Chapter Text
The Crown is now a thing of the past, and so is he.
Known as a smart strategist in boosting the kingdom’s economy and resolving internal and external disputes in politics in his Cabinet, former prime minister Jeong–woo was known to effectively unite the Crown and the Cabinet.
If the country once turned to the royal family for hope and celebration of their country's legacy, the country turned to him and his Cabinet for assurance and reliability. The people trusted him to calmly solve problems without having to choose between the Crown and the Cabinet.
That was his winning factor, in the first place. What set him apart from his opponents was his principle. Other aspiring prime ministers thought that the Cabinet needed to reinforce their role as head of governance and leadership. They thought that the Crown, as a symbol of the country’s past and history, should remain what it was: symbolic. Instead, Min Jeongwoo charismatically campaigned for a unified image of the Crown and the Cabinet. A picturesque narrative of the Kingdom of Korea.
This is former prime minister Jeongwoo as a head figure of the state: what is not a problem does not need changing, what is not broken does not need fixing.
So, despite his attraction towards Huiju, he never stepped over the line, despite his deep desire to do so. He never stepped over the line with his relationship with then Grand Prince, then King I-an, despite their years of friendship. His old connections with them have always been clear. A senior and long time friend to Huiju, a Prime Minister and old classmate to then King I-an.
Despite studying in the same academy, never did it cross his mind that three of their lives would be entangled together. He never crossed the line, why would they? But they did. Beyond the crossing the line, Huiji and I-an entangled their lives together in permanence.
That’s when Jeongwoo knew. He had to act.
Making difficult, maybe unethical, decisions was part of his job. The unspoken job description of any head of state is to make hard calls without batting an eyelid. Nothing personal.
But it became personal. He saw it before Huiji could accept it for herself. She fell beyond saving. Fell in love. The former King’s feelings were not a surprise to him. Even as students, all of them naive and gullible, Jeongwoo knew that Huiji’s rebellious streak appealed to I-an. After all, I-an, like him, was not allowed to cross the line. A Grand Prince intimately associated with a commoner is unthinkable. Had I-an crossed the line when they were students, the royal court and the Cabinet would be in shambles.
Years passed and his two separate friends met, got married, and fell in love, – yes, in that order – Jeongwoo could not help but be angry. Why is he the only one thinking about maintaining the friendly relationship between the Crown and the Cabinet? Why is he the only “sane” one seeing that their marriage would fail? After all, it did start as fake.
These are the questions that relayed in his head every single day. Min Jeongwoo is imprisoned in solitary, both as a necessity and as per his request. He angered many people for what he’s done. He guessed that I-an, now Lee Ahn, wanted him to be treated like any prisoner. But the severity of his crimes and sins would make him a target in prison. Out of nationalism, loyalty to the royal family, and perhaps even just as an outlet. After all, it can be easily justified in a criminal’s head to hurt (or kill) the former prime minister who nearly successfully killed the former King.
In the first two weeks, he took a shower at the same time as the other prisoners. But then one inmate “accidentally” misstepped as he was passing by, making him trip across the wet shower room floor. Then another misstep by another inmate the next day as he was washing his face. By the third time someone misstepped past him, he face-planted, earning him two stitches across a split eyebrow.
The next day, he had the shower stalls all to himself, with a prison guard standing by the door.
Everyday, Jeongwoo stays inside his own exclusive prison cell. Nothing special. Just like any other cell, cold at night with the poor attempt of bringing comfort with an uneven mattress and a single pillow and a thin blanket, except without roommates.
No one has visited him. Not a family member or a friend. He does not expect anybody to visit him, anyway.
“Someone sent you this.”
The guard’s voice interrupts Jeongwoo’s nth contemplation of the day. Nothing special. He was staring at the wall while thinking about the 180-change of his life. It’s Wednesday. A less busier day of the week as prime minister. Monday was always the busiest. On Wednesdays, he would read up on reports of the ministry offices, arranged from most to least alarming. If he had the time, he would be out of the office by seven o’clock PM.
The guard recklessly throws a small box through the cell. It hits his knee and drops down on the ground. A kraft paper box with a twine tied around it, looking like a supposedly rustic gift box.
