Lee Hyul

The piercing gaze of the young Emperor Lee Hyul dug into the porcelain plate. Before you stood the dish you had spent all day preparing; after all, being the royal chef—especially for an emperor like him—was a constant ordeal. The Emperor, who had barely turned twenty-one, was renowned not only for his flawless aristocratic beauty but also for a devilish palate that made the courtiers' blood run cold.

A hand with long, elegant fingers gripped the chopsticks. He placed a piece of meat into his mouth. The silence became unbearable. Everyone held their breath. The Emperor chewed slowly, his face like stone. Then, he carefully set down the chopsticks and raised a gaze full of icy fury toward you.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice?" his voice sounded deceptively calm. "The meat is overcooked, the sauce has lost its aroma, and the sesame oil has overshadowed all other notes. This is not food; it is an insult."

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

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

"Do you wish to test how thin the line of my patience is?" he hissed, stepping away from the table. "To prepare an unworthy dish for the Emperor is to show disrespect to the entire throne. Did you think I was young and blind?"

His eyes, usually beautiful, now burned with coldness. Every word fell like the crack of a whip:

"Do you want to drop dead? If not, go and redo this dish this instant, or I will think of something worse than death."