true."

"Not true?" Danim's eyes narrowed as he sneered at her. "Look at you. You’ve been a burden on this village for far too long. I’ve been feeding and sheltering someone like you, and yet you can’t even manage to hold yourself together. What do I owe my ancestors for tolerating your presence?"

"...I’m sorry."

He let out a disgusted sound and spat on the ground. "You disgust me. Get out of my sight."

"Yes, take care."

Bayan lowered her head in a deep bow, her face nearly touching the ground as she quickly turned and made for the door.

"Bayan!"

Her hand had just reached the doorknob when Danim’s voice stopped her in her tracks. She turned back, dread filling her chest. Danim’s narrowed eyes fixed on her, suspicion swirling in them.

"If you think you can just run away, forget it. If you leave this village, it will be like spitting in the face of everything we’ve worked for. This village’s reputation, our standing, everything we’ve built will be dragged through the mud because of you. And don’t think you can escape the consequences of that. You’ll just end up dead. Understand?"

His words hit her like a death sentence. Was he truly threatening her? Could he really do something like that?

Bayan already felt dead inside. What difference would it make if she left? What would change?

Swallowing the bitterness rising in her throat, she whispered, "...I understand."

Ganak Village was famous for its high-quality ryona, a prized product that many sought after. The village’s reputation was built on the quality of its healing abilities, which had set them apart from others. The villagers’ newfound powers had led to a prosperous era for the community, but their success had come with a dark history.

Danim had played a pivotal role in the village’s rise. When he was younger, his healing abilities had surged to extraordinary levels, earning him the title of the most powerful healer in all of Siyo. The people of Siyo, who revered strength above all, treated him like royalty, granting him privileges that few could imagine.

With a final disdainful glance, Danim turned and began walking away, his deliberate steps a show of power.

Bayan stood frozen, watching until he disappeared from view. Only then did she push open the door and step inside. A heavy weight pressed on her chest, and despite not having eaten, she felt something lodged in her throat.

She exhaled shakily, letting out a long breath.

Just as she began to relax, a voice from behind her interrupted the silence.

"What are you doing?"

"Ah! Mother!"

Startled, Bayan spun around to see her mother, Langbi, entering the room. Langbi’s footsteps were light but purposeful. Her eyes glinted with a sharpness that contradicted her playful smile.

"If you’re going to call me, speak up," Langbi teased.

"I didn’t call you! You scared me half to death! I almost fainted!" Bayan exclaimed.

"Quit whining, you weren’t going to faint," Langbi replied, her voice light but with a touch of something darker behind it. "Now, stop making excuses and get ready."

"Ready for what?"

"For the bloodletting."

Bayan blinked, confused. "Huh? But it’s not the end of the month yet."

Langbi rolled up her sleeves, moving toward the corner where a small knife and a whetstone lay. As she sharpened the blade with deliberate precision, her eyes seemed to focus on something distant, as though she were in another world.

"I won’t have time at the end of the month," she murmured under her breath.

The sharp screech of the knife against the stone echoed ominously in the room. Bayan felt a sense of dread settling over her as she watched her mother’s strange, almost unnatural behavior. She couldn’t help but wonder if Danim’s words had something to do with this — if her mother’s actions were tied to his influence.

"What’s going on? Why? Are you planning a trip? In the middle of winter, with no way to see? Who are you going with?"

Langbi’s lips curled into a faint, amused smile at her daughter’s questioning.

"Someone might think you're my husband, the way you're talking," Langbi said, her lips curling into a teasing smirk as she looked at Bayan, clearly amused by her frantic questions.

Bayan glared at her mother, her frustration evident. "Stop changing the subject! Tell me where you're going and who you're going with," she demanded, her voice sharp and filled with impatience. She hated the way Langbi always danced around her questions.

Langbi leaned back casually, the mischief in her eyes growing as she let the words slip out. "I'm off to a nice place with a very handsome man." Her tone was playful, as if the idea of doing something so ordinary yet forbidden was a joke to her.

Bayan's jaw dropped. "Don’t lie to me! There’s no handsome man in this village!" she shot back, incredulous. The absurdity of it all stunned her, and her mind struggled to keep up.

Langbi's smile widened, and she raised an eyebrow. "Who said he has to be from our village?" she countered, her voice laced with playful challenge.

Bayan’s thoughts began to race. Could it be someone from outside? Could it be Danim, the elder who had been acting strange recently? Could it really be him? "Is it Danim?" she wondered aloud, her voice faltering in spite of herself.

Langbi glanced at her daughter’s reaction, sensing her unease. "Who do you think it is?" she teased, her voice carrying that same playful tone.

Bayan couldn’t hide the panic creeping into her voice as she asked again, this time more urgently, "Then who is it? From Hanak Village? Or Kunak Village?" She barely had time to think as her curiosity spiraled.

Langbi chuckled at the questions, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Why ask so many questions? Are you planning to stop me from going?" She seemed to take perverse pleasure in her daughter’s growing anxiety.

"I know today is the day I’m supposed to be bled, so you still want to go off and leave me?" Bayan muttered, her concern evident. She was trying to mask the worry in her voice, but it was impossible to ignore.

Langbi’s response was nonchalant, as if the bloodletting was merely a minor inconvenience. "Isn’t that what I’m about to do? Get your bloodletting done, and then I’m off." Her cool indifference only heightened Bayan’s frustration, and she clenched her fists, her patience wearing thin.

"If you don’t get the timing right, the bleeding will be pointless! And if you’re careless, I might end up worse off!" Bayan snapped, her voice rising in frustration. She wasn’t sure why, but her mother’s lack of concern for the ritual angered her more than anything else.

Langbi’s smile faltered for a moment, and her eyes narrowed as she focused on her daughter. "You’re an adult, yet you still act like a helpless child. Why should I do everything for you, down to the smallest detail?" Her voice was sharp now, cutting through the tension in the room.

Bayan’s heart sank as the sting of her mother’s words hit her like a physical blow. "What?" she whispered, utterly taken aback. She had never heard her mother speak so coldly before.

Langbi seemed to sense her daughter’s discomfort, and the momentary weakness only seemed to fuel her anger. "I’ve known all along, Bayan. I’ve been waiting for you to stop being so weak. Two months of taking punishment without standing up for yourself. How did I end up with a daughter like this?" Langbi’s voice was bitter now, the words sharp and cutting.

Bayan tried to respond, but her voice faltered. "So, what am I supposed to do? Do you think I want to be beaten? I was just trying to avoid causing trouble, so you wouldn’t be dragged into it." She felt the words tumble out, but they did little to ease the tightness in her chest. She had always tried to protect her mother from the reality of her life, but it seemed that her silence had only made things worse.

Langbi’s frustration erupted in an instant. With a swift motion, she picked up the knife from the table and slammed it down onto the wooden floor with a deafening thud. The blade dug deep into the wood, and the sound reverberated in the room, adding weight to the already thick atmosphere of tension. Langbi’s voice rose, cold and furious. "Don’t you dare disrespect me just because I can’t see! Do you think I’m too weak to deal with those bastards who come into this village? I’ve had enough of your excuses!"

Bayan flinched at the fury in her mother’s voice, her throat tightening as she struggled to find a way to make the situation right. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she felt the heat rise to her face.

Bayan swallowed hard, trying to regain control of herself. "Mom, that’s not what I meant…" she stammered, her words getting caught in her throat as she tried to explain herself, but Langbi’s angry gaze pinned her in place, leaving her speechless.

"I’m your mother, not some burden for you to complain about!" Langbi’s voice was thunderous, her words filled with a fierce authority that sent a shiver down Bayan’s spine.

Bayan’s eyes widened, her voice trembling as she tried to make sense of her mother’s words. "Mom, who says you’re a burden?" she asked, her tone softening with confusion.

Langbi let out a bitter, humorless laugh. "Parents aren’t supposed to be taken care of by their children, Bayan. It’s the other way around. It’s my duty, my right, and my happiness to protect you. Not the other way around. What right do you have to steal that from me?"

The words hit Bayan like a physical blow. She felt her chest tighten with guilt and confusion. She had never seen her mother in this light, and it shattered the image she had of the woman who had always been her protector.

"Mom…" Bayan whispered, her voice barely audible as she tried to process the depth of what Langbi was saying.

Langbi’s face twisted with frustration and sorrow, and her sharp tone returned. "Enough with the talking! Just get ready. We don’t have time for this nonsense!"

Bayan felt a wave of helplessness wash over her as she watched her mother grab the knife from the floor, her movements fluid and practiced. Langbi rinsed the blade in water, and as she returned to her usual stoic expression, it was impossible to tell whether she was still angry or just exhausted.

Bayan hesitated, but she knew there was nothing more to say. She silently stepped outside, the cold air hitting her like a slap to the face.

The wind was biting, cutting through her cloak as she wrapped it tighter around herself, trying to block out the chill that seemed to settle deep within her bones. She glanced around, her thoughts swirling with confusion and frustration, when she noticed a large figure standing near the door. The shadow was unfamiliar, and as she stepped closer, she squinted into the darkness, trying to make out the figure.

"What’s going on today? First, Elder Danim comes to my house, and now you’re here too?" she asked, her voice tinged with both confusion and annoyance. She was too distracted by her own thoughts to recognize the significance of the encounter.

"Bayan," came the soft, strained voice of Jahan.

Bayan turned quickly to face him, her heart pounding in her chest. Jahan looked pale, his face a sickly white as if the cold had seeped into his very bones. His thin clothing offered no protection against the winter chill, and his cheeks were raw and red from the frost. It was clear he hadn’t expected to be outside for long, and his sudden appearance only added to the confusion in her mind.

Bayan’s expression hardened, irritation bubbling up inside her. "Are you out of your mind? If you came, you could’ve at least called out. Why are you standing there like this?" she snapped, her voice sharp with frustration.

Jahan hesitated, his gaze uncertain. "I don’t know whether I should meet you or not…" His voice was low, unsure, as though he wasn’t entirely certain what he was doing there.

"Then go!" Bayan barked, her irritation fully on display. "Why are you standing here like an idiot?" She didn’t have time for this. She had enough on her mind already.

She turned quickly, stalking toward the back of the house, her steps fast and angry. Jahan, the village’s richest young man, was standing there in a state of disarray, his clothing inadequate for the weather. It irked her more than she cared to admit, the incongruity of his status and his disheveled appearance.

Bayan kicked a small stone out of her way, watching as it flew across the dirt path and disappeared into the darkness of the woods. Her anger only intensified, a seething undercurrent that she couldn’t seem to shake.

But then, without warning, she felt a strong hand grip her shoulder, spinning her around violently.

"!"

She gasped, startled by how close Jahan was now. His body was only inches away from hers, and the sudden proximity sent a shockwave of surprise through her. Her heart raced, her breath catching in her throat. She hadn’t expected him to get so close.

Bayan’s mind whirled as she quickly wiped the stunned look off her face, trying to compose herself. Without thinking, she shoved his hand away with an urgent force, stepping back. The action was instinctive, yet it left her feeling shaken. She had never been this close to Jahan before, and the sensation was unsettling in ways she couldn’t explain.

Her pulse was still hammering in her ears as she struggled to regain control of her emotions, trying to ignore the strange, fluttering sensation that had taken root deep in her chest.

“Ouch! My shoulder feels like it’s about to break.”

“Sorry...” Jahan muttered, his voice awkward with the apology. He paused for a second, then straightened, the seriousness creeping back onto his face.

“Bayan, my father stopped by earlier, didn’t he?”

“…So?”

“Did he say anything to you?” His voice sounded quieter now, almost hesitant.

Bayan's brow furrowed, a question forming in her mind. She couldn’t understand why he was asking about her father, but she felt something stir in the air, an unspoken tension. Jahan hesitated, his eyes flickering down for a second before meeting hers.

“...Well, a few things.”

“Anything in particular?” Jahan pressed, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

“Oh, he told me to watch myself again, like always. But it was short this time. He probably had something else to do,” she replied nonchalantly, though a flicker of bitterness passed across her features.

“…Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” she quickly reassured, waving her hand. “It’s not like it’s new. I’m used to it by now. There’s no point in being upset over something that’s not even true.”

“Was there anything else?”

“Nope.”

“Are you completely sure?”

“Yes. Why do you keep asking?”

Bayan narrowed her eyes, her frustration building at his insistence. But Jahan seemed to relax, his shoulders dropping in relief. He let out a long breath, as if some heavy weight had been lifted from him.

“Thank goodness,” he muttered to himself. “That’s a relief.”

“Relief? What’s going on?”

Bayan stared at him, confusion written all over her face. Jahan met her gaze for a brief moment before looking away, his voice light, but there was something in his eyes that didn’t match his casual tone.

