The palace of Kim Kingdom rose against the morning sky, its golden rooftops gleaming like fire beneath the dawn. Courtiers hurried through stone corridors, their footsteps weaving together like threads in a vast tapestry. Within these walls, secrets clung to the shadows, spoken only in whispers, never meant to escape.

At the heart of it all, beneath towering pillars carved with dragons, sat the three princes of the Kim bloodline. Though bound by blood, harmony among them was fragile — as fleeting as a flame in the wind.

At the head sat Crown Prince Kim Seokjin, his robes arranged with flawless precision. His gaze was calm, steady, yet sharp enough to silence an entire court. He embodied the kingdom itself — immovable, revered, feared. Every word from him carried the weight of destiny.

Beside him lounged Prince Kim Namjoon, dark eyes glinting with mischief. A crooked smile tugged at his lips, the kind that suggested he could see through masks, through lies, through everything. His wit was a blade no one dared parry.

And across from them, restless and untamed, sat the youngest — Prince Kim Taehyung. His long hair brushed his shoulders, his robes carelessly disheveled. Fire lived in his eyes, too wild for these polished halls. Taehyung was no prince of patience or politics. He was made for action, for challenge, for the thrill of the unknown.

That fire burned brighter as he straightened and declared, his voice calm though his pulse quickened:

“Brother, I’ve decided to go to Seorath. I’ll mediate the peace talks myself.”

Seokjin’s brow arched. A faint smile curved at his lips.
“Is that so? Then I suppose I cannot stop you.”

Taehyung’s chest tightened. He always knows. Seokjin’s approval was rare — his words subtle, but they carried the weight of permission.

Namjoon leaned forward, chin resting on his hand. His smile widened like a predator circling prey.
“Peace talks, is it? Rumors say assassins haunt the roads near Seorath. Surely you wouldn’t be foolish enough to travel alone, little brother?”

The words pricked at Taehyung’s pride. His jaw clenched, but he stayed silent. Sometimes silence is the only shield against Namjoon’s tongue.

Namjoon rose, circling him slowly, eyes glinting.
“Ah… that’s why you’re so determined. This journey isn’t just diplomacy. There’s something more, isn’t there?”

Taehyung did not answer. But his silence only confirmed what Namjoon already knew.

Later, as Taehyung strode through the corridors with his closest companions — Jung Hoseok and Park Jimin — he exhaled a long, pent-up breath.

“So… we’ve been found out,” Hoseok teased, his grin wide. “No one deceives Prince Namjoon.”

Jimin’s voice was calmer, but certain. “It wasn’t that we lied poorly. It’s that Prince Namjoon sees everything.”

Taehyung chuckled, though unease lingered in his chest. Namjoon always sees too much. Yet still… he didn’t stop me.

“Even so,” Taehyung said quietly, “he allowed me to go.”

The two aides exchanged a look. Hoseok tilted his head.
“But, Your Highness… Jimin and I leave soon for Incharra. We won’t be able to accompany you.”

Jimin frowned. “Then… will you go alone?”

Taehyung’s gaze sharpened with determination.
“No. I’ll need a knight.”

Hoseok’s eyes lit with mischief. “Then attend the bout this afternoon. The finest fighters will be there. Perhaps you’ll find one worthy.”

A smile tugged at Taehyung’s lips, dangerous and promising.
“Not a bad idea.”

Perhaps today, I’ll find something… or someone… interesting.

By afternoon, the training grounds roared with life. Sunlight poured over the stone arena, glinting off steel as warriors prepared to duel before nobles and courtiers alike. From the stands, whispers rose with the flutter of silks and the clang of armor.

Taehyung stepped onto the royal dais, his heart stirring with anticipation. He lived for this — the clash of steel, the raw fire of combat. Even from the stands, his blood thrummed with restless energy.

Beside him stood Master Han Jihoon, his silver hair tied neatly, his back straight despite the weight of years. To Taehyung, he was not just a teacher but a second father — the man who had placed a blade in his hand and taught him that strength meant nothing without purpose.

“Your Highness,” Jihoon said with a bow, “may fortune ever shine upon the Kim Kingdom.”

Taehyung smiled faintly. “Master Jihoon, you should take your place. The matches are about to begin.”

The old master’s gaze sharpened. “And you, Prince Taehyung… should remember your place.”

But the prince’s lips curved into a smirk.

Not today.

As the first clang of steel echoed through the grounds, Taehyung’s chest burned with impatience. The fighters were strong — but not strong enough. His fingers tightened against the armrest of his chair. Watching wasn’t enough.

His heart demanded more.

And so, with a reckless glint in his eyes, Taehyung rose.

“Where is His Highness?!” Jihoon’s startled voice rang out moments later.

A guard whispered urgently, “Master… the prince has leapt into the crowd. He—he’s wearing a mask.”

Jihoon groaned, dragging a hand down his face.
“That boy… reckless as ever.”

In the dim corridors beneath the arena, Taehyung fastened his lighter armor, breath quickening with exhilaration. Over his face, he lowered a plain mask, its surface gleaming faintly in the torchlight.

Finally. Something worth my time.

He slipped beside Hoseok and Jimin, whispering quickly, “Let me take one of your places. Tell them I’m The Masked Warrior.”

Hoseok’s jaw dropped. “Are you insane?”

Jimin sighed, already resigned. “You always drag us into your madness.”

Taehyung pressed his palms together in mock plea. “Please. Just this once.”

After a long pause, Hoseok groaned. “Fine. But only this once.”

The announcer’s voice thundered across the arena:

“Due to unforeseen circumstances, Sir Hoseok will not be sparring today. Instead, we welcome a replacement — fighting under the name The Masked Warrior!”

The stands erupted in whispers.

A masked fighter? Who hides his face? An assassin? A pretender?

And then, stepping into the blinding light of the arena, sword gleaming in his hand, mask hiding his identity —

stood Prince Kim Taehyung.

No longer a royal.
No longer the restless youngest prince.

But a nameless warrior, cloaked in secrecy… ready to carve his destiny from the shadows.