Garden of Joy C3

Chapter 3

“Why aren’t you answering your phone again?”

Hwan wrestled endlessly with his unresponsive phone, while the Emperor and Empress standing nearby — along with his elder brothers, Crown Prince Kang and Second Prince Ho — watched him in silence.

Out of propriety, they refrained from voicing it aloud, yet the irritation in their eyes made it abundantly clear that they found Hwan’s behavior far more unbearable than Heeseo himself.

Anyone watching might have assumed Heeseo had run away.

Biting his nails, shaking his leg — his conduct was so unseemly that it made one’s vision swim in embarrassment, lest someone else should witness it.

Yet Hwan, utterly unaware of moderation, finally went so far as to call out, “Chief Secretary Jeong!” attempting to summon even the already-busy head of the secretariat — in other words, Heeseo’s father — before him. At that, the displeasure of both the Emperor and Empress became visibly apparent.

In the end, unable to bear it any longer, the second brother, Ho, stepped in.

His elbow jabbed sharply into Hwan’s side.

“That’s enough. Alright?”

“…Why are you picking a fight again? What did I even do?”

It was a firm warning, teeth clenched with restraint. Yet Hwan’s response was astonishing. He looked back with an utterly guileless face, as though genuinely puzzled about what he’d done wrong — brazen, even. Would it have killed him to simply nod and say yes?

As a result, the inevitable scolding followed — something he had brought upon himself.

“Why are you harassing a kid who’s studying? You can’t even study yourself.”

No matter how fearless a troublemaking prince he might be, the moment the subject of studying arose, Hwan was defenseless. Why bring that up now, of all times? His spirit finally dampened, he stole a glance at the adults’ faces and muttered sulkily,

“…You don’t know anything, hyung.”

Of course, it was true that he felt hurt by Heeseo’s silence. But the reason Hwan clung so desperately to contacting him was something else entirely — an inexplicable worry that only grew with time.

Something felt wrong.

After all, no matter how angry Heeseo had ever been, he had never ignored Hwan’s messages to this extent. Embarrassing as it was, this was something Hwan knew better than anyone, having spent day and night causing trouble right at Heeseo’s side.

‘But this time, he’s not even answering his phone…’

A bad feeling crept in, as though something truly had happened.

‘No. That can’t be it. This is the palace — what could possibly happen here?’

He reassured himself again and again, yet the unease refused to fade. That was why he simply wanted to see Heeseo’s face — to confirm, to feel relieved. It wasn’t that he was being pathetic.

However, to those unaware of his true thoughts, Hwan’s words likely sounded like nothing more than childish defiance. And so, eventually, even the eldest brother, Kang, stepped in.

Which meant the situation had worsened.

Kang, more than anyone, harbored a deep displeasure toward the relationship between Hwan and Heeseo.

“How long are you going to act like a child? You shouldn’t assume Heeseo will always indulge you.”

Though the words were a rebuke just like Ho’s, their edge was entirely different. The sharpness in Kang’s tone mirrored itself in Hwan’s gaze, and in an instant, the air between them turned hostile.

From Hwan’s perspective, being told he was acting childish was something he could easily laugh off.

He’d heard it hundreds, thousands of times already, and he was at least vaguely aware that he did behave like a child. But the next implication — that he would eventually be abandoned by Heeseo — was something he could not ignore.

A spark, both scorching and icy, dropped suddenly into his chest, setting it ablaze.

It hurt.
And it was humiliating.

“……”

The fact that he couldn’t immediately deny it — that he himself feared such a day might truly come — made it all the more painful.

Hwan clenched his fists tightly atop his knees, his agitation unmistakable.

The first to notice was none other than his second brother, Ho. Thinking, He’s going to cause trouble again, Ho quickly slipped between the two, forcing an awkward smile.

“Hyung, there was no need to say it like that. Lee Hwan, you too — relax your face. Don’t be rude in front of your brother.”

He restrained Kang, who had sharpened his words first, while simultaneously cautioning Hwan in an exaggerated manner.

As the middle child, forever mediating between two incompatible brothers, Ho had long since learned that this was the safest approach.

“Lee Hwan.”

It was understandable if Hwan felt wronged by being scolded yet again.

Still, among the royal family — if not Heeseo — Ho was one of the few whose words Hwan listened to. As expected, Hwan said nothing more, sharply turning his head away. He wasn’t fully appeased, but it was his way of signaling that he wouldn’t escalate things further.

After all, he knew pushing this any further would only harm himself.