“It’s nothing serious. Tomorrow, there’s a meeting with the elders from Hanak and Kunak Villages. It’s probably some council thing or whatever. My mother’s gathering people to help with preparations, and I thought maybe you’d be joining us.”

Bayan’s eyes narrowed even further. So this was why he had been standing here, in the dark, wearing barely enough for the cold?

She studied his face, her mind racing. He looked so at ease, like it was nothing important. But deep down, she knew he wasn’t the type to lie about something as simple as this.

A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she turned her gaze away, trying to mask the irritation that was boiling inside her.

“A filthy mutant like me? You wouldn’t want someone like that around...”

“Stop saying that!” Jahan snapped, his tone sharp, almost desperate. “You’re not filthy, and you’re certainly not a mutant!”

The forcefulness in his words caught her off guard. There was a certain desperation in his voice that made her pause. It was unlike anything she’d heard from him before. For a moment, she almost laughed at the sincerity in his tone—he truly didn’t think of her that way. But despite everything, she knew the truth.

Jahan was the only one in the entire village who didn’t treat her like something broken, and for that, she would always be grateful. His kindness, though, was a double-edged sword. She couldn’t let him get too close. If he did, he’d only end up hurt, and that was something she couldn’t let happen.

Bayan bit her lip and turned slightly away from him, her arms crossing tightly over her chest as a chill washed over her.

“Enough of this. Just leave. And don’t come back. If you keep doing this, I’ll get the wrong idea about what you’re trying to do.”

“…It’s not like that.” His voice was quiet, but insistent.

Bayan stood frozen for a moment, watching as Jahan dropped his gaze in embarrassment. Then, with a sudden shift in tone, she feigned shock, her eyes widening exaggeratedly.

“Oh? So that’s it, huh? You’ve been showing up because you want something from me?”

“…What?”

“Are you trying to sleep with me?”

“Bayan…”

Jahan’s face drained of color, the words hitting him like a physical blow. His mouth opened as if to say something, but no sound came out. Bayan crossed her arms and gave him a half-smile that felt more bitter than amused.

"You're the son of the elder, right? You must have women flocking around you all the time. So why even bother with someone like me? Are you bored with the usual? Is silver hair not enough for you? You’re looking for a little variety now, huh?"

"Ba...yan!" His voice cracked, desperation bleeding into his words. But Bayan wasn’t moved. She shrugged nonchalantly, a coldness in her tone that seemed to cut through the air.

“Well, too bad for you. I have no interest in you—not even the slightest. The thought of it makes my skin crawl. So please, don’t come back here again.”

Her words hit the air with finality, and a heavy silence settled between them. The warmth Jahan had shown her was comforting, but it was a dangerous warmth. If she let it in, she might get burned. The isolation she had wrapped around herself was something she couldn’t afford to lose, not even for a moment. Jahan might never understand why she was pushing him away, but she hoped he would, in time.

Bayan, having said all she needed to, walked toward the basin standing against the wall. The faint light pouring through the window illuminated the rusty basin, its original color long since lost to the passage of time. Now, it appeared dark and ominous, a foreboding sight. As she stared into it, the bloodstained memories of past moments seemed to taint the very air around her. The sound of Jahan’s angry muttering behind her reached her ears, followed by the unmistakable sound of him storming off.

She stood there motionless, like a statue, until the sound of his retreating footsteps faded into nothingness. The words she had said to him had been no joke—she truly hoped that he would stay away. His presence, his gaze, his kindness, all made her heart waver in ways she didn’t want to acknowledge. She feared that seeing him too often, feeling the warmth of his concern, would make her soften, to the point where she might take advantage of his feelings for her. She didn’t want to be someone who used others. She took a deep breath and turned away from the basin, shaking off those dangerous thoughts.

Sighing heavily, she lifted the basin with both hands and carried it into the house. Trying to look unaffected, she placed it squarely in the middle of the room. Langbi, who had been waiting, looked at her knowingly and smiled in a way that was both curious and knowing.

“Well, well, what took you so long? Was the basin really that far away?”

“It was heavy,” Bayan replied curtly, trying to avoid Langbi’s probing gaze.

“For something that heavy, you sure carried it easily enough. You’re not fooling anyone,” Langbi teased, clearly not buying the excuse.

Bayan scowled at Langbi. “Stop pretending you can see when you clearly can’t! I don’t need your judgment.”

Langbi chuckled and shook her head. “Ah, that stubborn nature of yours... I wonder who you got it from…”

Bayan’s eyes narrowed. “Who else would I have gotten it from? Obviously, it’s you, Mom.”

The younger woman pouted, turning away from Langbi, who was still giving her a knowing smile. Bayan walked over to a cupboard and roughly opened it. Inside, neatly folded towels were stacked. She pulled out a few and then reached for a bundle of cloth-wrapped wooden sticks. The white silk that was tightly wound around them had dark stains. There was something unsettling about them, as if the blood of countless memories had seeped into the cloth.

Bayan gently brushed her hand over the stains on the cloth before she knelt before the basin, rolling up her sleeves. She took the wooden stick and shoved it into her mouth, biting down on it hard.

Langbi, who had been absentmindedly wiping a sharp knife, turned to face Bayan. Without a word, she reached for Bayan’s hand and gently tugged it toward the basin.

“We’re starting,” Langbi said, her voice serious, though it seemed tinged with a certain expectation.

Bayan gave a silent nod, her face set in grim determination.

The moment she nodded, Langbi swung the blade in one fluid motion. The sharp edge sliced into Bayan’s wrist, cutting deep. Blood immediately began to gush from the wound, splattering everywhere like a fountain. The sight and sound of it filled the room, and soon, the floor was drenched in red.

Langbi quickly brought Bayan’s wrist closer to the basin, pressing it down. The blood, which had been flying in all directions, slowed as it flowed steadily from the wound, dripping down into the basin. Bayan clenched her teeth, struggling to stay still as the sensation of her blood spilling out filled her body with a sickening chill.

After a few moments, Langbi pulled the blade from the wound. The blood flow slowed, but Bayan’s skin began to close over the injury, healing almost immediately. Langbi, with swift and practiced hands, traced the now-healing skin, her touch almost gentle. But before Bayan could even catch her breath, Langbi’s knife came down again with a swift motion. The fresh wound split open with a grotesque sound, and blood spurted out once more.

The sound of blood hitting the floor in rapid succession was unnervingly loud, and the rhythmic dripping was almost suffocating. Bayan swallowed the groan that rose in her throat and gritted her teeth as she tried to hold herself together. Even though the winter coldness in the house seemed to freeze everything around her, her forehead beaded with cold sweat. The metallic scent of blood lingered in her nostrils, overpowering everything else.

Langbi, her hands steady, brought the knife down on Bayan’s wrist once more. This time, the pain was so sharp that Bayan’s vision blurred. Her face contorted as she tried to keep her composure, but her body trembled with the strain. Unable to bear the sight any longer, Bayan closed her eyes tightly. The tears that had welled up in her eyes finally fell, streaking down her cheeks as they mixed with the cold sweat.

The pain seemed endless, but for some reason, she couldn’t stop herself from going through with it. With every slice, the tension in her body built higher, but so did the sense of release.

**************

Bayan stepped out from the small hut, holding the basin heavy with blood, its liquid dark and unsettling. She moved toward the protective barrier that Rangbi had cast earlier in the day, stepping carefully into its shimmering confines. Once inside, she crouched down, her knees aching from sitting for so long in one position. Her palm brushed across the dusty floor, sweeping the dirt aside as the long-hidden lid slowly came into view. The mud had hardened and cracked over time, but the lid was still in place, untouched by the elements.

Bayan pushed aside the golden thread that had been meticulously placed over it, the faint tingle of magic still lingering in the air. She lifted the lid with quiet reverence. Inside, there was nothing but emptiness. A cold, hollow space. The scent that filled the air was strange—fishy and sour, yet somehow fragrant, a paradox that made Bayan’s stomach turn.

Where had all the blood gone? The blood that had been poured in month after month, a steady ritual. Had it seeped deep into the earth beneath the barrier? Or had it evaporated into the sky, carried away by the wind?

Bayan gazed into the darkness of the container, her thoughts swirling. She hesitated for a moment before tilting the basin and letting the blood pour out in a thin stream.

Swish, swish.

The liquid poured quickly, a rushing sound that filled the silence of the room. A sharp, rancid smell filled her nostrils.

"Ugh."

Bayan's throat tightened as the stench hit her with full force. She held her breath, her face contorted as she shook the basin, scraping it clean. Dirt filled the basin, which she used to wipe away the lingering traces of blood, until the container was clean once again. She dumped the soiled dirt into the jar. The repetitive task was one she’d grown accustomed to, but today, it seemed more burdensome.

She repeated the process several times before closing the lid with a final, heavy motion.

"Hmm?"

As she returned the golden thread to its original place, something caught her eye—a small but significant detail. The yellow talisman, which had been affixed securely to the lid the last time she had opened it, was now torn in half. She ran her fingers over the frayed edges, feeling the strange tension in the air. It was a sign of something—something she couldn’t yet understand.

Her fingers, chilled and stiff from the cold, were clumsy as she rewrapped the thread around the jar, making sure it was secure once again. Sweat began to trickle down her forehead, despite the icy air around her. The discomfort lingered, a weight pressing down on her chest.

With a deep sigh, Bayan rose to her feet, her back aching from the crouching position. She stared out into the empty space for a moment, her thoughts spiraling. How many more times would she have to go through this? The years stretched out before her like an endless road, and the thought of it unsettled her.

Rubbing her cold hands together, she shuffled back into the house, her movements slow and deliberate. The atmosphere inside the house was thick, heavy with an unnatural stillness. Rangbi, as always, had fallen into her silence after the ritual of blood had been performed. But today, it was different. The silence was deeper, more oppressive than usual.

Bayan set the evening meal down on the table with a clatter, glancing nervously at Rangbi, who sat at the table, her gaze unfocused and distant. Something about the situation made Bayan uneasy, despite the fact that she hadn’t done anything wrong. She couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt that clung to her, like a shadow.

The evening meal, which should have been a time of comfort, felt uncomfortable. The silence between them seemed to stretch on indefinitely, wrapping around them like a thick fog. Bayan pressed her palm to her stomach, trying to quell the anxious knot that had formed there.

Rangbi, who had been picking at her food with little enthusiasm, finally set down her spoon. It was unlike her to eat so little—she normally had a small appetite, but this was even less than usual. Bayan picked up the spoon and placed it gently in Rangbi’s hand, trying to coax her to eat more.

"Why did you stop eating? You should eat more."

"I’m full," Rangbi replied quietly, her voice flat.

"You barely ate half of what you usually do. What do you mean you’re full?" Bayan pressed. "There’s still meat left. Should I bring it to you?"

"I just don’t have an appetite," Rangbi muttered, her voice tinged with an emotion Bayan couldn’t quite place.

Bayan’s worry deepened. "Ah, why? Do you remember last year when you were so sick with that cough? If you don’t eat, you’ll fall ill again! Even if you don’t feel like it, you need to eat, okay? Wait here. I’ll bring some of that marinated rabbit meat I made."

"I won’t get sick this year, don’t worry," Rangbi said dismissively, her eyes closed as she leaned back in her chair.

Bayan, who had been about to rush out of the room, turned back at Rangbi’s calm voice.

"What do you mean, how would you know?" she asked, her voice tinged with concern.

"Did you forget that I was once a renowned shaman?" Rangbi replied, her voice laced with a touch of amusement.

"Are you telling me that you used your old powers to predict whether you’ll get sick this year?" Bayan asked, incredulous.

"Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. Why do you keep asking questions?" Rangbi waved her hand impatiently. "Get me some soup while you’re up."

Bayan sighed and left the room, her worry still hanging in the air like a thick cloud. Rangbi, despite her insistence that she wasn’t sick, had been in such a strange mood lately. She had grown more withdrawn, more irritable. Bayan had noticed the subtle changes, the way her mother had become more unpredictable.

Bayan returned with the soup, but as she was about to hand it to Rangbi, she remembered something. There was a jar of powdered kweenin in the cupboard—a herb she often used when Rangbi had trouble with indigestion.

Most ailments could be healed with the healing power, but that power had long since faded for Rangbi. Bayan’s own ability to heal was still intact, but it was limited to herself. Because of this, she had taken up the task of collecting herbs from the mountains, a routine that had become second nature to her. Kweenin was one of the most common herbs in the area, and Bayan always made sure to keep a steady supply for Rangbi.

Bayan carefully opened the jar, her eyes darting around to make sure Rangbi wouldn’t notice. Rangbi couldn’t see, but her sense of smell was sharp—sharper than most people. Even the smallest amount of the herb wouldn’t go unnoticed by her. Bayan sprinkled a tiny amount of the powder into the steaming soup, the sharp, bitter scent filling the air.

