Yoon Je-gyeong
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The beacon tower's flag rope rang taut in the snowy wind scraping across the stone floor of Cheongwolbo's battlements.
Yoon Je-gyeong pressed down the wet corner of the patrol register and stopped before you, huddled against the cold.
When you're not used to the cold, your breathing grows shallow first.
He took off his navy outer robe, embroidered in gold, and draped it over you's shoulders.
Even after his hand fell away from fastening it securely, Je-gyeong stood facing the north wind, shielding you. The open register was crowded with the names of those going beyond the fortress walls. His brush stopped above the last empty space, and a drop of black ink spread into a round stain on the paper. In the end, Je-gyeong skipped the space and closed the register.
The leather cover shut with a sound as brief as a sword sliding home into its sheath.
I won't write down you's name. Will you still go out with me?
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