Gyo-iku-sang's Broadcast Fallout
The aftermath of the broadcast.
.
.
.
No—before a single frame even went out, the internet was already losing its mind.
This was the information age.
[Facebook Video.avi]
Judge for yourselves
Everyone carried a camera now. A single phone turned anyone into a paparazzo. And a festival street—a live broadcast shoot—was impossible to miss.
American → Japanese
Sous-vide → Confit
Chuck → Sirloin
20–30 thousand won → 5 thousand won
Cooking club → Stock club
Not a single hit. Absolute legend lmaooooooooooo
Gyo-iku-sang. A broadcaster with more haters than fans. Plenty of viewers already doubted his skills. Was he even a real gourmet? On air he sometimes spouted complete nonsense.
M-m-my taste evaluation was wrong?!
That's right, sucker— I mean, valued customer.
Impossible! This is all a smear!
What was he like off-camera? Now the world got a peek.
There was a sequel.
Gulp! Gulp!
After getting every single call spectacularly wrong, he reached for something truly refreshing to soothe the burn in his gut. He downed the makgeolli that had come with the meal. Wiping his mouth, Gyo-iku-sang flashed a triumphant smile.
Look at this bastard.
Whether he had actually been wrong or whether they were trying to gaslight him didn't matter. What mattered was breaking out of the current situation. He needed to divert the eyes watching him.
"Look at this!"
"At what, exactly?"
"This makgeolli! They brought out a different one from the first pour!"
Broadcast cameras. Street passersby. Phones pointed his way, ready to dump the footage onto whatever SNS they used. If he could manufacture even one counter-argument, an escape hatch would open.
"A different one, you say?"
"Yes! You planned to smear me from the start. I don't know what grudge made you pull this stunt, but…"
He had been a scheming man from the beginning. If he could frame it that way, maybe he could wriggle free.
Thwack!
His eyes flew wide.
The makgeolli bottle. The brand name printed on it.
"How could I possibly deceive you, sir?"
"…"
"If anything was deceived, it was your tongue."
Slow Village. The exact same makgeolli.
Gyo-iku-sang ranted and raved, denying reality, but—
1. What Gyo-iku-sang drank was Slow Village.
2. Unlike other makgeolli, Slow Village does not add aspartame.
3. Because the sweetness comes solely from the rice sugars, the flavor changes with shelf life.
4. Fresher batches taste sweeter; the longer it sits, the drier and more umami-forward it becomes.
5. Whether the Hankuk University student intended this remains unknown.
Collective intelligence. From the uploaded footage and eyewitness accounts, the sequence of events was reconstructed. Strictly speaking it was only circumstantial—but the makgeolli miss had been decisive.
Public opinion that had been wavering swung hard once hard evidence appeared. The man already had a thick coat of hate stuck to him. The story exploded across every community. This was never going to stay a minor online dust-up.
"Starting next week… I don't need to come in…?"
CBS studios. Gyo-iku-sang, there for a pre-shoot meeting, could not hide his flustered expression.
"I-is there some kind of problem?"
"Ah, it's nothing personal. It's just that the direction of our program and your on-screen character have… diverged somewhat."
"In what way?"
"That was the conclusion we reached after internal discussion. We hope you'll understand."
He knew exactly why. The Hankuk University festival episode had not played well. They had edited out the segment that exposed the steak house, but the internet firestorm could not be cut.
…
His reputation had tanked. If the network was pushing him out, that was the reason. Over a little ruckus like this? Fine. He would graciously step aside. Plenty of places still wanted to borrow the name of gourmet expert Gyo-iku-sang.
Bzzzt…!
Right on cue, his phone rang. Restaurant industry people seeking his consultation.
"Ahem! Gyo-iku-sang speaking."
"Gyo-iku-sang!"
"What is it this time?"
They always paid a modest fee. Another call meant another job for him.
That's right. This is who I am.
Losing one broadcast slot? It wouldn't put so much as a scratch on Gyo-iku-sang's renown.
"Actually, there's something I wanted to ask you."
"What is it? Whatever it is, leave it to me, Gyo-iku-sang."
"Excellent! That student you ran into at Hankuk University—do you know who he is? I absolutely must find out. Even the barest description of his appearance would help."
"…"
It seemed things were about to get interesting.
Festival Day Three.
"Thank you for your hard work."
The long, grueling sales run finally ended—far earlier than planned.
Thud!
They were already striking the tent. Yet customers still kept streaming in.
"One steak!"
"Just one for me too."
"Ah… sorry, we're completely out of ingredients."
"There's really nothing left?!"
They could only lick their lips and turn away. Even if the club wanted to sell more, the stock was gone.
