Ji-won's stomach let out a rumble so distinct and demanding that it seemed audible even beyond the courtyard walls. The void inside was no longer just a sensation; it had become a physical pain—aching and draining his last reserves. Two days without food were finally taking their toll on Kim Ji-won.
Yun-seok appeared around the corner, glancing warily from side to side. He was carefully hiding something under the hem of his shirt.
"Quiet," he whispered. "If the head cook finds out I brought you food, we're both dead meat."
He placed a chipped ceramic bowl onto a wooden crate. Inside sloshed a brownish liquid, emitting steam and a sharp, unfamiliar scent of cheap grain.
Ji-won froze, staring at this "dish."
"What... is this?" flashed through his mind.
Accustomed to marbled Wagyu steaks, tuna tartare, and wines with five-digit price tags, he refused to perceive the contents of the bowl as food. He was used to dining as an art form—served on snow-white porcelain by waiters in white gloves, a perfect balance of flavors.
"What is this slop?" he managed to choke out, feeling a lump rise in his throat. "Is there even any protein in this? Where are the utensils? And why does it smell so... specific?"
He had already drawn a breath to demand a menu, but the words died in his throat. He looked at Yun-seok. The boy stood there, wiping his hands on his trousers, and in his eyes, there was neither servility nor a readiness to run for better food. There was only the weary sympathy of an equal for an equal.
At that moment, it began to dawn on Ji-won that there were no secretaries here, no personal chefs, and no delivery apps to bring a hot dinner fifteen minutes after a click. Here, he was not a VIP client or even a rank-and-file employee; he was a social zero. If he started throwing a tantrum now, Yun-seok would simply take the bowl and eat it himself, and Ji-won would starve to death.
For the first time in his life, Kim Ji-won felt a true horror in the face of reality.
"It's barley gruel with kimchi scraps," Yun-seok replied simply, oblivious to his friend's internal storm. "No spoon—drink it from the rim. Be glad there's a piece of radish in there."
Ji-won slowly reached his trembling hands toward the bowl. The ceramic was cold and coarse, nothing like the fine china in his home. He brought the bowl to his face. The smell was pungent, hitting his nose, but the warmth emanating from the liquid was alluring.
Closing his eyes, Ji-won made an incredible effort. He pressed the rim to his lips. The cold ceramic touched his skin, and a drop of the greasy liquid hit his tongue.
A gag reflex seized him instantly. The taste was so earthy and bitter that his body reacted faster than his mind. Ji-won jerked the bowl away, nearly splashing the contents.
"I'm not eating this," he said firmly. "Bring me clean water and at least some rice. White rice. Without this filth."
Yun-seok's shoulders slumped as he gave Ji-won a long, pitying look. He truly believed his friend's mind had snapped under the hardship.
"Oh, Ji-won..." Yun-seok reached out and squeezed the man's shoulder encouragingly. "What rice? Only those in the inner palace ever see it. You and I eat husks, and that's only if we're lucky."
He looked at the untouched bowl and added quietly:
"You'll waste away like this. If you don't eat, you won't even have the strength left to remember who you are. I'll leave it here, alright? In case you give in and take a few sips. Tomorrow, I'll try to get something else. We'll pull through, you hear? It's not our first time."
He walked away quietly, leaving Ji-won alone. Silence fell, broken only by the growling of his stomach and the heavy scent of the gruel sitting a meter away.
For the first time in his life, Kim Ji-won realized that his refined palate was useless, yet he still could not bring himself to cross that line and drink the slop.
Ji-won sat on the edge of an overturned crate, back straight as a needle. People scurried around him amidst the smell of dampness and grime, yet he managed to look as if he were sitting in a five-star hotel lobby. His cold, calculating gaze made Yun-seok nervous.
"Ji-won, please," Yun-seok pleaded desperately. "Just start doing something. If the manager comes out and sees this... 'important pose' of yours, we're both in for it."
"I have no intention of faking productivity, Yun-seok," Ji-won replied in a flat, dry voice. "I am waiting for the person in charge. I need to discuss the terms of my stay."
"Discuss... what?" Yun-seok froze.
"Terms," Ji-won repeated, as if explaining something to a child. "I do not work for free, and I do not work without clearly defined objectives."
"Is that so?" a heavy, commanding voice boomed from behind.
Ji-won didn't even flinch. He turned slowly. Standing before him was Master Pak, the head cook. He was a man of massive stature with a face that looked carved from stone. He held a heavy ladle and glared at Ji-won.
"So, you're special, are you?" Pak squinted, eyeing him up and down. "The whole yard is working, and you're sitting there pondering 'terms'?"
Ji-won stood up. Slowly, he maintained the exact distance that had always separated him from his subordinates. Despite his bedraggled appearance, his aura was stifling.
