I Regressed and Became Too Good at Brewing - Chapter 61

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————

Episode 61. The Difference Between Memory and Recollection (4)

Samhae’s shoulders drooped as he relayed the events plainly, as if reciting something long past.
I could understand it.
The previous master must have possessed the same ability I did—the sight to see goblins.
To do so, he would have needed to earn the Goblin King’s recognition.
That alone revealed how deeply sincere he had been about his craft.
“So he was consumed by it.”

Perhaps the previous master had possessed genuine talent for brewing as well.
My circumstances were different, after all.
“He must have attributed all of that success to the goblin’s power.”
The triumphs born of his own talent he had credited instead to the spirit’s hand.
That was likely what happened.
Why he became so fixated on being able to see Samhae—the goblin.
And inevitably, Ieon, the master’s son, could not see him.
The Goblin King had never acknowledged the boy.
“Don’t tell me that was the reason…….”

The prosperity of Samhaejiu, built upon the goblin’s strength.
Yet that prosperity would end with him.
He attempted in every way to break free from his dependence on the goblin’s power, but…….

Samhae’s words held truth.
While most traditional Korean alcohols depend significantly on the brewer’s fingertip sensitivity, Samhaejiu demanded it even more insistently.
Following the three-stage brewing method—a base fermentation followed by two successive additions—one had to sense when the fermenting liquid was ready to accept the next layer of rice and koji.
Moreover, across one hundred days of fermentation spanning winter to spring, as temperatures shifted, instinctive response and adjustment were essential.
To deliberately exclude the goblin’s power from all of this was anything but simple.

Samhae sighed as he gestured toward Ieon, sprawled drunk on the floor.
It was a perfect storm.
For a man who had devoted his entire life to preserving Samhaejiu, it would have been nothing short of catastrophe.
So he gave up the thought of passing on the lineage of Samhaejiu.

He taught him his studies, spared no expense supporting his entrance to a good university.
Indeed, study need not have been the path.
Anything at all would have sufficed—merely not brewing.
But what cruel jest of fate was this?
Blood will tell, as they say, and Ieon wished to follow in his father’s footsteps and become a brewer.
And when his father finally passed from this world.
All that remained to him was sheer determination.

A few bottles of Samhaejiu left in inventory.
Drinking these sparingly, Ieon traced the footprints of the liquor his father had made.
He learned to craft koji. He mastered the art of temperature control.
It was not enough.

Though Samhae, who had brewed alongside the previous master, continued to tell Ieon the techniques, the boy could not hear him.
And so time passed.
Until one year ago, when Ieon exhausted his willpower entirely and relinquished his dream.

Only a handful of bottles of Samhaejiu remained, barely sustaining Samhae’s form.
He must have walked a terribly difficult road.
And at its end, tasted only despair.
Gazing at the brewery, silent and cold with its fires extinguished, I found I could not stop thinking of the past.
Now that I think of it, I walked a similar path.
When I was driven to the very precipice, when Songhada itself hung on the brink of loss.
Drunk and adrift, the place my feet carried me to was Songhada.
I had nowhere else to go.
No home, no people, no ties—nothing remained.
What remained was Songhada, which he had clung to with hope until the very end.

“No. That’s not it.”
I could state it with certainty.
“Ieon hasn’t given up. No—he can’t give up.”
A year ago, didn’t he say he’d abandoned it?
Didn’t he say he’d stopped brewing?
Then why hadn’t he handed this building over to anyone yet?
Why had he come this far without taking any action at all?
Why had he drunk himself into anguish and returned to this familiar place?
There was only one answer.
“Ieon still wants to make Samhaejiu.”
He knows his own skill falls short of his father’s.
Perhaps he even knows he might never succeed in creating it.
He knows this could all lead toward a meaningless future.
And yet.
“He won’t give up.”
Ieon will not give up.
Because that’s what I did in my past life.
“Actually, there were several reasons I came here.”
To work alongside Han Gyeong-su.
To soothe the memories of such a teacher.
But once I arrived, my thoughts shifted.
Seeing Ieon as though I were gazing upon my past self.
And even a goblin in need of aid.
As if someone had woven them together by fate, reasons spilled out in cascades, all bound by the same cord.
In any case, my resolve was settled.
I would restore the Samhaejiu of the Samhae Soju House.
“Then everything will be solved.”

“A request?”

Samhae crouched down, pointing with a finger to the space beside where Ieon lay sprawled.
Scattered soju bottles lined that end of the floor.
Whether from drinking heavily already or from spilled spirits, there were several dark stains on the ground.
But that wasn’t what Samhae was pointing to.

