A Dangerous Rescue

The harsh blare of a horn ripped through the twilight. One moment, Ji-woo was sprinting down the rain-slicked street, her briefcase clutched tightly, desperately trying to make it to her presentation on time. The next, a searing pain exploded behind her eyes, and everything went black.

When consciousness flickered back, it wasn't the sterile scent of a hospital that filled her nostrils, but the faint, sweet aroma of osmanthus tea. Her eyes, heavy-lidded, struggled to focus. She was lying on a soft, silken bed, the weight of a fine silk quilt resting lightly on her chest. Panic clawed at her throat. This wasn't her apartment. This wasn't… anywhere she recognized.

Disoriented, she sat up, her head swimming. The room was opulent, far beyond anything she could ever afford. Intricate carvings adorned the walls, and sunlight streamed through a sheer curtain, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. A small, ornate table held a half-empty cup of tea, its delicate porcelain cool to the touch.

A gasp escaped her lips as she noticed her hands. They were small, delicate, almost childlike. She stared, horrified, as she traced the pale skin of her arm, the soft downy hair that was definitely not hers. A wave of nausea washed over her. This wasn't just a strange room. This was… a different body.

A small, ornate mirror on the table caught her eye. She approached cautiously, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. The reflection staring back at her was not her own. It was the face of a boy, pale and delicate, with large, dark eyes filled with a bewildering mixture of fear and confusion. A boy with long, dark hair that fell around his shoulders.

The name, Yeo-jun, echoed again, this time clearer, resonating deep within her very being. It felt both alien and strangely familiar, like a forgotten song suddenly returning to memory. Yeo-jun. The name felt… fragile, like the delicate porcelain cup on the table beside her. A fitting name, she thought grimly, for this frail body that was now hers.

Tears welled in her eyes, blurring the already distorted image in the mirror. She was Ji-woo, a successful marketing executive, not some… some sickly boy in an ancient palace. But the mirror offered no comforting lie. The reflection staring back was undeniably young, undeniably male, undeniably not her. She was trapped, utterly and completely trapped in this unfamiliar body.

A soft knock on the door startled her, but she barely registered it, still lost in the shock of her reflection. The hesitant voice calling out, "Yeo-jun? Are you awake?" was a distant drone, barely registering in her stunned mind.

The door creaked open, and a young woman, her face etched with worry, peered inside. Her eyes widened, her mouth falling open in a silent gasp as she took in the sight of Yeo-jun sitting up, staring into the mirror, his face pale and streaked with tears.

"Prince Yeo-jun is awake!" she exclaimed, her voice ringing with a mixture of surprise and relief. The words hung in the air, confirming the horrifying truth that Ji-woo had already begun to grasp. She wasn't just in a strange room; she was someone else entirely. She was Prince Yeo-jun.

The servant, recovering from her initial shock, rushed forward, her concern momentarily eclipsing her surprise. "Prince Yeo-jun," she said, her voice softer now, laced with genuine worry, "You've been ill for days. Are you feeling better?"

Yeo-jun, however, barely registered her words. Her mind was still reeling from the enormity of her situation. She looked at the servant's traditional hanbok, the vibrant colors and intricate embroidery a stark contrast to the modern clothing she was used to. A question, sharp and urgent, burst from her lips before she could stop herself.

"Why… why are you still wearing that?" she asked, gesturing vaguely at the servant's clothes. "What year is it?"

The servant blinked, taken aback by the question. She looked at Yeo-jun with a mixture of concern and confusion. "It is the year 1455, Your Highness," she replied gently, as if answering a child's naive query. "And this is the proper attire for a servant of the royal court."

The words hit Yeo-jun like a physical blow. 1455. The year 1455. The date hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. It wasn't a typo; it wasn't a misunderstanding. She wasn't just in a different place; she was in a different time. Nearly five centuries… gone. Lost. Swallowed by the vast expanse of time. The sheer weight of this new reality pressed down on her, a crushing burden that felt both terrifying and strangely… disorienting. She was a woman out of time, a modern soul adrift in the turbulent waters of the Joseon Dynasty. The enormity of it all threatened to overwhelm her.

