TKEP 01

Chapter 1

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[Constitution of the Korean Empire]

Article 1, Clause 1
The Emperor is the symbol of the Korean Empire and the embodiment of unity for its people.
The Imperial Family shall protect the citizens, uphold the prestige of the Korean Empire to the world, and devote themselves to the peace and prosperity of the nation.

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At Incheon Airport’s arrivals hall, Yeon hesitated under the relentless barrage of camera flashes.

She had expected a lot of attention—after all, one of the few surviving imperial princesses of the 21st century was returning to her homeland after a long absence—but she hadn’t thought it would be this intense.

Reporters packed the place so tightly there was barely room to breathe, with telephoto lenses stationed even on the second floor.

“What’s going on? Is a celebrity arriving? Where is she?”

Not a celebrity—an imperial princess.

“If it’s a celebrity, I want to see too. Is there some Hollywood movie premiere? Is she the lead actress?”

I mean, I can act well enough to put Hollywood leads to shame, but sorry—no, I’m not an actress, Yeon replied inwardly.

“Hey, don’t push! Ow—who stepped on my foot?”

Yeon had intended to slip quietly through the airport, but she stopped.
It didn’t feel right to simply ignore the people who had come to see her.
And with such a dense crowd, an accident could easily happen.

She pushed her way through and stepped to the front.
Removing the baseball cap pulled low over her face, she smiled brightly.
Her well-kept hair, loosely tied, swayed gently.

The reporters recognized her instantly.

“There she is! There! Your Highness! Over here, please!”

Yeon waved and struck a light pose.

“Oh my, that’s the Princess?”

A fellow passenger from her flight gaped in astonishment.

“I had no idea! I should’ve asked for an autograph… or at least taken a picture.”

Regretful murmurs spread through the onlookers.

Who would have guessed—
the Princess of the Korean Empire had been flying in economy class, not business or first.
And her outfit was far from the glamorous style usually seen on TV when it came to the imperial family.

True, the cargo pants embroidered with ten traditional longevity symbols were unusual, but she could easily pass for just another young Korean with a love for her country.

As the rumors said—she was down-to-earth.
But a princess was still a princess.
The moment she removed her cap, her face seemed to glow, and every wave of her hand carried poise.

“Your Highness, we need to get you out of here quickly. The car is waiting.”

The royal guards had spotted her and moved through the crowd to surround her.

“I should at least greet them. It’s been a while.”

“You don’t need to, Your Highness. This isn’t a formal interview. We’re not sure how news of your arrival leaked, but His Majesty is very worried.”

In truth, the Imperial Family, while seeming close to the people, was in reality far removed.
Every appearance in the media was carefully planned and calculated—
that was the only way to maintain the public’s idealized image of them.
It was what everyone wanted, and what they believed was right.

Everyone—except Yeon.

“His Majesty is waiting for you.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Then tell him to wait a little longer. Say the plane was delayed or something.”

“…Excuse me?”

Yeon smirked at the guard’s bewildered expression, then turned back toward the press.

The reporters’ eyes gleamed like hungry hyenas when they realized the Princess wasn’t going to be whisked away immediately.
Some looked ready to vault over the barriers, but Yeon raised a hand.

“That’s far enough. If you block pedestrian traffic, I won’t give an interview. Let’s be careful not to cause any accidents, okay?”

Her words carried a smile, but also unmistakable authority.

The reporters, glancing at each other, lowered the feet they’d lifted over the fence and instead pushed their microphones toward her.

“I’ll take only three questions. Please understand. I’ll arrange an official press conference through Gyeongbokgung soon.”

She tapped the face of her watch.
It was a chunky analog model from a widely available, affordable brand.

That’s going to sell out, one sharp-eyed reporter thought, quickly snapping a photo before asking:

“Your Highness, is this a permanent return?”

“Yes, I’ve come back for good. I trust everyone will welcome me warmly.”

A cheer erupted, just as she’d hoped—a loud, enthusiastic welcome.

“Despite the people’s repeated requests for you to return, you’ve always left soon after visiting, like clockwork each year. Why the sudden decision to settle permanently? Is there perhaps a marriage planned?”

Their questions never change, Yeon thought, stifling a sigh.

The royal wedding—a royal wedding—was always a hot topic.

She lowered her gaze as if thinking deeply.
The airport fell into a hush.
The reporters’ anticipation was palpable; they swallowed hard, sensing the possibility of a scoop.

“Marriage…” Yeon murmured.

“Pardon? We can’t hear you, Your Highness! Please speak up!”

Yeon lifted her head.
For a moment, a shadow crossed her usually bright face.

“I’m afraid I can’t go into detail on that matter. Please excuse me.”

“Your Highness, wait! What does that mean, you can’t go into detail? Your Highness!”

