The scent of roasting meat and simmering spices hung heavy in the air, a chaotic symphony of flavors that would have sent Jihoon's past self running for the nearest air-conditioned cafe. Now, however, it was the smell of victory, or at least, of survival. The last few days had been a blur of frantic activity, his modern organizational skills clashing spectacularly with ancient customs, all under Madam Ahn's disapproving gaze. He'd learned the hard way that "feast" in Goryeo meant a grand affair for nobles and power-holders, a display of wealth and influence. But Jihoon, armed with only his modern common sense and a growing resentment for the novel's original plot, had a different idea. He remembered the General's men, the rough-and-tumble soldiers from the training grounds, their tired but disciplined faces. And he remembered his own miserable existence in a hospital, dreaming of real food and fresh air.
"Madam Ahn," Jihoon had announced one morning, standing amidst towering stacks of vegetables, "I've decided. We're not just inviting the officers. We're inviting all the soldiers. And their families."
Madam Ahn had looked at him as if he'd suggested serving stewed puppies. "Sir! That is... unprecedented! A General's banquet is a formal affair, for dignitaries and high-ranking officials. It is not a communal gathering!"
"Precisely," Jihoon had countered, a mischievous glint in his eye.
"Unprecedented means memorable, doesn't it? These men fought for the General. They deserve to celebrate with their families, in comfort. And besides," he added, leaning in conspiratorially, "think of the goodwill. Happy soldiers mean a stronger army, right?" Madam Ahn had sniffed, clearly unconvinced, but Jihoon, with a newfound stubbornness, had pressed on. He'd also, unknowingly, aimed for a feast that, while abundant, lacked the ostentatious grandeur that nobles expected. He just didn't know what "grand" really looked like by Goryeo standards, so he focused on delicious, hearty food in large quantities, things that actually tasted good, rather than being mere edible sculptures. He'd even insisted on simpler serving ware, citing 'ease of management for such a large crowd.' Madam Ahn had despaired, muttering about tarnishing the General's reputation, but Jihoon's logic, however alien, was strangely compelling, and his enthusiasm, however unusual, was infectious.
The day of the banquet dawned crisp and clear. The main courtyard, usually a parade ground, had been transformed with long, low tables instead of individual, elevated ones, and simple, sturdy benches rather than ornate chairs. Lanterns, strung liberally, cast a warm glow as dusk began to fall. The air buzzed with a mix of anticipation and confusion. Common soldiers, many arriving with their wives and wide-eyed children, shuffled in, unsure where to sit. They were accustomed to feasts being reserved for the elite, a world away from their humble lives. Their usual attire, plain but clean, felt utterly out of place in such a grand estate.
Then Jihoon appeared, dressed in a simple, yet elegant, dark blue silk robe, moving among them with an easy smile. He motioned for them to sit anywhere, personally guiding a nervous family to a spot near a warm brazier. "Welcome, welcome!" he called out, his voice clear and unexpectedly warm. "Please, make yourselves comfortable. This feast is for you, for your bravery!" His simple, unassuming demeanor, so unlike the aloofness expected of a high-born noble, quickly put them at ease. The soldiers, initially stiff and formal, slowly relaxed. The wives, dressed in their everyday hanboks, found themselves sharing benches with other commoners, rather than feeling intimidated by the usual noble finery. The children, delighted by the sheer amount of food and the absence of stern warnings, began to chatter and play.
When General Taeyoung arrived, stepping out of the main hall, a silent ripple ran through the crowd. The spontaneous cacophony of the common soldiers and their families died down to a respectful murmur. Taeyoung, dressed in a black formal robe, his usual intimidating aura present, paused. He swept his gaze over the unexpected scene: hundreds of his men, not just the officers, seated informally, their families nestled beside them, a palpable sense of genuine camaraderie and joy. His eyes found Jihoon, who was currently trying to explain to a group of laughing soldiers that 'too much spice' was a subjective concept, completely oblivious to the General's imposing presence.
Taeyoung's brow furrowed. This was... unexpected. And not unwelcome. He had expected a stuffy, formal affair, another obligation. Instead, he found a bustling, lively celebration. He moved through the crowd, nodding to his men, and was met with genuine, unforced respect, not just the rigid military deference. The soldiers' smiles reached their eyes, their children clutching his legs in delight before being gently shooed away by their embarrassed parents. He noticed the simpler, more robust dishes, designed for sustenance and flavor, not just presentation. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. Clever, Jihoon-ah.
