The first thing Jake Morrison noticed when consciousness crept back into his brain was that everything felt wrong in the most fundamentally disturbing way possible. Not wrong like waking up hungover on a friend's couch, or wrong like realizing you'd slept through your alarm. Wrong like waking up in someone else's body wrong.
Which, as it turned out, was exactly what had happened.
The second thing he noticed was that he was lying on what felt like the world's most uncomfortable bed. Not uncomfortable in the lumpy mattress way, but uncomfortable in the "this appears to be made entirely of wooden planks covered by approximately one millimeter of padding" way. His back ached like he'd been sleeping on a park bench, and there was a strange weight across his chest that definitely hadn't been there when he'd passed out next to his exploding microwave.
The third thing he noticed, as his eyes fluttered open, was that the ceiling above him was completely, utterly, impossibly wrong. Instead of the water-stained drywall and flickering fluorescent light fixture of his Seattle apartment, he was staring up at an intricately painted wooden ceiling decorated with swirling patterns in gold and blue and red. Dragons chased each other across painted clouds, and phoenixes spread their wings between delicate flowering branches that looked like they'd been painted by someone with way too much time and an unhealthy obsession with detail.
"What the actual hell?" Jake tried to say, but what came out of his mouth was a sound somewhere between a croak and a whisper, like he hadn't used his voice in days. His throat felt dry as sandpaper, and his tongue seemed too big for his mouth.
The fourth thing he noticed was that his voice sounded completely wrong. Higher. Softer. Definitely not the voice that had been complaining about exploding burritos just... how long ago had that been? Minutes? Hours? The memories felt fuzzy, like trying to remember a dream after waking up.
Jake tried to sit up and immediately discovered several alarming facts in rapid succession:
First, his chest was significantly... larger than it had been yesterday. Or whenever yesterday had been. Two significantly larger somethings were now occupying space where his reasonably flat (if admittedly soft from too much takeout) chest used to be.
Second, his hair was very, very long. Long enough that it was spread across the pillow like a black silk curtain, long enough that when he moved, it moved with him like it had its own gravitational field.
Third, he was wearing what appeared to be a nightgown made from fabric so fine it felt like wearing liquid moonlight. The sleeves were impossibly wide, the neckline was embroidered with tiny flowers that probably took someone three months to sew, and the whole thing was the kind of pale pink that Jake had never worn in his entire twenty-eight years of steadfast commitment to graphic t-shirts and jeans.
Fourth, and most disturbingly, when he looked down at his hands, they were not his hands. These hands were smaller, more delicate, with long elegant fingers and nails that had been painted with what looked like actual gold leaf. The skin was softer than anything Jake had ever experienced, without a single callus from years of typing or the small scar on his knuckle from that incident with the broken beer bottle in college.
"Okay," Jake said to himself, and even that simple word sounded wrong in this new voice. "Okay, this is... this is a dream. This is definitely a dream. Weird electrical accident, probably in a coma, brain making up elaborate fantasies to cope with trauma. That makes sense. That's logical."
He looked around the room, hoping to find something familiar, something that would anchor him back to reality. Instead, he found what appeared to be the interior of a palace that had been decorated by someone with unlimited resources and a serious commitment to the color scheme of "gold, but more gold."
The room was enormous, easily three times the size of his entire apartment. The walls were covered in silk panels painted with more dragons and phoenixes and flowering trees, all in colors so vibrant they seemed to glow in the soft light filtering through paper windows. There were low tables carved from dark wood and inlaid with mother-of-pearl, cushions embroidered with silk thread that probably cost more than Jake's monthly rent, and incense burners that were currently filling the air with that same cinnamon and sandalwood scent he'd smelled just before his microwave tried to electrocute him.
Along one wall stood a massive wardrobe that looked like it had been built for someone with enough clothing to outfit a small theater company. Along another wall was a vanity table covered with what appeared to be antique cosmetics: small jade containers, silver mirrors, brushes with handles carved from ivory, and bottles filled with liquids in colors that didn't occur in nature.
"This is very elaborate for a coma dream," Jake muttered, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The movement felt strange, like his center of gravity had shifted, and when his feet touched the floor, he realized he was significantly shorter than he'd been the day before. The floor was covered with woven mats that felt soft and warm under his—her?—feet.
