I Regressed and Became Too Good at Brewing - Chapter 70

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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 70. How to Polish a Thorn (1)
Brook’s question came like a heavy fastball from an unexpected angle.
So it was only natural that my grip on the receiver tightened without my realizing it.
Whisky.
What distiller hasn’t felt curiosity about the deep, profound world of oak barrels?
Though I was the head of Songhada, which makes traditional Korean alcohol, whisky had always been an alluring unknown to me.
In my past life, I’d even worked to create a whisky bearing the Songhada name.
Though the results were catastrophic.
Anyway.
“Whisky, you say? Of course I’m interested, but… so suddenly? I thought you’d completely retired from active work by now, sir.”
From what I understood, Brook spent his days consulting for small distilleries across various countries after leaving the industry.
At my cautious question, Brook let out a self-deprecating laugh.
– Not entirely inaccurate. Officially, I am retired. I enjoy feeling Scotland’s wind, maybe casting a line, and occasionally savoring a fine Single Malt.
He chuckled, speaking as if there were no reason to stand before a still at this age and sweat through the work again.
But the very fact that he was saying this much meant there had to be a reason behind it.
As expected.
– It’s a curious thing, how human connections work. A few days ago, a most tiresome and troublesome person contacted me.
“Tiresome and… troublesome?”
– Yeon-woo, you know this person. Naguchi Murata.
“Ah.”
The face of a stubborn-looking Japanese critic flashed through my mind.
The last time we’d crossed paths, he’d been consistently brusque, dismissing any alcohol that wasn’t from his own country or the West—insufferable, really.
I recalled that Brook himself had once pointed out Naguchi’s attitude.
– Don’t be too harsh on him. His temperament is quite… well, I don’t particularly want to make excuses for him, but he’s not fundamentally a bad person.
“Is that so.”
– His knowledge and dedication to alcohol are deep enough to stand beside anyone in the world, wouldn’t you agree?
There was truth in that.
For all his obnoxious nature, Naguchi Murata was a man who loved alcohol.
Though he was certainly selective—one could even call it biased—I had to give credit where it was due.
– But then this man came to me asking a favor, of all things.
“Naguchi did?”
– Ha. Indeed. It seemed interesting enough that I flew to Japan straightaway.
According to what Naguchi had told him:
A small whisky distillery in Japan was facing a problem they couldn’t solve on their own.
So he’d humbled himself and asked for Brook’s help—the man with the most legendary abilities among those he knew.
– I couldn’t very well ignore it, so I flew out to Japan and tasted their whisky myself.
Brook’s voice grew heavier here.
Like a scholar confronting an intricate puzzle, his tone was laden with profound perplexity.
– The raw materials are excellent, the distillation technique is sound, and they’re using premium oak barrels, and yet…….
“Yet?”
– A very subtle and peculiar off-flavor emerged in the finished new make spirit.
Off-flavor.
It was the very thing that gave distillers the most sleepless nights.
The umbrella term for unintended, absolutely inexplicable unpleasant aromas—that was off-flavor.
So of course one would tear one’s hair out over it.
– It seemed to stem from the maturation process or climatic influence, but I couldn’t determine what it was.
“You couldn’t, sir?”
– Of course not. Unfortunately, I’ve spent my entire life making whisky in Scotland’s cool, damp climate. I’ve worked at other distilleries, but they were all in that same region.
Japan, by comparison, has its own hot and humid summers and distinct four seasons quite unlike Scotland.
The subtle qualities and physical changes that such a climate brings to the new make spirit in oak barrels would be difficult to pinpoint with the experience I possess.
But what could it possibly be?
A maturation variable driven by climatic characteristics that even a legendary Master Distiller couldn’t grasp.
– That’s when I thought of you, Yeon-woo.
“Me?”
– Yes. Among the distillers I know, there’s no one of Asian descent greater than you. Didn’t I say I’d like to reverse my retirement and work with you? Ha ha ha.
I never thought I’d receive such high praise.
While I was gathering my thoughts, Brook continued.
– Moreover, you make traditional alcohol in Korea—a land with a climate quite similar to Japan’s yet with its own unique four seasons, don’t you?
“That’s true, though…….”
– With that genius-level instinct of yours for reading changes in temperature and humidity, I’m certain you can find the key to solving this strange problem. That’s why I’m asking for your help.”
I had to admit, I was taken aback.
No matter how similar the climate conditions or how keen one’s palate, I was Korean—not someone trained in the heartland of whisky itself.
And why on earth would they need to find someone in South Korea to help?
With Brook’s and Naguchi’s reputation, they should’ve been able to get plenty of assistance within Japan.
As I said that, I heard a long, complicated sigh come through the receiver.
—Aah… there are some very complicated circumstances entangled there as well. I hadn’t realized the Japanese whisky industry operated at that level of complexity.
“You don’t mean…”
—In fact, I made this proposal to them first, but I was already refused.
It stemmed from Japan’s unique Master Craftsman culture.
The Japanese whisky industry was far more closed and conservative than it appeared.
Especially these smaller, newer distilleries outside the major conglomerates—they lived in terror of technology leaks or damage to their reputation.
Beyond that, Brook added, they had a tendency to avoid showing their internal weaknesses to local competitors or other Japanese experts.
—Moreover, given the delicate relationship between this distillery’s owner and Naguchi, what’s desperately needed is a “third party”—someone outside yet fully trustworthy, and someone with an uncompromising eye for alcohol.
“You’re saying that’s me?”
—Naguchi hesitated at first, but when he heard your name, he nodded. He said you’re someone he can trust.
I remembered him as someone who’d grated on my nerves with nothing but irritating remarks whenever we met, so it surprised me he’d speak of me that way when I wasn’t around.
A Japanese distillery, then.
I can’t say I wasn’t intrigued.
I was curious about capturing the different climatic characteristics depending on the region.
And beyond South Korea, I wondered whether spirits existed overseas as well.
Perhaps because my hesitation had lingered.
Brook drove the wedge home with an enticing addition to his offer.
—Yeon-woo, if you help me with this… I promise you. That six hundred thousand dollars in investment you mentioned needing for that film—I’ll take responsibility for it myself.
“What?”
—And I’m willing to make a personal investment in Songhada as well. What do you say to my proposal?”

