I Regressed and Became Too Good at Brewing - Chapter 33

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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 33. The Sweet Palace, Dalboard (3)
“I never expected Arthur Brook to attend.”
With a thin smile, he extended his hand to Brook while scarcely sparing a glance at Manhu standing right beside him.
Brook grasped the hand offered by Murata Naguchi, a Japanese critic with a face like a weasel, while deliberately schooling his expression.
The man was not someone he particularly cared for.
Murata Naguchi.
He was a capable critic.
His prose was fluid, and he possessed a talent for perceiving taste and aroma and texture that was beyond compare.
Brook could not fault him for that.
A well-crafted spirit required someone who could truly appreciate it, after all.
‘But he is far too narrow-minded.’
Despite possessing such exceptional talent, his reviews were hopelessly provincial.
Whether he harbored some fantasy about the West, he wrote only about the most exceptionally fine varieties produced by Western distillers.
Conversely, when it came to spirits from the East, he focused exclusively on those of poor quality.
As if he had deliberately selected them.
‘Yet he lavishes praise upon his own nation’s distilleries without restraint.’
There was no such thing as bad Whisky in the world.
Only good Whisky and better Whisky.
Brook, living by this principle, could not regard Naguchi favorably.
Even if the man treated him warmly, Brook could not shake the thought that it was only because he was Scottish.
Whether Naguchi sensed this or remained oblivious, he grinned and asked.
“And what brings you here, Mr. Murata?”
“A good opportunity for experience, so I participated. Though what fine spirits could there possibly be in this small country? But tell me, Professor Brook—you never usually attend. What brings you here?”
“I owe it to tasting something both unusual and delicious.”
“Ah!”
Naguchi, upon hearing this, made an exaggerated gesture and pressed further.
“A spirit that could impress the Professor! Might I inquire where it’s from? Surely one of England’s or the Netherlands’ newer distilleries?”
“Korea.”
Upon hearing this, Naguchi’s smiling face froze solid.
Struggling to believe it, he asked again in a faltering voice.
“Ha… ha ha! So the Professor does tell jokes! How surprising. Now then, why don’t you tell me the real answer?”
“This old man stands rather apart from jesting.”
“Then you truly…….”
“Indeed. Korea. Surely you are well acquainted with it, Naguchi? Your neighboring country, after all.”
Naguchi’s expression visibly contorted at those words.
Aware of what his own face must be showing, he hastily covered his mouth and addressed Brook.
“Ha ha. To be recognized by Professor Brook… that Korean distillery must be most grateful…….”
“It was not Whisky. He said it was a traditional Korean spirit.”
“Ha ha ha! Now this truly exceeds the bounds of joking! Korean brewing techniques died out long ago! Even when Japan transmitted its superior brewing arts, they abandoned them themselves.”
It was a vulgar statement.
For Brook, who always studied a nation’s history before traveling there to drink its spirits, that remark was nothing but a cheap lie.
Korea had endured a painful history of occupation by its neighbor, Japan.
And during that period, brewers had been driven to extinction by policies Japan forcibly imposed, including oppressive liquor tax laws.
Brook knew that some of those harsh laws remained even now, preventing the craft from fully recovering.
He understood, therefore, what Manhu must be feeling as he listened quietly beside him.
Yet Naguchi’s drivel showed no sign of stopping.
“Whatever they produce there is merely a copy of Japanese brewing techniques. A mere inferior knockoff of Sake or Shochu, I’d wager. Ha ha ha!”
“This fellow… the more he talks, the worse it gets…….”
“Manhu. Hold yourself.”
“Brook? But…….”
Brook quietly steadied Manhu, whose face had flushed with anger and whose hands trembled.
Anger achieved nothing against those imprisoned in their own narrow-mindedness. They would not break free from their shell.
They would only believe their words justified the anger, and reinforce that petty delusion all the more.
So Brook composed himself and continued.
“Ha ha. I suppose I have grown old. The taste was entirely different from Sake and Shochu. Perhaps my palate has failed and it is time for me to step down from this position. Thank you for pointing that out, Murata.”
“No… that is not what I meant…….”
“Now then. It appears we are about to begin. Let us take our seats.”
Naguchi, unprepared for such a response from Brook, sat down awkwardly, looking quite flustered.
Manhu drew in a deep breath to contain his rage.
Even as he did so, the tasting session for evaluation had begun.
Brook sat in his chair, feeling his heart quicken at the thought of the spirits yet to come.
‘Hmm. I don’t care much for a tasting that begins on an uncertain note… but I can’t help the anticipation either.’
Glancing sideways, he found that Manhu seemed to share the same sentiment.
On the other side, Murata Naguchi was grinding his teeth—clearly something was bothering him.
‘Heh. Even this old man has his quirks.’
Brook found it rather amusing.
* * *
‘Was I mistaken from the start…….’
Brook closed his eyes and gathered his thoughts.
The anticipation of discovering a hidden gem was crumbling away.
‘This is truly dreadful.’
Looking at the pale yellow liquid in the glass before him, Brook had to fight the urge to sigh.
His unusually acute senses had dissected this single pour with meticulous precision.
It was supposedly a distilled spirit of some sort.
But the result was abysmal.
‘The grain appears to be rice, but what on earth were they doing with it to produce… this?’