"Master Pak, I presume?" Ji-won didn't bow; he merely tilted his head slightly, more out of courtesy than respect. "Your kitchen is appallingly organized. Dirt, noise, zero discipline. I am willing to lend my time to bring this place to order, but I require guarantees. Quality food, a private sleeping area, and the role of manager."
Master Pak was momentarily speechless. In thirty years of palace service, he had seen many arrogant servants, but never one like this. This vagrant was speaking to him as an equal—if not as a superior.
"Guarantees? Manager?" Pak let out a short, mean laugh. "Listen to me, puppy. You are in the King's palace. Here, your life is your guarantee. You want to eat? Work. You want to sleep somewhere that isn't mud? Prove you're worth more."
He threw a knife at Ji-won's feet.
"The kitchen is short one chopper. Dinner for the retinue must be ready in two hours. If I see a single uneven slice on a plate, I will personally kick you out of the gates—and Yun-seok will follow for bringing this nuisance into my yard."
"I do not work with my hands; I work with my head," Ji-won said, tilting his chin higher. "Since I must stay here, I will only accept a managerial role."
"Don't make me laugh," the man replied, unable to believe his ears. "Pick up the knife and get to work."
Ji-won looked at the knife at his feet. As much as he hated to admit it, he was in a losing position. Life outside the palace was clearly worse; he had already been there and had no desire to return. Here, at least, there was shelter and the possibility of food. But here, he had no influence, no money, and no power.
"Ugh."
Ji-won stared at the pile of dirty daikon. In his world, vegetables appeared on the plate only as exquisite garnishes.
"What are you waiting for?" Master Pak slammed his ladle against the rim of a massive cauldron. "Time doesn't wait. Start peeling. And keep the skin thin!"
Yun-seok timidly handed Ji-won the heavy, crudely forged knife.
"Be careful. It's sharp. Just guide the blade downward..."
Ji-won took the knife with two fingers, feeling almost physical revulsion. The dirt on the vegetables stained his fingers, and the lack of gloves triggered an internal protest. But desperation and Pak's icy stare forced him to act.
"I'll handle it," he snapped coldly at Yun-seok.
He pressed the blade against the white root. In his mind, it looked simple: one motion, one clean surface. But reality struck back. The knife caught in the tough flesh. Ji-won frowned, applied pressure, and the blade went deep with a sharp crunch.
Instead of a thin peel, a massive, uneven chunk of the daikon fell away.
"What are you doing, you incompetent soft-hand?!" Pak roared from the other end of the kitchen. "You'll throw half the produce in the trash at that rate! This isn't whittling a fence!"
Ji-won felt a flush creep into his face—not from the heat of the hearth, but from stinging resentment. The CEO of a massive department store, a man who made billion-won decisions, was being forced to peel vegetables. He grit his teeth and tried again, harder this time.
"I said—I'll handle it," he hissed through clenched teeth.
He pushed the knife harder, trying to straighten the cut, but the slippery skin played a cruel trick. The blade slipped.
Ji-won didn't feel the pain immediately. First, there was just a strange sensation of cold, and then the first bright red drop fell onto the pristine white side of the daikon. A second later, his finger burned with fire.
"Damn it..." Ji-won dropped the knife. It hit the stone floor with a clatter.
Yun-seok gasped and rushed to him, grabbing his hand.
Ji-won stood motionless, staring at his sliced palm. His perfect hands were now stained with dirt, vegetable juice, and his own blood.
Master Pak walked over, breathing heavily. He looked at the ruined vegetable, then at Ji-won's bleeding finger.
"'Special terms,' was it?" The cook shook his gray head. "You can't even handle a knife. What kind of worker are you? A complete disaster."
Ji-won looked up at him. His eyes still burned with icy arrogance, despite the circumstances.
"Your tools are not balanced, and the workspace does not meet safety standards," his voice remained steady. "Wash this. I will continue."
"You'll continue nothing," Pak cut him off, taking the basket from him. "Get out of here before you ruin all the vegetables. Yun-seok, bandage this 'Important Gentleman' and take him to the yard. Let him carry water at least, since he can't be trusted with a knife."
Ji-won allowed Yun-seok to lead him to a water barrel. As the ice-cold water touched his hand, not a single muscle on his face twitched.
"This is the first time I've felt like this," he thought as Yun-seok carefully wrapped his finger with a piece of clean cloth. "This world isn't just different. It's trying to break me."
"Don't be upset," Yun-seok whispered. "Pak is actually kind; he just cares about his kitchen. Once he cools down, I'll ask for at least a little rice for you..."
Ji-won didn't answer. He stared at his bandaged fingers and realized: to survive here, he would have to learn not just how to command, but how to accept that his status in this world was zero. And today had shown him that perfectly.