I Regressed and Became Too Good at Brewing - Chapter 1
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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Episode 1. A Strange Meeting
My grandfather ran a Distillery in Yeongwol, Gangwon Province.
I was quite fond of him.
Even as a child, I loved that gentle, drifting fragrance that emanated from his embrace, and he held me close in his arms.
So it was only natural that I should grow fond of my grandfather, Song Tae-ho, and develop an interest in the spirits he loved.
“My father, though—he hated it.”
Paradoxically, Father bristled at even the mention of anything related to Grandfather.
Despising the label of being a brewer’s son, he’d studied relentlessly to become a doctor—his resolve was absolute.
“So when his own son decided to skip a generation and inherit the family trade… I’d have been angry too.”
My fascination with spirits began at twenty, fresh into university.
My grandfather’s pride in his craft captivated me.
And the taste and aroma of the spirits he brewed himself seized my heart entirely.
That was when Grandfather said something to me.
“Do you love spirits so much?” he asked.
I can’t quite remember what I answered then.
I recall simply nodding without much thought.
After Grandfather passed, he left me the Distillery as my inheritance.
Remembering that one thoughtless word from his grandson, he’d outfitted it with the latest equipment before he went.
I ended up secretly taking a leave of absence from university and began running the Distillery he’d left me.
“It shouldn’t have come to this.”
At first, things seemed to be going reasonably well.
We were even exporting on the back of the Korean spirits boom.
But that was the end of it.
“Hah. Life really is something.”
The business wouldn’t cooperate, though.
Chronic money troubles, then interference from major corporations whenever profit seemed possible.
Self-proclaimed spirits connoisseurs were quick to tear us down with their petty pride.
Still, I held on.
There were people supporting me.
But that didn’t last long either.
“Sigh… honestly…”
There was a traffic accident.
For some reason, a truck ran the light and crashed into us, leaving my left hand badly scarred—and my capable Business Partner, who’d worked with me at the Distillery, was gone.
From that point on, the Distillery’s fortunes only declined.
Then came the final blow.
“Hah… a factory, of all things…”
Water—the most crucial element in Brewing.
Recently, a factory had established itself upstream, and the water was ruined.
I protested and filed suit, but it was useless.
From then on, the water was lost, and the taste of our spirits vanished completely.
“When a place that sells spirits can’t brew them anymore, it’s finished.”
The Soju I’d bought with the little money left felt nothing but bitter.
To put it bluntly: yes, I failed.
I destroyed everything Grandfather had built and left to me—legacy meant only for me.
“Sigh…”
Walking with a heavy drunken haze, I arrived at the Distillery I once ran.
The nameplate Grandfather had hung—Songhwadang—creaked on the desolate gate.
But now there wasn’t a single drop of spirits left here.
When I opened the door to the warehouse that had become a grim, abandoned structure, only the squeak of rusted hinges echoed through the night.
“Hah. This is pathetic.”
I collapsed between the cold, still machines and scattered earthenware jars, drowning sorrows with bottles of cheap Soju.
But self-pity changed nothing.
The dreamer Song Yeon-woo was now in his mid-thirties, and all that remained was a body buried under debt.
“Damn it all…”
That’s when I was pouring that bitterly harsh Soju down my throat.
<You seem to have many troubles on your mind.>
“Huh?”
A voice came from right in front of me.
It belonged to a man with a deep, resonant tone.
Yet this was an abandoned building, besides—and it was mine.
Who else would be here at this hour besides me?
“Have I had too much to drink……?”
Again.
This wasn’t a hallucination, surely.
A sudden clarity cut through the haze of alcohol, and goosebumps erupted across his skin.
Someone had slipped in here without his knowing?
Then why come here at all?
Mind spinning with questions, he peered into the dim space from which the voice had come.
All he could make out was the cluttered outline of a neglected building.
Or rather, that wasn’t quite right.
A shadow was wavering in the darkness beyond it.
“W-who are you?”
The figure that emerged from the shadows was a man in unusual dress.
He wore a broad, black hanbok like someone from the Joseon era.
Though the clothes belonged to another time entirely, the dignity he carried made them seem perfectly at ease on him.
Regardless, the man walked toward him with an easy, unhurried stride.
“What are you talking about?”
