BW C9

Chapter 9

“Yes. You’re the Captain’s guide, so you’ll be coming with us.”

“…”

Hoeun blinked rapidly. So he truly was that man’s match—his heart plunged. The Military God he had vaguely imagined had not been someone like Taemuk.

“D-do you mean, depart now?”

“Yes. That’s right.”

“Th-this… urgently?”

“Well, we came here to find our Captain’s guide… Now that we have, it’s time to go.”

Gilsang spoke as if it were nothing, but Hoeun couldn’t simply say, All right, let’s go. Deokwoo was still in the ward. He hadn’t greeted his parents. He needed to pack.

What would he even bring? The only place he’d ever gone on outings was the hospital—he had no notion how to pack.

Since Hoeun didn’t answer, Gilsang prompted, cautious but insistent.

“Sir, we need to leave now. If we go out of the capital at once, we can hit daylight just right. It’s a bit rough to travel there at night.”

“Ah… c-could I have a little time? Just a night.”

“That’ll be… hard. Everyone’s already waiting…”

Gilsang scratched the back of his head, genuinely at a loss. But Hoeun was no less cornered. This wasn’t a picnic nearby—this was the front. He couldn’t just fly off like beans popping in hot oil.

As he chewed his lower lip, torn and stuck, a voice, aged into a low register, drifted from the corridor’s mouth.

“How many are in Jeokudae?”

Hoeun snapped around.

“Father.”

“Pardon?” Gilsang lifted his brows. Hoeun’s father asked again, himself.

“I asked how many men are in your unit.”

This hotel, on the golden land of Jongno, was the finest in Hanyang. His Majesty sometimes stayed here; Hoeun had visited often—not as a guest, but because the hotel belonged to his third brother.

“Whew…”

Hoeun drew a deep breath and headed toward the Korean restaurant at the end of the lobby. Several staff glanced in greeting; he could only smile awkwardly. On any other day, he would have exchanged pleasantries—today, he had no room for it.

As he neared the dining room, a rough murmur rose—ill-suited to the place.

The restaurant served high-end Korean cuisine at a respectable price—affordable only with forethought. It rarely filled up; tonight there was no room to stand, even late.

Every patron wore the same clothing—a black-caped uniform. Jeokudae.

Hours earlier at the hospital, when Father had abruptly asked Jeokudae’s numbers, he had invited them all to the hotel—lavish rooms without stint, food as much as they wished, all at his expense.

Thanks to him, Jeokudae could rest a night and shed some of their fatigue—and Hoeun could greet his family and pack.

It was time dearly bought—why had he come here, then…

“…”

Hoeun swallowed as he stepped into the restaurant. Soldiers packed every table spread with white cloths—men and women, some aged, some younger than Hoeun. They ate boisterously, drank loudly.

Finding Taemuk amid the chaos was not hard.

That massive frame, that singular air—and the gaze that fixed on him the instant he entered.

Taemuk sat at the deepest point, back to the wall—a place from which he could see the whole room.

“…”

Hoeun clasped and unclasped the hand hidden in his sleeve. He had come to see him, yet balked when faced with him. People in the room began to notice him one by one.

In a sea of black uniforms, an aristocrat in jade silk could not help but draw eyes.

“Who’s the pretty young master?”

“Isn’t that him?”

“Him who?”

“The Captain’s guide—the one from the ceremony.”

“What—you’re saying the Captain’s guide is a noble?”

“Looks that way.”

“Mercy, of all things, a noble? Even fate toys with our Captain…”

“Shut your trap.”

Dialect flew in from all sides. Hoeun walked toward Taemuk as if he heard nothing. Pretending not to hear was one of the few things he did well—not that it meant he felt nothing.

“Is he really a noble? How’d he get that thin? Like he never had a proper meal.”

“Look how white his face is. Must’ve been too scared of monsters to set foot outside.”

“Bet he’d piss himself at the sight of one.”

“Hey, someone fetch a diaper.”

Suddenly, a man lurched to his feet and shouted, cheeks flushed scarlet with drink.

“Sir young master—thank you! We’re living large thanks to you! Tender ribs like this—first time since I sprouted hair on my balls! Wahahaha!”

“You got hair down there?”

“You don’t?”

“Nope.”

“How not? I got some.”

“Don’t even know where yours are, do you?”

“Why wouldn’t I? Want a look?”

He made to yank down his trousers, aggrieved; his comrades shoved him back into his chair, snickering.

“…”

The talk made Hoeun’s head swim; he pursed his lips and hurried his steps. Jeokudae was a little—no, very—different from what he’d imagined. Not for the better.

Stung through and through by words that were part gratitude, part jeer, he finally reached Taemuk.

“Excuse me.”

He announced himself.

“…”

Taemuk only looked at him. Unlike at the ceremony, he wore no cape—only the uniform coat, unbuttoned entirely. Through the thin jacket beneath, the planes of muscle showed unblurred.

Half a dozen sat at his table—ages and sexes mixed. It was impossible to say who was a Military God, who a guide, or what rank and post they held.

“…”

“…”

Unlike those outside who had riled him, they watched Hoeun warily. The swords, spears, axes hooked under their chairs looked ready to take his head. Curiously, there were no weapons at Taemuk’s place.

“Welcome. Be honored.”

Taemuk’s face did not match the words.

“…Thank you.”

Nor did Hoeun’s. Taemuk’s gaze drifted down and up his frame.

“The road’s long. Is that body all you brought? Suits me fine.”

Laughter popped around the table. Hoeun set his mouth hard, then addressed Taemuk with formal calm.

“I would like a word.”

“Talk.”

Taemuk tossed back a cup, as if he had no more interest in Hoeun than in the glass. Regret pricked—he should not have come. But he was here; he could not turn away.

“Not here. Somewhere else, if we may.”

“Somewhere else?”

He meant only a quiet place to speak, but Taemuk chuckled. Lifting his brows, he clicked his tongue at those at the table.

“My guide’s rather forward.”

Laughter again.

“…”

Hoeun’s lips thinned. This was mockery. Crude mockery. He was not a courtesan, but a guide—his fated match. Why was Taemuk so unkind, so irreverent—especially as a general? That rank demanded gravity and dignity.

Then again… “my guide.”

Blunt. Direct.

Heat climbed his ears. In that instant of touch, Taemuk had felt what Hoeun had—indisputable. The thought filled him to the brim.

Suddenly, facing him became difficult—embarrassment, shyness. Hoeun’s eyes sank of their own accord.

“Let’s go, then.”

With a cigarette in his mouth, Taemuk scraped his chair back and stood. The shadow he cast swallowed Hoeun whole. Seated, he had been immense; standing, more so.

A man born for a general’s post—and indeed a general—was a wonder to behold.

“Leave the liquor.”

He spoke to his soldiers and set off.

“Yes, Captain.”

They nodded. Hoeun hesitated, then moved to follow. At that moment, someone at the table tittered,

“If you take too long, we won’t know a thing, mind you.”

Taemuk stopped and looked back.

“If you’re that eager to die, go on.”

“Then I’d best have another swig before I do.”

The soldier sucked noisily at the bottle, deliberately vulgar. It was insolent, but Taemuk only snorted and walked on.

 

Note ;

 

Captain (team leader): Subordinates casually calling him “Captain” is colloquial/functional, referring to his role as Jeokudae’s commanding officer (“daejang/dae-jangnim” as unit leader), not his formal rank