He found Jihoon directing servants with surprising efficiency, even occasionally cracking a joke that made a few kitchen staff snicker. "Sir Jihoon," Taeyoung's voice cut through the background hum. Jihoon turned, startled, his eyes widening. He bowed deeply. "General!"
Taeyoung's gaze softened, a familiar warmth stirring in his chest as he looked at the slight figure who had, against all odds, created such an atmosphere. "The feast is... commendable," he said, his voice carrying just enough for the surrounding soldiers to hear. "It far exceeds my expectations. Your efforts are deeply appreciated by myself and my men." A ripple of approving murmurs went through the crowd. "As a token of my esteem," Taeyoung continued, his eyes twinkling subtly, "I shall grant you one wish. Anything within my power. Name it."
Jihoon's eyes went wide. A wish? The General was offering him a wish? His mind, ever pragmatic, immediately began calculating. This was a valuable card, a potential life-saver. He couldn't squander it on something trivial like better tonics or a bigger library. He needed to save it for a true death-flag emergency. "General," Jihoon said, carefully choosing his words, "your generosity is overwhelming. I... I shall hold onto your kind offer for now, if I may. There is nothing I require immediately, but perhaps in the future, if a dire need arises, I may call upon it." He gave a confident, albeit slightly shaky, smile. Checkmate, General. I'll cash this out when it really matters.
Taeyoung chuckled, a low, surprisingly pleasant sound that resonated through the hall. "As you wish, Jihoon-ah. A wise man saves his favors. But know that my word is my bond." He lifted his cup of rice wine, and the soldiers roared their approval, impressed by both the General's open-handedness and Jihoon's shrewdness. They were starting to truly like this "second master" of the house. He was different, not like the stiff, pompous nobles they usually endured. He felt like one of them, yet clearly commanded respect.
Later, as the feast wound down and the soldiers began to disperse, full and content, Taeyoung approached Jihoon again, a casualness in his posture that belied his usual formality. "The success of this feast speaks highly of you, Jihoon-ah," he remarked, a genuine warmth in his tone that made Jihoon slightly uncomfortable, unfamiliar as he was with such praise from authority figures, especially this intimidating man. "You've earned the genuine loyalty of my men tonight." He paused, his expression growing serious. "On a different note, the King, mentioned that Prince Jaemin will be arriving in the capital soon. I'm to see to his arrangements."
Jihoon's world tilted. Prince Jaemin. The name hit him like a physical blow. Jaemin. The original main character. The illegitimate prince. The novel's protagonist. His heart hammered, a frantic drumbeat against his ribs, making him feel dizzy. His ears buzzed. This wasn't some distant plot point anymore; this was the catalyst. He remembered his sister's endless descriptions: "Oh, and then Prince Jaemin, so pure and kind, finally arrives at the Goryeo capital, completely lost..." He'd mentally tuned out that part, focused only on his own demise.
Taeyoung, oblivious to Jihoon's internal turmoil, continued, "He's a delicate sort, I hear. The King wishes him handled with care. I hope you"ll ensure he's settled properly in a secure residence."
Jihoon stood frozen, his mind a whirlwind of frantic calculations. The original novel. The plot. The timing. The illegitimate prince, Jaemin, was supposed to arrive after the General's return, and Jihoon's death was supposed to precede his capture by the General. He'd been so worried about his own death flags, about General Taeyoung being the "evil" character who would kill him. He'd focused on the banquet as a means of survival, a way to impress the General, to make himself valuable. And by inviting the soldiers and their families, by creating a banquet that wasn't overly grand and thus more accessible to commoners, he hadn't just impressed Taeyoung, he'd unknowingly shifted the timeline.
If Taeyoung had hosted a traditional, formal banquet for nobles, as was custom, the Joseon Prince, Jaemin, would have been expected to attend, making his grand entrance in the mansion today or tomorrow. But Jihoon's unconventional banquet, designed for soldiers and their families, meant no invitation had gone out to the new arrivals, to the nobles who would normally greet Jaemin. This unexpected deviation, this uncustomary gathering, would surely have delayed Prince Jaemin's official entry into the capital. It was a ripple effect he hadn't anticipated. He hadn't just gained goodwill; he had, by sheer accident, bought himself time. He had changed the initial meeting, the first major plot point. The death flags hadn't been triggered yet. He was still alive, and Jaemin wasn't here. Not yet. A sudden, dizzying wave of relief, tinged with disbelief, washed over him, almost making him sway. He had unknowingly twisted the narrative. The story was now officially off track. And for the first time since his transmigration, a genuine, albeit fragile, sense of hope flickered within him. He just had to survive long enough for it to matter