We all saw how tvN’s Bon Appétit, Your Majesty wrapped up with that swoony “restaurant reunion” scene. The camera lingered on Yoona’s smile, Lee Chae-min walked in looking devastatingly modern in a suit, and the screen faded out on pure K-drama bliss. Classic romantic happy ending.
But here’s the twist: if you’ve read the original web novel Surviving as the Tyrant King’s Chef (연산군의 셰프로 살아남기), the story doesn’t just stop at that warm hug. Nope. The novel takes a wildly different route, blending dark comedy, fish-out-of-water hijinks, and even satirical commentary on modern consumer culture. Let’s break it down.
In the novel’s finale, Yeon Hee-gun (aka the fictionalized tyrant) opens his eyes… not in the palace, not even in the Joseon era, but in the middle of blazing downtown Seoul. Imagine centuries of court etiquette colliding with neon billboards, honking cars, and LED traffic lights.
To him, the headlights look like monsters. He panics, thinking Ji-young is about to be devoured, and dashes into the street. Cue: screeching tires, chaos, and yes—an actual car accident.
Our mighty monarch wakes up in a hospital bed, surrounded by doctors. He insists, “I am the King of Joseon!” only to get diagnosed with what? Delusional disorder. The irony is delicious. Yesterday’s feared tyrant is today’s “guy with a medieval LARP complex.”
Plot twist: the person who hit him with the car is none other than the reincarnation of Queen Shin, now reborn as a rich chaebol daughter. Instead of wielding palace intrigue, she’s running an instant food company. And fate? Still having fun messing with both of them.
She decides to toy with him and serves up a microwaveable “Dragon & Phoenix Soup” (용봉탕).
Of course, Yeon Hee-gun takes one bite and immediately calls it out: fake broth, MSG overload, subpar ingredients. His palate, trained from both palace feasts and Ji-young’s modern creations, doesn’t miss a beat.
Shin is stunned. Here’s a man who can taste the truth out of a single spoonful. Business brain kicks in—this guy could be the ultimate brand ambassador. She offers him a deal: be the face of her food empire.
His condition? “Find Ji-young.”
By this point, Ji-young is already a celebrity chef in the modern world, running her restaurant Mon Roi (“My King”) and living the dream. Finding her is basically Googling “Top Star Chef” away.
So Yeon Hee-gun suits up (with a little help from chaebol money), tracks down her restaurant, and steels himself for the ultimate reunion.
Picture it: the heavy double doors of a chic French-Korean fusion restaurant swing open. Chandeliers glow, diners murmur in hushed tones. He steps in, overwhelmed by the strangeness of Western table settings, until one familiar scent stops him cold.
From the kitchen, Ji-young emerges. Their eyes meet. Centuries collapse in that single gaze. And that’s it. The novel ends here, deliberately leaving what comes after to us.
Both endings share the same core ingredient—love that transcends time—but the flavor is totally different.
For viewers, the tvN version gave exactly what prime-time needs: catharsis, swoon, closure. For readers, the web novel delivered something messier but oddly more memorable: a tyrant king squaring off against Seoul’s traffic, capitalism, and convenience food culture.
One thing’s certain: whether you prefer your K-drama endings sweet and simple or spiced with satire, Bon Appétit, Your Majesty has secured its spot as one of 2025’s most unforgettable K-drama moments.