Genie's breath caught as she stepped closer.
"Why is the child like this?" she asked, her voice laced with alarm.
The man holding the child turned toward her, his face hardened into a scowl. Deep lines carved his features, and his narrowed eyes burned with hostility.
"None of your business," he growled. "Move along."
Without waiting for a response, he jerked the child's arm and began dragging the small, limp body through the dust-covered path. The boy's feet barely lifted, his head bobbing with each rough tug.
Before Genie could react, Jade moved swiftly, planting himself in front of the man, arms slightly outstretched as if ready to catch the child if needed.
"You can't just drag a child like that," he said evenly, his tone calm but firm.
The man halted, nostrils flaring. His glare shifted to Jade, sharp and venomous.
"And who are you to interfere with what ain't your concern? Move."
Tension snapped into the air like a pulled wire. Around them, the bustling marketplace seemed to freeze. A few villagers cast quick glances in their direction, then hastily turned away. Some picked up their pace, skirts and sleeves swishing as they retreated. Others clutched their children tightly and disappeared down alleyways.
Genie looked around in disbelief.
'How can everyone just walk past this?'
Her heart pounded—not just with fear, but with indignation.
Jade, unshaken, spoke again. "If you're having trouble, I can carry the child. We'll walk you home. There's no need for violence."
The man spat on the ground, his lips curling into a sneer.
"You two ain't from around here, are you? Outsiders," he spat the word like poison. "You better get out of this village before you see something you'll regret."
Genie's hands balled into fists. Her jaw clenched.
'This man…!'
The heat of fury rose in her chest, ready to burst from her lips—but before she could speak, Jade gently touched her sleeve.
"Let's not escalate," he murmured, his voice low, deliberate. Then, louder, addressing the man, "We just want to make sure the child is okay. That's all."
The man's gaze flicked back and forth between them, wild and darting. His breathing grew heavy, like a beast backed into a corner.
"What do you know about our village, huh?!" he barked, voice hoarse with rage.
Without warning, his fist flew through the air—a blur of anger and desperation, aimed straight at Jade's face.
With a swift, fluid motion, Jade caught the man's punch mid-air, his hand closing effortlessly around the attacker's fist.
Gasps rippled through the market square.
For the first time, the townspeople froze. Feet that had been hurrying away now halted. Heads turned. Conversations died in mid-sentence. Eyes widened in shock as murmurs spread across the square like a wave breaking against stone.
The man's bravado faltered. His lips twitched with embarrassment, and with a sharp jerk, he released the child's arm. The boy's small body sagged and began to fall.
"Wait—!" Genie cried out.
She darted forward, arms reaching for the child—but before she could touch him, the man let out a furious snarl and lunged again, throwing another punch at Jade with all the force of his pride and panic.
Jade didn't flinch. With the calm of someone who had done this a hundred times before, he leaned slightly to the side, letting the fist slice harmlessly past his face. In the same breath, his other hand snapped forward and struck the man's abdomen with a sharp, precise blow.
"Urgh…"
A guttural groan escaped the man's lips as he doubled over, knees buckling. He collapsed to the ground, clutching his stomach, breath coming in wheezing gasps.
Genie didn't waste a second. She knelt and gently scooped the child into her arms, heart pounding at the boy's frightening stillness.
"Let me carry him," Jade said quickly, stepping toward her with both hands outstretched.
Genie nodded and helped lift the boy onto Jade's back. Jade steadied the child carefully, adjusting the small limbs until the boy's arms hung over his shoulders, his unconscious face pressed against Jade's back like a ragdoll that had been through too much.
"H-Hey… stop…!" the man wheezed from the dirt, his voice rasping with pain and fury. He tried to lift himself, but his arms gave way.
Genie turned away from him, her focus fixed on the child. She scanned the crowd and rushed to the nearest person—a woman standing stiffly by a vegetable cart.
"Where is the nearest doctor?" Genie demanded.
The woman blinked slowly, her eyes clouded and unfocused, as if waking from a long, gray dream. After a beat, she raised a trembling hand and pointed toward the far end of the street.
"T-that way… left side… small wooden house…"
"Thank you!"
