Dawn spilled over the academy like pale gold, washing away the shadows but not the tension they had left behind. The early morning air was cold enough to bite, the kind of cold that sharpened instinct and clarity.
Hana stepped out of her room silently, dressed in her neat scholar robes, hair pinned in a modest knot. To anyone else, she looked like any other student rushing to morning studies.
But beneath the fabric, three knives were hidden.
And beneath her calm expression, war had already begun.
Woojin stood beside her door, arms folded, eyes shadowed from lack of sleep. His gaze lifted the moment she appeared.
"You didn't sleep," Hana said.
"I wasn't supposed to," he replied. Then his voice softened. "Did you?"
"A little."
She didn't. But he didn't press.
Woojin walked with her down the quiet corridor. The academy was still waking; lanterns flickered, servants swept fallen leaves, early scholars shuffled sleepily toward the main hall.
"Joon's still snoring," Woojin said dryly. "He sleep-talked about dumplings twice."
Hana almost smiled. Almost.
They walked until the courtyard opened before them—wide stone tiles, tall pines swaying gently, morning mist curling along the edges of the training grounds.
A peaceful place.
A lie.
Woojin exhaled, voice low. "What's first?"
Hana scanned the rooftops, courtyards, shadows—every angle an assassin might use.
"We find whoever left last night's message."
Her voice was steady.
"They won't be far."
Woojin nodded. "Then I'm with you."
She didn't argue this time.
---
The Hidden Body
Before anything else, they had to deal with the unconscious assassin hidden beneath the examination hall floorboards.
They approached quietly. The building was mostly empty, only two hall monitors nearby preparing scrolls. Hana waited until they left, then led Woojin to the far corner—behind the same folding screen they used yesterday.
Woojin lifted the board, wincing slightly.
The compartment was empty.
The body was gone.
Woojin stiffened. "No. No, no, no."
Hana's pulse didn't spike—but her breath did.
She crouched, examining the edges of the compartment. The wood wasn't cracked or forced open. No blood. No drag marks.
Whoever retrieved the assassin… did so carefully.
"They came during the night," Woojin murmured. "Could they have… woken up on their own?"
"No," Hana said. "I hit them with a nerve disruptor. They shouldn't have moved for twelve hours."
"Then someone helped them," he whispered. "Someone inside the academy."
Hana straightened slowly.
This was no longer a simple infiltration.
This was infiltration with assistance.
Her mind traced the possibilities—staff, scholars, servants. Anyone could be coerced, bribed, or planted years ago.
Woojin rubbed his face. "This is getting worse."
"It was already worse," Hana said quietly. "We're just seeing it now."
But she didn't miss the fear flickering in his eyes.
---
The First Clue
Hana moved toward the window overlooking the back courtyard. Footprints—barely visible—cut through the thin layer of dust on the stone. Light, precise. Not the gait of a servant.
"Look," she said.
Woojin knelt beside her. "They're small prints."
"Female assassin," Hana confirmed. "She carried the unconscious one out. Toward the training grounds."
Woojin frowned. "Training grounds? Why there?"
Hana didn't answer.
She already knew.
The training grounds bordered the old storage building—a place nearly no scholar used anymore.
Quiet. Secluded.
Perfect for assassins.
Without wasting time, Hana moved. Woojin followed.
---
The Storage House
The old storage house sat behind a row of tall bamboo, almost forgotten. Dust coated the windows. The door was slightly ajar.
Hana paused, motioning for Woojin to stay back.
He didn't. He stepped beside her anyway.
"Hana," he whispered, "I'm not letting you go first."
She almost argued. Almost.
But his stance—solid, unwavering—made something tighten in her chest.
"Fine," she murmured.
They slipped inside.
The room was dim, lit only by thin beams of sunlight cutting through cracks in the wooden walls. Old training dummies leaned against crates. Broken arrows littered the floor.
Then they saw it.
A smear of dark red on the ground.
Woojin inhaled sharply. "Blood."
Hana crouched beside it, dipping her finger lightly. Still damp.
"Recent," she murmured.
Her gaze followed the trail—small droplets, leading behind a stack of crates. She moved silently, Woojin right behind her.
Then—
A body slumped against the wall.
Not the assassin they hid.
A different one.
Black clothes. Mask torn. Throat slashed cleanly.
Woojin flinched. "H—Hana…"
She stared quietly.
