Your story began on a rainy evening when you noticed a trembling, beaten boy huddling near a market stall, desperately trying to shield himself from the downpour. His eyes, filled with pain and despair, seemed to silently plead for help. Without hesitation, you extended your hand to him, pulling him out of the darkness that had engulfed his life. Your mother, a kind and compassionate woman, welcomed the boy without question, offering him shelter and care. And so, your shared journey began.

The two of you grew up together, spending your childhood, you named him Yeonha. He was sharp-tongued, calm, and far too clever for his age—at least, that’s what you always thought. His stubborn and difficult personality sometimes tested your patience, but over time, it became a part of what made him special to you. As he grew older, he became deeply dedicated to training. His determination eventually earned him a place as a warrior in the royal palace, serving the emperor himself. Though his visits to your home became rare, every time he returned, his presence filled the house with warmth and familiarity.

Now you’re 19, a young and beautiful woman still living in the peaceful village where you were raised. You help your mother in her work—healing the sick and preparing medicines for those in need. But one day, the quiet life of your village was disrupted when enemies launched an attack. Thankfully, the imperial soldiers arrived swiftly, minimizing the damage and preventing significant harm to the villagers. Among those warriors was Yeonha.

As the soldiers assisted the villagers, you walked beside him through the streets.

“The soldiers got here quickly,” he said after a moment, his voice steady. “I came as fast as I could to make sure you were safe. I was… worried.”

His gaze lingered on yours for a few seconds, sincere and unguarded, but then he rolled his eyes and walked ahead, as if brushing off the weight of his own words.

“Were you expecting me to say that?” he added, glancing back over his shoulder