NOVEL WEB Chapter 12: 12
The arrival of Min Youngjin cast a palpable chill over General Taeyoung's mansion, a stark contrast to the lingering warmth of the wedding celebrations. Jihoon felt it most acutely. Every servant moved with a renewed, almost anxious, deference. The air, usually thick with the comforting scents of woodsmoke and recent feasts, now carried a faint, unsettling formality. Jihoon, too, felt his internal equilibrium shift. The game was no longer theoretical; the most dangerous player from the original novel had arrived, radiating an aura that, even to Jihoon's modern eyes, hinted at an unsettling charisma beneath an icy veneer.
He observed Youngjin closely during the initial formal reception. The Joseon prince was striking, indeed, with an aristocratic grace and piercing eyes that seemed to miss nothing. He carried himself with an effortless authority, a powerful counterpoint to Taeyoung's raw, martial might. Jihoon noticed Youngjin's gaze linger on Jaemin, a look that held a complex mix of possessiveness and a subtle, almost yearning, affection. This confirmed Jihoon's current understanding: Youngjin loved Jaemin, at least for now. The "sadistic" part was a future consequence, not a present reality. His mission, then, was clear: preserve that affection, prevent the catalyst for betrayal.
Jihoon immediately set about his subtle manipulations. As the General's spouse, he had considerable sway over the household. He ensured that Jaemin's chambers were always well-stocked with Joseon paper and inks, subtle reminders of his homeland. He made sure Jaemin and Youngjin were seated in close proximity during formal meals, arranging accidental strolls through the garden that would bring them together. He even 'lost' an important Goryeo military scroll near a secluded pavilion where he knew Jaemin and Youngjin often took their tea, hoping to encourage a private, problem-solving session.
One afternoon, Jihoon approached the General's head aide, requesting a revised schedule for Prince Jaemin's cultural excursions. "His Highness expressed a desire to revisit the Imperial Library, particularly the Joseon historical section. Perhaps Prince Min Youngjin, with his scholarly background, would find that a beneficial companion?" Jihoon suggested, feigning casual interest. The aide, accustomed to Jihoon's unusual but often effective suggestions, nodded and made a note. It was a delicate dance, subtly pushing the two princes together without appearing overtly meddlesome. Jihoon had to make their connection feel organic, a natural rediscovery, not a forced political match.
Meanwhile, Taeyoung, seemingly oblivious to Jihoon's intricate social engineering, remained the unwavering anchor in Jihoon's increasingly stressful existence. His concern for Jihoon's health, piqued by the previous coughing fit, grew daily. He insisted on Jihoon wearing extra layers, personally poured his bitter tonics, and even, to Jihoon's mortification, once attempted to supervise his bath, muttering about 'ensuring proper warmth.' "General, please!" Jihoon had spluttered, splashing water, "I am perfectly capable of washing myself!"
Taeyoung had merely raised a dark brow. "Are you, Jihoon-ah? Your cough sounds otherwise." The maids, of course, were thoroughly entertained by their formidable General's overtly doting behavior. Namhyun and Seokjoon, now Jihoon's diligent personal guards, also maintained their protective watch, often intercepting Madam Ahn's more demanding requests on Jihoon's behalf, their unspoken loyalty a comforting presence.
The relentless pressure of juggling a complex diplomatic situation, Jihoon's secret mission to save Jaemin, and the constant drain of his terminal illness was, however, taking a toll. The coughing fits grew more frequent, more ragged, leaving him breathless and with a persistent ache in his chest. He was fighting a war on multiple fronts: against a predetermined narrative, against a formidable foreign prince, and against his own failing body.
One evening, after a particularly tense meeting where Youngjin had subtly, almost imperceptibly, challenged a Goryeo noble's diplomatic stance, Jihoon felt a sharp pain pierce his side. He excused himself, barely making it to his chambers before a violent, uncontrollable cough erupted. This time, it wasn't just spots; a significant amount of blood, bright red and alarming, bloomed on the silk handkerchief he pressed to his mouth. His vision swam, and his legs gave out. He slid down the wall, gasping for air, the cold sweat prickling his skin. This was bad. Worse than before.
He dimly heard a frantic pounding on the door, then Taeyoung's urgent voice. "Jihoon-ah! Open this door!" Before Jihoon could move, the heavy wooden door burst inward, splintering at the frame. Taeyoung rushed in, his eyes immediately locking onto Jihoon's slumped form, the crimson-stained handkerchief clutched in his hand.
Taeyoung was on his knees in an instant, gathering Jihoon into his powerful arms. His face, usually so composed, was etched with raw, undisguised terror. "By the heavens, Jihoon-ah!" he gasped, his voice thick with uncharacteristic fear. He carefully cradled Jihoon, wiping the lingering blood from his lips with a trembling thumb. "What is this? What is happening to you?" His gaze was desperate, searching Jihoon's face as if for answers to a riddle only Jihoon knew.
Jihoon, too weak to lie, could only lean into the comforting strength of Taeyoung's embrace. He felt the rapid, uneven beat of his own heart against Taeyoung's steady one. The sheer, naked fear in Taeyoung's eyes was overwhelming, tearing at Jihoon's carefully constructed walls. He saw not just concern, but absolute terror at the prospect of losing him. In that moment of profound vulnerability, held securely in the arms of the man he deeply loved, the dam broke.
"Taeyoung..." Jihoon whispered, his voice raspy, clinging to the General's robes. "It's... it's worse than they know. It's... it's not from here. I..." He coughed again, a dry, rattling sound. The words tumbled out, fragments of his truth, driven by the urgency of his worsening condition and the desperate need to be truly seen by the man who loved him so fiercely. "I'm... I'm not from this time. I came from... another world. A future. And my illness... it's from there. It's... it's terminal." The last word was barely a breath, a fragile confession delivered amidst his desperate struggle for air. He expected disbelief, anger, fear – anything but the gentle, unwavering gaze that met his own.
Taeyoung stared, his eyes wide with shock, processing Jihoon's fragmented confession. His brow furrowed, but his grip on Jihoon remained unyielding, if anything, growing tighter. He didn't interrupt, didn't question the impossible. He simply held Jihoon closer, his powerful body trembling faintly with the effort of containing his own immense shock and terror. "Another world?" he murmured, his voice strained but steady. "Terminal?" He didn't understand, not fully, but the depth of his love allowed him to bypass disbelief. All he knew was that the man in his arms, his beloved husband, was hurting, was speaking of a death he could not accept.
Just then, Madam Ahn, followed by a frantic physician and the ever-present Namhyun and Seokjoon, burst through the now-splintered door. The physician immediately began to assess Jihoon, his face grave. Taeyoung, however, didn't move from Jihoon's side, his arm still wrapped protectively around his husband, his eyes fixed on Jihoon, absorbing every detail of his confession, a silent vow forming in his heart. Jihoon had just revealed an impossible truth, but in Taeyoung's gaze, he saw not judgment, but a fierce, desperate love that promised to fight for him, no matter the world he came from. The war for Jihoon's survival had just escalated, now fought on terms neither he nor Taeyoung could have ever predicted.