“At last,” the king muttered, “there is peace.”
However, the stillness did not last.
The heavy doors of the throne hall creaked open, and in stumbled a young man, bruised and battered, his robes torn and blood at the corner of his mouth.
The courtiers gasped. Wang Jin rose halfway from his seat. Wang Ryu stepped forward with a scowl.
“Hajin?” Crown Prince Wang Suk muttered, his voice filled with confusion.
The boy blinked, unsteady on his feet, eyes unfocused as he looked around.
“So far, so good,” Daeshim muttered.
His voice rang out. “What are you all doing? Are you still filming here?” Hajin asked, swaying slightly. “This is a damn expensive set!”
Murmurs of confusion and disgust were heard through the princes and courtiers alike. Prince Seon paled, cold sweat gathering on his brow. He had sent men to silence the boy. What was he doing here?
“But why do you know my name?” Hajin mumbled, wiping the blood from his lip. “Am I drunk? Or maybe I’m dreaming? Damn, this is getting out of hand.”
“Leave now,” Prince Seon snapped, forcing authority into his voice. “What is the illegitimate son doing here?”
“And why are you speaking with such preposterous grammar?” he added. “I guess you truly are uneducated.”
“I need some rest, man,” Hajin said, rubbing his temple. “Please.”
“Are you insane, young man?” Wang Ryu barked.
“No,” Hajin spat back, glaring wildly at them. “You are all insane! Someone beat me half to death and called me a bastard. I don’t even know what you’re all on about!”
The nobles recoiled at his words, their expressions filling with scorn. Wang Ryu waved for the guards. “Seize him—”
“Stop,” the king ordered, his voice calm yet commanding.
The guards froze mid-step.
King Jum leaned forward from his throne, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Hajin, is it?”
“That’s my name!” Hajin shouted, still panting. “Why’s everyone saying it so weirdly? I just want to go back to my room!”
“Peasant,” Wang Ryu hissed, “quiet down! You do not even have a room in this house.”
But the king only tilted his head, studying him like one would a curious animal.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“Of what, old man?” Hajin snapped without a thought.
A collective gasp swept the room, scandalized. Even Wang Suk’s fingers tightened into a fist upon the arm of his chair.
But the king only smirked wider, appearing pleased. “Of the bloodline.”
“I don’t care!” Hajin barked, throwing his arms up. “I don’t give a damn about your bloodline! It’s not like I’m even part of it, right?”
The court stared, stunned into silence.
“And what do you think of the throne?” the king pressed. “Does it look tempting to you?”
Hajin stopped, breathing hard. Then, slowly, he shook his head.
“Not at all,” he said.
In his mind, flashes of inked pages returned—his favorite story, the novel where Hajin, a loyal side character, had been beaten and killed in a senseless ploy for the throne.
The memory ignited something fierce within him.
In Zeno’s case, his castration came to mind. His execution, too. That damn princess was the one who kissed him, not the other way around! They didn’t give him the chance to explain because he wasn’t deemed important as an eunuch!
“The throne…” Hajin said, voice growing steadier, “stands for power. And power drives men mad. They forget their morals, chasing after it like wolves starved of reason.”
The hall was deathly still. Even the courtiers seemed to lean in, unable to tear their gazes away.
“Without morals, power is nothing but greed dressed in silk. And when you hold that power,” Hajin spat, “you carry a target on your back. Every smile, every bow—none of it is real. The throne is a joke.”
His words slashed through the air.
The princes looked at him like he had gone mad, and perhaps he had. But before another word could be said, two guards seized Hajin by the arms, dragging him backward toward the doors.
Wang Suk, standing solemnly, bowed his head low toward the throne.
“I am sorry, Father,” he murmured.
King Jum’s face remained unreadable.
As Hajin was dragged through the vast, towering doors, the burning pain in his body gave way to a different kind of hurt—a sharp, splitting realization.
King Jum. Wang Suk. Prince Seon.
The names. The places. The plots.
He froze, his breath caught in his throat.
The look on his face changed into that of utter disbelief mixed with chilling certainty.
He had not only been beaten.
He had not only badmouthed the royal family.
Somehow…
He had transmigrated into his favorite novel.
“Cut!” Daeshim PD exclaimed, a smile attempting to show. He found the scene very satisfactory. It was all in one take, too, so the tension remained the same.
However, he still needed to seek approval from Ryeo Wang.
Instinctively, they all turned toward the old man who, like the character he was playing, had an unreadable expression. They seemed to hold their breaths as they waited for a statement.
He sighed. “What are you all staring at? Let’s proceed to the next scenes.”
Murmurs were heard across the pavilion. Oska pursed his lips.
What the heck was that? He was bombarded with criticism, but Zeno gets ignored? But then, he tried to convince himself that Zeno’s acting wasn’t worthy of anything, so even Ryeo Wang couldn’t speak.
Daniel, who was already by his side, assured him of this, too.
However, the others seemed to think otherwise.
“He didn’t say anything about Zeno’s acting?”
“Is it bad, or is it good?”
“Isn’t it a good thing? That means that the scene doesn’t need to be taken again.”
Zeno glanced at the crew, and he found Risa giving him a thumbs up. He smiled with pursed lips before turning to Ryeo Wang again. He wasn’t looking at him, making Zeno sigh in disappointment.
[Mission Accomplished: Finish a scene in one take.]
He held his breath, anticipating another notification. If Ryeo Wang didn’t say anything, then that must mean something!
Was he finally impressed?
However, the notification didn’t come, making Zeno click his tongue.
Just how hard was it to impress this old man?