I Regressed and Became Too Good at Brewing - Chapter 22

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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 22. The Encounter at the Pop-Up Store (2)
Korea Daily.
One of the three most prominent news organizations in South Korea.
Despite its size bringing frequent controversy and public scrutiny, it still maintained its position as a formidable media outlet.
A liquor pop-up store at a department store was rare enough, but with an opening-day rush on top of that, they’d naturally want an interview.
By any reasonable standard, it was an interview I should have accepted.
Yet the words that kept circling in my mind were different.
‘An interview would be difficult, I think.’
Before the regression, I’d crossed paths with several journalists.
A distillery declaring it would craft various types of spirits in Korea wasn’t common.
But most of them carried the same attitude.
‘Business is hard anyway, right? I’ll write you a good piece, so…?’
‘This won’t cause any trouble for you, boss. Let’s help each other out.’
Those intent on leveraging their position to write sensational articles.
True, after the piece ran, interest in Songhadan did increase.
But I didn’t understand it then, when I was younger.
That interest could sprout teeth at any moment and bite down on you.
For Songhadan, it became a disaster.
[Songhadan, grand ambitions reduced to empty gestures.]
[The press had it reported that way.]
[A merchant whose words got ahead of his deeds.]
Once Songhadan’s liquor failed to gain public recognition, the journalists turned and spewed vitriol.
There was nothing quite like it for driving up views.
From then on, I refused interview requests from journalists.
But whether I agreed or refused made little difference.
‘It would be better if you cooperated, don’t you think?’
‘When things are already rough, can you really be confident about an article coming out?’
Threats, and low-quality reporting.
All of it crystallized into a negative perception of Songhadan.
Of course, my eagerness in those days probably made me respond to interviews too quickly.
But that wasn’t enough to warrant such harsh reviews.
Yet……
“Are you all right, boss?”
I strip away the profession from the journalist in front of me.
And what appears then is simply a customer.
Hands that look like they’ve thawed after being frozen solid.
A face and hair that seem grimy from having gone unwashed for half a day.
Even a suit with dirt caked on it.
“Did you perhaps run an opening-day rush yourself?”
“Pardon? Ah, haha. Well, that’s… I would have liked to, but I had to step away midway, and everything just fell behind…….”
He’d probably been to the restroom.
The sadness visible in his eyes even as he forces a smile tells me as much.
A person like this might be different.
Not a conversation with a journalist, but a genuine talk with someone who loves Songhadan’s liquor.
“I… understand if you’d rather not. So please don’t think too seriously about it…….”
“I’ll do it.”
“Yes…… Pardon? You’ll do it? Really? Let me give you my business card right away!”
The journalist’s visible confusion—he’d expected to be turned down.
I liked that about him too.
He hadn’t shown up with camera in hand, demanding answers.
He’d stood in line to buy Echo: Autumn for himself, and only after the event ended did he carefully approach and ask for my thoughts.
He moved to a different rhythm than any journalist I’d encountered before.
And once I received his name from his business card, I knew who this man was.
“Yes. I thought Choi Yun-seong was someone I could trust.”
Choi Yun-seong.
He was a former journalist at Korea Daily, but later struck out on his own to run a small news outlet covering various incidents and cases.
The reason I knew this person, despite him having nothing to do with liquor, came down to his philosophy.
He reported only verified facts in his articles.
Even as biased coverage of various incidents proliferated, his reporting always maintained an unwavering integrity.
There was even talk that he’d been driven out of Korea Daily for conducting himself that way.
“Well, I have a few minutes to spare. Shall we start right away? Did you turn on the recorder?”
“Oh—have you done interviews before?”
“Not exactly, but I’ve seen them done somewhere. Ha ha.”
“I see. Then let me proceed. Thank you for making time despite your busy schedule. Would you mind giving a brief introduction about yourself?”
“Hello. I’m Song Yeon-woo, and I run a distillery called Songhadan in Yeongwol, Gangwon Province.”
The interview flowed quite naturally after that.
Choi Yun-seong, true to his calling as a journalist for Korea Daily, knew how to draw out the important parts and speak of them with grace.
“What would you say is the method for brewing good liquor?”
“Waiting until the rice, koji, and water naturally harmonize with one another. Only then do the off-flavors fade and the deeper aromatics rise to the surface. That’s when you have truly good liquor—something that leaves you feeling at ease when you drink it.”
