In the farthest wing of the palace, where the corridors were dark and the air heavy with the scent of dust and neglect, the former king sat in brooding silence. Stripped of his crown, his power, and his dignity, he was a shadow of the man who had once ruled the kingdom with an iron fist. His robes were no longer adorned with the rich embellishments of royalty, and his chambers, once grand, now felt like a prison.
The whispers of court had drifted to him even here, in this forgotten corner of the palace. Every day, the former king heard the news of Ji-Hoon's reign—how the young prince was ruling with unparalleled efficiency, how the nobles, once allied with him, now marveled at Ji-Hoon's control. The people cheered Ji-Hoon's name in the streets, praising his reforms, his strength, and his wisdom.
Each word, each rumor, each whisper that reached his ears was like a knife twisting deeper into his chest.
Ji-Hoon. That boy. That weak, spoiled child. He had cast him into the abyss to teach him a lesson—to mold him into a ruler who could survive the harsh realities of the world. The torture, the pain, it had all been for a purpose, a cruel but necessary lesson in power. And now, Ji-Hoon was everything the king had wanted him to be—strong, ruthless, unyielding.
But not loyal.
Not his.
The king rose from his chair, his face twisted in a mask of fury and resentment. His hand clenched into a fist, trembling as he paced the room. How could this have happened? How could his own son—his own creation—turn against him like this? Ji-Hoon was supposed to be his heir, yes, but under his control, not a ruler in his own right. The throne was never meant to be ripped from his hands by the very boy he had shaped.
"I made you," the king growled under his breath, his voice filled with venom. "I made you what you are. Without me, you would be nothing. Weak. Pathetic. A child playing at being a ruler."
His fury boiled over as he slammed his fist against the stone wall, the sharp pain barely registering. His face contorted with a mixture of rage and bitterness. He had raised Ji-Hoon to be a king, but he had never imagined that his son would take everything from him—his crown, his kingdom, his legacy.
The sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway, and the door to his chambers creaked open. The former king turned sharply, his expression darkening as he saw one of his remaining attendants enter, bowing low.
"My king," the servant said hesitantly, still addressing him by the title that no longer belonged to him. "There is news from the court."
The king's eyes narrowed. "Speak."
"Prince Ji-Hoon—" the servant hesitated, glancing at the king's expression before continuing cautiously. "The new king has introduced more reforms. The nobles have agreed to them without hesitation. He has solidified his power. The people… they are celebrating his reign in the streets."
The king's face twisted into a snarl. "Celebrating?" he spat. "They think this boy can rule them better than I? Fools. All of them, fools! They cheer for him now, but they will regret it. Mark my words. They will regret their loyalty to him when they see the true price of his cold, heartless rule."
The servant lowered his gaze, stepping back as the king's anger filled the room like a storm. But the former king wasn't finished. He turned back to the window, glaring out at the palace grounds below. He could see the torches lining the courtyard, the guards patrolling the walls. All of them under Ji-Hoon's command now.
The thought filled him with a burning rage he could barely contain. His own son had taken everything from him—his power, his crown, his kingdom. And for what? Revenge? Control? Ji-Hoon's motives were as inscrutable as his actions, but the former king could see the writing on the wall. His son was not ruling for the good of the people. He was ruling with cold efficiency, with no heart, no loyalty. He ruled for power.
"He thinks he can control them," the king muttered, pacing again, his hands twitching with the urge to strike out. "He thinks they will follow him without question. But power isn't enough. Fear isn't enough. Sooner or later, they will turn on him, just as they have turned on me."
The thought of Ji-Hoon being betrayed by the very nobles who now supported him brought a grim satisfaction to the king's heart. He would watch his son's downfall. He would see Ji-Hoon crumble under the weight of the crown, just as every ruler before him had. The boy was strong, yes, but not invincible.
And when that moment came—when Ji-Hoon faltered, when his grip on the throne began to slip—the king would be ready.
---
Days turned into weeks, and the former king's fury festered in the dark corners of his chambers. He refused to leave, choosing instead to sit in silence, his mind racing with plans and schemes. He still had allies, loyalists who had not been swayed by Ji-Hoon's rise to power. There were still cracks in Ji-Hoon's perfect rule, weaknesses that could be exploited.
One evening, as he sat brooding in his chambers, a letter arrived. It was delivered in secret, slipped through the window by a trusted hand. The king tore it open with a sense of urgency, his eyes scanning the page.
It was from one of his loyal nobles—one who had remained silent in the face of Ji-Hoon's rule but had not forgotten his true allegiance. The letter detailed growing unrest in one of the outlying provinces. Some of the nobles were beginning to question Ji-Hoon's methods, his cold detachment, and his lack of empathy for the people.
A slow smile crept across the former king's face as he read.
This was the opportunity he had been waiting for. Ji-Hoon was efficient, yes, but he was also heartless. His rule, while effective, lacked the warmth that had once held the kingdom together. The nobles might fear him, but fear was not enough to inspire true loyalty.
And now, they were beginning to see that.
The king folded the letter, his mind already working through the details. He would bide his time, continue to fan the flames of discontent from the shadows. He would sow doubt among the nobles, whisper in their ears that Ji-Hoon's reign would not last. And when the time was right, when the cracks in Ji-Hoon's power became wide enough, the king would strike.
He would reclaim the throne.
He would make Ji-Hoon pay for his betrayal, for the pain he had caused, for daring to defy the father who had made him.
The king's eyes burned with fury as he stood, his chest heaving with the force of his anger. Ji-Hoon might wear the crown now, but it would not last. The kingdom would remember who its true ruler was.
And when Ji-Hoon's empire began to crumble, the king would be there to pick up the pieces.
---
To be continued...