Chapter Text
The house of Song was neither the largest nor the grandest in the province. It sat unpretentious on its terraced hill, three stories stacked with a visible restraint, its only extravagance the roof’s colorful tiles and a peach garden right next to it, which in the right season looked like someone had splashed red ink across the courtyard wall. Mingi, the only son of Song household, awoke to the pale sunlight refracting off the frosted windowpanes, the early morning air in his small room cold enough to make the top of his nose red.
He lay perfectly still for a moment, cherishing the feeling of the weight of his wool blanket on his chest. His father, as it fits for a military man, had always taught him to listen in before moving, just in case. Though for a seven-year-old it felt more like an old man’s superstition than a real rule.
After making sure there were no monsters or enemies stomping around his room, Mingi finally sat up. His routine was simple: fold his blanket into a tight, square package, place it on the low trunk at the foot of the bed, get changed into proper clothes and make sure the pajama is also neatly put away. Like a soldier he combed his dark hair back, did all the buttons on his shirt, including the most upper one that made him feel like being choked sometimes, and smoothed it down. It was no use, really, the thing wrinkled the moment he moved even a little.
By the time Mingi finally got out of his room, his house was already awake. Even before he reached the first floor, he could hear the tea water boiling, the slap of servants feet across the cold corridor and voices of his father and mother. No, not mother, his mother had died a year prior. Voices of his father and Sena, the beta lover his father had taken in after his real mom’s passing. He hesitated at the threshold of the dining room, hands gripping the lintel, then set his jaw and pushed the door open.
The hinges gave a polite click as Mingi nudged the dining room door aside, trying not to wince at the sudden warmth that pressed against his cold cheeks. It smelled like rice, clean and starchy, with a sharp edge of roasted seaweed and a hint of something smoky from the little fireplace tucked by the wall. That fire never looked like much, just a couple of logs rattling in the grate, but it always managed to push the early morning chill out of the cramped dining room.
His father sat where he always did in the mornings, back straight and boots planted square, a cloud-grey newspaper in his hands. He barely looked up as Mingi entered, just flicked his eyes past the top of his reading and made a little grunt that sounded like a “good morning”. Mingi peeked at the newspaper and wondered why anyone would willingly read such boring texts. He himself had learned to read not long ago, yet it was clear that stories about heroes and pirates and dragons were much more interesting than boring musings about prices in faraway towns or military affairs. Maybe, Mingi told himself, once he’s a commander like his father, he’ll find newspapers fun too.
Sena smiled at Mingi from her chair, spoon pausing halfway to her lips. She didn’t wear the bright silks like some betas in Sungwol did. Her dress was plain and pretty, and she had a soft look in her eyes that made Mingi a little annoyed. While Sena was polite and kind to him, she was sitting where his mother was supposed to be and all three of them knew it.
“You’re up early,” Sena said, moving her bowl so a servant could set down a plate of steamed buns between them. “Did you sleep well?”
He shrugged, keeping his hands at his sides. “Yes, Sena Buin.” His voice came out rough, but Sena didn’t seem to care much.
There were three places at the round table, the third one at a slight angle, not quite touching either of the others. The table was crowded with little dishes - pickled radishes, fresh rice, a shallow bowl of clear broth with white curls floating on top. Mingi slid into his seat, feeling the stiffness of his shirt digging under his arms.
A servant poured him tea. He watched the steam swirl above the cup, and if he focused hard enough, he could imagine it’s a little smoke monster and fantasize how he would slay it with a mighty axe. There was nothing more Mingi wanted than to learn to fight, ride a horse or even go to a real castle. Anything but being trapped in a boring house.
“Eat up quickly,” his father said, not glancing up. Mingi scowled into his tea, but picked up his chopsticks. The rice was hot and sticky, and he ate quickly, careful not to make much noise.
“Don’t rush him, Jaeho,” Sena said calmly, then turned to Mingi. “You must go change after you’re done with breakfast. Wear your good boots today and uniform jacket. You have to look proper today.” Her eyes flicked down to the length of Mingi’s shirt, before reaching over the table to adjust his collar, making Mingi flinch away from the touch.