My heart began racing.
Film investment, and investment in Songhada no less.
If I accepted this offer, I’d be able to resolve not only all the worries I’d been wrestling with, but also fully outfit Songhada with modern equipment.
On top of that, pure curiosity.
There was no reason whatsoever to hesitate.
“…When and where should I go?”
—Ha ha ha! As expected, you don’t disappoint me, my young friend! I’ll pass the detailed schedule and specifics to Naguchi right away. See you in Japan soon!
The call with Brook, delivered with genuine warmth, wrapped up right there.
I returned to the table with noticeably lighter steps, and Sang-hwan and Director Park Wan-gu, who’d still been sitting in heavy silence with nothing but their teacups to fidget with, looked up at me.
Ye-eun was also studying my expression with worried eyes.
“…Who was on the phone?”
“Eddie Brook.”
“Eddie Brook?”
Sang-hwan, not particularly knowledgeable about alcohol, asked for clarification.
There was no need to explain everything in detail.
What mattered to him right now was different news altogether.
“It looks like we’ve just gotten a chance to very cleanly resolve that one-billion-won gap you two were both worried about.”
“Really?”
That was the moment the heavy silence at the table lifted.
* * *
“It really has been ages since I traveled abroad.”
A few days after the meeting with Director Park, I headed to Japan right on schedule with Brook.
It truly had been a long time since my last overseas trip.
I’d been so busy keeping Songhada alive and getting things settled that my passport had been gathering dust, so I never expected to find myself boarding a plane on such short notice.
And I certainly didn’t expect to have company.
“Wow! This is my first time in Japan!”
“The shoes… I really thought you had to take them off…”
This trip wasn’t just me going solo.
Beyond simply diagnosing the whisky problem, Ye-hyeon and his sister Ye-eun came along, loaded down with camera equipment to document Songhada’s journey and use it for future YouTube content.
I’d planned to go alone, knowing how busy Songhada already was, but the two of them asked me directly.
‘This is an opportunity! A chance for Songhada’s YouTube to blow up!’
‘We absolutely… have to go!’
The other staff members also recommended that I go with them, so we could maintain our connection with Eddie Brook.
“I’m really looking forward to this shoot! Did you see the photos?”
“Yes. The scenery really was beautiful.”
In the taxi heading toward the address Eddie Brook had given us, Ye-hyeon fingered his camera as he struck up a conversation.
Since he said the footage would be used in vlog-style content, I answered with appropriate enthusiasm.
“People do call the Zao Distillery a hidden gem of Japanese whisky.”
Our destination was the Zao Distillery in Yamagata Prefecture, known as Japan’s best-kept secret in the world of whisky.
Yamagata Prefecture is surrounded on all sides by rugged mountain ranges, and it’s famous for the tremendous snowfall that blankets it each winter.
Consequently, the Zao Distillery, nestled at the foot of the Zao Mountains, relied on pristine groundwater fed by perennial snow melt and employed a unique maturation method that capitalized on the extreme temperature swings between summer and winter.
“And thanks to that, it’s a place that’s earned high praise in the whisky industry for the quality it produces…….”
So what in the world could have gone wrong?
All the while, the taxi pressed onward, drawing closer to the distillery.
And the farther we went, the more the landscape outside the window revealed itself in all its breathtaking splendor.
“Wow…… Boss, look over there!”
Ye-hyeon, sensing the same awe, rolled down his window and thrust his camera lens outside.
The vista that unfolded before us was nothing short of magnificent.
A dense forest of dark-green conifers stretched endlessly, while far in the distance, the spine of the Zao Mountain Range—still capped with white snow at its peak—rose like a folding screen.
The air flowing into the cab was incomparably colder and clearer than anything in Yeongwol, carrying with it faint notes of timber and earth that brushed against our nostrils.
“The footage is going to look amazing!”
“Compose yourself…….”
“Right! Right! I need to film well inside the distillery too! Keeping my composure!”
After driving for some time longer,
as we wound our way up the mountainside along switchback curves, a modest, old-fashioned distillery building came into view, its red brick and timber work harmonizing beautifully.
Around it, the sound of clear mountain stream water rushing over rocks served as background ambiance.
“The water really is exceptional here.”
The water, and the air as well.
I could hardly imagine a more perfect place for crafting spirits.
Fine spirits are made from fine water, good air, and nature’s hand.
In that sense, this place possessed all three in perfect measure—a land blessed by heaven itself.
What problem could possibly have arisen with whisky made in such a place?
“We’ve arrived.”
The taxi came to a halt on the gravel lot before the distillery’s main gate.
Just as I was stepping out to sort our luggage, the heavy wooden door of the distillery building swung open and a figure emerged.
Impeccably dressed in a well-pressed suit as always, with lips pressed obstinately shut and a piercing gaze.
It was Naguchi Murata, the critic I’d seen in Korea last time.
I’d braced myself for his characteristic clipped, terse manner of speaking to come at me once again.
“Welcome, Master Craftsman from Korea.”
Yet the transformation before me was nothing short of shocking.

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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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