I Regressed and Became Too Good at Brewing - Chapter 34

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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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Chapter 34. The Sweet Palace, Dalbord (4)
How could this be possible?
How meticulously must the spirit have been crafted to contain such a vivid, unwavering impression?
Taste? Aroma?
Those were entirely secondary concerns.
This amber-colored spirit could not be evaluated in the conventional sense.
It could only be savored.
“How does it taste like this? From the Nose through the Palate, and all the way to the finish. It’s all fantastic!”
“[I… I’ve never even heard of a Korean spirit like this existing!]”
Manfuna continued in admiration rather than evaluation, while NaguChi, unable to regain his composure, kept thrusting his nose into the glass and crying out in Japanese.
Both of them must have understood it as well.
The magnitude of the value this spirit possessed.
The first to emerge from deep contemplation was none other than Manfuna.
“It’s a perfect score from me. If someone refuses to give a perfect score to a spirit like this, that person has either lost their sense of taste or lost their mind.”
“I agree entirely. This is a spirit that will mark a turning point in my reviewing career! I’m practically itching to write about it!”
Two out of three had declared a perfect score.
Brook was no different.
“The same goes for me. I was so absorbed in the tasting that I forgot to evaluate it.”
“Truly! It felt such a shame that there was only one glass!”
‘Indeed—it really is a pity that there’s only one glass.’
To contain so many flavors typically demands high Alcohol Content.
The Esters that create aroma and taste require sufficient alcohol to dissolve properly—it was a scientific fact.
Moreover, the Legs were thicker than in other aged spirits, making this constraint all the more pronounced.
And yet, this spirit transcended all expectation.
‘How is this even possible?’
Multiple flavors and aromas were interwoven, yet they harmonized perfectly with one another.
The bouquet, unattainable even in spirits of 60 Alcohol Content, flowed relentlessly across nose and tongue.
In contrast, the perceived Alcohol Content was merely around 18 degrees.
Yet the torrential flood of flavor and aroma struck without any discord, all pointing in a single direction.
‘Sweet. Sweet and sweeter still.’
It was honey, it was sugar, it was thick jam, and it was rich, sugared cream.
The lingering aftertaste that remained between teeth and gums, across both sides of the tongue, still sang the same refrain.
‘And yet there’s no burden whatsoever. This is truly…’
And yet the impact of the alcohol was scarcely felt at all.
Brook, moreover, already knew of another spirit that had captivated through aroma and taste alone, painting visions in the mind.
‘Echo: Autumn. It’s the same.’
A stroke of fortune.
‘The list of places I must visit has grown…’
Songhadan Distillery in Korea—the maker of the aged spirit called ‘Echo: Autumn.’
And now, the place that birthed this nameless masterpiece.
‘My schedule is tight, but I absolutely must carve out the time. I want to meet the craftsman who created this spirit and have a proper conversation.’
Brook was certain that both distilleries must be operated by exceptional artisans who possessed wonderful philosophies.
His thinking shifted, however, once he heard the name of the spirit after the tasting ended.
“Truly? This aged spirit… you mean to say that Dalbord was made at Songhadan?”
That settled it.
It could happen, rarely, that a single bottle of spirit be well-crafted through good fortune.
But what if it were several bottles, and even ones with completely different character?
Could such a thing be attributed to a single stroke of luck?
‘It couldn’t be.’
The artisan of Songhadan must be truly someone whom no other could rival.
Because of this, Brook made a firm decision.
He would rearrange his schedule, cancel other plans if necessary, to secure time to return to Korea—no matter what.
‘I believe there were more evaluations remaining to be held.’
From what he’d heard, the Republic of Korea’s traditional spirit competition employed a surprisingly rigorous verification process.
Not only this current Sensory Evaluation where experts were brought in to taste, but they also conducted tastings with the general public, it was said.
‘Even so, the result seems predetermined.’
Anyone who truly enjoyed spirits—indeed, anyone with a tongue and taste buds—would surely sense it.
That this was no ordinary, merely pleasant-tasting spirit.
“[It can’t be! It’s a lie! How could a spirit like this be made by Koreans! It must be a distillery run by a Japanese person in Korea!]”
And meanwhile, NaguChi, unable to accept reality, spouted nonsense about the very spirit to which he’d given a perfect score.
But that didn’t change the facts.
All one had to do was watch NaguChi—cursing all the while, yet licking his lips eagerly for another bite of Dalbord—to see the truth.
‘When did they say the results would come in? November, wasn’t it?’
By that time, Korea would be settled into crisp, cold weather.
Imagining what spirits he’d be brewing then, Brook smiled quietly to himself.
* * *
The one thing that demands the most in brewing spirits is, without question, time.
Some might say dedication and effort are required, but in the end, spirits are time.
And that is precisely why brewers, paradoxically, have no choice but to age quickly themselves.
While waiting for spirits to mature, a brewer spends years—countless, aimless years.
“It’s already November.”
Six months had slipped away in what felt like an instant.
The sweltering heat that had once made him anxious about fermentation going wrong was long gone.
Now came the opposite worry: that the dropping temperatures would halt fermentation altogether.
“Brrr. It’s getting cold.”
The flower beds at one end of Songhadan, which had bloomed in many colors, had shed their petals to brave the chill, leaving only roots and branches bare.
Come spring again, they would slowly push forth new buds and reclaim their full glory.

“Yes, it has. Time really does fly.”
In-seok replied while sitting in the Pavilion, watching branches sway in the breeze.
A full year had passed in what seemed like no time at all.
“Though it feels like I haven’t done much of anything.”

It wasn’t that he hadn’t worked hard in this life.
Unlike the past, when he’d labored in ignorance, this time knowledge had brought ease as well.
“But now I understand things better.”
Now was different.
Past experience showed him the way—
—where the paths lay open and where the dead ends loomed.
The threads of connection had multiplied too.

“Of course not.”
Without Song-ha and Mok-tong’s help, he’d still be walking the tightrope between success and failure, cold sweat dripping.
“Shall we head back then?”

“Not particularly, but checking in is always routine.”
He’d enjoyed a brief rest and was about to return to finish his work.
Two young figures, beaming with bright smiles, came rushing from the distance—twin siblings.
They had become full members of the Songhadan family.
After learning brewing methods from Se-jun and him, Ye-hyeon and Ye-eun had reached the point where they could manage the brewery adequately on their own.
Working alongside Ha-jung, they’d even discovered talents they themselves didn’t know they possessed.
“Both of them have a real knack for managing YouTube and the website.”
To be precise, Ye-hyeon, the older brother, had a talent for handling programs, while Ye-eun, his younger sister, excelled at photography and videography.
Once he’d recognized that, he’d reassigned them both to manage the website, YouTube channel, and social media accounts.

“When you have talent and genuinely enjoy the work, it shows.”
Perhaps that synergy was the reason.
The Songhadan YouTube channel had surged to thirty thousand subscribers, and posts on the website and various social media platforms were recording impressive view counts.
That directly translated into increased sales.
“We might need to hire more staff.”