As expected, Rangbi’s nose twitched slightly, and she paused before lifting the bowl to her lips. Bayan watched her closely, anxiety curling in her stomach. Rangbi wasn’t one to take kindly to being treated like a patient, especially when she didn’t want help. But to Bayan’s surprise, Rangbi didn’t yell or get angry. Instead, she smiled softly and took a slow sip of the soup.

Bayan let out a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding. Relief flooded through her as she watched Rangbi drink the soup, her expression serene.

Bayan quickly set to cleaning the table, collecting the leftover dishes and stacking them neatly. She glanced at the pot above the stove, considering whether there would be enough water to wash the dishes. It didn’t look like it.

She decided to leave the dishes for tomorrow and closed the lid on the pot.

As she turned to leave, Rangbi’s voice stopped her.

"Bayan, come here."

Bayan hesitated for a moment, unsure if Rangbi wanted something more. "Do you need more soup?" she asked, but Rangbi simply waved her hand.

"No, that’s enough. Come sit with me," Rangbi said.

Bayan frowned. "Wait a second, I need to check the stove. If the fire goes out, we’ll freeze to death."

Rangbi chuckled softly. "It’s not even close to going out. You worry too much. Sometimes, you just need to let things happen."

"Okay, okay." Bayan shrugged, wiping her hands on her pants as she walked over to Rangbi’s side. She draped a blanket over her mom’s lap and took her hand, which was cold and stiff as ice.

Bayan’s worry deepened. She could feel the tension in her mother’s hand, the way it was uncharacteristically cold. Was mom ill? She squeezed her mother’s hand gently, hoping to offer some warmth.

Rangbi had always had delicate hands—hands that were beautiful and smooth despite her age. Looking at them made Bayan feel something strange—both comfort and sadness, as if she could see everything Rangbi had endured through those hands.

Rangbi closed her eyes for a moment before slowly opening them again, her sightless gaze finding Bayan’s face with uncanny precision. Bayan felt a flush of warmth spread across her cheeks, a strange mix of shyness and excitement.

She quickly glanced away, avoiding the intensity of her mother’s gaze. "Do you have something to say?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Rangbi had been staring intently at Bayan's face for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, breaking the silence, she casually asked,

"How old are you now?"

Bayan blinked in surprise at the question. "Oh my, how could you not know your own daughter's age? I’ll be eighteen in just a few days," she replied, a teasing smile creeping across her face.

Rangbi’s gaze softened as she muttered under her breath, "...Has it really been that long? Time sure flies."

In the Siyo tribe, the transition into adulthood was marked by a significant shift in one's energy at the age of eighteen. This change was so profound that it was celebrated as the beginning of adulthood, and a grand ceremony was held with the entire tribe at a set date to mark the occasion.

The ceremony was simple but meaningful. One of the parents would intentionally wound themselves, and the child would be expected to heal the wound. This act symbolized the child’s mastery of their healing powers, signaling that they were now fully capable of using their abilities. After the ceremony, the young adults would sever their dependence on their parents and choose a partner to begin their own life.

Although Bayan couldn’t participate in the ceremony, she wasn’t disappointed.

"Honestly, what’s so special about becoming an adult? Why would I even want to hurt my own mother for this ceremony? I wouldn’t do it, even if they told me to! Ugh, it’s just stupid," she thought, dismissing the idea with a huff. She couldn’t help but smile to herself as she realized she had grown beyond caring about such rituals. But before she could indulge too much in her sense of maturity, Rangbi’s voice cut through her thoughts like a bucket of cold water.

"You’re all grown up, but you’re still running around like that… tsk tsk tsk."

"What do you mean?" Bayan asked, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

"You’re always climbing trees and running wild... Are you some kind of mountain beast?" Rangbi responded, shaking her head.

"...I don’t climb trees much anymore," Bayan muttered, slightly defensive.

"Don’t climb trees? Just the other day, I could smell pine resin on you from here," Rangbi added, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

"Ugh, you have a nose like a hound," Bayan grumbled, her annoyance rising.

Rangbi gave a knowing chuckle, and Bayan pouted, looking away.

"Alright, alright," she conceded, though her tone was still irritated.

Rangbi sighed, her expression softening slightly. "You’re a young lady now, Bayan. You should be a bit more mindful of your appearance. You don’t want to let that pretty face of yours go to waste."

Bayan couldn’t help but laugh bitterly at the suggestion. No matter how much she tried to improve her appearance, the reality was that no man would ever consider marrying her—a mutant, one who had no place in their world. And besides, she wasn’t even that pretty.

Thanks to her healing powers, her skin was remarkably smooth, without a single scar. But years of exposure to the harsh sun had left her with a darker complexion. Her features, though well-defined and striking, didn’t have the same appeal when paired with her skin tone. She looked fine on her own, but when standing next to the other girls—especially Saran, who had porcelain-white skin, silvery hair, and delicate, graceful features—the difference was glaring.

Bayan let out a heavy sigh, turning her head slightly to avoid looking directly at Rangbi.

"Mom, it’s been so long since you’ve seen my face that maybe you’ve forgotten... but I look just like you."

Rangbi raised an eyebrow, nonchalantly responding, "So?"

Bayan’s expression grew serious as she met her mother’s eyes. "That means I’m not that pretty."

Rangbi’s eyes narrowed dangerously. "You little…!" she muttered, irritation flashing across her face.

Bayan, not wanting to escalate things further, quickly shifted the conversation. She wrapped herself in a blanket, pretending to shiver in an exaggerated manner.

"Ugh, it’s so cold today, don’t you think?" she asked, trying to steer the topic away from her appearance. "Anyway, what I meant was, I don’t want to get married. I just want to stay here with you."

Rangbi’s expression remained unreadable as she deadpanned, "What did I do to deserve this?"

Bayan paused, her face falling slightly at the remark.

This time, it was Bayan who narrowed her eyes in response. Rangbi, who had been blind for years, raised her chin proudly, her demeanor suggesting she had said nothing wrong. But it was clear that the tension in the room had shifted. Even though Bayan had been throwing herself around in an exaggerated fit earlier, the weight of Rangbi’s words seemed to have sobered the atmosphere.

Bayan was about to speak when she suddenly dropped to the floor dramatically, pretending to cry.

"Waaah, I hate you, Mom!" she cried out, throwing herself onto the ground in an overly exaggerated fashion.

For a brief moment, a faint smile tugged at Rangbi’s lips, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. Her face fell back into its usual blank, unreadable expression, as if she had put on a mask. The sudden change in the atmosphere caught Bayan off guard, and she instantly felt the mood shift. Rising from the floor, she sat up with a serious expression, unsure of what to say next.

"What’s going on? Did something happen? Did someone come while I wasn’t around?" Bayan asked, her voice laced with concern.

Rangbi let out a soft sigh. "It’s nothing. Just don’t make a big deal out of it. I’ve got a lot on my mind."

Bayan, still unsure, thought for a moment before deciding that it was just another one of the villagers' pranks. The people in their village knew that Rangbi’s spiritual powers hadn’t faded, and so they kept their distance from her. But there were always a few who, for reasons unknown, wanted to lash out at her and Bayan.

Sometimes, the villagers would destroy their belongings, sabotage their firewood, or even set up traps near their house. Once, someone had poisoned their food. They visited regularly, almost like clockwork, showing up every six days without fail.

Luckily, Rangbi had a supernatural sense of smell that alerted her to any danger, but Bayan often remained unaware until it was almost too late. Rangbi, though acting unaffected, knew how much this constant harassment weighed on Bayan’s heart. Bayan, on the other hand, wished that the villagers would just come and curse her to her face. It would at least give her the satisfaction of having something tangible to hate, instead of this constant anxiety and helplessness.

Bayan finally let her shoulders slump, releasing the tension she’d been holding in. "Oh, you scared me there. What’s with the serious face, though? You’re acting like something terrible happened."

Rangbi’s expression hardened slightly as she answered, "Until today, I’ve been sharing your energy. But this can’t continue forever. Everything has an end, and now it’s time for you to start standing on your own. You’re old enough to handle it."

"Huh?" Bayan asked, completely caught off guard. She wasn’t quite sure what Rangbi was trying to say, but the gravity in her mother’s words left her feeling uneasy.

They say that lightning can strike out of a clear blue sky, and at this moment, that felt exactly right for Bayan as she stared at Rangbi, her eyes wide with disbelief. The news Rangbi had just dropped on her was nothing short of a bombshell. Bloodletting had been a ritual that she had undergone countless times—sometimes as few as eight, sometimes as many as twenty times—every time involving the slow, deliberate cut of a knife across her wrist. Even though the intensity had eased over the years, she still vividly remembered the unbearable pain from when she was a child.

As a young girl, her body had been too frail to handle the ritual on her own, so she had always relied on her mother’s hands. But as she matured and gained strength, she began to feel a deep sense of pity for Rangbi, who had to help her each time. So, in an attempt to be independent, Bayan tried to perform the bloodletting on her own. She soon discovered, though, that the pain was so overwhelming that no matter how much she tried to push through it, she couldn’t manage it alone.

Once, she tried, but the moment the knife hovered over her wrist, her body rebelled, trembling with fear. The pain was a solid wall she couldn't climb, and as she hesitated for even a moment, her wrist healed itself, the wound closing before the blood could fully spill. She had tried multiple times over the years to take control, but each attempt ended in failure. And all the while, Rangbi watched her, fully aware that her daughter couldn't do it on her own.

Bayan blinked slowly, her mind racing as she traced her fingertips over the scarred skin of her wrist. The thought of performing this ritual on her own, without her mother’s help, sent a wave of dread through her entire being. She could barely even bear the thought of it. The terror gripped her chest, tightening with every passing second.

“Mom... you know I can’t do this on my own. But...”

Her voice cracked slightly, and Rangbi, whose expression had been unreadable up until that point, softened just a little. A fleeting look of pity crossed her face, but it quickly disappeared as she let out a disapproving click of her tongue.

“Tsk tsk tsk. Who did you inherit that fear from? Anyone else would think I’ve been telling you to die,” Rangbi chided, shaking her head.

Bayan hesitated, glancing down in guilt before she spoke again. “It’s just... you said it so suddenly. Is there any other way?”

“There is. Of course, there is another way,” Rangbi responded, her voice firm but tinged with something close to reassurance.

“Ugh, what’s that?” Bayan asked, her voice still uncertain, though a spark of curiosity had replaced some of her fear.

Rangbi, seemingly unbothered by her daughter's confusion, casually propped one knee up, resting her arm on it. In her palm, two small divine beads—about the size of walnuts—clinked softly together. The soft noise seemed almost out of place in the otherwise quiet room. These beads were not just any ordinary objects; they were sacred, holding great spiritual power. Rangbi had always been very protective of them, keeping them hidden away from anyone else, lest they be tainted. She had always warned Bayan to never allow anyone else to touch them. The thought of someone else contaminating these sacred items was a source of deep discomfort for her.

Despite her mother's warnings, Bayan had once held them in her hands. The beads were smooth and glassy in texture, a deep red color that caught the light in an almost hypnotic way. The beads felt pliable at times, as if soft and yielding to the touch, yet they would harden immediately when Rangbi held them. It was a mystery to Bayan how they could change in that way, but she had always been fascinated by their size, which seemed to grow steadily with time. When she was younger, they had been no larger than the size of a fingernail, but as she grew, the beads expanded until they were as large as small walnuts.

Bayan found herself staring at them again, mesmerized by their mysterious properties. Her thoughts were interrupted by Rangbi’s voice.

“Your energy is trapped inside of you, unable to flow outward. What happens when more water accumulates than the size of a container can hold?” Rangbi asked, looking at her daughter intently.

Bayan blinked, processing the question. “What happens? It overflows,” she replied slowly, understanding the metaphor.

“Exactly,” Rangbi said with a hint of approval. “But that’s the problem. You can’t overflow. No matter how good the energy is, if it accumulates inside you without release, it becomes toxic.”

Bayan nodded thoughtfully, the words not unfamiliar to her. She had heard Rangbi say something similar many times before, but today the weight of it seemed heavier than ever.

“From next month onwards, your energy will become stronger than it is now. In fact, it’s already beginning to grow stronger,” Rangbi continued, her voice steady.

“How do you know that, Mom?” Bayan asked, her brow furrowed. She was skeptical, but part of her wanted to believe her mother’s words.

“Today, didn’t you perform the bloodletting twenty times? You usually only need to do eight. That’s how I know,” Rangbi replied.

Bayan thought back to the ritual earlier that day. She had been in agony, the pain almost unbearable. Usually, she could tolerate it without making a sound, but today, every second had felt like an eternity. She had been trying to stay silent to avoid upsetting her mother, but the pain had overwhelmed her. She had thought it was just a particularly bad day, but now it seemed that the real cause was her strengthening energy.

