After the interrogation at the first gate, the guards usher me inside towards the palace second gates.

The second palace gates loomed before me like a fortress, towering higher than the first gates with iron-bound doors and guards who looked ready to decapitate anyone who dared step out of line. My stomach rumbled...not from hunger this time, but from a strange mixture of fear and anticipation.

I tightened the hood of my cloak and stepped forward feeling nervous. The guards snapped to attention immediately, hands on their weapons. My pulse jumped, but I held my head high. I had to look like a man, strong, capable, and fearless.

"Halt," one of them barked. His eyes swept me up and down, scanning every inch of my appearance. "Who are you? State your business."

"I... I am Daniel Haston," I said, trying to steady my voice. "Here to apply for the palace chef position."

The guards exchanged a glance. One of them grunted and ran a hand over my tunic, for a second I thought he was checking for the telltale curves of a female body. My heart thudded so violently I thought they'd hear me.

After what felt like an eternity, the guard stepped back. "Very well boy, as you have claimed you may now proceed inside."

I exhaled sharply, feeling the first small relief of the day.

Inside, the palace was breathtaking. Gardens stretched endlessly, fountains splashed in elegant patterns, and towering structures rose toward the sky, decorated with gold and intricate carvings. My eyes widened, drinking in every detail, every flourish. I'd read about grand palaces in history books, seen them on television, but this...this was alive. Real and Intimidating.

I walked through the corridors, trying to ignore the awe that threatened to unbalance me. Every step brought me closer to my goal...the kitchen, the test, and the chance to survive.

Finally, I reached the head steward's office. The man inside was older, his robes looked perfectly neat, his eyes sharp and calculating. He looked me up and down, his suspicion imprinted into every line of his face.

"And you claim to be a chef?" he asked, his voice cold.

"Yes," I replied, holding my head high. "I can cook. I can manage a kitchen. I can work under pressure."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Have you heard about the rumors?"

I swallowed. "I am aware. But I am also aware that your kitchen needs someone competent. And I am willing to prove myself."

For a long moment, he studied me, with his gaze almost like a predator, as if he were trying to see through the boy I claimed to be. Finally, he sighed. "Very well. Follow me. The royal kitchen awaits. You will cook for the prince himself as a test."

I felt my knees go weak, but I straightened immediately. A chance to prove myself and survive the test.

As I followed the steward through towering doors, my eyes drank in the kitchen. It has huge cauldrons, roaring fires, stacks of ingredients, gleaming knives, and dozens of men working with every detail and carefulness. The heat was intense, and the smell of meats, herbs, bread, different spices...was overwhelming. But something deep inside me lit up.

I belonged here. I could do this.

The steward placed a hand on my shoulder. "Do not fail. The Crown Prince has little patience for incompetence. Now Begin."

I nodded... my hands already itching to work, my mind calculating, planning, and tasting in my imagination.

For the first time in this strange, frightening world, I felt power in my own hands again.

I am Daniel Haston, and I was about to step into the most dangerous kitchen in the empire, while putting my existence in this ancient world into risk. "I have to survive this."

Aside from the fact that the men chefs were working with precision and in order,

The moment I stepped into the royal kitchen, the kitchen noise hit me first like a raging storm. There were clattering pots, sizzling oil, and shouting chefs. But louder than all of that ,were the whispers and murmurs.

"Look at him... he's so small."

"He'll faint before the stove even heats."

"Another weakling who thinks he can survive here."

Their eyes stabbed into me like knives. These men were twice my size, smirking as though I had already failed. My thin frame and young face made it worse. I tried not to shrink under their stares.

Let them laugh. I wasn't here to impress any of them. I was here to survive.

The head steward clapped his hands sharply, commanding silence from everyone.

"Daniel Haston," he announced, "you will prepare the dish the former royal chef failed at."

The room fell dead quiet... A few chefs even stepped back in fear.

And that... wasn't reassuring to me at all.

A pot slammed in front of me. "The Crown Prince wants Phoenix Flame Soup. The last chef overcooked the broth and lost his head."

My stomach dropped.

"Executed... over soup?"

The steward's cold eyes locked onto mine. "If you fail, you'll be thrown out. If you anger the prince, well... you know the consequences."

Excellent. No pressure...of course that's the highest pressure I have ever been under..

But I inhaled carefully, steadying myself. Then I rolled up my sleeves, tied my borrowed apron, and faced the ingredients laid out before me...even though the vegetables were poorly chopped, the meat unevenly sliced, and the spices scattered without care...

This kitchen was supposed to serve royalty.

No wonder someone died.

I began working. My hands moved on instinct...my instinct, Irene's instinct.

First, I corrected the cuts, slicing the vegetables into uniform pieces, fast and clean.

My knife rhythm echoed through the kitchen...quick, precise, and professional.

Then Murmurs rose...

"Look at that speed..."

"Is he actually... trained?"

But I was barely listening. I slipped into the focus I knew so well.

A modern chef's mindset in an ancient kitchen.