This kill was precise. Professional.
Assassin eliminating assassin.
"He was silenced," Hana said. "To prevent him from revealing anything."
"Revealing what?"
"That they failed."
Woojin's jaw clenched. "You mean… whoever left last night's message killed their own member?"
"To keep the mission alive," Hana said. "The Shadow Sect doesn't tolerate weakness."
Woojin swallowed. "They're monsters."
"They're efficient," Hana corrected.
But her voice was cold.
Woojin stepped closer to the corpse, then stopped suddenly.
"Hana."
She turned.
He pointed slowly at the body's hand.
Clutched in the dead assassin's fingers was a scrap of parchment… identical to the one slipped under Hana's door.
Woojin looked at her. "They meant for you to find this."
Hana opened the assassin's hand.
On the parchment was a single line of writing:
"Tonight, rooftop of the West Pagoda."
Woojin's face went pale. "It's a trap."
"Yes," Hana said.
"And you're still going."
"Yes."
Woojin exhaled sharply, frustration and fear warring on his face. "Then I'm going too."
"You don't have to—"
"I do," he said. "You know I do."
She stared at him.
It was the certainty in his eyes that did it.
That calm, stubborn resolve.
"…Fine," she said quietly. "But you follow my lead."
He nodded. "Always."
Something in her chest fluttered—and she crushed it quickly.
Focus.
---
The Academy Awakens
By the time they left the storage house, the academy grounds were filling with life. Scholars rushed across the courtyard with scrolls. Tutors barked orders. The royal inspector from yesterday stood near the main hall, speaking to a group of officials.
Woojin stiffened. "Do you think he suspects anything?"
"He suspects everything," Hana murmured. "People like him always do."
As they walked past, the inspector's eyes flicked toward Hana—sharp, assessing, almost too perceptive.
Hana lowered her gaze, posture perfect.
Woojin subtly shifted his position to block the inspector's view of her.
The inspector's gaze narrowed.
But he said nothing.
Not yet.
---
Joon's… Arrival
They reached the edge of the courtyard when Joon stumbled toward them, hair wild, half-asleep, clutching his ink brush like a sword.
"There you two are!" he gasped. "I've been looking everywhere—first the roof, then the dorms, then I thought maybe you fell into a well—"
"Why would we fall into a well?" Woojin muttered.
"I don't know! Strange things happen around you two."
Hana sighed.
Joon leaned closer, whispering loudly, "Are you going to tell me what happened last night or am I supposed to pretend I didn't see Woojin climb onto the roof like a lovesick—"
"Joon," Woojin warned.
Joon shrank. "Right. Keeping secrets. Scholar discretion. I know nothing."
He paused.
"…But I suspect everything."
Hana rubbed her temple.
Woojin gently nudged Joon toward the dining hall. "Go eat before your brain stops working."
"It already has," Joon said, wandering off.
Woojin exhaled. "He's going to die if he ever finds out the truth."
Hana glanced at the fading trail of blood on her sleeve.
"If he finds out the truth," she murmured, "they'll kill him before we can protect him."
Woojin looked at her—eyes heavy with understanding.
"We won't let that happen," he said.
She hoped he was right.
---
A Pact Made in the Morning Light
They walked toward the practice yard where few scholars trained this early. Hana scanned the surroundings again, making mental notes.
Tonight.
West Pagoda.
Trap.
Woojin broke the silence.
"Hana… whatever happens tonight, I'm with you."
"You don't need to—"
"Yes," he said firmly. "I do."
She looked at him—really looked—and for a moment the cold shell around her cracked.
"…You're going to get hurt," she whispered.
"Then I'll get hurt," he said. "But I won't let you face them alone."
Her breath stuttered.
Dangerous.
Warm.
Impossible.
Hana turned away. "Then stay close. Don't improvise. Don't run off. And if I tell you to run—"
"I won't."
Hana glared. "Woojin—"
"You'd do the same," he said quietly.
She didn't deny it.
A beat of silence settled between them—heavy, charged.
Then Woojin reached out—not touching, but close enough that she could feel the warmth of his fingers near hers.
Not a command.
A promise.
She let her hand linger closer.
Just barely.
Then she pulled away. "We should prepare."
Woojin nodded. "Tonight… we end this."
Hana looked toward the distant silhouette of the West Pagoda.
"No," she whispered. "Tonight… it begins."