Mrs. Tiger

Chapter One

Scene 1

A maid came running across the courtyard, calling out at the top of her lungs:

“Young Miss!”

A twelve-year-old girl ran toward the gate just as her father stepped through it. Without hesitation, she threw herself into his arms.

“Oh, my little princess Sora! Careful now—don’t run like that. You could fall and hurt yourself.”

“But Father! I don’t even know how it happened! I just heard your carriage arriving and… my body moved on its own!”

Her father let out a hearty laugh.

“Ah, Sora… I don’t know what to do with you. That tongue of yours could probably charm the Angel of Death himself.”

“Don’t say that, Father! I don’t want to die yet… I’m still a child.”

“Of course not, my lovely Sora. You’re meant to live, to see the world, to travel to its farthest edges. Speaking of which—do you want to know what treasures the merchant ships brought this time? Actually, no… I have something better. Let me show you everything.”

Her father—an ever-curious scholar—began unpacking the marvels he’d collected on his journey to the capital. And with each item he revealed, Sora’s eyes sparkled brighter, full of wonder and insatiable curiosity.

Just then, her mother stepped into the room—her husband’s study, his self-declared treasure trove.

“My dear, when did you return? Ah… I see Sora beat me to your welcome.”

“You should’ve told me your father arrived, Sora.”

“Sorry, Mother, I forgot! Look at this! Isn’t it pretty? Father said it’s a hairpin!”

“I think it would look beautiful on you, sweetheart.”

Sora’s mother smiled softly and sat beside her, gently taking the pin and trying to place it in her daughter’s hair.

“Like this?”

“Let me help,” her husband said.

He took the pin, knelt before his daughter, and fixed it carefully into her hair. Then he held up a nearby mirror for her to see. The young girl, gazing at her parents, watched with silent joy—dreaming of a future where life would always be just like this.

Scene 2

At the dinner table, Sora sat between her parents, still captivated by her father’s travel tales. Her eyes sparkled with excitement as he spoke—until he suddenly paused.

Turning to his wife, he asked, “Do you remember my friend, Kim Sangmin?”

“The general? You mean that Kim Sangmin?”

“Yes, that’s him. I met him during my journey… and you won’t believe what he asked of me. He wants to send his youngest son to live with us—as my student.”

“Kim Sangmin’s son? I thought all his children went to the military academy.”

“Exactly! That’s what surprised me.”

“But their family has been military for generations… why wouldn’t his son follow the same path?”

“Apparently, this is some form of punishment. Sangmin used to mock me for choosing books over swords. Now the tables have turned, it seems.”

“And are you going to take the boy in?”

“Yes. The child is incredibly smart. His eyes were full of wonder while watching the cargo ships being unloaded. I think it’ll be a great opportunity.”

“Your eyes are gleaming too, you know. So, when is he arriving?”

Her husband chuckled. “In two days. He’ll stay with us until the start of summer.”

“Very well. That gives me time to prepare a room.”

Sora, who had been quietly listening, finally spoke up.

“A guest? We’re having a guest? Is it Uncle?”

Her father laughed and wiped a bit of rice from her cheek.

“No, Princess. Not your uncle. He’s the son of a friend of mine. He’ll be staying here to study with me.”

“A student? Why? Aren’t I your student?”

“Oh dear… is that jealousy I hear from my little Sora?”

Sora pouted, arms crossed.

“Don’t worry, my little one. Even if I had a hundred students, you’d still be my favorite.”

And just like that, her scowl faded, replaced by a wide, satisfied grin.

Scene 3

Sora burst into her mother’s room, fuming. She stomped over to the snack tray and stuffed a sweet into her mouth. Her mother watched, amused.

“What’s wrong, my princess?”

“I hate him! I hate him so much, Mother!”

Her mother raised a brow, though she already knew whom Sora meant.

“And who is this person bold enough to anger my little princess?”

“Moooom… don’t laugh at me!”

But her mother couldn’t help herself and giggled.

“I’m sorry, darling, but you look absolutely adorable when you’re angry with your mouth full of cake.”

“It’s not fair! Why did Father let him stay here? I don’t want him here. I hate him! He takes up all of Father’s time!”

“Sweetheart, your father explained that he’ll be teaching the boy for the next few months. It’s part of his work. You know how much he loves teaching.”