I simmered the broth low, coaxing flavor instead of burning it.

I toasted the herbs gently to release their fragrance.

I seared the meat with control, using heat levels. And the flames obeyed me.

These men didn't even understand how I was cooking. It seemed odd to them as they were confused looking at what I was doing.

Minutes passed, it was tense and silent. Even the other chefs stopped cooking to see how different I was.

Finally, the aroma drifted through the room.. which was rich, and very fragrant,

Gasps echoed around me.

"What kind of technique is that?"

"I've never smelled anything like this..."

"This boy...he doesn't look normal."

I served the soup into a porcelain bowl, garnishing it with fresh herbs and a perfectly thin slice of roasted pepper that floated like a flame.

Making it look Beautiful, Balanced, and more presentable.

The steward approached it slowly, as if afraid the dish might explode on his face.

He lifted the spoon,then tasted it...

...and his eyes widened.

"This..." he whispered, "is perfection."

His voice boomed across the kitchen. "Prepare this dish for presentation to His Highness!"

The chefs stared at me as though I'd turned into some mythical creature they did not understand and of course their stares were right...I am a mythical creature from the future inhabiting another female's body who is now disguised as a boy to survive this ancient world.

A few of the chefs even stepped aside respectfully.

Whispers swelled in:

"He might actually survive here."

"No, more than that...he might rise."

"That boy... he's dangerous and looks abnormal."

"How can someone so small and beautiful like a maiden cook this way"

I stood there, chest rising and falling, my hands trembling...not from fear, but from something else...

My Confidence and Power.

For the first time in this world, I felt it settling into me.

I wasn't just surviving.

I was proving myself.

Daniel Haston might not really exist.

But Irene...the chef I used to be...was very much alive.

And this palace was about to learn exactly what I could do.

I didn't expect the dish to leave the kitchen so soon. My heart is still pounding, not knowing if the prince will like my meal or get me executed like the others.

Honestly? I hoped he wouldn't... If the Crown Prince never tasted my cooking, he would never know I existed, and I could remain alive, unnoticed, and unexecuted...but then he's needed to taste it so I can be employed as a chef here in the palace because I really need the salary to sustain me here in this world and I really need to survive until I can know how to get back to my world.

The head steward leaned over the stewing Phoenix Flame Soup I had spent the last hour perfecting. His eyes widened..not in disgust, as I had expected, but in confusion... almost in awe.

"This..." he muttered, sniffing the steam again. "This smells nothing like the previous chef's attempts."

"Because the previous chef wasn't from the twenty-first century". I whispered to myself

Before I could say anymore, he clapped his hands and barked,

"Bring it to His Highness. Now."

My stomach dropped to my knees.

"Wait...what? Isn't he still...?"

"On his way back from training? Yes," the steward cut in sharply. "Which is exactly why we must hurry. If this dish impresses him, you might keep your head. If it doesn't..."

He didn't finish.

He didn't need to.

Two servants lifted the tray and rushed out of the kitchen. While I trail behind them,watching helplessly as the bowl...my bowl...disappeared down the corridor leading to the royal pavilion.

A wave of nausea swept through me.

I wasn't ready for the Crown Prince...Just wasn't ready for any prince. I just wanted to eat, survive, and not die in the past...I just wanted a way to go back home to my life.

I wiped my palms on my apron, but the trembling didn't stop.

Minutes later,it was as if the world shifted.

A cold ripple passed through the room, followed by the sound of armor, boots, and authority so heavy it crushed the space before he even stepped inside. Every chef and staff stiffened at once. Some dropped to their knees. Others bowed so deeply their foreheads nearly hit the floor.

"The Crown Prince has returned from the training grounds," someone whispered, sounding frightened.

My heart jumped into my throat.

So this was him...the man rumored to kill his own staff without blinking. The man whose chef I had replaced. The man I was desperately hoping would never notice my existence.

Silence fell over the pavilion like someone had extinguished all sound. The room temperature seemed to have dropped. A presence rolled through the air which was cold, heavy, and in a commanding way.

Then someone whispered behind me, "His Highness is approaching."

And another murmured, "If he hates the dish, run before he draws his sword."

Run?

My legs felt like wet noodles.

The double doors slammed open.

Crown Prince Arthur strode in..not walked, but strode in, carrying the kind of lethal grace that made every living soul snap to attention. He was tall, and far taller than I expected, with broad shoulders and a sharp jaw that looked carved from winter stone. His hair was dark, looking messy from his training, and his sweat glistened along his neck where the armor he was putting on didn't cover.

I heard people say that he is renowned for his ruthlessness, very authoritative and arrogant and he is rumored to have killed any one that defiled him including his previous chefs.

And he is also very Strategic, cold, and unreadable.

When the doors swung open for him, the room bowed under his presence.

Crown Prince Arthur Lucein Evereign

He was taller than anyone else in the room, dressed in black armor that clung to his powerful frame.

His Piercing eyes.. very icy, and unreadable.

Broad shoulders and a sword at his side that looked as though he used it often. Too often.