Genie grabbed Jade's arm, and the two of them took off on a run—Jade carrying the boy on his back, Genie clearing the way ahead. Their footsteps echoed down the cobbled street, scattering chickens and drawing curious glances from behind shuttered windows.
The villagers watched them go with blank, unreadable expressions—like sleepwalkers stirring for the first time in years—frozen in place, staring after the strangers who dared to stop what no one else would.
In the seaside village where salt winds brushed faded rooftops and time seemed to drift like mist off the waves, an old nobleman named Choi sat quietly behind a painted folding screen. His tiled-roof home, weathered but stately, bore the dignity of centuries past. The main room was heavy with the scent of earth and citrus—round, green fruits lay scattered among drying leaves on low wooden trays, their pale skins glistening in the afternoon light.
Choi, now deep in his twilight years, wore a heavy robe of faded indigo silk. He sat cross-legged on a silk cushion, back straight despite his age, his presence still commanding in its silence. The slow, methodical motion of his hand moved a small cloth across one of the fruits. His long white beard trailed down his chest like a living symbol of his wisdom and years.
From outside, the light tap of footsteps approached. The sliding door creaked open, and the young man who had earlier greeted Genie and Jade at the academy stepped into the room. He bowed low and closed the door behind him.
"Sir."
Choi didn't respond at first. He finished polishing the fruit in his hand, then glanced up.
"Ah. Mr. Ahn," he said, his voice gravelly but even. "You're here."
The crafts teacher, Ahn, settled onto the floor, sitting with his hands on his knees in quiet respect.
For a moment, neither spoke. The only sound was the soft brush of Choi's cloth on fruit skin and the distant murmur of gulls outside.
Then Choi broke the silence.
"So," he said, his tone low and deliberate, "where are those people from?"
Ahn's eyes flicked up.
"They appear to be from the capital."
Choi's hand paused mid-polish. His gaze sharpened as he studied the teacher over the rim of the fruit.
"The capital?" he repeated. "What would bring them here?"
"I couldn't say for certain," Ahn replied cautiously. "They didn't come to enroll a child. And they don't appear to be married. There's… something else about them."
Choi let out a slow breath, thoughtful. He set the fruit aside and ran his fingers through his beard.
"I thought as much," he muttered. "They didn't carry themselves like a couple. Too much distance between them… and too much awareness."
The teacher shifted slightly forward.
"What shall we do, sir?" he asked in a hushed voice. "Should we… encourage them to leave?"
Choi's eyes narrowed, not with anger, but calculation. His voice dropped even lower.
"No. That would be foolish," Choi said flatly, his voice edged with quiet authority.
He leaned back ever so slightly, the rustle of his layered robes whispering against the floor like dry leaves stirred by a breeze. His gaze remained fixed on the middle distance, eyes heavy with calculation.
"If they truly are from the capital… if someone sent them here with purpose…" He let the thought hang in the air like smoke curling toward the ceiling. "Then the last thing we should do is act rashly and bring a foolish end upon ourselves."
His fingers resumed stroking the edge of his beard, slowly, deliberately—like a man turning over pieces on a hidden game board only he could see.
"Timing, Mr. Ahn," he added in a quieter tone. "Everything depends on the right timing."
"You're right, sir," Mr. Ahn said, bowing his head slightly. "I was too hasty."
A faint rustle of silk accompanied Choi's shift in posture. He turned his head slowly, eyes narrowing with quiet intensity.
"Mr. Ahn… didn't you mention they're returning to the academy tomorrow?"
"Yes, sir," Ahn replied. "They said they'd be back in the morning."
A hush fell over the room.
Choi's gaze drifted toward the latticed window. Just beyond the wooden frame, a peach tree stood in full bloom, its pale blossoms trembling in the sea breeze. Petals flitted down like whispers, settling on the mossy stones below.
"Heh…" A short, dry chuckle slipped from Choi's lips.
Still staring at the tree, he tilted his head slightly, a sneer creeping onto his face—subtle, but unmistakable. The serene image of spring outside now seemed almost mocking in contrast to the tightening atmosphere inside.
"Mr. Ahn," he murmured, his tone suddenly colder, laced with a shadowed glee, "I've thought of a very good way…"
He turned, locking eyes with the young man before him.
Ahn felt something chill creep along his spine.