The herbalist kept his word and sent the first message to the young Daesagan. Jun-ho read the small note in secret:
"The tiger is healing, but his claws are still fragile. He needs time—and meat, not just herbs."
Jun-ho burned the paper immediately.
When he stepped into the garden, he found Haneul standing beneath the fading afternoon light, quietly studying her star charts—unaware that Kang-dae's fate was being guided by unseen hands.
Jun-ho gathered everything necessary to ensure Kang-dae's survival. Driven by duty—and a curiosity that burned deep within his chest—he decided to confront the Bujang himself. He told Haneul he needed to visit someone important and would return soon. Then he mounted his horse, loaded the supplies, and departed with only two soldiers he trusted completely.
At the foot of the mountain, he was intercepted halfway up the path.
Every morning, before the sun could warm the slopes, Kang-dae secured the jige to his back, loading it with heavy granite stones pulled from the river. Climbing uphill under that crushing weight forced his scars to tighten and his heart to pound with a fury he had not felt since the battlefield. His legs regained the strength of iron as his feet sank into damp earth. In his mind, the burden became training for the day his sword would no longer tremble when it sought the throat of the blue-scarfed soldier… and his master, Min.
"Bujang… is that you?" Jun-ho asked, reining in his horse.
Kang-dae lifted his head. His long hair hung in wild disarray, and his eyes were bloodshot with a savage exhaustion.
"It really is you, Kang-dae!" Jun-ho let out a dry laugh as he dismounted. "I didn't think you'd look this terrible."
The response came like a flash of steel.
Before Jun-ho could take a step, Kang-dae drew his sword with inhuman speed, pressing its edge against the Daesagan's throat.
"You've lived well in my absence," Kang-dae hissed, his voice heavy as earth and death. "You were the one who set that ambush for me, weren't you?"
Jun-ho's soldiers rushed forward, blades drawn—but Jun-ho, feeling the cold metal against his throat, raised his hands and gave a sharp command:
"Do nothing!"
He met Kang-dae's gaze, seeing the restrained madness burning within.
"I did nothing," Jun-ho said evenly. "I only gave you their route. It seems the ambush was meant for both of us."
Kang-dae did not yield. Instead, he pressed the blade deeper, forcing a strained breath from Jun-ho.
"You wanted me gone so you could have her!" he spat. "You hypocrite."
"You're not thinking clearly," Jun-ho replied, steady. "If that were true, I would have handed you over to the General myself. I wouldn't have helped you the night you wounded me in my own chambers. Lower your sword—I want to propose something."
For a few tense seconds, Kang-dae held the blade in place, measuring Jun-ho's life with a flick of his wrist. Then, at last, he lowered it.
But the fury remained—raw and pulsing.
He dropped the jige with a dull thud and, without warning, drove a brutal punch into Jun-ho's jaw.
The Daesagan was thrown backward, hitting the damp ground hard. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. He held his jaw, feeling the bone shift, then slowly rose with a bloodstained smile.
"If that calms your anger," Jun-ho said, wiping his lip, "I'll let it pass. But listen—we have a King to save… and a common enemy to tear apart."
By the time they reached the cabin, the atmosphere had turned dense—purely strategic.
Jun-ho explained the gravity of the situation: the King was wasting away in his chambers, while Min consolidated power—not only buying loyalty within the court, but forging dangerous alliances with enemies beyond the kingdom's borders.
They spoke for hours.
Kang-dae's face never changed—like stone carved from the very rock he carried each morning. The fire within him did not waver; it hardened his thoughts, turning former ideals into something colder, sharper… absolute.
In the end, they agreed to arrange a crucial meeting with the Old Counselor and the loyal scholars to plan the King's secret extraction from the palace.
On the journey back to the Han estate, silence fell heavily over Jun-ho.
A question burned in his throat until he finally whispered it aloud:
"Is his thirst for revenge greater than what he feels for her?"
One of his soldiers asked if he had said something, but Jun-ho did not answer. He could not understand how Kang-dae had returned from death… and had not spoken Haneul's name even once.
Back at the estate, Jun-ho sought solitude in his chambers.
He ordered a hot, scented bath and dismissed everyone. Submerging himself completely beneath the water, he tried to quiet the chaos in his mind.
But when he surfaced, her name struck him like a rising tide.
Haneul.
He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling his heart race wildly.
"This can't be… Could I…?"
