My Little Sister from the Fire Cult (6): Bold Sibling Fight Declaration of War
Yeomhwa had racked her brains imagining how Mancheon might attack and prepared countermeasures accordingly, but all her efforts were in vain. Mancheon did absolutely nothing.
He simply treated her with kind, nonchalant consideration. When she eyed a dish she wanted at the table but it was too far away and gave up to grab something else, he'd silently slide it closer without a word. When she reached for a book just out of arm's reach and nearly toppled backward, he'd catch her. If she shivered in the chilly evening air while reading late in the parlor, he'd drape his outer robe over her shoulders casually. Whenever she needed help while he was minding his own business, he'd assist as if it were the most natural thing in the world—no fanfare, no fuss. He didn't do anything special. He was just there when she needed him. That was all.
...But to Yeomhwa, Mancheon's actions didn't feel like mere casual consideration. Raised solely by her mother and maids, with zero contact with males, Sima Yeomhwa found his 'courtship' utterly bewildering.
'A grown man... expressing his affection so blatantly... Vulgar... Shameless...'
Manchéon was just showing brotherly love and care for his little sister, but Zoroastrianism allowed marriage between siblings. From the perspective of the faith, which emphasized chastity between men and women, Mancheon's behavior was unmistakably the courtship dance of a man in love.
To put it bluntly, he was wagging his tail like crazy, screaming "This woman's mine!"
Oblivious to all this backstory, Mancheon assumed her wariness had eased somewhat and decided to deploy his secret weapon, one he'd prepared for just such a moment. He peaked the courtship act.
'...Huh? What's that? Pipa music?'
Having finished her morning prayers, Yeomhwa tilted her head at the beautiful pipa sounds drifting from outside her window and opened it. Her eyes met Mancheon's.
Manchéon sat on a chair beneath a tree swirling with petals, flashing his trademark shameless grin as he plucked the pipa strings. He played it annoyingly well, which grated on her nerves for no good reason. Petals floated on the breeze toward Yeomhwa. On closer inspection, they weren't petals—they were neatly cut squares of colored paper. Looking up, she spotted the servant who always trailed her brother. Name was... Jang Sambung, right? Anyway, the guy was perched in the tree, scattering paper from a basket.
Yeomhwa stared dumbfounded at the utterly ridiculous scene, speechless. Mancheon began to sing along with the pipa's lovely tones. His audience: one lone listener. For his shy, scarred little sister, Mancheon sang.
"I'll be with you, watch over you~ So your scarred memories hurt no more~."
"Lean on me, open your heart to me~ Whenever you need me, I'll stay by your side~."
"Worrying, hating, deceiving yourself~ Wearing a mask of hypocrisy for others~."
Instead of studying classics, he poured all his talents into martial arts and music. Mancheon's pipa skills were already top-tier. And if his singing sucked, she could've yelled at him to stop—but damn it, he sang well too, for no damn reason. It hooked her; she kept listening in a daze.
'That voice... no! What the hell is this?!'
Already flustered enough, Yeomhwa's misfortune continued—Manchéon's antics weren't over. He suddenly stood from the chair and approached her window, strumming the pipa. His limp right leg made a thud-thud-thud with each step, yet he moved with dignified grace, his sparkling eyes fixed solely on her.
"What the hell are you—?!"
Before Yeomhwa could finish, Mancheon halted his strumming, reached out, and gently clasped her delicate hand in his warm grip.
"I've kept you waiting~ To hold your hand~ The tender touch you always craved beneath my rough exterior."
Caught off guard, her hand was snatched effortlessly. But the warmth of his skin snapped her back to reality. She couldn't take it anymore. Not the idiotic pipa performance, not the song, not the cozy hand heat—none of it. Especially unbearable was how her heart raced at his sheer stupidity.
Yeomhwa's face flushed 'whoosh!' crimson. She smacked his hand away and slammed the window shut with a bang! to hide her burning cheeks.
Caught off guard by the abrupt rejection, Mancheon blinked at the firmly shut window.
'...Huh? Was it lame? Not her style?'
As he pondered, Jang Sambung approached, basket under her arm.
"Young master, what's wrong? Something flop?"
"Well... I figured she'd laugh and yell 'What the hell are you doing?!' But guess it's not her taste."
"Really? I thought it was so absurd it was hilarious. Well, tastes differ, like you said. Chin up."
He snorted at her pointless pep talk.
"This ain't enough to discourage me. Fail once? Try another way. I always win in the end."
"Y'know... if you studied for the exams with that resolve, you'd be top scholar by now. Baduk this, pipa that—wasting it all."
From Jang Sambung's view, born into wealth meant grinding exams for an official post—natural, right? But from my perspective, in a world with fun powers like martial arts, flipping through books was a total life waste. No way—no way—was I touching exams. I'd live leisurely as a playboy, learn the family business from Dad, and spend free time on martial arts. Bliss.
But folks like Jang Sambung wouldn't get my philosophy easily. Harsh world. So, for her and all the rigid exam-pushers, I quoted a classic poem, plucking one more tune on the pipa.
"Born never to read poetry or books— From birth, studies held no appeal for me."
"Bait prepared to hook the ao dragon— Lure set to snag the mighty wyrm."
"Bow nocked and ready to fell the fierce tiger— Arrow chambered for the savage beast."
Twing! I strummed the pipa hard on purpose.
"Heroes never read poetry or books— True legends skip the scholar's path."
Clap! Clap-clap-clap! Clap-clap! Applause rang out as the tune ended.
Ho~ Such enthusiastic cheers. Knows a good show when he sees one?
...Nope. It was Mom.
Mom approached clapping, her face devoid of any smile. She spoke gently, as always.
"I see. No heart for studies, then. This mother of yours didn't realize and committed a grave offense against her hero."
Polite speech... She was pissed. Time to bolt. A quick glance—Jang Sambung had vanished already. Slipped away while eyes were on me. Cowardly bitch.
Forcing a calm facade, I edged away sidle-sidle.
"Everyone slips up sometimes. Don't sweat it, ma'am."
"...Come here. Now."
What I appreciated most about Master was how much better my leg felt thanks to the martial arts. I could subtly channel qi to reinforce it without notice. High-speed dash.
Meanwhile, Yeomhwa leaned against her window inside, biting her pretty white teeth into her finger to calm her pounding heart.
"Hoo... Hoo... Haa..."
She pressed a light hand to her heaving chest. Her shameless heart thumped wildly, oblivious to the embarrassment. Vulgar organ. No—all her brother's fault! That brazen oppa sang a lover's ballad with burning passion, fiery zeal, scorching fervor!? Her heart raced purely from shame. Nothing else.
"Heh—huhu—such an idiot."
As time passed and her pulse settled, Mancheon's singing face resurfaced in her mind, drawing a belated giggle. Not from the song itself, but from him prepping colored paper just to woo her with song.
...What a foolish oppa. A fun oppa. Even after she spat rejection to his face. She never imagined he'd court her so shamelessly, so fervently. Whispering love from outside, no less. As a devout Zoroastrian before her world-burning saintess role, it was unimaginable.
She peered into her mirror, fiddling absently with her beautifully tended black hair.
'...Do I really mean that much to you? ...Weirdo.'
Yeomhwa's lips curved up ever so slightly. Sitting on her bed, she brushed her hair and unwittingly hummed Mancheon's tune. A cheerful little melody echoed through the girl's room.