From the initial faint notes—clean, subtle, with a faint roasted sweetness—the rice itself seemed sound.
It was likely procured from a professional supplier.
But that was where the problems began.
‘The aroma is acrid and fishy, viscous and cloying.’
Like habanero sauce drowned in rancid oil and then burned—that was the closest he could describe it.
It was so far removed from any recognizable character of a spirit that Brook didn’t even want to bring the glass to his lips.
The Fermentation, the Cutting, the Aging—all of it was riddled with problems.
‘And yet the Finish is sickeningly sweet… this truly makes me want to retch…….’
But what could he do?
He was here in the capacity of a judge.
Taking a sip, he couldn’t help but let it coat his palate.
‘Indeed. Revolting.’
There was no other word to describe this taste.
They seemed to have used an Oloroso Sherry Cask for the Finish, but the sweetness was cloying and an uncontrolled smokiness ran rampant, throwing the balance into chaos.
Was it true that Korea’s standards for traditional liquor were rigidly strict in odd ways, preventing long Aging?
It was clear they’d resorted to bizarre methods to compensate.
‘This won’t do.’
Glancing sideways, both Manhu and even Murata Naguchi wore deeply furrowed brows.
It seemed best to give this spirit another chance to improve elsewhere.
Brook set down his glass and finally exhaled.
‘After today, tomorrow will be the final day…….’
The Korean Liquor Tasting Competition’s judging did not take place in a single day.
Though each pour was only one glass, there were far more than one or two spirits to evaluate.
‘Today is the last day… and yet I haven’t encountered anything as impressive as that one from autumn.’
Or rather, there had been some.
But they were unmistakably all made by Korea’s massive conglomerates.
Though the judges were forbidden to see labels for fairness, after more than fifty years walking hand in hand with spirits, Brook would never fail to distinguish them.
In the end, he had not tasted the new emotion, the kind of spirit he sought—the kind that moved him as it did then.
“Are you all right?”
“Haha. Of course. Are you all right, Manhu?”
“Me? Well, I’m not as young as you, am I? Hahahaha!”
“Oh, that hurts this old man’s feelings, you know? Hehehehe.”
It was plainly visible, and Manhu asked with concern from beside him.
Murata Naguchi also joined in the conversation.
“How are you faring, sir?”
“Faring? About what?”
“Did you find what you were looking for? I just ruined my palate with that last spirit… I’m wondering if my Taste Perception is still intact. It must have been made by some small distillery on the peninsula.”
Now Murata Naguchi made no effort to hide his discriminatory remark.
It seemed he didn’t think about the fact that he himself was a man of the East.
Since there was no reason to respond, Brook said nothing, but his heart had shifted from anticipation to a mere desire to finish and be done with it.
“The next glass, sir.”
After rinsing his mouth with water, the next sample was placed before him.
Brook was, if he was honest, growing tired.
Not just that the anticipation had faded, but his senses had been worn down from days of relentless use.
‘I have to see this through to the end.’
It was at that moment, steeling himself with the thought, that he brought the glass to his lips.
‘The color… it’s beautiful.’
When he held it up to the light, it became even more so.
This nameless spirit glowed with a luminous golden brilliance—dark and lustrous at once.
Like amber, that precious stone.
‘Looking at the legs, this seems to be quite a heavy spirit.’
The traces of Whisky that remain when you swirl the glass are called the legs.
The faster these legs fall, the lower the Alcohol Content and the lighter the impression it gives; the slower they descend, the higher the proof and the weightier the Body.
Of course it couldn’t be as high proof as Whisky itself, but it was certainly a much heavier spirit than the aged Weak Wine he’d tasted before.
‘Now, the aroma…’
Brook naturally brought the glass, which had gathered at the top like a tulip, to his nose.
A sweet honey and the richness of baked goods.
Citrus and other fruits leading the charge, followed by the tartness of chocolate.
The scents—intuitive yet harmonious—layered and spoke to him gently.
Beckoning him to drink now, if he wished.
‘Ha. To feel this sensation again.’
Recently, a single glass from a young artist friend had been like this.
As though it were speaking to him, and in the end, showing him autumn itself—an echo: autumn.
‘Found it. So there was another spirit like this.’
He wanted to ask immediately which distillery had made it, but barely managed to restrain himself.
That’s right—he hadn’t tasted it yet.
A fine aroma could mask a disappointing Finish.
Persuading himself with effort, Brook tilted the glass and took a sip of the Whisky.
‘Mm. The taste truly is excellent… Don’t you agree with—’
Brook couldn’t finish his words.
He was already standing in another world.
‘This is…’
Honey flowing like a river.
From the forest that grew around it, vanilla and oak scents wafted thick and rich.
And before it stood a grand castle, built of confection.
Without realizing it, as though enchanted, Brook stepped inside the castle.
‘Where on earth is this…’
A fireplace crackled softly.
In the room, thick with the warm aroma of toasted grain, delicate smoke curled and enveloped his body in warmth.
A sharp, bright prickling sensation, and then the tender, enveloping sweetness of fruit, like a soft quilt drawing him in.
“Extraordinary…”
“Yes. Truly…”
“Hmm? How did you end up here, Manhu… Ah…”
It was nothing less than a palace of enchanting sweetness.

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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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