“A bit more to the left… ah…….”
Without hearing more, I could see what Samhae was indicating.
Beside the soju bottles—surely emptied by eager hands—sat a single cup filled with clear liquor.
Dancing above it were wisps of fragrance.
“Wow…….”
I couldn’t help but gasp in wonder.
Just stepping closer, that rich, complex aroma bloomed forth.
Tiny spirits in transparent amber robes drinking in the winter sunlight.
Each time they fluttered their gossamer wings—thin and transparent as the clear radiance of Samhaejiu—a soft golden powder scattered in all directions.
They leaped lightly, using the cup as a stepping stone, dancing across its rim.
“This couldn’t possibly be…….”

“I suspected as much.”
If he could have crafted such a masterpiece, Ieon wouldn’t be lying here in despair.

Samhae gazed down at the sprawled Ieon with pity, releasing a long sigh.

“…….”

Samhae grasped my robe collar carefully, speaking as though pleading.

I’d already anticipated what request would come.
And I, too, had secretly been hoping for it.
Samhaejiu made by Si-woo.
I was curious how refined its taste might be.
I swallowed hard.
I approached the cup and lifted it carefully.
The weight of the glass traveled through my fingertips.
When I brought it to my nose, an aroma far more intense than before struck deep into my lungs.
As I tilted the cup and took a sip…….
“Ha… haha…….”
The moment it touched my tongue, gooseflesh erupted across my skin.
A flavor that wrapped softly around my entire mouth,
the master’s dignity struck the crown of my head.
Sweet and fragrant, yet at its end woven with an almost oppressive earthiness.
It wasn’t the stale, musty tang born from spoiled koji or turned rice.
Rather, it was like the living, verdant scent of clean soil deep in the mountains just after rain—a handful of earth grasped in one’s palm.
It was a strange harmony, utterly natural yet deepening the alcohol’s flavor by tenfold, a hundred times over.
“Even Song-ha’s ability can’t make it out?”
No, I could see it.
The spirits dancing came into view.
But I couldn’t deduce what this was at all.
Even using ten years of experience from before the regression, I couldn’t grasp the nature of this taste.
One thing was certain, however.
This flavor could never emerge from the orthodox methods of making Samyangju.
This must have been the taste of Samhaejiu that Han Gyeong-su had longed for.
“Phew…….”

“It’s magnificent.”
I set the cup down and swallowed deeply. Then I looked down at Ieon, who lay collapsed on the floor and groaning.
“Enough to make me want to hear the story at once.”
* * *
It was dark.
Brutally cold and dark.
The man still stood before the massive distillery jar.
No matter how much fire he kindled, the furnace remained cold, and the alcohol inside the jar was turning black and rotten.
And so he could know.
‘This is a dream.’
Ieon was no longer shaken by the dream’s familiar contents.
He already understood that extreme despair and anxiety had conjured this image.
‘I never thought I’d keep having it, even after giving up…….’
He already knew what was to come next.
His father would walk away into the distant darkness, turning his back.
No matter how loudly he called, his father would never turn around.
Only a cold voice would fly from that broad back and pierce him.
And so it came to pass.
‘You have no talent, Ieon. Don’t make alcohol. It must end with me.’
‘I knew it would come to this…….’
Resentment welled up.
It was his father’s approval, which he had yearned for his entire life.
He had never even asked for a single warm word like others received.
He had only wanted to walk the path his father walked, quietly and steadily.
But he was never given a single chance.
And all that remained were a handful of bottles of alcohol, grown cold.
‘Was I such a shame to you?’
It was possible.
With such terrible skill, it could only be so.
‘Yes… giving up is the right choice…….’
It was then, as Ieon calmly endured the nightmare about to wake him,
that a mumbling voice reached his ears.
“Um…… Ieon.”
It was not his father’s voice.
Yet somehow it carried the same weighty and resolute resonance.
Perhaps it was the warmth that drew me in.
“Wake up. How much longer do you plan to lie there?”
Running away.
When did I ever run away?
I only wanted to protect it.
Even though I lacked talent, I shed tears of blood because I wanted to carry on this Distillery and Father’s Samhaejiu with my own hands.
I wanted to protest, but my lips wouldn’t move.
Because I did run away.
I did run away.
I ran away.
“Why not wake up and try making it again?”
What?
Make what?
“Samhaejiu. Isn’t that what you wanted to make?”
Yes.
I wanted to make it.
I wanted to make it desperately.
But what am I supposed to do when it’s impossible?
“That’s why you need to get up now.”
Get up?
I’m allowed to make alcohol again?
“I’ll help you.”
Strength flooded back into my clenched fists.
I forced my heavy eyelids open with great effort.
“Ugh… Nngh…….”
Through the blur of a pounding headache, the cold ceiling of the Distillery came into view.
The sharp bite of alcohol and the musty smell of damp dust filled my senses. Still the same hellish reality.
Clutching my head, I managed to sit up.
The room spun dizzily around me from the hangover.
To think I’d have a dream like this.
That was when Ieon let out a dry laugh and drew in a breath.
“You’re awake.”
“Huh?”
All he could do was stare blankly.
A young man he’d never seen before stood before him.
His face lit by a clear smile brimming with anticipation for what lay ahead.

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————