I Regressed and Became Too Good at Brewing - Chapter 64

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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 64. The Difference Between Memory and Recollection (7)
The moment Gyeong-su heard that Samhaejiu had been made again, he said he’d rush over at once.
‘It’s only right that I go. You crafted such fine liquor for a single person.’
‘But when you return home…….’
‘Public transportation these days is so convenient. Why worry? Ha ha.’
‘Still, I’m concerned. Let me call you a taxi — please take it back.’
Every word carried warmth, didn’t it.
This young man stayed with him, impossible to shake.
‘Truly… a rare sort of youth…….’
He gave his all to his work.
And yet he never neglected those around him.
Gyeong-su understood better than anyone how difficult that truly was.
Because he had failed.
Only after losing the person he loved most had he come to know it.
‘It’s like watching a friend with maturity. Yet still dreaming, all the while.’
Maturity meant depth of experience.
And depth of experience meant knowing the dangers that lurked in every task, the weight of responsibility and its attendant sorrows.
In other words, it meant challenge grew harder, dreams grew difficult.
But what of Yeon-woo, Songhada’s young proprietor?
‘Burning himself up — that’s the only phrase for it.’
Perhaps Yeon-woo didn’t see it that way, but he was truly burning himself up in his work.
Despite never having brewed or distilled liquor before, how many drinks had he brought forth in just over a year?
Meari, Meari: Autumn, Dalbord, Hongya, Cheongsan IPA…….
‘And every single one was exceptional.’
That meant the liquor wasn’t made in haste, wasn’t it.
A young man with both skill and confidence, living diligently while never forgetting the love of those around him.
Yeon-woo was worthy of admiration.
‘So that’s why… I allowed myself to hope, if only for a moment.’
Honk!
Outside, the taxi Yeon-woo had called for sounded its horn.
His hearing had grown duller; he’d missed the text message that arrived on his phone.
He dressed hurriedly and climbed into the taxi.
“All the way to Seoul?”
“Yes. Thank you for your trouble.”
“A long trip like that suits me just fine.”
They exchanged such pleasantries before he settled into the taxi.
With a low hum, the taxi pulled away.
His home grew distant behind him.
Yes, his decision to board this taxi was driven by anticipation.
What would the Samhaejiu taste like — brewed by this gifted master craftsman who had poured love for everyone into his work?
Would it truly match the taste he’d experienced before, the very flavor he’d felt?
‘The first one was certainly a fine Samhaejiu.’
Though he couldn’t say how Yeon-woo had known, the young man had once brought him Samhaejiu made to capture his cherished memories, he’d said.
Honestly, that had pleased him.
Hadn’t Yeon-woo done his best when his proposal for partnership was refused?
And so drinking what he offered was only proper manners.
It had tasted good too.
‘Clear, dry, its aroma like crushed fruit.’
If one were to capture the essence of descriptions and pictures of Samhaejiu in liquid form, would it not look like this?
Yeon-woo’s skill was remarkable — to achieve this depth of flavor on a first attempt, brewing something so notoriously difficult, drew genuine admiration.
But…….
‘It wasn’t that taste…….’
The Samhaejiu that his wife, long ago, had urged him to share in and savor together.
He knew only that it came from the Samhae Distillery, nothing more.
He’d had no interest then, after all.
What it tasted like, what aroma it carried, whether it was good or poor, and if so, why such judgments were made — none of that mattered.
None of it mattered to him.
His wife had simply recommended it, and so he drank it.
‘A slight sweetness… and a subtle bitterness that pierced through the dry surface.’
Was that all?
A subtle sweetness pressed stickily between the teeth, then a clean finish.
Now, looking back, he couldn’t imagine there’d ever be a drink quite so fine again.
‘What a shame, really.’
It was a liquor steeped most deeply in memories shared with his wife.
Yet one he could never find again.
When, after some time had passed, he finally tracked down that drink once more, all that awaited him was a flavor already transformed—changed beyond recognition.
‘Perhaps it was all just the fantasy of an old man.’
The drink might never have existed at all.
He might have been lost in the haze of longing, yearning for tastes and aromas that were never really there.
‘Maybe it would’ve been easier if that were true.’
Even so, the taxi continued on.
On and on, until at last the taxi came to a stop.
“This is….”
Han Gyeong-su stepped out in front of the building bearing the sign “Samhae Distillery.”
* * *
“Really… will this be alright?”
Kim Ee-eon spoke up, gazing at the finished Samhaejiu.
It wasn’t a question posed to anyone in particular, nor a plea for an answer.
Just words cast out to settle his own restless heart.
“Is this really what father used to make….”
Samhae struck his chest repeatedly, exasperation evident in every gesture. “Didn’t I tell you it was certain? Several times! Alas! And here this man can’t even keep his resolve!”
Samhae pounded his chest with frustration.
But what could be done?
Only I could hear his voice in this place.
Only I could ease the doubts of someone who’d come all this way seeking to recover a taste from the past—only I could truly know whether we could deliver it.
“You verified it yourself, didn’t you? The taste matched exactly what father used to make back then.”
“That’s true, but….”
“When I tasted it, it was the same.”
In fact, it had improved in some ways.
The only thing Kim Ee-eon could do to evoke memories of his father was to craft the Bellflower Preserve.
That must have been why.
Using the Bellflower Preserve, packed so full of care and cherished memory, the Samhaejiu we’d brewed together had become something that didn’t pale in comparison to what came before—it was even more delicious.
A sweet flavor wrapped around the root of the tongue and along the sides.
Then a crisp, dry bite—one that could feel rough if handled poorly—swept through, and in its wake bloomed clean fruit and floral notes.
