Until now, Myojeong had never once experienced longing.

To him, Hwirim and Suhyang were fascinating people.

Both of them possessed a fierce desire to become Naja. Their personalities, values, and ways of seeing the world could not have been more different, yet they still remained inseparably close because they shared that same aspiration.

To become a Naja meant becoming someone capable of fully carrying out one’s role as a human being.

In a world constrained by obvious limitations—status, birth, gender—that ideal shone even more brightly. The existence of a place where one could stand solely upon one’s own innate talent was, in itself, a tremendous comfort.

Because of that, both Hwirim and Suhyang carried a deep sense of duty toward becoming Naja someday.

There was also meaning in the fact that they could help people, protect the nation, and preserve peace in this land.

Though their ways of living differed completely, the fact that they looked toward the same destination allowed them to become a source of strength for each other.

As long as that shared purpose remained at the center of their lives, the two of them would remain lifelong friends and comrades.

And because of that, even after arguments, their relationship never truly fractured.

“I wish all three of us could enter the Office of Narye together someday.”

[We will.]

“How do you know that?”

Myojeong only smiled faintly instead of answering.

Once the current incarnation died and he inherited the role of the Bangsangsi, summoning Hwirim and Suhyang into the Office as Naja would not be difficult.

Myojeong knew very little about his parents.

All he knew was that his mother had died not long after giving birth to him, and that his father—like himself—had inherited the position of incarnation from the previous generation and become the Bangsangsi’s incarnation.

The incarnation was both human and divine, and he rarely revealed himself.

Except when performing the Narye or appearing publicly as the Bangsangsi, he was almost never seen.

He walked without making a sound.

He seldom spoke.

He never revealed emotion.

The elders endlessly praised him as the perfect incarnation of the Bangsangsi.

Though he was clearly human, there were moments when he truly seemed like a god.

The only thing Myojeong knew for certain about him was this:

the incarnation hated him.

No—

it would be more accurate to say he simply had no interest in him at all.

He had never once spoken warmly to him.

Never held him.

Never stroked his hair.

The incarnation treated Myojeong with complete indifference and coldness. On the rare occasions their paths crossed, he would glance at him the way one might glance at a pebble by the roadside before immediately looking away again.

There was no possibility of familial affection between them.

Though they shared blood, they were less familiar than strangers.

The people who raised Myojeong were his wet nurse and the elders.

Before they were father and son, they were simply the current incarnation of the Bangsangsi and the child destined to succeed him.

And yet, there had been one time—only once—when Myojeong glimpsed something human in him.

Late one night, while wandering near the Main Hall, he happened to run into the incarnation, who appeared to be drunk.

As usual, Myojeong expected to be ignored.

But after spotting him, the incarnation staggered toward him instead.

Myojeong immediately lowered his head in greeting.

Then the incarnation asked in a flat, emotionless voice:

“Why were you born?”

It was such a sudden, nonsensical question that Myojeong answered honestly without thinking.

“I was born so that I may become the Bangsangsi in the future.”

The incarnation said nothing.

Silence stretched between them.

Eventually, Myojeong slowly lifted his head.

Their eyes met.

And the moment he looked into those eyes, he understood.

The incarnation despised his own life.

No—more than that.

He despaired of it.

Myojeong could simply tell.

Inside those impossibly deep eyes was a terrible emptiness.

The incarnation asked,

“Are you happy?”

The meaning of the question was unclear.

Myojeong looked up at his father.

As he hesitated, unable to answer immediately, the incarnation asked again.

“I’m asking whether you’re happy you were born into this world.”

“I am neither happy nor unhappy.”

“Then why do you continue living?”

Myojeong hesitated again, uncertain what answer was expected of him.

“Because I was born.”

“Then did you want to be born?”

That question sounded strange.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“Yes. I had already been born before I was capable of deciding such a thing.”

“I see...”

The incarnation fell silent for a moment before quietly muttering,

“But I never wanted to give birth to you.”

“......”

“So why were you born?”

The question circled back to the beginning.

“I was born to become the Bangsangsi in the future—”

Before he could finish speaking, a faint laugh escaped from above him.

