The chains binding his wrists and ankles pulled taut, and Shin Yigyeom staggered briefly, losing his balance.
Immediately after, suppression batons swept across his shoulders and back indiscriminately.
Even as he was subjected to merciless blows, Shin Yigyeom twisted his body and knocked over another guard. Then he bit down on that man’s wrist and drove his knee into his groin.
“What do you think you’re doing.”
The Company Commander snapped coldly.
At that, with a clank — chains slicing through the air spread wide and cinched around Shin Yigyeom’s neck, yanking him straight back.
His face flushed red, Shin Yigyeom reached an arm out toward the young unit member. Wounds that had torn apart the still-unformed body of the young boy gaped open, spilling bright blood.
“Remember this. From now on, every time you do something foolish, your people will receive punishment in your place.”
The Company Commander delivered the warning in a tone as flat as someone entirely removed from the devastating scene before them.
Shin Yigyeom stared at the drops of blood collecting on the torture rack and dripping to the floor, then turned his face away. A chill ran through his whole body and he began to shake uncontrollably.
Shortly after, the acrid smell of urine swept through the interrogation room. The young unit member — his lower half soaked, consciousness gone — was dragged out by the guards like an animal.
Outside the window, the tilted moonlight seeped softly into the room.
The administrative office building, located on the eastern side of the imperial palace, did not fall entirely silent even deep into the night.
Each of the red pillars supporting the high ceiling was carved with golden cloud patterns, and along the walls, portraits of successive Daeryun imperial emperors and a full map of the empire hung at regular intervals.
In the center of the vast office stood a large desk crafted from black rosewood, its surface neatly arranged with memorials, sealed letters, and document cases awaiting authorization.
These were dimly illuminated by a bronze candlestick engraved with the imperial crest.
By the window, seating for receiving ministers and envoys had been arranged, and across the floor stretched a deep navy carpet that had come in as tribute from the western territories.
“Your Excellency, I have brought him as you ordered.”
The guards led Shin Yigyeom inside. The chains made a long scraping sound against the floor.
The attendant confirmed the state of Shin Yigyeom’s restraints, then connected the chains to a ring fitted to one of the pillars on the side of the office.
As there were no facilities within the imperial palace’s official office building for detaining prisoners, portable restraint equipment used by the Dark Bureau had been temporarily installed.
“…….”
Shin Yigyeom exhaled shallowly, aware of the faint rising scent of agarwood incense.
Beneath the smell of freshly ground ink, the wax used on sealed letters, and the subtle oil scent of melting candlewax, Wi Saheon’s metallic body scent lay thickly underneath.
As the guards withdrew, silence settled over the vast space.
Wi Saheon was seated at the innermost part of the office, before the desk. He was not in his formal uniform, but neither was he in casual dress.
He wore a deep black long robe with a light outer garment draped over it. His collar was loosened but did not look disheveled. If anything, it gave more the impression of someone catching a brief breath at the end of a long day’s work.
His legs were stretched out long beneath the desk, and in one hand he held a sealed letter that had yet to be authorized.
A few strands of black hair had fallen near his forehead, yet even those failed to disturb the neatness of him.
The lamplight wavered, and a faint gleam passed across Wi Saheon’s eyes.
“…….”
Dry skin traced the contours of Shin Yigyeom’s face plainly. The blood and grime had been cleaned away, but the wounds scattered here and there could not be concealed. Red, burst bruise marks along the nape of his neck, below the collarbone, across his arms and sides showed faintly through the thin fabric.
He had heard that Shin Yigyeom had caused a commotion throughout the entire bathing. Upending the bath basin, kicking people away, and repeatedly demanding to be killed.
That same Shin Yigyeom was quiet now. He had surrendered his wrists to the chains hanging from the pillar and kept his gaze lowered. His breath, mixed with occasional coughing, was somewhat rough, but he did not thrash about.
From the still-damp tips of his hair, droplets of water fell and spread across his shoulder. Whether from some subtle chill, the backs of his hands were trembling finely.
As always, Wi Saheon’s gaze was less like looking at a person and more like analyzing one. The extent of the injuries, the steadiness of his gait, how far his mind had broken down and how far it had recovered.
And Shin Yigyeom was certain that was not all. Wi Saheon was observing him — but at the same time, he was clearly watching for something else as well.
From the interrogation room, the labor yard, Three’s execution ground, the grave desecration site, all the way to this very moment. He was like someone intent on memorizing each and every one of his reactions one by one.