The servant, sensing Yeo-jun's distress, quickly moved to offer comfort. "Your Highness," she said softly, "Please, try to rest. I will fetch someone who can better assist you." Without waiting for a response, she hurried from the room, her footsteps fading quickly down the long corridor.

A tense silence filled the chamber, broken only by Yeo-jun's ragged breathing. She stared at her hands, still small and unfamiliar, a constant, painful reminder of her altered reality. The weight of five centuries pressed down on her, a suffocating burden that threatened to crush her spirit.

Moments stretched into an eternity. Then, the door creaked open again, revealing a young woman who stopped abruptly upon seeing Yeo-jun sitting up in bed. Her eyes, wide with surprise and relief, instantly softened with concern. She rushed to his side, her face radiant with a joy that was both touching and unsettling.

"Brother!" she exclaimed, her voice thick with emotion. "You're awake!" Before Yeo-jun could react, the young woman knelt beside the bed and enveloped her in a warm, comforting hug. The scent of her perfume, a delicate blend of flowers and spices, filled Yeo-jun's senses, a strange and unexpected comfort in this unfamiliar world.

The hug was unexpected, yet strangely comforting. It was a physical manifestation of warmth and affection in a world that felt cold and alien. But the word "brother" hung in the air, a jarring reminder of the transformation she had undergone. She was Yeo-jun, a prince, a brother to this young woman. The weight of her new identity settled upon her once more, heavy and inescapable.

The hug ended as quickly as it began, the young woman pulling back slightly to look at Yeo-jun's face. Her initial joy had been replaced by a flicker of concern. Yeo-jun, still reeling from the shock of her rebirth, felt a surge of panic. She needed to understand this new reality, to find her footing in this unfamiliar world. A simple question formed on her lips.

"Who… who are you?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

The young woman's eyes widened, her smile faltering. A look of shock, quickly masked by concern, replaced her initial joy. For a moment, she seemed lost for words, her gaze searching Yeo-jun's face as if trying to decipher something hidden within his eyes.

Then, a gasp escaped her lips, tinged with disbelief and a hint of sadness. "Oh, my brother!" she exclaimed, her voice laced with a mixture of surprise and distress. "You… you've forgotten me! I am Seol-ah! Your fifth sister!"

Seol-ah's voice trembled slightly as she spoke, a mixture of distress and concern coloring her words. The revelation of Yeo-jun's memory loss seemed to have shaken her deeply. Without waiting for a response, she turned and called out, her voice ringing through the room, "Mia! Come here and look after my precious brother. I'll call our sisters!"

A moment later, another young woman entered the room. This one was taller and more reserved than Seol-ah, her expression serious and composed. She moved with a quiet efficiency, her eyes assessing the situation with a practiced calm. Seol-ah, her face etched with worry, quickly explained the situation, her words tumbling over each other in her haste.

"Mia, Yeo-jun… he doesn't remember me! He doesn't remember anything! I think… I think he's lost his memory. I need to tell the others. This is serious."

Mia, without a word, approached Yeo-jun's bedside, her movements gentle and reassuring. She took a seat beside the bed, her hand resting lightly on Yeo-jun's arm. Her eyes, though serious, held a hint of warmth and understanding. Seol-ah, meanwhile, turned and hurried out of the room, her footsteps echoing down the corridor as she went to alert their other sisters. Yeo-jun watched them go, a wave of both fear and a strange, unsettling familiarity washing over her. She was alone, yet surrounded. Lost, yet perhaps, not entirely without hope.

Mia, with gentle hands, was checking Yeo-jun's pulse, her brow furrowed in concentration. Seol-ah's departure left a heavy silence in the room, broken only by the soft sounds of Mia's ministrations. Yeo-jun, watching them both, felt a strange mixture of fear and fascination. This was her new life, her new family. But it was also a life she didn't understand, a family she didn't remember.