“Why? Are we going somewhere?” Mingi perked up. He never got to wear the good boots unless they were going out of town or to a festival, and they hadn’t done either for a while now.
“Baekho-daegam has a son your age, Hongjoong. He is looking for a kid who would eventually become Hongjoong’s private guard, and I want you to try out,” his father stated. Mingi stole a sideways glance at him, not quite sure if this was all a huge joke, but his father was still scanning the newspaper, lips compressed into a line, showing no signs of a jest or deception.
This was a big deal. Baekho-daegam was the leader of Hala, the company Mingi’s father worked for as a commander. Mingi wasn’t sure what they did, really, but it was something related to shipments and required a private military force, so Mingi was beyond excited. He’d get to fight with a sword, he’d get to make a friend and he’d get to leave the house every day. It felt like Chuseok had come early.
Besides, everyone knew Commander Song Jaeho. Mingi had to do honor to his family name, his pride depended on it.
“Me? For the Young Master’s guard?” He would assume only the eldest sons of the officers would be considered. Himself, still a little too young to be even considered for soldier training, what chance did he have?
Jaeho’s eyes flicked up, holding Mingi’s gaze like a hand pressed to the back of his neck. “Yes. You are fast and brave. And a proper alpha. If you pay attention to what the instructor is telling you and try hard, you’ll do better than anyone there.”
Mingi’s ears burned as he broke out in a huge smile. He felt his pulse thunder so loudly he could barely taste the rice anymore. He pictured himself, sword at hip, flanking Hongjoong, who Mingi had only seen from afar. He would walk with determined steps, look threatening, and if the time ever came, he would protect him with a ferocity no one in this province had ever seen.
***
Mingi’s boots slapped the wet stones, his breath puffing out ahead of him in ragged bursts. He’d rehearsed the walk in the hallway mirror a dozen times. Shoulders back, chin level, eyes scanning as if to identify threats and not merely avoid tripping on loose paving. He practiced scowling at the merchants and the fishwives, at the packs of squawking children not on their way to anything as important as a military selection. Each time his reflection bent into a windowpane, he deepened his frown, drawing himself up to his full, impressive height.
The path, narrow and walled on one side by willow hedges, took a sudden kink near the docks. That’s where he saw another boy, clearly heading the same way as him. Mingi would have ignored him, but the boy was an alpha, his amber and pine scent unmissable, and he was tall. Taller than Mingi, even if just by a little. Mingi had always prided himself on his height, towering over even some of the ten-year-olds around here. How dared this boy be taller than him? His clothes were clean but rumpled, sleeves rolled back and hair standing out in wild spikes, the color of burnt wood. He moved with a confidence that irritated Mingi on sight, as if the world could not possibly offer enough challenge to merit straight posture.
Mingi set his jaw and caught up, hoping to pass with dignity. Instead, the other boy pivoted without warning and gave him a once-over.
“Why are you following me? I can feel your stare, you know,” the boy asked, voice full of suspicion.
Mingi, startled, snapped, “I was not following you! You are the one in my way.”
The boy grinned, though more to tease Mingi than out of actual humor, showing a crescent of straight teeth. “Liar,” the boy said.
This was, objectively, not an insult. Still, Mingi felt his face flush, and he quickened his stride to get ahead. “Are you lost?” he threw over his shoulder.
“Nope. I’m going to the big house,” the boy pointed at the mansion on top of hill, the Kim mansion that also served as Hala headquarters. Mingi felt himself getting irritated already. This boy wasn’t just a tall stray from the outskirts of the town, he was there to compete. “I am going to be the Kim family’s youngest guard,” he announced proudly and drew level with him, matching Mingi’s march step for step.
Mingi glared at him sidelong. “You don’t look like a fighter. And the position is already taken.”
“No it’s not. You’re lying again,” the boy shot back, but with no real heat. “Are you heading there too?”
