The private chamber smelled of sweat, fear, and the faint acrid smoke drifting in from the chaos outside the castle.
The single oil lamp flickered weakly on the bedside table, casting long, dancing shadows across the plain wooden walls and the large bed.
Cha Hae-In sat rigidly on the edge of the mattress. The fat son of the Daimyo stood between her and the door, breathing heavily, his face flushed and shiny with sweat.
He had dragged her into the room the moment the alarms began sounding, locking the door behind them.
"You're staying right here," he said, voice thick with entitlement and fear. "Outside is for soldiers. I am the son of the Daimyo. I don't need to risk my neck while those dogs fight."
Cha kept her expression carefully blank, though disgust churned in her stomach. She had already tried once to push him toward the battle, hoping the chaos might rid her of him permanently. Instead he had used the crisis as an excuse to isolate her.
"You should be with the defenders," she said quietly.
"Your presence would raise morale. Hiding in here will only make people talk."
He barked a short, ugly laugh and stepped closer. The floorboards creaked under his weight.
"People can talk all they want. When this is over I'll still be the Daimyo's son, and you'll still be my wife. Now sit down and stop
arguing."
When she didn't immediately obey, he grabbed her wrist hard enough to bruise and yanked her back toward the bed. Cha stumbled but kept her footing. She tried to pull free; his grip only tightened.
"Let go of me."
"You don't give me orders," he snapped. His other hand shoved her shoulder, forcing her to sit.
"You stay where I can see you until this is finished. If those invaders breach the castle, you're my insurance. They'll think twice about killing a high-ranking hostage."
Cha's stomach turned. He wasn't even pretending to care about her safety — only about using her as a shield.
She kept her voice steady.
"You're hurting my wrist."
He released her with a contemptuous shove and began pacing in front of the door, wiping sweat from his multiple chins.
Every few seconds he glanced toward the window, flinching at distant shouts and the sound of clashing steel.
His courage, never strong, was clearly cracking.
Cha remained seated, rubbing her wrist, calculating. The man was heavy, slow, and already panicking. If she could get past him and reach the corridor, she might find actual soldiers or simply disappear into the confusion.
She shifted her weight carefully, preparing to move the moment his back was fully turned.
He noticed.
"Don't even think about it," he growled, stepping toward her again. "You try to leave and I'll—"
The door exploded inward with a deafening crash.
Splinters flew across the room.
Fubuki stood in the doorway, her sleek one-piece dress hugging her frame, eyes blazing with fury as she took in the scene: Cha sitting rigid on the bed, the fat son looming over her, the clear red marks already forming on Cha's wrist.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Fubuki's voice cut like ice.
The fat son spun around, face twisting in rage and surprise.
"This is none of your concern! She's my wife — my property! As the son of the Daimyo I can keep her wherever I damn well please!"
Fubuki didn't waste another word. She crossed the room in two strides and drove a precise, vicious kick into the side of his knee. The joint buckled with a wet sound.
He howled and collapsed sideways, slamming into the wall hard enough to crack the plaster.
Cha immediately stood and moved behind Fubuki, still clutching her bruised wrist.
"Please… just get me out of here," she whispered, voice tight.
Fubuki glanced back only long enough to confirm Cha was mobile, then fixed her glare on the man struggling to rise.
He spat blood and glared up at her, eyes full of wounded entitlement.
"You bitch! Do you know who I am? When my father hears about this—"
"Your father is busy trying to keep the capital from falling," Fubuki said coldly.
"And you are a coward who hides behind women while better men die. Stay on the floor."
He tried to lunge at her anyway, driven by pure humiliation. Fubuki sidestepped and drove her elbow into the back of his neck.
He dropped face-first onto the wooden floor and did not get up again.
Fubuki turned to Cha, expression softening only slightly.
"Can you walk?"
Cha nodded once.
"Yes."
"Then we're leaving. Now."
She kept herself between Cha and the unconscious man as they stepped over the broken door and into the smoke-filled corridor.
Behind them the private chamber fell quiet except for the distant sounds of battle still raging outside the castle walls.
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