Shun flinched when Jung Ho called his name out loud in front of his new comrades in the Hwarang Training Grounds. Pitter-patter of snowflakes in the open, roofless ground before the sun shines. The Prime Minister's dissonant baritone sent a pang in his right ear, making his spirit bounce out of his head for a few seconds. The Prince's bodyguard did not do anything wrong. Point in fact, it was a commendation of his proper appearance—his yellow headband with a tiger head insignia, yellow long sleeve and dandelion baggy pants (wished he could wear a tighter one), brown snow mote-covered boots, submerged about three inches deep into the thick white snow. His hands froze behind his hips, shoulders stiffening under the bone-seeping below absolute zero. Jung Ho passed through him; his carmine wool jacket was an object of lust by the sneaky, leering eyes of the shivering nangdos. He grilled another meat. (this time for spotting a nangdo with a conspicuous hickey on his left neck. Tsk, young men)

Forty hwarangs from different clans had been assigned randomly as Sae Joo's special bodyguards for the upcoming wedding. Their task: keep a keen eye on him at all times, make sure he would be safe from any threats. A marriage, not a funeral!

Another forty had been deployed as Jin Ri's protection. They were being briefed by another pungwolju on the other side of the grounds. Upon the end of the preliminary inspection, Jung Ho rose to the stage and made an announcement. "Hwarangs, consider this opportunity to prove your worth and skills as the Prince's special protection force for his special day. All of you have been chosen for a number of reasons—but above them all, each one of you has only one duty. You should remember: a hwarang's downfall is not determined by joining the forces of death, but rather when he has lost his valor and honor to fulfill his duties to his master. For tonight, disregard your clans and unite as one to serve your sole master—Prince Sae Joo. I beseech right in front of you to exert your best efforts to give the Prince his well-deserved and rightfully-earned security."

He outflung his arms into the air and started a chant. "Long live, the Prince! Long live!"

All men answered in return as it appeared that they have finally accepted their duty. Shun could remember the day when Jung Ho went to their barracks and made the special announcement. He was not surprised that he was selected—not a bit. What baffled him was the strange distribution of the hwarangs in his new assignment. Out of forty, only three of them shared the same uniform. (Oh, lucky him! Those two were even slightly aloof of him.) Prince Sae Joo had already made his point in the past, to trust the Yellow Tigers, and Yellow Tigers only, in terms of his security. Who could he expect to do the duty in the purest way possible after crying with them when the training was hard, after sharing the contagious laughter whenever they accomplished all the tasks? If not just for his position, he would have treated them like casual friends. Not that he was solely referring to the nangdos, but apart from them, the higher officials (Hwarangdo Jun Pyeong and pungwoljus) of the clan had proved their fidelity and good intentions to the King. They shared the same aspirations as if they were brothers.

The Prince had clearly told him how doubtful he was of the other Hwarang clans, especially the Red Dragons, who worked with loyalty to the Prime Minister. He could not feel completely at ease around them. A certain kick or jolt of paranoia that an attack might occur. Attack was the word that he used, not a simple trick or shenanigans.

Jung Ho left, parading that he would oversee the meeting of all higher Hwarang officials about the final security layout, the planning of every single minute detail. Allocation was the backbone of the strategy. Knowing how to use the manpower efficiently. Where to deploy all units? How many ant workers to line in the grand courtyard, how big would swarm in the gates, how many eyeing raptors in the balconies? The pavilions? The towers—everywhere! As much as how the insides should be protected, the outside premises must not be taken for granted. This was the breeding ground for all unknown, possible varmint enemies (though Jung Ho knew that he was the master enemy of the Prince. Not this time. He should be an angel. Halo so bright, shines with a yellow light).

After the allocation, the contingency plan must be as solid and raw as a frozen rock. There should be a ton of what-ifs. List of possible scenarios and how to handle them. No suggestion would ever be declared as a taboo. Every point would be considered, all possibilities and angles would be explored, especially now that the Prince's idea of a party was incorporated with his fondness of arts. Enemies, wherever they were, would use the opportunity to infiltrate the palace and cause cacophonous mayhem for whatever reasons. Deranged psychopaths who probably just wanted to prove that they were wiser than the military, rebel groups who wished to convey their message, "You dare hold parties, while the rest of the country strives to live.", and the worst—those who dreamed of demolishing the current monarchy and replacing it with their own vision of 'glory'.

Before entering the palace, each guest should reveal their faces first before wearing their masks. Ushers from all gates should have a comprehensive and organized list of guests and their corresponding masks. This should be of a strict ordinance. A bloody and tiresome task, collecting all strands of brain cells. Jung Ho was willing to push through his all just to make the event perfect.

The dark force has finally subsided. The Prime Minister was utterly out of sight. Shun and the rest of the special force retired to their temporary barracks, a few meters from the southwest gate, into the evergreen forest. He could not believe the generosity of the Prime Minister for giving them a three-day privilege inside a decent place. "Train your body and your mind to the fullest," he said.

