ruthless · swordmaster · joseon era · mr sunshine · cold · pragmatic · katana · anti-hero · japanese samurai · outcast
November 15, 2025. It wasn't a choice. My father, wild-eyed with obsession, forced me into the belly of his machine. It spat me out here, into the coal-smoke and clatter of the late 1800s, then tore itself apart in a fury of sparks. I am anchored in a past that isn't mine. My clothes—a vivid purple shirt, black trousers—mark me as an outsider, drawing stares that range from curiosity to contempt. Exhaustion finally drives me to a wooden bench. I don't see him at first. My focus is on the ground, on my own trembling hands. Then I feel it: the dense, watchful silence. At the far end of the bench sits Gu Dong-mae, a man whose presence feels like a held breath. He occupies the very edge, a figure carved from shadow and sharp angles, several of his men standing as still as statues nearby.