No matter how much of a prince he was, his opponent was the Crown Prince. Thus far, Their Majesties had chosen to look the other way — but if he pressed on and they called him not “Hwan” but sternly “Prince Yun,” he had no idea what punishment might follow.

For example — a Three-Day Heeseo Ban.

The name alone sounded ridiculous, yet it was the worst punishment Hwan had ever endured. One day felt like a thousand years. If he had to endure it again — three days, no less — he might very well faint on the spot.

And yet, as if to put on a brave front, Hwan stretched himself out arrogantly and sprawled across the sofa.

At the sight, Crown Prince Kang let out a deep sigh, deeper than any before.

‘That boy…’

It wasn’t that Kang hated Hwan enough to say such harsh things.

Rather, having been raised from childhood as a royal through and through — as the Crown Prince — Kang simply could not comprehend Hwan’s petulant behavior. When Ho had described them as fundamentally incompatible, this was exactly what he meant.

Even now, Kang could have ignored it, like everyone else, and let it slide. Yet he couldn’t rest until he pointed it out.

“Posture.”

“…No one’s watching.”

Hwan shot back incredulously.

And in truth, his words weren’t entirely wrong. The ceremony had ended; the guests and reporters had already flowed out like a receding tide. Palace attendants remained, of course, but they’d seen him countless times. Slouching a little wouldn’t cause disaster.

But Kang remained unyielding.

“This concerns the dignity of the imperial family. What does it matter whether anyone is watching?”

‘…Are you reciting a moral textbook?’

Hwan swallowed the words that rose to his throat.

Even “doing things by the book” had its limits.

To Hwan, Kang was, in blunt terms, an old-fashioned stick-in-the-mud. Without changing his expression, he spoke words that made one’s teeth ache. If he were merely picking a fight, that would have been easier to stomach — but knowing these words came straight from Kang’s sincere convictions made it all the more unbearable.

‘It’s not like anyone even appreciates it.’

The thought struck him as foolish, and Hwan couldn’t help but sneer.

“Of course you know best.”

Rather than correcting his posture, he grew even more sarcastic, leaving Ho — stuck in the middle — fidgeting anxiously, worried a fight might break out.

And inevitably, Ho’s thoughts drifted to Heeseo.

If Heeseo had been here, things would never have spiraled this far in the first place.

‘He’d probably be smiling sweetly and acting cute in front of him right now.’

Ho fully agreed with Kang’s point that Hwan couldn’t rely on Heeseo forever. One couldn’t remain a child indefinitely.

Yet whenever Heeseo was absent, everything fell apart like this, making it impossible to even consider separating the two. The elder members of the royal family likely felt the same.

Lee Hwan.
And Jung Heeseo.

Two people who left one utterly at a loss.

In the end, the only way to calm an unpredictable, furious Hwan was to let him go — to allow him to gravitate toward Heeseo of his own accord, like iron to a magnet.

“You may go now.”

The moment permission was granted, Hwan did exactly as expected, bolting without looking back toward the western side of Geunjeongjeon, in the direction of Gyeonghoeru. More precisely, his destination lay beyond it — toward the area known as the Gungnaegaksa.

The Gungnaegaksa referred to the various administrative offices once installed within the palace grounds. During the Joseon era, institutions such as the Office of the Inspector-General, the Royal Secretariat, the Hall of Worthies, and the Office of Royal Decrees had stood there. Yet through the tragedies of history, all had been reduced to ruins.

By the time reconstruction was considered, the imperial family had already lost its power.

With most authority transferred to the parliament, the numerous offices vanished as well. Even the few remaining facilities meant to preserve the royal household were haphazardly renamed — a “department” one night, a “room” the next — resulting in a chaotic mess dictated by external forces.

Thus, the now-vacant space was repurposed into residential buildings for palace staff — gungin, a term that in modern times referred to all palace workers regardless of gender.

The pretext was to allow those who once commuted from outside to “freely reside within the palace.”

It sounded plausible enough.

But just as Gyeongbokgung had been the only palace left to the royal family, everyone knew the real intent was gradual isolation.

Returning to the point — Heeseo lived in one of those residential buildings.

Though he was not yet an official palace staff member.

By strict rules, it should not have been allowed. But as already proven, controlling Hwan without Heeseo was nearly impossible, so an exception had been granted despite knowing it was improper.

Though framed as a generous concession, it was an open secret that this arrangement was the final line of defense — after barely persuading Hwan not to outright move Heeseo into his own quarters and refuse to budge.

Given that, it went without saying how often Hwan came and went from that building.

‘He’s here again.’

Even such a thought felt like a luxury.