He settled himself naturally across from Song Yeon-woo and produced a bottle.
Even through the fog of intoxication, Song Yeon-woo could tell.
Just by looking at it, he knew what it was—Myeongju, genuine Myeongju.
The liquid swirling inside the bottle was as if molten gold had been poured in—deep in color yet luminously clear.
The way it clung to the bottle’s rim before trailing down in rivulets was nothing short of mesmerizing.
“Pardon?”
He reached into his inner pocket and withdrew a tulip-shaped tasting glass.
It was impossible that such a thing could have come from that pocket, yet Song Yeon-woo didn’t question it.
Or rather, he chose not to.
His mind was far too captivated by the prospect of tasting this unknown spirit.
The man’s hand opened the bottle with elegant grace, and an aroma spilled forth.
“This is… what exactly……?”
A rich sweetness enveloped him.
The nuttiness of toasted hazelnuts, the honey’s sweetness, the musky scent of dried fruit.
And layered beneath it all—as if standing in the heart of a forest—came a clear, crystalline note woven with the lingering bloom of flowers.
Was it whiskey?
Or soju?
No, neither.
He had never encountered such a spirit anywhere in his life.
The man poured the golden liquid with a smile and extended the glass toward him.
“I… thank you…….”
Song Yeon-woo accepted the glass almost without thinking.
At this distance, the fragrance asserted itself so maddeningly that his senses began to reel.
It felt like a dream.
Yes—could this be a dream?
Perhaps he’d drunk himself into oblivion and now wandered through sleep.
If that were true, there was no reason to hesitate.
He brought the glass to his lips and let a single mouthful slide down.
And…….
“Mmm!”
A sweetness like caramelized sugar dusted with vanilla.
Mingling with it came the subtle bitterness of dark chocolate, and the carefully dried flavors of melon and mango.
Beyond the flourish of citrus and tropical fruit, a clean taste spread like clear running water.
Just as the intense warmth of the finish began to surprise him, it wrapped around him again with a gentle, buttery smoothness.
Wasn’t this a taste drawn from paintings themselves?
“What is this… exactly… what on earth…….”
“Hmm? You there. I’ve given you fine Myeongju, and you drink it plain?”
“If you’d tell me, I… I’d do anything…….”
The words tumbled out in desperation before he stopped himself cold.
It was as good as a full stop.
What else could I offer, after all? I had nothing left.
This strange man before me, odd robes aside, carried himself with an air of refinement that seemed to radiate from every fiber of his being.
To any eye, there was nothing I could possibly give him.
Yet as if reading my thoughts, he smiled—a slow, knowing lift at the corners of his mouth—and asked.
“You did say anything, didn’t you?”
“I… uh… yes?”
“Then shall we make a wager?”
“A wager?”
“Nothing grand, really.”
He rose from his seat as he spoke, brushing dust from his trousers.
“If I win the wager, I’ll tell you the name of this Myeongju. And more—I’ll teach you the three characters of the Distillery’s name, and the method itself.”
“And if I lose…….”
“Then you need only grant me one small wish. Help us.”
“Help you?”
The meaning was clear enough.
He was asking me to aid him and his companions.
But how could I possibly do that?
I didn’t even know who this man was.
As I stood there, bewildered, the mysterious stranger continued.
“It’s simple. Make good liquor. I will help you with whatever you need to achieve that.”
“But…….”
What was a wager, after all?
The losing side paid the price commensurate with their defeat—that was how wagers worked.
Yet this nameless man had proposed something that defied that very logic.
A wager where, no matter the outcome, I could only gain.
Making fine liquor had always been my dream.
And now he offered to help me pursue it?
Perhaps this greed was my own weakness.
After all, this entire night was nothing but a drunken fantasy.
Yet thinking so eased my heart in a way I hadn’t expected.
And so I spoke.
“Let’s do it. This wager of yours.”
“That’s the spirit! Bold and generous—I like it. Now, do you know how to wrestle?”
“I’m sorry, what? Wrestling?”
A wager conducted over drinks in this dim warehouse, and it came down to wrestling of all things.
Baffled, I stared at him, but his expression was earnest—he set down his bottle and extended his hand toward me.
“Show sincerity. I, too, shall act with true heart for my people and my land.”
