The Royal Kitchen of the Heian period was a place of frantic, ancient precision, but to Yosida Hina, it looked like a museum exhibit that had accidentally been left running. There were no induction burners, no sous-vide machines, and certainly no stainless-steel prep stations. Instead, there were massive iron cauldrons built into stone hearths, fueled by roaring wood fires that made the air thick with ash and heat.
When Hina stepped over the threshold, the entire kitchen came to a grinding, terrified halt.
"The Queen! The future Queen is in the kitchen!"
Dozens of cooks, assistants, and water-bearers dropped to their knees, their foreheads hitting the soot-stained floor. At the center of the chaos stood the Royal Chef, Kaito, a man whose belly was as round as the pots he tended and whose face was currently the color of a blanched beet.
"S-Sama!" Kaito stammered, his voice trembling. "This is no place for a person of your status! The smoke... the smells... it is undignified!"
Hina ignored him, walking straight to a heavy wooden table where a pile of vegetables lay. He picked up a knife—a crude, heavy iron blade—and balanced it in his palm. It was weighted poorly, the balance leaning too far toward the tip, but the steel was high-carbon and sharp enough to do damage. He gave it a professional flick, the blade whistling through the air.
The kitchen staff gasped in unison. They expected the Queen to faint at the sight of a raw fish; they didn't expect her to handle a butcher's knife like a seasoned mercenary.
"Listen up," Hina said, his voice cutting through the sizzle of the fires. "The food coming out of this kitchen is boring. It's limp. It's medicinal. If I have to eat one more bowl of unseasoned rice and boiled roots, I'm going to lose my mind. From now on, I'm the consultant."
Kaito stood up, his pride finally overcoming his fear. "Sama, with all due respect, I have served the Royal Family for twenty years. My recipes are passed down from the heavens themselves!"
Hina snorted. "Then the heavens have terrible taste. You're over-boiling the beef. You're not utilizing the fat. And your knife skills? I've seen better work from a dull rock."
He shoved his silk sleeves up to his elbows—a move so scandalous that Court Lady Hana,who had just caught up, let out a strangled cry and nearly fainted into a vat of fermenting soy paste.
"Sama! Your arms! Cover them at once!"
"Quiet, Hana! I'm working," Hina snapped. He grabbed a piece of pork belly and laid it on the board. With a blur of motion, he began to slice. Thwack-thwack-thwack-thwack. The rhythm was perfect, a machine-like cadence that produced slices so thin they were nearly translucent.
The kitchen went silent. Even Kaito watched with his mouth agape. He had never seen a noblewoman move with such violent efficiency.
Hiina wasn't just cooking; he was meditating. In this world where he had no phone, no identity, and no "parts," the feel of the knife was the only thing that felt real. It was his anchor to the 21st century. As he tossed the pork into a hot iron pan, the sizzle sent a wave of relief through him.
"Give me the spices," he commanded. "Not just the salt. I want the ginger, the scallions, the fermented bean paste, and... is that honey?"
For the next hour, Hina transformed the Royal Kitchen into his private lab. He ignored the stares. He ignored the soot staining his expensive silk skirts. He was chasing a specific goal: the favor of the most powerful person in the palace. Not the King, who was a puppet, and not Yato who was a snake.
He needed the Grand Queen .
He knew from the history he'd skimmed that she was the one who truly held the keys to the palace. She was also, according to palace gossip, a woman who lived for her palate. She was aging, bored, and tired of the same traditional flavors.
"Plating," Hina muttered, his brow furrowed in concentration. He didn't have his porcelain square plates, so he used a flat wooden board, arranging the seared, glazed pork in a modern, architectural stack, garnished with thinly shaved scallions curls that he'd shocked in ice water to make them crisp.
"Take this to the Grand Queen ." Hina ordered, handing the tray to a bewildered Haruka. "Tell her it's a gift from the future Queen. Tell her it's called... 'The Dragon's Breath.'"
As the tray was carried away, Hina leaned back against the table, wiping his forehead with a silk sleeve that probably cost more than a mid-sized sedan.
"Sama," Kaito whispered, leaning in closer. "How... how did you do that with the knife? That technique... it is not from any school in Heian"
Hina looked at the Royal Chef and winked. "It's from a very exclusive school, Kaito. It's called 'Surviving the 21st Century.' Now, clean this up. I have a Queen Mother to impress."
He walked out of the kitchen, his head held high. For the first time since the "accident," he didn't feel like a victim of fate. He felt like a player.
However, his confidence was short-lived. As he crossed the stone bridge leading back to his quarters, he was intercepted by a wall of silken robes.
Grand Queen tood there, surrounded by an army of attendants. She wasn't holding the tray of food. She was holding a fan, and her eyes were fixed on Hina's soot-covered face and bared arms.
"Akari " she said, her voice like cracking ice. "I received a strange dish. I also received word that my future Queen is currently acting like a common kitchen maid, throwing knives and shouting at my staff."
Hina felt a bead of sweat roll down his neck. He bowed—not out of respect, but to hide the look of "oh crap" on his face.
"I was merely... expressing my devotion through the culinary arts, Your Majesty," he said, trying to sound as feminine as possible.
The Grand Queen stepped closer. She picked up a piece of the pork from a small dish held by a servant. She looked at it with deep suspicion. Then, she took a bite.
The silence that followed was agonizing. Hina counted his heartbeats. One. Two. Three.
The Grand Queen's eyes widened. She chewed slowly, her expression shifting from irritation to a look of profound, almost spiritual shock. The salt, the heat of the ginger, and the sweetness of the honey glaze exploded across her tongue in a way she had never experienced in seventy years of royal dining.
"What... what is this?" she breathed.
"It is a taste of the future," Hina replied, stepping into the light.
The older woman looked at him, truly seeing him for the first time. She saw the mess, the arrogance, and the fire in his eyes. She didn't see a quiet, sad girl. She saw someone useful.
"The wedding is in two days," the Grand Queen said, wiping her mouth with a silken cloth. "Until then, you will report to the kitchen every morning. If you can keep my appetite satisfied, I might just overlook your... 'eccentricities.'"
As she swept past him, her entourage following like a school of fish, Hina let out a long, shaky breath. He had a foothold. He had a mission.
But as he looked over at the drained lake in the distance, his heart sank. The water was still gone. He was winning the battle of the palace, but he was losing the war for his soul.
"One step at a time, Hiba," he whispered to himself. "First, the food. Then, the King. Then... the way home."
He looked down at his hands, still smelling of ginger and pork fat. He was the Queen of Heian, the most powerful chef in the 19th century, and a man trapped in a silken nightmare.
"Tomorrow," he said, a grim smile returning to his face. "Tomorrow, we make pasta."