Suddenly, a violent coughing fit wracked Yeo-jun's body, a harsh, rattling sound that cut through the quiet of the room. Mia looked up, her eyes widening with concern. She reached for a cup of water, but the coughing fit subsided as quickly as it began, leaving Yeo-jun breathless and weak.

As she gasped for air, a whisper escaped her lips, barely audible above the pounding of her heart, "How… how weak… this boy's body…"

Mia froze, her hand hovering over the cup. She stared at Yeo-jun, her expression unreadable. The simple comment, though seemingly insignificant, hung heavy in the air, a subtle hint of something more. Was it a simple observation, or was it something more profound? A recognition of her own foreign presence within this frail body? Or perhaps, a clue to the mystery surrounding her unexpected rebirth?

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken questions, a palpable tension that hung between the two sisters. The arrival of the other sisters was imminent, and with it, the potential for more revelations, more questions, and more challenges for Yeo-jun as she navigated this new, unfamiliar life.

The door opened again, and one by one, the remaining ten sisters entered the room. A wave of warmth, perfume, and whispered greetings washed over Yeo-jun. They were a whirlwind of silks and smiles, a kaleidoscope of emotions ranging from concern to cautious curiosity. Before Yeo-jun could process the sudden influx of people, they were upon her, a sea of silk and affection.

Each sister, in turn, knelt beside the bed, offering words of comfort and concern. Their voices blended into a soothing chorus of affection, their hands gently touching her face, her arms, her hands. The warmth of their embrace was initially comforting, a stark contrast to the cold fear that had been gripping her. But as the hugs continued, one after another, the initial comfort morphed into something else entirely.

The air grew thick and heavy, the combined scent of their perfumes and the weight of their bodies becoming almost suffocating. Yeo-jun's chest tightened, her breathing growing shallow and labored. The warmth of their affection was overwhelming, a physical manifestation of the emotional weight of her new reality.

A strangled gasp escaped her lips, followed by a whispered plea, barely audible above the murmur of their voices, "I… I can't breathe… let me go… please…"

"Their watermelons are blocking my breathing..." She said in her mind trying to break free.

The sisters, startled by Yeo-jun's desperate plea, instantly released their hold. A collective gasp rippled through them as they drew back, their faces etched with concern and a dawning understanding. The sudden silence that followed was deafening, broken only by Yeo-jun's ragged breathing and the soft thud of her heart against her ribs.

She lay back against the pillows, her chest heaving, her eyes squeezed shut. The world seemed to spin, the images of her sisters' faces blurring into a kaleidoscope of colors and emotions. The air, once thick and heavy with perfume and affection, now felt thin and fragile, as if she had just emerged from underwater.

Slowly, she opened her eyes, her gaze sweeping across the faces of her twelve sisters. Their expressions were a mixture of concern, guilt, and a dawning realization. They had meant well, their affection genuine and overwhelming, but they had inadvertently caused her distress.

A heavy silence hung in the air, broken only by the soft sounds of their collective breaths. The room, once filled with the warmth of their embrace, now felt strangely empty, the space between them charged with unspoken emotions. The weight of their collective concern settled upon them, a palpable tension that filled the room. Yeo-jun, still catching her breath, knew that this was just the beginning. The mystery of her rebirth, the challenge of adapting to her new life, and the complexities of her newfound family were all still ahead of her.

The silence hung heavy in the air, a palpable tension that seemed to press down on everyone in the room. Mia gently reached out, her hand resting lightly on Yeo-jun's arm, offering a silent reassurance. Yeo-jun, still catching her breath, looked from one sister to another, their faces a mixture of concern and uncertainty. The weight of their collective gaze felt both comforting and strangely unsettling.

Then, Seol-ah, her voice soft but firm, broke the silence. "Perhaps… perhaps we should introduce ourselves again," she suggested, her eyes hopeful. "Slowly, one by one. Maybe… maybe if we tell him who we are, he might remember us."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the sisters. Mia nodded, her expression thoughtful. "It's worth a try," she said softly. "We can start with me. I'm Mia, your second oldest sister. I've always been the quiet one, the one who prefers books to people, but I'm here for you, always."