Mingi gave him a stiff nod. They walked together in silence for a dozen paces. The waterside curved away to the left, shrouded in a low haze, the city’s roofs a patchwork of black tile and steaming chimney smoke beyond. Mingi tried to slow, hoping the other boy would move ahead or fall behind, but the kid had a sixth sense for matching his tempo, an annoyance that grew more pronounced with every step.
“I heard they’re only picking one guard,” the boy let out nonchalantly.
“Yes. And it’s going to be me.”
The boy made a face. “Do you even know how to hold a sword right? You don’t look like someone who’s been out of the house much.”
“I have been out plenty,” Mingi said, then realized it sounded defensive. “You look like you’ve been raised in a barn, they need a soldier not a pig herder. And I bet I’m much smarter than you.”
“Prove it,” the boy said, then stopped dead in the middle of the path, eyes fixed on Mingi’s feet.
“What?”
“Your left boot is untied.” He pointed, utterly grave.
Mingi looked down. Both laces were double-knotted and perfect.
The boy burst out laughing. “Thought you weren’t stupid,” he crowed, wheeling away to lean against the hedge, clutching his sides.
Mingi’s face went hot, a wave of humiliation cresting in his ears. He’d been tricked by a pig herder (or whatever the boy was) with a bowl haircut. Fury prickled up his arms, and he lunged, shoving the boy in the shoulder hard enough to bounce him off the hedge and into a puddle.
The boy landed with a squelch, mud spraying up his calves. He gaped at Mingi for half a heartbeat, then frowned and kicked a sheet of brown water back in retaliation.
“You’re an idiot,” the kid shouted.
“So are you,” Mingi retorted. If he took the boy down before they even reached the mansion, he would have one less competitor to fight for the spot. Or he could get there first and hope that the menace got lost on the way.
They stared each other down, the silence sharp as a fresh cut. Then, without warning, Mingi took off running towards the mansion. He only felt a flash of pine before the boy lunged after him, tackling Mingi around the waist. They tumbled off the path into the bracken, arms and legs tangling, both yowling like street cats. Mingi got the upper hand briefly, pinning the kid with his knees, but the other boy bucked him off with a twist that sent Mingi rolling in the grass, as the boy ran for the mansion full speed.
Mingi jumped to feet and ran after him. When both of them finally reached the courtyard entryway, the boy stopped, bracing his hands against his knees and breathing hard. Mingi paused right next to him, panting hard, and glared at the boy.
“You hit like an omega,” the boy said.
Mingi frowned. “You fight like a goose.”
“You’ve clearly never fought one,” the boy pointed out, deadpan. “They’re scary.”
Mingi noticed how his pale face was dirtied with a bit of mud, same as his boots and pants. Mingi himself was likely not looking any better, and hoped his father wouldn’t decide to come check on him and see the mess. If he did, Mingi told himself, he would just say it’s the boys fault. Which it was. Mostly.
“We’re dirty because of you. I’ll be so mad if they just send us home,” he muttered.
The boy shrugged, unconcerned. “I’m sure they will, so don’t bother. Go home now and spare yourself the embarrassment.”
Mingi was not stupid. He rushed through the gate, the boy moving alongside him. The other boys and even some girls were already lined up in front of a serious looking guard captain, one Mingi recognized as one of his fathers acquaintances. Next to him stood a short boy with dark hair and salty scent, dressed better than anyone in the courtyard and with a wooden sword in his hand. Hongjoong.
Unexpectedly he felt the other boy bump into his shoulder in an attempt to throw him off balance or make him trip. Mingi, stubborn as always, pushed back.
Mingi and the boy joined the line up, both still panting a little, and the captain’s head swiveled, his gaze making both boys stand a little taller.
“You are late,” the man barked, voice so loud it clipped the ends of words. Several boys tittered, but quickly snapped back to attention under the captain’s glare.
Mingi felt his stomach drop. He tried to brush mud from his pants, only to smear it wider. The boy shot him a sidelong smirk, then squared up.
