The moment Yun-seok departed, Ji-won set about taking stock of his surroundings and his predicament.
He loathed the stench of these clothes; already, his skin had begun to itch against the coarse weave of the fabric.
"Revolting," he muttered, casting a disdainful eye over the shack.
He found a wooden basin filled with water. It was cold, but it was all he had. Snatching a relatively clean scrap of cloth from the corner, he began to scrub his face, neck, and torso with a vehemence bordering on pure hatred. It took nearly twenty minutes to tame his hair. Without his expensive styling gel or a mirror, it was an utter nightmare, yet he managed to coax it into place.
Next came the clothes. He flatly refused to step outside in the sweat-soaked tunic he'd woken up in. Rummaging through a small wooden chest near Yun-seok's pallet, he unearthed a set made of slightly finer material.
Once changed, he looked considerably more like himself. Ji-won squared his shoulders, adjusted his collar, and stepped out. Even in these commoner's rags, he carried himself with an air of noble refinement.
The courtyard was a hive of activity. Ignoring the suspicious glares of the other servants, Ji-won began his "inspection."
He paid no heed to the sky or the distant mountains, breathtaking though they were; instead, he scrutinized the eaves of the roofs, searching for the telltale glint of a camera lens. He approached a massive stone pillar and ran his fingers along its fissures, hoping to feel the prickle of wires or a hidden microphone.
"The production budget is insane," he hissed under his breath. "Is this a reality show? Some elaborate prank by the Board of Directors? Did that bastard In sponsor all this?"
He moved deeper into the complex, passing through a gate into a larger courtyard. The scale was staggering. Hundreds of people in historically accurate garb moved with unsettling naturalism. No one checked a script; no one glanced at a phone.
Ji-won stopped before a high stone wall and kicked it with all his might. The pain was sharp and immediate. The stone didn't yield like plywood or plastic; it was cold, hard, and unmoving.
He wandered for hours, his heart sinking further with every step. He searched for an "Exit" sign, a security guard in a modern uniform, or even a discarded plastic bottle. He found only filth, the scent of woodsmoke, and the distant, rhythmic thud of wooden paddles beating laundry by the stream.
By midday, shock had given way to a cold, clinical despair. If this wasn't a film set, how could he possibly be in the past?
He sat on a stump behind a grain storehouse and tried to recall every movie, web novel, and legend about time travel he had ever heard.
"Method One: The Portal."
He began walking through every archway and passage multiple times, closing his eyes and envisioning his own bedroom. Nothing happened.
"Method Two: A body of water."
He spotted a pond and headed toward it, covering a considerable distance to reach the bank. He had no desire to get wet, but for the sake of returning home, he would endure it. Ji-won dove in. He stayed submerged, eyes squeezed shut, picturing his own world. As his lungs began to burn, he broke the surface—only to find himself in the same pond. He dove again and again, staying under until the very last second, but the result remained the same.
"Method Three: A near-death experience."
He looked up at a tall structure by the inner gates. Soon, he was standing on the very edge of the roof, his clothes fluttering in a light breeze. For some reason, he remembered the accident—the blood, the sound of the impact, and Secretary Lee.
"If I jump… will I wake up in the ICU?"
He leaned forward, the tips of his straw sandals hovering over the void. But as the cold wind lashed his face, a primal survival instinct shrieked within him. If he died here and this wasn't a dream, he would simply… be dead. Or worse, crippled.
He backed away. A poor option.
"Method Four: Sleep."
Ji-won decided not to return to that hovel for this.
"I'd rather sleep under the sun than in that shack."
With that, he lay down on the grass beneath a tree and tried to drift off. But sleep was elusive. The sunbeams filtering through the canopy dried his damp clothes, making them cling to his skin in a state of constant discomfort. Eventually, he did fall asleep, only to wake in the exact same spot. Night had fallen over the palace like a heavy shroud, and the temperature had plummeted.
Ji-won sat up, his legs aching and his stomach twisting with a sensation he had never truly known. In his world, hunger was a choice—a missed meal due to a meeting or a busy schedule. Here, it felt like a gnawing beast.
Restlessness took hold, so he stood and wandered back toward the palace, hoping the fresh air and the night chill would help him forge a new plan. In the moonlight, the palace looked different: the shadows were longer, the silence deeper.
He was pacing back and forth when a flicker of movement near the far fence caught his eye.
There, steeped in the dense shadows of an old willow tree, a figure glided. The person was clad in black, their movements fluid and… achingly familiar. He had seen those movements a hundred times before.
"Secretary Lee?" Ji-won's heart skipped a beat.
If his secretary was here, then this was some grand game after all. Or perhaps the exit from this hell was close at hand.
The figure reached the high stone wall and began to scale it, grasping the protrusions with an agility no ordinary secretary should possess. Ji-won lunged from the shadows.
"Got you!" he hissed, seizing the edge of the stranger's garment and yanking downward with all his strength.
It happened in a heartbeat. Caught off guard, the figure lost his balance and plummeted under the force of Ji-won's pull. There was a dull thud as the young man landed on his back. Ji-won's boots slipped, and he tumbled on top of him, knocking the wind from his lungs as he pinned the body to the cold earth.
A black veil masked the lower half of the stranger's face, but they were so close that Ji-won could see his eyes with startling clarity. In the moonlight, they flashed with a familiar, piercing brilliance. A gaze that was usually composed now burned with shock and indignation.
They were Lee Yeo-jun's eyes. Without a doubt.
Both men froze.
"Lee Yeo-jun…" Ji-won exhaled. The name carried everything: relief, a demand for answers, and a tiny spark of hope.
But instead of a reply, the stranger's expression shifted instantly. Surprise vanished, replaced by an icy resolve. A moment later, a sharp, searing pain exploded at the base of Ji-won's skull, and he spiraled into a thick, absolute darkness.