Jinhae
I watched the door swing shut behind Ahyun.
Her footsteps pounded down the corridor.
She would run herself ragged for those ingredients. I already knew it.
I turned back to the desk and picked up the brush again. The list stared up at me under the oil lamps.
Black antler marrow.
Silverneedle mushroom.
Red sand ginger.
Three-leaf serpent orchid.
Nothing on that scrap of paper would unlock Mind Evolution.
These four were different.
Combined in the right ratios, boiled under the right heat, strained through the right cloth, they formed a crude tonic. The kind of thing buried in the footnotes of a side quest no one bothered to finish.
It would not give me Qi.
It would not let me cultivate.
Overnight martial artist? Not a chance.
But it would knit the worst of the damage. Ease the constant grind in the left knee. Open the collapsed channels just enough for blood and breath to move cleanly again. Give me a foundation. Something I could build on through the next seven days while I hunted the real prizes.
I set the brush down and flexed my pale fingers.
Ahyun would take hours. The city alchemist lived on the far side of the merchant district.
I expected silence until well past the second watch.
The knock came less than half an hour later.
Three quick raps.
I froze. Then the memory slotted into place.
Right. This event.
I had forgotten the exact timing. In the original route it fired the same night as the banquet challenge, but only if Jinhae returned to his chambers alone. Most players never saw it because they spent the evening sulking or drinking themselves stupid.
I pushed the cane under my palm and rose. The left knee barked once in protest. I ignored it and crossed to the door.
I opened it.
Kang Minji stood in the corridor holding a small lacquered box against her chest. Her cheeks were pink from the night air. Her eyes were wide and wet at the corners.
She looked like she had run the whole way.
"Hyung," she said.
"Minji." I stepped aside. "Come in."
She slipped past me fast, like she was afraid someone would see. I shut the door. The latch clicked soft.
She turned in the middle of the room and clutched the box tighter. Her lower lip trembled.
"You can't fight him."
I limped back toward the desk and lowered myself onto the cushion. Left leg stretched out. Cane resting across my thighs.
"Sit," I said.
She dropped onto the cushion opposite me without arguing. The box stayed in her lap. Her fingers dug into the lacquer hard enough to whiten the knuckles.
"Hyung, please. Seojun is—he's been waiting for an excuse. You heard him at the table. He wants to hurt you. Mother says—" She cut herself off. "I don't care what Mother says. You don't have to prove anything. You're already smarter than everyone in this house. You don't need the Academy. You don't need any of it."
Her voice cracked on the last word.
I watched her.
In the original timeline she said almost the same lines. Then she left and the next time Jinhae saw her was weeks later, after the fight had already broken him further.
Not this time.
"I do need it," I said.
"Why?"
"Because if I stay here I rot." I kept my tone even. "Father will never look at me as anything but a failed investment. Lady Seo will keep tightening the purse strings until I am dependent on whatever scraps she allows. Seojun will take every opportunity, every connection, every future that should have been mine by birthright. And you—" I let the pause hang. "You'll watch it happen. Helpless. I refuse that future."
Minji's eyes shone brighter.
"But you'll die."
"I will not die."
"You don't even have Qi!"
"I have a plan."
She made a frustrated sound in her throat and leaned forward. The box nearly slid off her knees.
"What are you going to do? Lecture him until he surrenders?"
I almost smiled.
"Something like that."
"That's not funny."
"I wasn't joking."
She stared at me. The worry in her face warred with something else. Trust, maybe. Or the stubborn little-sister belief that her older brother could not possibly be this reckless without a reason.
I let the silence breathe for a few seconds. Then I asked the question that mattered.
"Will you stay to watch?"
Minji's mouth opened. Closed. Her gaze dropped to the box in her lap.
"I… I want to."
"But?"
"Mother already arranged the visit." The words came out in a rush. "Great-aunt in Yeongwol. We leave the morning before the fight. Mother said we won't be back until two days later. I tried to tell her I wanted to stay. She said a young lady has duties—" Minji's voice went thin. "She said watching my brother get crippled further would only upset me."
There it wa. The convenient removal of the one family member who still gave a damn.
But the question itself was the flag.
I had just pressed it.