It sounded as though the incarnation had laughed softly.

Myojeong instinctively lifted his head, wanting to see it, but the incarnation slowly turned away instead.

“Then you will live exactly as I did.”

Not long after that, Myojeong was sent away to the Jaseonwon.

The order came directly from the incarnation himself.

The Jaseonwon was a private academy where future government officials were trained, and it was filled with children around Myojeong’s age.

Originally, Myojeong should have remained within the capital and received formal education as the successor to the incarnation.

The elders strongly objected, insisting it violated propriety.

But the incarnation refused to change his mind.

And so Myojeong was sent away to the Jaseonwon almost as though he had been discarded.

He was bewildered.

One day, he had simply been thrown out into an unfamiliar place like an abandoned duckling.

At the Jaseonwon, he was treated as human.

No matter how much he thought about it, he could not understand why the incarnation had sent him away.

In the end, the only conclusion he could reach was painfully simple:

the incarnation could not even bear looking at him anymore.

At first, life there was merely confusing.

But as time passed, Myojeong gradually began to love it.

Learning about human emotions and discovering an entirely new world became enjoyable to him.

And above all else, he met Hwirim and Suhyang there.

Life at the Jaseonwon made him happy.

Happy enough that if the incarnation ever asked him again whether he was glad to have been born, he thought he could answer yes without hesitation.

Then one day, the incarnation summoned him.

It was deep into the night.

When Myojeong entered the incarnation’s chambers, the room was dimly lit by a single lamp, warm and shadowed.

The incarnation, in the middle of changing into his nightclothes, looked no different from an ordinary human.

Myojeong knelt immediately.

“Come here.”

The incarnation beckoned him closer.

Myojeong approached on his knees, and then—

unexpectedly—

the incarnation opened both arms toward him.

Before he realized what was happening, Myojeong was pulled into his embrace.

“You must be tired.”

The incarnation’s voice was quiet.

“Let’s sleep now.”

Holding Myojeong tightly against him, he slowly stroked his hair.

Myojeong’s eyes darted around in confusion, unable to understand the situation at all.

The incarnation carried him to bed while still holding him in his arms.

It was the first time in his life the incarnation had ever embraced him.

The first time they had ever slept together.

The bedding, warmed by body heat, felt soft and comfortable.

The incarnation offered one arm as a pillow and carefully pulled the blanket all the way up to Myojeong’s neck, tucking it in thoroughly so that not even a trace of cold air could seep inside.

Held within the incarnation’s broad embrace, Myojeong slowly lifted his head.

He silently studied the man’s face.

With his eyes closed and breathing calm and even, the incarnation looked strangely peaceful.

And somehow—

exhausted.

Watching him made Myojeong drowsy as well.

He slowly closed his eyes.

The incarnation had always been cold and indifferent, never showing him even the slightest trace of affection.

And yet, for some reason, being held like this made Myojeong feel as though he had become something precious.

That embrace alone felt overwhelmingly warm.

And safe.

That night, Myojeong fell into a deep sleep and dreamed.

Where am I?

He found himself standing in the middle of a vast meadow.

The sensation of grass brushing against his bare feet felt strangely vivid.

As he stood there blankly, he realized something unfamiliar was stuck over his mouth.

It looked like a talisman.

Feeling suffocated, Myojeong tried to tear it off, but it refused to budge, clinging stubbornly as though glued in place.

After struggling for some time, he finally gave up and looked around instead.

In the distance stood a small hut.

As though drawn toward it by something unseen, Myojeong walked inside.

The wooden hut was completely empty.

No furniture.

Nothing at all.

He was quietly examining the barren room when he suddenly felt a gaze upon him.

Myojeong turned instinctively.

And his eyes widened.

Black smoke had begun gathering together in one corner of the room.

The smoke slowly twisted into an oval shape before floating gently into the air.

Then it transformed.

Four eyes.

A large swollen nose.

Wide, gaping lips.

It was the mask of the Bangsangsi.

Golden light burst from all four eyes simultaneously.

Then the mask spoke.

“Shall I open your mouth for you?”