The clinking of teacups was abruptly shattered by the violent crash of wood. From the main road, the cry of a herald tore through the spring air.
—"Open in the name of the Ministry of Justice! Immediate inspection order for Scholar Han Ji-won!
Haneul's father turned pale as paper. Lord Yi, however, did not flinch; he set his cup down with terrifying calm. His eyes met those of his son, Jun-ho.
—"It seems," the old councillor murmured, "Lord Min is in greater haste than we anticipated."
Haneul rose to her feet, but before she could take a step, Yi Jun-ho's hand closed firmly around her wrist. It was not a violent grip, but a silent command to stop.
—"Stay here," Jun-ho said. His voice, once calm and melodic, now cut through the air like steel. "If you go out there with panic in your eyes, you will hand them the confession they seek."
Lord Yi nodded toward his son. He knew the moment for restraint had passed.—"Son, the Office of Censorship holds authority over palace records, but this is a private residence."
—"I know, Father," Jun-ho replied, adjusting his official robes with infuriating composure. "That is precisely why I am going to remind them who signs their warrants."
Jun-ho walked toward the entrance with a deliberate calm that caused the soldiers outside to hesitate, momentarily intimidated by his presence. From the shadowed corridor, Haneul watched as the young Daesagan placed himself between Lord Min's guards and the door of her home.
—"Under what authority do you intend to violate the peace of this residence?" Jun-ho demanded. His voice was not raised—it was a verdict.
—"We carry orders from the Ministry of Justice, sir," replied the captain, a man hardened by cruelty. "There is suspicion of treason in the observatory's maps."
Jun-ho let out a dry, humorless laugh.—"The Ministry of Justice holds no authority to audit scientific knowledge without an edict from the Saganwon—the Office of Censorship. And I am the Daesagan."He stepped forward, forcing the soldier back.—"Any document removed from this house must first pass through my hands for sealing. If you so much as touch a single scroll without my permission, I will present a formal accusation before the King tomorrow for abuse of authority and conspiracy."
The soldier hesitated. He knew Jun-ho's integrity made him untouchable within the court.
Jun-ho turned his head slightly, ensuring Haneul could hear him.
—"Take Scholar Han for preventive questioning at the Office of Censorship—not the dungeons," he ordered his own men. "And have Miss Haneul prepare the 'relevant documents' for my personal review tonight."
Haneul understood the message. Jun-ho was buying time.
Though Kang-dae's body was miles away, his instincts had never left the observatory. Before departing, the Bujang had woven an invisible web of loyalty: one man embedded within the palace to watch Lord Min's hands, and another hidden in the overgrowth surrounding the Han residence, a shadow breathing in rhythm with Haneul herself.
It was the latter—a veteran soldier marked by a thousand scars—who witnessed the arrival of the Ministry's forces and Jun-ho's intervention. From his vantage point, he saw the Han family's fate teeter on the brink as Haneul's father was taken into custody.
Without hesitation, the soldier mounted his hidden horse. Every second mattered. If the message did not arrive in time, Kang-dae would return to nothing but ashes and death sentences.
He rode without rest, exhausting two horses along the way, until the dust of the frontier and the metallic scent of the military camp filled his lungs.
Kang-dae stood inspecting the perimeter beneath a leaden sky when the rider arrived. The Bujang stiffened at the sight of him. Before the man could dismount, Kang-dae was already there, gripping him by the shoulders.
—"Sub-General…" the soldier gasped, his throat raw from sand. "They've moved. Lord Min has made his move. The councillor's son has taken the scholar into custody. The observatory is under siege."
A cold sharper than steel pierced Kang-dae's chest.
The General's order had been clear: remain at the frontier. To leave now would mark him a deserter—his head would carry a price.
But as he looked toward the horizon… toward Haneul… the doubt vanished from his eyes.
There was no choice.
It was a fire only he could extinguish.