BYBM Chapter 1 (Part 3)

A pair of polished shoes, reflecting the dim light of the room.

Perfectly clean, save for one single drop of blood on the tip.

That drop of red was somehow more chilling than the entire scene itself.

And then, from above those shoes, that calm voice spoke again.

Yoo Hyun-jin swallowed hard. His throat was dry. That was supposed to be reassuring, wasn’t it?

“Ah, this isn’t my blood.”

But why did it feel even worse?

He had known what kind of man Hyun Tae-oh was. He had known since that day, when a dog’s skull had been split open by a single arrow. He had known from the rumors—the ones that said, in Pyeonghang, when Governor Hyun Tae-oh decided someone should disappear, they simply did. They called him a butcher behind his back.

And now, he had just witnessed it for himself.

A man dragged away, bleeding, broken. A trail of blood on the floor, wiped away with chilling efficiency.

Like nothing had happened.

And Hyun Tae-oh, the very same man who had just beaten a man half to death, was now calmly offering him tea.

Yoo Hyun-jin’s hands clenched into fists on his lap. He forced himself to sit still, to breathe evenly.

“Thank you for waiting. Please, sit.”

That had been the first thing Hyun Tae-oh had said when their eyes met. Like it was a normal meeting. Like he hadn’t just finished crushing a man under his heel.

What am I doing here?

Yoo Hyun-jin wanted to run. Every instinct in his body was screaming at him to get up and leave before something—anything—happened.

But instead, he sat. Instead, he watched as tea was served before him. Instead, he looked at the bloodstains on Hyun Tae-oh’s white shirt.

And, instead of saying anything reasonable, his voice came out in a weak, hoarse whisper.

“…Why?”

He wasn’t even sure what he was asking.

Why was he like this? Why was he so terrifyingly calm? Why had Hyun Tae-oh ruined himself—his engagement, his reputation—over one drunken night? Or—why had he called for him today?

Hyun Tae-oh looked at him.

And for the first time since he entered the room, he smiled.

“I assume you mean all of it.”

Yoo Hyun-jin’s heart stopped.

That wasn’t a kind smile. That was the same smile he had seen seven years ago, before Hyun Tae-oh had left for Pyeonghang. That sharp, unreadable, almost amused smile.

And suddenly, he understood.

He had walked into the lion’s den.

Of course, he knew. He had seen it himself just moments ago… But he swallowed those words. Looking at the bandages wrapped around the man’s forehead, he thought, That dried blood must be his own, but he swallowed that thought too.

“The man who just left…?”

When Yoo Hyun-jin asked with a dark expression, Hyun Tae-oh took a seat across from him, still as indifferent as ever.

“He worked under me in Pyeonghang. There were some minor issues at first, but since he did his job well, I let it slide. Over time, however, he started crossing the line.”

“I see… But, is it really acceptable to discipline someone like this in private?”

Hyun Tae-oh seemed mildly amused by the question, though the fleeting smirk quickly faded back into his usual blank expression.

“I may be on temporary leave, but I’m still officially stationed in Pyeonghang. There, under certain circumstances, private discipline is permitted.”

He answered casually, as if this was simply a matter of legal policy. But even if it weren’t, Yoo Hyun-jin had no doubt—this man wouldn’t hesitate to swing that golf club regardless.

As if he had read his thoughts, Hyun Tae-oh continued,

“That man has inflicted countless tears and suffering upon others. I see no reason to extend mercy to someone like that. Besides, I have never tolerated those who deceive me. If anything, I was lenient with him because of the years we worked together.”

A chill ran down Yoo Hyun-jin’s spine.

Wait a minute… Why did I even come here in the first place?

“He tried to use my name to secure illicit deals this time. Out of the last bit of goodwill, I decided to draw the line before it got worse. If he had succeeded in tarnishing my name, then his entire household would have been sent to Hancheon.”

A shiver ran down Yoo Hyun-jin’s back.

Hancheon Prison.

A notorious prison at the northernmost edge of the continent, where temperatures dropped to -40 degrees. It was a place where laws held no power, and those who entered never returned alive.

“T-That’s… isn’t that a bit too much? Even his family?”

“Too much? You think this is excessive punishment for sullying my name?”

“But his family had no part in it.”

