The sun dipped low toward the horizon, bathing the palace's tiled eaves in a bruised crimson light. In the kitchen's rear courtyard, the air hung heavy with soot and scalding steam. Ji-won stood leaning against the long handle of a broom. His palms—once accustomed to the supple leather of a steering wheel and the weight of luxury timepieces—were raw and chafed by the rough wood, yet his face remained a mask of icy, almost haughty composure.
He was observing. His gaze, trained to scan financial reports and identify weak links, now swept over the scurrying servants, dissecting every movement they made.
"Ji-won," Yun-seok called out softly as he passed by, a heavy yoke balanced across his shoulders. His face glistened with sweat. "If the cook sees you standing there like a statue, he'll find you a task far worse. Keep that broom moving."
Ji-won tilted his head ever so slightly.
"I am no statue, Yun-seok. I am conducting an analysis. If I am to find a way out of here, I must first understand the architecture of this system."
Yun-seok merely sighed, growing weary of his friend's bizarre manner of speech. He would have a word with Ji-won—certainly—but not now. He set the buckets down and leaned against the wall for a moment, catching a stray, cool breeze.
"Tell me," Ji-won said, his voice dropping an octave. It carried that sharp, business-like edge that used to make subordinates in his world straighten their backs. "You have lived here a long time. You must know many people. I am looking for someone."
Yun-seok narrowed his eyes.
"What kind of person? There are hundreds here. Who is he?"
"An old man," Ji-won replied, his brow furrowed as he summoned the image from the forest. "Stooped, with a white beard. He wore a gray hanbok and a broad-brimmed bamboo hat."
Yun-seok listened intently, but as the description continued, his expression turned to one of utter bewilderment. When Ji-won finished, the boy gave a bitter half-smile.
"You've just described every grandfather in the city."
"You don't understand," Ji-won snapped, his lips thinning with displeasure. "I have encountered this man before. I recognized him instantly; he couldn't have simply vanished into the crowd."
"Your old man could be anyone. Unless he has a scar across his face or something to set him apart, I can't pick him out from a thousand others just like him."
Ji-won fell silent, feeling a dull irritation flare within him. He was used to information being available at the click of a finger—used to databases and surveillance cameras that could track anyone in minutes. In this world, woven from coarse linen and ancient traditions, he had been stripped of his primary weapon: control.
"Then," he stated, his grip tightening on the broom handle, "I must change my strategy. If he is the one who brought me here, he sits at the center of the web."
"There you go again," Yun-seok muttered, hoisting the yoke and wincing at the weight. "Better to think about tomorrow."
Ji-won looked down at his filthy, blistered hands, then finally made a deliberate sweep with the broom, kicking up a cloud of gray dust.
If the old man is hidden by the crowd, then I must ascend to a place where I can see everyone, he thought. And Yeo-jun shall be my ladder.
He recalled Yeo-jun's gaze once more. That brief, piercing moment in the night, and then their recent encounter in the square… As a Prince, the man carried himself with an entirely different air. Was this a performance, or his true nature?
"Yun-seok," he called out without turning. His voice was quiet, yet it held that commanding intonation that demanded immediate attention.
Yun-seok, busy fumbling with baskets nearby, stepped over at once. "What are you thinking about now?"
"Tell me," Ji-won said, finally meeting his eyes. "When will this Prince of yours appear before the people again? These… performances in the square. When is the next one?"
Yun-seok blinked, startled.
"He doesn't keep a schedule. His Highness does as his heart dictates. He might be in the square today, and then lock himself in the library or go hunting in the mountains for a week."
Ji-won's eyes narrowed. He loathed such unpredictability.
"Inconsistency is the mark of the weak, though for him, I suppose it is a luxury of power. If he isn't in the square, where does he usually spend his hours of solitude?"
"In the royal gardens or the inner courtyards of the Eastern Pavilion," Yun-seok whispered, his voice dropping. "But forget about that. The walls there are higher than houses, and the guards are trained to kill before you can even open your mouth. Those are his private domains. There, he isn't the 'Prince of the People.' There, he is the master of his own life."
Ji-won thoughtfully touched his chin.
"The gardens… Then that is where he removes the mask."
"Kim, don't even think about it," Yun-seok said, waving his hands in alarm. "They won't let you in. Even Master Pak doesn't go past the service gates. The food is handed to the servants, and they carry it to the lords."
Ji-won let the warning go unheeded. His mind was already elsewhere; he had to speak to his secretary.
"If the Prince is truly who I think he is, he is already expecting me," Ji-won said, more to himself than to his companion. "He threw down a gauntlet back there in the square. He wants to see how quickly I can find my way to his door."
"You're delusional," Yun-seok sighed. "The Prince forgot you existed the second he walked away."
"People of my circle forget nothing, Yun-seok. Especially those who refuse to bow their heads."
Ji-won stood tall, squaring his shoulders. His begrimed clothes no longer felt like a mark of shame—now, they were merely a masquerade.
If he frequents the gardens alone, then I must become a shadow in those gardens, he decided. It is time to trade this role of kitchen drudge for something more befitting my status.