“It sounds like when you speak of good liquor, you’re really talking about delicious liquor?”
“I think so, yes. Ha ha.”
The humor wove through the interview until, before I knew it, time was up.
We’d only borrowed a brief window in the middle of the event anyway, so I needed to return to the pop-up store.
“Thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule. Um… if it’s not too much trouble, perhaps we could meet again next time…?”
“Of course. If there’s good news to share, I’ll reach out again.”
“Thank you so much! Then please, definitely contact me next time!”
With those words, the reporter hurried away.
I held the business card I’d received and read his name over once more, slowly and carefully.
Choi Yun-seong, journalist for Korea Daily.
It felt as though I’d made another fine connection—one I’d never reached in my past life.
With someone like this, he’d surely write honest articles about whatever liquor I make going forward.
“Sir, are you finished with the interview?”
Ha Jung, watching Choi Yun-seong’s retreating figure intently, posed the question.
“Yes. I think he’ll write a good piece.”
“Well… if that’s your conclusion, sir, then I trust your judgment! Se-jun mentioned the other day that you seem different lately!”
“Me?”
At Ha Jung’s unexpected remark, my heart suddenly dropped into my stomach.
I’d committed no crime, yet it felt as though my great secret was about to be exposed.
“He said you’ve become more dependable! Honestly, before he said it felt like you were always acting on impulse… Oh! Please don’t tell Se-jun I said that!”
He cut himself off mid-sentence, startled at his own words, and began fidgeting nervously with his surroundings.
He was right, though. The old me was exactly like that.
Was it the expectation of inheriting Songhadan from Grandfather that drove it?
Or had I simply leaned too heavily on the good people around me?
In my twenties, I hadn’t hesitated to try this and that.
“I had plenty of half-formed ideas and high hopes, but I couldn’t find any real direction.”
“Is that really so? I find it hard to believe! Whatever kind of liquor you make now, sir, it seems it would all turn out delicious!”
“That was how I was before. But do you really think that?”
“Of course! I’d believe you even if you told me you were making liquor from powdered milk, sir! Se-jun says he thinks the same way now!”
“Theoretically, that might actually be possible…”
“R-really, sir!”
The reason I’d traded jokes with Ha Jung was because guilt was gnawing at my chest.
Se-jun might not know it, but I never gave up on that dream—not until Songhadan was on the verge of closing its doors.
No, even now, that dream lingered in some corner of my heart.
What if I’d abandoned it before Songhadan reached that point? Would things have been different?
Could Se-jun have built a family and lived happily without resorting to loan sharks?
Could I have been a son my father and grandfather could be proud of?
“Well… everything’s fine, except there is one thing that worries me now.”
“Worries you?”
“Yes. Sir, you seem far too impatient.”
“Me?”
I’d expected to hear him call me old-headed even if I hadn’t replied, but this observation caught me off guard.
Ha Jung wasn’t joking—his eyes were clear and fixed steadily on me.
“How should I put it… You are careful about things, that much is true, but from what I see, that cautiousness comes from impatience! It’s as if you’ve decided you must never fail, not even once…”
“Ah.”
I could understand exactly what Ha Jung was saying.
The old me had been broken by countless failures.
I’d collapsed and never risen again.
But who am I now?
I have Se-jun and Ha Jung.
And new bonds—Song-ha and Grandfather Mok-tong.
And with them, those bonds that had been forged along the way.
So wasn’t it natural that I’d grown even more afraid of failure?
Afraid of losing anything at all?
“You know, President, you could afford to take things a bit easier. You’re brewing because you love it, aren’t you?”
Ha Jung, who had finished packing everything, looked at me and spoke.
“We’re going to keep doing this anyway, aren’t we?”
Clink.
It was as if I could hear the shackles that had bound my heart falling away.
Light.
Easy.
Just as I gave trust, so too was I trusted.
By everyone.
To the point where they spoke of walking all the way to the end together.
“That’s right.”
I met Ha Jung’s eyes as I answered.
“Because we’re going together.”
So I would make sure that at the very end, there would be no tears, no sighs.
* * *
“Oh! Yeon-woo! How’d it go?”