“Allowing a family member to commit such crimes unchecked is also a crime. And if they knew about it and kept silent, then there’s nothing more to say.”

That family did exactly that, Hyun Tae-oh said flatly.

This time, Yoo Hyun-jin truly had no words.

He wasn’t even sure if the tea was going down his throat or up his nose. He set his cup down before his shaking hands could give him away.

Everything went dark before his eyes.

My brother. Se-jin.

He had accepted that he might be imprisoned—or worse, killed—but his innocent younger brother?

“Still… his family… It would be good if you could show some mercy…”

Yoo Hyun-jin muttered, barely audible.

Hyun Tae-oh studied him for a moment, as if examining something peculiar, then shook his head.

“No. That is my principle.”

He was absolute.

Hyun Tae-oh leaned back, tilting his head slightly. “I understand that you, as a priest, are naturally compassionate. But today, Yoo Hyun-jin, you seem especially concerned. I don’t believe you’ve ever spoken this much while sitting across from me before. Is there something in particular weighing on your mind?”

Yoo Hyun-jin nearly jumped out of his chair. His heart clenched as if it had been pinched.

He wasn’t wrong.

Come to think of it, this was the first time he had ever sat alone with Hyun Tae-oh like this, the first time they had spoken this much.

All those years of secretly imagining conversations between them… and now that it was happening, it was absolutely nothing like what he had dreamed.

“N-No, it’s not that… It’s just… it’s unfortunate, isn’t it? They are innocent, after all.”

“You probably see all people as unfortunate, Priest. But I can’t grant you this request. I have always ensured that those who disgrace me pay the price, and I will continue to do so.”

Hyun Tae-oh’s voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. There was no point in trying to persuade him—it would never work.

And worse, it might only make him more suspicious.

What… what do I do, Se-jin…?

As the cold sweat trickled down his back, Hyun Tae-oh suddenly added in a voice that was just a touch more indulgent, as if entertaining a cat playing with a trapped mouse.

“However, Priest, there is no need for you to be overly concerned. Fortunately, throughout my life, there have been very few who have dared to stain my reputation. And I doubt that will change anytime soon.”

“…….”

Yoo Hyun-jin couldn’t say anything. His throat was parched, and with trembling hands, he could only manage to lift his teacup and wet his dry lips. Seeing this, Hyun Tae-oh seemed to recall something and asked,

“By the way, are you feeling alright?”

“……?”

My body is fine, but my mind is not… he thought hazily, staring at Hyun Tae-oh with hollow eyes.

For a brief moment—so brief that he thought he had imagined it—Hyun Tae-oh seemed to avert his gaze. It was unusual. Someone like him, always composed and cold, would never avoid eye contact. And yet, it looked as if, just for a second, he was hesitating, as if he felt a rare moment of awkwardness before speaking.

“I was startled that night as well, and in the heat of the moment, I left you there alone. Later, when I came back to take you with me, you had already left.”

“……What?”

“It was your first time, and considering the circumstances, I imagine it must have been physically taxing. To have left you in such a state… it was truly discourteous of me. It seems I have wronged you multiple times now. My apologies.”

Hyun Tae-oh placed his hand on the table and bowed his head deeply.

Yoo Hyun-jin’s heart plummeted.

Forget Hancheon Prison—I’ll be sent straight to Hancheon Prison’s grandfather, where even ghosts gather…

“No, no! Please, don’t do this. You don’t have to!”

As he frantically protested, feeling as though he was sinking deeper into quicksand, Hyun Tae-oh lifted his head. At that moment, a fastening pin from the bandage around his forehead came loose, rolling across the table before stopping beside Yoo Hyun-jin’s teacup.

“My apologies,” Hyun Tae-oh muttered.

He picked up the pin but didn’t bother to re-secure the bandage, simply slipping it into his pocket. The dried blood had already stiffened, keeping the fabric from fully unraveling.

“Your forehead… how did that happen?”

It had been bothering him since earlier, so Yoo Hyun-jin finally asked. Hyun Tae-oh responded indifferently.

“Oh, last night, my father came over and threw an ashtray at me.”

“…What… for?”

Yoo Hyun-jin had a dreadful suspicion but didn’t want to ask. Yet, like someone compelled to watch the final scene of a horror movie despite the fear, he found himself mumbling the question anyway.

