An Ode to Maehwa | kth

Chapter 7: The Martial Arts Tournament I

"Have you had enough staring at your brother? Now it's about time you stare at textbooks."

A low horrifying voice was heard from the back. Jungkook immediately turned, gasping, "teacher...."

An old man with white hair and beard was standing behind them, his face plastered with a chilling smile.

"How many times do I need to remind you to come to class on time?"

"I-I'm sorry. I lost the track of time...but I swear I was about to go!" Jungkook rushed to the man, trying to soothe him, but he failed.

"Always the same excuse. Come, make sure you copy the discipline rules thrice after class," said the old man sternly, turning around sharply, flipping his white sleeve.

"THRICE?? My hand will be numb!" he whined.

"Of course, it's your punishment," retorted the old man.

The two walked further and further headed to where they usually held the lesson, in which Jungkook will be confined for a few hours at least. He could probably make a use of those sandals...unless his teacher would be angry and make him copy the rules once more.

Hearing Jungkook's whine disappear completely, you chuckled. You decided to go back to the cuisine having collected enough leaves. You took a step forward, and you halted.

You didn't know where you were.

You still weren't used to this huge maze-like palace, and you were following Jungkook mindlessly. It was the first time ever to come here, and you had no idea how to go back. You were lost, and you were helpless.

"What are you doing here?" a low voice rang from behind you.

You turned back to see the owner of the voice—none other than Taehyung. He must have come down after finishing his practice.

You bowed a little, then answered, "I was collecting leaves."

He hummed in response, and walked off. Thinking he was your last resort, you followed him, keeping a safe distance between him.

But it was too obvious for a man well-trained to be aware of his surroundings at all times. After a few steps he asked, "...what are you doing?"

"...I am lost," you mumbled in a disappearing voice.

Children get lost. Adults don't. And it wasn't outside, but it was in a palace compound. Lost? It sounded too shameful. You could only stare at your feet.

After a moment, you heard him sigh.

"Come," he said, "I don't like the feeling of someone trailing me."

You snapped your head back up, and trotted to him.

"Where do you want to go?"

That question surprised you. Not only did he allow you to walk behind him, but he was willing to take you to where you wanted?

"The cuisine...," you muttered hesitantly.

"Mhhm," he answered, stepping forward.

Since the day he called you a bandit and interrogated you, there was no interaction between you two. You didn't have a chance to repair the relationship—not that you thought of doing so, now offering help? It was quite hard to believe for you.

So the words came out mindlessly, "why are you being nice to me?"

His eyebrow raised, provoked with that question. Your eyes wavered but it was too late to take it back.

Just when you thought he'd turn away and walk off, he replied unexpectedly. "Jungkook talks about you."

"And it seems like you're good to him. That's why," he said, then started to walk again.

You quickly followed him, and asked, "you really like your brother, don't you?"

He briefly glanced at you and didn't say anything. But you didn't miss a smile flashing on his face—soft and warm, like that of a small light you neighbour during snowy days, that comfortable resort.

You were stunned. You imagined him to be a cold and arrogant person, and that smile was the last thing you expected to see on him. Don't judge a book by its cover—you clearly had a lot to learn about him.

The day of the Martial Art Tournament was a perfectly clear blue sky, sun gleaming from above as if to say this was his chance to shine the most.

At one side of the palace courtyard was a place for the common to watch, ropes marking a boundary line to how far they could step in. The area was quite huge, but it was packed with people since early morning, excited to see the performance—what was more fun to watch than a fight while staying safe?

Then on the other side was a grand pavilion, where the royals could relax and watch under the shade, having some tea and snacks. It was customary to invite the head of the states to maintain a good ally and relationship. A festive event such as this wasn't just to keep his people's spirits high, but also a useful political tool.

"I am anticipating seeing His Highnesses' performance."

"They were brilliant last year. They must be even better this year, if that was even possible, haha!"

"Your Majesty must be proud of his sons!"

"What an unsightly scene I showed you last year! Pray my sons will do no shame this year."

And so those were the typical conversations heard under the pavilion, in between the state heads and the Emperor; the unceasing compliments towards the royal household and the humble dismissal.

Apart from a few duties that came in here and there, all workers in the palace were advised to watch. You were enjoying the show that was kicking off the event, a historical band—modern to the people, historical to you—spread out in the middle of the courtyard, the loud beats of the fifty drums and accelerating rhythm elating the energy of everyone around.

The main event that followed was a sword fight; the first to step out were the Princes, Seokjin against Namjoon and Taehyung against Jungkook. Fight was more or less like a performance.

Seokjin and Namjoon exchanged their swords gracefully, with their moves wide and clean, receiving awes from the crowd. It was your first time seeing a sword fight, and you were totally indulged.

It wasn't a fight. But anyone watching them could clearly see that the moves came from the people who were truly skilled, with not a single fling amiss.

The performance of about ten minutes ended with Namjoon's sword tumbling down, him kneeling and bowing deeply to Seokjin in defeat. It was only natural that the eldest won.