Chapter Two: The Boy Who Shouldn't Exist

The village of Gwaneum was a quiet place, tucked between misty mountains and winding rivers. To the people, it was just another nameless town where farmers toiled, and merchants peddled their wares. But hidden within its humble walls lived a secret that could shake the very foundations of the kingdom.

Dan-Bi.

Or rather, Master Dan, as the villagers knew him. A boy with sharp eyes and a quiet strength, always dressed in rough, boyish garb, never once questioned by those around him.

The boy who should never have existed.

---

"Dan! Again."

The sharp snap of a wooden staff against the ground echoed through the clearing. Dan-Bi, barely eight years old, gritted her teeth and adjusted her stance. Her hands ached from gripping the heavy staff for hours, her small body drenched in sweat.

Before her, Master Baek, a retired soldier who had long abandoned court life, watched her with stern, expectant eyes. He was the only one her mother had ever trusted with their secret.

She lunged forward, mimicking the movements he had drilled into her since she could walk—strike, block, pivot. But her arms were weak. Her feet hesitated. She was still a child, no matter how much her mother demanded she grow faster.

A sudden strike knocked the staff from her hands, sending her tumbling into the dirt.

"Pathetic," Master Baek muttered. "You hesitate too much."

Dan-Bi clenched her fists, her pride stinging more than her bruises. "I—I'm trying."

"You don't get to try," he snapped, eyes flashing. "You must be. A boy with no strength is useless. A ruler with hesitation is dead before they even claim the throne."

The words struck harder than the blow. She was not just a boy in hiding—she was a rightful heir, raised in secrecy for a throne she had never even seen. She didn't know what a palace looked like, had never worn silk robes or stepped inside a court hall.

But her mother spoke of it often.

The home they stole from her.

---

That night, as Dan-Bi nursed her bruises by the dim candlelight, her mother sat beside her, gently dabbing a wet cloth against her scraped knee.

"You're angry," she murmured.

Dan-Bi kept her eyes on the flame flickering in the lantern. "Master Baek says I hesitate too much."

Her mother smiled faintly, a sadness lingering behind her gaze. "Then you must learn not to hesitate."

Dan-Bi glanced up at her. "But why? Why must I fight? Why must I pretend to be a boy?" Her voice wavered. "Why can't I just be me?"

The cloth in her mother's hand stilled. A silence stretched between them, heavy with the weight of things unsaid.

Then, softly, her mother whispered, "Because they will kill you if they find out."

Dan-Bi stiffened.

Her mother's fingers traced her face, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "You are the daughter of the king. But in this world, a daughter is nothing. A son, however…" Her voice grew firm. "A son can change everything."

Dan-Bi swallowed hard. She wanted to argue, wanted to say she didn't care about the throne, about vengeance, about a life stolen before she was even born.

But she did care.

Because every time her mother spoke of the past, she saw the way her hands trembled. The way her eyes darkened with grief. The way her voice turned cold when she spoke of the king.

He had abandoned them.

And the ministers who accused her mother of treason had made sure they could never return.

Dan-Bi curled her fingers into the blankets, her jaw tightening.

If the world only respected a son, then she would become one. If she had to fight, she would learn to strike without hesitation.

For her mother.

For herself.

For the throne that was rightfully hers.

And so, in the quiet, flickering light of that tiny room, a fire ignited within her—a fire that would one day consume the kingdom itself.