One by one, each sister stepped forward, introducing herself with a mixture of hope and trepidation. They spoke of their shared childhood memories, their individual personalities, their unique bonds with Yeo-jun. Each story was a carefully woven tapestry of affection and shared experiences, a testament to their close-knit family. Yeo-jun listened intently, her mind racing, trying to grasp onto any familiar detail, any spark of recognition. The weight of her amnesia pressed down on her, a heavy cloak of uncertainty, but a flicker of hope ignited within her heart. Perhaps, with their help, she could reclaim her past, and embrace her new reality.

The air in the room crackled with anticipation as the sisters began their individual introductions. First, Yeo Hwa-yeong, the eldest, spoke with a quiet dignity, her voice calm and reassuring. She spoke of her role as the responsible older sister, always looking out for her siblings, and of the shared memories they held dear.

Next, Yeo Su-jin, the second eldest, shared her memories of their childhood, her voice tinged with nostalgia as she recounted their shared adventures and playful rivalries. Yeo Mi-sun, the third sister, followed, her voice soft and gentle as she spoke of her artistic talents and their shared love of beauty.

Yeo Ji-hye, the fourth sister, spoke with a mischievous glint in her eyes, recalling their shared pranks and escapades. Yeo Seol-ah, the fifth sister, her voice bright and energetic, recounted their shared dreams and aspirations.

Yeo Hae-in, the sixth sister, spoke with a quiet grace, sharing memories of their shared moments of quiet contemplation and shared secrets. Yeo Ga-eun, the seventh sister, her voice warm and inviting, recalled their shared love of nature and their countless hours spent exploring the palace gardens.

Yeo Yu-na, the eighth sister, her voice filled with passion, spoke of their shared love of horses and their adventures riding through the countryside. Yeo Da-som, the ninth sister, spoke with a quiet strength, recalling their shared moments of support and resilience.

Yeo Seo-yeon, the tenth sister, her voice filled with laughter, recounted their shared love of music and their countless hours spent singing together. Yeo Chae-rin, the eleventh sister, her voice playful and mischievous, recalled their shared love of games and their endless hours spent playing together.

Finally, Yeo Ae-ra, the youngest, her voice sweet and innocent, shared her memories of their shared childhood, her words filled with warmth and affection.

Each sister's story was a unique thread in the rich tapestry of their family life. Yeo-jun listened intently, her mind searching for any flicker of recognition, any familiar feeling. The weight of her amnesia was heavy, but with each story, a small spark of hope ignited within her.

As Yeo Ae-ra finished her story, a wave of exhaustion washed over Yeo-jun. The effort of listening, of trying to piece together fragments of a forgotten past, had taken its toll. Her vision blurred, her head swam, and the room began to spin. Before anyone could react, she slumped back against the pillows, her eyes fluttering closed.

A collective gasp filled the room as Yeo-jun fainted, her body going limp. The twelve sisters reacted instantly, a flurry of concerned whispers and hurried movements filling the quiet chamber. Yeo Hwa-yeong, ever the responsible eldest, took charge, calmly assessing the situation and directing her sisters to fetch water and assist with Yeo-jun's care.

But amidst the controlled chaos, Yeo Su-jin's quiet sobs broke the surface, her shoulders shaking as tears streamed down her face. Her grief was raw and uncontained, a stark contrast to the controlled concern of her sisters. Her crying, initially a quiet undercurrent, quickly escalated, her sobs growing louder and more desperate.

The sudden outburst of emotion disrupted the carefully orchestrated calm. The other sisters, already stressed by Yeo-jun's condition, exchanged annoyed glances. Yeo Mi-sun sighed, her patience wearing thin. "Su-jin," she said softly but firmly, "Please, we need to remain calm. Crying won't help Yeo-jun."

