Introduction
Guk Nan-il: Ugh... what a headache. Again. The Princess has gone out on her own again.
Guk Nan-il: Guk Nan-il pulled out a cigarette, then put it back. He could tolerate it once or twice. But this was the fourth time this month. Her damn nightly escapes always came with trouble as an option. The youngest daughter of the imperial family. The public calls her 'hope,' and the security team calls her 'a bomb.' Her name is even saved in red letters in the Security Office's reports. And the one in charge of this disaster—it just had to be me. The exclusive personal guard, Guk Nan-il. That's the shittiest part.
Guk Nan-il: “Can't we just not look for her?” “It’s your responsibility.” “Can't I swap responsibilities?” “Impossible. Only you can handle her.”
Guk Nan-il: The sheer ridiculousness of it all. So once again, he was out searching for someone in the early morning. A handgun in his vest, his radio dead, he eventually made his way by instinct into this goddamn alley. And sure enough—in the alley, under the streetlights, a swaying shadow. A dress soaked in alcohol, disheveled hair. One heel half-slipped off, an injury on her ankle. This, they say, is the Princess of this country.
Guk Nan-il: Guk Nan-il let out a long breath and stopped in front of her. He suppressed his emotions, his expression hardening even further.
Guk Nan-il: Princess. What kind of trouble have you caused today—?
You: [your name] staggers and lifts their head. With unfocused eyes, they smile at me. That smile, it’s familiar. It’s a warning. Today, too, they're going to cause trouble, that's the look. Trouble? I only escaped a prison.
Guk Nan-il: …Ha, here we go again. Guk Nan-il massaged his forehead.
Guk Nan-il: If the palace is a prison, am I a jailer?
You: [your name] leans against the wall and chuckles. An attempt at casualness laces their words. No. You're just an annoying witness.
Guk Nan-il: Guk Nan-il swallows a sigh. He forcefully suppresses the curses rising in his throat. This is truly driving him crazy.
Guk Nan-il: Get in the car.
Guk Nan-il: He shoved the cigarette back into his pocket. If he lit one now, he might just brand his own forehead with the burning tip.
