With only a week left until the wedding, the mansion, usually a bastion of disciplined quiet, thrummed with a nervous energy that was both exciting and utterly exhausting for Jihoon. The dress trials had reached a fever pitch, each fitting more constricting than the last.
Madam Ahn, now a blur of motion and crisp pronouncements, was ensuring every detail was perfect, apparently having resigned herself to Jihoon's 'unconventional' tastes in banquets if it meant the General was pleased. Jihoon's own health remained a constant, nagging worry, a secret companion he was getting far too good at concealing, though the persistent fatigue was a battle he fought daily. The thought of his impending marriage to Taeyoung, however, sent a delicious shiver through him, a warmth that countered the internal chill of his illness. He was truly, madly, falling for the formidable General.
The first hint of something truly unexpected came with the arrival of a massive, ornately wrapped gift from the soldiers' barracks: a colossal barrel of aged rice wine, accompanied by a scroll bearing hundreds of signatures. Then came the messengers, a delegation of burly, grinning soldiers, requesting Jihoon's presence for a pre-wedding celebration. "A feast, Sir, in your honor!" they boomed, their voices echoing through the grand hall. Jihoon blinked, utterly bewildered. He'd thrown a feast for them; now they were throwing one for him?
Against Madam Ahn's initial, vehement protests about 'propriety' and 'tradition,' Jihoon eagerly accepted. "Nonsense, Madam Ahn," he'd said with a wave of his hand, "Goodwill goes both ways, and besides, I haven't had a good, un-noble-like celebration in ages!" He was genuinely touched. His seemingly simple act of inviting their families had clearly resonated more deeply than he could have imagined.
The celebration was held in one of the larger, less formal courtyards, closer to the barracks. It was a riot of boisterous laughter, rough-and-tumble games, and the delicious, smoky scent of meat roasted over open fires. Jihoon, shedding his formal robes for a simpler tunic, felt immediately at ease amidst the cheerful chaos. He laughed freely, something he hadn't done since before his illness.
He challenged a burly soldier to a pebble-tossing game and lost spectacularly, much to everyone's amusement. He even joined a circle, clapping along to a surprisingly catchy, off-key military song. The soldiers, usually so deferential to anyone of noble standing, treated him with a unique blend of respect and brotherly affection, a testament to his earlier unconventional banquet.
Then, two figures detached themselves from the jovial crowd and approached Jihoon. One was tall and lean, with sharp, intelligent eyes that missed nothing; the other, similarly tall and powerfully built, had a perpetually amused glint in his gaze. Jihoon recognized them immediately from the General's military strategy sessions and from having fought alongside Taeyoung in skirmishes in the novel: Namhyun and Seokjoon.
General Taeyoung's most trusted, most lethal, and entirely commoner-born right-hand men. They had fought countless battles with the General, yet their status as commoners meant they had never received the formal acknowledgement, the grand feasts, the respect given to noble commanders. Until Jihoon.
"Sir Jihoon," Namhyun began, his voice surprisingly soft for a man of his build, "we owe you our deepest gratitude for the feast. It meant more to our men and our families than words can express."
Seokjoon nodded, his eyes twinkling. "Indeed, Sir. You have a way of seeing people, not just their ranks." He then exchanged a meaningful glance with Namhyun. "Which is why we have a request."
Jihoon, slightly flustered by their earnestness, waved a dismissive hand. "Nonsense, there's no need for gratitude. It was my pleasure."
"No, Sir," Namhyun insisted, stepping forward. "We wish to formally ask to serve as your personal guards. It is customary for the General's wedded partner to have their own dedicated retinue, and we... we would be honored."
Jihoon's jaw dropped. "Your personal guards?" he sputtered, his eyes darting between them. "But... but you're General Taeyoung's right-hand men! His most crucial assets in battle! I couldn't possibly take you from the military. That's... that's completely undeserved!"
The thought of essentially 'poaching' such vital, respected figures from the army, and from Taeyoung's direct command, made him feel incredibly guilty. He was an imposter, terminally ill, a mere plot device! What right did he have to such loyalty?
Namhyun and Seokjoon exchanged another glance, this one more somber. "Sir," Seokjoon began, his voice quieter now, "with all due respect, we have fought countless battles, shed blood for the General and for Goryeo. We have given our lives to the sword. But there is... another life we wish to live."
Namhyun picked up. "We plan to retire from the front lines after this next campaign. We have spoken of it for years. To settle down, to... to finally get married." He paused, then added, a shy smile touching his lips, "To each other. We wish to remain under the General's command, to serve him always, but not on the battlefield. To protect his most precious asset... would be an honor we could carry into our new life."
Jihoon's eyes widened, a wave of profound understanding washing over him. Married. To each other. In this era, that was... a quiet, private defiance of convention especially for commoners.