The moment we returned to Songhadan after finishing our schedule, Se-jun greeted us warmly.
I’d been worried, thinking he must have been managing the place alone, but he looked fine—thankfully.
“How was today for you? Not too exhausted?”
“What’s there to be tired about? It’s just the same work I do every day.”
“That’s not as easy as you make it sound.”
“Nah, it’s nothing if you’ve got the strength. Ha ha!”
Perhaps natural talent really was something impossible to catch up with.
He’d been moving those heavy Onggi jars and casks around all day alone without showing the slightest strain.
“Well, since we’ve gotten things organized, shall we talk about what we were discussing before?”
“Ah. The liquor competition, right? I’ve gotten some of that prepared too.”
The Traditional Korean Liquor Assessment Competition we were planning to enter was a showcase for Korea’s hidden Brewing masters.
As the nation’s only official government-sponsored traditional liquor competition, liquor experts would rigorously taste and evaluate all submitted entries.
“Which means the standards are strict.”
Se-jun distributed the materials he’d printed in advance to Ha Jung and me, then continued his explanation.
“A Liquor Manufacturing License and a Product Manufacturing Report are basic requirements, and they verify that the primary ingredients are 100% Domestically Produced Agricultural Products.”
“We should be fine then. The cask isn’t a primary ingredient—it’s just an aging vessel.”
“True. But we’ll need Quality Certification confirming we meet the standard specifications. And……”
Se-jun shuffled through the materials again, then tapped a specific section decisively.
“First, here are the sample standards: Takju requires six to eight 750ml bottles as samples. For Yangju or Cheongju, it’s about five bottles of 375 to 500ml each.”
“So we’d need two bottles, then.”
“And there’s also a regulation that you can only submit products that are already being sold commercially.”
“That’s right.”
“But why is that rule there?”
Ha Jung genuinely didn’t know.
The reason for that commercial sales requirement was simple.
First, it ensured fairness in the judging process.
By limiting entries to brands already on the market, it created equal conditions for all competitors to contend on level ground.
“And if you win an award here, you’d use it in promotional materials. But if the product itself isn’t actually being sold, consumers would see that as false advertising.”
“Ah, I see! That makes sense!”
Ha Jung nodded immediately, convinced by my explanation.
No matter how I looked at it, the reality was that we couldn’t do it right now.
The Dongjeongchun made with the Raspberry Cask was still aging, and there was still time before the deadline we’d set for ourselves.
“For now, let’s make sure we handle everything we can before that.”
“Right. I’ll keep monitoring the state of the liquor, so Se-jun, you look into whether there’s any other method we might’ve missed.”
“That’s simple enough. The problem is time.”
Se-jun nodded as he answered.
And for good reason—it was now late winter.
Even with Mok-tong’s assistance, the aging of our entry would be completed no earlier than the end of April.
“There’s so much to do. Just submitting test results to the association and waiting for them to come back would take at least two weeks.”
We’d need to commission testing from the certified testing institution—the Korea Food Industry Association—to get safety test results, for starters, and there were many other steps required.
We’d also need to register product labels with the Ministry of Food and Drug Safety and the relevant health department, which would take about as long.
Time was running terribly short.
Desperately short, in fact.
“Then I’ll get started on the design right away!”
“That would be a help. But we can’t afford to compromise on quality, so let me see several different compositions first.”
Ha Jung, reading the room’s urgency, raised his hand without being asked.
But even that work couldn’t begin until the liquor itself was finished.
What could be more foolish than designing a label for a spirit that didn’t yet exist?
Especially now, when people were praising Songhadan’s spirits by saying ‘you can taste the flavor in the label design itself’—he had to be even more careful.
“You mean you want to taste it first, after it’s finished, and then decide?”
“That’s right. Since we don’t know what flavors will develop yet.”
He could have instructed the design based on his experience before the Regression, but too many variables had emerged since then.
Better layers of taste and aroma had developed—it would be a shame to leave those out.
Either way, everyone would hustle, but ultimately, spirits were about patience.
Just as they finished the meeting and were about to stand—
Ring-ring—
The telephone in the corner of the office blared to life.
“I’ll get it. Hello, this is Songhadan. Yes, yes. What? I’m sorry, what did you say?”
Se-jun rose awkwardly, receiver to his ear.
In an instant, his expression darkened.

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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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