I Regressed and Became Too Good at Brewing - Chapter 58

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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 58. The Difference Between Memory and Recollection (1)
“So he turned you down?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh…….”
When I returned to Songhada and relayed what had happened, Se-jun’s reaction caught me off guard.
“What kind of reaction?”
“Well, I’m just shocked. Until now, there hasn’t been a single person who disliked any of our spirits.”
“Exactly! I’ve been thinking the exact same thing!”
Fortunately, every spirit we’d crafted so far had never fallen into the realm where preferences divided sharply.
But spirits, ultimately, depend on personal taste — some appeal to you, others don’t.
It wasn’t a matter of something tasting off or smelling strange.
Peat Whisky was the prime example of such a spirit.
While some people loved the distinctive aroma that clung to the malt during the smoking process — finding it deep and rich with character — others despised it, swearing it reeked of disinfectant.
That was precisely why Laphroaig, the most famous peat whisky in the world, had that legendary slogan.
“Love or Hate.”
“Love it or hate it.”
Of course, it was possible someone might feel the same way about our spirit.
But at least…….
“Han Gyeong-su didn’t seem to think that way.”
He hadn’t said he disliked the spirit.
In fact, I could see with my own eyes that he’d made the effort to savor that single glass of Samhaejiu fully, and that he actually enjoyed it.
So this was something different.
“Hm… There’s no way the owner made a bad spirit…….”
“Maybe he thought it wasn’t a perfect Samhaejiu…….”
That was possible.
It was the first time I’d made this spirit, after all.
But that wasn’t it either.
“There’s no such thing as a perfect spirit in this world. It all comes down to whether it matches your taste or not.”
As I’d been saying all along, this was most likely a matter of personal preference.
Though he’d acknowledged that my Samhaejiu had flavor, his heart hadn’t stirred — and the reason likely came from the same source.
“But wouldn’t that be incredibly difficult? You’d have to match one person’s taste.”
“On the contrary, it might be easier. After all, we’d just be crafting a spirit for that one person!”
“That’s exactly why it’s harder. Ha-jeong. I know what flavor Han Gyeong-su is looking for.”
This was the problem.
Songhada’s Distillery wasn’t equipped with much in the way of automated machinery.
Even Hongya was still crafted by hand, one onggi jar at a time.
Because of this, brewing small batches for a single person wouldn’t strain the distillery’s operations.
“Should we start by listing the spirits Han Gyeong-su has enjoyed so far?”
“Yeah, that sounds like the right place to start.”
“But didn’t you originally ask me to hire staff before we started making spirits?”
Se-jun had begged me not to make any more spirits until we’d solved the staffing problem — with so much to do and not enough hands, he’d said.
Yet here he was now, treating it with the utmost seriousness, already bringing over paper and pen.
“You’re doing this precisely to recruit that person, aren’t you?”
“Well, yes.”
“Where on earth would we find someone like that? And… honestly, I feel a bit uncomfortable about it.”
“Uncomfortable about it?”
“Um… I mean…….”
Se-jun set down the pen and paper he’d brought, jotted “Making Delicious Samhaejiu” at the top, and fell silent in thought.
It didn’t take long.
He’d already worked through what he wanted to say.
“It feels unfair, somehow.”
“Unfair?”
“Of course, it’s possible the spirit just didn’t suit his taste. But until now, that’s never happened.”
He was right.
Everyone who tasted Songhada’s spirits had been moved and delighted by them.
They felt the depth of mountains in a moment of quiet indulgence.
They were gifted sweetness through the blossoming of aroma.
They were captivated by the rouge, refined tartness.
“And besides, now that I know his situation… it feels like his rejection was a rejection of the care you put into crafting it for him. I wanted it to be helpful to him, somehow.”
That was genuine kindness.
The work is undoubtedly grueling.
After all, fatigue lingered in Se-jun’s eyes even now.
But more important than that was what this meant—that Songhada’s spirits were being loved.
It was a moment that made my chest tighten with the warmth of friendship.
“…Thank you.”
“Don’t be shy about it. Let’s just think on it.”

And so everyone who made up Songhada—people and goblins alike—gathered around a single table.
For the sake of a spirit made for one person alone.
“First, how did you brew this Samhaejiu?”
“I followed the standard method for making Samhaejiu. So I captured the taste and aroma exactly.”
I had confidence in this.
Three goblins had vouched for it.
A fragrant fruity aroma rises intensely, yet when drunk it’s dry and clean on the palate, with a refined texture.
It was a spirit that displayed perfectly the defining characteristics of Samhaejiu.
Given how much Oak Barrel had been stealing from the barrel, I could even guarantee the taste.
“And most importantly, Han Gyeong-su himself said something.”
I recalled a pleasant memory from long ago.
That must mean this Samhaejiu had touched upon his memory.
“Hmm… so there’s nothing wrong with the Samhaejiu itself, is there?”

“That’s right. If there had been a problem with the Samhaejiu, Han Gyeong-su wouldn’t have said such things given his character.”
In his writings before my regression, his disposition had been made quite clear.
“And it’s unlikely he’d have come to enjoy Samhaejiu if it weren’t to his taste.”