These two formidable warriors, who had earned their respect through blood and loyalty, simply wanted to build a life together, serving their General from a position of relative safety. It clicked. This was their own quiet rebellion, their personal pursuit of happiness. He felt a sudden, fierce protectiveness.
"Married?" he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "You... you mean it?"
They both nodded, earnest and resolute.
Jihoon looked from Namhyun to Seokjoon. He, is man from a different time, where being gay means social exclusion understood the quiet courage of their decision. And their loyalty to Taeyoung, and now to him, was overwhelming.
"Then... then I would be honored," Jihoon said, his voice firming, "to have such brave and loyal men as my personal guards. But you will not simply guard me. You will teach me. You will continue to advise the General when he needs it. And you will both live long, happy lives together." He extended his hand, and they each took it, gripping it firmly, a silent pact made amidst the joyous clamor of the soldiers' feast.
The celebration continued late into the night. Jihoon, buoyed by the unexpected revelations and the genuine warmth of the soldiers, found himself enjoying the food with an unparalleled relish. Crispy roasted chicken, hearty stews, sweet sticky rice cakes - it was a symphony of flavors that easily eclipsed any five-star restaurant back home.
Then, someone thrust a wooden cup into his hand. "A toast to our Second Master!" a soldier roared, raising his own. It was rice wine. Jihoon, who'd never been much of a drinker, took a cautious sip. It was surprisingly smooth, sweet with a fiery kick that warmed him from the inside out.
One sip led to another. And another. Soon, he was laughing louder, his movements looser. He was telling a story about a particularly stubborn modern-day washing machine, complete with dramatic gestures, as the soldiers looked on, utterly bewildered but thoroughly entertained. He found himself challenging Taeyoung's stoic second-in-command to a ridiculous thumb wrestling match and winning by sheer, drunken willpower.
"General Taeyoung is the strongest, but Second Master Jihoon is the trickiest!" a soldier declared, hoisting Jihoon onto his shoulders, much to Jihoon's giggling delight. The wine had erased his inhibitions, replacing them with a giddy euphoria. He sang a terribly off-key modern pop song, his arm thrown around a bewildered but smiling veteran, completely oblivious to the fact that his voice was probably shattering eardrums across the compound.
It was in this state of blissful, wine-induced oblivion that General Taeyoung finally found him. The feast was winding down, and the General, having finished his official duties, had come to retrieve his fiancé. He surveyed the scene: his usually composed Jihoon, now slumped against a pillar, giggling uncontrollably at a joke only he understood, a half-empty cup of rice wine still clutched in his hand, his cheeks flushed a brilliant crimson, looking utterly, charmingly disheveled.
The soldiers, his hardened, battle-scarred men, were gathered around, smiling fondly, some even looking a little teary-eyed with affection for their future master.
Taeyoung chuckled, a soft, rich sound that seemed to vibrate in the very air. "Well, well, Jihoon-ah," he murmured, his gaze utterly doting. He knelt, gently prying the cup from Jihoon's limp fingers. "Looks like someone had a little too much fun."
Jihoon blinked owlishly at him, his eyes unfocused. "General! You're here! Did you know," he slurred, pointing a wobbly finger at the General's usually impeccable hair, "that your hair... it looks like a... a really fluffy cloud? Like a cloud ready for snuggles!" He then tried to reach up and pat Taeyoung's head, but his arm simply flopped.
A wave of suppressed laughter rippled through the nearby soldiers. Taeyoung, however, merely smiled, a genuine, tender smile that softened the harsh lines of his face. He reached out, gathered Jihoon into his arms with surprising ease, and lifted him. Jihoon, a dead weight of sleepy, drunken bliss, instinctively curled into him, burying his face in the crook of Taeyoung's neck.
"Mmm, warm," he mumbled, a contented sigh escaping him.
"Looks like our General has found his true weakness," one of Taeyoung's veteran commanders, a man known for his unflappable demeanor, teased, his voice thick with suppressed amusement.
"He's utterly smitten!" another chimed in, a younger officer with a knowing grin. "Never thought I'd see the day. The God of Death, reduced to carrying a tipsy scholar!"
Taeyoung merely glanced at them, a possessive glint in his dark eyes that dared them to push further, but his lips were still curved in that soft, indulgent smile. He adjusted Jihoon's weight, cradling him closer. "He is my scholar," Taeyoung retorted, his voice low, a clear note of fierce pride and affection that left no room for doubt. "And if he wishes to taste every drop of happiness this world offers, then I will ensure he does. Now, if you'll excuse us. My Jihoon-ah needs his rest." With that, he turned, carrying his flushed, slumbering fiancé towards the mansion, leaving behind a chorus of knowing chuckles and admiring murmurs from his devoted men. The cheers that followed them into the night were not just for the General's return, but for the visible, undeniable love he carried so openly in his arms. Jihoon, oblivious in his dreams, was truly cherished