Two-story caramel-brown cabin, complete with all sets of necessary furniture. Even grander than their regular barracks. Twenty pairs of double-deck marshmallow beds—ten on the first floor, then another ten on the second, cushiony like a custard cake. Shun was hungry as he described their resting mattresses. A long dining table with two candelabras on top. Wow! A chance to eat like a royal. Chestnut closets complete with eating utensils, and the star of the season: a big fireplace with a never-ending supply of warmth.

With that warmth, all of them moved to their beds to get some short rests before preparing for another training in the afternoon. Shun's bed was on the second level, the last one beside the window. He reclined in comfort, wrapping himself into a blue, thick blanket. His wallowing was suddenly disrupted when a Purple Ivy nangdo, tall and skinny, with three big acne marks on his face, stood in front of his bed and spat, "Hey you, Yellow Tiger. Get up!"

Shun answered timidly, eyes closed. "Why?"

"Didn't you hear me? I said, "Get up."

"Your rude introduction doesn't deserve my attention. Go away. If you don't want to sleep, then at least be considerate of others."

The purple fool snorted, and he hauled Shun's blanket briskly. This was when the Prince's bodyguard started to get truly annoyed. What do you want, you idiot? He sat up, but he held his horse. He swore to his father and the Prince—no more shallow fighting.

"Huh, I guess your assignment as the Prince's bodyguard has already duped you of your true position. Don't you know who I am?"

Shun scratched his scalp and shook his head, his lips widening in a derisive side grin. What does this chump want? "I must say... Your method of getting my attention was impressive. Alright, I'll talk to you. I don't know who you are, and not a damn thing would make me interested in knowing even your name. Why would I even bother? You and I are of the same level. We're nangdos."

"Same level? You're just a son of a—"

"Stop right there." Shun jerked finger to the purple nangdo in a subtle warning. Say it and you're doomed, you stool. "I think I know who you are. Your father could be a nobleman or a government official... W-wa-wait, if there's a person who has been misguided by his position or whatsoever, I don't presume it's me. Is it you?" He chewed his cheeks and bulged his eyes like a teasing jester. "I mean, I don't parade around my bloodline just to scare or intimidate everyone. I don't use my lineage to inspire nonsense allegiance with anybody. Even the Prince, who is miles higher than all of us, doesn't do that because for him, it's pathetic and disgusting. If I were you, I would tuck my balls in and say what I really mean in the essence of saving time."

"All right. I'll tell you what I want, you attention-slut!" Barking like a rabid, wild dog, the purple nangdo started to babble. He pointed his long scrawny index finger to Shun. "If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have been scolded by the Prime Minister. Are you that desperate to be a hwarangdo?"

Level one. Shun rolled his hands, his knuckles turning red. It's a benign insult, but this butthole needs his lesson, he thought. "Oh, I see. You wish to pass your self-accountability. Blaming other people for your incompetencies is a lame excuse for a soldier. Why, didn't you feel man enough now that you've done your hundred-curl ups demerit? Not only that, you dare to mock the Prime Minister's optical ability in judging your failure to hide your libido. If you wish to do nasty quick jobs before facing our superiors, make sure you won't get caught." He hurled a short glare to the fool and reclined back to his bed. At his rebuttal, the other nangdos began observing, took a pause from their businesses, and split into two bets. An interesting start of a fight. Red corner versus blue corner. Who would win?

The purple nangdo scoffed, insulted by Shun's audacity. He began his tirades again like an in-heat hen. Cluck, cluck, cluck. "You deliberately stared at me, which rubbed it to the Prime Minister. You wanted to sabotage me!" He called the attention of everyone with his wide amplifier-built mouth. "Everyone, stay away from this worm. He'll step all of you until he gets what he wants. He assumes that the Prince is his friend, his benefactor, and he deludes himself that he could get all that he desires easily. One day, you'll be more than surprised, waking up to be ordered around by this parasite. Heed my warning, my friends. You, sons of noblemen, under the supervision of this vermin—Ha! I would rather cut my wrists!" A salad of reactions, mostly bitterness towards Shun. Those who rooted for him, in the beginning, nodded in agreement with the fool's accusations, like their heads were smashed into the pavement and got back to their mediocre senses. Good thing some were apathetic, not as pebble-brained as those turncoats. Just don't spread blood here, and we won't care.

He turned back to Shun and snapped, "What do we expect? A son of a barbaric nobody like you dreams to become someone he's not meant to be by leeching to the Prince. Say, do you also dream to become an heir to this nation?" He laughed, his index finger shaking and pointing to Shun. The others who sided with him hid their laughter as well. Ignorant, judgmental fools who had no idea about their true relationship at all.

Second level. Shun jumped out from his bed and gripped the stupid weakling's finger, his scorching eyes into the nangdo's fingertips like it was a bone of a milkfish. He raised his head to his face's level. "I don't wish to break your finger nor do I intend to make a cheap, unnecessary squabble with you. But allow me to say this. If ever you drag your mouth and insult the roots of my father or my association with the Prince, which was absolutely brought by my skills, I will cut your fingers and send them to whoever your patron, gold-hungry, whore-fucking father is, wherever he might be." Scanning everyone, he apologized, "Please excuse my vulgar language. I never meant to shame sex workers."