“Then why doesn’t he teach me? Doesn’t he want me to learn? Maybe he doesn’t love me…”

She hurled the half-eaten cake and ran from the room.

In the hallway, she collided with someone—fell back, and looked up, teary-eyed.

It was Jiho, her father’s new student.

“I’m sorry… Are you okay, Sora?”

She shoved him away angrily and ran off, with her loyal maid hurrying behind.

That night, she locked herself in her room. Not even her father’s gentle coaxing could bring her out. Her mother explained everything to him, but for once, he failed to comfort her.

Feeling guilty, Jiho approached her door.

“Sora…”

No answer.

“I know you’re still awake. I just wanted to say… I didn’t mean to take your father away. He’s your dad. I have mine.”

Silence.

“…But your father is amazing. Mine only cares about fighting and swords. That’s why… I just wanted to learn from someone like him.”

Still no reply.

“…Please don’t be mad at him. He really loves you. Anyway, I brought you some snacks. The kitchen maid said they’re your favorite.”

He placed the tray by the door.

“Goodnight, Sora.”

He waited. Then, suddenly, the door cracked open—and the tray disappeared in a blink. He didn’t even see her hand.

He chuckled to himself at her stubborn sweetness, then turned to head back to the guest house—only to freeze.

His teacher was standing in the hallway.

Jiho opened his mouth to speak—but before he could, a hand grabbed him from behind. A masked man in black drove a sword straight through his teacher’s chest.

Shadows burst into the estate like a swarm—silent, deadly.

Jiho struggled, but the masked man whispered:

“Relax, little lord. It’ll be over soon.”

He watched, frozen, as the house was set ablaze. Sora’s mother was struck down while trying to reach her daughter’s room.

He fought free, rushing to her.

“Madam! Please hang on, I’ll—”

Her hand clasped his.

“Sora… please… save my daughter…”

And then she was gone.

Sora’s scream echoed through the flames.

He turned and saw her trapped, her room surrounded by fire. No time.

He sprinted toward her, but a man shouted behind him:

“Young master!”

“Let me go!”

“Sora!”

She stood in the corner, eyes blazing with tears and anger.

“This is your fault.”

“No time, Sora! We have to get out!”

Another man appeared, dressed in black.

“Young master, we must leave. It’s too dangerous.”

“Go to hell! I’m not going anywhere with you!”

“Jiho-sama, the authorities are on their way.”

A house servant burst through the flames.

“Lady Sora! Are you alright?!”

She collapsed, and he caught her. Holding her tight, he turned to Jiho.

“We should’ve known you’d bring this curse on us. Damn you!”

Before Jiho could answer, another masked man grabbed him by force.

“Now! We leave!”

Outside, police were already surrounding the property.

And in that moment, Jiho realized something chilling.

This wasn’t a random attack.

Someone powerful had orchestrated it all…

And he was just a pawn.

Scene 4

Night fell, casting a soft glow from the bamboo lanterns onto polished wooden floors.

In a quiet corner of the jeongja pavilion, a woman sat, draped in white—like the light before dawn. A dried plum blossom held her hair in place, and she carried the scent of silence.

She wasn’t speaking.

She was waiting.

A young man entered, his robe deep green like steeped tea. His gaze was sharp—like a man who knew what he was looking for.

Their eyes met. Just for a moment. A simple glance.

But not to her.

He stood before her and bowed.

“Pardon me, Miss. Is this seat taken?”

She looked up. Didn’t smile—but the edge of her mouth curved slightly, as if hearing a distant melody.

“This seat is always empty… except for those burdened with heavy memories.”

He didn’t understand. But he smiled and sat.

His eyes landed on her fan—painted with an image of a child holding a man’s hand.

“Do you enjoy painting?” he asked.

She gently closed the fan, like hiding a secret.

“No… I just don’t like forgetting.”

He drifted for a moment in thought. Then asked, “What’s your name?”

She met his gaze—and for the first time, the name cracked something inside her.

She answered, “Yoon Hwa.”

“Beautiful name.”

Finally, she smiled. Raised her cup.

“Do you enjoy stories, Mr…?”

“Jiho.”

“…Ah… Jiho.”

She said the name like someone tasting an old bitterness.

“One day… I’ll tell you a story.”

Then she stood, opened her fan, and disappeared behind its shadow…

Leaving behind a confused man.

And a dead girl.