I Regressed and Became Too Good at Brewing - Chapter 43

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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 43. The Korean Traditional Liquor Grand Festival (4)
“You’re Song Yeon-woo from Songhadan, aren’t you?”
The man who introduced himself as Jin-woo parted his dry lips to ask, his voice laden with the desperation of a drowning man grasping at straw.
His wife, Eun-chae, trembled visibly beside him.
“Yes, I’m Song Yeon-woo from Songhadan.”
Even as I answered, my eyes kept drifting toward the beer bottles.
What lined the shelf were small aromatic essences.
Cute and diminutive they might be, yet their condition looked decidedly poor.
Whether it was a matter of improper maintenance or fermentation that had gone awry.
Every last one of them bore a sickly, wilted appearance—how could I not be concerned?
“Might I ask what brings you here…?”
Though to be fair, the man’s concern was understandable.
Their booth had been drawing no visitors, only flies—they’d been sighing heavily—but then suddenly talk of someone tampering with yeast.
Of course, I knew it well enough.
That what I was about to do broke etiquette among those who craft spirits.
But I couldn’t simply stand by and do nothing.
“I happened to catch a glimpse just now… but did you perhaps change your yeast strain during fermentation?”
“Gasp—how did you know that?”
How did I know?
When we’d brewed at Songhadan and encountered problems with the yeast, these exact aromas had appeared every time.
“There does seem to be something different about this.”
“You must be quite troubled.”
“The truth is… my wife and I… we came to this festival with our very last hope,” Jin-woo said, the dam of his silence suddenly bursting.
He began pouring out their circumstances in a torrent.
“If we fail this time, we’ll have to file for personal bankruptcy next month. But the flavor just… it won’t come together.”
“It was never like this before,” Eun-chae continued through her tears.
“Until recently, we had a contract with a yeast bank in California and received very healthy liquid yeast. The beer used to burst with citrus and fruity notes back then.”
She added that their brewery, The Hob, located in a back alley of Dobong-dong, had become so famous that enthusiasts would line up to buy their beer—all thanks to those exceptional aromatic profiles.
“But three months ago, the supplier’s culture facility suffered a catastrophic bacterial contamination incident, and the entire line was shut down completely.”
“We had to produce beer immediately, so we hastily sourced a substitute yeast from another domestic supplier. They said it was identical—Ale Yeast—in terms of specifications.”
Ale Yeast.
It was a strain exceedingly familiar to brewers.
Songhadan, of course, crafted spirits the traditional way, making nuruk by hand, but most traditional liquor operations relied on this yeast for fermentation.
Nor was that all.
A considerable number of craft beers were also produced using this very ale yeast.
So ordinarily, no problems should arise at all.
“But the moment we introduced that yeast into the fermentation tank, everything began to fall apart.”
Jin-woo confessed that no matter how precisely he controlled fermentation temperature, the beer’s characteristic bright flavor was utterly annihilated.
Astringent, flat, and worst of all, the aftertaste carried an unpleasantly rotten vegetable note.
“We complained to the supplier and sterilized the tanks countless times working through the nights.”
A single tear rolled down Eun-chae’s cheek at last.
“But we couldn’t find the cause. The equipment is clean, but the beer won’t come out right. We’ve had to dump or destroy every batch we made at enormous cost. The debt has piled up like a snowdrift. We’re on the verge of collapse.”
Their plight moved my heart, I’ll admit.
Yet I couldn’t pretend to be a complete expert in the intricate mechanisms of beer brewing.
“Still, there is one thing I can suggest—I’d recommend trying a different yeast strain.”
The aromas, generally wholesome-looking, had all ceased to develop.
This was surely evidence that fermentation hadn’t proceeded properly.
Moreover, beer that had truly spoiled from fermentation failure typically displayed dark, monstrous spirits wielding knives and causing havoc.
But this couple’s beer harbored no such malevolent, harmful aromatic spirits.
So the problem was singular.
The substitute yeast they’d received had either failed to adapt to the environment at all, or it was a genetically defective strain that had lost all viability.
“Even with identical ale strains, survival rates vary by supplier—be sure to compare carefully.”
That was all the immediate advice I could offer.
But I hadn’t intended to simply toss this at them and leave.
There was a reason: a familiar feeling had been hovering about this couple the entire time.
The same sensation I felt whenever Song-ha and Mok-tong passed nearby.
The unmistakable presence of a Dokkaebi.

