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chapter 22
The Duke, who had been frozen like stone, suddenly grabbed his close friend.
“I suddenly feel like seeing you, brother. Come with me for a bit.”
“Huh? That’s fine, I guess—”
With that, Duke Yuhan dragged his friend away. Feeling a wave of relief, I wiped my forehead with an invisible hand. Now that Duke Yuhan had left, he wouldn’t even glance at me for fear of causing misunderstandings.
Phew, what a relief.
I let out a breath and quietly congratulated myself—just as my older brother’s voice reached me.
“Isn’t it about time we went to the martial arena too?”
“Huh?”
I followed my brother’s gaze and realized I was still holding hands with Muwol. That wasn’t too bad—until I noticed we were interlacing our fingers.
“…What was I thinking?”
Unconsciously, I had acted as I would with a friend or family member. I quickly let go of Muwol’s hand.
Apologies rose to my throat, but Muwol didn’t like me apologizing over trivial things. What should I say then? Hesitating, I stepped closer to him.
“Muwol.”
Just as I lifted my heel to whisper, he leaned slightly toward me, allowing me to speak comfortably.
“Your hands are really warm and nice.”
“…Huh?”
“When you held my hand in front of Duke Yuhan, it felt really reassuring.”
It was a bit silly to whisper about something so small, but saying it out loud felt embarrassing. I hesitated, then added:
“If you ever face trouble later, I’ll be there to hold your hand then.”
Muwol stared at me. Had I crossed a line again? I braced for him to sulk—but then he spoke.
“That’s the first time anyone’s said that to me. I’m a little flustered.”
“…This is my first time saying something like this too.”
“To say that to someone like me… Sojin, your tastes really are unique.”
“But it doesn’t change the fact that you’re truly amazing, Muwol.”
His eyes widened slightly. He was surprised, right? I hadn’t expected such a reaction from him over just a few words.
At that moment, a voice called for Muwol from the martial stage. He immediately turned and said:
“I should be going now.”
“Take care.”
“And…”
He hesitated slightly, as I had just a moment ago.
“Thank you. You’re the first person to say that to me.”
I looked confidently at the lunchbox I had placed on the chair.
“You’ll probably say that again later, too.”
“That sounds nice.”
Muwol smiled faintly and disappeared into the crowd. A moment later, the referee on the martial stage called out:
“Jin Jaehun of the Hwasan Sect! And Geomryong Baek Muwol! Step forward!”
Normally, fighters are introduced by their sect or family, but Muwol didn’t belong to any, so he was given a special title.
Jin Jaehun, wearing the Hwasan Sect uniform with its emblem, faced Muwol, dressed in plain black.
I have to watch closely.
Unlike my brother, this was my first time seeing Muwol fight. Both drew their swords. Jin Jaehun moved first, raising his sword high and bringing it down sharply.
Clang! Clang!
From that motion, their swords clashed repeatedly. I tilted my head instinctively—I could tell even without much experience that Muwol was at an advantage.
Jin Jaehun was moving his arms and legs actively, while Muwol hardly moved, like water pooling in one place.
Frustrated, Jin Jaehun gritted his teeth and lifted his sword—then Muwol vanished.
Clang!
Jin Jaehun’s sword flew from his hands and landed on the floor. Staring blankly at his empty hands, he slowly looked up—and there was Muwol, sword in hand, calmly standing on the other side.
Jin Jaehun lowered his head.
“I lost.”
“Wooooah!”
Cheers erupted immediately. I could only whisper one word:
“Wow…”
I had heard that Muwol’s sword style values speed, calmness, and fluidity. His specialty was quietly overpowering enemies like a shadow, and other martial artists often mocked him, claiming there was no difference between him and an assassin.
But who cares? He’s amazing.
Indeed, Muwol’s master had raised a dragon from a puddle. Jin Jaehun hung his head and stepped off the martial stage.
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you did well.”
“Good job.”
Members of Jin Jaehun’s sect patted his shoulders and offered comfort.
Then what about Muwol?
He was slipping through the crowd alone. People who had looked at him with admiration quickly turned their attention elsewhere or kept their distance.
Of course. If you don’t know him, randomly approaching him would look strange.
But I was different. As his fiancée, I could meet him anytime after the match. Taking a deep breath, I called out:
“Muwol!”
He immediately looked my way. I waved a couple of times, excused myself to my family, and descended the stairs without an escort. The martial match for today was over—it was finally time for our private moment.
Once we exited the crowded arena, I led him to a pond and pavilion. I laid a handkerchief on the ground and unwrapped the bundle I had brought.
“What’s this?”
“You’ll see.”
I opened a three-tiered lunchbox in front of him: spicy pork stir-fry with vegetables, peeled grilled shrimp, and dumplings.
Muwol’s eyes widened again. I smiled.
“I told you, you’ll say ‘first time’ again.”
I pushed the lunchbox toward him.
“It’s your first time receiving a lunchbox from your fiancée, right?”
“…Yes, a gift like this is really my first.”
It was clear Muwol also liked cute, thoughtful gestures. I took out chopsticks and offered them to him.
“I focused on foods you like. It may not be as good as what my house chef makes, but please enjoy it.”
“Thank you.”
“…Sojin?”
He watched as I picked up the chopsticks again, looking puzzled. I met his eyes seriously.
“I’m not forcing you to eat. If you don’t like something or don’t want it, that’s fine.”
“That won’t happen. It looks delicious.”
“But my older brother only took one bite last time.”
“…Duke Jin?”
I nodded, but there was a backstory.
My brother couldn’t handle spicy food, and that day I had made Sichuan-style crayfish. I had made a separate mild egg dish for him, but stubbornly, he shoved the spicy crayfish into his mouth.
“Ah, it’s awful! What did you put in this?”
“Brother, just admit it’s too spicy.”
“No, it’s just awful, that’s all.”
…Better not explain all that. I nodded, and Muwol quietly said:
“That must have been frustrating.”
“Huh? Not at all. It’s minor compared to other households. My friend’s little brother spat out her cooking immediately and cursed, and another friend’s brother secretly threw it away and got caught.”
“I see?”
“Yep. These things happen between siblings. It might feel strange now, but after marriage, you’ll understand our family dynamics.”
Muwol picked up a shrimp with the chopsticks I had given him. As usual, he ate gracefully and complimented me.
“This is delicious.”
“Really?”
He sampled the rest of the food carefully.
“Everything is tasty. The shrimp is lightly seasoned and clean, and the spicy pork stir-fry has a bit of a kick and is addictive.”
Muwol’s kind and detailed compliments made me happy but also a little embarrassed, so I scratched my cheek awkwardly.
“I’ll make you another lunchbox next time.”
“I’m already looking forward to it.”
Muwol was truly enjoyable to please. Then he handed me the container with dumplings.
“You should have some too.”
“Yes.”
I bit into one, packed with meat—it was delicious, even though I had made it.
The portions were generous, but sharing made it vanish quickly. Muwol washed the lunch containers in a nearby well and said:
“I’d love to try the dish you made for Duke Jin that day as well.”
“I’ll make sure you get that too.”
Since Muwol can handle spicy food, he’ll enjoy it. I’ll prepare a mild dish for my brother again, hoping he doesn’t stubbornly challenge the spiciness and burn his mouth.
Muwol carefully wrapped the cleaned lunch containers in a furoshiki. When I reached for them, he shook his head, insisting he’d carry them.
Watching him, I felt reassured again. My life with him would be calm and stable.
