The capital was louder than Ha Ran expected or remembered.
Not in sound, but in tone. Every word here had weight, every laugh carried an edge. Even the air seemed perfumed with lies.
She stood in the middle of the market square, where silk merchants haggled beside fishmongers and nobles disguised themselves as commoners to feel "worldly." Her eyes swept over the stalls and people. Ha Ran looked down at her hands, calloused from the manual labor she had volunteered to help with back at home. The noblewomen there had hands so white and unmarred. Who cares, she thought, I'm not here to look pretty.
A pair of noblewomen passed by, their fans fluttering like butterflies. "Have you heard? The Crown Prince has returned from the front," one said, voice dripping with feigned concern.
"They say his armor was still wet with blood when he entered the palace gates," the other replied. "And now the poor Moon girl is to be his bride. Such a gentle lady, too. Imagine sleeping beside a murderer every night."
Ha Ran froze. Her hand clenched into a fist.
Gentle lady… that's Yu Na, all right.
She took a slow breath, turned on her heel, and approached them with the same confidence she used when confronting debtors in Hae Jeon.
"My apologies," she said politely, bowing just enough to be proper from her male disguise. "I couldn't help overhearing. You seem quite well-informed. Tell me—were you at the battlefield yourself?"
The women blinked. "N-no, of course not—"
"Then perhaps you shouldn't speak of what you don't understand," Ha Ran said smoothly. "It's easy to throw words like 'murderer' when you've never had to hold a sword."
The first woman scoffed, lifting her chin, and eyeing Ha Ran up and down noticing that she wasn't wearing anything fancy. "Who are you to lecture us on war?"
"Someone who knows loss," Ha Ran said simply. "And someone who's seen the way wars not only hurt you physically, but also to your mind. You gossip about the Minister of War's daughter, Yu Na, being pitiful. If the Crown Prince truly chose her, then he has better judgment than most of the people gossiping in this city."
The market went quiet. A few passersby stopped to listen.
Ha Ran, never one to waste a good audience, continued," You all call him a monster, but last I checked, he fought so you could stand here and spread rumors without foreign troops burning your fine gowns. Maybe save your pity for the widows and the soldiers who didn't come home."
Her words rang sharper than any blade.
The noblewomen looked frightened by her words. Without another word to spit back, they muttered angrily under their breath and scurried off.
Ha Ran exhaled, brushing her palms together. "City people," she muttered. "All talk, no sense."
From across the market, a man in plain clothes watched her, expression unreadable beneath the brim of his straw hat. To the untrained eye, he was just another traveler—dust on his boots, worn leather gloves, a sword that looked too fine for a commoner but too dull for a noble's display piece.
But his eyes—sharp, assessing—tracked Ha Ran's every move.
Crown Prince Lee Young Hoon hid among his people once again. He had come to the marketplace to see how the city spoke of him. What he heard had not surprised him—whispers of blood, cruelty, and death always followed his name like a shadow, especially after a battle.
What did surprise him was him, the young man who stood somewhat shorter than the two women gossiping yet defiantly scolding them for all to hear. And the way he spoke—clear, firm, unafraid—it stirred something strange in him. Not irritation. Not even amusement.
Respect.
He followed as the young man in blue left the market, weaving through side streets toward a quieter lane. When he paused to adjust his pack, the Crown Prince ducked behind a fruit cart, feeling oddly foolish. What am I doing? he thought. Following a stranger like a thief?
And yet, he kept walking.
Ahead, Ha Ran had stopped in front of an old man carrying logs from the cart and through the side servant's entrance of a grand mansion. His back and arms trembled with the effort, and no one around seemed to notice.
Ha Ran sighed, rolling up her sleeves. "Grandfather, let me help."
The man blinked. "Oh, no, miss, I couldn't—"
"Too late," she said, already moving. She bent her knees, lifting one, grunting. "Ugh, this is heavier than it looks."
After putting one away, she took a deep breath and turned sharply to see a tall man with dark eyes and a calm face—a traveler, judging by his plain clothes. He looked strong enough, but she didn't miss the clean hands and measured stance.
"You there," she said, squinting at him. "Don't just stand there. This isn't a show!"
Young Hoon couldn't believe the way this man stared at him like his mother used to when chiding him. At first, a moment of slight irritation washed over him, then a sense of relief that someone didn't treat him with fear in their eyes. He smiled faintly, letting out a small scoff—just a twitch of the lips.
He took long strides only to stand towering next to the young man, noticing that his features were so soft.
A pretty boy? Young Hoon wondered. A scholar, perhaps? Judging by the way he scolded the two women earlier, this man must have ready one too many books about morals and ethics.
Without hesitation, Young Hoon easily lifted the log and started bringing them into the house. The old man bowed repeatedly, thanking them.
Finished, Ha Ran dusted off her hands. "People in the capital really don't notice anyone but themselves, huh?"
The man looked at her, voice low, or maybe it was just his deep tone. "It's not that they don't notice. They just don't want to be responsible for what they see."
Ha Ran turned to him, brow lifting. "That's an interesting excuse."
He scoffed softly. "You sound like you don't believe it."
"I don't," she said easily. "People always have reasons for looking away. Fear's just one of them. Guilt's another."
That made him pause, and she caught the faint shift in his expression — the kind that happens when a word lands too close.
"So," she said, taking a half-step closer, "you're not from here. The way you stand — like you're waiting for someone to announce you. You travel, but your boots don't look like they've touched much dirt. A noble, maybe. Or someone trying not to look like one."
His mouth curved slightly. "You're good at guessing."
"Guessing's for gamblers. I deal in details," Ha Ran said. "And you don't talk like a man used to being questioned."
"You talk like someone who's used to questioning everyone."
"Bad habit," she said. "Keeps me and my businesses alive."
The silence stretched for a breath. He didn't avert his gaze, but his eyes softened — the kind of look people gave when they were seen more clearly than they expected.
"Running or looking?" she asked.
His lips twitched. "Maybe neither. Maybe I just wanted to walk somewhere no one knows my name."
"That's not how names work," Ha Ran said. "You can hide them, but they still follow you."
He gave a quiet laugh. "You sound certain."
"I've seen enough travelers to know when someone's pretending the road is their choice." She tilted her head. "You're not lost. You're waiting."
He didn't answer. He didn't need to.
Ha Ran slung her pack over her shoulder. "Well, waiting never solves anything. You just end up with the same problem and less daylight."
She turned to leave, but his voice stopped her. "You defended the Crown Prince."
"I did."
"He's not exactly loved here."
Ha Ran looked back, a faint smile touching her lips. "That's the thing about the capital — people like easy villains. He's just convenient."
"You think he's innocent?"
"I think stories don't tell themselves," she said. "Someone writes them. Someone benefits. And the truth's always unexpected."
For the first time, his gaze lifted fully to meet hers. There was something in it — not surprise, but understanding. Maybe even regret.
"You talk like you've seen too much," he said.
She shrugged. "You talk like you're trying not to."
That drew a genuine, quiet laugh from him — the sound of someone who hadn't been seen in a while.
"Anyway," Ha Ran said, stepping back, "thanks for the help earlier. I can manage from here."
"I don't doubt it," he said softly under his breath.