Dong slowly opened his eyes, the soft light of morning filtering through the ornate curtains. Pain lingered across his body, a reminder of events he could barely recall. He shifted slightly, feeling the weight of bandages and bruises, and turned to the maid at his bedside.
"Maid… what is my age?" he asked, his voice calm but curious, as if awakening to a new understanding of himself.
"Ohhh, young master," the maid replied, bowing slightly. "You are thirteen years old. In just four months, you will become fourteen."
Dong nodded thoughtfully. "Oh… okay. Go outside, I'm going to change."
The maid hesitated, concern in her eyes. "Yes, young master. If you need anything, just call my name. I will come immediately."
Dong offered a faint smile. "Alright. Go."
After she left, Dong swung his legs off the bed and dressed himself in his royal white and blue attire, the fabric flowing and elegant, a symbol of his status. Yet, even as he admired the garments, his mind was elsewhere. He needed to understand.
"Ma… maid! Come here," he called.
"Yes, young master," she responded, stepping in promptly.
Dong studied her calmly, then asked, "Why am I injured?"
The maid's expression softened. "Young master, you and the Third Princess recently had a duel. You lost, but the Third Young Miss… she pushed herself a little too far, and you were knocked unconscious. The King and all the nobles were present."
Dong nodded, absorbing the words. "I see… go now."
Alone, he let his thoughts wander. A faint smirk crossed his face, tinged with bitter amusement. Oh… I remember now. That brat… she really bullied me so much. The memory of humiliation and struggle lingered, but alongside it, a spark of determination flared. Every injury, every defeat, was but a lesson in disguise.
Dong scanned the room silently, his mind calculating, observing, analyzing. He would recover. He would grow stronger. And next time, no one would dare to humiliate him again.
Dong sat on his bed, his mind weaving through strategies and possibilities. Every defeat, every injury, was a piece in a larger game. Plans formed and dissolved in his thoughts, each one sharper than the last. He traced patterns in his mind, imagining how he could turn weakness into advantage, how every glance and word could become a tool.
Suddenly, a soft knock interrupted his focus.
"Young master! Young master! Can I come in? I have an order from the King!" the maid called from the door.
Dong groaned, slightly startled. "Ahhh! Okay… come in."
The maid pushed the door open carefully, bowing. "Young master, I am not giving you an order myself, but the King has commanded me to deliver his invitation. The King invites you to dinner. You cannot decline."
Dong raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly. "What… okay, fine. Go ahead, I'll come in five minutes."
As the maid left, Dong's mind returned to its quiet scrutiny. Why does the King always care so much about talent and power in his children? he thought. In his previous life, the King paid no attention to him at all. The first prince, the second prince, the Third Princess—each received praise, instruction, and favor because they had skill, power, and potential. And me? I had nothing. No recognition, no guidance, nothing but disregard.
Yet now… an invitation. Why now, when I have only been injured and humiliated? Was it curiosity? Strategy? Or something else entirely? Dong narrowed his eyes, scanning the situation carefully. Every gesture, every invitation, could carry intent beyond words.
He rose, adjusting his royal attire, and moved toward the dinner hall. His fingers brushed the doorknob, and a faint smile curved his lips. Every move, every detail, would be noticed. And he would be ready.
With a calm breath, Dong opened the door to the grand dinner hall, stepping into the light and the unknown, his mind already calculating the possibilities that awaited him.
When Dong opened the grand doors of the dinner hall, he already sensed the tension. The room was silent, empty except for the King. Not a single sibling or noble attended. Only he remained, a reminder of the King's disregard for him—or perhaps a test.
Dong bowed respectfully. "Sir, I heard you invited me, so that is why I am here."
"Yes," the King said sharply. "I invited you. Sit."
Dong's eyes scanned the empty hall. No First Prince. No First Queen. Not even the Third Princess. A faint chill ran through him. Everyone had long ceased to respect the King. Power and talent had become the only measure of worth, and the King's favor followed them blindly.
"You already know that my other children possess talent," the King began, his tone measured. "Except you. Your talent… is not understood. You are weak, while your siblings grow stronger with each passing day."
Dong picked up his utensils, his mind quiet but alert. So what I do, what I plan… it is none of your concern. Your judgment has never guided me, and it never will.
"You have no manners," the King snapped, breaking through his thoughts. "They grow strong, yet you grow arrogant. Sit quietly. Eat. Then leave."
Dong's lips curved into a faint smile. "Did you invite me just to say this? I have work to do as well."
"I don't care," the King replied, dismissing him without another glance.
Thirty minutes later, the dinner ended. The King whispered instructions to his butler.
"Lio, tell my children to prepare for the academy next month. Pack some potions for them as well."
"Should I inform Dong too, sir?" Lio asked.
"No. He is still weak. Let him suffer a little more," the King said coldly.
Dong remained seated, listening to every word, every intention. Even this was part of the King's plan—to show him his place, to remind him of weakness. But Dong's mind was already plotting, already calculating. Every insult, every slight, became fuel for his ambition.
Night had fully fallen by the time he returned to his room. Sitting by the window, gazing at the moonlight, Dong whispered to himself with quiet resolve: Tomorrow morning… my plan begins.
The third chapter ended, a quiet prelude to the storm that was about to unfold.