The 21st Century Grand Grand Duchess in the Royal Academy - Chapter 24

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com

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A Twenty-First Century Grand Duchess in the Royal Academy
A Tragedy Unveiled
Summer 2012. Having successfully graduated early, I was nineteen years old and savoring campus life. As I pondered how to spend the long summer break, I began planning an overseas trip.
My father, listening to my travel plans with an unmoved expression, imposed one condition: I was to go to America where Sung Tae-joo was.
At my father’s declaration that he wouldn’t treat me as an adult until I turned twenty, I complied without complaint. After all, I only had to wait six more months to come of age.
“If only my brother were in America too—I could have seen him while I’m there.”
— Tell me about it.
I giggled at Min Jung-woo as he trailed off wistfully. Min Jung-woo was currently staying on the opposite side of the globe, accompanying Prince An. It was due to Prince An’s volunteer schedule as an ambassador for an international organization.
“When does he come back?”
— About twenty days from now.
“Is the volunteer work worthwhile?”
— I do it because it’s worthwhile. But mostly because I have to.
As I selected clothes to pack into my suitcase, I paused for a moment. During conversations with Min Jung-woo, these moments occasionally surfaced—instances where a coldness he seemed unaware of would emerge.
He was generally a kind person, and largely altruistic, but he could afford to be because he remained indifferent to the world. The tranquility he maintained stemmed from expending no emotional energy.
That’s why I sometimes wondered if there were aspects of Min Jung-woo I didn’t know. Despite having spent three years with him since I was sixteen.
When he got his license and showed off his first car, it was the same. I’d expected him to drive an inconspicuous black sedan, but the shock when he appeared in a flashy supercar was considerable.
Having an unpredictable inner nature meant one of two things: either he wasn’t being honest, or I wasn’t being honest in how I perceived him.
Compared to that, Prince An was….
“Is the prince adapting well?”
— The prince?
“He seems like he can’t sleep anywhere but home, yet his volunteer work appears consistent.”
— The prince is built for this kind of thing.
“Is that so?”
I replied offhandedly, thinking that he too wasn’t the predictable type.
After ending the call with me, Min Jung-woo cracked his neck. His muscles, stiff from the grueling schedule, seemed to cry out in protest.
“How am I supposed to endure another twenty days.”
Muttering to himself, Min Jung-woo gazed out the window. He could see Wan playing soccer with refugee children. Hyun, absorbed in his role as goalkeeper, was shouting continuously and working himself into a fervor. Despite the blazing sun and sweat pouring down, his expression was joyful.
Just as he was thinking he should shower again, a call came from his father.
“Yes, Father.”
— Is the prince with you.
At the question posed without even a greeting or inquiry about his well-being, Min Jung-woo’s gaze turned toward the window. He could still see Wan, drenched in sweat, kicking the ball.
“No, he’s not with me right now, so why—”
— Pack your things first.
“Pardon?”
— Come back to Korea. Right now.
“What’s happened?”
— The Throne Hall’s inner eunuch… has ascended the eastern eaves.
Wan stared at Min Jung-woo, who had emerged in a black shirt and black pants. He was wondering why Min Jung-woo, who despised sweating, was dressed like that, when he noticed that everyone standing behind him was also wearing black.
“Your Highness, pass!”
The ball Hyun kicked struck Wan’s calf and stopped. Wan found himself clenching and unclenching his fists involuntarily. It was an anxiety his body remembered.
“What has happened?”
My voice came out hoarse, and Jung-woo averted his gaze.
“We must leave for Korea immediately.”
“….”
“His Majesty the King has… passed away.”
Wan drew a sharp breath, his brow furrowing deeply. It was difficult to comprehend Jung-woo’s words. Mother, suddenly? I had never heard that she was ill. Why? Was there an accident like with the Late Queen? What would happen to my brother then? What would become of me?
As my thoughts spiraled endlessly, a ringing like a siren filled my ears. I thought I could hear Hyun crying, but soon my hearing grew muffled and distant.
“…ga.”
“….”
“…self ga.”
“….”
“Prince An!”
Jung-woo drew closer and gripped my shoulders, shaking them. When I saw the worry flooding his eyes, my muffled ears began to ache. I clutched at my ears in pain and sank to the ground.
“Your Highness!”
