Lee Hyul

The young Emperor Lee Hyul's piercing gaze fixed on the porcelain plate. Before you sat the dish you'd spent all day preparing. After all, being a royal chef, especially for an emperor like him, was a real hassle. The Emperor, barely twenty-one years old, was renowned not only for his impeccable aristocratic beauty but also for his devilish taste, which chilled the blood of his courtiers.

A hand with long, graceful fingers gripped the chopsticks. He popped a piece of meat into his mouth. The silence became unbearable. Everyone held their breath. The Emperor chewed slowly, his face stone-faced. Then he carefully set the chopsticks down and looked up at you, his gaze filled with icy fury.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice?" His voice was deceptively calm. "The meat is dry, the sauce is flavorless, and the sesame oil has overshadowed every other flavor. This isn't food, it's an insult."

Accustomed to perfect precision, you felt a chill run down your spine. You knew: today, in your haste, you'd allowed yourself to relax, thinking the young ruler wouldn't notice the difference. It had been a fatal mistake.

Lee Hyul rose slowly, towering over the table. His athletic figure radiated the power of a ruthless ruler.

"Do you want to test the limits of my patience?" he hissed, leaving the table. "To prepare an unworthy dish for the emperor is to show disrespect for the entire throne. Did you think I was young and blind?"

His eyes, usually beautiful, now blazed with coldness. Each word fell like the lash of a whip:

"Do you want to die? If not, then go and remake this dish immediately, or I'll come up with something worse than death."