By Zephyria 
After finishing his work and returning to the Imperial Pavilion, Hyun-wook collapsed onto his bed. Today had been another exhausting day.
“I’m tired to death. I wonder if His Majesty ever feels this way?”
Spending the entire day glued to the Emperor’s side felt as if every ounce of energy was being drained from his body. Since parting with Hae-joo and coming to the palace, Hyun-wook had been unable to leave the Emperor’s side. Furthermore, instead of staying at home, he was now a permanent resident of the palace, unable to escape the Emperor’s surveillance. Of course, no one ever used the word “surveillance.”
And this pavilion was not a prison. It was spacious, luxurious, and lacked for nothing; there was no discomfort whatsoever. However, it was an invisible prison. Though it wasn’t called confinement, it was no different from being trapped.
He lived every day under the gaze of an Emperor sharper and more sensitive than anything else. To an outsider, the Emperor’s attitude toward Hyun-wook was no different from how he treated everyone else. But Hyun-wook felt the Emperor’s anger more acutely than anyone. Min-hyeok had been furious that he and Hee-sung had helped Hae-joo escape. The only reason they were able to keep their heads was that they had saved Hae-joo’s life instead of handing him over to the Prime Minister.
For that reason, Min-hyeok had shown a measure of mercy and stopped there. Min-hyeok didn’t make a scene; instead, he quietly tightened the noose around the families of Hyun-wook and Hee-sung. One only had to look at how their fathers’ positions in society shifted in an instant to see it. The presence of both Hyun-wook’s and Hee-sung’s fathers had vanished.
Even the great Dae-ho and the Chief Prosecutor were nothing before the Emperor. Hyun-wook suffered unspeakable stress as he watched the process of his father settling everything and stepping down. That was how immense the Emperor’s intimidation was. He pushed them until they felt a proper amount of fear, and only then did he stop.
There must have been retaliation against Hee-sung as well, who had disregarded everything and offended Min-hyeok’s mood. Hyun-wook didn’t know the specifics of how Hee-sung was doing now. He only knew that he was living quietly, commuting between home and school. He seemed to be getting along without much rebellion, likely because he was aware of his family’s situation.
Hyun-wook himself could barely leave the palace twice a month, so he had no capacity to look after anyone or provide support. He was struggling enough just to keep his own head above water and had to cater to the Emperor’s whims. Hyun-wook spent all his time doing his best to accompany the Emperor and quietly carried out his assigned duties. He hoped that if he behaved well, the Emperor’s heart might soften a little.
Since he was essentially held as a hostage in place of Hae-joo, he endured each day, trying not to provoke the Emperor. He had clearly said at the end that he would contact Hae-joo and Seo-joo, but that had become an impossible dream. Min-hyeok had deactivated his old phone number and blocked all contact related to Hae-joo.
From Hyun-wook’s perspective, it was a cruel punishment. Seo-joo had finally begun to remember him and look at him with warm eyes, yet he had been separated from them without being able to say a single affectionate word or a confession of love, and now he was in this state. He missed them terribly; he longed for them over and over again. Such extreme longing could indeed become a form of pain.
“The Emperor must be the same. He probably wants me to endure it because he can’t see him either. The psychology of ‘if I can’t see him, you can’t either.’”
Having stayed by Min-hyeok’s side for a long time, Hyun-wook had seen various sides of the Emperor. First and foremost, he was a born Emperor. He was a man whose life one couldn’t even imagine if he weren’t the Emperor. He discovered and caught things that ministers or civil servants missed with ghost-like precision. There was no such thing as “desk administration” in his work, and he showed zero mercy toward officials who merely occupied their seats while idling.
He never abandoned his strong conviction that the people would only be comfortable if the Emperor and high-ranking officials worked like dogs, and he never compromised when it came to work. He staked everything on the stability and development of the country, focusing on military power and public welfare. To the point where people said his hobby was reviewing public petitions, he listened intently to the words of the people, leaving nothing to be criticized in his role as Emperor.
That was why Hyun-wook marveled at his incredible ability every time he saw him. He felt every day that being an Emperor was not something just anyone could do. How on earth did he handle that much work? It was a position Hyun-wook could never hold even if he were reborn, and he couldn’t do it even if he were pushed into it. Hyun-wook realized daily that the saying “Emperors are appointed by heaven” was true.
“No matter how much I think about it, the Emperor isn’t human. He’s a superhuman. This isn’t work for a human.”
And one more thing. This great Emperor did not know how to have a personal conversation. Min-hyeok did not know how to converse, how to share emotions, or that those emotions had to be spoken to the other person. Things that needed to be explained directly in words to the party involved. This was likely due to Min-hyeok’s special environment. His unique position meant he never had to engage in reciprocal conversation.
