“What are you—”
Oska was about to question what Zeno was doing, but Risa covered his mouth with her hand.
“Shut up,” she muttered, having enough of his whining.
The others watched quietly. Moby nudged his shoulder. “Can you really make a fire?”
Zeno nodded.
“With just these things?” Moby added. “Do you want me to look for a lighter so it’s easier? I’m sure Oska smokes. He just doesn’t want to reveal it,” he whispered.
Zeno held out a hand. He could even make a fire in his sleep. He had done it plenty of times that he lost count!
Ryeo crossed his arms in front of his chest, trying to hide the fast beating of his heart.
Zeno crouched low to the ground, his face lit only by the miserable glow of the LED flashlights. Aside from that, their surroundings were pitch black. The crew whispered among themselves, wondering if Zeno was just putting on an act.
He eyed the pile of dried leaves he had scraped together. Then, he focused on the two sticks in his hands.
He shoved the ugly, half-splintered stick upright into a small notch he had carved into the prettier one and began spinning. It was fast and furious, to the point that the others couldn’t see the wood’s movement.
At first, it was just awkward squeaking noises. However, it easily became smoother.
“Let’s just sleep,” Oska muttered, making Risa glare at him. His eyes widened. What was her problem?
Just then—a whiff appeared. A tiny ghost of smoke.
Zeno immediately spun even faster. The leaves finally caught a spark and flared into a small flame. “More wood,” he calmly said, like a doctor in an operating room.
Moby scrambled to get some firewood nearby, and with that, Zeno had made fire.
The crowd cheered like they were watching a magic show.
“That was so cool… and fast!”
They looked at Zeno as he stood, the growing fire illuminating his face from under. Zeno ran his fingers through his hair, some of the soot leaving a mark on his forehead; however, it didn’t take away from his handsomeness. The sound of hearts (or underwear) dropping seemed audible as they watched Zeno carry the pot of samgyetang, or whole chicken soup, onto the fire he had made.
“I need to eat,” he said to the others like that was his main motivation for making fire like he was Bear Grylls.
Just then, as the chicken came to a boil, Zeno received a notification.
[Mission Accomplished: Impress someone from the Imperial Class.]
Zeno frowned, his eyes scanning the crowd to look for Ryeo Wang. Then, there he was, staring at Zeno from a distance. However, as soon as the two made eye contact, the old man quickly looked away. Zeno was even more confused… and, quite frankly, a bit whiplashed.
All he had to do was make a fire for the old actor to be impressed?!
Meanwhile, Ryeo wanted to approach Zeno but held himself back. As a survival enthusiast, he had tried creating a fire without a flame plenty of times—but to no avail.
Zeno seemed to know a lot. What an impressive young man!
***
Zeno still couldn’t believe all it took was a fire to impress Ryeo Wang. The old man appeared quite curious of him now, and even for a scene that didn’t involve him, he was there to watch.
“Mr. Wang?” Daeshim PD asked. “What are you doing here? Your scenes are finished for the day.”
Ryeo cleared his throat. “Why? Can’t I stay under the bright sun? Is it forbidden for an old man to stay outside?”
Daeshim looked toward the sky with furrowed eyebrows. The sun was about to set. But then again, Mr. Wang must have a different philosophy. “Of course not, sir,” he smiled. “You can stay here for as long as you like.”
Meanwhile, Zeno and Risa were getting their final retouches before the start of their scene. Risa couldn’t contain her excitement. It was the first time their characters would meet! At first, Hajin wanted nothing to do with her because, in the book, she had become the wife of Prince Seon, and although she didn’t do anything bad to his character, he still considered her an accomplice.
Through this, the two would have an enemies-to-lovers type of romance.
Risa felt like she could burst at any time. The time had finally come. So, this is why others say you shouldn’t work with your idols. She felt like she had already forgotten about her lines when it hadn’t even started yet!
Meanwhile, Zeno had a thoughtful expression. He had received his two missions for the week, and they were pretty vague; at least, the second one was.
[Deadline: One week
1. Find friendship
2. Find love]
Zeno clicked his tongue. He had another problem after solving the last one.
“Scene 45… Take 1… Action!” Daeshim PD exclaimed, snapping him out of his thoughts.
Contrary to Risa’s previous predicament, the moment the cameras started rolling, she went to ‘actress mode,’ forgetting about her nervousness.
The main palace’s balcony was quiet at this hour, only the hum of cicadas filling the summer air.
Dasom fanned herself lazily, her silk skirts heavy around her legs. She hated this place. Hated the way every smile was fake. Her father had made it clear—she was here to make a good impression, to secure a future tied neatly to the crown prince’s son.
Dasom pressed her lips together, feeling suffocated. She needed air, not the cloying perfume of court politics.
She turned a corner and stopped short.
Someone else was already there, leaning with laziness against the stone railing, sleeves rolled up, hair unkempt, the very picture of someone who didn’t care if he lived or died. He wore the simple dark clothes of a servant, a worn sash tied crookedly at his waist.
Dasom arched an eyebrow. A servant? Loafing in plain sight?
She lifted her chin, summoning every ounce of authority her father had drilled into her.
“You there,” she said sharply. “Shouldn’t you be carrying something heavy somewhere far away from here?”
The young man turned his head slowly, giving her a look so unimpressed that it knocked her off balance. His eyes were dark, but there was an unmistakable glint of amusement there.
“Carrying something heavy?” he repeated voice light. “You mean like the crushing weight of expectations? I left that back inside.”
Dasom blinked. Was he mocking her?
She narrowed her eyes, taking a step forward. “You should watch your tone, servant. Insolence doesn’t get you far in the palace.”
The young man gave a low whistle, pushing off the railing. Up close, Dasom realized he was taller than he had seemed—and not at all awkward, the way most palace workers shuffled around, trying not to be noticed.
“Insolence?” he echoed. “Big word for someone whose only job is to look pretty and pretend she’s happy about it.”
Dasom gasped, scandalized. She opened her mouth, ready to remind him exactly who she was—daughter of the State Council, practically royal by association—when she caught herself.
Something didn’t add up.
Dasom peered at him suspiciously. “Wait. You’re not really a servant, are you?”
The staff couldn’t help but smile as they watched the two. Daeshim even hid his smile with the back of his forearm.
“Don’t the two of them have great chemistry?”