“He tripped me,” the boy said, pointing his thumb at Mingi. Mingi’s chest burned with humiliation, but a tiny part of him wanted to laugh at the boy’s audacity. He clearly did not know who Mingi or who his father was.
“Only because you kept pushing me,” Mingi’s own voice sounded like a growl.
“Enough!” the captain shouted. “You want a spot on the guard, you follow orders like everyone else. Now, names!”
The boy bowed first, damn overachiever. “Yunho, sir!” he said.
Mingi felt a flash of annoyance and took the opportunity to shove his elbow right at Yunho’s ribs, in an attempt for the boy to break his stance. Yunho, however, saw it coming and managed to dodge it easily.
Yunho. A stupid name fitting a stupid boy. He must have really come from the outskirts of the town, because Mingi had never heard such a name among Sungwol’s kids. He made a face, before noticing the irritated stare the captain was giving him.
“Mingi.” He squared his shoulders and kept an eye out for any incoming counter-attacks from Yunho, but none came, though he could feel the boy’s glare his way.
“You will both be here on time tomorrow, or you’re out,” this time it wasn't the captain's voice coming their way, but instead Hongjoong’s, who had stepped forward now, looking directly at Mingi and Yunho.
Hongjoong was even shorter than Mingi remembered, so slight he might have blown away if not anchored by a wooden practice sword. His uniform looked starched to the point of agony, the buttons gleaming, his hair combed with precision, not a strand out of place.
So this was the heir of the most powerful house in the land, barely rivaled by the king himself. The boy every parent held up as the gold standard of ambition and obedience. He didn’t even look like an alpha, even though Mingi could smell the salty pheromones radiating off him.
“Yes, sir!” Yunho’s voice surprised him. Was he trying to get Hongjoong's good graces by trying to be a good soldier? Mingi stuck out his tongue when Yunho wasn’t looking to mock him and rolled his eyes.
For a moment, Mingi’s eyes met Hongjoong’s glare. It was clearly meant to be terrifying, but it reminded Mingi more of a kitten puffing itself up, determined to look like a tiger.
It was okay. Mingi would secure the guard spot and become his best friend in no time.
***
At first, the try outs were exactly as Mingi had imagined. He’d shown his fighting skills, as clumsy as they still were, and even done a dramatic sprint over the courtyard. He imagined he’d beat everyone by the landslide, but somehow kept ending up only the third or fourth best.
Only two thoughts consoled him through the tasks: one, that other children there were mostly lower ranking Hala official offsprings, therefore they got to visit their parents at work more often and learn some moves Mingi had yet to master. And second, the more satisfying one, that Yunho wasn’t doing that well either. Most of the time they were almost step in step with each other. If Mingi didn’t get the position, he would at least get the joy of watching Yunho go home as well.
Somehow, during the day, games with wooden swords and playful sparring had gone downhill. Literally. The captain had said he wanted to test their endurance, although Mingi was sure he just hated children and wanted to see them suffer, and set them to carrying sacks of rice up and down the muddy hill behind the mansion. “Guard must be able to haul an injured master to safety,” he had said.
For the first hour, the air echoed with the groans and complaints. Mingi, desperate to outdo everyone, especially Yunho, nearly ran the first trip, only to slip at the crest and send his sack, and himself, tumbling back down.
Yunho was waiting at the bottom, arms crossed and smirk loaded for delivery. “You were supposed to carry it up, dummy,” he quipped.
Mingi growled and snatched up the sack, ignoring the ache in his shoulder. He made sure to bump Yunho extra hard as he passed, and was gratified to hear the other boy yelp as he stumbled sideways into a patch of stinging nettle.
Slowly it became a rhythm with them. Mingi threw himself at each task, Yunho matched his energy, and occasionally they tried to trip or block each other in the shuffle of bodies. The other children avoided them, which only made Mingi try harder. He wasn’t here to blend in, he was here to win.
He was there to show Yunho he’s better.
