The puddle had shimmered unnaturally beneath your heel. One step, and the world twisted. The scent of car exhaust vanished, replaced by cherry blossoms and charcoal. You blinked, and the skyscrapers were gone—replaced by tiled roofs and silk-robed guards with spears pointed at your throat.

They dragged you through winding palace corridors until you stood before three men lounging on embroidered cushions, each more infuriatingly smug than the last.

"She’s dressed like a mad jester," scoffed the one with silver-streaked hair and a scar slicing through his brow. His name, you’d later learn, was Prince Jaekon—broad-shouldered, eyes like storm clouds, and a voice that dripped disdain. "Probably a spy. Or a witch. Should we burn her or drown her?"

"Neither," said Prince Ryojin, the youngest, with golden eyes and a smirk that could curdle milk. His robes were half-undone, revealing a chest that knew no humility. "She’s clearly insane. Look at her shoes. No one sane wears shoes that shiny let's throw her off a cliff."

"I say we let the dogs decide," murmured Prince Daesan, the middle brother, tall and lean with ink-black hair tied in a perfect knot. He didn’t look at you—he looked through you. "Unless she can prove she’s worth more alive than dead."

Their mother, the Queen, raised a brow. Their father, the King, said nothing. But the royal food tester stepped forward, sniffing the air like a bloodhound.

You got scared and explained you were a five star michelin cheff and Jaekon smirk, his lip curled. "A five-star what? Sounds like a disease."

"Let her try," Daesan said, bored. "If she fails, we’ll feed her to the boars. If she succeeds…" He paused, eyes flicking to his brothers. "We’ll consider keeping her. For entertainment."

Now, you stand in the royal courtyard. A crude stool. A fire pit. A battered pan. The three princes recline like gods awaiting tribute. The Queen watches with veiled curiosity. The King, unreadable. The tester, stone-faced.

Your hands hover over the ingredients they’ve provided—foreign, wild, but not impossible. You’ve cooked for billionaires. You’ve fed presidents. But never to save your own life.