Hyun-woo looked between Min-jun and the King. They were seated around the dinner table now, three bowls of dakjuk in front of them, but Min-jun couldn’t find his appetite. On the other hand, the King ate as if nothing had happened between them.
“Did you two get in a fight?” Hyun-woo asked.
Min-jun furrowed his brow. “What makes you say that?”
“You’re not eating.”
Min-jun looked down at the bowl of rice porridge, orange bits of carrot floating in the pale broth, a sprinkle of bright green scallions on top of the rice. It only made his stomach twist.
“I have no appetite.”
“Did you have a nightmare again?” he asked. Min-jun shot him a glare.
“You know I don’t get those anymore.” He picked up his spoon. If it would put Hyun-woo’s chatter to rest, he’d eat, even with this nausea rolling through him. Hyun-woo’s cooking had a comforting appeal to it, the recipes passed down from generation to generation. He cooked like a grandmother, full of care and time. At least, that was what Min-jun imagined a grandmother’s cooking to be, since he’d never met any of his grandparents.
“See, it’s good, isn’t it?” Hyun-woo said, as he took his dish back to the basin to be washed. “Not hungry, my ass. You’re so predictable.” When he reappeared, he had his coat on. “I’m going to help out with the cooking for the festival. You two are free to do whatever you want as long as you don’t wreck the place.”
The door shut behind him with a quiet thud. Min-jun placed his spoon back in the bowl, frowning at the offending meal.
“I do hope your friend hasn’t colluded with you to poison me,” the King said. One glance at those teasing lips and Min-jun knew it was a joke.
“Perhaps I will, next time,” Min-jun replied. And he could. He knew he could. There was no better time to kill the King than when he stepped outside of the Palace walls. Then why don’t you? Why was he so hesitant. The faster it happened, the more time he would have to hide the body and run.
“Hmm, I’ll have you know that I’m quite immune to all of your standard poisons,” the King said. “You should feed me the feathers of a mythical bird instead. Seems to work well in books.”
“I’m sure a high enough dosage of arsenic will knock you out cold.”
“Your confidence is endearing,” the King said. The spoon rose to his lips, and Min-jun hated how his eyes were drawn to them. “Though, I suppose it would be unpleasant. I’m not entirely immune to poison, just quite.” He looked down at Min-jun’s bowl. “Will you not eat, my love?”
“I have no appetite.”
“Because of what happened yesterday? You were so composed when seven people died at the Summer Festival.” The King pulled the bowl toward himself and swirled the spoon around inside.
We’re sorry for MTLers or people who like using reading mode, but our translations keep getting stolen by aggregators so we’re going to bring back the copy protection. If you need to MTL please retype the gibberish parts.
“That was different.”
“How so?”
“They were already dead when I arrived.” Min-jun watched as the King began to scarf down his dakjuk. Well, it was better than letting it go to waste, he supposed.
“That hardly answers my question.”
He hears his mother’s words in the back of his mind, quiet as ever, and yet unshakable. “I just . . . can’t let a person die if I can save them.”
The spoon slipped out of the King’s grasp, splattering rice on the table.
“Be more careful with those. They belonged to Hyun-woo’s grandmother,” Min-jun chided, getting up to get a washcloth from the kitchen. “Did you just forget how to hold it all of a sudden?” When he returned, the King was sitting still and expressionless, his hand still in the air.
“Was what I said that surprising?” Min-jun asked. “I’m an investigator. My job is to –”
“Protect people until they die, and seek justice for the dead and the living alike. I know.”
Was it a more common saying than he’d originally thought?
Min-jun leaned over the table to clean up the mess. The King stayed there as if he was merely a stone replica of the laughing man from moments before.
“What’s gotten into you?”
His voice seemed to shake the King out of his reverie. “Ah, nothing.” The King picked the spoon up once more. “Let’s take a walk after breakfast. I wish to see the preparations.”
“Yes, your Majesty.” As Min-jun returned to his spot, the King took the opportunity to press his lips to Min-jun’s cheek, making him pause. His hand rose, grazing the place where the warmth of the King’s breath had been. Were they doing this now as well? Kissing each other on the cheek, dining together, acting like proper lovers. Might as well fuck him if they were going this far.
. . .
The King wore a pleasant smile as they walked through town, looking every bit the unwitting traveler. He dragged Min-jun to all of the best sweets shops in town, taking a little bit of everything.
“That can’t be healthy,” Min-jun said, as the King bought another batch of rice cakes, all with different flavors.
“Oh, come now. This is the one time I truly get to indulge. In the Palace, my diet is heavily restricted,” the King said.
Min-jun crossed his arms, as they walked away from the counter. “I suppose that’s why you always smell like sweets?”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“I hate sweets.”
“That must be why you’re so grumpy all the time.” The King brought a finger to Min-jun’s forehead, flicking it. How childish. “What would you like to eat, then?”
“I’m not that hungry.”
“Your stomach’s been grumbling for the last half an hour. You’re likely starving. Now, what would you like? I’ll buy you anything.”
“Did you clear out the Kingdom’s coffers before leaving?” Using tax money to buy out all the sweets shops.
“Would you like me to?” The King asked. “It seems I quite enjoy spoiling you. Now, tell me. Something spicy, I’d gather?”