“As his son, I made a mistake. It is only natural for a father to be angry.”

His tone remained nonchalant, and Yoo Hyun-jin found himself unable to ask anything further.

With his fists clenched tightly, he fell into silence.

What should I do?

The words had been lingering on the tip of his tongue all this time.

He had come here with the intention of revealing the truth and accepting his punishment.

But…

Hancheon Prison… entire families…

It felt as though the ground beneath him had collapsed, and all he could do was break into a cold sweat.

Hanaram… Hanaram… What should I do?

“I must admit, I am surprised that you came, Priest Yoo Hyun-jin,” Hyun Tae-oh said in a leisurely tone, leaning back into the sofa.

“I assumed you would find my presence uncomfortable and would not approach me first. That is why I intended to resolve the necessary matters before coming to see you myself.”

Yoo Hyun-jin hesitated and lifted his gaze.

Hyun Tae-oh was staring at him intently.

Their eyes met, and Yoo Hyun-jin found himself trapped in the moment, unable to look away.

…He’s still so handsome. And now, I get to see him up close like this.

He wanted to keep looking, just a little longer.

But afraid that he would be caught staring foolishly, he quickly averted his gaze. From the corner of his eye, he thought he saw the faintest twitch at the corner of Hyun Tae-oh’s lips, but when he glanced back, the man was expressionless once more.

“Since you’ve come all this way, I will give you a brief update,” Hyun Tae-oh continued.

“I have informed my father and mother. Though they were displeased, they eventually accepted it.”

(Yoo Hyun-jin, without thinking, cast an involuntary glance at the bloodstained bandages before hurriedly looking away.)

“I have also conveyed my intent to annul the engagement to the royal family, and we are now awaiting the formal proceedings. And—”

“Y-Your Excellency…!”

Yoo Hyun-jin interrupted, his voice filled with sheer panic.

“Yes, please speak,” Hyun Tae-oh responded coolly, handing over the metaphorical hilt of the sword before falling silent.

A long silence followed.

A silence so heavy that it stretched unbearably.

Yet, throughout it all, Hyun Tae-oh neither looked impatient nor irritated. He simply waited. Meanwhile, Yoo Hyun-jin felt sweat forming on his forehead.

He had to say it.

That it was a mistake. That the words had slipped out by accident. That nothing had happened between them. That this was all his fault.

He had to say it.

He had to—

“…No, please continue.”

But instead, he murmured those words in a voice so small it nearly disappeared.

Hyun Tae-oh regarded him for a moment before continuing.

“As I was saying, once the formal procedures are completed, you will move into this household. We will need to prepare your living quarters. I was considering expanding the separate quarters significantly to make them more comfortable for you. It may take some time, but I believe that would be preferable. Do you have any specific preferences regarding the layout?”

“…What?”

“The chambers where you will reside in this house,” Hyun Tae-oh explained.

“Why… why would I live here?”

“Why, you ask?”

For the first time, Hyun Tae-oh looked perplexed, tilting his head slightly as he studied Yoo Hyun-jin.

“Because I will be responsible for you from now on.”

“—Your Excellency. I have something to say.”

Yoo Hyun-jin’s heart plummeted once again, but this time, he lifted his head.

This wasn’t right. It shouldn’t go like this.

“The truth is… that night, when you were… intoxicated…”

His pale lips parted, finally forming the words he had swallowed for so long.

But just then—

A sudden, distant wail erupted from somewhere beyond the open garden window.

It was likely the man who had been dragged out earlier. However, just as quickly as the cry began, it was silenced. The outside world fell into a hush once more.

Only the quiet snowfall beyond the window remained, as if nothing had ever happened.

Hyun Tae-oh’s gaze flickered toward the window briefly before returning to Yoo Hyun-jin.

“My apologies. I should have told them to be quiet in advance… but I believe there will be no further disturbances. Please continue. That night when I was intoxicated?”

“…That night…”

The truth, which had been poised on the edge of his tongue, slithered back down his throat, lodging itself deep within his chest.

The words spun in circles inside him, sinking further and further into the depths of his heart.

Se-jin…!

“…There was… an unfortunate incident. However, I… I have no intention of holding Your Excellency accountable. Though things have turned out this way, I will handle my affairs on my own. Your Excellency need not concern yourself with me—please continue as you always have.”