Above them, on the low terrace, Hongjoong watched their every move. The Young Master sat cross-legged on a bench, flanked by two older guards. His face was completely blank, but his eyes missed nothing. Mingi could feel the weight of the gaze each time he risked a glance upward and it sent a shiver down his neck.
After the rice drills came running again, then a little break, then precision drills with wooden rods. The captain’s voice was a full of constant criticism:
“Grip too weak, Mingi! Try again!”
“Yunho, you have to block, not just run away!”
“Chin up! Shoulders square! If you want to cry, leave now.”
Mingi’s arms trembled with fatigue by midday, but he kept going, if only to spite Yunho, who never looked winded but constantly complained. During the rod drills, Yunho kept trying to poke Mingi’s shins, earning a hissed “stop it!” and, later, a well-timed whack to the kneecap when the captain wasn’t looking.
At lunch, the boys collapsed onto the grass, sweat streaking their faces, hands raw. The staff brought bowls of rice porridge and thin tea and one piece of bread for each. Mingi ate with both hands, too tired for dignity.
Yunho, who had wolfed his own portion down within minutes, sprawled next to him, stretching his legs to invade Mingi’s space. “You’re not bad,” he allowed. “But why do you look like you’re angry all the time?”
Mingi wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “I’m supposed to look angry. If I look weak, I’ll get sent home.”
“There’s still a week to go,” Yunho shrugged. “They probably pick whoever is the best by the end of it. Or the ones whose father pays the biggest bribe to the captain.”
Mingi wasn’t sure what a bribe was, but, determined not to show doubt, said, “If they want someone who won’t give up, that’s me.”
“Or me,” Yunho said, lying back and folding his arms behind his head. He grinned up at the sky.
***
Lunch ended, and so did the brief moment of peace. The captain split them into pairs for mock duels. Mingi and Yunho, predictably, were put together. They squared off, wooden swords raised.
Yunho whispered, “Ready to cry?” through his teeth.
Mingi hissed, “Shut up and fight.”
The first clash was a flurry of wild swings and defensive blocks. Mingi had reach, but Yunho had speed, darting into Mingi’s forearm and then darting out before Mingi could retaliate. The other boys watched them with amusement, and, when Mingi dared a glance at Hongjoong, he noticed the short alpha scribbling something in his notebook. After a minute, Mingi landed a solid strike to Yunho’s hip, only to catch an uppercut to the chin in the very next exchange.
“Good,” the captain shouted. “Next pair.”
By dusk, the boys were dismissed with orders to return at dawn. Mingi limped to the gate, sweat and dust caked into the mud of his clothes. Yunho caught up, walking backward to face him.
“You’re coming back, right?” Yunho asked, voice lower than usual.
“Yeah,” Mingi said. “Are you?”
“Obviously.” Yunho’s face split into a lopsided smile. “They’d have to drag me home.”
Mingi found himself smiling, too. Maybe he was going insane from the exhaustion.
***
The days blurred together, a muddy reel of competition, irritation, and aching muscles. Every morning, Mingi would wake to the slow throb of his bruised knees and the memory of Yunho’s insults or jabs from the previous day.
By midweek, the captain, who had given up trying to separate the two trouble magnets, seemed to delight in pairing them for every task, so Mingi was extremely relieved when the tests finally came to archery. Something he could do solo.
The archery stand was a simple plank bolted onto two upright beams, and the bows were just heavy enough to make every shot a struggle for his arms.
Mingi gripped the bow, drew, and aimed for the center of the painted board. The arrow wobbled, muscles burning. Beside him, Yunho chanted under his breath: “miss, miss, miss–”
Mingi gritted his teeth. He drew back, felt the string quiver… and something sharp stung his calf. His aim jerked wildly and the arrow shot low, caroming off the stand and sending the whole construction clattering to the dirt. Two more arrows from other boys bounced off the now-tilted target, one skittering off and nearly impaling the captain’s foot.
There was a heartbeat of silence before the captain exploded. “Who did that? Song! Are you trying to assassinate your own instructor?”
