After receiving the royal decree from King Sejong, or rather, Sejong, I quietly returned to my place.

During the banquet held after the ceremony, whether because I took first place or was marked as an impudent newcomer, several high-ranking officials in red robes swarmed toward me.

That hunched-back man from yesterday must be Heo Jo, and the one with a beard who looks somewhat kind is probably Hwang Hui.

The way they’re looking at me is downright terrifying.

In alternate history novels, the ministers serving under Sejong often treat the protagonist like a new grad student.

And the vibe I’m getting from their gazes is exactly that.

It’s the look of a seasoned corporal, obsessed with discipline, eyeing a pitiful new recruit about to be chewed out.

“I’m Heo Jo, the Minister of Rites. And this man beside me is Bangchon, the Minister of Finance.” “It’s an honor to meet two such renowned lords of the court.”

Normally, when a rookie humbles themselves like this, the senior official would say something encouraging, like, “Let’s do well together, I have high hopes for you,” and the atmosphere would warm up.

But who am I? The lunatic who wrote in the final exam that the king and his officials aren’t properly looking after the people and are just collecting taxes.

If I were some famous scholar from the countryside, my words might have been praised as insightful.

But I’m just a newly minted sixth-rank nobody who barely passed the exam.

To sum up the situation in one phrase? I’m completely screwed.

As if to prove my prediction right, Heo Jo took a jab at me.

“Well, well, a great minister has emerged in Joseon. A talent who could rival Zhuge Liang or Yue Fei and hold up the nation. I’m genuinely curious—have you ever read the saying that the tongue is a sword that cuts people, and the mouth is a gate that invites trouble?”

There’s only one option for me here.

I have to grovel and apologize for being too bold.

With my knowledge of Joseon history, I could easily prove why the current tax policy is nonsense if I wanted to…

But right now, I’m guilty of being insolent.

If I keep arguing my point in this situation, I’d be an idiot who’s thrown all sense into a bowl of soup.

“I’m sorry.” “I agree with you that Joseon is still far from true peace and prosperity. But no matter how much you have to say about taxes, how could a young punk like you so fiercely criticize a tax system that’s been refined over years, from King Taejo to the current king? A true loyal subject, huh.”

Joseon is a land of propriety and etiquette.

Korea values manners too, but it’s on a different level from Joseon.

In Korea, being impolite might get you on a superior’s bad side or hurt your promotion chances, but in Joseon, lacking propriety gets you “beaten down” by the masses.

If I hadn’t been appointed as the magistrate of Jinhae, I’d probably have been dragged to a “new official welcome ceremony” and force-fed lessons in etiquette.

Like bowing to clerks and fetching snacks for drinks or catching fish in muddy water.

In a world where propriety is paramount, avoiding trouble with higher-ups is the top priority.

“Harsh governance is more terrifying than a tiger, and you’re saying the current tax system is exactly that? What an arrogant brat. Back in my day, no one would dare speak with such audacity.”

As Heo Jo kept fuming, Bangchon, or rather Hwang Hui, stepped in to calm him.

“Didn’t he write such an answer in the exam out of youthful zeal? Besides, the retired king already said his reasoning wasn’t wrong.” “Do you think I’d have let this punk off if I didn’t know that? This insolent nobody calls the tax system we worked hard to build—after overthrowing corrupt Goryeo—a disaster worse than a tiger. He shouldn’t be spared.” “Why are you so rigid? Principles and order are fine, but sometimes you need to be flexible.” “Tch, Confucius said…” “Enough of that—let’s just drink. This is a celebration for passing the exam with first place. What are you doing?”

Hwang Hui, with his good-natured charm, sat Heo Jo down next to me.

He signaled me with a glance to pour wine into their empty cups.

In history, Hwang Hui was known for being intense at times but skilled at maintaining relationships—not as good as Maeng Saseong, but he’s great at playing the peacemaker.

Though Hwang Hui is the embodiment of corruption, he saved me today, so for now, I’ll treat him like the upright Hwang Hui and serve him well.

“Please, both lords, forgive this young scholar’s excessive boldness.”

When I bowed again, Heo Jo clicked his tongue.

“Back in my day, right after the welcoming ceremony, you’d have been dragged off to learn proper respect for senior officials. You’re lucky, kid. Back in my day…”

Hwang Hui gestured to stop Heo Jo, who kept going on with his “back in my day” spiel, and gave a sly smile.

That smile, that laugh—it’s exactly like… the grin of a professor kidnapping a grad student.

Young, clueless officials might see that kind smile and think, “Ministers are different—they have such care for their subordinates and the composure of experience.”

But I, who’ve seen people lured by that gentle expression into becoming enslaved grad students, know better.

I must never fall for that smile.

“Having risen to this position, I see that the court desperately needs young, capable talents like you. The Minister of Rites here may talk like this now, but before His Majesty, he praised your insight for seeing through the flaws in the system.” “I’m sorry.” “It might sound old-fashioned to someone who took first place, but with your insight and vision, you’re sure to become a pillar of the nation. Both the retired king and His Majesty have high expectations of you.” “I’m deeply honored.”

Hwang Hui poured me another cup of wine.

I turned my head and downed it in one gulp.

“But you know, having a sharp eye alone is useless. What’s the point of reading a text a thousand times if you don’t understand its teachings?” “Indeed. Only by grasping the meaning within the text does it truly become yours.” “I don’t yet know if you, the magistrate of Jinhae, are someone who merely reads texts or a true talent who understands their meaning and puts it into practice.”

What Hwang Hui’s saying is this: Are you just a smooth-talking fraud, or are you a real worker?

“There are countless fake gentlemen in this world who speak eloquently. I’m curious to see which type you are.”

His words sent a chill down my spine, making my hair stand on end.

In Joseon, calling someone a “fake gentleman” is one of the harshest insults among nobles.

In modern Korean terms, it’s like calling someone a “filthy swindler whose parents are dead.”

To say he’ll see what kind of person I am with that kind of expression…

“Well, human nature is inherently evil, but through education, it can be made good, right? If you’re just an arrogant kid spouting fancy words because you think you’re insightful at a young age… we ministers, upholding the teachings of Confucius and Mencius, will have to teach you strictly.” “Of course.” “We’ll see what kind of person you are through your performance as the magistrate of Jinhae. Don’t disappoint me.”

With that, Hwang Hui gave another sly smile and left with Heo Jo.

It’s truly remarkable.

The food and wine before me are surely top-quality, made in the royal palace…

But I couldn’t taste a thing.

And I realized: if I don’t want to be “re-educated” by the ministers (with all sorts of absurdities and guaranteed daily overtime), I have to achieve outstanding results in Jinhae.

“Since it’s come to this, even if retirement is a bit further off, I need to survive.”

And so, I took Dolsoe and a few others and headed to Jinhae to take up my post.

Typically, a magistrate is greeted with “lavish local specialty gifts” upon arrival, which are sent to the officials who recommended them or to those they owe favors.

Yu Heechun, who wrote the Miam Diary, received a whopping 1,000 seom of rice the year his exile was lifted.

That’s how important collecting local specialty gifts is in Joseon.

So, as soon as the clerks saw me…

“My lord, Jinhae is famous for anchovies, dried persimmons, and crafts made from paulownia wood. So, to assist you…” “No need. Bring me the tax ledgers right now.”

I said with my own mouth that there’s a way to normalize Joseon.

Since Hwang Hui and Heo Jo said they have expectations of me, I need to respond by performing beyond what a mere magistrate is capable of.

“His Majesty loves the people like his own children, so I, too, must have the same heart.”