“…….”
Wi Saheon slowly reached out and picked up a long pipe. It was made of black ebony with a dark luster. As he brought it to his lips, the ember at the end of the pipe glowed red and flickered briefly.
The smoke he drew in became a thin white thread that drifted out between his lips. Dense tobacco smoke draped itself around Wi Saheon’s face like a halo around the moon.
Shin Yigyeom quietly curled his hand into a fist. At any time, in any place, this man never let his emotions show. Had he been driven by madness, he would at least have been easy to read — but he was nothing of the sort.
After a long stretch of silence, Wi Saheon’s elegant fingers tapped lightly against the rosewood desk. That sound alone caused the air inside the office to grow subtly taut.
“Eat.”
Wi Saheon tilted his head toward the small side table beside the pillar. Water and medicinal pills had been placed there.
Shin Yigyeom’s large eyes, barely open, questioned what on earth he was talking about — then, after spotting the pills, curved into something like a sneer.
“No.”
I will accept nothing from you.
“Eat.”
Wi Saheon was entirely unbothered.
“Shall I feed you myself?”
“…….”
Shin Yigyeom’s brow twitched.
“The peach sweetness fills the corridor all the way to the end. It’s enough to give me a headache.”
Wi Saheon lowered one eyebrow and tapped his temple with his index finger.
“Do you intend to let all of Gamsimwon know?”
Having been wracked by high fever throughout, Shin Yigyeom was unaware that he had entered another cycle of Chunheunggi.
The relentless torture had overloaded his nervous system, causing his cycle to collapse entirely out of order.
Even just moments ago, as he drew near Wi Saheon’s office, his entire body had responded. The fine hairs on his skin stood sharply on end, his back grew hot, and tension flooded into the inner part of his thighs.
It was an unvarnished truth that left no room for excuse. His body, having entered Chunheunggi, was intensely craving Wi Saheon.
“What is the reason you have summoned me here?”
At Shin Yigyeom’s sharp question, Wi Saheon gave a quiet laugh through his nose.
Among the prisoners, Shin Yigyeom had stood out for little beyond his noticeably pale complexion — yet a single bath had given him the air of nobility.
His long hair, neatly arranged. The collar of his garment fastened so that only the front of his collarbones showed. The slender line of his body visible through the thin fabric looked less like someone who had once served in the Palace Guard and more like someone who ought to be receiving protection.
“A vacancy has arisen at Hwirakwon.”
Wi Saheon raised the long pipe to his lips. In the moonlit air, the smoke drifted away at a leisurely pace.
“…?”
Shin Yigyeom’s brow furrowed. For a moment he thought he had misheard.
Why is Wi Saheon suddenly speaking formally to me?
It was not appropriate. Wi Saheon was the head of the Dark Bureau that oversaw Gamsimwon, and he himself was a prisoner of high treason held deep in the underground cells of Gamsimwon.
Setting that aside, Wi Saheon was a son of the Daeryun Federal Empire’s Emperor. There was no reason for him to use formal speech with anyone outside of the imperial family.
Shin Yigyeom, who had been fixed on that question, turned the word Hwirakwon that had just grazed past his ears over in his mind — and went rigid.
Hwirakwon was a state-managed institution that performed pleasure, entertainment, and sexual services.
Those who worked there were called Hwain — meaning they were treated like flowers. From the moment one became a Hwain, they were addressed by a flower name.
A Hwain, even if broken, had to be beautiful to look upon. If they were unpleasant to look at, they would not be used. If not used, they would not be kept alive.
“It is not a standard placement. It is a special exclusive assignment that has come down to my side.”
Why does he keep….
Shin Yigyeom stumbled, unable to process Wi Saheon’s formal speech and the sudden proposition at the same time. It felt like coming face to face with a stranger wearing a familiar face.
An inexplicable discomfort crept down the back of his neck. An enemy he could not understand was dangerous. Wi Saheon’s actions kept slipping past his predictions.
There was clearly something evasive about it, and just as he tried to dig into it, a headache started again.
“It is a rare position even within Hwirakwon. Entry, duties, management — everything operates around one person alone.”
Due to the brand marks, the scars left by torture, and his unbroken temperament, Shin Yigyeom did not, in principle, meet the standards of a Hwain as Hwirakwon required.
If judged by appearance alone, high marks could be given — but in truth, the quality most critically demanded of a Hwain was not marketability but ease of management. In that sense, Shin Yigyeom was closer to being disqualified.