Jake stood up carefully, testing his balance, and immediately had to grab the bedpost for support. Everything felt different. His—her—body moved differently, balanced differently, even breathed differently. It was like trying to drive a car where someone had moved all the controls and changed the steering ratio.
He shuffled over to what appeared to be a full-length mirror made of polished metal, and what he saw there made his brain perform the mental equivalent of a blue screen of death.
Looking back at him was a young Korean woman of maybe twenty-five, with the kind of classical beauty that belonged in historical paintings. Her face was heart-shaped with high cheekbones, her skin was flawless porcelain, and her eyes were large and dark and framed by lashes that definitely hadn't required mascara to look that perfect. Her hair was black silk that fell to her waist, and she was wearing that impossibly elegant nightgown that made her look like she'd stepped out of a period drama.
She was also, Jake realized with growing horror, absolutely beautiful in a way that made his software engineer brain completely short-circuit.
"No," Jake said to his reflection, and the beautiful woman in the mirror mouthed the word back at him. "No, no, no, this is not happening. This is not—I am not—this is impossible."
He touched his face, and the woman in the mirror touched her face. He ran his hands through the long black hair, and the woman in the mirror did the same. He made a ridiculous face, crossing his eyes and sticking out his tongue, and the beautiful woman in the mirror looked absolutely absurd doing the same thing.
"Okay," Jake said, staring at his reflection. "Okay, either I'm having the most detailed and bizarre coma dream in the history of modern medicine, or..." He paused, his engineering brain trying to process the alternatives. "Or I've somehow been transported into the body of a Korean woman in what appears to be historical Korea, which is completely impossible and violates approximately all known laws of physics."
He looked around the room again, noting details he'd missed in his initial panic. The quality of the craftsmanship in everything from the furniture to the wall hangings suggested serious wealth and status. The style looked like what he remembered from history documentaries about ancient Korea—specifically the Joseon Dynasty, if his vague recollections of college world history classes were accurate.
"So either coma dream, or I'm in the body of some kind of Korean historical figure," Jake mused. "Either way, I should probably try to figure out what the hell is going on before—"
Knock knock knock
The sound came from what Jake assumed was the door, though it looked more like a work of art than a functional piece of architecture. The knocking was soft but insistent, followed by a woman's voice speaking in Korean.
Jake's blood went cold. He didn't speak Korean. He'd taken Spanish in high school and remembered approximately enough to order beer and ask where the bathroom was, but Korean was completely beyond his capabilities. How was he supposed to respond to whoever was at the door?
The voice came again, more insistent this time, and Jake realized that while he couldn't understand the words, the tone was clearly concerned. Whoever was out there was worried about something.
"Um," Jake called toward the door, and immediately winced at how his new voice sounded. "Just... just a minute!"
The response from outside was immediate and sounded relieved, but Jake still couldn't understand a word of it. This was going to be a problem. A very serious problem.
Jake looked around frantically for clothing that would be more appropriate than a nightgown, and spotted what appeared to be a robe hanging from a hook near the wardrobe. It was made of silk in a deep blue color and embroidered with silver threads in patterns that probably meant something important in whatever culture he'd landed in.
Getting into the robe turned out to be an adventure in itself. The sleeves were wide enough to house small aircraft, the sash was approximately eight feet long, and Jake had no idea how to tie it properly. After several minutes of wrestling with fabric that seemed determined to tangle itself around his body, he managed to achieve something that might charitably be called "dressed" if you were being very generous with the definition.
The knocking came again, accompanied by what sounded like multiple voices now, all speaking in rapid Korean that Jake couldn't even begin to parse.
"Okay," he said to himself. "Okay, you can do this. Just... open the door, smile, nod, try not to say anything stupid, and figure out what's going on. How hard can it be?"
Jake approached the door, which turned out to be a sliding panel made of paper and wood, and fumbled with what he assumed was the latch. After a moment of experimentation, he managed to slide it open.
Standing outside were three women dressed in what Jake's limited knowledge of Korean historical fashion suggested were servant's clothing. All three were young, probably in their twenties, and all three looked at Jake with expressions of relief mixed with something that might have been concern.