But Su-jin's sobs continued, her grief seemingly unyielding. The tension in the room thickened, a complex mixture of concern for Yeo-jun and frustration with Su-jin's emotional outburst. The carefully constructed calm was shattered, replaced by a chaotic blend of emotions—fear, anxiety, and simmering resentment. The scene ended with a sense of impending crisis, the sisters' concern for Yeo-jun overshadowed by their internal conflict.

***

The Emperor sat upon his throne, his expression unreadable, while his advisor, Lord Kim, stood before him, briefing him on the situation. Yeo-jun lay unconscious on a nearby divan, surrounded by her distraught sisters. Yeo Su-jin's quiet sobs were a constant, low hum in the background.

"So, you confirm that Prince Yeo-jun has suffered a complete memory loss?" the Emperor asked, his voice low and measured. Lord Kim bowed his head.

"Yes, Your Majesty," he replied. "The royal physicians have examined him thoroughly, and there is no doubt. His memories are gone—completely erased. We have yet to determine the cause."

The Emperor remained silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on Yeo-jun's still form. Then, he spoke, his voice barely a whisper, "This is… troubling. Yeo-jun is heir to the throne. A prince with no memory… it is a dangerous situation."

Lord Kim nodded grimly. "Indeed, Your Majesty. The stability of the kingdom could be jeopardized. We must determine the cause of his memory loss and act swiftly to mitigate the potential consequences."

The Emperor steepled his fingers, his brow furrowed in thought. "Find out everything," he commanded. "Leave no stone unturned. I want to know who, or what, is responsible for this." His gaze shifted to the weeping Su-jin, a flicker of something akin to annoyance crossing his features. The quiet sobs continued, a stark counterpoint to the Emperor's steely resolve.

The Emperor listened intently as Lord Kim continued his report, his expression unreadable. The weight of the situation pressed heavily upon him, the potential consequences of Yeo-jun's memory loss looming large. Lord Kim paused, then added, almost as an afterthought, "Oh, and there is one more thing, Your Majesty. Mia, the prince's servant, spoke to me earlier. She mentioned that Prince Yeo-jun had been acting strangely in the days leading up to his collapse. She said he seemed disoriented, weak, and unusually quiet. She was quite panicked when he collapsed."

The Emperor's eyes narrowed. "Strange behavior… a collapse… Could his illness be the reason for his memory loss?" he mused, his voice barely a whisper. He steepled his fingers, his gaze fixed on Yeo-jun's still form.

Lord Kim nodded slowly. "It is a possibility, Your Majesty. Perhaps a sudden, severe illness triggered the memory loss. We should order a thorough investigation into the prince's health records. Perhaps there is something in his medical history that could provide a clue."

The Emperor considered this, his expression thoughtful. "Very well," he said finally. "Investigate Mia's claims thoroughly. Examine all of Yeo-jun's medical records. I want to know everything about his health in the weeks leading up to this incident. And I want answers, and I want them quickly." His gaze hardened, his voice regaining its authority. The mention of Mia's report had shifted the focus of the investigation, introducing a new line of inquiry.

***

The world swam back into focus slowly, hazily at first, then with increasing clarity. Yeo-jun's eyes fluttered open, her vision adjusting to the dimly lit room. She was lying on a soft divan, the scent of expensive fabrics and flowers filling her nostrils. She blinked, trying to clear her head, but the confusion remained.

Then, it hit her—the horrifying realization that she was still trapped in this boy's body. A groan escaped her lips, followed by a long, drawn-out sigh. She sat up, her movements stiff and unfamiliar. She looked down at her hands, small and delicate, not her own. A wave of frustration washed over her, so intense it brought tears to her eyes.

With a dramatic sigh, she facepalmed herself, her forehead hitting the soft cushion with a muffled thud. "Seriously?" she muttered, her voice sounding strangely high-pitched and unfamiliar. "This is still happening?" She ran a hand through her hair, the short, boyish cut feeling strange and uncomfortable against her fingers.