Before he could demand something or express his mood, those around him had already grasped his feelings and emotions. Monitoring the Emperor’s mood was a daily routine for the people in the palace, and Min-hyeok could obtain everything he wanted before he even uttered a word.
Because everyone knew without him speaking, it was natural for Min-hyeok to assume that everyone knew his feelings. That was why things ended up this way between him and Hae-joo. It was true that Min-hyeok had used Hae-joo, but his feelings were certainly sincere.
However, Min-hyeok did not express that in words, and because of that, Hae-joo misunderstood. Min-hyeok believed that Hae-joo naturally knew because he had shown his love through actions without speaking. Therefore, Min-hyeok also found this situation uncomfortable in his own way.
Everyone else had noticed and understood, but only Hae-joo failed to realize it, misunderstood, and to top it off, ran away. Confused by this fact, Min-hyeok could not understand Hae-joo for a long time, and because of that, the situation grew even worse. Frustrated by this, Hyun-wook had said this one day:
‘Your Majesty. People do not know unless you express it in words.’
‘Express? I expressed it enough. How can I express it more than this? I’m not crazy; would I keep someone I don’t care for by my side like that? How could he not know?’
‘As I told you before, it is because you did not express it in words.’
‘You saw it too, so you know. How I treated Hae-joo. I loved him enough that he should have known naturally, even without words.’
Hyun-wook vividly remembered Min-hyeok’s face, looking bewildered as he claimed he had loved him.
‘Your Majesty, that is not how it works. Especially since the relationship between you two was not smooth, the user must have felt anxious. You should have expressed that you liked him, that you loved him, in words.’
‘Why is this so difficult? It’s harder than doing politics. I thought Hae-joo knew everything I did. I tried to end the matter with the Prime Minister quickly on my own because I knew he would worry if he found out. There was no need to say it.’
‘Not everyone’s heart is the same as Yours, Your Majesty.’
At Hyun-wook’s words, Min-hyeok stared at him in silence. It was quite insolent and a somewhat dangerous remark to make in front of a Min-hyeok who had become nothing but sensitive since Hae-joo’s departure. Still, Hyun-wook felt it was something that had to be said. Min-hyeok remained silent for a long time, but the remorse visible in his eyes was readable. He hoped that remorse wasn’t just a momentary regret… Hyun-wook hoped it was sincere.
“Still, there were times I could see Seo-joo from afar. That’s something.”
They had settled on an island, and Seo-joo occasionally came to Seoul. When he left the palace, if he was lucky, he could see Seo-joo. He couldn’t describe how much that alone allowed him to breathe. Fortunately, Seo-joo looked healthy, and Hae-joo seemed to be doing well, which eased his worries.
Whether Min-hyeok knew or not, he didn’t show it, but he seemed willing to let him steal a glance at least. To be able to see them even like this was a blessing… However, a hope emerged that he might be able to meet Seo-joo soon. It seemed Min-hyeok had finally made up his mind to find Hae-joo.
Nothing had been decided yet regarding how he would approach him or whether it would be official or unofficial. But once Min-hyeok decided to find Hae-joo, Hyun-wook knew it wouldn’t take long. He didn’t know to what extent Min-hyeok would allow him to meet them as a result, but the day he could see their faces was not far off.
∗ ∗ ∗
Seo-joo checked on the deeply sleeping Hae-joo several times before carefully leaving the room. After checking the Emperor’s name on the resident registration transcript, he realized that the divorce had not been finalized. Just when things had finally quieted down, the house was in an uproar again.
He hadn’t liked that Emperor since he first saw him in the novel, but experiencing him in person was even more appalling. From the moment he realized he had possessed this body, Seo-joo felt sorry for Hae-joo. It felt as if Hae-joo’s possession as the Grand Imperial Concubine was his fault. After all, he was the one who had recommended the book to Hae-joo. Although he didn’t die like in the original work, the fact that his life was miserable because of the Emperor was no different from the original. Why on earth did Hae-joo have to possess the Grand Imperial Concubine… It felt like everything was his fault.
Sighing at his hopeless worries, Seo-joo returned to his room and began taking things out of the bag he hadn’t unpacked since returning from Seoul. Clothes and mail from the mailbox poured out. He had grabbed the mail all at once, so he hadn’t even checked what was what. While checking them one by one with an indifferent face, a strange piece of mail caught his eye.
“A postcard?”
Did people still send postcards these days? There was no address on the postcard. Just as he was about to toss it aside as some kind of advertisement, something on the back caught his attention.
“…Why are there flower petals here…”
A few dried petals, presumed to be from a rose, were laminated and attached, and a short message was left beneath the petals.
[I miss you. Please wait a little longer.]
Even without a name, he knew who the sender was. It was a method so outdated it was almost tacky in this day and age. A few drops of tears fell onto the dried petals. This tacky method must have been the best Hyun-wook could do. With this one postcard, he felt the suffocating tightness that had blocked his chest for so long ease just a little.