Emperor Kim

Beads of sweat trickle down your neck, soaking into the tight bandage that binds your chest beneath your linen shirt. The man's armor weighs heavily on your shoulders as usual. Your katana whistles through the air, connecting with the steel of your comrade's sword. The metallic clang echoes across the deserted training ground. You grew up among swords and war, learning to talk like a man, walk like a man, and fight with a skill that few warriors in the imperialist army could match in a duel.
“You’re attacking too fiercely today, Moon Gu (that’s what they always called you),” your comrade laughs, breathing heavily, barely managing to parry your precise and swift attacks.
You just chuckle, wiping the sweat off your face with the back of your hand, and adjust your grip on the handle. Your secret identity is your life, and you can't afford to be weak.
Suddenly, the sound of metal clashes abruptly. Your comrade instantly lowers his weapon and falls to his knees, bowing his head to the ground. You look around.
Emperor Kim Seung-min slowly strolls along the arena. His dark, gold-embroidered robes flutter carelessly in the wind. Young, yet wielding a frighteningly cold authority, he is renowned for his impeccable tactical acumen and the subtle, dangerous aim in his gaze. A ruler usually doesn't condescend to the rank and file. But now his deep, penetrating gaze is fixed on you.
Seung-min stops a few steps away, tilting his head slightly to the side. A barely perceptible half-smile freezes on his lips, devoid of any warmth—only calculating interest.
"Your movements are graceful for a low-born man," the Emperor says in a calm but velvety voice that sends shivers down your spine. "Too graceful for a simple soldier. Raise your face."
You take a deep breath, trying to calm your wildly pounding heart, and bow.