Chapter – 03
The Start of Counseling: Building Rapport.
Amang thought:
‘Wow, I’m screwed.’
And she really was.
Of all places, why did that line have to slip out of her mouth here, of all times, purely out of habit?
She’d spent all day rattling off the same lines as a psychological counselor—
things like “My, that must have been difficult for you.” or “I’ll see you in the next session.”
Those were things she could practically say in her sleep.
‘What on earth did I just do?’
Her counterpart was a tyrant.
Rapport-building was crucial with ordinary clients—
but only in standardized counseling.
This was neither counseling nor anything close to it.
In short, she had just royally messed up.
‘He stopped.’
Her neck could’ve been sliced clean—and it wouldn’t have even been surprising.
But for whatever reason, perhaps by divine grace, the blade stopped digging into her throat.
The Emperor withdrew his sword.
Amang felt the sting where it had grazed her neck.
“Return to your seat.”
“Yes, Father.”
There was no hollow laughter, no biting of lips.
He simply spoke with complete detachment.
His demeanor bothered her immensely, but that wasn’t what mattered right now.
She grasped Geumjin’s trembling hand beside her—he was trying so hard not to show it.
“Let’s go.”
“Princess…”
From then on, things became ordinary.
These imperial discourses were exactly what they sounded like—
a space where the emperor and his children exchanged their views.
The princes and princesses were stiff with tension, but with time, they relaxed and spoke more freely.
Amang sat among them, rolling her eyes around the room.
‘God, this is boring.’
It felt like sitting through an undergrad lecture so dull it physically hurt.
Well—there was one difference.
The emperor kept slamming his sword into the floor.
‘Who would dare speak up when he’s doing that?’
Tap. Tap.
At regular intervals, the blade stabbed into the ground.
Every time, Amang felt it piercing her neck all over again.
The pain from the earlier cut pulsed sharp and cold.
“Are you all right?”
“Huh?”
“You look unwell.”
As soon as they sat down, Geumjin had been watching over her.
This place was unbearably uncomfortable for him.
He wasn’t even imperial blood—just the son of a favored minister.
There was no precedent for a noble’s child attending the discourse, no matter how imperial the order.
Though the emperor himself had summoned him, the gazes directed at Geumjin burned.
He was only about ten.
A child raised with care, unused to being looked down on so openly.
‘Ah, this gentle little guy…’
Unaware of all that, Amang suppressed a smile.
A child pretending to be composed—
not the best fit, but undeniably endearing.
“I’m fine. So don’t worry.”
She smiled softly at him.
Geumjin stared for a split second—then snapped his head away.
He didn’t look in her direction again.
“Geumjin. What do you think?”
“Your Majesty, I….”
The discourse deepened, shifting to the topic of relieving the suffering of the people.
The emperor, fiddling with his blade as though bored, called on Geumjin.
After a hesitation, the boy began to speak.
‘My back is killing me.’
The moment the discourse ended, Amang shot to her feet.
She wanted nothing more than to toss off these heavy layers of clothing and collapse onto a bed.
It was the fervent wish of every working adult.
‘Is there no such thing as getting off work in this place?’
Well, for a princess, the palace was her home.
Studying at home wasn’t the worst thing, she supposed.
Still, Amang desperately wanted to go home.
Her real home.
The place where Yeong-eun was born and raised.
The place three hours away by hellish commute—but still home.
Her own room.
‘I just want to lie down.’
Amang kept telling herself this was all just a dream.
You know how dreams go—
you can become anything, but once you wake up, nothing remains.
This world was the setting of the web novel she’d last read before sleeping.
It made sense she might dream about it.
Though the sting on her neck felt a little too real.
But once she woke up, everything would go back to normal.
“Princess.”
She really wanted to bolt straight into her bedchamber.
But her heavy clothing forced her into a penguin-like waddle.
And then—
that voice behind her.
Amang turned around.
“Thank you for saving me.”
“Saving you?”
“I nearly lost my head!”
Geumjin dropped to one knee and placed his hands neatly together.
A pose of a vassal before his sovereign.
Amang panicked and hurriedly pulled him back up.
“What if someone sees you?”
“Ah—right.”
He was still a kid.
No matter how mature he acted, the traces of childhood clung to him.