Bayan’s face paled as the realization set in. “Does that mean I’ll have to do this every time, from now on?”

Rangbi shook her head, her expression unchanging. “No. It means we need to change the method. You won’t have to fill the jar with your blood anymore.” She paused briefly, then added, “Do you remember the talisman that was torn?”

The blood she had spilled had always been collected in a jar in the backyard, a sacred vessel that held not just her blood but the talisman that connected her to her energy. Over time, the talismans had been worn down, most of them torn. Only one remained intact—until today.

“That’s right. It was half torn,” Bayan murmured in agreement, her voice small.

“The power that was stored in the blood talisman has been depleted,” Rangbi explained calmly, as though it were a simple fact.

“So... what now?” Bayan’s voice was barely above a whisper, a mix of confusion and apprehension.

Rangbi looked at her daughter, her expression still cool and composed, and continued to roll the divine beads in her hand. “From now on, every full moon, you will go to the Yeongwol Lake to purify your body.”

“Yeongwol Lake? What’s that?” Bayan asked, her tone a mixture of disbelief and curiosity.

“It’s a lake where the moon reflects,” Rangbi replied, as though the answer was obvious.

Bayan’s eyes widened, her mind struggling to process the words. “Mom... there’s not even a well near our house, and you’re talking about a moon-reflecting lake? Where am I supposed to find something like that?”

“If it’s too hard to find a lake, try finding a fountain,” Rangbi said, almost offhandedly, as though suggesting an alternative.

“A fountain? What do you mean by that?” Bayan’s confusion only deepened, and she could feel her frustration building.

Rangbi sighed deeply, a long exhale that seemed to carry more than just fatigue. She paused for a moment, her gaze distant, almost regretful. Perhaps she had assumed her daughter knew more than she actually did.

Bayan stood still for a moment, processing her mother's words. She stared at the cold, stone walls of their small, dark cabin, unsure whether she had heard correctly. Rangbi’s voice cut through the air again, a slight rasp of irritation in her tone, as she repeated herself.

“Yes, something like that exists.”

“So, you're saying I need to find some kind of moisture or something in these mountains?” Bayan asked, raising an eyebrow. Her voice was filled with doubt.

“It’s not moisture, it’s a fountain.” Rangbi corrected her, the sharpness of her voice making it clear that she was starting to lose patience with her daughter's confusion.

Bayan eyed her mother, studying her face carefully. It was a face that carried a mix of exhaustion, wisdom, and the weight of years of hardship. Still, a sinking feeling began to spread through her chest. She took a step back, her voice hesitant as she asked, “Mom… do you remember my name?”

Rangbi’s eyes narrowed in irritation, clearly annoyed by her daughter’s sudden question. “...Are you treating your mother like a senile old woman now?” she asked sharply.

“No! It’s just, how am I supposed to find this ‘fountain’ or whatever if I don’t know what it looks like?!” Bayan’s voice cracked slightly, the frustration in her tone becoming impossible to ignore.

Rangbi sighed deeply, her shoulders slumping in resignation. She shook her head slowly, clicking her tongue as if to say that she had heard enough. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Who did you inherit all that whining from? Then go look for a blue pond or something!”

Bayan's face darkened with disbelief, her eyes wide with frustration. “A pond? In the middle of the mountains? And a blue one at that?” She scoffed, already skeptical that anything Rangbi said could make sense.

“You’re always looking for excuses,” Rangbi muttered, a hint of annoyance creeping into her voice. “What’s the matter? You think I’m just talking nonsense?”

Bayan’s face turned red with a mix of anger and confusion. She was struggling to keep her composure, her mind spinning in circles trying to make sense of her mother’s cryptic instructions. “I’m serious, mom. It’s winter! We’re going to freeze to death if we keep talking about ponds and fountains!”

Rangbi’s response was calm, almost too calm. “Either way, you’ll die. Your body will burst open with the cold. So, if you're going to die, you might as well do it outside. Don't you think it'd be too much for your blind mother to deal with?”

The words hit Bayan harder than she had expected. A lump formed in her throat, but she held it back. “Mom… Are you really my mom?” she asked quietly, her voice trembling slightly.

Rangbi’s eyes softened, though only slightly. “Yeah. Be grateful. Even if I’m blind, I’m still your mother.”

Bayan was momentarily stunned by the sudden shift in her mother’s tone. But that feeling was quickly replaced by irritation again as she muttered, “I’m not grateful at all.”

Rangbi chuckled at her daughter’s response and, without another word, lay back down on the bed. She adjusted the blanket and started poking Bayan in the backside. “Go check the stove. If the fire goes out, you’ll freeze to death. You know that, right?”

“Ugh… You said I could do it later…” Bayan groaned, already frustrated beyond measure. “And why am I the one who always has to do everything? What about you? You’ll freeze too, you know!”

Rangbi’s tone was laced with something darkly humorous as she replied, “Unfortunately, today isn’t my last day. So, you’ll be the one to die first.”

Bayan glared at her mother, feeling a mix of exasperation and disbelief. “Seriously, mom? You’re just gonna say that like it’s nothing?”

Rangbi’s grin widened as she gave her daughter an almost mocking look. “What’s wrong? Afraid you’re going to die before me? It’s not my fault that you’re so weak.”

Bayan sighed deeply, rubbing her temples as she muttered, “I’m so done with this conversation.”

With a huff, Bayan threw the blanket off herself and stormed out of the room. She marched into the kitchen, determined to get some peace and quiet by focusing on something productive. She lifted the curtain and peeked into the stove, noticing that it was almost out of fuel. Rangbi’s words echoed in her mind, and she grudgingly realized that the firewood needed to be replenished.

“Of course it does,” she muttered under her breath. “It’s always something.”

She grabbed a pile of firewood from the corner of the room and jammed it into the stove. As the smoke billowed out, she quickly blew air to try and get it started again. The pungent smell of burning wood and smoke filled the room, and Bayan was quickly overcome with irritation. Her eyes watered from the smoke, and she could feel a tightness in her chest.

“Ugh, my eyes are burning,” she groaned, waving her hand in front of her face in an attempt to clear the smoke. But the more she tried, the worse it got. Her throat tightened with each cough as she tried to hold back the tears.

“Great,” she muttered sarcastically. “Just what I needed.”

With a final grunt, she slammed the curtain shut, ensuring the smoke would be sucked up into the chimney. The warmth of the fire began to settle the chill in her bones, but she could still feel the effects of the bloodletting. A deep fatigue settled over her, and her body felt drained. Her muscles ached, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that tomorrow she would be bedridden with a fever.

She leaned against the wall, rubbing her arms, and stared at the flickering light through the curtain. She rested her chin on her knees, lost in thought. “Ah, it’s so warm. I just want to sleep here,” she muttered to herself.

Then, in a sudden burst of realization, she sat up straight, her eyes wide with newfound excitement. “Wait… if what Rangbi said is true, then I don’t have to go through this horrible pain anymore during the bloodletting!”

Her mind raced with possibilities. Could it really be that simple? Could her monthly bloodlettings be avoided by just finding this mysterious lake?

Without wasting another second, Bayan scrambled out of her seat and rushed back to her room. She dove under the covers and, in a surprising display of affection, pulled Rangbi close to her, wrapping her arms around her mother’s body. “Mom, mom!” she exclaimed eagerly. “If I bathe in the lake, will the energy inside me settle? And do I have to do it on the full moon every month?”

Rangbi, who had been lying rigidly, looked at her daughter with an expression that said she was done with all the questions. “Why are you listening to the ramblings of an old woman?” she grumbled, trying to push Bayan away.

“Come on, seriously. Just tell me, do I really only need to bathe in the lake once a month? That’s all?” Bayan’s voice was full of urgency.

Rangbi paused for a moment, clearly considering the question. Then, with a deep sigh, she gave her daughter an answer that seemed both unexpected and simple. “Yes, that’s all you need to do.”

Bayan's face lit up. “Really? That’s it? Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?” She flopped back against the pillow, a huge grin spreading across her face. “If I’d known, we could have avoided all the suffering from the bloodletting!”

Rangbi didn’t seem impressed by her daughter’s enthusiasm. “You were the one asking where Yeongwol Lake was located.”

Bayan’s smile faltered slightly. “Ah, right, that’s true. But still, I never imagined it could be that simple.”

Rangbi’s lips curled into a faint smile. “Life’s always more complicated than it seems.”

Bayan rolled her eyes but couldn’t help but laugh. It felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, even though she still wasn’t quite sure how she was supposed to find this mystical lake. But for now, she was content to believe that, maybe, things could get a little easier.

Bayan rested her chin heavily on Langbi's thin shoulder, the bones sharp beneath the worn fabric of her mother's shirt. The air in the small room was thick with the scent of dried herbs and woodsmoke, a constant reminder of their isolated life in the mountain dwelling.

(That's right. This barren mountain, a skeletal frame draped in a tattered cloak of trees, offered no such solace. Explaining the method of finding water wouldn't have been of any use in this desolate landscape. She probably didn't mention it at all, shielding me from the inevitable disappointment of a fruitless search. But…) A flicker of hope ignited in Bayan's chest. (Wait a second… then, does this shift in conversation mean I can finally find it now? Has something changed?)

Bayan straightened abruptly, her head snapping up like a startled bird. The rough wool of her own tunic scratched against her neck.

“Mom,” she asked, her voice tinged with a hopeful tremor, “has a small lake or something appeared somewhere on this mountain? A spring, maybe? Any sign of water?”

Langbi didn’t even bother to open her eyes, her face a mask of weary indifference. The wrinkles around her eyes and mouth were etched deep by years of hardship. “I don’t even go outside the house anymore, child. My bones ache too much. How would I know what the mountain holds?”

A wave of frustration washed over Bayan. Her initial hope deflated like a punctured balloon. “….” *What. Then why did she even bring it up? Was it just a cruel jest?*

Bayan’s gaze sharpened, focusing on Langbi's profile. The lines of her jaw were set, her lips pressed into a thin line. She could almost feel the weight of her mother’s unspoken thoughts.

“Mom,” Bayan persisted, her voice dropping to a lower register, “tell me honestly. What’s going on?”

Langbi sighed, a sound like dry leaves rustling in the wind. “Tell you what? There's nothing to tell.”

“You’re just annoyed to give me the bloodletting treatment, aren’t you? You always complain about it.” Bayan’s words were laced with a playful accusation, but underneath lay a genuine concern. The bloodletting was a painful and necessary ritual, one that Langbi performed with steady hands, but Bayan had noticed a change recently.

“Tsk, nonsense,” Langbi retorted, but the dismissive tone lacked its usual bite.

“It’s not nonsense. Well, now that Mom is getting older,” Bayan continued, pressing her point gently, “it must be hard. Your hands aren’t as steady as they used to be. Right? Earlier too, when you were preparing the herbs, I saw them—your hands were trembling.”

Langbi, who had been stubbornly keeping her eyes closed, feigning sleep or perhaps simply retreating into her own world, snapped her eyes open. They were dark and sharp, like chips of obsidian. In a swift, practiced motion, she lifted her hand from under the heavy blanket, the calloused skin rough against the air, and struck Bayan squarely on the crown of her head. The blow, though not intended to cause serious harm, still stung.

“Ow!” Bayan yelped, instinctively reaching up to rub the sore spot.

“Just do as I say, you insolent brat!” Langbi’s voice was gruff, but a hint of a smile played at the corner of her lips.

Despite the sting on her head, a wave of relief washed over Bayan. The familiar reprimand, the physical touch, it was a confirmation that everything was, in its own way, alright. Rubbing the top of her head with her palm, Bayan soon grinned, a wide, unrestrained smile spreading across her face. She threw her arms and legs around Langbi, hugging her tightly. The scent of her mother—a mix of woodsmoke, sweat, and the faint, earthy aroma of the mountain—filled her senses. Even though she scolds me, a small pond must have appeared somewhere on the mountain. Why else would she mention the water finding method? That means no more agonizing bloodletting for a while. Good things do happen, even here, in this harsh land.

Langbi shifted uncomfortably, trying to dislodge Bayan’s clinging limbs. “Get off me, you’re suffocating me,” she grumbled, but there was no real force behind her words. Bayan remained stubbornly attached, giggling and nuzzling against her mother’s back. She buried her nose in the rough fabric of Langbi’s shirt, inhaling deeply, and then, emboldened by the moment, slipped her hand beneath the fabric, gently cupping her mother’s breast.

Langbi’s body stiffened. She didn’t say anything for a moment, then with a sigh she took Bayan’s hand and moved it away. “If you want to touch, then fondle your own,” Langbi said, her voice laced with a mixture of exasperation and weary affection.

