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۪۫❁ཻུ۪۪ ； 七

          » [ ❁ཻུ۪۪ ʄƖơῳɛཞ ცơყ ; episode seven ] «
-ˋˏ ༻ sapling ༺ ˎˊ-

an — please disregard the subtitle

"I suppose there is no harm in granting your request," he said at last, with a nod
of his head. "Go grow the boy in the prettiest bonsai of Hwarang."
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.⋆˚ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊☯︎

» [ author-nim ] «

Wi-hwa chuckled soflty. "You ask for much, y/n," he said at last, meeting her gaze. "All of Hwarang is already under your guidance, why do you want to take one for further studying?"

y/n sighed, rubbing her temples. "That's not the point I'm trying to make," she answered, shifting in her seat. "Han-sung . . . he greatly enjoys poetry. How many people do you see actually finding joy in reading poems? Almost no one!"

The man exhaled softly, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Aish y/n," he muttered, "I just don't understood why you want to work further with Han-sung. You have him in class! Shouldn't that be enough?"

y/ bit my lip, watching Wi-hwa as he carefully reached for two stout glasses and a lavish bottle of alcohol. He poured the, both a hefty amount of the god's nectar before eagerly handing her the glass. Wi-hwa raised his in a small toast.

"Now," he began, his eyes pinpointing y/n's with great interest, "I want you to give me a good reason why I should allow this. Why should Han-sung be given extra teachings in poetry? How would this be an aid to him?"

The poetry teacher inhaled softly, tapping her fingers against the glass. "I ran into Han-sung yesterday—"

"When?" Wi-hwa cut in, sitting forward, his eyes suddenly agleam with interest.

y/n bit my lip slowly, raising my gaze to the ceiling. Should she tell him about the encounter in the shower room? It could've been anyone . . . it wasn't completely and entirely Han-sung's fault . . . any Hwarang could've walked in.

She inhaled deeply, Han-sung's adorable face fluttering into her mind. His small nose scrunched up and he flashed his signature boxy smile. No . . . she didn't have the heart to sell him out like that.

"In the evening," y/n responded calmly, leaning back into her chair. She raised the glass to her lips, allowing the alcoholic beverage to slosh into her mouth. "He had a poetry book from home and we got into talking," y/n said, tapping her finger rhythmically against the glass, "Simple affair; nothing big."

Wi-hwa exhaled slowly after swallowing the remainder of his drink. He cocked a questionable eyebrow and tilted his head. Strocking his beard, Wi-hwa bade her to continue my point.

"I noticed Han-sung has a curiosity to everything that surrounds him. Every little thing that passes by him always captures the entirety of his attention," y/n began, turning up her palms, "He also maintains the same attitude with poetry. Han-sung is just naturally drawn to these cultural aspects. I simply want to grow this sapling within him."

Wi-hwa sat back in his chair, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "And you just want to do this Han-sung?"

y/n shrugged softly. "Anyone is welcome to join us," she added, "But, then again, how many men to you see walking around willfully reading poetry."

The Poong Wol Joo turned up his palms, chuckling under his breath. "I see your point, y/n. You wish to nurture the sapling of poetic interest in our young Han-sung," he summed up.

Wi-hwa refilled his glass with the alcoholic drink. He chortled gently, leaning back. The streaming afternoon sun gleamed against the golden metal impressed on his artichoke-shaped hat.

"I suppose there is no harm in granting your request," he said at last, with a nod of his head. "Go grow the boy in the prettiest bonsai of Hwarang."

She smirked softly before rising to her feet and downing her drink in one swig.

-ˋˏ ༻ ˎˊ-

"Yah teacher-nim?"

y/n turned and smiled. "Aish Yeo-wool, we're not in the schoolroom," she rebuked gently, pushing some hair behind her ear, "It's just y/n."

Yeo-wool smiled, bowing slightly. In his hands, he tightly clasped the neck of a large bottle wrapped so prettily in silk. "Is the Poong Wol Joo in?"

She nodded, sliding the door open for the Hwarang. "You offering a bribe, huh?" sje questioned, cocking a sly eyebrow at the boy.
Yeo-wool's mouth parted open, the slightest hint of red dotting his perfect face as his gaze fell onto the object in his hands.

"Oh this," he muttered, running his fingers through the lavishly colored and decorated silk. "It's wine from my mother to give to the Poong Wol Joo."

y/n tilted her head slightly, smirking softly at the boy. His eyes pinpointed her pair, skillfully holding his gaze and serenity. Aish, he was a skilled liar . . . any amateur could easily fall into that statement of his.

However she wouldn't pry; there was no reason or desire to do so, despite her gut telling her otherwise.

"Don't let me hold you up," y/n said at last, smiling casually. Yeo-wool grinned softly before bowing once again and trotting inside.

Tonight, for the sake of Silla's king, y/n would have to stay alert . . . not that this was a chore; after all, she was due for a meeting with her teacher.

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