A beautiful Day in the Capital
The sun poured its golden warmth over the capital, painting the bustling streets with life. Merchants shouted their prices, children tugged at their mothers' sleeves, and the scent of roasted chestnuts drifted through the air.
Kenji moved quietly through the market crowd, his sharp gaze sweeping across the chaos as though searching for something-or avoiding it. He paused before an inn, its wooden sign swaying gently in the breeze.
"Mr. Kenji!"
A familiar voice called out, pulling him from his thoughts. He turned to see a young man step out from the doorway-a scholar with refined features, robes neat, and a smile bright enough to draw the attention of passersby.
"Did you forget?" the man teased, his tone half-playful, half-wounded. "There's someone waiting for you here."
Kenji blinked at him, confused. "Who?"
The man dramatically pressed a hand to his chest. "Me! It's me! What's with that face? Look around-you're making me look like a fool, talking to someone who acts as if I'm a stranger. People will think I've lost my mind."
Kenji's lips curved slightly. "Brother Soren... you're not a stranger. Why would you even think that?"
Soren folded his arms, feigning offense. "Oh? Now you remember me? Passing by my inn as if I don't exist-what else should I think?"
Kenji lowered his head in apology. "It's my fault. Don't take it to heart. I was... heading somewhere important."
"Where?" Soren asked, his sharp eyes narrowing. "What are you doing these days? It's been too long since we last had a proper talk."
Kenji sighed. "Nothing much. Just helping Her Highness with some work in the Investigation Department."
Soren gave a bitter laugh. "Even the Investigation Department needs investigating. Those old men sitting there for decades-untouchable, unchallenged. People go missing every day, and still they turn a blind eye. No one dares speak against them because of their years and rank. Tell me, how can anything change while they still hold power?"
Kenji nodded slowly. "Yes... Her Highness asked me to check their records. I've been busy with that. And now..." He paused, glancing around, lowering his voice. "Prince Tashi is about to be designated Crown Prince. His Majesty entrusted the entire banquet organization to Princess Nyima."
"So that's why you're helping her?" Soren leaned in, half-teasing, half-serious. "And what about me? No time for your Brother Soren anymore?"
Kenji gave a faint smile. "I think so. After the ceremony, I'll come see you."
"As you wish." Soren exhaled, then added in a quieter tone, "But... I did hear something. Whether it's true or not, I cannot say."
Kenji's eyes narrowed slightly. "What is it?"
Soren leaned close, whispering against the noise of the street. "I heard the Third Princess beat three of her maids so mercilessly that one was left severely injured-and the other two... died the next day."
Kenji stiffened, his voice sharp. "Where did you hear this?"
Soren raised his palms. "I don't know for certain. I only overheard it. Some men were drinking at my inn and gossiping. That's all."
Kenji shook his head firmly. "Impossible. Beating someone to death? She could never do that."
But Soren's gaze shifted. His eyes slowly lowered to Kenji's hands-his knuckles raw, torn, bruised. He said nothing, only raised his brows and gestured toward them with his eyes.
Kenji froze. His heart lurched.
The past rushed back-wood cutting through air, the sharp whistle before each brutal strike, his hands smashed again and again by an unforgiving stick. Pain seared even in memory, each blow echoing until goosebumps rose across his skin.
"Kenji?"
Soren waved a hand before his eyes. "What's wrong with you?"
Kenji blinked hard, dragging himself back to the present. He forced his tone steady. "It's nothing. Just... I remembered something." He stepped back quickly, his voice rushed and urgent. "I have work. Urgent work. I'll come find you when I'm free. But, Brother Soren... if you can, try to find out about those maids. Why they were punished so harshly."
Soren frowned, confused by his sudden change of mood, but finally nodded. "Alright. If that's what you want."
Kenji gave a curt bow. "Thank you."
Without waiting for more, he turned and disappeared into the sea of people, leaving Soren standing before his inn, the smile gone from his face-replaced with silence and unease.
__ _ _ _
Evening faded into night. The sky shimmered with a bright moon and a single evening star, casting pale silver light over the palace.
Kenji entered the quiet courtyard of Princess Nyima and knocked softly on the study door.
"Come in," her voice floated out.
Inside, Nyima was seated at her desk, brush gliding across parchment. She didn't even look up when he stepped inside.
"Say what happened," she asked flatly, her focus still on her writing.
Kenji placed a neat stack of documents on the table. "Here are the records you requested."
She nodded once. "You may leave."