Like a broken phonograph struggling to turn, Yoo Hyun-jin’s voice creaked as he spoke.

Hyun Tae-oh silently observed him.

The deep, sunken blackness of his eyes gave away nothing of his thoughts, and just as Yoo Hyun-jin swallowed dryly, Hyun Tae-oh smiled.

It was a cold smile, barely a slight narrowing of his eyes.

“Our Hyun family,” he began, “has been a devout household since ancient times. It is said that our founder was a high priest.”

The sudden shift in conversation caught Yoo Hyun-jin off guard. He looked at Hyun Tae-oh with confusion.

It wasn’t an incorrect statement. The Prime Minister and his wife visited the temple every week without fail. No matter how busy they were, they never skipped their prayers. Even back when Yoo Hyun-jin lived in this house, Hyun Tae-oh’s parents always began their days with dawn prayers.

“As such, throughout generations, our family has prospered whenever the head of the household remained faithful to Hanaram, and declined whenever they strayed. It could be coincidence, but when looking back over the past three centuries, the pattern is undeniable. When the family head and the mistress were devout, the household flourished. When they acted wrongly, misfortune followed. That is why our family has always strived to remain upright and avoid wrongdoing.”

As he spoke, Hyun Tae-oh reached up and unwrapped the bandages around his forehead, revealing a grotesque wound, deeply split open at his temple.

“My father was furious. And rightfully so. I have broken a long-standing royal engagement. Not only that, but I have also wronged a priest. Given my father’s temper, he should have thrown the entire desk at me instead of just the ashtray. The only reason his wrath was somewhat restrained was because I admitted my fault and declared that I would take responsibility for you. I have sinned before Hanaram, but I will atone.”

Yoo Hyun-jin’s face paled from greenish to ashen white. His lips moved, but no sound escaped.

“Therefore, this is the only proper course of action for me.”

Hyun Tae-oh’s gaze bore into him.

“And even if that weren’t the case, I have taken the purity you have guarded so carefully as a priest. Is it not my duty as a man to take responsibility for that?”

“—Even if I do not want you to?”

Yoo Hyun-jin managed to force the words out.

Hyun Tae-oh went silent. He stared at him for a long moment, then, faintly, as if amused, he smiled.

“It seems,” he murmured, almost in disbelief, “that you still do not understand the situation.”

His voice turned firm.

“The engagement has already been broken. It cannot be undone. The engagement was broken because of my wrongdoing, and as a result of that wrongdoing, a once-chaste priest has now been cast out from the temple. If I do not take responsibility—no matter whether you desire it or not—how do you think the world will react?”

Yoo Hyun-jin felt his blood drain from his face.

Suddenly, the faces of Je Sang-ah and his younger brother surfaced in his mind.

The way they had looked at him.

As if staring at a life already ruined.

The way they had sighed, exasperated and troubled, yet unable to offer any clear solution.

They had already known. They had already understood how this situation would unfold, how the world worked.

And only now did Yoo Hyun-jin begin to understand it too.

Jin Mun-seong was the one to see Yoo Hyun-jin off.

The long garden path stretching from the main house to the grand gate felt like it was swallowing Yoo Hyun-jin with each step he took, as if he were sinking into the earth.

“Are you certain you wouldn’t like me to escort you?”

“No, that won’t be necessary. There’s no need. I’d rather walk for a bit.”

Jin Mun-seong’s concerned question was met with yet another firm refusal, one of many Yoo Hyun-jin had already given. His mind, caught in a state of panic, only urged him to reach the gate as quickly as possible and escape this house.

“If that is your wish. At least the snow has stopped, which is fortunate. It didn’t pile up, so your walk back shouldn’t be too difficult.”

Jin Mun-seong glanced up at the night sky, now revealed in its inky blackness. Yoo Hyun-jin, following his gaze without thinking, finally felt the cold air press against his head and took a steadying breath.

Their eyes met for a moment, and Jin Mun-seong offered him a polite, almost casual smile. There was something oddly human about it, something reassuring. Yoo Hyun-jin managed to return the gesture with a small nod.

Though he had never spoken much with Jin Mun-seong, and though he always felt uneasy around him—perhaps because he was Hyun Tae-oh’s right-hand man—he was not someone who ever gave off an unpleasant feeling.