“From who?”
The guard was already out of his sight. He picks it up and examines it. Light and smaller than the palm of his hand. It’s not his, that’s for certain. Despite the ribbon, Jeongwoo doubts someone would think him still worthy of a gift.
He unties the twine and opens it when curiosity gets the best of him. A pocket watch lies inside, made with brass and gold chain. He stares at it blankly, watching its thinnest hand tick and move.
Who would send this to me? He asks himself, as he takes it out of the box and hangs it in the air. He watches it swing like a pendulum, until the back of the pocket watch glimmers under the sunlight shining from the small open window locked with bars of steel.
He flips it and sees the back of the pocket watch with engraved lettering.
Si vis amari ama
“Latin?” He asks, voice rough from hours of not talking.
Unfortunately, it’s not a Latin phrase he knows. He takes the box from the floor with his free hand, hoping to find a clue about the gift. Nothing.
He stands up from the ground, walking towards his cell door and ignoring the ache of his knees and calves. One of the effects of solitary confinement, just hours of sitting down in utter silence.
Honestly, the former King should have just called on capital punishment. Why bother being alive if you are sentenced for 75 years of imprisonment?
“Excuse me. Who sent this?” He calls out to the prison guard who does not bother hiding his irritation. Clearly, he does not want to be disturbed from his afternoon coffee.
“No name, someone dropped the package in for you,” the guard answers and proceeds to take a sip from his mug.
“Who?” Jeongwoo asks. “Is it from a former staff member?”
The guard shrugs his shoulders. “She didn’t say she was former staff.”
Jeongwoo’s suspicion grows. “A woman? What did she look like?”
“Jeongwoo-ssi.” The prison guard looks at him directly with pure challenge in his eyes. "It's already a miracle that you were allowed to receive a package from the outside. You’re in a maximum security prison that holds the most notorious criminals in the country. The only reason why you can receive gifts is because of your former stature, which, I’m sure you know, no longer exists. I don’t even know why you’re still breathing. Stop asking me questions.”
The night falls and Jeongwoo is still looking at his watch. He has racked his brain for hours, looking back during his Latin language studies to think of what the engraving means. Diabolical that not taking his Latin language subject seriously has been added to his list of regrets in life.
Who is the woman who would send him a pocket watch? And what for?
Eventually, the silence of his cell lulls him to sleep. Jeongwoo was never a dreamer. He stopped having vivid dreams ever since he entered politics. Back then, he would go home tired from work, and fall into a dreamless sleep. He never thought much of it. In fact, it only solidified his own self-perception as a realist. His subconscious could not even imagine. He only saw life for what it is, through and through.
An endless undertaking for trials and triumphs, until death wins over.
Jeongwoo does not necessarily believe in this with bitterness, at least he does not think so. What is life even, if not winning and failing, until you cannot play anymore?
However, for the first time since he can remember, lying on a thin mattress with a small pillow and a blanket that does not even reach all the way to his feet, Jeongwoo dreams.
Someone is holding his hand. Quite a small hand, he notices. Cold. It’s snowing. He feels cold. Is he at a playground? Now, why would he be at a playground in his dream?
Jeongwoo does not remember being capable of dreaming as vivid as this.
A woman is holding his hand. Significantly shorter, looking up at him with his hands in hers. A thick, knitted gray scarf is wrapped around her head and shoulders, messily covering the lower half of her face. Parts of her hair escape her scarf as she peers into his eyes with wonder.
Expressive brown eyes shining under the streetlight.
Even without seeing the rest of her face, Jeongwoo knows that she is laughing.
“Jeongwoo-ya. If you want to be loved…” Her hands, cold from the weather, tighten around his. “Love.”
“Quit that realistic, pessimistic bullshit principle of yours!" She starts swaying their now intertwined hands with a spring in her step. She steps closer to him, as if asking him for warmth. “I’ll be waiting for you at home.”
“Home?”
She nods her head like a child. “Yes. You said you’ll come back early. Finish your work quickly. I'll be waiting for you, okay?"