The definition of inevitability.
There is one fact that no one has recognized. Do you know what it is? Are you aware of it? Can you claim that what you believe is the truth? Could it be that all of this is an illusion? Can you distinguish between the two?
Everything in this world is made of stories. The story of almost being late and accidentally wearing mismatched shoes, the story of meeting a beloved partner, the story of chasing after a dream, ...
What is your story? Is it a memory, regret, or has it already been forgotten to the point where it can't be found? Humans can't hold onto all memories. Some are forgotten, while others are never erased.
But stories are different. If recorded in words, in sentences, we can read and remember them over and over again. This is the essence and reason for the existence of stories.
Then, what about the story of others? Is it an illusion, or is it a real story? Can you distinguish between the two? Do you want to read it? Do you want to live by remembering others' stories?
This is the story of a certain man. A human being who creates connections through inevitability to undo his karma. A king who protected his people until the very end.
He was a pure-hearted man who only looked at one person, the eldest son of his family who loved his own, a man who loved cherry trees, and a man who dedicated his life to the sword. He was a revolutionary who stood against a corrupt empire and the embodiment of justice that destroyed evil.
This is the story that countless storytellers have repeated, a myth that redefines the meaning of inevitability.
[The story, "The Song of Fantasy Connections," begins now.]
"It's amazing. I never thought you would point a sword at me."
"I never imagined it either. I never wanted to."
The right hand holding the sword trembles. Tears, like the dawn dew, fall from my eyes, and blood flows from my cracked lips. Blood also flows from my left leg, and from the shoulder that has already been torn apart.
Cherry petals fluttering in the warm spring breeze, the corpses of my fallen comrades scattered on the ground. There are no spectators. All have died with them. The only ones alive in this place are me, the cherry tree, and you standing before me.
I gripped the sword tightly. I vowed never to let go of this sword, looking at you in front of me. You, who killed every living thing in this place without a single scratch.
Is this really the end? Where have the comrades I once shared laughter with gone? Where have my people, who once cheered for me, gone?
I can hear the laughter of the head of the Moon family, with whom I often clashed in opinions. I can feel the warmth of the young head of the Plum family, with whom I often joked. The wishes of my comrades slowly seep into me.
The people cheered for me, and the knights pledged loyalty to this country. All of that vanished in an instant. A single bloom turned everything to nothing. A single plum blossom took away all my treasures.
Suppressing my anger, I approached you, the one who betrayed my family and became a flower. You cut down the cherry tree and grew your own plum blossoms in its place. It was a clear betrayal. You came to kill your own brother, a traitor. You were my only younger brother.
"Now, I’m sick of cherry trees. From now on, it’s plum blossoms that will bloom here."
"Last words? Do you have any?"
"Haha, 'last' words."
I took a deep breath and adjusted my stance. Hadn't I trained longer than this in swordsmanship? It was a piece of cake for me. I focused all my will, my friends' will, and my comrades' will into the sword.
"My name is Park Jimin.
I am the head of the Hwa family and the emperor of the Kingdom of Fantasy, Park Jimin."
Finally, the long-standing, stubborn thread of fate with the Hwa family is cut.