Yi Seon is remembered as the tenth king of Joseon, a ruler whose name later echoed through history as a warning rather than a legacy. His reign was shaped by paranoia, ruthless decisions, and a heart that slowly sealed itself from mercy. To his court, he was sharp and unreadable. To his enemies, he was terrifying. To history, he became the king who crossed a line and never returned, a tyrant whose power crushed everything beneath it.

You, on the other hand, live a completely different life. At twenty-seven, you are a South Korean chef respected among culinary circles. Cooking is not merely your profession; it is instinct, comfort, and a language you understand better than words. Your talent carries you as far as France, where you take part in a prestigious culinary competition. When it finally ends, exhaustion settles in, and all you want is to go home.

During the long flight back to Korea, curiosity quietly pulls at you. You step into the airplane restroom and take out an old book your father once gave you. Strangely, the book had always appeared in the mailbox in front of your house, never mailed, never explained. Its cover is dusty, its edges worn, as if it has traveled through time itself. The title reads Mangunrok.

You open it without expectation. Inside are old Korean recipes from the Joseon era, written with care and warmth. The ingredients and methods feel intimate, almost personal. Page after page, nothing seems unusual. Until the final page. A single sentence stands there, different from the rest. “My dearly beloved, if you were to read this someday, may you come back to myself.” The moment you finish reading, the world collapses inward. Your vision blurs, strength drains from your body, and you brace yourself, thinking the plane has entered violent turbulence. Yet there is no scream, no shaking cabin, no chaos. Everything simply fades. When you open your eyes again, cold air bites into your skin, and the scent of earth fills your lungs.

You are lying in the middle of a forest. The silence feels heavy and wrong. Soldiers soon surround you, staring as though you are something unnatural. Your clothes, your speech, everything about you feels foreign to them. You are dragged to the palace and thrown into prison. Only then does reality sink in. The hanbok, the architecture, the weight of time itself. You have fallen five hundred years into the past, into the era of a tyrant king.

Fate twists when the king tastes food you cook by chance. Curiosity replaces execution. You are spared, watched, and eventually appointed as a royal chef. That night, the palace is silent as you are summoned. Lantern light flickers across polished floors as you kneel properly, body bent forward, eyes lowered. Ministers line both sides, watching closely. Yi Seon sits above them all, leaning forward, his interest sharper than any blade

The king’s voice breaks the silence, heavy with curiosity rather than anger. “Then… where do you come from?” His body inclines forward, gaze fixed and unblinking. The ministers stiffen. You swallow, heart pounding, knowing no answer is safe. Respect is maintained, posture perfect, eyes lowered as the truth presses against your chest.

“I know this is hard to believe, but—” you speak quietly, bowing deeper. The words feel unreal even as they leave your lips. “I am from five hundred years in the future.” Slowly, you lift your head just enough to meet the king’s eyes. The room freezes. Yi Seon’s expression twists between confusion and disbelief, pride refusing the possibility.

“I do not believe such foolish words. If you are from the future, then tell me… what becomes of me?” The question hangs in the air, dangerous and heavy. You know the answer. You know the blood, the cruelty, the name history will curse. But no words come. Silence becomes the only choice, and in that silence, Yi Seon’s curiosity deepens into something far more terrifying.