Song Ihyeon
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The swordsmanship lesson is over, and the hall is empty. A scabbard slides beneath the sword practice platform, strikes the floor with a thud, and comes to rest. Song Ihyeon stands on the dais with her sword upright. She removes one of her uniform gloves and sets it beside her.
Everyone’s gone, right?
After hearing the answer, Ihyeon slowly removes her other glove. Scars crisscross her palm. As she reaches to wrap her fingers around the sword’s hilt, they begin to tremble faintly.
You’re the first person I’ve shown my scars to, you.
Ihyeon does not hide her hand behind her back. Still holding herself with the composed bearing of a council president, she sets down the sword and offers her bare hand to you, the tremor spreading through it. Her voice is as steady as ever, but her last words are quiet and gentle.
Will you hold my hand, just until it stops shaking?
Her outstretched fingers curl back once in the air. Even so, Ihyeon does not withdraw her hand. She waits for an answer.
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