Whether it was the weight of that moment or something else, I’m not certain.
But I—who had never so much as heard of wrestling in my life—awkwardly assumed a stance and gripped his waist.
Drunk as I was, and having never tried such a thing, how could I have hoped to succeed?
“Heh. You’ve got spirit, friend, but not quite the build to match it, have you?”
“Ugh… again!”
“Ha ha ha! That’s what I love about you!”
I gave it everything I had.
I hooked with my legs, tensed my arms, threw my weight around.
But he stood there immovable, as if rooted to the earth itself.
He simply laughed—a low, rolling chuckle—and let my body work against his unmoved form.
All the while, he spoke.
“There’s a fine scent in this place. The aroma of a true craftsman—it clings to spaces where fine liquor is born.”
“It’s a shame, truly. Such a place is rare, and rarer still to find one so perfectly suited.”
“Clear water, towering mountains that gather the vital force of the earth—of course good Myeongju flows from such a place.”
“There was corruption in the path. Not your failure, but the work of something twisted. You are blameless—a craftsman too pure of heart, perhaps. Fear not. When you wake, all will be well.”
In truth, I hardly heard the words.
I was consumed with only one thought—to bring this man down.
And then it happened.
So remember the wager if you return.
“Huh… huh… return?”
That’s right. I’ve given you trustworthy companions, so use them well. I’m giving them to you as a gift to a friend because I’ve enjoyed our time—don’t take it to heart. Ha! Well then…….
“Oh my!”
The man who had stood rigid as a tree suddenly lurched forward.
Immediately after, the ground began to shake as if an earthquake had struck.
As he staggered, losing his footing, brilliant flashes of light erupted from all directions.
“W-what on earth!”
Look well. Your life has not been in vain.
In the darkness of the Distillery, figures took their seats atop the scattered earthenware jars.
Some wore clothes similar to the man before him, while others dressed in traditional robes and horsehair hats.
Different genders, different ages, yet all sipped the liquor drawn from the jars with joy lighting their faces.
Where good spirits gather, Dokkaebi are sure to congregate.
“Dokkaebi?”
I haven’t lived long, but even if one toured every Distillery in all eight provinces, you’d find few places where so many Dokkaebi have dwelt.
At that moment, with a thunderous sound, the machinery began to operate.
The crushers and refiners clattered to life.
Water poured into the filters, and the fermentation line hummed.
And…….
So take pride in yourself.
The copper still, installed for modernization, roared to life with a magnificent sound.
You are an excellent brewer—you’ll do well when you return.
The equipment began to move as though alive.
While he stood mesmerized by it all, the sun began to rise outside.
Red sunlight filtering through the windows.
It seems the time has come.
“Eh?”
Don’t forget. Brew spirits. Save your clan.
Right after, the man hurled him down as if tossing a towel.
The moment his body hit the floor, pain shot through him and he cried out.
Chirp, chirp.
The sound of birds reaching his ears.
A sound he hadn’t heard since the factory was built upstream.
“What in the world…….”
Coming to his senses and looking around, what greeted him was a space suffused with the bright, clear air of dawn—entirely different from before.
Everything was well-maintained and immaculate.
That couldn’t be right.
Our Distillery had gone out of business.
Then what in heaven’s name was this sight he was witnessing?
He scrambled to his feet and fumbled through his pockets.
There was a phone.
Unlike the one he used, it was an old, obsolete model from a full decade ago.
And the date displayed on it.
“This can’t be real…….”
The machine, incapable of lying, clearly showed a date from ten years past.
Return and Brew Spirits Too Well
Author:
Yang Cheol Cork
Publisher:
Story Zak
Publication Registration:
No. 2020-000069
Address:
Halla One and One Tower, Building A, 1807, 101 Gasan Digital 2-ro, Geumcheon-gu, Seoul
Phone:
02-2101-2077
Fax:
02-2101-2078
Email:
[email protected]
UCI :
G720:N+A342-20260609116
Publication Date :
June 25, 2026
Copyright ⓒ Yang Cheol Cork, 2026.
This e-book is a copyrighted work protected under copyright law.
This e-book is published by agreement between the publisher and author, and unauthorized reproduction, copying, distribution, or sharing without written consent from both parties is prohibited.
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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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