I Regressed and Became Too Good at Brewing - Chapter 24

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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 24. The Fateful Meeting at the Pop-up Store (4)
The moment it touched her tongue, the essence of mountains unfurled like a vision.
And alongside it, an expansive golden wheat field painted itself into being.
‘I always thought that only happened in manga or novels.’
But weren’t there mangas like that?
The kind where one bite of food summons a phantasmagoria of sensation, and the drinker weeps with rapture at the taste.
Meare: Autumn surpassed even that—it didn’t fall short in the slightest.
‘How is a flavor like this even possible?’
Even someone without refined taste in spirits felt it; how much more must Subin have experienced?
She’d gone slack-jawed after that first sip, staring into empty space, but the moment clarity returned, she seized his arm with a request.
‘Video! We have to film this and post it!’
‘What video—YouTube? Now? Just like that? You haven’t even done your makeup…….’
‘Not posting a review of this would be a crime! Hurry!’
That’s why the footage, which they’d decided against filming beforehand, found itself edited and uploaded within two hours.
Moreover, unlike her usual content, it had transformed into something closer to a spirits review.
Yet the response was explosive.
“Heh. Everyone’s loving it.”
“Thank goodness. I thought it’d bomb.”
“It couldn’t possibly bomb. Not with a spirit like this.”
“I meant your image, Subin.”
He spoke the obvious truth to her as she hugged the bottle of Meare: Autumn she’d brought with her.
A female actor who loves alcohol.
Even worse—a former idol at that.
Up until now, the image of “someone who enjoys spirits” had seemed harmless enough, but if this continued, she’d slide inexorably into the category of “heavy drinker,” and there was no avoiding it.
But then again…….
“Still, it’s better than not smiling.”
“Huh? What did you say?”
“Nothing. We’re almost there.”
A black van turned into a quiet residential complex.
Subin peered through the deeply tinted windows, then matter-of-factly pulled on her mask and hat.
Her head was already small enough that when she tugged the hat down low, more than half her face disappeared beneath it.
“He’s going to love this, right?”
“Definitely. There’s no way he could dislike it.”
“Right? I thought of him the moment I saw it.”
She laughed softly, cradling Meare: Autumn against her chest like something precious.
When the van finally came to a stop in the parking area, they both got out.
Then they walked toward the front gate and pressed the doorbell.
Ding-ding-ding~
How long did they wait after that chime—the kind of doorbell sound they called the mark of a wealthy home—rang out?
With a metallic creak, the door swung open.
And the figure that appeared within was…….
“Oh… you came?”
Shabby. Or perhaps unkempt.
Those were the only words that could describe the man before them.
His clothes bore the telltale dried noodle-broth stains scattered across them—goodness knew how long since he’d changed—and his beard hung heavy and unkempt.
Though if one squinted, the beard alone could almost pass as a fashion statement.
One could make the same argument for the shaggy mane of hair that hung over his eyes.
But his matted hair and hollow gaze told a different story—they were proof that he was lost in some profound, weighty preoccupation.
“Director Park! Hello!”
“I apologize for imposing on you like this.”
“No… well… there’s no need to apologize that much…….”
Park Wanggu answered them in a drawn-out, listless voice.
But he only cracked the door open a sliver, peering out through the gap with just his eyes visible.
As though he had no intention of stepping even one foot outside.
“A woman showing up at a shabby old place like this is… awkward…….”
“Oh, come on! Don’t say that! I watched every single film you wrote and directed! And besides, I brought something I wanted to show you!”
“Haa…….”
Park Wanggu let out a heavy sigh and finally opened the door wider.
“Then… come in…….”
Park Wanggu’s house was located in what was called the Wealthy District.
But a house with a yard couldn’t be said to be in good condition.
“Come in… if you can come in…….”
“Um… well…….”
“Yes, Director!”
Unlike the hesitant Manager, Subin simply stepped inside the house.
If you had to choose which of the two was closer to normal, you’d have to say it was the Manager.
