The morning air in the palace didn't carry the familiar hum of a city waking up. There was no distant roar of buses, no sirens, and no clicking of high heels on pavement. Instead, there was a heavy, suffocating silence, broken only by the rhythmic thwack of a distant broom and the chirping of birds that sounded far too cheerful for Hina's current mood.
He sat before a grand, ornate vanity, staring at the woman in the mirror. For the first time since waking up, he really looked at her—not just to check for a beard or to mourn his lost physique, but to see who Mori Akari actually was.
She was young, younger than he had been in his world. Her skin was like porcelain, untouched by the sun or the stress of a professional kitchen. But as he looked deeper, he saw the shadows under her eyes and the slight downturn at the corners of her mouth.
"You weren't happy, were you?" he whispered to the glass.
"Sama? Were you speaking to me?" Haruka asked, holding a tray of hair pins that looked more like miniature golden daggers.
"Just thinking out loud," Hina said, waving her off. "Tell me, Harukan. This Kim Mori Akari .. what was she like? Before the lake?"
The young maid paused, her fingers trembling slightly over a jade hairpin. "You were... very focused, Sama. You spent many hours practicing your calligraphy and preparing for your role as the Mother of the Nation. You were very quiet. Very... regal."
Regal. Right, Hina thought. Translated from 'servant-speak,' that probably means she was a stiff, miserable wallflower who didn't know how to have a beer.
"And the King?" Hina leaned forward, his curiosity piqued. "Did she—I mean, did I—actually like him?"
Haruka looked around nervously, ensuring Court Lady was out of earshot. "It was the talk of the palace, Sama. You have known His Majesty since you were children. Everyone knew that becoming his Queen was your greatest dream. But..."
"But?"
"But His Majesty is... complicated," she whispered. "He spends much of his time with his books. Or with his Concubine "
Hina's eyebrows shot up. "Concubine ? You mean there's already a 'side piece' in the picture? And I'm supposed to just sit here and embroider handkerchiefs while he's off playing house with someone else?"
"Sama! Please! Such words!" Haruka looked ready to faint.
Hina leaned back, a slow, dangerous grin spreading across his face. This was a classic corporate setup. He was the "merger" candidate brought in by the powerful Ito clan to solidify their hold on the board (the throne), while the CEO (the King) was already invested in a different startup.
"This is better than a soap opera," he muttered. "If I'm going to be stuck in this body, I might as well enjoy the drama. But first, I need to understand the 'UI' of this world."
He stood up and began pacing the room, his long silk robes trailing behind him. He needed to know the year, the political climate, and exactly how much power he could wield before someone tried to have him executed for "madness."
"Haruka bring me the records of the royal family. And a map of the surrounding provinces. Also," he paused, his stomach letting out a loud, unladylike growl, "bring me something that isn't boiled grass. I want something fried. Something with fat. Something that didn't die of boredom before it hit the plate."
"But the physician said your stomach is delicate after the drowning—"
"My stomach is a temple, and right now, the god inside is hungry," Hina interrupted. "Go. Now."
As Haruka scurried away, Hina walked out onto the veranda. The palace was a labyrinth of beauty and tradition, but to him, it felt like a high-security prison. He looked at the high stone walls and the guards stationed at every interval. In the 21st century, he had been a king in his own right—wealthy, influential, and free to go wherever he pleased. Here, he was a political pawn in a dress.
He closed his eyes, trying to summon the memory of the pool again. The blue light, the woman in white, the feeling of his soul being ripped away. He had tried jumping back into the lake, and that had failed miserably.
Maybe it's not just about the water, he mused. Maybe there's a condition. A trigger.
He remembered the woman in the pool—the real Mori Akari. She had looked at him with such intense longing and sadness. Had she traded places with him? Was she currently in Tokyo. inhabiting his body, perhaps enjoying a high-end steak and a glass of expensive Scotch while he was stuck eating steamed roots?
The thought made his blood boil. "If that girl is currently driving my sports car, I'm going to kill her," he hissed to the wind.
He was interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps. A group of men in dark, scholarly robes was approaching the pavilion. At the center was a man who exuded an aura of absolute, terrifying authority. He moved with a slow deliberation that made the air around him feel heavy.
"That's him," Hina whispered, recognizing the face from his brief research. Tamaka yato .The head of the Tamaka clan and the real power behind the throne.
The man stopped at the foot of the stairs and looked up. His eyes were cold, calculating, and completely devoid of warmth, even as he bowed.
"I hear the future Queen has developed a sudden interest in swimming," Yato said, his voice a low, smooth rumble. "A dangerous hobby for a woman who carries the future of our clan on her shoulders."
Hina felt a chill that had nothing to do with the morning breeze. This man wasn't a servant or a bored King. This was a shark.
"I was just testing the temperature," Hina replied, his voice steady. He refused to look down. In the kitchen, you never showed weakness to a critic, and this man was the ultimate critic. "It was... refreshing."
Yato's eyes narrowed slightly. The Mori Akari he knew wouldn't have met his gaze so boldly. She would have bowed her head and apologized for her clumsiness.
"See that you stay on dry land, Akari," the man said, his tone turning into a veiled threat. "The wedding is in two days. The King is waiting. The clan is waiting. Do not disappoint us again."
As the men walked away, Hina exhaled a breath he didn't know he was holding. He looked at his hands and realized they were shaking. Not from fear, but from the sheer adrenaline of the encounter.
He wasn't just in a historical drama. He was in a war zone.
"Two days until the wedding," he whispered. "Two days to find a way out, or I'm going to have to marry a man I don't like, in a century I hate, while wearing shoes that are incredibly uncomfortable."
He looked back at the mirror in the room. The woman staring back looked different now. The sadness was gone, replaced by the sharp, calculating glint of Yosida Hina.
"Alright, " he said, straightening his silk sleeves. "Let's see what you've got. But I'm warning you—I'm a very sore loser."
He turned away from the mirror and headed toward the one place where he knew he could find some semblance of control. The one place where he was always the master, no matter what century it was.
"Haruka !" he shouted. "Forget the books. Take me to the Royal Kitchen."