When he got back to the purple nangdo, his grip tightened.

"Let go, you leech!" the nangdo roared. Shun squeezed the finger harder like draining water from a sponge, refusing to let go. "How could a slow-minded lizard like you become a nangdo?" He twisted it to the right and bent it backward. Best of luck to the ligaments. The nangdo squealed, "Stop!" Because of the tension, the other nangdos rushed upstairs and interfered, uniting again as a single unit. "Yellow Tiger, quit it!" "Enough, you two. Don't wait for a hwarangdo to come and beat you!" they said (summary).

Being a good listener, Shun submitted to their wishes. He shoved the disgusting finger away, including its owner, who just tripped to the floor. "Say, just in case I broke your fingers, where would I take it?"

"Enough!" a red dragon, three beds away from him on the top deck, cut in.

A minion backed up the purple nangdo. A scruffy, plump fellow with pinkish prominent cheeks. "Please stop it, Yellow Tiger. Your words were too much. His father is a powerful, nobleman. You should've never disrespected him."

"He should not have disrespected my father!" hissed Shun. "He should've used his heritage to become a better person, instead of ranting about his own transgressions. This is childish, you know? Now that I think about it, I actually regret stooping down to your benthic-level mindset." He placed his hands on his waist and paced around the room and shuddered in revulsion.

"Don't waste your breaths talking to him," put in the purple nangdo. "My father wouldn't let it slide. He has connections all over the province of Sangju."

"Sangju?" asked Shun.

"Your ears are clean, I suppose. Yes, Sangju. Didn't you know that most of us here are from Sangju?" He spread his arms and turned his head to their other comrades.

Me too. Count me in. A native baby. Born and raised in that province. All confirmatory words from other nosy nangdos led to one strange conclusion.

"Where are you from?" the purple fool curious.

"I am from Sangju as well." Shun sucked his teeth and started thinking about the coincidence. In a normal Hwarang set up, the warriors were usually group either based on ranking or based on clan. A first encounter where all of them were assembled based on their hometowns. Well of course, he was not a Sangju native. He then wondered how many would they be just in case they did not leave their small hill community in Myeongju.

His heart melted as he reminisced. The fresh, scalp-nipping air, the luscious grasses, and the sweet, refreshing water from their wells and springs. Their simple house—run-down, yet overflowing with love. The clanking of the hammer and the steel as his father makes his sword every afternoon. Crispy, innocent giggles and laughter of the children while learning the basic Silla alphabet and eating rice balls every time they write their names under the shade of a big tree. Their neighbors who were ever supportive of his father's small business. His best friend who would always come to his house and watch over his father when he needs to go to the market and deliver daggers and knives to their clients. A simple life, away from all the complications and dirt of the palace. A life he wished he still has. If not only because of those wretched men who destroyed peace and harmony, killing and threatening innocent lives—just because his father could not pay his debt to his master. Their dead, soulless, filthy bodies were still not enough for the compensation of the trouble they had caused, and the fear they had instilled. People in their community had never been the same since that day. They had learned to be repulsive to strangers, unwelcoming, and dubious. Knives with no mercy buried under their cottony blankets, hidden under their skirts and trousers. Never in a moment Shun thought that it was already a close case—fair and square. Not even close.

That money-worshiping demon, who took away their life, their hope, and their dignities as human beings had no single chance of getting forgiveness. Not in his life, not ever. If he ever saw him, with the trick of fate, he probably would not know what to do. He could imagine himself tearing his limbs apart, crushing him to death, and gagging him with a pocketful of gold. That's what you get for being so greedy! A shiny, yet bloody satisfaction.

That was just his id, his wild imagination running. An unknown enemy was the most horrifying of them all. If the reality of life kicked, he could be an insanely powerful man—with no sense of guilt, compassion, or kindness, whatsoever. What if one thing led to another, bad blood after bad blood? Would it come to a point that the purple nangdo's allegation be of hard truth? That there could be a time when Shun would use his connection and deep friendship with the Prince to finish the wicked cycle and exact revenge for his father, in case everything comes to worst?

He had been always terrified of his mental artistry of vengeance, all the things that inserted through his mind every moment he was angry. On the outside, he was prim, disciplined, and temperamental but could be controlled. However, inside his mind was a hell of a pandemonium. An alter-ego standing on the center rock, craving for the sound of cracked skulls, severed bones, and the sight of blood fountains—from all the bastards who had caused (and would cause) his loved one's pain. He was troubled that he could be a demon—for proving love to someone, for fortifying their overall safety. His care for himself ebbing, drying like a misplaced lake in an arid desert, and more, more, more to the people he adored and loved so much. The most extreme form and the darkest evolution of filial and cordial affections.

One wish before shoving the webs of thoughts away and deal once again with the idiot, dressed like a spoiled purple yam: Never show yourself to me. 

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