True Win-Win! (1)

"Here you go — one kilo of beans."

"Oh. Thanks. How much do I owe you for the coffee?"

"Keep it. You're always slipping extra stuff into my ramen as it is. You know that counts as special service, right?"

"You noticed?"

"How many years do you think I've been running a shop?!"

"Wow. Business genius over here."

"Haha. Don't be ridiculous!"

Well — he was a regular who showed up every chance he got. First place on the ranking belonged to Jinwoo, so he was next. Calling it a ranking felt a little off, though, so one-point-five was more accurate. The so-called one-point-five customer.

Everything I'd slipped him over those visits had come back to me as coffee beans.

The coffee shop owner, who'd been laughing over our small talk, suddenly hardened his expression. Then, with an uneasy look in his eyes, he asked me:

"So I brought the beans, but… what exactly are you planning to do with already-roasted coffee?"

"I figured I should work the beans a little."

"Work them how, all of a sudden?"

"Just a little."

He danced around it, then asked straight out.

"Don't tell me you're converting the business to coffee? Ahem!"

He squeezed his eyes shut.

He's nervous, huh.

I understood. The owner himself was already struggling thanks to all the sandwich boards. And in the middle of that, I switch from ramen to coffee?

Not something you can just ignore.

Normally, someone would assume I knew nothing about roasting and write me off. But this was my one-point-five customer.

He knows ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my skill well enough.

See one, know ten, as they say. Through the ramen I put out using all kinds of ingredients, the owner had been watching my craft for quite a while. That was exactly why he was anxious.

Coffee and ramen sat pretty far apart — completely different fields. And yet there was a flicker of worry that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a guy like me might somehow pull it off.

Sharp instincts, too.

With something like this, the right move was to answer fast, before the feeling had time to settle in.

"Me, coffee? Come on — that wouldn't be fair dealing. Until I put my own shop on the line, I'm only selling ramen."

"Ah, really? Haha… I was worrying over nothing."

"What? You thought I was going to start making coffee?"

"Ahem. A little?"

"Pffft. As if."

The owner's anxiety went out. Now he seemed to want a change of mood. He asked something else, curiosity bright in those big eyes of his — not like him at all.

"But if you're not doing coffee, why the beans? Don't tell me you're putting them in the ramen?"

"Please. That would be a monstrosity."

"Then why hunt down coffee beans? You know your way around coffee?"

"A little, sure."

"Oh, really? How? You got a certification or something?"

"No certification."

"And you still know ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it?"

"I've got experience."

"Experience?"

"There's such a thing."

That experience. Experience from my past life in the apocalypse.

Could a person live on rice alone? When you had rice, you wanted meat; when you ate meat long enough, you wanted fish. That was human nature. Who wanted nothing but a staple?

An ice-cold americano. That was a flavor I would die before giving up.

Coffee — not a staple. A freezing iced americano in the heat of summer, cold enough to make your head sting! I wanted it.

At first I could endure it. But the longer time went on, the bigger the craving got.

One sip of that and I wouldn't have had a single wish left!

It drove me crazy. No — the me of that time was definitely out of my mind.

But how were you supposed to get that in an apocalypse? We were chewing and swallowing monster meat for lack of food! There were no beans. Even when I finally scraped some together, the condition was terrible. The aroma was long gone, and all that remained was a pitiful handful of musty old leftovers.

Even if I forced a pour-over, all I got was a decoction of pure bitterness. Not coffee — bitter ditchwater.

So, give up?

Like I would.

I didn't give up. No — I couldn't. I tried every bizarre method imaginable. In the end, with those rotten beans, I somehow resurrected the aroma!

The result of long research.

Ahh… that taste back then! Unforgettable!

I drank it carefully, sip by sip, all the way until the beans ran out. And when I finally couldn't get beans at all?

I went completely off the deep end.

I researched ways to replace the beans.

I burned barley I'd barely managed to find and tried to recreate the flavor. I ground monster carcasses fine. I did every insane thing I could think of hunting for the taste of coffee.

With that much experience, even without a certification, I figured I could call myself a self-taught barista.

Unfortunately, I couldn't talk about that experience.

"Well then, what are you planning to do?"

"Just watch. Heh."

But I could show him.

Just you wait.

Rattle—

I confidently tipped the beans into a heated pan. The owner's eyes went wide as a cow's.

"Huh? What the hell are you doing?!"

He wasn't someone you could dismiss just because he ran a coffee truck. He simply lacked capital. When it came to coffee, he was serious — his dream was to open a café where he roasted his own beans someday.

To a man like that, what I was doing looked completely insane.

"I'm going to re-roast them."

"What? Re-roast?! Those! They're already fully roasted. All you're going to do is amp up the bitterness!"

"Just watch for now, please."

Re-roasting. Roasting was the process of heating and cooking green beans. Re-roasting was exactly what it sounded like — roasting them a second time.

It really is crazy, to be fair.

This barely even counted as a technique. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, it failed. Taking well-roasted beans like these and roasting them again only made that probability worse.