Mingi opened his mouth to protest, but Yunho was already doubled over, face buried in his sleeve to muffle a laugh.
“Sorry, Captain-nim,” Mingi managed, red to the ears. He stooped to recover the errant arrow and saw, just by his left boot, a tiny black pebble. He didn’t need a diagram to connect the dots. Yunho must have flicked it at his leg at the exact moment he shot.
He returned to the line and caught Yunho’s eye. Yunho grinned with all his teeth, his eyes lighting up with menace. Mingi wanted to elbow him in the ribs hard, but the captain was watching, so he settled for making a throat-cutting gesture behind his back. Yunho’s grin only grew.
The day rolled on to a relay race through the mansion’s back orchard. Hongjoong himself stood at the finish line, arms folded, watching Yunho carefully. Mingi had noticed that the two had gotten friendly over the past few days, him and Yunho being only two of the kids who Hongjoong actually interacted with from time to time. Hongjoong’s uniform had changed. Today, instead of starched gray, he wore black trimmed in crimson, the colors of Hala’s dress uniform.
Mingi and Yunho were in the final heat, sprinting the narrow muddy trail and dodging low-hanging branches. Yunho, for once, didn’t try to trip him, instead he just ran, long legs eating the distance. Mingi, determined not to lose, pushed harder, feeling his legs and lungs burn.
At the last corner, Mingi risked a desperate move. He cut the turn short, aiming to block Yunho with his shoulder. Instead, the ground gave way, both boys lost their footing, and they toppled together in a tangle of limbs and curses.
Yunho was the first to scramble upright, dusting off his knees with a quick flick of his hands. He extended a hand toward Mingi, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes that made Mingi hesitate. Was this a ploy? But with the finish line so close, he grasped Yunho's outstretched hand. With a powerful tug, Yunho pulled him to his feet, and without a moment's pause, they surged forward together, racing toward the finish line side by side. They skidded across the finish in a heap, a perfect tie, mud splattered from nose to ankles.
At the end of the line, Hongjoong’s face betrayed nothing. But as Mingi struggled to stand, he heard a sharp, involuntary snort from the young alpha.
“You two are so great,” Hongjoong said, and Mingi couldn’t tell if it was a real praise or a joke.
After drills, the boys were herded to the shed to clean and polish the practice equipment. Hongjoong wandered in, inspecting the bows and rods with a practiced, critical eye.
Mingi tried to avoid him, feeling more awkward than usual. But Hongjoong stopped in front of him and gestured at the battered target.
“You shoot left. You know, in archery,” Hongjoong commented off handedly. “You shouldn’t. It makes the aim crooked. Try with your right eye open.”
Mingi, surprised, nodded and did as told. He lined up the bow and imagined the target, picturing it exactly as Hongjoong had described.
The next arrow he shot, two days later, landed in the painted ring.
***
Their rivalry didn’t let up until the very last day of the try outs. Yunho would tie Mingi’s boots together when he wasn’t looking. Mingi retaliated by swapping the sugar in Yunho’s morning tea for coarse salt, and the resulting spit-take nearly got them both expelled. When the captain made them scrub floors as punishment, they raced to see who could finish first, and then, unspoken, they scrubbed the whole hall together so they could both win.
The final day dawned damp and gray, sky low and heavy as a funeral blanket. Mingi dressed in silence, hands steady, every motion deliberate. He’d spent the night replaying his worst mistakes, counting them off with every toss and turn. By morning, he’d convinced himself that his results were not enough to gain the spot. Honestly, Yunho had done better than he had.
“I know you were trying hard this whole week and I’m proud of you,” his father said at the breakfast table that morning, after Mingi had admitted how worried he was. “If they don’t pick you, you must keep your chin up and work even harder. There will be other opportunities.”
It didn’t help though. He didn’t want other opportunities, he wanted this one.
That morning the young hopefuls assembled in the main hall of the mansion, and Mingi was sure he could feel his own pulse from how fast his heart was beating. Hongjoong sat stiffly at the front, flanked by two guards, face pinched in an expression Mingi couldn’t read.
