The Royal Tasting

By the afternoon of his second day in the future, Jungkook had decided the bakery needed reform.

"Bring me one of everything," he said.

Y/N did not look up from the dough she was kneading. "There's forty-two things."

"Then bring me forty-two things."

"You'll get sick."

"I am a king," said Jungkook , seating himself on the tall stool at the end of the counter like a man ascending a throne. "I have survived sieges, famines, and my uncle's cooking. I will survive pastry."

Behind the register, Min-ji clasped both hands over her heart. "Unnie, he's so dramatic. Please let him."

Y/N sighed, wiped her hands, and began loading a tray.

The tasting began at two o'clock sharp.

Jungkook arranged the pastries in a perfect line along the counter, from largest to smallest, and studied them. Then he picked up the first, a croissant, and turned it slowly under the light.

"This is shaped like a crescent moon," he observed.

"Because it's a croissant."

"An omen." He bit down. The shell shattered with a soft crackle, and flakes of golden butter fell across his shirt. His eyes widened.

"It has layers," he said reverently. "Hundreds. It is a small palace of butter."

"Yes."

"I appoint it a general."

"You can't appoint a croissant."

"I have just done it." He set it aside and lifted the next. "Rank it accordingly."

What followed was the strangest court in the history of Seoul.

The red bean bun, soft and warm and sweet, was named Minister of Comfort. The custard tart, its top shining like polished bronze, became Keeper of the Royal Seal. A chocolate cake earned the title Duke of Indulgence, and JK was so moved by it that he stopped speaking for nearly a full minute. Then he ate a second slice and gravely declared it the reason great empires fall.

Min-ji, who had been writing the titles down on the back of a receipt, was now wheezing.

"Is he always like this?" she whispered.

"I've known him for two days," said

Y/N. "So yes."

He ate a cinnamon roll. He ate a slice of sweet potato bread. He ate a spinach quiche, sausage roll, cheese scone, and an entire loaf of milk bread that he tore apart with his hands like a starving warrior in a legend. Every bite, he paused and closed his eyes, and when he opened them again his expression had softened by a small, almost imperceptible degree.

Excellent, he thought, over and over. These are all excellent.

It struck him then, with a strange sting, that nobody in his kingdom had ever made him anything just because they wanted him to be happy.

---

At three o'clock, Y/N handed him a long, narrow loaf of bread.

He took it and weighed it in his hand. He tapped the crust. It made a hard, hollow, wooden sound.

"A baguette," she said. "It's crunchy on the outside, soft on the—"

Jungkook stepped away from the counter, took a wide stance, and swung the loaf through the air in a perfect, sweeping arc.

"*Hup!*"

A customer dropped her coffee.

"This is a very fine sword," said Jungkook , with deep satisfaction. "Balanced. Light. A little brittle."

"It's bread!"

"I have fought with worse."

"Put it down before you hurt someone!"

He lowered it, slowly, with visible disappointment, and broke off the end and ate it. His expression softened again. "Yes," he said thoughtfully. "It is also delicious. A weapon that feeds the army. The Jeon soldiers would follow me to the ends of the earth."

A small voice piped up beside him.

"Excuse me?"

Jungkook looked down. A little boy, perhaps five years old, in a yellow raincoat, stood at his knee, staring up at him with enormous eyes. He held a coin in one fist.

"Are you a prince?"

Jungkook considered the question with the solemnity of a supreme court judge. "I am a king," he said.

"Whoa." The boy's mouth fell open. "Do you have a horse?"

"I have four hundred."

"Can I see one?"

"They are in the past," said JK.

"Oh." The boy digested this. Then he thrust out the coin. "Can I buy a cookie?"

Jungkook looked at the coin. He looked at the child. Then, wordlessly, he drew himself to his full height, took the baguette in both hands, laid it lightly against the boy's shoulder, and said, in a voice that carried through the entire bakery:

"Rise, Sir Cookie, knight of the Jeon kingdom. You are hereby granted one cookie, free of charge."

The whole shop went silent.

Then someone started clapping.

Then everyone did. The little boy, glowing, accepted a chocolate cookie from Min-ji, who was wiping her eyes, and the mother, standing near the door with her hand over her mouth, quietly whispered, "Thank you," to a man who did not know how to say you're welcome.

---

The line grew long by late afternoon.

A man in a business suit, tall and irritated, marched past the queue and slapped his palm on the counter. "I need six croissants. I'm in a hurry. Can you serve me now?"

Y/N opened her mouth. "Sir, there's a line—"

"I don't have time for a line."

The air changed.

It was subtle. Nothing moved. But jungkook , who had been sitting quietly on his stool eating a chocolate eclair, put down the eclair. He rose. He walked slowly, unhurriedly, around the counter, until he stood exactly one pace from the man in the suit.

He said nothing.

He only looked at him.

It was the look that had made three kings surrender without a fight. It was patient, and cold, and utterly without doubt, the look of a man who had never once been refused. The whole shop went quiet. Somewhere a spoon rattled against a cup.

"Return," said Jungkook , very softly, "to your place."

The man opened his mouth. Closed it. His eyes flicked to the queue, then to the tall, silent figure in the gray shirt, and something in his spine, some ancient instinct that did not care about the century, quietly gave way.

"...Sorry," he muttered. He walked to the back of the line and stood there like a schoolboy.

The whole queue burst into applause.

Jungkook returned to his stool, picked up his eclair, and resumed eating with the composure of a man who had done nothing at all.

Min-ji was crying with laughter. "Unnie, we should hire him."

"He doesn't work," said Y/N. "He orders."

"That's basically management."

---

The bakery closed at seven.

Y/N flipped the sign on the door and leaned against the counter, exhausted, flour in her hair. Min-ji had gone home. The shop smelled of sugar and quiet. Golden light poured through the front window, painting long amber squares across the floor.

Jungkook sat on the stool, hands folded, gazing at the empty trays.

"Y/N," he said.

"Yes?"

"I wish to make a decree."

"Oh no."

"From this day forward," he said, "a tart shall be prepared for me each morning. It shall be the custard tart. It shall be warm."

She folded her arms. "Say please."

He stared at her as if she had asked him to renounce his throne.

"A king does not say please."

"Then no tart."

The silence stretched. A muscle worked in his jaw. His eyes went to the tray of custard tarts in the display case, glowing golden and warm, and back to her, and back to the tarts. He was the strongest king of his age, and he was losing a battle to a pastry.

"...Please," he said, through his teeth.

Y/N's whole face lit up, slow and bright as sunrise. She took a tart from the case, set it on a small plate, and slid it across the counter.

"There," she said. "Was that so hard?"

Jungkook looked at the tart. He looked at the word he had just spoken, the first please of his life.

"It was very hard," he admitted, and picked up the tart, and smiled, just a little, for the first time since the river.