But it wasn't his appearance that froze the blood in my veins.

It was his aura...deathly calm, and lethal, like he had already judged and found everyone here unworthy.

Arthur didn't need to raise his voice,only His silence alone commanded fear.

"What is this smell?" he asked, his tone sounded flat, and dangerous.

Every chef trembled harder.. looking more frightened.

The steward immediately pushed the bowl of Phoenix Flame Soup forward.

"Y...Your Highness, the new chef prepared it."

New chef.

Oh no. Oh no no no.

Arthur's head slowly turned...toward me.

Those eyes locked onto me, sharp and cold enough to slice straight through the disguise I wore. My breath caught in my mouth and my fingers curled into fists at my sides to hide them shaking.

He approached slowly, in measured steps.

Each one echoed like a countdown to my execution.

"So," he said, stopping directly in front of me. "You are the replacement."

I swallowed hard. "Y...yes, Your Highness."

The room went silent at the sound of my voice which was a little higher, and a little softer than a typical man's voice. For a second, I panicked.

But Arthur didn't comment. If he noticed, he didn't show it.

His eyes looking at me sends shivers down my body.

His eyes looked very Dark, Cold, and Sharp enough to cut.

He wasn't looking angry or pleased..he was just unreadable, like a man who had seen too much blood to be surprised by anything anymore.

He held the empty bowl in one hand.

And... that was my bowl.

Oh no no no

My pulse thundered in my ears...becoming very nervous like my breath just seized...wondering if he is going to like my meal or not...picturing my death if he doesn't like it "oh my goodness" I whispered.

The steward dropped to his knees. The rest of the kitchen staff followed. I tried to follow their lead, but Arthur's voice cut like a blade.

"You. Stand."

My head snapped up...

He was looking directly at me.

Me?

Why me?

I could barely breathe.

Arthur walked closer, slow and deliberate. The entire room held its breath as if any sound might trigger an execution.

Finally, he stopped right in front of me.

"Did you prepare this?"

His voice wasn't loud...but it was deep, controlling, and terrifying in its calmness.

I swallowed hard. "Y...yes, Your Highness." bringing my eyes down, daring not to look at his face.

He just stood in front of me studying my face,my posture, my trembling hands. In this disguise. I pray he wouldn't see right through me.

Then he lifted the bowl.

I braced myself for whatever might happen to me... either his voice shouting at me. Or his sword stabbing through me. Or declaring me death by hanging. But honestly...I prepared myself for whatever might happen to me, I was ready to bear the consequences...because I knew I couldn't escape from this.

But then, he said only one word:

"...Interesting."

I blinked. "...Your Highness?"

He stepped closer, invading my space without hesitation. I stiffened as he leaned in slightly...not at me, but at the lingering aroma of the dish still in the bowl,as he scooped a spoon from the bowl and tasted it.

Then I observed his expression...he seemed tense, in a critical way...he looked like he froze but only for a brief, fleeting second. Something unreadable passed through his eyes. Something that looked almost like... surprise?

But it vanished instantly.

He placed the spoon down in a deliberate calm way.

"Who taught you to cook like this?" he asked.

My heartbeat thundered in my skull. "Self-taught, Your Highness."

His eyes narrowed, studying me like a puzzle he wasn't sure he wanted to solve.

"Do not lie to me," Arthur said quietly, almost too quietly. "I do not give second chances."

His voice was low, controlled, and terrifyingly final.

Something inside me clenched...was it Fear? Of course Yes.

But I felt something else too.

Determination. Yes it is..

But before I could respond, he added:

"There is a flavor in this soup," he said slowly, as if unraveling a puzzle.

"Something I have never tasted in this empire." Then he started eating more of the soup I prepared...

And My breath caught.

He wasn't angry.

He was intrigued.

"A depth," he continued. "A warmth. A balance no chef in this palace has ever achieved."

His gaze snapped to mine...looking at me as if looking at something familiar.

"For a moment..." his jaw tightened, "I remembered something I shouldn't have remembered."

A chill ran down my spine.

Remembered... what?

Before I could ask, he dropped the bowl into a servant's hands and stepped back.

"Your cooking," he said quietly, "will continue."

He turned to walk away...but paused halfway.

Then, over his shoulder he said

"My personal chef."

At first I didn't understand what he meant but then I choked on air. "W...what?"

"You will be my personal chef," he said. "From now on... all my meals will be prepared only by you."

The room erupted into gasps. Some chefs glared at me with pure hatred. Others bowed even lower.

But all I could think of was:

Me, His personal Chef...just like that?

Only Me?

To prepare his meals for him?

He wanted me...specifically me?

But why only me?

Arthur's gaze locked onto mine once more, cold and unreadable.

"Do not disappoint me... Daniel."

But before I could understand what he meant ...

Arthur had already turned away, his cloak sweeping behind him as he strode out of the room...leaving a shock, terror, and a pounding heartbeat behind, including the chilling silence and dozens of shocked eyes staring at me.