“I don’t want to! I like Mom’s breasts!” Bayan whined playfully, clinging even tighter.

“Tsk tsk,” Langbi clucked her tongue. “When is this child going to grow up? A grown woman acting like this… Tsk tsk tsk.”

A delicate dance of touch and withdrawal played out between them. Bayan, sensing a softening in Langbi’s resistance, cautiously extended her hand again. Her fingers, calloused from work but surprisingly gentle, slipped beneath the worn fabric of Langbi’s blouse. She barely grazed the soft curve of her mother’s breast, the warmth radiating through the thin layer of cloth. It was a fleeting touch, almost hesitant, a silent question posed in the language of the body.

Just as Bayan began to relax, thinking Langbi had drifted off, a light tap landed on the back of her hand. It was a gentle but firm reminder, a boundary reasserted.

“Uh… Mom, you weren't asleep?” Bayan whispered, her voice laced with a mixture of surprise and sheepishness.

Langbi’s eyes remained closed, but a faint smile played on her lips. “I can’t fall asleep. My mind is restless.” She paused, then added, “Sing a song.”

“Huh?” Bayan blinked, momentarily taken aback by the request.

“A lullaby. Something to soothe the spirit. Sing.” Langbi repeated, her voice softer this time, almost pleading.

“At this hour?” Bayan protested weakly, glancing towards the small window, where the last vestiges of twilight were fading into the deep indigo of night.

“Hurry,” Langbi insisted, a hint of impatience creeping back into her tone.

Bayan sighed, conceding to her mother’s whim. She cleared her throat and began to sing, her voice low and hesitant at first, then gradually gaining strength. The melody was old, a traditional mountain song passed down through generations.

“…Let’s cover the sun, let’s cover the sun. Let’s put the sun into the red river. The crimson swallows the azure, the crimson devours the crimson. Let’s cover the sun, let’s cover the sun.” The words were strange and evocative, filled with ancient imagery of cosmic cycles and natural forces.

Langbi remained silent for a moment after Bayan finished the first verse. Then, a dry chuckle escaped her lips. “It sounds like a pig being slaughtered,” she remarked, her voice laced with wry amusement.

Bayan’s face fell. “…” She stopped singing, her hand withdrawing slightly from beneath Langbi’s shirt.

“What are you doing? You have to finish it,” Langbi insisted, nudging Bayan’s hand back into place with her own.

“But, you said it sounds like a pig being slaughtered!” Bayan protested, her voice laced with a touch of wounded pride.

A slow smile spread across Langbi’s face. “The sound your mother likes the most is the sound of a pig being slaughtered. It means we will eat well.”

“…Tch.” Bayan clicked her tongue, but a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She understood the underlying meaning of her mother’s words: a reminder of survival, of sustenance, of the harsh realities of their life in the mountains.

The song, which had paused for a brief moment, resumed, Bayan’s voice now imbued with a newfound understanding. She sang the verses again, her voice gaining confidence with each repetition. The melody filled the small room, weaving a tapestry of sound that seemed to soothe the very air around them.

After she had repeated the song three times, Langbi’s hand, which had been gently tapping the back of Bayan’s hand in time with the music, gradually slowed. The taps became softer, more infrequent, until finally, they ceased altogether. Bayan listened intently, her ear pressed close to Langbi’s back, and heard the steady, even rhythm of her mother’s breathing. It was the sound of deep sleep, of peaceful surrender.

A wave of tenderness washed over Bayan. She gently rubbed her forehead against Langbi’s thin back, the rough fabric scratching lightly against her skin. The warmth of her mother’s body radiated through the thin layers of clothing, a comforting presence in the quiet darkness. The lingering softness of her mother’s breast beneath her hand brought a sense of quiet contentment. A wave of drowsiness washed over her, the weariness of the day finally catching up. Bayan let out a long, contented sigh, her breath warm against Langbi’s back, and finally closed her eyes, drifting off to sleep in the comforting presence of her mother.

[hwadam-stories]

MASTER OF THE SUN | 태양의주인 | PART 2 (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT)

||| VOLUME 1: CHAPTER 2

||| TYPE: Light Novel (MTL)

||| TOOL: ChatGPT

||| CONTENT: contains dark and triggering themes (dead dove content), viewer discretion advised.

Langbi was a shaman renowned for her extraordinary supernatural abilities, so much so that people from distant villages would seek her out for divinations. She was young, strikingly beautiful, and her fame spread far and wide. Suitors from all corners would come bearing gifts, seeking her hand in marriage, but Langbi turned them all down with the same calm composure that had made her revered. Her life seemed charmed, touched by the divine, until the day something inexplicable began to happen—her belly began to swell as though she were with child. Whispers spread like wildfire through the village, tainting her once-hallowed name.

Langbi, once adored and worshipped, was now the subject of scornful gossip. The villagers who had once knelt before her, begging for her blessings, began to regard her with suspicion and contempt. To them, there was only one explanation for her condition: she had sinned. She must have betrayed the gods. This was the only way they could reconcile the idea of their revered shaman being punished so visibly. No one dared to confront her directly, but the whispers were louder than any accusation.

Her fall from grace was swift and brutal. As her belly grew, so did the stories, each one more outlandish than the last. They called her a harlot, a woman who had lost favor with the gods. They said she had invited a demon into her bed, that she had performed dark rituals under the cover of night, sacrificing her purity in exchange for fleeting power. And when the first signs of blindness appeared, the villagers took it as a confirmation of her guilt. They saw her deteriorating sight as a curse, a divine punishment for her transgressions.

By the time her sight was completely gone, Langbi was no longer the shaman the villagers once worshipped, but a figure of scorn and pity. Her beauty, which had once been the talk of the village, was now irrelevant. What did it matter if she was beautiful when she was blind? When she was cursed? Her healing powers, once so strong that people traveled for miles to seek her aid, began to dwindle. The herbs and incantations that had once worked miracles were now just empty rituals, their power drained away with her vision.

As her healing powers dwindled, the villagers’ contempt grew. They accused her of being punished by the gods, of being cursed, and they ostracized her from the life she had known. The same villagers who had once bowed to her now treated her with contempt, their fear of her lingering spiritual power the only thing preventing them from openly harming her. They begrudgingly offered her the barest minimum of food and provisions, and even that only came due to the influence of Danim, the elder of Ganak Village. Langbi, once a pillar of the community, was now a pariah, kept on the fringes of society, forgotten by those who had once sought her guidance.

The memory of Langbi’s fall from grace was a heavy burden for Bayan, her daughter, to carry. The young girl had grown up with the knowledge that her mother, once revered, was now despised. Bayan had heard the stories, had seen the way the villagers looked at them, and had felt the weight of their judgment. It was a judgment that had been passed down to her, simply because she was Langbi’s daughter.

“Hah, to think that all of this led to this...” Bayan thought, letting out a frosty breath as she adjusted the laundry basket she was carrying.

Though she was young, she remembered it all as if it were yesterday. Her mother had spoken calmly, almost detachedly, about how her life had spiraled into disgrace, as if narrating the life of a stranger. That detached demeanor was unbearably sad. Even as a child, Bayan felt her mother’s deep pain and hated herself for not being able to do anything about it. Bayan had cried for her mother, her small body wracked with sobs, but Langbi had simply stroked her hair and told her, “Even if I had the chance to go back, I’d make the same choice. I have no regrets about becoming your mother. You must not regret being born as my daughter.”

Langbi’s words, meant to be comforting, had done little to ease the pain in Bayan’s heart. How could she not regret it? Every day was a struggle against the weight of her mother’s past and the scorn of the village. Whenever Bayan returned home after being bullied by the village children, even if she tried to hide it, her mother would always somehow sense it. She would scold her for fighting, but at the same time, she would quietly examine her face, her unseeing white pupils searching for any signs of injury. Unlike other mothers, she didn’t embrace her warmly or shower her with affection. Sometimes, Bayan wondered if she was truly her mother, given how harsh and cold she could be. Yet even then, Bayan could feel how deeply her mother wanted to heal her.

Langbi had never spoken much about the circumstances that led to her fall. When Bayan was younger, she would ask, “Mother, why do they hate us?” But Langbi would only smile sadly and say, “People fear what they don’t understand.” That was the only explanation she ever gave, and Bayan had to make do with it, though it never truly satisfied her. How could she understand the depth of the villagers’ fear and hatred when her mother refused to explain what had happened?

Bayan, her head bowed, murmured softly, “I can’t leave Mother. No matter how much I hate this village.” Her plan to leave the village as soon as she completed her coming-of-age ceremony had been thwarted by her mother’s staunch opposition. She had brought it up again just last night, but as always, her mother simply repeated, “If you’re so desperate to leave, then go by yourself.” Though Bayan had angrily declared that she would leave alone, both she and her mother knew she couldn’t actually do it.

If only the villagers had demanded that they leave, she could have used that as leverage to convince her mother. But for some reason, even though they despised them, the villagers never told them to leave. On the contrary, they would come by every few days, either to keep an eye on them or to harass them. Were they afraid that a mutant might escape and bring shame to the village? Bayan shook her head vigorously to clear her complicated thoughts.

(Yes, I’ll leave this village someday, no matter what. I just need to think of this as a delay. I’ll try to persuade Mother… and if that doesn’t work, I’ll carry her out while she’s asleep.)

A cold wind whipped her hair violently. Shivering, she pulled her threadbare collar tighter and quickened her pace. Up until now, she had done her laundry in the evening, when no one was around to avoid the villagers' gazes, but now that winter had arrived, she had no choice but to do it earlier. The stream would freeze over as soon as the sun went down.

Sure enough, several women, from older matrons with their hair tied up to young maidens with neatly braided locks, had gathered in groups of twos and threes at the stream to do their laundry. It must have been warmer today than usual since so many of them were out. Their silver hair glistened beautifully under the sunlight, almost dazzling.

Bayan hesitated for a moment, then tucked her black hair into her clothes. She quietly made her way down to the less crowded lower part of the stream.

Damn it. Bayan clenched her lips and quickly masked her expression before turning around. Standing there with her fine silver hair fluttering in the breeze was Saran, the most beautiful woman in the village and, in Bayan’s opinion, the most spiteful. Her delicate smile, even teeth, soft brows, red lips, and clear skin—all of it was flawless, as befitted her reputation. But just because someone looked beautiful on the outside didn’t mean they were the same inside.

Saran’s beauty was a weapon, one that she wielded with precision. She had always been aware of the effect she had on others, and she used it to her advantage, manipulating people with a well-timed smile or a soft-spoken word. To those who didn’t know her well, she seemed perfect—kind, gentle, and generous. But Bayan knew better. She had seen the cruelty behind those soft eyes, had been the target of Saran’s barbed words more times than she could count.

“What is it?” Bayan asked, her voice carefully neutral.

“When you see a friend, you should greet them. Why try to run away? It’s not like you’ve done anything wrong.” Saran’s voice was as sweet as honey, but there was an edge to it, a hidden sharpness that made Bayan’s skin prickle with unease.

“Who says I haven’t? My very existence is a crime.” Bayan’s response was bitter, her words laced with the anger she had long learned to suppress. She knew it was exactly what Saran wanted to hear, and that knowledge only made her more resentful.

“Saran, you’re too kind for your own good.” Galmi and Yul, Saran’s ever-present shadows, chimed in. They exchanged glances and burst into giggles, as if something was hilarious. Even Saran, who usually acted calm and refined, couldn’t hide the joy in her eyes.

(What’s gotten into them? They’ve always been weird, but today they seem especially off.)

Without responding, Bayan sat down by the stream and set down her basket. As she was about to soak her laundry, someone stepped on her clothes.

Bayan’s gaze was sharp and unyielding as it fixed upon Yul, whose smirk widened with every passing second. The afternoon sun cast long shadows over the riverbank, and the sound of the flowing stream was punctuated by Yul’s mocking tone.

“Oh my, how scary! I might get attacked by a mutant if I’m not careful,” she said, her voice dripping with derision. Yul’s lips curled into a sneer, her eyes dancing with amusement.

Bayan’s eyes narrowed into slits, barely containing her frustration. “Saran wasn’t done talking yet. Don’t be so rude,” she said, her tone icy.

Yul barely flinched. “Move your foot,” she demanded, her voice laced with impatience as she shifted her weight, unconcerned about the mounting tension.

Bayan’s gaze flickered with anger. “What’s the point of washing your clothes? You’re the one who’s going to wear them anyway,” she retorted, her words carrying a bitter edge.

“Move your foot,” Bayan repeated, her patience wearing thin.