He shook his head in denial.
He submerged again, opening his eyes beneath the warm water.
How could he have fallen for a woman who defied everything—beliefs, laws, order itself? A woman who, by the very rules he upheld, should be punished for her secret?
How could the Daesagan—guardian of law—fall to the quiet gravity of an astronomer who loved the heavens more than men?
By the time Jun-ho dressed, Haneul already knew he had returned.
To the surprise of even her own maid, she gave clear instructions:
"Go to the kitchen and prepare the finest meal we have. The young Daesagan has returned—he must be exhausted. Tonight, we will dine in the courtyard, by the pond. Inform his eunuch."
The maid bowed, barely hiding her astonishment.
Outside, night began to settle over the lotus pond—the same place where they once watched sunsets together. But tonight, the table would be set beneath a tension neither could ignore.
When Jun-ho arrived, he stopped at the edge of the wooden corridor.
The scent of his bath still lingered—but his senses fixed instantly on the figure waiting by the water.
Haneul.
Her ivory silk jeogori seemed to capture what little lantern light remained, making her glow like a beacon in the darkness. Her ash-gray chima flowed heavily, merging with the deep shadows of the garden.
To Jun-ho, she was no longer merely a woman.
She was something celestial—something that belonged to the heavens rather than the earth.
The air left his lungs.
She was serene. Perfect. And unbearably unreachable.
"Will you remain there, Daesagan?" she asked softly, turning toward him with a graceful motion.
Jun-ho stood frozen—until his eunuch whispered, "My lord… she awaits you."
He stepped forward at last, walking along the stone path until he stood beside her—close enough to feel her warmth.
"Don't you think the reflection of the sky in the pond is especially beautiful tonight?" Haneul asked, her gaze still on the water.
Jun-ho turned to her.
"Yes… tonight the sky reflects in a way I've never seen before," he murmured, his voice trembling with something deeper than exhaustion.
Sensing his tone, Haneul began to turn—but he spoke again before she could break the moment.
"The light is so pure… it feels as though it doesn't belong to this world," he said, his eyes fixed on hers. "As if a star had descended to earth… just to adorn this garden."
His voice softened.
"It's a beauty that intimidates, Haneul. It holds the serenity of the heavens you love… yet a force strong enough to unravel any man who dares to look too long."
She held her breath.
"The reflection is so perfect…" he whispered, "that it makes everything else fade into shadow."
In that moment, the pond ceased to exist.
For Jun-ho, the only universe worth observing stood before him—defying every law he had sworn to protect.
She blushed softly.
"I didn't know you liked looking beyond the sky," she said.
"I'm learning… to see it that way," he replied. "Since I met you."
She let out a nervous half-laugh.
"Come, let's sit," she said, walking ahead.
He watched her for a moment… then followed.
As dinner progressed, the atmosphere softened—more intimate, more honest.
Haneul expressed her gratitude for everything he and Counselor Yi had done—not only for protecting her, but for allowing her to maintain secret contact with her father.
Meanwhile, Jun-ho fought a silent war within himself.
Each time she smiled, he nearly told her the truth—that Kang-dae was alive… that he had just seen him.
But he held back.
For the first time in months, laughter filled the courtyard, and Haneul felt truly at peace.
As the days passed, their closeness deepened.
Haneul found in him a loyal friend and confidant.
But for Jun-ho… his admiration grew into something uncontrollable—something she, lost in her gratitude, had yet to see.
Cliffhanger
Just as the night seemed to settle into quiet, the stillness broke.
A shadow moved beyond the lantern light.
Jun-ho's hand instinctively drifted toward the hilt of his sword, his senses sharpening—but before he could speak, a figure emerged at the edge of the courtyard, breathless, mud-stained, and trembling.
One of Kang-dae's men.
"My lord—" the soldier choked, dropping to one knee. "We've been discovered."
The words struck like thunder.
Jun-ho's gaze darkened instantly.
"Who?"
The soldier hesitated—only for a second.
But it was enough.
"…Min."
The name lingered in the air like a death sentence.
Across the pond, Haneul's expression faltered for the first time that night.
And Jun-ho felt it—deep in his bones.
The fragile peace they had just begun to build… was already collapsing.
Far beyond the estate, hidden among the mountains, Kang-dae slowly opened his eyes—his grip tightening around his sword.
As if he had felt it too.
The hunt… had begun.