The woman in the center, who appeared to be the leader of the group, immediately launched into what sounded like a rapid-fire explanation or report in Korean. She gestured expressively, her face animated with what Jake interpreted as worry, and the other two women nodded along and occasionally added comments of their own.
Jake stared at them, his brain frantically trying to process what was happening. These women clearly expected him to understand what they were saying. More than that, they expected him to be someone specific—someone who would have responses to whatever they were telling him.
"I..." Jake started, then stopped. What was he supposed to say? "Sorry, I'm actually a software engineer from Seattle who got zapped by my microwave and apparently body-swapped with your boss"?
The lead servant woman looked at him expectantly, and Jake realized he had to say something. Anything. So he did what any reasonable person would do in his situation: he smiled and nodded.
"Ah," he said, which seemed like a safe response. "Yes. That's... that's very interesting."
All three women looked at him strangely, and Jake realized that speaking English to people who expected Korean was probably not his best strategy.
The lead woman said something else, and this time her tone was definitely concerned. She stepped closer to Jake and reached out as if to touch his forehead, probably checking for fever. Jake instinctively stepped back, and all three women looked at him with increased alarm.
A rapid conversation in Korean ensued, with the women talking to each other in hushed, worried tones. Jake caught what sounded like the same word repeated several times, but had no idea what it meant. The women kept glancing at him and then back at each other, and their expressions were growing more concerned by the minute.
"Um," Jake said, trying to think of some way to communicate that he was fine and they shouldn't worry, even though he was definitely not fine and they probably should worry. "I'm okay. Really. Just... tired?"
He tried gesturing to indicate tiredness, pointing to himself and then mimicking sleep by putting his hands together under his cheek. The women looked at each other again, and one of them said something that sounded like a question.
Jake nodded enthusiastically, hoping that whatever she'd asked, "yes" was the right answer.
Apparently it wasn't, because all three women immediately looked alarmed and the lead woman started speaking very rapidly, gesturing toward Jake and then toward what appeared to be the bed. The other two women moved toward him as if they intended to physically guide him back to lying down.
"No, no, I'm fine!" Jake said, backing away from them. "I don't need to lie down, I just need to figure out what's going on!"
But of course, they couldn't understand him any more than he could understand them. The situation was rapidly devolving into the kind of cultural miscommunication that would be hilarious if it weren't so terrifying.
One of the women disappeared, presumably to get help, while the other two continued trying to coax Jake back toward the bed. They were being very gentle and respectful, but also very insistent, and Jake was beginning to understand that whoever he was supposed to be, that person was apparently expected to be an invalid of some kind.
Had the person whose body he was in been sick? Jake wondered. Is that why they're so concerned about me being up and walking around?
The woman who had left returned a few minutes later with reinforcements: two more servants and an older woman who was dressed more formally and carried herself with the kind of authority that suggested she was in charge of the others. This new woman took one look at Jake and immediately launched into what sounded like a lecture or interrogation, her tone sharp and commanding.
Jake tried his smile-and-nod strategy again, but the older woman was having none of it. She stepped closer to him and spoke directly to his face, her words crisp and demanding, clearly expecting specific responses.
When Jake continued to just stare at her blankly, her expression shifted from commanding to suspicious. She said something to the other women, who all began talking at once, their voices overlapping in a chorus of concern and confusion.
"Look," Jake said, holding up his hands in what he hoped was a universal gesture of peaceful intent. "I know this is weird, and I know I'm not acting like whoever you think I am, but I really need to understand what's happening here. Where am I? Who am I supposed to be? What year is it?"
The older woman stared at him for a long moment, and Jake could practically see the wheels turning in her head. Her eyes narrowed, and she said something in a tone that sounded distinctly like an accusation.
Jake's stomach dropped. Whatever she was saying, it wasn't good. The other women all looked shocked, and one of them gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.
The older woman stepped closer to Jake, studying his face intently, and then asked what sounded like a very direct question. When Jake didn't answer—because he couldn't answer—she asked it again, more forcefully.
"I don't understand," Jake said desperately. "I'm sorry, I don't speak Korean. I don't know what you're asking me."