“You all did well. But, as you know, we cannot select everyone,” the captain said, his tone not unkind but utterly final. “We have chosen the two who demonstrated both discipline and humility.”
Mingi felt his breath catch and couldn’t help but throw a look over to Yunho, who, next to him, looked just as surprised.
“They’re picking two? Did you know?” Mingi nudged Yunho’s thigh.
Yunho shook his head. Mingi pushed his hand into his pocket, where the black pebble Yunho threw at him during archery was hidden, and grabbed it tight into his fist. They were supposed to only pick one. Would that mean that he and Yunho both had a chance? Not that Mingi wanted to spend his days next to the brat, but… Maybe it wasn’t that could happen.
“Choi Minseok and Jang Daewon.”
A quiet gasp rippled through the ranks. Minseok was a local prefect’s son, as neat and forgettable as the script on a ledger. Daewon was so nondescript that Mingi had barely registered him the whole week. Yunho’s jaw clenched. Mingi’s ears rang with the flush of shame. He’d lost. And not even to Yunho, no, to two nobodies.
Hongjoong, for the first time, looked completely miserable. His eyes flickered between Mingi and Yunho, and his mouth twisted as if he wanted to protest but couldn’t.
“You are dismissed,” said the captain.
Mingi didn’t remember walking to the gate, or how his feet brought him home. He burst through the door, ignored Sena’s questioning voice, stomped upstairs, slammed his boots off, and threw himself face-first onto the bed, blanket over his head.
He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew, his father was standing in the doorway. Jaeho cleared his throat, and Mingi sat up, blinking the salt from his lashes.
“You fought hard,” Jaeho said. “There is honor in the attempt. How about we go downstairs, have some yakgwa?”
Mingi tried to shake his head, but it caught in his throat. He didn’t deserve yakgwa. “Why pick them? They weren’t even–”
“Sometimes,” Jaeho said, “life just isn’t fair.” He crossed the room and, after a pause, squeezed Mingi’s shoulder. “I was proud to hear how the captain spoke of you. If it wasn’t for the other boy distracting you, I’m sure you’d be the best.”
Mingi felt tears prickle in his eyes. The confession that the rivalry he had with Yunho had been the one thing making him better, not worse, was on the tip of his tongue, but Sena slipped in the room with a tray of sweets. Mingi forced the words down and wiped at his eyes.
“Eat, Mingi-ya, you know sugar is the best cure for sadness,” she commanded, with the gentleness that still felt too foreign coming from a woman he barely knew. Mingi pushed the food around the plate, but the gesture of it calmed the desperation in his chest, just a little.
Night fell early, and Mingi slept like stone.
***
Mingi woke to the soft clatter at his door. For a moment, he didn’t move. If he fell back asleep, maybe the whole week would erase itself. Maybe he’d wake up back at the start, a chance to do it all differently. But when he turned his face into the pillow, his eyes stung. The ache in his limbs was worse than yesterday. Even his pride, usually the hardest part of him, felt heavy and sore.
He heard clatter again. A gentle knock, followed by Sena’s voice, quiet as always but insistent. “Mingi-ya, you should get up.”
He grumbled, pulling the blanket over his head until the world was just wool and breath. What was the point? He’d lost. There was no training today, no reason to put on his good boots or comb his hair until it finally stayed in place. He could stay here forever, and maybe he would.
But Sena didn’t go away. After a minute, he heard her come in, felt the mattress dip as she perched on the edge. “You can sleep later, Mingi. Someone from Hala was here while you were resting.”
He pushed the blanket down just enough to glare at her. “Why? The tryouts are over.”
“That’s the thing.” Sena reached out, not quite touching his shoulder, but close enough to feel the warmth of her hand. “A uniformed soldier came by. He said you’re to report to the mansion as soon as you’re up. They want to see you, Mingi.”
His mind scrambled to catch the meaning. “Me? But… they picked already.”