In the game, asking Minji to stay when you already knew she could not triggered a hidden affection spike. The helpless ache of a girl who adored her broken older brother and couldn't protect him. It opened the first real branch of her route.
I watched the pressure land on her shoulders in real time.
Her fingers twisted the ribbon on the box. Her throat worked.
"I'll be cheering for you," she whispered. "Even from far away. I'll light incense every night. I'll pray. I just… I can't be here. I'm sorry, Hyung. I'm so sorry."
I let a small breath leave my nose.
"What a shame."
Minji flinched like I had struck her.
Good.
I softened it immediately. Reached across the low table and tapped the lid of the box with one finger.
"You said you had something for me."
Her head snapped up. The guilt flickered.
"I did." She thrust the box toward me with both hands. "Happy birthday, Hyung. I wanted you to have something nice. Something that wasn't books or ink or medicine."
I took it.
The lacquer was smooth under my thumbs. I lifted the lid.
Inside, nestled on dark silk, lay a hairpin.
Jade. Pale green with a soft white vein running through the stone. The workmanship was careful. She had probably spent weeks on it. Or paid someone with the little allowance Lady Seo allowed her and then fretted over every detail.
I lifted it free.
"It's beautiful," I said.
Minji's whole face lit up.
"You like it? Really? I wasn't sure about the wings. And the jade merchant tried to cheat me on the color but I made him show me the good pieces. And—"
"I like it."
I set the pin carefully back into the box. Closed the lid. Placed it on the desk beside the ingredient list.
Then I looked at her again.
"Thank you, Minji. But the present I actually want is different."
She blinked.
"Different?"
"Yes."
"What is it?" She leaned in, eager now. The worry still sat in her eyes but curiosity had taken the front seat. "I can get it. Whatever it is. I still have some silver saved. Or I can ask Mother—no, not Mother. I can figure it out. Just tell me."
I rose.
The cane took my weight. I moved around the low table slowly. Minji tracked me with her eyes, head tilting back as I came closer.
I stopped in front of her.
"Stand up."
She stood.
The top of her head barely reached my chin. She smelled like plum blossom oil and the faint sweetness of the rice cakes from dinner. Her ribbons had slipped further. One lock of dark hair clung to the side of her neck.
I lifted my free hand and rested it lightly against her shoulder.
I turned her. Until her back met the wooden wall beside the door.
Her breath caught.
"Hyung—?"
"The present only you can give," I said.
I leaned down.
My lips touched hers. A brush more than a kiss. The faintest catch of her lower lip between mine for half a heartbeat.
Nothing deep. Nothing filthy.
I pulled back.
Minji's eyes were huge. Her mouth stayed parted. Color flooded her face so fast it looked like someone had lit a lantern under her skin. From her throat to her hairline she burned scarlet.
I smiled. The kind of smile an older brother was supposed to wear on his birthday.
"Thank you for the birthday present, Minji."
She made a sound.
"I— Hyung— that was— you just—"
"A gift." I stepped back, giving her space, cane tapping once against the floorboards. "The only one I truly wanted tonight."
Her hands flew up to her mouth. Her fingers pressed hard against the lips I had just touched. She stared at me over them like I had grown a second head.
Then she bolted.
"I-I have to pack— Mother said early— I need to— bye, Hyung— happy birthday— don't die— I mean— I'll pray— bye!"
The door slammed.
Her footsteps fled down the corridor. I stood alone in the quiet chamber and let the grin spread across my face.
Two events.
One day.
Sweet, soft Minji who still looked at her crippled older brother like he hung the moon.
The kiss was the first flag. Exactly the pace her route demanded. Too fast and she panicked permanently. Too slow and the affection decayed.
In the original game that single kiss opened her entire early branch. Late-night visits. Secret letters. And eventually—much later, after careful work—the kind of absolute devotion that turned a sweet little sister into a reliable piece on the board.
I needed to be slower with her than with Ahyun.
Ahyun was already soaked and shaking from one slap. She had years of buried hunger ready to pour out the moment I gave permission.
Minji required patience. Tenderness. The long game. A gentle hand on the shoulder. A soft word. A kiss that lasted less than a second.
Different tools for different heroines.
I picked up the brush again and began writing the exact boiling sequence for the tonic.
The night was young.
And I was just getting started.