Saran, who had been observing the exchange with a mild expression, finally placed a gentle hand on Yul’s shoulder. The gesture was light, almost insubstantial, as if she were barely touching her. “Yul, that’s enough. She seems to be getting upset. I just wanted to congratulate her, but… oh well, I guess it can’t be helped,” she said, her voice carrying an undertone of resignation.

Yul’s smirk faded slightly, but her eyes remained defiant. “Saran, how can you call someone like that a friend? If you’re that soft-hearted, you’ll be taken advantage of even in the Empire!” Her tone was sharp, as though she was issuing a warning.

Saran tilted her head slightly, a delicate gesture that made her look even more fragile. “I know… Haa… I wonder if I’ll really be able to manage,” she said wistfully, her eyes reflecting a mixture of uncertainty and hope.

“Don’t worry,” Yul interjected with an air of exaggerated confidence. “You’ll be the most beautiful of all the concubines. You’ll quickly capture His Majesty’s favor, so what’s there to worry about? Galmi and I will be there to help you.”

The conversation seemed almost surreal to Bayan. The overblown confidence and the way Saran and her companions carried themselves was almost theatrical. Suppressing the urge to scoff, Bayan looked at Saran’s face. Despite her words of concern, there was a distinct, almost arrogant confidence in her eyes that spoke volumes.

“Where are you going? To the Empire?” Bayan asked, her curiosity tinged with skepticism.

Galmi, who had been meticulously arranging Saran’s hair with an air of practiced devotion, lifted her chin with an expression of haughty satisfaction. “Haven’t you heard? The Great Emperor Taemuje has returned from war and is taking concubines. The Siyos were ordered to participate, and as expected, Saran was chosen. The decision was unanimous,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain for anyone who wasn’t in the know.

Bayan’s eyes widened slightly. “Taemuje?” she echoed, the name unfamiliar but evocative.

Galmi’s condescending tone took on a hint of exasperation. “Oh dear, do you not even know who Taemuje is? You really are uneducated, aren’t you? He’s the new Emperor of the Hwadam Empire!” Her voice was filled with a mixture of pity and disdain.

Bayan’s thoughts raced. So, this was the man who had been obsessed with war for twelve years and had recently ascended to the throne. The reputation of a madman was hardly comforting.

Bayan had heard plenty about Taemuje's erratic behavior and his fixation on war. The tales of his brutality and instability were well-known, and the idea of becoming a concubine to such a lunatic seemed absurd. She lowered her head, a small smirk playing on her lips as she considered the irony of it all. If Saran could win the Emperor’s favor, the village’s protection tax would be reduced—a crucial point for a community that relied heavily on the whims of the ruling class.

She took a deep breath, hiding her disdain behind a neutral expression. “If Saran can win the Emperor’s favor, the protection tax will be reduced. I know a mutant like you, who’s a burden on the village, might not understand, but this is incredibly good news.”

Yul’s pride was palpable as she nodded, her chest puffing out with self-importance. “And the best part is that Galmi and I will be there to support her.”

Bayan’s eyebrows arched. “You’re going with her?” she asked, her tone revealing a hint of genuine curiosity.

Galmi nodded, her face glowing with self-satisfaction. “We’ll be accompanying her as her maids. Or rather, should I say as maids to Her Ladyship, the Concubine?”

“Oh, stop it. We shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves,” Saran interjected, though her blush suggested that she was enjoying the attention.

She gave Yul a gentle nudge, but it was as insubstantial as a feather’s touch. Bayan’s laugh was a soft, mocking sound, barely audible over the babble of the stream.

So this was what it was about. It wasn’t about genuine excitement or concern; it was about boasting and ingratiating themselves to those in power. How desperate must they be to show off to someone like her, a mutant who they saw as beneath them?

“Well then, safe travels,” Bayan said, her voice dripping with insincerity. “I hope you secure plenty of the emperor's favor.”

“Hmph! We don’t need your wishes,” Yul shot back, her voice full of bravado. “Saran will easily rise from concubine to empress!”

The statement seemed almost comical to Bayan. The hubris of Yul and Saran was astounding. “Why don’t you just fly straight to the heavens while you’re at it?” she thought, unable to stifle the bitter taste of irony.

Bayan gave a half-hearted nod, then tilted her head thoughtfully. “But what if the emperor ends up favoring the maid more than the concubine? What would happen then?” Her tone was deliberately provocative.

The question hung in the air, and for a moment, Saran’s face grew cold. The certainty in her demeanor wavered. Yul and Galmi exchanged uneasy glances, their earlier confidence cracking like fragile ice.

“We… We’re nothing compared to Saran… How could you say such nonsense?” Yul’s voice quivered slightly, and Galmi’s eyes darted nervously.

Bayan shrugged, her expression one of feigned innocence. “I was just curious, since everyone has different tastes. Yul, haven’t people often told you that you’re quite pretty too? But whatever…”

Her words were cut short by an unpleasant odor wafting from the stream. “Ugh, what’s that awful smell? The water here reeks. I’ll move further downstream.”

As if to emphasize her point, Bayan began pretending to rummage through her laundry. Her hands worked with deliberate slowness, carefully dragging out each piece of clothing. Then, with a swift, practiced motion, she yanked the garments lying at Yul’s feet.

“Kyaaa!” Yul’s shriek of surprise was punctuated by the sudden loss of balance. She flailed her arms as she toppled into the stream with a splash, her previous arrogance dissolving into panic.

Bayan watched as Yul floundered in the icy water, spluttering and gasping. Her fall had been sudden, and for a moment, she was nothing more than a flurry of flailing arms and legs. The cold must have been a shock to her, and Bayan couldn’t suppress a brief, fleeting smile as Yul struggled to regain her footing.

Saran and Galmi remained eerily silent, their faces a mixture of shock and barely concealed disdain. It was clear they were more concerned with their own pride than with helping their fallen companion. Saran’s lips tightened into a thin line as she turned away, not bothering to offer any assistance. Her carefully crafted façade of grace and poise cracked slightly as she huffed and gestured for Galmi to follow her, heading back up the stream with an air of superiority.

Bayan seized the moment, taking advantage of their distraction to finish her laundry. She worked swiftly, her hands moving efficiently despite the frigid temperatures. The gossip and scorn from earlier seemed to dissipate with each splash of water against the rocks. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

A few days later, the village was abuzz with talk of Saran’s departure. The excitement was palpable, and the villagers held a small celebration, believing that Saran’s presence in the empire would be a boon for them all. Bayan could see the hopeful gleams in their eyes as they speculated about the possible reduction in protection tax and the newfound prestige of their village.

Meanwhile, Bayan kept her distance from the festivities. The gossip, the excited chatter about Saran’s potential rise in the imperial court—it all seemed distant and irrelevant to her. She had her own battles to fight, her own plans to make. The village’s obsession with Saran’s fate did little to change her own situation.

Langbi, her mother, seemed oddly unaffected by the village’s excitement. She sat quietly by the window, her sightless gaze lost in the horizon. It was as if she too had accepted that Saran’s departure was simply another chapter in their life—one that would not alter the reality of their situation.

One evening, as the village’s celebrations quieted down and the first signs of winter’s chill took hold, Bayan found herself alone with her thoughts. She sat by the hearth in their small home, staring into the flickering flames. Her mind wandered to the conversations she had overheard and the growing anticipation of the village.

She knew she needed a plan. The village’s fixation on Saran’s future had only highlighted how trapped she felt. She was reminded of her own vow—to leave the village when the time was right, to carve out a future beyond the constraints of her current life. The time was drawing closer, and she had to prepare.

[hwadam-stories]

hello, I wanted to ask if you still have the novel for the College Student Empress. If so, am I able to translate it?

Yes I do! Please message me directly for it.

[hwadam-stories]

[hwadam-stories]

Hotaru no Yomeiri ✧  Firefly Wedding, ch. 25

[hwadam-stories]

[hwadam-stories]

₊ ˚ ⊹ AU ARC: A ROTTEN FLOWER 𓂃 ࣪ ˖ .ᐟ

Both women find themselves at a crossroads, bound by their shared desire for power, love, and survival, yet pulled toward each other in ways they cannot fully comprehend. Each journal entry reveals their inner turmoil, their conflicting emotions, and the strange, magnetic tension that neither of them can escape.

### Sama-Hyeon’s Journal Entry

The Lady Cha-In wears her veil with such dignity, such poise, that one might forget what lies beneath. But I know. I know the scars she hides and the power she wields over the Emperor. I should hate her for it—no, I do hate her for it. Yet, there’s something about her that stirs an unsettling feeling in me.

I watched her today, after I spoke my mind about the Emperor’s heir. She kept her composure, but I could see it in her eyes—the flicker of jealousy, of possessiveness. She knows as well as I do that the Emperor needs an heir, that his line will not continue without a son. And yet, despite all her wisdom, she hesitates. She clings to him, to the privileges she has gained through their bond. But does she truly think she can keep him to herself forever?

*lThere was a moment, though—a brief one, when her eyes lingered on me. I saw it, as clear as day. She was not merely angry. There was something else, something that made my heart race. Desire, perhaps? Or curiosity? I cannot tell yet, but I am not so blind as to ignore it.

I know what people say about me—that I’m ruthless, manipulative, willing to do anything to secure my place at the Emperor’s side. And perhaps they’re right. But is that not what survival demands? We are all just pawns in this game of power, and if I must play the part of the temptress, the strategist, the villain… so be it. I do not fear the consequences.

But Lady Cha-In… Bayan… she is different. She’s not like the others who fell before me. Her loyalty to the Emperor is unshakable, but I wonder—how much of that is truly for him? And how much is for herself? She is possessive, yes, but there’s a part of her, I think, that knows she cannot control him forever.

I’ll wait. I’ll give her time to think about what I said. I have no doubt she will speak to him—eventually. She’s too smart not to see reason. But if she refuses… well, I have ways of ensuring the Emperor hears my plea. One way or another, I will get what I want.

And yet, I cannot stop thinking about her. About the way her body tensed when I leaned close, the way her breath caught in her throat when I spoke of sharing. Perhaps there is more to this than I thought. Perhaps she feels it too, this strange pull between us.

Or perhaps I am simply reading too much into it. After all, what good could come of an alliance between us? We are rivals, bound by the same cruel system, vying for the same man’s favor.

But still, I wonder…

### Bayan’s Journal Entry

She came to me today, Sama-Hyeon, with her honeyed words and soft smiles, but I saw through it all. She thinks herself clever, manipulative, as if I would be so easily swayed by her talk of securing an heir. Does she truly believe I would give up what I’ve fought for so easily? That I would allow her to take what is mine?

And yet…

There was something in the way she spoke, in the way she moved, that I cannot shake. The way her body leaned close to mine, the way her lips brushed against my ear. It sent a shiver down my spine, one that I cannot explain. I should hate her. She scarred me, humiliated me with that Ruben powder, and yet, when she looks at me with those piercing eyes, I feel something else—something I do not wish to acknowledge.

She spoke of the Emperor needing an heir, and I cannot deny that she’s right. Dhan is the Great Sun, and his line must continue. But the thought of him bedding her—of anyone else—twists my heart in ways I did not expect. I am possessive, yes. I want him, need him, in ways that I cannot fully understand. But I also know that I am part of this system, a system that raises us up one moment and discards us the next.

Perhaps I have been blind to it all this time, blinded by my love for him, my need for his favor. I turned a blind eye to the others, to the women who came before me and met their end at his hands. I told myself that they were not like me, that I was different. But now… now I am beginning to wonder if I have been a fool.

Sama-Hyeon, with her arrogance and jealousy, should repulse me. And yet, there is a strange pull between us, one that I cannot deny. I caught myself staring at her today, at the curve of her body, the way her dress clung to her. I loathe her for what she did to me, for the scars that now mark my face. But I also… desire her, in a way that confuses and frightens me.

Am I losing my mind? Or is this simply the effect she has on people, bending them to her will with nothing more than a look, a smile, a whispered word?

She asked me to speak to Dhan, to persuade him to bed her, to secure an heir. The thought makes my blood boil, but… I cannot ignore the logic in her request. The empire needs stability, and Dhan needs an heir. But I am not ready to share him. Not yet.

Still, there is something between us—between me and Sama-Hyeon—that I cannot fully understand. Perhaps in another life, another time, things might have been different between us. But in this world, we are rivals, bound by our desire for power and survival.

And yet, I find myself thinking of her. More than I should.

What am I becoming?

[hwadam-stories]

⊹ PHANTOM PAINS ⊹ EPISODE TWO

(black!fem!) mea harper!reader x CEO boss!Dhan Tae-Oh

ᴍɪɴᴏʀꜱ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛ

I do not consent to my work being reposted, — stolen or translated anywhere else.

CW: long post, Emotional tension, jealousy, family conflict, unspoken resentment, cancer, marital strain, financial stress.