The broadcast effect was real.
The first stretch had been chaotic. Of course it had—Gyo-iku-sang had thrown a full tantrum. What the hell just happened? It took time for the rubbernecking crowd to convert into actual customers.
"We prepared so much…"
"Never expected this many people."
"SNS is going completely nuts right now!"
After that, it exploded. Overnight the story had jumped from SNS to every community board.
I factored that into the demand forecast.
They had doubled the volume and brought in extra cooks just in case the crowd swelled.
The fire spread even further. The hotter the Gyo-iku-sang discourse burned, the more famous the steak became.
If this had been a real restaurant, the sales boost would have lasted for ages.
Customers were pouring in from all over the country. With a little luck they could have struck partnership deals and expanded. A single eatery becoming nationally known carried unimaginable ripple effects.
"Oppa, what are you doing?"
"Huh?"
"We're leaving. You planning to sleep here?"
"…"
Sadly, it was only a temporary festival. Hye-ri shook him out of his nap.
Been so busy I never even got time to hang out with Hye-ri.
A real business owner would have been thrilled by the surge in customers. For him the festival was just a pain. He had been stuck manning the booth in case broadcast people showed up again. No time to wander. Hye-ri, as club president, had to keep the members in line. Suhyun, the freeloader, hadn't shown up at all.
The club? Festival time looks busy… I'll think about it after it's over.
That was why he hated sharp little kids. A quick mind wasn't always a blessing.
"Time for the final tally."
"Ooooh!!"
"Day One: net profit three hundred thousand won."
Maybe there had been some satisfaction after all. Hye-ri announced the festival's total sales. Day One was modest—after subtracting the cost of the cube-steak ingredients they had originally planned to sell.
"Day Two: one million five hundred thousand!"
"Waaah~~!!!"
"Day Three: three million…? We could open a real restaurant with this."
"Hahahaha!!"
From Day Two the numbers went nuclear. Day Three needed no explanation.
Yeah. This is the bare minimum.
In truth the sum wasn't that large. A real restaurant would have cleared many times that amount, then expanded the business tenfold, twentyfold, more. But for students—
"How about a round of applause for Senior Lee Chanuk, who made an enormous contribution to our pub's sales?"
"Should we?"
"Let's do it!"
"Hahahaha!"
—it was more than enough. The pub operation had been lucky just to avoid red ink. Applause poured down. He felt little thrill—no real profit for himself, three straight days of pure work—but still.
Is this what it would have felt like?
The school he had dropped out of. If he had stayed, maybe he would have collected a few memories like this.
"What the hell is this!! Now we won't even get our activity funds!"
"Hey, no customers showed up, what were we supposed to—"
"We worked our asses off! You seniors have to take responsibility!"
"What? You finished talking? So we didn't work hard, is that it?"
There were also the dirtied memories. About ten meters away at the next booth, the club president and his girlfriend seemed to be having a problem. Two factions had formed and were now locked in an ugly mud-slinging match over who was to blame.
If that turns into a full emotional war, it's going to be a headache.
The club that had always ranked number one in festival sales. The fact that his own success had sparked their fight left a sour taste.
"Senior?"
There was also a junior who hated coming in second even in the chest department. Sora slipped quietly up beside him while he watched the drama.
"You worked hard."
"Yeah."
"Thanks to you we got to stick it to those guys. Thank you."
On Day One she had complained the most. She still didn't understand how capitalist society actually worked. Maybe the tadpole had finally grown a couple of legs. She seemed to have done a lot of thinking on her own.
"You should've just been honest from the start. I really didn't know the first thing about running a business…"
"I don't know either."
"Don't give me that. You were basically a pro."
"I don't know. I want to touch your tits."
As far as he was concerned, he had gained nothing. The reward for the free labor Hye-ri had extracted was already excessive.
At this level I should at least get to knead those.
No, seriously. Pull off a sales jackpot like this and room-salon entertainment was the bare minimum—real ten-pro places, not some mid-tier half-measure. You got to enjoy yourself properly with the older ladies.
"You like breasts that much?"
"Is there a guy who doesn't? Don't you feel the stares every day?"
"Shit…"
If he and Sora could get to that kind of relationship, it would be perfect. She had talent to spare and still wasn't using any of it. Maybe she had grown a little too. She leaned in, thick lips brushing his ear, and whispered in a tiny voice.
"I'll allow it. Just once."
"Really?"
"Yes. But not right now…"
"Then I'll save it for later."
"??"
All that whining about how no tree falls after ten chops had finally paid off. The open atmosphere of the festival probably helped too.
They always say you go into university one way and come out another.
There was a famous meme about it online. It made you realize exactly what you had just done.