“I don’t know. But you’d better hurry. He said it was important,” Sena said, surprisingly serious.
It was as if a fire cracker had gone off under his chest. Before he could stop himself, Mingi was out of bed, nearly tripping over the tangled blanket. He yanked a shirt over his head, hands shaking, and nearly punched his fist through the sleeve in his hurry. He could hear Sena in the hallway telling him to slow down, to comb his hair and at least wash his face before going out, but her words were far behind him already.
Stupid, he told himself, you’re going to trip on the stairs and break your leg before you even get there.
But maybe, maybe, maybe there had been a mistake. Maybe they’d seen him fight and changed their minds. Or maybe someone needed a stand-in because the others had run away. He didn’t care. He was wanted. He was summoned! He shoved his boots on, grabbed his best jacket and barreled out the door.
He took the steps two at a time. The morning was cold and bright, and as he ran for the mansion, his heart pounded with hope and terror, louder than it had the night before.
He cleared the gates almost at a sprint, feet soaked from the dew, hair already coming loose and wild as he climbed the winding path to the Kim mansion. Servants in Hala livery gave him sidelong glances but didn’t stop him. He was sure his face was red as a chili pepper and his boots squelched with every stride, but he didn’t care. He was here because they wanted him, and that thought made every bruise and ache feel lighter.
Inside, the entryway was polished to a mirror shine. He nearly skidded on the stone floors, heart pounding as a stern-faced aide appeared at his elbow and led him deeper into the mansion.
Mingi was led to a small room, just a square with a low table and four chairs. And there, already waiting, sat Yunho.
He looked about the same as yesterday. Rumpled, clothes clean but never quite crisp, feet planted wide on the floor, but a little sadder. He glanced up when Mingi entered, eyes widening in surprise.
Mingi froze, caught off guard. He’d expected the captain or even Hongjoong, not this. Not Yunho, in another too-big jacket, hair spiked out in all directions and looking at Mingi like they didn’t just see each other the day before.
“Why are you here?” Mingi blurted, barely keeping the disbelief from his voice. For some reason, his chest buzzed a little, seeing the familiar face. Maybe a part of him was actually glad to find Yunho here, too.
Yunho cocked his head. “Why are you?” His tone was serious, but Mingi could sense how worried he was. “Why would they call us back?”
Mingi shrugged, still catching his breath. “I thought they were done with us.” There was an awkward silence, but not a bad one. “It’s weird, right? Why just us?”
Yunho was avoiding his gaze, picking at a loose thread on his sleeve. He was supposed to hate Yunho, but it felt comforting not being in the room alone.
They both sat, fidgeting, eyes flicking to the door every few seconds. For a moment, Mingi worried he’d been brought here just to be told, again, that he’d failed, that they both had. But then, why summon them at all?
Before he could come up with anything clever, the door swung open.
Hongjoong strode in, sharp as a blade in his black-and-crimson coat, the captain right behind him. Hongjoong’s eyes were alive, burning with excitement.
“The decision has changed,” the captain announced unceremoniously. “After further consideration and at the request of young master Hongjoong, you two will move forward as the guards-in-training.”
Mingi’s heart stuttered. For a moment, he thought it was another joke, a test of humility. But when he looked to Hongjoong, the boy was beaming, actually beaming, as if he’d just won a battle.
Yunho’s face split into a grin so wide it threatened to tear his cheeks. “No way,” he whispered loud enough that only Mingi would hear.
Hongjoong strode over, his perfect seriousness cracked by the smallest, fiercest smile. “You two better not let me down, alright?”
Mingi didn’t trust himself to speak. He just nodded, sharp and respectful, and tried to look as though this was exactly what he’d expected.
After the dismissal, Mingi nudged Yunho in the ribs. “Can you believe it?” he mused. “Now I can kick your ass every day. We both know I was better.”
Yunho frowned and shoved him back, but not very hard. “You’re imagining things.”
Maybe he was. But now he had a purpose, two new friends and he was wanted. Nothing else mattered, really.