SYNOPSIS: The drive home from dinner turns into a heated confrontation as you confront Kal about his mother’s blatant favoritism toward Jenna and his failure to defend you. Kal’s excuses and lingering jealousy over Dhan fuel the argument, while deeper resentments and financial pressures rise to the surface.

A/N: finally! The second episode is out! comments, messages & reblogs are greatly appreciated and encouraged and they will help me consider continuing it with motivation.

The Car Ride Home

The car was quiet, the kind of silence that wasn’t peaceful, but tense and filled with unspoken words. You stared out the window, the blur of city lights passing by as Kal drove, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. The weight of the night hung heavy between you both, but you could feel the storm brewing inside of you, ready to break.

"Mr. Tae-Oh, huh?" Kal’s voice cut through the silence, but it wasn’t casual. There was a bite to it, a hint of bitterness that made your chest tighten.

You inhaled slowly, already bracing yourself for the argument that was coming. "What about him?"

Kal’s jaw clenched, his eyes still on the road. "He seemed awfully friendly back there. Sending you that bottle of wine like it was nothing. That wasn’t just small talk, y/n."

You rolled your eyes, the frustration bubbling up inside you. "Are we seriously doing this right now? Kal, it was a gesture. That’s it. I didn’t ask for it, and it didn’t mean anything."

"Didn’t mean anything?" Kal scoffed, shaking his head. "You sure about that? Because from where I was sitting, it looked like he was trying to make a point. Right in front of me."

You turned to face him, unable to keep the edge out of your voice. "Maybe if you weren’t so wrapped up in yourself, you would’ve noticed that your mother spent the entire night disrespecting me. But no, you were too busy entertaining Jenna."

Kal’s eyes narrowed as he glanced at you, his expression defensive. "What’s Jenna got to do with this?"

"Everything!" you snapped, the floodgates opening. "She sat next to you the entire night, Kal. Not me. Your wife was sitting at the far end of the table like some outsider, while Jenna sat there, all smiles and giggles, acting like she was the one who belonged next to you."

Kal’s grip tightened on the wheel. "That wasn’t my decision, y/n. Mom wanted to sit us that way. You know how she is."

"Yeah, I know exactly how she is," you shot back, your voice filled with bitterness. "She treats me like I’m nothing, like I don’t deserve to be part of the family. And what do you do? You just sit there and let it happen. Every time, Kal. You let her walk all over me. You’ve never stood up for me. Not once."

Kal shook his head, his voice rising with frustration. "She’s sick, y/n. She’s got cancer, for God’s sake. What do you want me to do? Start a fight with her?"

Your heart pounded in your chest, the anger coursing through your veins. "Oh, I’m well aware of her illness, Kal. I’m the one paying for her medical bills, remember? While you sit around feeling sorry for yourself, I’m the one footing the bill for everything—including your mother’s treatment."

Kal’s face darkened, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. The silence stretched between you, thick with the weight of your words.

"You think I don’t know that?" Kal finally said, his voice low and hard. "You think I don’t know how much you’ve been doing? But you act like I’m just sitting here doing nothing—"

"Because you are," you interrupted, your voice shaking with frustration. "I’ve been carrying this entire relationship, this entire household, on my back, Kal. I’m the one working late nights, paying the bills, covering your mother’s medical expenses. And what do I get in return? I get ignored. I get disrespected. And you never say a word."

Kal’s mouth tightened, his jaw clenching. "That’s not fair, y/n."

"Fair?" you laughed bitterly, the sound hollow. "You want to talk about fair? Let’s talk about how your mother treated me tonight. Let’s talk about how she favors Jenna, how she’s been making it clear from day one that she thinks Jenna is the one who should be with you, not me. And you just let it happen. You’ve never defended me."

Kal stayed quiet, his silence speaking volumes.

"Do you have any idea what it felt like to sit there and watch her treat me like an outsider?" you continued, your voice trembling with emotion. "And then to see Jenna sitting next to you, acting all smug like she had won some kind of prize? I felt humiliated, Kal. Your own mother made me feel like I didn’t belong, and you just sat there and did nothing."

Kal exhaled slowly, his shoulders tense as he kept his eyes on the road. "You’re blowing this out of proportion."

"Am I?" You crossed your arms, shaking your head in disbelief. "You think I didn’t notice Jenna’s smug little looks? The way she leaned in close to you all night like I wasn’t even there? And you didn’t push her away. You didn’t even try. You just let her take my place."

Kal’s hands tightened on the steering wheel again, the muscles in his jaw working as he tried to find the words. But all that came out was a strained, "Mom just wanted her to feel included. She’s going through a lot too."

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Jenna? What exactly is Jenna going through, Kal? Because from where I’m standing, she seems to have everything she wants. She’s got your mom wrapped around her finger, and apparently, she’s got you too. The only person who’s being left out here is me."

Kal shot you a frustrated look, his voice low and hard. "You’re making it sound like something it’s not. Jenna’s just a friend, y/n."

"A friend," you repeated, your voice filled with disbelief. "Right. A friend who’s always there, who always just happens to be the one sitting next to you, while I get pushed aside. A friend who your mother clearly thinks should’ve been your wife instead of me. And you don’t see a problem with that?"

Kal opened his mouth to argue, but the words seemed to stick in his throat. The car fell silent again, the tension thick and suffocating. You could feel the frustration building inside you, the weight of everything you’d been holding back threatening to spill over.

"You didn’t even say anything, Kal," you said quietly, your voice trembling with hurt. "You didn’t defend me. Not once. You let your mother treat me like I was nothing, like I didn’t even matter. And then you sat there, letting Jenna take my place, like it didn’t matter either."

Kal’s face softened, but the tension in his body remained. "It’s not that simple, y/n. You know Mom’s sick. I don’t want to make things harder for her."

"And what about making things harder for me?" you asked, your voice breaking. "What about all the times I’ve had to sit there and pretend like I’m okay, while your mother treats me like I’m not good enough? While Jenna sits there like she’s the one who belongs next to you, and I’m just… there, watching it all happen?"

Kal sighed, his frustration evident. "I don’t want to fight about this. Not now."

"Of course, you don’t," you muttered, turning your gaze back to the window. "You never do."

Arriving Home

The tension didn’t lift as you pulled into the driveway. Kal parked the car, but neither of you moved to get out. You sat there for a long moment, the weight of the conversation hanging between you.

Eventually, you unbuckled your seatbelt and stepped out of the car, the cool night air hitting your skin as you walked toward the front door. Kal followed, his footsteps heavy behind you.

Inside, the silence was oppressive. You kicked off your shoes, feeling the exhaustion settle into your bones. Kal dropped his keys onto the counter with a loud clatter, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

"Do you even care anymore?" Kal’s voice was quiet, but the words hit you like a punch to the gut.

You turned to face him, your heart aching. "Of course I care, Kal. But I’m tired. I’m so tired of feeling like I’m fighting for this marriage alone. I’m tired of the jealousy, the insecurity, the constant feeling that I’m not enough for you or your family."

Kal’s expression softened, but the tension lingered in the air.

His shoulders slumped as he spoke again, his voice quieter, weighed down with emotion. "You’re not the one who’s not enough, y/n. It’s me. I’ve lost everything, and I don’t even know who I am anymore. I feel useless—like I’m failing you, failing us. And every day, I wake up wondering if you’re going to wake up one morning and realize you deserve better."

You stared at him, the anger in your chest replaced by something more complex. You weren’t sure if it was pity, frustration, or just plain exhaustion. But as much as you wanted to reach out and soothe his insecurities, part of you resented that you had to constantly reassure him while getting nothing in return.

The weight of being the one holding everything together had become too much, and it was starting to show in cracks that you couldn’t ignore.

"I’ve never wanted better, Kal," you said quietly, trying to find some semblance of peace between you. "I just wanted us. And it seems like I'm the only one fighting for that."

Kal didn’t respond. He looked down at his hands, his fingers flexing in frustration. You could tell he was struggling to find the words, but the silence stretched on, filling the room with an emptiness that felt almost unbearable.

Eventually, you both retreated into your own spaces. Kal moved toward the couch, collapsing onto it with a heavy sigh, while you made your way upstairs, your legs heavy with the weight of the conversation. The house was silent except for the faint ticking of the clock and the low hum of the fridge downstairs.

Upstairs - Private Reflection

Once you reached the bedroom, you closed the door softly behind you, leaning against it for a moment as you exhaled. The argument with Kal had drained you, but your mind kept drifting back to the dinner—specifically, to Dhan. You crossed the room, slipping out of your clothes and into something more comfortable, trying to shake the lingering tension in your body.

But the memory of Dhan’s face, the way his voice had wrapped around you like a comforting presence, kept resurfacing in your thoughts. It felt wrong, but at the same time, it felt like something you couldn’t push away. The way he had looked at you, the depth in his eyes—it had stirred something inside you that you hadn’t felt in a long time.

You moved toward the nightstand, where the bottle of wine Dhan had sent was still sitting. The sleek glass shimmered under the soft light of the lamp, and you reached out to pick it up, turning it over in your hands. Your fingertips traced the curve of the bottle, your mind replaying the brief conversation you’d had with him outside the restaurant.

He had made you feel seen. Not like Kal, whose eyes often slid past you or were fixated on his own worries. Dhan had looked at you like he understood the weight you carried, like he knew the exhaustion behind your smile. And for a moment, you had felt something you hadn’t felt in years—important.

Your lips curled into a faint smile as you recalled how handsome he was. There had been a quiet confidence about him, something magnetic that drew you in without effort. His eyes, dark and intense, had lingered on you in a way that sent shivers down your spine. And that voice—low, smooth, full of meaning—it had felt like he was speaking directly to your soul.

You shook your head, trying to pull yourself out of the thoughts that threatened to take hold. This wasn’t right. You were married. You couldn’t afford to let your mind wander like this, not when things were already so strained with Kal. But it was hard not to think about the contrast. The way Dhan had made you feel versus the constant strain of your marriage.

As you examined the bottle more closely, you noticed a loose piece of the label sticking out slightly near the bottom. Your fingers brushed over it, and you carefully tugged at the corner. The piece of paper lifted away, revealing something hidden underneath.

Your breath caught in your throat as you pulled the small slip of paper free. Written in elegant, neat handwriting was a phone number—Dhan’s phone number. It was tucked under the label so subtly that you wouldn’t have noticed it if you hadn’t been looking closely.

For a moment, you just stared at the number, your heart racing in your chest. You hadn’t expected this. The wine had already been a surprise, but this felt… different. More intentional. Dhan had left you his number, knowing full well the implications. He wanted you to call him.

Your mind raced, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Part of you knew you shouldn’t even be considering it. You were married, after all. But another part of you—the part that felt neglected, tired, unseen—was tempted. Because Dhan had made you feel something. Something real. And after so long of feeling nothing but exhaustion and resentment, that feeling was intoxicating.

You sat down on the edge of the bed, the piece of paper still clutched in your hand. The soft light of the room cast a warm glow around you, but inside, you felt conflicted and torn. You didn’t know what you wanted, or rather, you knew but didn’t want to admit it to yourself.

The sound of Kal moving downstairs broke the quiet, and you were reminded of the argument, of the hurtful things said, and the unresolved tension that hung between you and your husband. The weight of your responsibilities—his mother’s medical bills, the household, your marriage—pressed down on you.

But Dhan… Dhan felt like a breath of fresh air. He felt like a reminder that you were more than the weight you carried, more than the woman who paid the bills and endured silent dinners.

For a moment, you let yourself imagine it—what it would be like to call him. What it would be like to hear his voice again, to maybe feel some of that lightness you had felt when he had stood beside you outside the restaurant. To be seen, to be heard, to be wanted.

But then you folded the piece of paper, slipping it into the drawer of your nightstand.

Not tonight. Not yet.

You climbed into bed, the soft sheets brushing against your skin as you laid back, staring up at the ceiling. The room was silent, but your mind wasn’t. It was full of the night’s events, of the lingering frustration with Kal, and the quiet allure of something new and different.

As you closed your eyes, your last thoughts were of Dhan. Of his eyes on you, his voice in your ear, and the weight of that small piece of paper in your drawer—a temptation waiting in the winds, just out of reach.

Dhan’s Suite

Dhan Tae-Oh leaned back in the plush leather seat of his chauffeured car, his gaze fixed on the city lights flickering past the window. The skyline of Chicago stretched out before him, a sea of twinkling lights that seemed almost insignificant compared to the thoughts racing through his mind. The events of the evening replayed in his head, each moment punctuated by the image of you.

He had nearly given up hope. Five centuries of searching, reincarnations filled with wealth and power, yet each life had been a quest for something he could never fully grasp. Tonight, though, fate had offered him a chance—a chance to find you again, even if you didn’t remember him. The pain that had haunted him for so long felt oddly lessened by this small, miraculous twist of destiny.