“You’ve been through a lot today. It must have been difficult in many ways, but thank you for coming all this way.”

Jin Mun-seong’s quiet words came just as the gate finally appeared in the distance.

It wasn’t much—just a simple expression of gratitude—but perhaps because his heart was already in tatters, the words felt unexpectedly comforting. Yoo Hyun-jin bit down on the sudden lump in his throat and hunched his shoulders.

“You’ve been by His Excellency’s side for a long time, haven’t you, Deputy Jin?”

Jin Mun-seong nodded without hesitation.

“Yes. We grew up together before we even knew how to speak.”

“He’s not the easiest person to deal with, yet you’ve managed to stay by his side for so long.”

Jin Mun-seong chuckled.

“He is strict and intimidating, but he is also understanding. Once you get used to him and figure out how to navigate things, it isn’t so difficult.”

“I see…”

“Yes. Once you get to know him better, I believe you’ll find a few unexpected things. He is not entirely as he seems.”

“…I see.”

Yoo Hyun-jin nodded absently.

Could that be true? Perhaps, if he learned more about him, things might change. Maybe Hyun Tae-oh wasn’t as frightening or unfeeling as he seemed. Maybe, if he observed carefully, he could find another way out of this mess.

Encouraged, even if just slightly, by Jin Mun-seong’s reassuring words, Yoo Hyun-jin sighed. His steps felt marginally lighter as he approached the gate—until Jin Mun-seong added, almost idly,

“Yes, His Excellency is more flexible and rational than you might think. There’s no need to worry too much. I’m sure you’ll be able to get along just fine. ―That is, as long as you never deceive him.”

Yoo Hyun-jin froze mid-step, just as he was about to walk through the gate. Slowly, he turned back.

Jin Mun-seong was still gazing at the sky as if he hadn’t said anything of note. But when their eyes met, he smiled again—this time, a little more distinctly.

“That is something he truly despises. Absolutely, utterly despises. So, as long as you avoid that, you’ll be fine.”

“…I see. Thank you for telling me.”

Bowing his head in dejection, Yoo Hyun-jin stepped through the gate.

“Today was a pleasure, since I had the chance to see you. Please take care on your way back.”

Those were the last words Jin Mun-seong left him with before the heavy gate shut behind him.

Clang.

Somewhere, along with that sound, another door—perhaps the last door of hope—seemed to close as well.

Yoo Hyun-jin wandered down the dimly lit road, the empty street bathed in the gentle glow of the streetlamps. His steps dragged, unsteady and heavy, as he put distance between himself and the Hyun estate.

And when he finally reached a point where the mansion was no longer visible, his legs gave out.

He slumped against a streetlamp, sliding down to sit on the cold pavement.

In the end, despite all his efforts, despite coming all this way to confess the truth, he had achieved nothing.

Nothing—except driving the nails of his fate deeper into his own chest.

Jin Mun-seong escorted Yoo Hyun-jin to the gate, then returned to the study, where Hyun Tae-oh was flipping through thick stacks of books and documents piled high on his desk.

Though it had been a little over two months since his return from Pyeonghang, Hyun Tae-oh—who was supposedly on leave for treatment and rehabilitation—was anything but idle.

It had been a long time since such a large-scale incident had erupted in Pyeonghang.

Pyeonghang had long been a historically contested region, its origins stretching back centuries as a land perpetually caught between Je-yang and Songal, with each side seizing and losing it in turn. Its culture was an intricate blend of both nations, and its population was nearly split down the middle. Not only did it hold immense historical significance, but it was also a crucial strategic point with direct access to the ocean and fertile land, making it a hotbed of conflict.

Yet, under Hyun Tae-oh’s governance, the region had seen an unprecedented level of stability. There had been attempts to reassign him elsewhere, but with no one else capable of maintaining both Pyeonghang’s security against Songal and its delicate balance, he had remained in his post for seven years.

There had been minor terrorist attacks and disputes over the years, but this time, it was a large-scale catastrophe. An entire government building had collapsed, and the casualties were staggering.

Naturally, the aftermath had left an overwhelming amount of work to be done. Just because he had returned to the capital did not mean he could afford to leave matters unattended. In truth, Hyun Tae-oh was not one to ever sit idly by.