That meant if this one problem could be solved, there was undoubtedly potential for a remarkable liquor to be created.
“I think I know exactly where the problem started. It’s not an issue with your sanitation practices or your brewing technique. That yeast you brought in—it can’t adapt to the environment. It’s starving to death before fermentation even begins. Your yeast should be bringing out the Hop’s character, but it’s silent. That’s why the beer tastes flat.”
“So it is the yeast after all… but where would we even find yeast at this point….”
“For now, I can’t move forward because of the festival schedule….”
As I spoke, I pulled out Songhadan’s business card from my pocket and handed it to Jin-woo.
“Once the event is over and my research is complete, I’ll visit your brewery in Dobong-dong. Please wait just a little longer.”
Jin-woo took the card I offered with trembling hands.
Then he handed me The Hob’s business card.
The edge of the card was slightly damp from Jin-woo’s palm sweat.
– We interrupt this program with an announcement. In a few moments, at three o’clock, the 2026 Korean Traditional Liquor Evaluation Conference Awards Ceremony will begin on the Main Stage of the Exhibition Hall. All exhibiting breweries and visitors are requested to gather in front of the stage. We repeat this announcement….
At that moment, a grand announcement echoed through the speakers hanging from the exhibition hall’s ceiling.
“The awards ceremony is starting. I should head over.”
I bowed respectfully to both of them.
“We’ll be waiting. You must… you absolutely must come.”
Eun-chae spoke pleadingly, clutching the business card to her chest.
It was only after the two of them had walked far away that Se-jun asked.
“So it’s a yeast problem. But there’s nothing we can do about it, right?”
“What if there were something we could do?”
“Huh? How would we do that?”
“That nuruk we use—I’m thinking of trying that.”
In theory, the nuruk Grandfather used to make probably had ale yeast in it as well.
If we could work with just that, it would be ideal.
“But that would take time. We can’t do it right now. That’s why I asked them to wait.”
“Still… why are you suddenly taking on all this work? We’re already struggling just to run our own brewery.”
“I’ll explain that later.”
There was no way I could tell Se-jun that I’d been asked by the Dokkaebi King to travel through time. So I left it vague.
* * *
If you had to name the highlight of the annual Korean Traditional Liquor Festival, it would be the awards ceremony that selected the winners based on the rigorous and fair blind judging of the Evaluation Conference.
This year’s awards ceremony was held at the Main Stage.
The area around it was already packed with thousands of people, shoulder to shoulder.
Brilliant neon lights bathed the stage in multicolored radiance.
On the large screen, the names of renowned traditional liquors from across the country that had been entered in the competition scrolled past in a blur.
“Hey. Here. Our name’s on it.”
The awards ceremony provided each participating brewery with its own table.
Our table bore Songhadan’s brushwork calligraphy in small letters—the same name that had hung on the sign outside.
“Let’s sit down for now.”
“Phew. Man, I’m parched.”
Se-jun had completely lost his composure and was bouncing his leg nervously before the awards ceremony.
I wondered if he was sick, but it was pure anxiety.
So I sat calmly beside Se-jun.
“We submitted a total of three types of liquor, right?”
“That’s right. But I’m worried about the yakju, specifically.”
“The competition looks like it’ll be fiercer than expected.”
Songhadan had submitted three varieties to this year’s Korean Traditional Liquor Evaluation Conference.
Me-ari—Songhadan’s flagship takju with its fresh melon aroma.
Me-ari: Autumn—a premium takju that pushed the deep, heavy richness of aged rice and traditional nuruk to its extreme.
And Dal-bodeeu—the finest traditional oak-aged distilled spirit.
“Ugh, I’m going to die from the nerves.”
Se-jun swallowed hard and grabbed my sleeve.
“It’ll go well, right?”
“Of course it will. We made these liquors. Here we go.”
Even as I said this, I felt my own mind drifting away under the weight of mounting tension.
Then an orchestral opening swelled throughout the exhibition hall.
Soon, two polished announcers in formal attire stepped out, microphones in hand.
“Good afternoon. I’m one of the announcers hosting the 2026 Korean Traditional Liquor Evaluation Conference Awards Ceremony, held in this festival where traditional liquor makers from across the nation have gathered. This year, through fiercer competition and more rigorous blind judging than ever before, we have selected Korea’s finest and most representative traditional liquors!”
Clap clap clap clap!
More people had gathered than expected, and the energy seemed ready to burst through the exhibition hall’s ceiling.
“For our first award, we will present the Excellence Award in the Takju category—liquors known for their approachable yet profound taste. The judges praised this winning entry, saying it ‘maintains the noble dignity of traditional makgeolli while perfectly capturing modern fruity aromatics.'”
The presenter’s hand opened a golden envelope.
Se-jun squeezed my arm hard enough to break it, his eyes shut tight. My own heart began pounding softly against my ribs.
“Congratulations! Excellence Award in the Yakju category! Me-ari from the brewery Songhadan!”
“Aaaaaaahhhhh!”
In that instant, Se-jun shot up from his seat, his voice splitting the air with an exultant cry.
The eyes of other brewery representatives and visitors seated nearby turned as one toward Songhadan’s waiting area.
“Yeon-woo! It’s Me-ari! Me-ari! We won the Excellence Award!”
Se-jun’s eyes glistened with tears as he wrapped his arms around me, bouncing up and down.
On the massive screen above the stage, the name “Songhadan” gleamed in sharp white letters beside a bottle of Me-ari.
“Go up there! You made it, so you’re the one who should receive the award!”
Se-jun kept pushing at my back.
I straightened my clothes and walked out onto the stage.
Brilliant spotlights flooded across me,
as I received the weighty plaque and a bouquet.
“Hello. I’m Song Yeon-woo of Songhadan.”
From the podium, looking out, I felt their eyes upon me.
An emotion swelling in my chest—one I hadn’t felt even in my past life.
The feeling of being recognized by someone for my work, for my dedication to craft.
I let that fullness flow through each word, carefully chosen and spoken aloud.
“Me-ari is the first liquor I’ve crafted. It holds special meaning for me. Which is why I’m all the more grateful to all of you.”
To others, it might be nothing more than a pleasant drink—but to me, it is the sum of good fortune and meaningful connections.
A liquor marking the beginning of a new life.
“And to Se-jun, Ha-jeong, Ye-eun, Ye-hyun, who all ran alongside me in the same direction. To Director Yun of Jooyoodeily. And to so many others who have helped me along the way. I’d like to express my gratitude in this moment. Thank you.”
Clap, clap, clap.
Those I cannot name here—Song-ha, Mok-tong, journalist Choi Yun-sung, and Jung Su-bin—
each one of them has become precious to me after my return.
Truly precious.
As I stepped down from the podium amid everyone’s congratulations and took my seat, Se-jun leaned over to speak.
“Man, it feels like a dream. Winning the Excellence Award here. We really did it, Yeon-woo.”
“We did. Good work, Se-jun.”
But neither of us knew, not yet.
That there were two more of our Yakju entries still waiting to be judged.
And we knew even less
that this was merely the opening curtain on Songhadan’s story.

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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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