Aura of a Genius Actor

"When did you notice?"

"From the very beginning, of course."

Beneath the striking features that set him apart from his father, the young man's fair skin stood out against his deep blue robe. Combined with his noble bearing and his complex gaze, it was hard to believe they shared the same blood.

He wore an inscrutable expression, making it impossible to discern his true intentions.

So he had grown up like this.

Jeong Mong-ju lamented inwardly.

He had thought the young man had matured brilliantly during the military retreat at Wihwado and had let his guard down when Lee Seong-Gye was brought back from Byeokran Island.

Considering him an exceptionally astute and proactive strategist for his twenty-six years, Jeong Mong-ju had remained on high alert and had even taken personal charge of this operation.

But now, he realized he had not been vigilant enough.

"How did you know? Did you have a spy?"

"No. I simply grew up learning and thinking like you, Master. I only had to ask myself what you would have done in this situation. And the answer was clear."

Lee Bang-won spoke casually as he sipped his cold tea. The garden was quiet, and only the occasional groans of the kneeling assassins disturbed the silence of the otherwise tranquil evening.

It was an oddly peaceful evening, almost surreal given the circumstances.

"Father doesn't know yet."

At those words, Jeong Mong-ju's eyebrows shot up.

He wondered whether Lee Seong-Gye had finally made up his mind, but apparently this had been Bang-won's unilateral and reckless decision.

"Why?"

"Didn't I tell you? I covet what you have, Master."

Their eyes met, and Bang-won's gaze bored deep into him, unsettling not only Jeong Mong-ju but Yoon Hansung as well.

As an actor, Yoon often found himself lost in his roles. Yet in critical moments, his true self would reassert itself, especially when confronted with performances of such depth, which always stimulated his own acting instincts.

Suppressing his reaction, he asked again.

"So, you set a trap on purpose?"

"Just say you'll join hands with me right now. All of this can remain a secret, and I'll let everyone go."

"I refuse."

Jeong Mong-ju answered immediately, without a trace of hesitation.

Clench.

Bang-won gritted his teeth. Another rejection.

With an angry sigh held back, he gave an order.

"Cut them down."

Swish.

At his command, four heads seemed to fly.

It was only for show, since the special effects had not yet been added, but to both Hansung and Yoomyeong, it looked as though the heads had truly been severed from the bodies. They were that immersed in the scene.

Four bodies lay scattered across the garden, their blood turning the pale green lawn a deep crimson.

Then Bang-won asked again, his gaze calm yet intense.

"Have you changed your mind?"

Despite witnessing this, Jeong Mong-ju, who had already made his decision, remained unmoved.

"It won't change."

"You once said that the time when a king's authority is weakest is the ideal moment to transition to a minister-centered government."

"I did say that."

"Essentially, you meant that you don't truly care about the ancestral shrines and royal rites, correct?"

"If it makes no difference either way, there is no need for change."

"Why? You've always ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ used whatever means were necessary to achieve your goals. Why not use the next dynasty and me as your tools?"

"Bang-won."

The soft way Jeong Mong-ju called his name made Bang-won flinch. It was a tone his Master had not used in a long time.

"Yes, Master."

"I will give you my final lesson."

With a calm gaze, Jeong Mong-ju began speaking of that final lesson.

Bang-won felt his heart jolt as he watched his Master's lips move, as though he had suddenly become the twelve-year-old Bang-won once more.

"Everyone has their own goals and standards. Everyone has a different idea of how far they are willing to go to achieve those goals, and mine is quite flexible. I suppose the same is true of you."

"Yes, Master."

"But."

There was firmness in his voice, the resolve of a man prepared to die, speaking his final words without fear of the end. It was a dignity that suggested he would smile even if his heart were pierced at that very moment.

Yoomyeong, both as himself and as Bang-won, watched in awe.

It was clear that Hansung, the actor, had crossed an important threshold in his career today.

"If someone changes their standards and goals not of their own will but under the coercion of others, then it is no longer a means but collusion. The moment you engage in collusion, you lose the ability to discern whether you are on the right path. Compromise after compromise, and all that remains is a blurred goal and hollow remnants."

His voice rose, echoing off the walls opposite him.

"From that moment onward, you are no longer a politician, but merely a tyrant.

"If you intend to play with thousands of lives, then at the very least do not twist your goals and standards to suit your whims. That is the minimum respect you owe those who follow you and the lives that depend on you."

This was their graduation ceremony.

Bang-won remained silent for a long moment before glancing outside. The setting sun had stained the blood-soaked garden an even deeper red.

Then he recited a sijo, his voice carrying a note of desperation.

"How does it matter here or there?

If the tangled vines on Mount Mansu bind us together,

Then let us remain intertwined and enjoy it for a hundred years."

Director Son had envisioned this scene with Bang-won reciting the sijo with ambition and vigor, fitting for the climax of a character like Lee Bang-won.

But Yoomyeong recited it with desperate attachment instead, like a lover aware of an impending separation making one final attempt to hold on.

Rather than diminishing the scene, this interpretation intensified the emotions Bang-won harbored toward Jeong Mong-ju, making Director Son nod in admiration.

Then Jeong Mong-ju, his face illuminated by the setting sun, recited his responding sijo with the same firm resolve he had shown when reciting poetry before Zhu Yuanzhang while hungry and exhausted.

"Even if I die and die again a hundred times,

And my bones turn to dust, whether my soul remains or not,

My single-hearted loyalty to my lord will never fade."

Jeong Mong-ju's response was surprisingly calm, as though he sensed nothing of his approaching death.

Thus, the atmosphere made it seem as though the victor was the defeated, and the defeated the victor.

And in reality, it was indeed so.

Finally, Bang-won spoke in a resigned voice.

"Is the lord you speak of not this dynasty, but rather your own goals and standards, and the greater good of the people?"

"Poetry belongs to the reader. If that is how it sounds to you, then so be it."

With a sigh, Bang-won cast aside his lingering regrets. His firm facade returned, and he spoke as a politician.

"I coveted you greatly. You are similar to me. You are a talented scholar born at the end of an era, and I am a hero born at the beginning of a chaotic one. Sambong is a great talent as well, but he is my father's man and too rebellious for my taste. I wished you could have existed in the era that is to come."

There was a shift in address, from Master to you.

"You've taught me too much. Is this the day I must begin keeping a secret for the rest of my life? Haha."

"Take care."

Jeong Mong-ju rose to his feet and walked through the blood-soaked garden, bringing the scene to its end. His dignified stride seemed to leave bloody footprints behind him.

Bang-won watched his retreating figure for a long time before issuing an order.

"Follow him and kill him."

"Yes."

"But do it on a busy street where everyone can see."

Si-heon, who was leading the warriors, asked,

"Not an assassination, but on a main road?"

"Yes. I want the entire world to know of his death so my father cannot erase my achievements. Make it as tragic as possible in the busiest place."

"I will carry out your orders."

And thus, his death would become part of history.

Tick.

The audience could not look away, even after the camera's light had turned blue, unable to tear themselves from the power of the scene.

"C-Cut."