“Forget it. I want nothing from you.”
The King shrugged, turning to walk backward, eyeing the buildings they were walking between. People passed them by, the classes mingling before their eyes. A nobleman with a gat on his head and an expensive blue hanbok walking beside a young lowborn mother and her two children, one on each hand. And then a little further away, a group of men, both high and lowborn, played a game of yutnori. A group of well-dressed ladies with jeweled pins in their hair walked in a line, arm-in-arm, their gazes sliding to the King every now and again as they whispered among themselves. A girl with gloved hands and ruddy cheeks, no older than fourteen, buying a couple of persimmons from a street vendor with a grin on her face. A group of children ran past her, one of them avoiding a near collision with the girl, who yelled at them to watch their step. The others turned to view the commotion, laughter on their lips.
“Quite lively, aren’t they?” the King said, looking content as ever, almost pleased with himself.
“What are you smiling about?” He didn’t mean for it to come out sounding so curious. He’d meant to snap at him, to sound rude, judgmental. Instead, it almost felt as if Min-jun wanted to know what he was ‘smiling about’.
“Isn’t it a King’s greatest joy to see his people so care-free?”
There it was again. The King played his role so well that Min-jun couldn’t help the warmth spreading in his chest. The softness in the King’s gaze made Min-jun’s heart stutter a bit. Perhaps he should go to the doctor. That couldn’t be healthy.
Min-jun forced himself to look away, to face what’s in front of him instead. He walked like that for some time, feeling the King’s presence beside him, not a word passing between them. It wasn’t until he stopped near a shabby little bookstore that he realized his companion had vanished. A strange panic clawed at his throat, one that he quickly beat down. What was he concerned about? The King was a grown man. He could take care of himself. They’d find each other eventually. This was as good an opportunity as any. Min-jun stepped into the store, taking in the smell of dust, ink and paper, and the slightest hint of oranges.
The inside of the bookstore was as cozy as he’d remembered it. Tidy bookshelves full of paper and trinkets stood around a desk at the front of the store, where a mousy young woman sat, her black hair falling down her back in a glossy braid. The woman looked up past her spectacles, squinting at him.
“Min-jun?” she asked, as if uncertain.
Min-jun leaned against the door. “You know other men who are this exquisite, Miss Soonee?”
The woman closed the book on the desk, a smile taking form. “That confirms it. What are you doing here? I thought you’d left? O-oh, if you don’t mind me asking.”
“I just happened to drop by,” he said, walking to the open window. He’d need to keep an eye on any unwanted eavesdroppers. “Have you visited her recently?”
Su-jin had never had many friends, but on the few occasions that Su-jin had found the strength to come to visit Min-jun (often without his knowledge), the two had become fast friends. Now they exchanged letters, and Soonee visited on occasion, when she was able to leave the bookstore for a few days. The mousy woman and Su-jin got along splendidly, finding comfort in each other’s gentle natures.
“A few weeks ago. To drop a few books off at her home,” Soonee said. “She was a little down but in good health.” Soonee fiddled with the edge of the book cover, her nails blunt and uneven. “Her birthday will be soon.”
“The tenth. I know.”
“Can’t you visit her?” Soonee said, her voice growing insistent now, her hand forming a fist on the table. “You’ve never missed a birthday before, Min-jun.”
“I can’t.”
“Because of your work,” Soonee said. Taking his silence as confirmation, her gentle gaze turned steely. “I’ve never known you to be so cold.”
“Send her my love then,” Min-jun said. “But I cannot visit her in person.”
The King had reappeared in the street, looking like a lost puppy as he carried a bowl in his hands. More dessert?
Soonee looked like she wanted to say more, but Min-jun hushed her with a finger to his lips. He didn’t bother calling the King over, opting to stare at his figure intently. As expected, the King’s eyes fell on him seconds later, a dark expression on his face, which quickly morphed into one of thinly veiled excitement. The King was frighteningly perceptive.
When the King reached the window, he placed the bowl on the sill. “For you. It should be warm still.”
Min-jun looked down at the dish, long rice cakes swimming in a deep orange sauce.
“It’s your favorite, I presume.”
Not ready to believe his good intentions, Min-jun glared at the King, trying to find something off in his expression. Min-jun found nothing but eagerness, and so he picked up the bowl and brought the spoon to his lips. How wonderfully spicy, and just the right amount of sauce too.
“I thought you might be hungry,” the King said, watching him gulp down his meal.
“Is that why you disappeared? You could’ve said something,” Min-jun chided.
The King grinned, impish in his mischief. “Were you worried about me?”
Min-jun huffed in annoyance, pushing off the wall and heading to the doors. He didn’t need the King to spend any more time around Soonee than necessary.
Thanks for the chapter ♥️♥️
I felt a little sad for the King. I don’t mean his “unrequited” “love”(they’re both slowly falling for each other). Just the moment, where he tortures the man who drunkenly insulted Minjun. He seemed so alone and desperate, not unlike the beast, hungry for affection. So I am both curious and reluctant to hear his story
This, so much!
Oh, glad to know that I wasn’t overreacting and some people also saw King this way.
lolol definitely not overreacting! this was a great interpretation!