It was the steel of her eyes, the coldness of her armor; he saw her that day.
He saw the way she wielded her sword, the way that she stood strong, almost impossible to bend or break.
Yong Soo knew then that she was everything that he was not; she was strong and beautiful and not afraid to face the world.
He found himself seeing her within his head, feeling the ache in his bones that became inspiring, that gave him the chance to grow time and time again.
The male representation of South Korea could not get the image of her out of his head; he couldn't not see the way she shone and fought.
She haunted his dreams and his thoughts; she was the goal that he'd given himself to achieve not in taming her but rather growing to be just as strong as she was.
He saw her for all that he'd ever wanted from himself, the things that he admitted to no one, not even her.
Yong Soo felt the stirrings of nationalistic pride in her, pride that she was as strong as could be; she was everything that Yong Soo wished he could be.
That day on the battlefield had changed him; he wasn't even supposed to be in her world, let alone witness something as personal as a nation was with their people.
A nation couldn't be a nation without their people which was why any moment shared between them had a striking beauty to it which was more often seen publicly in war as few nations shown any kind of vulnerable side in front of others.
He had stared that day, saw glistening armor, and saw a woman that made him remember all of his pride for his nation, his people, and amplified it.
Yong Soo was thankful to see her, to see the way she stood tall, and to see the joy on her face when she claimed victory in that battle.
Nothing was like seeing a victorous nation when they didn't feel the burning of a grudge in their heart and when they didn't reach out, bloody spear or equally as bloody sword in hand to torture their enemies further.
There was something intimate about seeing her cheer with her people, mask off for now, and to see them get just as excited as she was, to see the smile on her face, bright and youthful.
It reminded him of his own joys, of his own moments just barely hidden from view, when he celebrated where rage or distrust had faded for a moment.
He'd smiled then at her though she couldn't see him; she was his sense of pride.
She'd probably always been even before he'd gotten a chance to see her that day.