But of course, saying he didn't speak Korean in English wasn't helpful when dealing with people who didn't speak English. The older woman's expression grew more suspicious, and she began firing questions at him in rapid succession, her voice getting sharper with each one he failed to answer.
The situation was spiraling out of control, and Jake could feel panic beginning to set in. These people clearly expected him to be someone specific, someone who spoke Korean and understood the cultural context and knew how to respond appropriately to whatever was happening. He was failing spectacularly at being that person, and they were obviously starting to suspect that something was seriously wrong.
That's when Jake heard footsteps in the hallway outside—heavier footsteps, belonging to someone who walked with authority and purpose. The servants heard them too, because they all immediately stopped talking and turned toward the door with expressions that mixed relief with apprehension.
A man's voice called out from the hallway, speaking in Korean with a tone that suggested he was accustomed to being obeyed immediately. The older servant woman responded quickly, her voice deferential, and Jake caught what sounded like rapid explanation or report.
The footsteps approached the door, and Jake's heart began beating faster. Whoever was coming was clearly important—important enough that all the servants were nervous about his arrival. Important enough that they were reporting to him about Jake's strange behavior.
Oh God, Jake thought. What if this is like the king or something? What if I'm supposed to be married to whoever's about to walk through that door?
The sliding door opened, and Jake's worst fears were confirmed.
The man who entered was clearly nobility, possibly royalty, and definitely someone who expected to be treated with the utmost respect and deference. He was probably in his late twenties or early thirties, tall for someone from historical Korea, with sharp features and eyes that missed nothing. He was wearing robes that made Jake's borrowed clothing look like pajamas by comparison—layers of silk in deep colors, with embroidery that probably cost more than Jake's annual salary, and accessories that included what appeared to be actual jade and gold.
More importantly, the way he looked at Jake was distinctly proprietary. Not romantic, exactly, but like someone looking at something that belonged to him. Something he was responsible for. Something he was worried about.
Husband, Jake realized with growing horror. Oh God, this is definitely the husband.
The man spoke to Jake directly, his voice carrying a mixture of relief and concern and something that might have been affection. His tone was gentler than Jake had expected, almost tender, and he stepped closer as he spoke.
Jake stared at him, his brain completely frozen. This was it. This was the moment where his complete inability to speak Korean or understand Korean culture or respond appropriately to what was obviously his supposed husband was going to expose him as either insane or an impostor.
The man waited for a response, and when none came, his expression shifted to concern. He asked what sounded like a question, reaching out as if to touch Jake's face.
Jake instinctively stepped back, and the man's expression immediately changed to hurt confusion. He said something else, his voice softer now, almost pleading.
"I..." Jake started, then stopped. What could he possibly say? How could he explain that he was actually a software engineer from the 21st century who had somehow ended up in his wife's body?
The man's eyes searched Jake's face, and Jake could see the exact moment when concern shifted to suspicion. The man's expression hardened slightly, and he asked another question, this one sharper.
When Jake still didn't respond, the man turned to the older servant woman and asked her something in a tone that demanded a complete report. She responded with what sounded like a detailed explanation, occasionally gesturing toward Jake, and with each word she spoke, the man's frown deepened.
Finally, the man turned back to Jake and spoke directly to him, his voice now carrying unmistakable authority. This wasn't a request or a gentle inquiry. This was a command from someone accustomed to being obeyed without question.
Jake looked into the man's eyes—dark, intelligent, and increasingly suspicious—and realized that his new life in historical Korea was about to become very, very complicated.
"Your Majesty," he said desperately, taking a wild guess at the appropriate form of address and hoping his tone would convey respect even if his words were incomprehensible. "I can explain."
Of course, he couldn't explain. Not in Korean, not in any way that would make sense, and definitely not in any way that wouldn't result in him being declared insane or possessed or worse.
But he had to try.
Because the alternative was admitting that Jake Morrison, software engineer, had somehow stolen the body of what appeared to be the Queen of Korea, and he was pretty sure that particular truth would not set him free.
The man who was almost certainly the King stared at him, waiting for an explanation that Jake couldn't give, surrounded by servants who were clearly reporting that their Queen had lost her mind.
And Jake realized that his first day as an accidental time traveler was going to be even more challenging than dying by microwave had been.