The room, previously a blur of anxious faces, now came into sharp focus. Her twelve sisters were gathered around her, their faces a mixture of relief and concern. The Emperor sat on his throne, his expression unreadable. Lord Kim stood beside him, his gaze fixed on her with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.

Yeo-jun's eyes darted around the room, taking in the scene. She was still trapped in this boy's body, still grappling with the loss of her memories, still facing the daunting task of navigating her new reality. But now, a new layer of frustration had been added to the mix—the sheer absurdity of her situation.

Using the distraction of her sisters' relieved chatter and the Emperor's focused discussion with Lord Kim, Yeo-jun subtly slipped out of the divan. She moved with a surprising grace, despite the unfamiliar weight and proportions of the boy's body. She was used to her own lithe and agile form; this one felt clumsy and awkward.

She made her escape unnoticed, her movements quiet and deliberate. She slipped out of the throne room, her small feet padding softly on the plush carpets. She needed some time alone, some space to process the overwhelming events of the past few days, and to strategize her next move.

Her plan was simple: find a secluded spot, and try to figure out what to do next. She chose a quiet alcove, tucked away in a less frequented corridor of the palace. There, she attempted a quick test of her current physical capabilities. A small jump, intended to reach a high shelf, proved to be more challenging than anticipated. The boy's body felt weak, his limbs lacking the strength and agility she was accustomed to.

She landed with a soft thud, her breath catching in her throat. She tried again, this time attempting to climb a low wall. The result was the same—a clumsy, almost comical struggle. She ended up sliding down the wall, landing with a soft bump on the floor. Frustration welled up inside her.

"Does this body even have bones?" she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. The boy's body was clearly not up to the task. She needed to find a way to adapt, to use her wits and cunning to navigate this new, physically challenging reality. She sighed, the weight of her predicament settling heavily upon her. This escape had been easy, but her next steps would require more careful planning.

After a while, Yeo-jun found herself deep within the royal forest, a place she vaguely remembered from her past life, though the details remained frustratingly elusive. The air was cool and crisp, the scent of pine needles and damp earth filling her nostrils. She reached a small, secluded lake, its surface reflecting the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees. She sighed, sinking down onto the soft grass beside the water's edge.

The peace of the forest was a welcome respite from the tension of the palace. She closed her eyes, trying to clear her head, to find some semblance of calm amidst the chaos of her situation. But her peace was short-lived. A movement at the edge of the lake caught her eye. She opened her eyes, her gaze drawn to a figure lying on the ground near the water's edge.

It was a man, his body sprawled awkwardly, his clothes torn and dirty. He was unconscious, his breathing shallow and ragged. Yeo-jun hesitated for a moment, her initial instinct to avoid any potential danger warring with a sense of responsibility. She was still weak in this boy's body, but she couldn't simply leave someone in need.

Cautiously, she approached the man, her heart pounding in her chest. She knelt beside him, her small hands hovering over his body. He was pale and feverish, his skin clammy to the touch. She checked his pulse, a faint but steady rhythm beneath her fingertips. He was alive, but clearly in need of help. A wave of determination washed over her, a sense of purpose in this unexpected situation. She had to help him.

Yeo-jun knew she needed to get the man to safety, but the task proved more difficult than she anticipated. She tried to lift him, but the boy's body, weak and underdeveloped, was simply not strong enough. She strained and pushed, her small arms trembling with the effort, but the man remained stubbornly immobile. His weight, which would have been easily manageable in her own body, felt almost insurmountable in this one.

Frustration welled up inside her. She gritted her teeth, pushing herself to the limit, but the man wouldn't budge. She slumped back onto the grass, her breath coming in ragged gasps. This was hopeless. She was too weak. She needed help.

But who could she turn to? Returning to the palace was out of the question. She was still trapped in this boy's body, her identity a secret she couldn't afford to reveal. And even if she could, the palace was hardly a safe haven at the moment. She was alone, stranded in the forest with an unconscious man, and her own physical limitations made her situation even more precarious.

