Beauty & War: A Crown of Thorns

𝔱𝔢𝔫

//Content warning: violence, blood

part 1 of today's update

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Jeongguk was not the kind of man to sit idly by, waiting for miracles to unfold. Stubborn by nature, he was always determined to see his missions through to the end, no matter the cost. But patience had never been his strongest suit, and right now, the weight of helplessness—of being trapped in uncertainty—gnawed at him like an open wound.

He despised the lack of control, the inability to act—to fix what was broken. Keeping himself busy within the community had once been enough to stave off the restlessness, but now even that felt hollow.

When the doctor sought him out the next day to deliver yet another blow—that Jimin was still not ready to see him—Jeongguk felt something inside him unravel. It wasn't just about failing on his mission anymore, it hadn't been about that for a long time. But that realization only deepened his frustration, because if this wasn't duty—if this wasn't obligation—then what was it? What was he supposed to do when every instinct in him screamed to act, but all he could do was wait?

The days stretched unbearably long without so much as a glimpse of Jimin, without the reassurance of seeing him safe with his own eyes. Each sunrise marked another failure, another reminder of how powerless he was in the face of Jimin's pain. And the longer he remained locked out of the omega's world, the more adrift he became—disconnected from the island, from its people, from himself.

For days, an idea had lingered in the back of Jeongguk's mind, one he had continuously pushed aside in favor of patience. But patience had never been his virtue, and now that waiting had begun to wear him thin, that fleeting thought had solidified into a plan.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, he untied the leather pouch at his hip, fingers working through the familiar weight of the coins inside. The gold pieces gifted to him by the king remained untouched. He had never once considered using them for himself, he was more than capable of providing for his own needs, and he had no desire to spend royal coins for personal gain.

Instead, he reached for a different pouch, its leather worn and softened by time. Inside were the bronze and copper coins he had earned through his own labor, first across the mainland and later here on the island. These were the wages of honest work, of exchanged services and careful trade—coins that had passed through countless hands, unlike the gold and silver currency that flowed so easily within the court's streets.

He poured the coins into his palm, weighing his options. He had more than enough to live comfortably, even to settle here if he wished. If he decided to buy a house on the island, he had no doubt he could put down a solid first payment.

He shook off the unwelcome thought before it could take root. Why would he even consider staying? His time here had always been temporary—that had never been his intention. No, these coins had a different purpose now.

Jeongguk moved through town with quiet determination, stopping at every home, every shop, and every familiar face that had, in some way, played a role in Jimin's care. With each stop, he offered a portion of his coins—not just as compensation, but as a token of gratitude and a means to ensure that those who had looked after Jimin could continue to do so.