Page 27 of King Foretold
Chapter Eight
It’s been one of those days, which is basically every day since my private training started with Captain Seo. And my real day hasn’t even begun yet. The captain is a morning person—because of course she is—so we train for two hours before dawn. That usually leaves me plenty of time to carry out my penalty before breakfast time.
She deems anything other than complete and immediate compliance—even when she’s being patently unreasonable—as insubordination. Unsurprisingly, I am often “insubordinate” under her definition and get reprimanded in the form of tedious chores. My least favorite, cleaning the barracks floors, is doled out most often for obvious reasons. The esteemed captain can’t stand me.
Today, I spoke “out of turn” because she sucker punched me in the eye. She claimed I was “unacceptably” distracted. I called bullshit. My attentionmayhave been split—because why am I on the Queen of Mountains’s list?—but I barely had a chance to step into the sparring circle before the captain’s fist connected with my face.
I worry my bottom lip and stare morosely at the floor. Captain Seo definitely has it out for me. What did I even do? Then I click my tongue, impatient with myself. It doesn’t matter. I don’t need her approval.
With my right eye swollen shut, my depth perception is shot to hell. I keep missing the bucket by a mile. Cursing under my breath, I finally manage to dunk the rag into the murky water, washing offthe grime. I curse some more as I wring it out to clean the rest of the barracks floors.
“Gods.” I stretch my aching back. I actually feel one hundred and thirty-two.
With a weary groan, I put my head down and finish spit shining the floors. After a grueling hour, I get to my feet like a rusty Tin Man and catch a glimpse of early morning light out the window. If I were back in Las Vegas, I’d be getting off my night shift at the casino, looking forward to sleeping the day away. But that sublimely boring life is long gone.
At least I won’t miss breakfast this morning. I sigh and head for the mess hall. When I smell the haejangguk in the hallway, I grin and pick up my pace. You have got to love a culture that has a dish literally calledhangover soup.
Haejangguk is one of my favorite Korean foods, especially the way the cadet chef makes it. She seasons the rich bone broth with the umami saltiness of fermented soybean paste and fills it with dark, leafy vegetables. The good chef is also not stingy with the melt-in-your-mouth chunks of beef and seonji. I’ve seen other cadets turn their noses up at the congealed cow’s blood, but I’m a fan of its mild, sweet taste and dense yet crumbly texture. Besides, nothing hastens the healing process like seonji.
I’m early enough that most of the tables are empty, but I head to my customary corner in the back and settle cross-legged on the floor. I imagine sitting smack in the middle of the mess hall and watching the sea of cadets part around me, scampering to the farthest table away from me. I huff a bitter laugh.No thanks.I want to eat my hangover soup in peace.
A kitchen attendant practically tosses a steaming bowl of haejangguk and white rice in front of me. Then she hurries away without a word, peeking over her shoulder like I might chase after her. When she steals another glance at me, I offer her a timid smile because I’m grateful for my hangover soup. Instead of smiling back, her eyes go wide with fear,and my throat tightens with hurt. No, I amnothurt, just irritated. I gave the female no reason to be afraid of me.
Since I’m a big, scary monster to her anyway, I turn my smile sharp and toothy. But when the attendant yelps and runs into the kitchen, I hunch in on myself, tucking my chin to my chest. I’m not the asshole here, but it sure feels like it.
I bury my nose to the table and shovel haejangguk into my mouth. I burn my tongue several times, but the seonji fixes it right up. Hungry cadets soon flood the mess hall, but my corner remains undisturbed. I should be used to it by now, and being a loner should be the least of my worries. I keep eating with grim determination, then I pound my chest to force the food down.
“Oh my gods.” Hana plops down next to me, close enough that our knees bump under the table. The knot in my chest loosens a bit at the sight of her friendly face. “I feel like I never see you anymore, Sunny. You leave before I wake up and come back after I’m asleep. Where do you go every night?”
I grunt noncommittally as a trill of nerves skitters through me. It won’t be long before my roommate suspects that not all my extracurricular activities involve chores and punishments from Captain Seo. I need to be more careful. I have to return to the barracks as soon as my lessons with Minju are over, instead of blowing up studies. I can’t draw any more attention to me and my friends.
“Good morning, Hana,” a different kitchen attendant says cheerfully, careful not to look my way. She sets out an overflowing bowl of haejangguk, rice, and myriad banchan in front of my roommate. I didn’t even get a measly plate of kimchi. “Here, I brought you extra side dishes. You look thin, my dear. You should eat more.”
“Thank you so much.” Hana graciously accepts the extra attention with a sweet smile. But when the kitchen attendant bustles away, she pushes all the banchan toward me and proceeds to pick out the seonji from her soup and pile them into my bowl. “Talk about looking thin. You are literally skin and bones.”
“Skin, bones, andmuscles.” I flex my biceps, but the dobok hides my guns from view. “I’m so cut, I don’t even need a sword to make bad guys bleed.”
“Mmm-hmm.” To her credit, Hana tries to keep a straight face. “So ... um ... muscular.”
“Save it.” I spear a braised baby potato with my metal chopsticks and shove it into my mouth. Then I mumble my version of an apology for the cringey joke—“I’m in a crappy mood.”
“Does it have anything to do with ...” She points at her own unbruised right eye.
“What? This shiner?” I snort and nearly sniff a bit of potato into my nose. “Are you kidding? I love it. I’m thinking of keeping it forever.”
“Youarecranky.” Hana gives me the side-eye.
I shrug my assent. “Where’s your shadow?”
“Duna?” My roommate frowns, then covers it with a jerky shrug. “She said she had an errand to run.”
I raise an eyebrow. “This early in the morning?”
“I guess she wanted to get it over with.” Hana stirs her soup, not meeting my eyes.
I study her troubled expression with gnawing concern, but I don’t press the issue. It isn’t any of my business. I have enough problems of my own without borrowing others’. I resume inhaling my haejangguk, but I look up when a huge shadow looms over the table.
“Good morning, Hana.” Haesan sits across from us with a rosy blush, his golden barbels swishing shyly. Then he gets a proper look at me and does a double take. “What happened to your face, Stormy?”