‘He should be running around outside at this age…’
Amang recalled his answer during the discourse.
When the emperor asked about relief for the suffering people, each royal child had given a textbook response.
Amang had wrung her brain dry and finally muttered:
‘Um… this humble girl does not know such things!’
A perfect dodge.
‘Drawing attention does me no good.’
She had admired her own cleverness.
The royals had suggested increasing rations, offering more aid, cutting stipends to redirect funds to relief.
‘Do they not realize that would provoke the officials, sow rebellion? Fools.’
The emperor had been furious.
It was a miracle none of the princes ended up with a blade at their throat.
In that chilling atmosphere, Geumjin’s turn arrived.
He knew.
Everyone’s attention was on him.
After a deep breath, he spoke slowly:
‘Relief should be given every fifteen days in fixed amounts.’
‘Oh? Why so?’
‘At first there will be much conflict… people may fight over it, and many could be harmed.’
‘You mean to let the people die?’
‘I speak of survival of the fittest. After the first allotment, they will establish their own rules to endure until the next one—and through that, productive results may arise.’
Survival of the fittest—
as if he were describing the palace itself.
The emperor had stared blankly for a moment, then burst into booming laughter.
A surprisingly grounded proposal for a ten-year-old.
Self-reliance.
Minimizing dependency.
Encouraging cooperation to survive times of scarcity.
‘A thought far too heavy for a child…’
While others marveled at his insight—
Amang’s expression darkened.
A maturity born from deprivation, forced upon him.
‘Can you even call that a proper childhood?’
Skipping or reversing entire steps of emotional development—
he was an anomaly.
A child who spoke of relief and self-sufficiency with fluent ease…
It made Amang’s heart twist.
She placed a hand gently atop Geumjin’s head.
Such a small, delicate head.
Still kneeling, he looked up at her.
“Be strong, okay?”
That was all she said.
Feeling lighter, she walked away.
Geumjin remained frozen in place—
for quite a long time.
“Your Highness! You were absolutely incredible—do you know how terrified I was? The sword was right at your neck—my heart nearly leapt out—!”
“Hey.”
“Yes?”
“What’s your name again?”
“Your Highness! How could you forget the one who witnessed such a calamity with you!”
Nan talked nonstop on their way back to Yeonyeong Palace.
Mostly about how heroic Amang had been saving Geumjin—
how honored Nan was to witness such righteousness.
‘Loud…’
After the oppressive discourse, Amang was exhausted.
She just wanted to wash up and sleep.
And dread going to work tomorrow.
Those were the only thoughts bouncing in her head.
“Nan-ah. Can you help me out of these clothes? And take care of the cut on my neck too?”
In other words:
enough talking—do your job.
Nan helped her change with practiced hands and applied ointment to the scraped skin.
With a cloth bandaged over it, the wound looked good as new.
‘Now I can finally sleep in peace!’
Amang was certain.
She would wake up in her real room,
to her real morning.
She’d get up at 7, take the hell-train commute for an hour and a half, manage her client schedules, conduct her sessions, write her reports late into the night…
And go home.
‘…Maybe I should just stay here instead?’
Being a princess wasn’t sounding too bad.
She brushed her fingers over her injured neck.
Better to roll in cow dung than rest in the afterlife, as the saying goes.
‘Still… isn’t it worse to live in fear of being beheaded every day?’
At least a company paid you wages.
And she’d only just joined—
she had to get that first paycheck.
She pulled the blanket up to her chin.
The soft, fluffy fabric tickled her skin.
“Princess, shall I sing you a lullaby?”
“No.”
Rejected instantly.
She was a light sleeper; she couldn’t understand people who made noise while someone was trying to sleep.
“Then rest well.”
“Oh—Nan.”
“Yes!”
“Turn off the light.”
Surely this was the privilege of being a princess.
Consider it the taste of power.
Nan blew out the candle, and the room went quiet.
At last, peace.
‘Let’s go back.’
Wrapped in the soft blankets, Amang fell asleep immediately.
Amang—no, Yeong-eun—nodded off on the subway.
She typed furiously at her office desk.
Printed out worksheets at the copier.
Handled sessions according to schedule and wrote reports late into the night.
Then she went home.
“Huh.”
Sunlight stabbed at her eyes.
Amang slowly opened them.