The yard was full of dead plants, and inside the open entrance lay the remains of discarded convenience store meals, cup noodles, and canned beer.
“I’ve been writing…….”
“But still, this is…….”
“You’re the Director, after all!”
How could anyone react that way in the face of such a state?
The Manager could only sigh and say nothing more.
And no wonder—the owner of this space was Park Wanggu, who had written the screenplay for a ten-million-viewer film three times over and even directed it.
On Chungmuro, just the three syllables of Park Wanggu’s name were enough to draw investment offers in succession.
Or rather, correction needed.
They used to draw offers in succession.
Yes, the power held in the name Park Wanggu had lost its strength and faded.
At some point, he simply stopped writing and disappeared.
Many people wondered what had become of him, but no one could find out.
Director Park engaged in no outside activities whatsoever.
‘He does suffer from an illness, though. An illness by the name of Slump…….’
After his last film succeeded, Park Wanggu fell into an unexpected slump.
Words wouldn’t come to him, and what he managed to write didn’t satisfy him.
So Park Wanggu hid himself from everyone.
Few would know the circumstances behind it.
“Director! How have you been all this time?”
“How have I been? The same as always…….”
True to his words, on the only relatively organized desk sat a single laptop.
But the open word document contained not a single character.
Likely he was in an endless cycle of writing and deleting.
Subin knew this well enough, so she didn’t broach the subject of writing.
“So… why did you come?”
“To see you, Director!”
“Well… no… I’ve got nothing to offer you…….”
Wanggu went to the kitchen and rummaged through something, searching for food.
But there was nothing to find.
All that showed through the open cupboard was cup noodles, all identical.
“Want some cup noodles?”
“No, thanks. I’m fine. But Director, this thing here.”
Subin set down what she’d brought and held it out to Wanggu.
It was Meare: Autumn, which she’d stood in line to purchase at the Pop-up Store.
That was the reason Subin and the Manager had each bought one.
“Ah, this… I saw the article.”
“Right? We went through so much to get it!”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“So when are you going to cast me in your work?”
“That’s just you talking one-sidedly. I told you—I have no plans.”
Wanggu shook his head.
In a way, Subin’s pursuit of Wanggu was a one-sided courtship.
What had Subin said back then?
She watched his works religiously and had said she absolutely wanted to try working with him again.
“And right now there’s nothing written anyway… Look, I let you in because you came, but if you’ve got nothing to do, head on home.”
A clear dismissal.
Subin, understanding this, stood up from her seat.
And before stepping out the front door, she spoke.
“Director! I’ll be waiting for you!”
“Go on, hurry.”
* * *
Bang!
With Subin’s final words, the gate closed, and left alone like this, Wanggu let out a sigh.
“Why does she keep coming back like this?”
Park Wanggu was indeed the one who’d discovered Subin as a rough gem.
But it wasn’t born from any ulterior motive.
She simply possessed a character that fit perfectly with the supporting role in his work.
“And yet she’s been doing this ever since. Honestly…….”
It was pleasant enough that she appreciated his work as though it were his own child, but lately it had become nothing but a burden.
But what could he do?
His work was writing.
Even when his mind went blank and nothing would come, writing was what he ought to be doing.
How long had he been sitting before the laptop like this?
“Sigh…….”
By the time evening fell, he hadn’t written a single character.
His fingers had stiffened like deadwood and would not move, and his mind felt like stone—days upon days of this hollow paralysis.
Having failed once more at writing, Park Wanggu rose from his desk and headed toward the kitchen.
Though he’d written nothing all day, his body still demanded to be fed.
“What’s this…….”
Liquor that Subin had left behind.
It was called Meare: Autumn, made by Songhadan—the brewery that had recently made headlines.
“I can’t very well refuse when someone brings me something this good…….”
Had it come from someone seeking repayment, he wouldn’t have accepted it.
But to his mind, Subin was simply a person who loved his work.
And at the same time, she was a fellow artist.
After all, weren’t they colleagues now that they’d made a film together?
He couldn’t refuse a gift from someone like her.