Hyun embraced me with tears streaming down his face, crying out for water. Everyone appeared to be moving frantically, but in truth, all was chaos. The attendants desperately maintained their composure, yet their expressions could not hide despair and fear.
Aboard the aircraft, I gazed endlessly out the window at nothing but clouds. On the table before my seat lay a copy of the death certificate from the Royal Hospital, bearing Mother’s name as the cause. No matter how far away on the other side of the world, the Royal Secretariat’s work was swift and precise.
Mother’s cause of death was listed as cardiac arrest. It had occurred while she slept, leaving no time to act, yet the absence of any warning signs troubled me. The royal physicians examined her pulse every morning—were all those examinations merely empty ritual?
The funeral would be prepared by the Ministry of Rites, along with the Cabinet and the Office of Royal Relatives.
“It appears His Highness the Crown Prince is… not in a state to manage affairs.”
The attendant sitting across from me spoke with an awkward expression.
A Crown Prince unable to manage affairs.
This was why I was reading through all these official documents. My brother had wept himself into unconsciousness upon hearing of Mother’s passing. It was not surprising. My brother already struggled under the burden of his role as Crown Prince—there was no way he could fulfill the duties of chief mourner.
“How is the Crown Princess?”
“She has summoned the Inner Palace Administration and closed the palace gates.”
I was equally concerned for Yoon Irang, who had become a member of the Royal Family only two years ago and now had to oversee such grave matters. So I shed not a single tear and opened the thick folder of documents. My worry for my brother and the Royal Family far outweighed my grief at losing Mother.
“Your Highness, please try to get some rest.”
Jung-woo spoke from beside me. He too had not slept.
“Everything must be decided before we arrive.”
“There is still time.”
“You said so yourself.”
At my firm response, Jung-woo could only nod and say nothing more. Hyun lay sleeping on the bed prepared for me—though it would be more accurate to say he had lost consciousness from weeping.
“Kim Assistant.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Mother’s funeral will proceed in private.”
The startled assistant glanced at Choi Sanggung beside him at my decision.
“The Late Queen’s funeral was only seven years ago. His Highness the Crown Prince will be unable to serve as chief mourner.”
“….”
“Tomorrow morning, announce only the facts through the Royal Secretariat. So the people do not grieve too deeply.”
“Understood, Your Highness.”
Jung-woo regarded me anew. There was no hesitation in how I handled matters. My heart must surely have been reduced to ruins, yet my focus was ruthlessly sharp.
Upon arriving at the airport, I felt the heavy atmosphere flowing through the crowds. It was due to the news of the King’s passing announced this morning. The Crown Prince’s request had resulted in a private funeral, a statement that the news anchors repeated quite several times.
Various stories circulated on the internet. Someone who had been at Gwanghwamun two days earlier grieved, saying they heard someone shouting what sounded like “sanwibokk,” and someone currently at Gwanghwamun was indignant, questioning why The King’s funeral was being held in private.
The unexpected tragic news seemed to shake people’s hearts considerably. Perhaps because the King had made public appearances at official events just days before, there was a sense of emptiness. At the same time, voices expressing concern for the Crown Prince continued to emerge.
Funeral rites, after all, are meant to be a time for the living.
Those deprived of that time gathered at Gwanghwamun. Despite the massive crowds that assembled, the plaza remained silent. Though sniffles could be heard frequently enough, that was all. It was the unwavering resolve of everyone present—not to make the King’s final journey tumultuous.
Even I, who had harbored no particular feelings toward the Royal Family, or rather had been full of resentment, did not feel well. They say the 21st-century Royal Family derives meaning from uniting the nation. It seemed that this was not entirely wrong.
Even travelers dressed in black began gathering in front of the monitors. The monitor installed at the departure gate was now broadcasting news of Prince An, who had just arrived in Korea.
【Prince An descends from the airplane with a somber expression】
His tragedy remained unshielded.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com

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