Without another word, Kenji bowed and walked away in silence.
---
Days passed. The entire palace drowned in preparations for the grand Crown Prince ceremony.
But that morning, something unsettled Kenji-Princess Nyima had left before sunrise and never returned. Even her maid, Pema, was clueless.
"She didn't say anything to me," Pema admitted. "She only told me not to follow her."
Now night had fallen. Dinner came and went, but still no sign of Nyima.
Kenji paced restlessly in the courtyard near her chambers, the distance between their rooms feeling heavier than ever. He finally resorted to practicing his martial arts beneath the torchlight, trying to fight the unease building in his chest.
Then-it came.
The sharp creak of a door opening.
He turned quickly, whispering under his breath, "Your Highness..."
Princess Nyima entered the courtyard, closing the gate behind her. She didn't look left or right, only walked straight through the corridor toward her room.
Kenji froze, eyes following her silently-until something caught his gaze.
Drops of blood. Dark stains trailing across the polished floor, marking every step she took.
His heart dropped. Without a second thought, he sprinted after her, pushed her door open without knocking, and stormed inside.
The sudden intrusion startled Nyima. She turned slowly, sleeves rolled, her blood-stained dress already soaking in a basin of water.
"What happened?" Kenji's voice cracked with fear.
Nyima looked down at her ruined clothes, then at the blood stains trailing into the room. Her face remained unreadable as she answered casually, "Nothing serious."
Kenji's chest tightened. "Nothing? You're bleeding across the entire corridor! I am your guard-I'm meant to protect you! But if you hide things like this, how am I supposed to do my duty?"
Nyima's eyes flickered, cold and sharp. "Am I not standing alive before you? Isn't that enough?"
His voice broke with frustration. "So I should wait until you die before taking action?"
Her tone turned icy. "Go. Close the door."
"I won't," he said firmly.
Her eyes burned with anger. "How dare you disobey me?"
"I'm not-" Kenji dropped to his knees, desperation spilling out. "I'm not disobeying. Just let me stay here. Let me help you. Should I fetch the physician? Bring first aid? Anything?"
She glared, fury flashing.
Kenji trembled under her gaze but refused to move. "I won't leave. Forgive me for disobedience-you can punish me later. I deserve it."
Silence stretched. Nyima let out a faint sigh.
Just then, a voice called from the courtyard.
Nyima stiffened. She recognized it instantly. "Minister Dawa," she whispered urgently. "Go-stop him. Tell him I'm unwell and cannot meet tonight. I'll see him at the palace tomorrow. And-" she added sharply, "tell Pema to clean the blood stains, and bring me the first-aid kit. Go! What are you staring at?"
Kenji jumped to his feet. "Yes!" He rushed out, intercepting the minister, and returned as soon as possible after handling all the task.
He saw Pema coming out from her room .
"Why aren't you with her?" he demanded.
"She told me she wished to be alone," Pema replied, puzzled.
Kenji nodded. "Then go rest. I'll handle it."
He returned with the kit and knocked softly.
"Who is it?" Nyima's voice called.
"It's me."
"Come in."
He entered. She motioned to the box. "Leave it there and go."
"Let me help you with the dressing," he said quietly, refusing to move.
Her brows furrowed. "What's wrong with you today? Not listening to a single word. I can manage on my own. Leave."
But as she spoke, her body swayed. The blood loss made her dizzy; she nearly collapsed.
Kenji darted forward, catching her before she fell. His voice shook. "Is this how you plan to handle yourself? You'll faint before the bleeding stops! Show me-where are you injured?"
Too weak to argue further, Nyima slowly lifted her sleeve.
A deep, jagged cut ran across her arm, the work of a sharp blade. Blood still seeped heavily from it.
Questions burned inside Kenji, but he held them back. Now wasn't the time. He worked quickly-rolling up her sleeve, cleaning the wound, applying medicine, and binding it tightly.
"Aah!" Nyima hissed, her voice trembling with pain. "Can't you be more gentle?"
Kenji's hands softened immediately. Every touch after was tender, careful. He dressed the wound with patience, then helped her onto the bed.
She lay pale and weak, eyelids heavy. Kenji fetched a steaming cup of herbal medicine, holding it to her lips to restore her strength.
When she finally drifted into uneasy sleep, he didn't return to his room. Instead, he sat on the floor at her bedside, back straight, eyes sharp-keeping watch through the night.
Guard. Servant. Shadow.
But in his silence burned something far stronger.