“They’ll surely be satisfied.”
“I really hope so….”
“Yeon-woo! He’s here!”
Se-jun, who’d been waiting outside for the taxi, rushed in with the shout, and Kim Ee-eon tensed even more.
He looked like someone had carved a wooden block into the shape of a man—so rigid was his posture.
And yet time moved forward nonetheless.
Thud.
The measured sound of footsteps carried into Samhae Distillery.
Footsteps I knew well.
Sharp, defined steps with a lifetime lived etched into every stride.
“My apologies for the late arrival. I’m sure you’ve all been waiting.”
“Not at all. If anything, we were worried the journey might not have been convenient for you.”
“But you were kind enough to arrange the taxi—I’d have no right to complain. Ha. It’s been quite some time since I’ve been here.”
Han Gyeong-su looked around, his expression turning reflective as old memories resurfaced.
“My wife and I visited this place once before. At that time, there was a different owner.”
“Ah… yes….”
“I heard he’d gone far away. You must be his son. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Han Gyeong-su.”
“I… I’m Kim Ee-eon….”
He extended his hand to Kim Ee-eon, offering a handshake.
As Kim Ee-eon grasped the weathered hand and they shook briefly, he spoke.
“I remember you coming here, sir.”
“You do? Me?”
“Yes. I was very young then. It must have been around when I’d just turned twenty.”
“Twenty… ah! Yes! That young man! Ha, it’s been a long time.”
As if they shared a memory of that past visit to Samhae Distillery, the two of them spoke of things only they knew for a while.
In that conversation, Han Gyeong-su must have recalled his cherished memories with his wife.
Kim Ee-eon must have been turning over those moments with his father in his mind.
As the reminiscing drew to a close, it was Han Gyeong-su who brought up the matter first.
“So, where is the Samhaejiu?”
There was no doubt he was genuinely anticipating it.
Otherwise, a man of Han Gyeong-su’s refined manners would never have broached the subject so directly.
“Right here. Would you like Kim Ee-eon to pour it for you?”
“Me? I… I should?”
“It’s the spirit he brewed, after all.”
“But if it weren’t for you…”
He shook his head.
My help had certainly played a part.
But what made it possible to complete was Kim Ee-eon’s relentless dedication, never yielding all this time, and the Bellflower Preserve he’d remembered for the sake of preserving that memory.
Besides, this Samhaejiu belongs to the Samhae Distillery.
All the more reason it should be Kim Ee-eon who pours it.
“…I understand.”
Kim Ee-eon poured the Samhaejiu into the prepared glass and offered it to Han Gyeong-su.
He accepted the glass and gazed for a long moment at the surface of the liquid, rippling gently.
The amber hue that came through subtly, thanks to the Bellflower Preserve.
“Ah… yes. Yes, that’s right… Now I remember clearly. Unlike ordinary Samhaejiu, it had this color.”
The next step was to smell it.
Han Gyeong-su brought his nose close to the glass.
And then, what came out was…
“Hah…”
A deep, heavy sigh.
Or was it a sigh—or rather, a pang of longing for time that had passed?
I didn’t know his circumstances in detail, but I knew enough to sense what he was feeling.
Unlike his usual way of drinking and explaining the spirits he encountered, Han Gyeong-su made only that one quiet sound.
Then he brought the glass to his lips and took a single sip.
That was all.
Thud.
The tips of Han Gyeong-su’s fingers trembled faintly as he lowered the glass.
For a moment, silence fell through the Samhae Distillery—not even the sound of breathing.
As everyone’s eyes fixed on his lips, Han Gyeong-su slowly closed his eyes, then opened them.
A single transparent tear traced silently down his weathered cheek.
“This is it…”
It wasn’t an exclamation, but something closer to a deep breath of relief—a whispered soliloquy.
“This was the taste…”
It wasn’t a phantom.
Not a delusion born from aging ears and fading memory.
Through this single glass of spirit, his wife’s face smiling down at him in those days, the very temperature of the air they shared, all of it was becoming wholly alive again.
Han Gyeong-su drew out a handkerchief, wiped the corners of his eyes, and looked at Kim Ee-eon, who stood frozen.
His eyes held a gratitude too deep for words.
“Kim Ee-eon.”
“Yes, yes? Sir.”
“Thank you for not giving up. Thanks to you… I’ve been able to hold close again the precious memory of my wife, which I thought I had lost forever. Thank you for keeping your father’s spirit alive. Truly, I’m grateful.”
Kim Ee-eon’s eyes grew red.
In that moment, the anxiety that had been weighing on his heart melted away like snow at those warm words.
Han Gyeong-su then turned his head and gazed at me quietly.
His deep, steady eyes met mine.
There was a gravity to his expression, as if he had made a resolution.
“Song-ha.”
“Yes, sir.”
“If I work with you…”
He paused briefly, then continued in a quiet but resolute voice.
“Can we keep helping people like me? Can we keep turning memories that have grown still into cherished recollections, returning lost time? Can we continue this work, with spirits like these?”
Han Gyeong-su’s question wasn’t a simple business confirmation from a potential partner.
It was closer to a pledge—to walk alongside in that sacred endeavor of touching people’s hearts through the medium of spirit.
I met Han Gyeong-su’s gaze directly and nodded without the slightest hesitation.
“Yes. That’s what I intend to create.”
At my answer, a gentle smile finally bloomed across Han Gyeong-su’s lips.
He rose from his seat and slowly extended his hand to me.
It was a rough but warm hand, etched with countless years and experiences.
As I clasped it, Han Gyeong-su spoke once more, his voice carrying steadfast trust.
“Excellent. When shall we begin?”

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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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