The chamber lay in shadow, lit only by the flicker of an oil lamp against the paper screens.
The young bride sat on the edge of the bed, hands folded on her knees, her back straight despite the trembling of her shoulders. She waited, motionless, as she did every night.
The door opened. Yi Sun-sin entered—massive, imposing, his face stern. He said nothing, cast no glance about the room. His steps were heavy, measured, those of a soldier walking toward a mission.
She lowered her head, then obeyed. Slowly, she lay down, arms folded close to her chest. She remained still, eyes fixed on the ceiling, as he came to her.
His body loomed, strong and unyielding, pressing down over her. His movements were precise, firm, without tenderness: he acted as in battle, fulfilling a duty not of his choosing. No caress, no word—only the mechanics of obligation.
She closed her eyes, shivers coursing through her. Her breath caught, her fingers dug into the bedding to keep from trembling. And yet, through the fear, something else stirred.
The heat of his skin against hers.
The strength in every motion.
The weight of his embrace, crushing yet undeniable.
Her body answered in spite of her. Her lips parted, her breath quickened. She bit her tongue to smother a sound. How could she admit that she burned, while he sought only to perform what was required?
At last, he withdrew—unyielding still. He moved away without a word. His breathing was already steady again, so unlike the storm pounding in her chest.
He turned his back, as though nothing had taken place.
She lay frozen, her cheeks flushed with fever. She knew he had given nothing freely… and yet, her body already carried the searing memory of his touch.