Purchasing the Wine

Immediately after his conversation with you, Dhan had felt a surge of urgency. He needed to do something, to make a gesture that would show you how much he was still captivated by you. As he walked back into the restaurant, he approached a waiter who was just finishing setting up a table nearby.

“Excuse me,” Dhan said, catching the waiter’s attention. “Could you recommend a wine? I need something exceptional—a gift for a charming old friend of mine.”

The waiter’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, but he nodded with a courteous smile. “Of course, sir. May I ask what kind of impression you’d like to make? Something classic and elegant, or perhaps something bold and memorable?”

Dhan thought for a moment. “I’d like something classic, but with a touch of luxury. It should reflect my admiration accordingly.”

The waiter considered this, then led Dhan to a display of premium wines. “This bottle,” he said, holding up an opulent vintage, “is our finest. It’s rich, sophisticated, and perfect for a meaningful gift.”

Dhan nodded, accepting the bottle with appreciation. He took a small slip of paper from his pocket and carefully tucked it beneath the paper label of the wine—a slip with his phone number scrawled on it. “Please deliver this to the table where she’s sitting. Make sure it’s a surprise.”

The waiter took the bottle, understanding the gravity of the gesture. “I’ll ensure it’s delivered as requested.”

In the Suite

Now, in the solitude of his suite, Dhan’s thoughts turned inward. He paced the room, his sharp features cast in shadows by the soft moonlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. His reflection in the glass looked somber, a mixture of satisfaction and melancholy.

He thought about you—how beautiful you had looked, even with the strain of the evening weighing on you.

You had been surrounded by people who, from his perspective, had treated you poorly. Your husband’s neglect, the favoritism towards Jenna—it had all stirred something fierce within him. He couldn’t help but feel a possessive anger at the way you had been treated, an anger that simmered just below the surface.

“They don’t deserve you,” he muttered aloud, his voice low and edged with bitterness. “How could they treat you like that? As if you’re just another accessory to their lives.”

Dhan walked over to the window, gazing out at the moonlit sky. The moon hung high, a silent witness to his thoughts and feelings. “You deserve so much more than that,” he continued, almost as if speaking directly to you. “So much more than they can give you.”

The memory of your face, your voice, the way you had looked at him with a mix of curiosity and restraint—it was all-consuming. He felt a pang of sadness that you didn’t remember him, that his presence had only been a fleeting moment in your life. But this was not a barrier to him; it was a challenge. He would be patient. He would wait until the time was right, until you remembered the bond that had once been so strong.

The moonlight seemed to mock him with its indifference, but it also felt like a beacon guiding him. He raised his eyes to the sky, a faint smile touching his lips as he asked rhetorically, “Are you thinking of me, y/n? I can feel it. I know you are. Even if you don’t remember me yet, there’s a part of you that senses the connection.”

Dhan’s voice was soft but resolute. “I’ll stop at nothing until you are mine again,” he said, his gaze never leaving the moon. “I’ll do whatever it takes to remind you of us, to remind you of the love we shared. And when you remember, when you finally realize who I am, I’ll be here. Waiting. Ready.”

He turned away from the window, his thoughts focused on the future. The night had only just begun, and the path to reclaiming your heart was long. But Dhan was determined. His resolve was unshakable, and he would stop at nothing to ensure that you were his once more.

[hwadam-stories]

𝟏𝟏 ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ 𝐀𝐒 𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈 𝐒𝐀𝐖 𝐎𝐂𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐅 𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐘 (18 APR. 2024)

ㅤㅤ┍⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ · · · ·

ㅤㅤㅤㅤPERSONNALISATION : ★★★★★

ㅤㅤㅤㅤDIFFICULTÉ : ★☆☆☆☆

ㅤㅤ · · · · ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯┛

𝒕𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 extrêmement simple et personnalisable, le format 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐄 a de nombreux avantages comme la possibilité d'écrire autant que possible dans les catégories dédiées sur le modèle ⎯⎯⎯ une véritable révolution pour les grands bavards que vous pouvez être. seul inconvénient : les plus esthétiques d'entre nous pourrons trouver une certaine frustration dans les limites de personnalisation du format 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐄 puisqu'il est très difficile de manier le déplacement des images en dehors des tableaux. il est néanmoins très utile pour les débutants en matière de gdocs puisqu'il se focalise d'avantage sur le côté pratique de l'application plutôt que sur son côté créatif. quoiqu'il est toujours possible de faire preuve de personnalité avec 𝐀𝐒 𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈 𝐒𝐀𝐖 𝐎𝐂𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐅 𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐘 si l'on est suffisamment imaginatif...

note de stavroguine : j'ai rajouté sur ce 𝒕𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 de nombreuses catégories pour ceux et celles qui souhaiteraient enrichir leur fiche. cela passe évidemment par la présence d'un registre de liens, d'une trivia et d'un moodboard, mais également d'une icône musicale personnalisable qui amène à un lien spotify, youtube, etc.

ㅤㅤ 𝑨𝑩𝑶𝑼𝑻 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑼𝑺𝑬 ;

ㅤㅤ┍⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ · · · ·

ㅤㅤㅤㅤGO TO FILE

ㅤㅤㅤㅤAND THEN, SELECT “MAKE A COPY”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤDON’T REMOVE THE CREDITS.

ㅤㅤ · · · · ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯┛

ㅤㅤ 𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘&𝗥𝗘𝗕𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗦 are appreciated.

[hwadam-stories]

𝟏𝐎 ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐍 (20 SEP. 2023)

ㅤㅤ┍⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ · · · ·

ㅤㅤㅤㅤPERSONNALISATION : ★★★★★

ㅤㅤㅤㅤDIFFICULTÉ : ★★☆☆☆

ㅤㅤ · · · · ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯┛

𝒕𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 extrêmement simple et personnalisable, le format 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐄 a de nombreux avantages comme la possibilité d'écrire autant que possible dans les catégories dédiées sur le modèle ⎯⎯⎯ une véritable révolution pour les grands bavards que vous pouvez être. seul inconvénient : les plus esthétiques d'entre nous pourrons trouver une certaine frustration dans les limites de personnalisation du format 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐄 puisqu'il est très difficile de manier le déplacement des images en dehors des tableaux. contrairement aux apparences, ce modèle est relativement personnalisable, à condition d'avoir quelques skills (minimes) pour placer son personnage là où se trouve tamino sur les images ci-dessus. des solutions s'offrent à vous : ➪ vos bases en graphisme vous octroient la possibilité de passer par l'intermédiaire d'une plateforme comme photoshop, etc. dans ce cas là, il devrait être simple comme bonjour de détourer votre OC pour le placer sur 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐍. ➪ comme moi (salut), vous n'avez aucune connaissance en graphisme. néophyte de niveau 1, le choix de la facilité nous a été donné grâce à l'évolution des technologies et notamment des I.A. qui nous permettent de détourer en un clin d'œil un objet dans une image. pratique, n'est-ce pas ? il est néanmoins très utile pour les débutants en matière de gdocs puisqu'il se focalise d'avantage sur le côté pratique de l'application plutôt que sur son côté créatif. quoiqu'il est toujours possible de faire preuve de personnalité avec 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐍 si l'on est suffisamment imaginatif...

note de stavroguine : j'ai rajouté sur ce 𝒕𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 de nombreuses catégories pour ceux et celles qui souhaiteraient enrichir leur fiche. cela passe évidemment par la présence d'un registre de liens, d'une trivia et d'un moodboard, mais également d'une icône musicale personnalisable qui amène à un lien spotify, youtube, etc.

ㅤㅤ 𝑨𝑩𝑶𝑼𝑻 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑼𝑺𝑬 ;

ㅤㅤ┍⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ · · · ·

ㅤㅤㅤㅤGO TO FILE

ㅤㅤㅤㅤAND THEN, SELECT “MAKE A COPY”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤDON’T REMOVE THE CREDITS.

ㅤㅤ · · · · ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯┛

ㅤㅤ 𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘&𝗥𝗘𝗕𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗦 are appreciated.

[hwadam-stories]

0.1 ━━━━ history is written by the victors.

i've decided to start posting on tumblr, so this is a new beggining! i've had this doc idea for a while, and i'd like for it to be an indicative of what i can do. ❝ history is written by the victors ❞ is a text-heavy, single-muse google doc, that has a variety of links & a few images. it's very obviously centered around finnick odair, and I hope that the doc has managed to capture at least some of his essence.

about the use go to file, then select make a copy. do not remove the credit, please. turn off the ability to make a copy before using it. like & reblog this post if you are going to use it.

likes & reblogs are appreciated!

access the document · ━━ ˊ * 𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘...

[hwadam-stories]

ii . 𝖆𝘄𝗮𝗸𝗲𝗻 𝒾𝔫 𝔞 ཞ𝖊۷𝖊ཞ𝔦𝖊 [ <- free link ] ii . 𝖆𝘄𝗮𝗸𝗲𝗻 𝒾𝔫 𝔞 ཞ𝖊۷𝖊ཞ𝔦𝖊 [ <- mobile friendly link ]

Enjoy the template. This sheet is one I just decided to whip up out of boredom. The initial sheet does use very, very few drawings, but I've also included a mobile friendly version without them.

*Do not remove the credit.

Since everyone was so kind and generous with the first template I posted, have another! This one is slightly smaller than my usual, but who doesn't like concise? P.S. I will not approve any requests to edit the template. Just make a copy and you have your own. Tea and biscuits, 𝕾𝔮𝔲𝔦𝔯𝔢 𝕶𝔦𝔫𝔤

[hwadam-stories]

006: Love Letters !

introducing. . . , Love letters , a google doc character template inspired by the holiday: valentines day! The doc holds three landscape pages. It includes spots for the profile, persona, backstory and 4 spots for additional information.

( !!! ) make sure to credit me! in order to do that, keep my @ at the bottom of the first page!

HOW TO USE ! ◞ . . . most of the drawing are made up of drawings, to make it simple, use the replace image option. There is also one quote made up of a drawing, which the text can be easily replaced for pc users. ◞ . . . the doc would look good with any kind of pictures, though I will say the color theme shouldn't be changed as the png's wont be able to change colors. ◞ . . . If you have any questions, please ask! ◞ . . . I'm not sure of the models name, but here's where I got the photos. ◞ . . . download here

[hwadam-stories]

012 :: DILIGENCE

april was tortured poets department month so this is a month or two overdue. but i was inspired to create a doc perfect for writer characters! ink spills and coffee stains, isn't it a little reminiscent of colder months even if it's nearing summer? it's cozy, beige, and was utterly lovely to create.

how to use :

— go to file & select make a copy.

— don't remove or modify the credit.

— before using, turn off the ability to make a copy.

— likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

how to edit :

— edit however you want, but some elements will get moved if you go beyond the text amount.

— what you'll receive upon purchasing is a pdf file with the link and other detailed instructions on how to use. 

DOWNLOAD HERE.

[hwadam-stories]

【II】 ANGELIC ABSENCE

a white angelic-themed free docs. this template can range from singular/multi-muse muse docs to lore docs. feel free to copy and paste the pages including the breaker page to increase the length. it includes six pages including the breaker page and can hold at least 800 words minimum.

do not get rid of credits — if you don't know how to edit already: file > make a copy — after copying, go to share > settings (top right icon) > uncheck "viewers and commenters can see the option to…" — to replace images: right-click image > replace image — dm me if you have any questions

[hwadam-stories]

— introducing 015: PRIVATE EYE + [ link ]

a warm, nostalgic google doc template inspired by private detectives, and crime investigation! this template follows the collection of information on your muse from the lens of a private detective, through things such as letters, newspapers and official medical documents. this template features space for long writing as well! this premium template and a full page-by-page preview can be found in the link above or in the source link.

features:

8 unique 14" x 8.5" pages, all with hand-crafted full-page background images

short and long sections, an extra long backstory section, and multiple spaces for pictures

a large array of thematic page types and elements — letters, post-it notes, newspaper clippings, and evidence sheet which can be used to include ooc information or give more atmospheric depth to the template

some elements (muse pictures, text on backing post-it notes, date on envelope, and items in evidence ziploc bag) that can be customized in google drawings

terms of use:

you may edit to your heart’s desire. Change the colours, replace, add or remove elements and images etc.

you may remix pages with pages from my other templates.

you may not remove the credit from the templates.

you may not copy, sell or redistribute my templates whether wholesale, in part (i.e. taking out certain pages) or remixed (i.e. modified).

you will also receive an additional guide with images on how to use and edit google doc templates! if you have any problems or issues, feel free to leave an ask or join our discord server.

this was so much fun to make, but took so much time to put together. I'm really proud of it so I I hope you like it! as always, I appreciate all your likes + reblogs. ♡