“I should at least say something about it…….”
Rather than instant noodles, Park Wanggu retrieved a soju glass.
If he was going to tell her he’d enjoyed it, he’d need to actually taste it first.
Once unwrapped, the label on the bottle that emerged was beautiful.
A mountain brimming with autumn’s character was painted in rich detail across it.
Yet Park Wanggu felt nothing particular in response.
His mind was filled only with the urge to finish a glass quickly and send a reply.
“Can’t know without trying it.”
He uncorked the bottle with a pop and poured the liquor into his glass in a gentle stream.
Immediately after, a subtle fragrance tickled the tip of his nose.
“Ah…….”
It was autumn.
An autumn mountain from childhood outings with his parents.
Fallen leaves glimpsed while running about as a student, desperate to meet deadlines.
The tender warmth of a first love’s hand clasped beneath a maple tree.
The crisp, soaring sky he’d felt when his film reached ten million viewers.
And even this year’s autumn, spent carelessly, lonelily, without fanfare.
“This is…….”
Without thinking, he raised the glass to his lips.
He had no idea what kind of spirit this was.
He didn’t know how one was supposed to drink it.
He simply felt.
Lips dampened, aroma drawn through the nose, liquid sliding down the throat, and within him blooming autumn’s crimson leaves in all their noble glory.
“Our autumn remembered…….”
Entranced, he rose and returned to the laptop.
When he finally rose from his seat again, a full day had passed.
The page that had been white was now densely filled with black characters.
“Just where did she get liquor like this…….”
He was not one who typically enjoyed drinking.
Some writers claimed that alcohol was necessary for good prose, but in his experience, liquor was nothing but an obstacle to crisp, clear sentences.
Yet now, in this moment, he had to admit the truth.
It wasn’t he who had written these words—it was the spirit he’d drunk, the soul contained in this bottle.
“Songhadan…….”
And on the bottle that had ended a director’s creative slump, the name Songhadan was printed clearly.
* * *
“Are the preparations coming along well?”
Time passed with remarkable swiftness.
The tail end of winter rushed by in an instant, and spring arrived with its blossoming flowers.
Though cold still lingered, after the late frosts and spring rains passed, verdant new growth began to show its strength.
Yet the schedule at Songhadan remained unchanged.
They were consumed with fulfilling the flood of orders for Meare: Autumn.
Still, there was a difference.
“Of course. Now we just have to launch it.”
I nodded at Sejun’s answer and reflected.
It had truly been a frantically paced stretch of time.
Though admittedly, this schedule had become somewhat more manageable.
By the original plan, it would have been impossible to pull off.
“It’s all thanks to you, Sejun.”
“Come on. It’s just what I should be doing.”
After investigating, Sejun discovered that submitting to the Korean Alcohol Competition couldn’t simply be done with any released product.
The product had to have begun distribution at least three months before the submission deadline.
“I’m really glad it all lined up so perfectly.”
“Exactly. Though I didn’t expect the maturation to finish quite so fast.”
Sejun scratched his head, his bewilderment plain to see.
This was all thanks to Mok Tong’s help—he’d known our circumstances from the start.
Of course, it meant we’d produced less of the liquor, but at least we could meet the timeline.
And that wasn’t all.
“Thank you for your hard work too, Hajeong.”
“Hehe. No, no! It tasted so good, the inspiration just struck me like a bolt!”
Despite her modest words, Hajeong’s delight at the praise was obvious in her broad grin.
And it was genuine.
The moment Hajeong had tasted the liquor, her eyes went wide as saucers, and she’d rushed off to begin working right away.
When I followed and watched, the sketches she dashed out were truly exceptional.
“Ah! But having the ideas you suggested, ma’am, made it so much easier to draw!”
“I’m grateful you say that.”
After the packaging was finalized, the work proceeded as smoothly as a ship with full sails.
All the documents necessary for submission were completed.
“So we’re really finished now.”
“Yeah. All that’s left is the launch.”
Songhadan’s new line.
The release of the aged herbal liquor was drawing near.

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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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