The perpetrators had already been captured—a faction of extreme anti-Je-yang radicals operating in Pyeonghang, with the official conclusion being that a handful of young extremists had acted independently. But…

“So, things are finally falling into place.”

Hyun Tae-oh muttered idly, flipping through a document. Though his voice was nonchalant, Jin Mun-seong—who had spent decades at his side—could detect the faint satisfaction in his tone.

These were the people who had eluded them for years, always just beyond their grasp. For decades, this shadowy group had been reaping their own gains, moving unseen. No one had expected them to be caught easily, but even still, no one had anticipated it would take this long.

If it hadn’t been for this large-scale incident and the losses suffered, the culprits would have once again thrown out a few young radicals as scapegoats, erasing any trace of themselves in the process.

“Well, at least almost dying was worth something.”

Jin Mun-seong smiled at his cousin, who was only a year older than him but closer than any brother. Hyun Tae-oh gave a quiet hum in acknowledgment.

All they needed was a single loose thread. Once they had that, everything unraveled in an instant. To grasp that single thread, Hyun Tae-oh had wagered his own life—and it had paid off.

“I paid with my leg, so I’ll be collecting a high price in return.”

Hyun Tae-oh murmured. The surgery had been a success, and his rehabilitation was progressing smoothly, but his right leg would never move the way it once had. It had been a steep price to pay.

Yet, he seemed entirely indifferent to that fact, fixated instead on the mountain of reports on his desk, flipping through them at an alarming speed, making one wonder if he was even reading them at all.

Then, as if just remembering something, he abruptly asked,

“That one?”

Jin Mun-seong took a split second to confirm who he meant before answering.

“I saw him to the gate. Offered him a carriage, but he insisted on walking.”

Hyun Tae-oh made a halfhearted noise of acknowledgment, barely paying attention. But even when he responded so carelessly, he always remembered everything. Jin Mun-seong knew better than to add anything further and simply moved to close the window, sealing out the cold night air.

“Seems like Hanaram really does exist after all.”

As Jin Mun-seong sat in his chair, just about to flip through a report on the recent political landscape of the capital, Hyun Tae-oh suddenly spoke without even looking up from his documents.

Jin Mun-seong lifted his head to look at him.

“What are you talking about all of a sudden? If you keep making such blasphemous remarks and the Hyun family’s fortune declines in the next generation, what will you do then?”

“The next head of the family is my eldest brother, not me.”

Hyun Tae-oh scoffed. Even if he were the next head, he was the type of man who would have made such statements without hesitation.

“The Hyun family doesn’t strictly follow primogeniture. You never know.”

“With the royal marriage proposal broken, there’s even less reason for me to inherit the family. Besides, I’ll be quitting my job soon. Once this case is wrapped up, I plan to take a few years off and do nothing.”

Jin Mun-seong doubted whether those around him would actually let him rest, but he said nothing.

One way or another, things were coming to an end. Soon, the arms dealers from both nations who had been fueling the conflict for profit, as well as those who had secretly been exploiting the situation to line their own pockets, would be purged.

The days that had drained him more than his time on the battlefield were finally nearing their conclusion.

But still…

“By the way, will you be alright? Things are going to be noisy for a while.”

Jin Mun-seong asked, knowing full well it was a pointless question.

As expected, Hyun Tae-oh didn’t even bother responding, ignoring it as if the topic wasn’t even worth discussing.

Ever since Hyun Tae-oh had suddenly and without warning dropped a bombshell by requesting the annulment of his engagement to the royal family, chaos had erupted everywhere. Even now, Jin Mun-seong’s phone—set to silent—was receiving an endless flood of messages.

Yet, the man at the center of it all remained utterly unbothered, as if nothing more than a fly had landed in his vicinity.

Well, to be fair, the royal family had officially expressed their disapproval, but deep down, they were likely relieved. The Prime Minister’s fury, expressed in the form of a hurled ashtray, wasn’t even about the annulment itself. The breakup had been anticipated for quite some time.

“There was no need to make such a spectacle of it, was there? The entire world is in an uproar. A noble house with such a long-standing tradition will be the subject of gossip for a while, so of course, your uncle would be upset.”

“Houses like these get talked about even when a single spoon breaks. If you want power, you have to accept things like this.”

