The morning came with a heavy sky, clouds hanging low as if even the heavens were mourning.
Before noon, Yuna's funeral was held.
A sea of black surrounded the small white casket—so small it made even the strongest men avert their eyes. Mr. Kim stood tall but broken, his eyes hollow. Mrs. Kim, held up by two maids, could barely walk. She looked like a soul stripped of light. And beside them stood Sunghoon—expressionless, cold, and silent—his fists clenched so tightly that blood trickled from his palms.
People of Uyama had gathered, their faces twisted in grief. No one could forget Yuna. She was the flower of the Kim family, the last light of the fifth generation—pure, kind, innocent. Gone too soon.
As the final prayers were whispered, Mrs. Kim collapsed to her knees by the grave, screaming Yuna's name. Mr. Kim didn't move. He stared down into the earth as if hoping it would open up and bring his daughter back. But Sunghoon... Sunghoon didn't shed a tear. He just placed a single white lily on the casket before the grave swallowed it whole.
And with that, Yuna was gone.
The ride back to Uyama Villa was silent. No one spoke.
And when they arrived, it felt as though the entire estate had died with her. The once-lively halls echoed with emptiness. Curtains drawn. Lights off. Guards moved like ghosts. Servants walked on eggshells.
The villa had lost its heart.
Sunghoon didn't speak to anyone. He went straight to his room and locked the door behind him.
He walked to his desk, pulled open the drawer, and took out the folded piece of paper. The same note he had read a dozen times. The one Yuna had written to him just a day before her death.
He sat down and read it again—slowly. Painfully.
But no one knew what was going on inside him.
Outside, he was still. Cold. Composed.
Inside, he was a storm.
The fire that had once made him feel alive had now turned into something else. Something darker. His heart was no longer burning—it was ash. And buried in those ashes... were embers.
And revenge.
He had promised his father he wouldn't let hate consume him. He had nodded. Agreed.
But promises made in grief are fragile.
Sunghoon stood up, walked to the window, and looked out into the empty gardens where Yuna once laughed and chased butterflies.
He turned away.
Picked up his phone.
Dialed.
Within minutes, one of his most trusted right-hand men arrived—Daejun. A man who never questioned, only delivered.
"I want a full report," Sunghoon said, his voice low and sharp. "On the Dragon Clan."
Daejun blinked, surprised. "The entire clan, sir?"
"Yes. Everything. Their current ruler, his wife, his entire bloodline. Especially his eldest daughter—Minji. And find out…" Sunghoon paused, eyes narrowing, "…if the Emperor has any other heirs."
Daejun gave a curt nod. "Consider it done."
As the door closed behind him, Sunghoon sat back down in the silence. His jaw clenched. Eyes cold.
The dragon had taken his flower. it's a time to take their flower
Evening crept in like a quiet storm.
A soft knock broke the silence in Sunghoon's room. One of the senior servants bowed respectfully at the door.
"Sir… Mr. Kim requests you to join the family for dinner."
Sunghoon didn't respond immediately. He stood near the window, arms crossed, eyes glazed with thought. His gaze remained fixed on the empty garden below—the same garden where Yuna used to run barefoot, laughing without a care in the world.
He gave a slight nod and followed the servant.
---
The dining room, once lively and filled with warmth, now felt like a funeral banquet. The long table was perfectly set, but untouched. Mr. Kim sat at the head, his face unreadable. Across from him, Mrs. Kim sat with her hands on her lap, staring at the plate in front of her, unmoving.
Sunghoon entered quietly and took his seat. His eyes instinctively searched for his mother's. The moment their gazes met, his chest tightened.
She looked so lost.
Her eyes were swollen, her face pale, and her lips quivering slightly. She stared at her son like she was trying to hold onto something—anything—that made sense in a world that had just ripped her daughter away.
Sunghoon stood up slowly and walked around the table. He knelt beside his mother and gently pulled her into an embrace.
"Mom…" he whispered, calm but resolute. "It's okay. We'll take revenge."
His voice didn't tremble. He didn't show a flicker of emotion. Not because he felt nothing—but because he had locked it all away, deep inside, where no one could reach.
Mrs. Kim broke into tears again, clutching her son like he was her last anchor.
After a while, Sunghoon gently picked up a spoon and began feeding his mother.
One bite at a time.
She didn't resist.
And for that brief moment, the only sound in the room was the quiet clinking of silverware and the fading sobs of a mother who had nothing left but her son.
---
After dinner, Mr. Kim signaled to the servants. "Take her to her room," he said softly. "She needs rest."
Two maids helped Mrs. Kim up, guiding her slowly out of the room.
Mr. Kim turned to his son.
"Sunghoon. Come with me," he said, his voice low but firm. "To the study."
---
The study smelled of old wood and leather, dimly lit by a single warm lamp. The room was filled with history—books, war maps, family records. A glass of untouched whiskey sat on the table, condensation pooling beneath it.
Mr. Kim walked over to the tall window, hands behind his back. Sunghoon remained standing, waiting.
"Sit," Mr. Kim finally said.
Sunghoon took a seat across from him, his expression calm and unreadable.
Mr. Kim turned slowly to face him, eyes studying him closely. "You haven't said much since the funeral."
Silence.
"I understand grief, son. I've buried brothers, friends, soldiers. But you… you've buried your sister."
Sunghoon remained still.
"There's something inside you," Mr. Kim continued. "Something boiling. I see it in your eyes. You don't have to hide it from me. You don't have to carry it alone."
Sunghoon looked down, then away.
Mr. Kim exhaled heavily and sat beside him. "I won't force you to talk. Just know that no matter how strong you try to be… you're still my son. You're allowed to feel."
A long pause.
Then Mr. Kim leaned back in his chair, shifting the tone slightly.
"There's something else I wanted to ask you."
Sunghoon looked up.
"When we went down to the basement… after the gunshots… the guard gave you a note. He said it was found next to Yuna's body. You never told me what it said."
Sunghoon's jaw tightened slightly, just enough for a trained eye to notice.
Mr. Kim pressed, "Who was it from?"
There was a beat of silence.
Then Sunghoon spoke.
"It was signed by Minji," he said quietly.
Mr. Kim froze.
"Minji? The eldest daughter of the Dragon Clan?"
Sunghoon nodded once.
"But that's not possible," Mr. Kim said, his voice sharpening. "You killed her.
"I know," Sunghoon said, voice low. "That's why I didn't tell you. I don't believe it's her."
Mr. Kim narrowed his eyes. "Then who?"
Sunghoon looked away, his mind already spinning with strategy, anger, and something darker.
"I think someone's playing with us," he finally said. "Whoever left that note... they wanted me to see it. They wanted to make it personal."
Mr. Kim leaned forward, concern mixed with suspicion. "You should've told me."
But Sunghoon stayed calm. Too calm.
He had no intention of sharing the truth—not yet. Not until he had answers. Not until he had Minji in front of him. And not until he decided how to destroy the people who took his sister.
---
In his heart, he knew this wasn't over.
This wasn't grief anymore.
It was war.
And he would fight it his way