The afternoon sun baked the academy courtyard, turning the stone tiles warm beneath Hana's feet. She followed the other scholars out of the lecture hall, her expression calm, her heart anything but.
Woojin walked beside her, his stride long and steady. He didn't speak—and somehow that was worse. Silence with him felt like being studied under a blade.
As soon as they reached the courtyard, scholars swarmed around Woojin.
"Senior Seon! Do you think the exam questions reflect last year's imperial themes?"
"Senior Seon, rumor says the Crown Prince himself will visit the academy next week—"
Woojin answered none of them. His eyes stayed locked on Hana.
Finally, he spoke quietly.
"You copied half of the characters wrong."
She froze.
"And the ones you wrote correctly," he continued, "you wrote in the style of someone taught to replicate symbols for coded messages… not classical literature."
Her stomach tightened. He noticed even that?
She forced a polite bow. "Thank you for your criticism, Senior Seon. I will improve."
Woojin stepped closer—too close. "Improvement requires foundation. You wrote like someone who has no past education."
She kept her face blank. "I studied privately."
"Privately," he repeated. "Under whom?"
She paused.
A single wrong word could expose her.
"My late father," she said finally. "He was… strict. I didn't interact with other scholars."
Woojin's gaze sharpened. "Your father trained you in sword stance and foreign writing forms?"
Hana's breath caught. A mistake.
She had said too little. Or too much. She wasn't sure.
"Every family trains their children differently," she said calmly.
"Mm," Woojin murmured again, unconvinced.
Then, just as he opened his mouth to question her more—
"Senior Seon!"
A noble girl in a lavender hanbok hurried over—Lady Soyeon, the famously talented musician and one of the academy's beauties.
She ignored Hana completely.
"I made rice cakes for the instructors, but I brought extra." She offered a delicate porcelain box. "I thought you might like some."
Woojin blinked once. "Thank you," he said, polite but cool.
Soyeon blushed. "If Senior Seon has time later, I would be honored if you taste them and tell me your thoughts—"
Woojin lifted his hand. "Give them to Kim Haneul."
"What?" both Hana and Soyeon said at once.
Woojin pointed directly at Hana. "He is new, and you made extra. Share with the newcomer."
Soyeon forced a tight smile. "Of course…"
She shoved the box toward Hana, who took it awkwardly.
Then Soyeon leaned in and whispered sharply, "Don't misunderstand. This is only courtesy."
Hana blinked. "I didn't misunderstand anything."
Soyeon glared before turning back to Woojin. "Senior Seon, will you accompany me to the study hall later?"
"No." He walked away without looking back. "I will be with Haneul."
Hana nearly dropped the rice cakes.
Why? Why with me?
Soyeon's face twisted with frustration, but Hana barely noticed—because Woojin stopped a few paces ahead and looked over his shoulder.
"Come," he said. "We're studying."
Hana reluctantly followed him to the shaded walkway behind the library. Woojin sat, motioning for her to do the same.
She lowered herself to the ground, tense.
"You lied," he said immediately.
Her blood froze. "What?"
"You said your father taught you. But your writing lacks structure entirely. No father would send a child to the academy without proper education."
She realized he wasn't accusing her of being an assassin—just a liar.
Good.
But still dangerous.
She inhaled slowly. "My father died when I was young," she said.
That part was true—she had no father to speak of.
Woojin watched her carefully. "So who taught you afterward?"
Hana kept her voice steady. "Different tutors. Some… strict. Some unusual. Some didn't stay long."
That, too, was true in a way. Assassins were taught by rotating instructors.
Woojin slowly leaned back, expression unreadable. "You're hiding something."
Her fingers tightened in her sleeves.
"So am I," he added.
She looked up—surprised.
Woojin continued, "Everyone here hides something. That's why the academy exists—to transform masks into scholars. The question is whether your mask is thin… or dangerous."
Her heart stuttered.
Woojin stood. "Let's see."
He crossed the walkway, picked up a wooden practice sword leaning against a rack, and tossed it to her.
Hana caught it automatically.
"Show me your form," Woojin said.
Her grip tightened. "Scholars don't train with swords."
"They do here. Our academy prepares royal advisors, guards, and strategists. Every student must show competency."
He stepped forward, drawing his own wooden sword.
"Ready?"
Hana's pulse pounded. If she fought like herself, he'd know. If she fought too weakly, he'd know.
She inhaled.
He lunged.
Hana blocked—but slower than normal.
He stepped right; she responded a beat too late.
He angled the blade toward her shoulder; she dodged clumsily.
Woojin frowned. "Your movements are inconsistent."
"I told you—my ankle—"
"Your ankle has nothing to do with your upper-body reflexes."
He swung again—faster.
Hana forced herself to block sloppily. The wood cracked against her arm. Pain shot up, but she held back her true strength.
Woojin stepped back, lowering his weapon.
"Strange," he murmured. "You react like someone trained… but with hesitation. Like you're suppressing your real movements."
Her breath sharpened.
Woojin's eyes narrowed.
"Kim Haneul… who are you trying so hard not to be?"
A faint tremor shook her fingers.
She dipped her head. "I am who I say I am."
Woojin didn't answer.
He walked closer—too close—until the wooden tip of his sword rested against her chest.
She didn't flinch.
That seemed to surprise him.
"Most people react to danger," he said quietly. "You don't."
She met his eyes. Cold. Calculating.
"You don't either," she whispered.
His eyes widened just slightly—then softened. "Point taken."
He lowered the sword and handed it back to the rack.
"You're not weak," he said. "But you're hiding your strength. I'll find out why."
Hana kept silent.
Woojin brushed past her. "Dinner hour begins. Walk with me."
She hesitated. "Why?"
Woojin glanced back.
"Because someone tried to follow you since morning."
Her heart dropped.
What?
Woojin continued calmly, "I sensed footsteps matching yours. A man dressed as a courier. He lingered near the gates. He vanished once you entered class."
Hana's lungs tightened. Master Yoon? Already?
Woojin walked beside her, voice low. "I don't know who he is to you. Enemy or acquaintance. But he watched you—not us."
She swallowed. "You're imagining things."
"No." Woojin's tone was absolute. "I don't imagine patterns. I observe them."
He stepped in front of her, stopping her path.
His eyes locked on hers.
"If someone is targeting you," he said softly, "I will know."
Her breath hitched.
"And if you are lying about your past…"
He leaned in.
"…I will know that too."
The courtyard buzzed with evening activity—scholars chatting, lanterns lighting, laughter echoing—but in that moment, Hana felt trapped in a world that had suddenly shrunk to Woojin's gaze.
He straightened. "Come. If someone is following you, you shouldn't walk alone."
She exhaled—slow, controlled.
Not because she trusted him.
But because she knew one truth:
If Master Yoon was here, she would need someone like Woojin close by… even if he was the one person most capable of exposing her.
And the blade of truth was sometimes sharper than any knife she had ever held.