Hyun Tae-oh spoke about his own family affairs with complete indifference. Then again, he had never done anything that would lead to future headaches.

Jin Mun-seong decided to stop making useless remarks and circled back to their previous topic.

“But what brought on this sudden talk about Hanaram? Why the sudden faith in his existence?”

“Ah. Because it’s clear that Yoo Hyun-jin is under Hanaram’s special protection.”

At Hyun Tae-oh’s casual remark, Jin Mun-seong fell silent. His gaze briefly flickered to the air as if suppressing the urge to say, That’s not quite right, but instead, he simply asked,

“And why do you think so?”

“If he had said that nothing happened that night, that it was all a joke—then I would have sent him straight to Hancheon.”

Only then did Hyun Tae-oh put down the documents and look at Jin Mun-seong.

“But every time he seemed about to say it, something interrupted him at just the right moment.”

“You didn’t orchestrate that yourself?”

Jin Mun-seong frowned.

“Starting with the fact that you deliberately summoned Kim Chan-young here just to deal with him today. That alone makes it seem planned.”

“Come now. Even I can’t time things that perfectly. I had a vague idea of when it might happen, but it just so happened to align perfectly. Yoo Hyun-jin is simply lucky.”

Lucky enough to avoid Hancheon, at least, Hyun Tae-oh remarked, leaning back into his chair and absentmindedly tapping his foot against the floor.

He appeared lost in thought. Though his usual cold demeanor remained, he didn’t seem to be in a bad mood.

People often asked Jin Mun-seong how to tell when Hyun Tae-oh was in a good or bad mood. They were always too afraid to gauge it themselves. But even Jin Mun-seong couldn’t provide a clear answer—it was just something he had come to sense after being by his side for so long.

Still, if he had to name a few tells, one would be that Hyun Tae-oh, who typically disliked talking, would start engaging in unnecessary small talk when in a good mood.

“What do you think? Will a priest continue to receive Hanaram’s blessing even after being excommunicated?”

“Well… If you’re talking about Yoo Hyun-jin, he will likely be excommunicated, but…”

Jin Mun-seong trailed off.

That wasn’t really what he was more concerned about.

“…Did you really sleep with him?”

He asked, his tone unimpressed.

The answer didn’t come immediately. Hyun Tae-oh stared off into space for a moment before letting out a quiet, amused scoff.

“He says we did.”

So, you didn’t.

Jin Mun-seong was, at the very least, relieved that his superior hadn’t done something outright condemnable.

It wasn’t particularly shocking. No matter how much alcohol he consumed, Hyun Tae-oh wasn’t the type to make drunken mistakes. Nor was he naïve enough to sleep with someone and not remember it the next day. The more surprising thing was that Yoo Hyun-jin actually thought Hyun Tae-oh believed such nonsense.

“Well then… Since he hasn’t done anything to lose divine protection, I suppose Hanaram’s blessing will remain, even if he is excommunicated. If anything, he might be looked after even more, now that he’s a pitiful lost lamb.”

“Calling him pitiful leaves a bad taste in my mouth. It’s not like I refuse to take responsibility.”

“….”

Jin Mun-seong, being a wise man, chose to stay silent.

He also swallowed down the question lingering at the tip of his tongue—Why the hell are you doing this?

Even when his father had stormed in and thrown an ashtray at him, demanding to know what on earth he was thinking, Hyun Tae-oh had only responded with his usual composed tone,

“He says we slept together. If I’ve done wrong, I must take responsibility.”

Who knew what was actually going on in his head? But if he didn’t want to talk about it, there was no point in asking.

Seemingly done with work for the night, Hyun Tae-oh shut the files completely and walked over to the window.

The remnants of snow on the branches outside were carried away by the wind, scattering into the air like fresh snowfall.

Watching him quietly gaze out the window, Jin Mun-seong took it as a cue to wrap up for the night and began organizing the documents.

“What would you like for dinner?”

“Let’s see… Steak sounds good. As rare as possible.”

So he really was in a good mood today.

As Jin Mun-seong picked up the phone to call the kitchen, he found himself recalling a day from long ago, long before any of this had begun.

It had been fifteen or sixteen years since that day.

There had been no particularly noteworthy events, yet Jin Mun-seong remembered it vividly—not only because of his sharp memory but also because he had thought to himself several times that day, This is rather strange.