The flashes went off even more furiously.
Her ambiguous answer had only fanned the flames of their curiosity.

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“So, the Princess has returned for the first time in six years, and she suddenly brings up the topic of marriage. But unlike before, she paused before answering. What could this mean?”

“It could mean one of two things: either a royal wedding is being arranged against her will, or regardless of the arrangements, she is under pressure to marry.”

“The Princess’s marriage is something our people dearly wish for. If it happens, it would be the biggest event in the Imperial Family in years. What might this mean for the economy?”

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Jibokjae Pavilion, Gyeongbokgung Palace

With a faint crackle of static, the TV went dark.

The 6th Emperor of the Korean Empire, Yi Beom, rubbed his eyes and forehead, looking weary.

After Yeon’s unscripted press conference, the Imperial Household’s website had crashed from excessive traffic, and the phone lines were overwhelmed.

All anyone wanted to know was:

“Is Princess Yi Yeon getting married?”

Every media outlet—TV, radio, YouTube—was running special features on a possible royal wedding.
The entire nation had been set abuzz by nothing more than a brief hesitation before her answer.

It was the kind of mess the Imperial Family would have to deal with for quite a while.

Meanwhile, the culprit herself was sitting comfortably, sipping coffee.

Beom let his gaze linger on the portraits of past emperors hanging neatly on the wall of the reception room.
Then, in a low voice, he recited the history of the Korean Empire:

“In 1897, Emperor Gojong changed the nation’s name to the Korean Empire. In 1945, together with the first Prime Minister, Kim Gu, he led the nation to independence. In 1950, to end the tragic war that befell our land, he joined forces with the free democratic world. And in 1953, with the declaration of armistice, he proclaimed to the world that the Korean Empire was a steadfast constitutional monarchy…”

Whenever his emotions threatened to get the better of him, this was his habit—
to quietly recite history until his temper cooled.

Even so, a lingering ember of frustration smoldered inside him, and he took a deep breath to quench it—
only for Yeon to speak up without warning.

“Explain it to me.”

Though they were father and daughter, they were first and foremost Emperor and subject.
Her tone was imperious—borderline insolent.

“Explain what?”

Yeon set down her coffee cup.
The ice, melted smooth and round, clinked softly as it collapsed.

“The letter you sent me.”

She straightened her posture.

At twenty-six, she was young compared to Beom, but years as a foreign correspondent in dangerous places had given her a presence that made even her father think twice before speaking down to her.

“You wrote that you have only one year left, didn’t you?”

Yeon had left Korea at twenty, saying she would live abroad for good.
She returned only once a year, for the Jongmyo ancestral rites—
and not even that in the past two years, claiming she couldn’t leave the war zones she was covering.

She had long been openly critical of the current Imperial Household,
and she had caused her share of trouble within it.

The family elders’ consensus on her was clear:

The Korean Empire’s troublemaker princess.

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“It would be better if you left the country.”

---

Six years ago, for the sake of the Imperial Family’s peace, Beom had sent her abroad.

There, she had lived freely—
studying political science and international relations,
socializing with capable young people from around the world as an equal,
and earning a position as a field reporter for a prestigious news agency purely on her own merit.

She traveled to the corners of the world, covering the stories of the marginalized and wounded,
and swept up numerous prestigious journalism awards.

Only months earlier, she had stood onstage at an awards ceremony and declared her commitment to journalistic integrity, unshaken by the tides of the times.

And then, suddenly, she had resigned and returned home.

She had said it was because she missed her homeland—
but the truth was something else entirely.

“Why aren’t you getting treatment? The doctors said a year, but even that’s not certain.”

The Emperor was gravely ill.
A tumor had taken root in one of the worst possible spots—a pancreatic cancer.

“Even with treatment, I wouldn’t be cured. And proper treatment would mean spending my last year confined to a bed. I won’t waste my remaining time like that—and as Emperor, I must not.”

It was clear that persuasion would get her nowhere.

A hot, painful feeling welled up in Yeon’s chest.
Even though resentment from the day she’d left Korea still lingered,
and though she hadn’t forgiven him for their fight—

He was still her father.

When she’d first learned of his illness, she had thought she had no tears left to shed,
yet her eyes blurred again.

Quickly, she turned her head and wiped them away.

Composing herself, she asked:

“Your Majesty, in that letter… that ‘last request’ you wrote—did you mean it?”

“Of course.”

“Do you even remember what you wrote?”

Her words were sharp, because the contents of that letter had been shocking enough to make her question whether he truly meant it.

“Naturally. Shall I tell you in person?”

Yeon stayed silent. Beom smiled at her warmly.

“Yeon-ah.”

“…”

 

“You must become the next Emperor. Fulfill your destiny.”