She rested for a moment, catching her breath, her mind racing. She needed a plan, a way to move the man without overexerting herself. She couldn't carry him, but perhaps she could… drag him? The thought wasn't ideal, but it was the only option she could see. She would have to be careful, to avoid further injuring the man.

With renewed determination, Yeo-jun devised a plan. Instead of trying to lift the man, she would carefully roll him onto his side, then lean him against the sturdy trunk of a nearby tree. It was slow, painstaking work, requiring careful maneuvering and gentle movements to avoid causing further injury. But finally, she managed it. The man leaned against the tree, his body relatively stable.

She then carefully removed a piece of her own clothing, tearing it into strips to create makeshift bandages. She gently cleaned the man's wounds, her touch surprisingly gentle despite the unfamiliar strength of the boy's body. She applied the cloth strips, doing her best to stop the bleeding. It wasn't a perfect solution, but it would have to do for now.

Satisfied that she had done what she could for the moment, Yeo-jun prepared to stand. She pushed herself up, her muscles aching from the exertion. But before she could fully rise, a strong arm shot out, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her back down to the ground. She landed hard, the breath knocked out of her.

The man, eyes now open, pinned her to the ground, his gaze intense and questioning. His voice, though weak, was sharp and commanding. "Who… are you?" he demanded, his grip tightening around her waist. The sudden turn of events left Yeo-jun stunned and terrified. Her attempt to help had backfired spectacularly.

Yeo-jun's initial fear gave way to a nervous chuckle. The situation was absurd—she, the soon-to-be-Emperor, was pinned to the ground by a stranger in a forest, her body that of a young boy. The irony wasn't lost on her. She tried to maintain a calm demeanor, despite her racing heart.

"I-I'm Yeo-jun…" she stammered, her voice barely a whisper. The words felt strange on her tongue, not just because of the unfamiliar pitch, but because of the circumstances. She was used to commanding attention, not nervously introducing herself to a stranger who had her pinned to the ground.

The man's grip on her didn't loosen, but his expression softened slightly. A sheepish smile crept across his face, replacing the initial intensity in his eyes. He seemed surprised, perhaps even relieved, by her response. He released his grip just enough for her to take a shaky breath.

"Yeo-jun… the prince?" he asked, his voice laced with a mixture of disbelief and cautious curiosity. He studied her face, his eyes searching hers. He seemed to be weighing her words, trying to reconcile the identity she claimed with the appearance before him. The fact that she was in a boy's body was clearly throwing him off.

Yeo-jun nodded, her gaze meeting his. "Yes," she replied, her voice gaining a bit more confidence. "But… there's a bit more to the story than that." She paused, considering how much she should reveal. This encounter was unexpected, but perhaps it could be an opportunity.

The man chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. His gaze, though still curious, held a hint of something else—amusement, perhaps, or something more suggestive. He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

"What's a beautiful prince doing here, all alone in the forest?" he asked, a playful glint in his eyes. "You could have just left me there, injured and vulnerable… but instead, you saved me. Tell me, what do you want? Or maybe… you saved me because you want me?" He punctuated his words with a suggestive wink.

Yeo-jun's eyes widened in disbelief. She scoffed, a sound of pure disdain escaping her lips. The audacity of this man! She was a prince, albeit trapped in a boy's body, and he was making inappropriate advances. The thought was both infuriating and ridiculous.

"Excuse me," she retorted, her voice sharp and cold. "You are overreacting. I saved you because it was the right thing to do. I'm not some damsel in distress waiting for a knight in shining armor, and I'm certainly not interested in you. Now, if you'll excuse me," she added, trying to push herself up, "I have more important things to attend to than deal with your… advances." Her tone was clear: she was not amused.

Yeo-jun's patience had reached its limit. She didn't waste any time on further pleasantries. With a swift, surprisingly powerful kick aimed squarely at the man's most sensitive area, she sent him yelping in pain. She didn't hesitate; the action was instinctive, born of years of self-preservation and a deep-seated dislike of unwanted advances.

