Sunlight filters through the shutters, tracing lines of light across the wooden floor. She wakes, still unsettled by the night before. Her body remembers his gestures — different, less harsh. She closes her eyes for a moment, afraid she might have only dreamed.
The door creaks. Yi Sun-sin enters, already dressed in his dark tunic, his hair neatly tied. As always, he looks ready for war. But instead of heading straight for his belongings, he stops beside the bed.
She looks up, her heart beating too fast.
— "My husband… what I felt last night, was it a weakness on my part?"
He gazes at her for a long moment. His face remains stern, impassive. Yet his silence stretches, heavier than usual. Then, with a brief gesture, he tucks a strand of hair behind her ear before replying in a low voice:
— "It is not a weakness… if you can still stand afterward."
He straightens at once, his cold mask restored.
— "Rest. You will need your strength."
Without waiting, he leaves the room, his firm footsteps echoing down the corridor. She remains still, one hand on her cheek, where his fingers had brushed her skin. It was not tenderness, not truly… but within that austerity, she sensed something — a sign that he no longer ignored her completely.