Ever since childhood, whenever Hyun Tae-oh was in a good mood, he would crave rare steak. He enjoyed tearing into the barely cooked meat, red juices dripping, as if it brought him pleasure.

That morning, snow had fallen lightly.

As far as Jin Mun-seong could recall, Hyun Tae-oh had been in a bad mood. He couldn’t remember exactly why, but it was likely that his uncle—Hyun Tae-oh’s father—had scolded him about something.

After brooding for a while, the boy had declared that he would take a walk through the mountains to clear his mind. Yet, when he returned home two hours later, his mood had noticeably improved, which in itself was peculiar enough to make the day memorable.

Hyun Tae-oh rarely displayed emotional fluctuations. It was rare for him to show excitement or anger. However, when he was upset, he never got over it easily. That day, he had stormed out in a fit of anger, his eyes sharp with irritation, yet when he returned, he was unexpectedly at ease.

His mother had found it odd as well, asking if something amusing had happened during his walk. But Hyun Tae-oh simply shook his head. Then, during lunch, he suddenly requested a rare steak.

His mother had been puzzled but relieved. If her son had managed to improve his own mood without anyone having to tiptoe around him, it was a blessing. She promptly arranged for his meal.

Tearing into the nearly raw steak, as if he were devouring fresh prey, Hyun Tae-oh had suddenly spoken up just as his plate was nearly empty.

“By the way, earlier, I saw someone moving into the annex. Some lady arrived with two children.”

“Hm? Oh, right. That must be Lieutenant Yoo Jin-cheol’s family. They were supposed to move in today.”

His mother had blinked for a moment before nodding as if recalling something.

Meanwhile, Jin Mun-seong, who had been eating quietly, found it strange.

The Hyun family’s estate was vast, with many people coming and going, but never once had Hyun Tae-oh paid any of them any attention. Let alone mention them during a meal.

“Lieutenant Yoo Jin-cheol… That’s the man who died saving Father, isn’t he?”

“Yes. His family had nowhere else to go, so your uncle invited them to stay here. They’ll be living with us for the time being.”

For a moment, Hyun Tae-oh said nothing.

He chewed his steak in silence, then, after swallowing his last bite, he nodded and murmured to himself.

“I see… Then, he’s the one who saved Father’s life. We should treat them well.”

Then, as if nothing significant had happened, he calmly stood up and left the dining hall.

Jin Mun-seong had been left staring at his half-eaten food, his spoon frozen in mid-air.

Those words—We should treat them well.

They were utterly unlike him.

Jin Mun-seong had looked at his cousin, wondering if he had misheard. But Hyun Tae-oh had already exited the room.

Today is truly an odd day, he had thought, shaking his head and returning to his meal.

His gaze had inadvertently drifted toward Hyun Tae-oh’s empty plate.

It was completely bare, save for streaks of red juice.

For some reason, it had reminded him of the remains of prey after a predator had devoured it—just bones and blood left behind. It sent an eerie shiver down his spine.

“…”

“What’s wrong?”

Jin Mun-seong had been deep in thought when Hyun Tae-oh’s voice pulled him back to the present. He turned his head to see his cousin stepping away from the window, seemingly heading toward the dining room.

“Nothing,” he replied. “I was just wondering how well my steak will be cooked.”

“Steak is best when it’s barely cooked. The closer to raw, the better—ideally, it should still be so fresh that it doesn’t even realize it’s been cooked.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life eating only well-done steak out of guilt.”

“You’re too soft.”

Jin Mun-seong, the brilliant general who had once stood beside Hyun Tae-oh on the battlefield, leading victorious campaigns and sweeping through enemy lines, chose to stay silent.

With unhurried steps, Hyun Tae-oh exited the study.

Jin Mun-seong watched his retreating back before following after him.

For a brief moment, his thoughts wandered to another figure—one who had walked away alone into the night, shoulders slumped under the glow of a streetlamp.

“…”

He had always prided himself on knowing Hyun Tae-oh better than anyone. But even he didn’t know everything.

And just now, a fleeting thought had crossed his mind—one that surprised even him.

Perhaps, rather than himself, the one most in need of Hanaram’s divine protection was not the man he had followed all his life, but instead… that young priest, now walking alone through the snow-covered streets.