“Ugh… this is difficult…….”
“So this needs to be approached from a different angle.”
Beneath the line where I’d written “Completeness of Samhaejiu,” I added “Personal Taste” and continued.
“What if there was a particular Samhaejiu that Han Gyeong-su especially favored?”
“Huh?”
“What do you mean?”
“I understand… it wasn’t a perfect Samhaejiu that was needed… was it?”
Unlike the others, Ye-eun seemed to grasp what I was thinking.
Right. What Han Gyeong-su needed wasn’t a perfect Samhaejiu.
It was only the Samhaejiu that existed in his memory.
It had touched upon his memory, but failed to reach into his recollection—and now I understood why.
“So we need to know Han Gyeong-su’s taste…….”
“Do you know anything about it?”
…….
I hit a wall here.
And I realized something.
I’d said I would make a spirit for someone, yet I’d never truly looked at that person.
If I needed to create sweetness, I could do it.
If they wanted a crisp, refreshing quality, I could achieve it.
But even that was only possible if I knew what the other person wanted.
Giving someone what they don’t want couldn’t be called a gift.
It would be nothing but selfish whimsy.
“I was foolish…….”
“Huh?”
“No, never mind. I just remembered something.”

I nodded at Song-ha’s question.
No, truthfully, I hadn’t found a complete solution yet.
I’d only discovered what I needed to do right now.
I took out my phone and made a call.
– Oh! What’s the matter? Did you manage to solve things?
“To give you the conclusion first… no.”
– He does have that side to him. So what kind of help did you need that you called?
The voice of Yun Ju-ho came through the receiver.
Among those who knew Han Gyeong-su, he was the only one I had a connection with.
“Is there any chance you have some Samhaejiu that he used to drink often?”
– Hmm… I’m afraid I won’t be much help with that sort of thing.
“Pardon?”
– Ah, that came out the wrong way. I didn’t mean I don’t want to help. It’s just… a bit complicated.
Yun Ju-ho let out a soft groan as he wrestled with the thought, then spoke.
– The Samhaejiu he used to enjoy.
“Yes.”
– The Master Brewer who made it passed away about ten years ago.
“What?”
– So I can’t help you with this.
It was like a thunderbolt out of a clear sky.
‘Thank you so much. It’s been a while since I recalled such a fond memory.’
If he’d been drinking Samhaejiu that held happy memories with his wife, he wouldn’t have used the words “a while since.”
That was when the path ahead suddenly felt blocked.
– How about this instead?
“What do you mean?”
– I know the Master Brewer’s son.
“Really?”
– Ha ha. Why so surprised? A brewer’s child can make liquor too, can’t they? Just like you, right?
Though strictly speaking, my father wasn’t one.
My grandfather, who ran the Brewery, hated it so much he left home and eventually became a successful doctor.
Old memories suddenly surfaced, and I squeezed my eyes shut, then opened them again to gather my thoughts.
“Then perhaps he still makes Samhaejiu….”
– That’s… a bit complicated.
“Complicated? Surely not….”
– He gave up on it. About this time last year.
Layer after layer of difficulty kept mounting.
* * *
Click.
Footsteps echoed through the darkened Distillery.
Inside hung a tepid warmth.
Or rather, it could no longer be called warmth.
It was defeat, a sigh, and surrender.
None of it could be hot.
It was simply that.
A pathetic something that didn’t even deserve grand words to describe it.
“Sigh…….”
The owner of the footsteps let out a long breath and crumpled to the floor.
Then he looked around.
Memories of his father’s touch emerged from every corner.
There, his father had kneaded the koji.
And over there, he’d carefully cooked the rice.
‘You can tell when the fermentation’s right just by the feel of it, can’t you? Ha ha ha!’
His father’s booming voice echoed like a phantom sound.
As if he were still here in this place.
But that wasn’t real.
His father had passed away more than ten years ago now.
“Father. What am I supposed to do, really.”
The man, who had let out a deep sigh, pulled a bottle of soju from the black plastic bag he’d brought.
Crack.
He unscrewed the cap and poured the liquor into his mouth.
Bitter.
So terribly bitter.
A bitterness he’d never tasted in the Samhaejiu his father had made.
And the familiar bitter taste that had once poured from his own creations.
“Ha… ha ha…….”
The way he was living now showed he still hadn’t let go of his attachments.
That’s right, Father.
You could have told me something.
Did you really hate it so much that your son became a drinker?
You could have at least taught me how to make it.
If you had, I wouldn’t be wasting time like this.
“No… I already gave up anyway… it’s the fault of the one who gave up…….”
He lifted the bottle to his lips again.
The liquor flowed smoothly down his throat.
What goes in must come out.
Perhaps that’s why tears were falling from his eyes for no good reason.
“But I really tried so hard…….”
He wanted to capture that taste.
He’d worked with such fervor to follow his father’s broad back—that man who’d warned him away from such backbreaking labor.
He’d shaped the mold.
He’d labored until his hands and feet bled.
Sometimes he’d gone days sleeping only in short bursts.
Even then, beside the Onggi.
“Ungh…….”
Fighting the vertigo brought on by the drink, he forced himself up and staggered toward one corner.
The essential ingredient for brewing Samhaejiu was precise temperature control.
The Cold Storage that had run ceaselessly, day and night, to maintain that frigid temperature was now utterly defunct.
Something that doesn’t work is something that’s broken.
Like him.
“I should sell all of this too…….”
A refrain he’d muttered to himself for a full year now.
But still he hadn’t sold any of it.
Because this space was too precious.
He’d accepted reality and let go, but this—this he couldn’t bring himself to release.
“Damn it all…….”
He cursed aloud, though it did nothing to improve his mood.
The thought that he’d ruined everything didn’t fade just because he’d sworn at it.
That must have been why.
Beep-beep-beep~
He hadn’t heard the phone ringing—dozens of times now.
Buzz-buzz~
[From Yun Ju-ho: You’ve been ignoring calls, so I’m texting. You know that rising-star Songhada? The owner’s heading your way. Should be here soon.]

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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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