Following the kick, she pushed him away with surprising strength, leveraging her momentum to create distance. The man doubled over, clutching himself, his earlier playful demeanor replaced by genuine discomfort. Yeo-jun didn't wait to see his reaction. She scrambled to her feet, her movements surprisingly agile despite the boy's body, and turned to flee.

She ran, her small legs pumping furiously, back towards the palace. The forest, once a refuge, now felt like a dangerous place. She didn't look back, her mind focused solely on escape. The encounter had been unsettling, a stark reminder of her vulnerability in her current state. But she had handled it decisively, proving that even in a boy's body, she could still defend herself. Her escape was a testament to her resourcefulness and determination.

Yeo-jun burst through the palace doors, her chest heaving, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She leaned against the cool stone wall, her body trembling with exhaustion. The adrenaline that had fueled her escape was fading, leaving behind a wave of intense fatigue. She had made it back safely, but the ordeal had taken its toll.

She was panting heavily, her heart still pounding in her chest. The run through the forest had been more strenuous than she anticipated, her small, weak body struggling with the exertion. She could feel the burn in her muscles, a sharp reminder of her physical limitations. Despite her successful escape, a sense of vulnerability lingered.

She closed her eyes, taking a few deep, shaky breaths, trying to regain her composure. The encounter with the man had been unnerving, a stark reminder of the dangers she faced in her current state. She was still trapped in this boy's body, her identity a secret she couldn't reveal. The palace, once a symbol of safety and security, now felt like a precarious place, full of potential threats.

When she was ready, she pushed herself away from the wall, her movements slow and deliberate. She needed to find a place to rest, to recover her strength and plan her next move. The forest incident had been a wake-up call, a reminder that her journey was far from over. She had a long way to go before she could reclaim her rightful place.

***

The next day, a summons arrived, calling everyone to the meeting hall. A delegation had arrived from the Northern Empire, bearing gifts and seeking an alliance. The Emperor was eager to secure a strong partnership, and the meeting was to introduce the Northern crown prince. Yeo-jun, despite her exhaustion from the previous day's events, was expected to attend.

As she entered the grand hall, her eyes scanned the assembled dignitaries. Then she saw him. The man from the forest, impeccably dressed in fine silks and jewels, stood beside the Emperor, his demeanor as charming and confident as it had been predatory just a day before. He was the Northern crown prince. A wave of surprise, and a touch of disbelief, washed over her.

She had expected a grand, imposing figure, not the man who had tried to take advantage of her in the forest. The contrast between his current refined appearance and his earlier behavior was jarring. He caught her eye and offered a small, almost imperceptible nod, a subtle acknowledgment of their previous encounter. Yeo-jun felt a chill run down her spine. This was far more complicated than she had anticipated. The political implications were significant, and the personal implications were even more so.

The Emperor began his introduction, oblivious to the silent tension between his son and the Northern crown prince. Yeo-jun, however, was far from oblivious. This was not just a diplomatic meeting; it was a dangerous game, and she was right in the middle of it.

The Northern crown prince's smirk was subtle, almost imperceptible, but Yeo-jun saw it. It was a smirk that spoke volumes—of recognition, of amusement, perhaps even of a calculated plan. He watched her closely, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer than necessary. Then, with a smooth, practiced grace, he spoke.

"Well, well, well," he drawled, his voice a low, melodious tone that filled the grand hall. "The thirteenth prince… It seems fate has a strange sense of humor, doesn't it?" He paused, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "I am Kaelen," he introduced himself, his name rolling off his tongue like a silken whisper. "Crown Prince Kaelen of the Northern Empire. And it's… a pleasure to meet you again."

The final phrase hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. Yeo-jun felt a knot of apprehension tighten in her stomach. His words were a clear indication that he remembered their encounter in the forest, and that he was playing a game. She couldn't be sure of his intentions, but one thing was clear: this was not a simple diplomatic visit. This was a calculated move, and she was a pawn in his game.