The coded message from Scholar Aisha, detailing the full extent of Prime Minister Choi's treasonous financial dealings, had confirmed the Lionesses' worst fears. The foreign envoys were due within the week, and the window for action was slamming shut. Maya, or Princess Anansi, knew they needed a clean, undeniable strike—discrediting Choi before he could ignite the border war.
However, Choi was not a man who waited for retaliation. He understood that power did not only reside in the throne room or the hidden training cell; it resided in the hearts and fears of the common people.
Maya had been confined to the palace grounds for weeks, believing she was safely insulated. That insulation was shattered on a cold, misty morning when a junior guard, one of Afiya's trusted contacts, smuggled a small, rolled-up sheet of paper to Ji-su during the changing of the royal flower arrangement. Ji-su passed the paper to Maya during their midnight session.
Maya unrolled the paper in the faint, flickering light of the hidden room. It was not a court document or a coded message, but a xenophobic propaganda poster, crudely printed but frighteningly effective.
The image was a harsh, distorted depiction of Maya. Her features, usually admired for their unique beauty, were exaggerated into a predatory mask—her high cheekbones made sharp, her dark skin rendered in harsh, villainous shadows, and her Sankofa pendant made to look like a grotesque, blood-drinking insect.
The text surrounding the image was simple, poisonous Korean:
"Beware the Foreign Interloper! She brings strange gods and stolen crowns! Is this the face of Joseon's future? Or the Serpent sent to poison the King's line? Reject the Tides' Mistake! Guard the Blood!"
A cold, visceral shock ran through Maya. It was one thing to be hated by the nobles in court; it was another to be publicly vilified, reduced to a monster in the eyes of the very people she was risking her life to protect. Choi was using the oldest weapon in politics: fear of the unknown. He was transforming her into the perfect scapegoat, making her the acceptable target for the populace's frustration and inherent conservatism.
The poster was plastered everywhere. Ji-su confirmed the damage report the next morning. The propaganda was concentrated in the capital's busiest districts—the marketplaces, the city gates, and outside the humble temples. Choi's network had worked with terrifying speed, distributing the vile images overnight.
"This is not just politics, Anansi," Ji-su said, her voice tight with fury, as she pointed to a specific part of the poster where the Lioness shadow was crudely drawn. "This is psychological warfare. Choi wants the people to demand your expulsion before the envoys even arrive. If the people reject you, Dong-jin's support for you looks weak, foreign, and traitorous."
Maya felt a deep, shaking rage, but she forced herself to analyze the Prime Minister's strategy rather than react emotionally.
"He is distracting us," Maya deduced, tracing the crude lines of the caricature. "He knows the palace is on high alert due to the coded message. He is focusing all attention on this 'foreign threat'—me—while he prepares his real move."
The real move, as revealed by Aisha's ledger, was selling the kingdom's territory. Choi was using her as a smokescreen for mass treason.
Dong-jin, who had limited knowledge of the Lionesses and Maya's true identity, was struggling immensely to contain the damage. He was forced to publicly issue cautious statements about the "Ward's value to the court" which were easily dismissed as romantic folly by Choi's faction. The Prime Minister's public maneuvering was brilliant; he remained the picture of loyal Joseon tradition, while Dong-jin was painted as a fool blinded by a foreign woman.
Maya knew she had to counter this. She asked Ji-su to have Afiya discreetly send out Lioness agents to gather information on the printing presses used for the posters. Disproving the propaganda with a swift, public act of loyalty or truth was the only way to shift the narrative.
The emotional toll was the heaviest. She spent a long, agonizing hour staring at the poster, feeling the weight of her dual identity. Was she Maya, the girl who loved the Korean sea and the kindness of Dong-jin? Or was she Anansi, the Princess destined to reclaim a forgotten throne? Choi was forcing the division, exploiting the very core of her existence.
That night, Dong-jin sought her out in a hidden annex of the library, his face haggard. The strain of fighting his own court had worn him down.
"Maya," he started, his voice strained. "You must understand the severity of this. My ministers are demanding answers about your lineage. Choi is mobilizing public opinion against you. I—I can only hold them back for so long without a definitive claim of your purpose here."
She looked at him, seeing the genuine fear and loyalty in his eyes. She wanted to tell him everything—show him the cipher, tell him about the Lionesses, expose Choi. But Ji-su's command was absolute: The Prince must remain ignorant of the full network until the moment of the strike. His innocence is his protection.
"I know, Your Highness," Maya replied, choosing her words with crushing care. "I am sorry for the trouble I bring your court. But I ask you to trust the actions I will soon take, rather than the rumors this man spreads."
She reached up and gently touched the Sankofa pendant, now hidden beneath her clothes. She wished she could tell him that the "barbarous trinket" was the key to saving his entire kingdom.
"I trust you with my life, Maya," Dong-jin whispered, taking her hand. His loyalty was a fragile, beautiful thing in the midst of overwhelming deceit. "But I fear for yours."
His genuine anguish deepened her resolve. Choi wanted to paint her as a monster and Dong-jin as a weakling. She would prove them both wrong. The Lioness had to emerge, not just in the shadows, but in the light of Joseon's crisis. The posters were a declaration of war, and Maya accepted the challenge. She would not let this paper lie ruin her purpose.