Failure, scheduled right on time!

But I was confident.

Alright. Let's begin.

The moment the pan hit the heat I wanted, my hands moved with precision. I roasted them, applying heat evenly, while aiming for two things at once.

Aging skill, activate.

Aging mattered for coffee beans, too. Depending on when and how long you aged them, the same beans could taste completely different. I pulled that process up with a skill.

Quietly taking in the aroma, I waited for the moment I wanted. And when that moment arrived—

Now. Stop.

Stage one done.

I'd finished aging them just right. Stopping there wouldn't do. Hitting the perfect aging level didn't mean it was over.

"And what's that?"

"Whole peppercorns and cinnamon. Though cinnamon isn't exactly what you'd use medicinally."

"That much I know. Cinnamon and cassia are basically the same word, but people usually call the non-medicinal stuff cinnamon, right?"

"Something like that."

It sounded like wordplay, but it was real. A Jindo dog and a Chihuahua were both dogs — different breeds, though. People drew a similar line between cinnamon and cassia. In the end they were the same thing, but there wasn't really another way to call them apart.

"But why the whole peppercorns?"

"Trying to layer in more aroma. And a subtle heat, too."

"…You do know that doing this while re-roasting is completely insane, right?"

"I know."

"Ugh… I'm going to lose it. These are good beans."

"Just wait."

Crunch-crack.

I added a small amount of whole peppercorns. Adding them alone wasn't enough.

Aroma Enhancement.

Aroma — the fragrant taste of food, exactly as the word said. I amplified it heavily through the skill. Aging plus aroma. When I strengthened both of those just right, the effect was bigger than you'd expect.

Scent is part of taste, after all.

Especially during fine work like roasting, even a small addition of aroma could change the flavor dramatically.

"Sniff, sniff. The smell is nice, I'll give you that."

"That's what I'm going for."

Until the anxious owner found himself, without meaning to, drunk on the fragrance—

Rattle-rattle— rattle—

I carefully roasted the beans on the pan. And when the roasting was fully done, I ground the re-roasted beans in a grinder and poured a drip.

Careful. Careful.

I focused the way I had back in the apocalypse. Determined to extract every single drop properly, I poured water into the drip bag with meticulous care.

Done.

Nice!

Leaving the floating notifications as they were, I carefully poured the coffee into a cup I'd prepared in advance.

"Is it done?"

"Yes. Give it a try!"

I offered him the coffee with full confidence. The owner, still uneasy, took the cup in his hand.

"I've got a bad feeling about this…"

"Hup! What is this?"

One sip of coffee, and the anxiety washed clean away. The owner stared at me with startled eyes, and I asked with a satisfied smile:

"Well?"

"What do you mean, well?! Wow…! Watching you, I thought the aroma was something else, but how does it turn out like this? How did you do anything to beans that were already fully roasted?"

"Just like you saw."

"I watched and I still don't get it."

"Call it know-how… Even if I explained, it'd be hard for you to follow. A kind of feel, you know."

Re-roasting. Skills alone weren't enough. The sense for cooking I'd honed for so long mattered just as much. Passing that on would be difficult even for me.

"This is way beyond mere know-how. Wow — who would ever think this was a two-thousand-won coffee?!"

"Right?"

"One sip and… it's over. Wow…! This is really…"

He kept letting out gasps of admiration. To that owner, I said what I'd been aiming for from the start.

"Take this and sell it."

"Huh? What? Wait?"

A startled owner. I understood. I'd gone and made these beans and then told him to sell them himself — of course he'd be shocked. Leaving the surprise alone for the moment, I explained further.

"Ah — of course, you'll need to blend them."

"Blend them?"

"Like a kind of blending. Mix them four-to-one with the beans you already use and it should be perfect. I adjusted them with that in mind."

"Hold on. So that means making five kilos total?"

"Yes. You usually use about twenty grams per cup, right?"

"And when did you see that?"

"Eyeballed it."

"Eyeballing doesn't work like that. But you're right."

"Then five kilos should make about two hundred fifty cups, no?"

"True, but… I don't usually sell that many!"

"This time you will."

"Th-this stuff… yeah, I think it actually might."

"Right? Even if you just put ten cups out in espresso glasses and walk them around, you'll see the effect right away."

"For sure!"

Drive lit up in the owner's eyes. A few sandwich boards wouldn't even be an obstacle. His mouth stretched ear to ear, as if he could already see today's sales.

Then, looking at me again with a worried expression, he asked:

"Honestly, I'm still not sure I should even take this… Fine for me, but what about you, Boss Kim?"

"Me?"

"Yeah! You need business of your own, don't you?"

"I do."

"This way customers will come, sure, but… it'll sting a little, won't it?"

"I can't exactly say it won't."

"You've got something else planned, don't you? That's why you helped me?"

"Yes. That's right."

"What is it?"

I explained what I'd thought up right away, and made my proposal.

"For this method, I'll need your help today, boss. Want to make a deal?"

"I'm in!"

The owner's answer was bright and clear — as clear as the future waiting ahead of us.