CHAPTER 34—NEW RHYTHM
The soft clink of mugs.
Warm morning light through linen curtains.
The quiet hum of wind passing through Seoul's skyline.
It was the first time in years Min-Jun had no calendar alerts screaming at him.
No bodyguards shadowing his every move.
No threats waiting on burner phones.
Just Seo-Ah.
And the calm of waking beside someone who didn't need to be earned — only held.
---
Min-Jun watched her from the kitchen, still marveling at how easily she fit into his world.
Or rather… how they had created a new one.
She was wrapped in one of his oversized sweaters, her hair messy, sipping coffee as she flipped through the newspaper — not for headlines, but for the crossword puzzle.
"You're skipping the front page," he noted, voice low.
She raised an eyebrow. "If I wanted stress, I'd check Twitter."
He smiled — a small, rare one that only she ever saw.
He liked this.
Not just the stillness, but her in it.
---
Later that afternoon, he helped her set up a bookshelf in the apartment they'd chosen together — a quiet place near the river, away from his family's estate and corporate buildings.
Seo-Ah laughed as he fumbled with the wrench. "Did the king of Seoul just use the wrong screw?"
"It's intentional," he deadpanned. "Chaos keeps the furniture humble."
---They learned new things every day.
Min-Jun discovered Seo-Ah sang softly when she cleaned, her voice low and sweet like the first few notes of dawn.
She discovered he never let her sleep on the edge of the bed — always pulling her closer in his sleep, as if afraid the world would take her again.
They cooked.
They burned things.
They tried again.
They walked through bookstores and bought too many candles. She teased him for organizing his books by emotional damage level, while he mocked her for crying over a commercial about soup.
One night, they lay in bed in silence.
Seo-Ah whispered, "Do you think… we deserve this?"
Min-Jun turned to face her. "Yes."
She blinked, surprised by his certainty.
"We've both bled for peace," he said. "Now we learn how to live in it."
---
Their Intimacy.
It wasn't about passion that night.
It wasn't fire, or urgency, or desperation.
It was softness.
Min-Jun undressed slowly, hands reverent, as if every inch of her skin was a story he had to read again and again. She touched the scar on his side, the one from that night in the hospital.
He didn't flinch.
And when she kissed it, he exhaled like something heavy left his chest.
Their bodies moved together in a rhythm that wasn't about claiming, but becoming — as if they were learning each other all over again, without fear, without armor.
Later, tangled in the sheets, Seo-Ah whispered against his chest, "I don't want anything else but this."
His fingers trailed through her hair.
"You won't have to."
---
Rain tapped against the windows like soft music. The city glowed below in watercolor blurs.
Seo-Ah and Min-Jun sat wrapped in one blanket, sharing a bowl of strawberries.
She fed him one.
He took her hand and kissed her knuckles instead.
"Do you ever think about what would've happened if we never met again?" she asked.
"I'd be rich," he said dryly.
She laughed, elbowing him gently.
Then he looked at her — fully, deeply.
"I'd be empty."
She leaned her head on his shoulder.
And beneath the cold stars, under the spring rain, they didn't have to say anything more.
_______
One Month Later
Seo-Ah
She stood barefoot in the kitchen, humming softly as she stirred strawberry jam into the pancake batter. Outside, the river glistened, framed by blooming cherry blossoms and the clear breath of early spring.
Their life had found its rhythm — soft mornings, late nights, shared silences, and kisses behind half-closed doors.
But lately… there had been a weight in Min-Jun's eyes. Not dark, but thoughtful.
The kind of quiet that preceded big decisions.
Or old ghosts.
She flipped a pancake and felt his arms slip around her from behind, his chin resting gently on her shoulder.
"You're up early," she murmured.
"I couldn't sleep," he said, voice gravelly from morning.
"Bad dreams?"
He hesitated. "Memories."
Her hands stilled.
She turned in his arms, brushing his hair from his eyes. "You want to talk?"
He took a breath. "I want to ask you something."
And then — with a seriousness that made her heart slow — he asked:
"Have you ever thought about… having a child?"
---
Stillness
Seo-Ah blinked.
Her breath caught.
"I mean," he added quickly, "not now. Not necessarily soon. But one day. I… I don't know what kind of father I'd be, Seo-Ah."
She studied him — the man who once held power in the palm of his hand but now looked utterly terrified at the thought of a tiny heartbeat.
"You're not your father," she said softly.
"I'm afraid of becoming him anyway."
She reached up, placed her hand over his chest. "You've already broken that cycle. You chose love. You chose gentleness. You chose me."
His throat tightened.
"I don't need children to prove you've healed," she continued. "But if you ever do want that… then I want that with you."
Min-Jun looked at her, eyes wide and fragile — like the boy he once was.
And then he whispered, "Someday, I want to see you hold a child that's ours."
Her eyes stung.
And then she smiled.
"Then someday," she said, "we will."
---
Later That Day – Min-Jun's Visit to His Mother
The Lee estate had grown quieter since the arrest. His father spent most days abroad, buried in damage control. The empire still stood, but it was clear who had built the foundation — and who had cracked it.
Min-Jun walked slowly into the garden where his mother sat knitting.
She looked up. "I was wondering when you'd come."
"I had something I wanted to ask," he said, taking a seat beside her.
He explained — carefully, nervously — what he and Seo-Ah had talked about. The idea of children. Family. Future.
His mother placed her hand on his.
"You want to know if you'll be enough," she said.
He looked down. "I don't want to bring someone into this world if I'm still carrying all that darkness."
She smiled, soft and knowing.
"Then let me tell you something, Min-Jun," she said. "The fact that you even care means you've already become the father he never was."
---
Seo-Ah's Surprise – That Night
He came home to the smell of something burning.
Not food — candles.
She had lit dozens of them in their living room, set a low table with pillows and a blanket fort. A plate of takeout sushi sat untouched.
Min-Jun raised an eyebrow. "Did we get married or join a cult?"
She grinned. "Sit."
He did.
She poured them both tea. Her hands trembled slightly.
"I went to the clinic today," she said.
Min-Jun's head snapped up.
"It's not what you think!" she added quickly. "I just… wanted to know if I'd be able to. After what happened with the poison."
The air stilled.
"What did they say?" he asked quietly.
She handed him a note. A single line from the doctor.
Fertility appears unaffected. Healthy. Clear for pregnancy if/when desired.
Min-Jun didn't speak for a long time.
Then he folded the note, leaned in, and kissed her — slow, reverent, his hands cradling her face like she was something sacred.
"We're not ready yet," she whispered. "But I wanted to know… just in case."
"Thank you," he said, forehead resting against hers. "For even thinking that far with me."
She smiled. "You're my far."
------
A week later, they took a trip just outside the city.
An old hill. A view of the skyline. A plot of land that overlooked wildflowers and mountains.
"This used to be part of my grandmother's estate," Min-Jun explained. "Abandoned now. But… I was thinking."
Seo-Ah turned to him.
"I don't want to build a monument. Or another empire. I want to build a house," he said. "With space for laughter. And mistakes. And maybe… a nursery one day."
He handed her the keys to the land.
Their land.
Seo-Ah's eyes filled with tears.
"Then let's start building," she said.
And together, beneath the fading winter sun, they stepped forward onto the soil of their future — not built on power or legacy or fear,
But on love.