The Sweet Potato Auction
“Ugh, I'm stuffed!”
The effect of the sweet potatoes I'd eaten was remarkable.
My arms and legs, which had always felt like they were flailing uselessly, now moved entirely at my command. It was a freedom I'd gained from the muscle strengthening — even if it was only a partial effect.
After boiling two of them and eating until my stomach nearly burst, I'd confirmed that the muscle-strengthening effect could stack. In other words, if I strengthened my muscles with one sweet potato and then ate another, I could become even stronger.
My limbs still looked frail and wobbly to the eye, but they packed far more strength than before.
As for Grandfather, he'd gotten an even better effect than I did — he'd turned positively buff and headed out to work the fields.
“Oh, hold on a second, Grandpa. Before you go, how about doing a little promotional work for me with the other folks in the village? If anyone wants to buy some, I'm looking to sell.”
Grandfather had taken about half a sweet potato with him. I wondered how it was working out for him.
That was the moment it happened.
BANG BANG BANG!
Suddenly, someone began pounding furiously on our front gate.
Just then, Grandfather hurried back into the house.
“Grandpa?”
“Oh, Ji-on! Good thing you're home!”
He hadn't even had a chance to explain what was going on before—
“Gwang-nam! I know you're in there, so open this door right now!”
“We're all neighbors here, ain't we? You show us something this good and then try to slink off and hide it — what kind of doings is that!”
A chorus of voices outside was shouting my grandfather's name. Why did it sound like there were far more than one or two of them?
Through the window, I could see a mass of heads crowded against our fence. Most of them were elderly folks — some thick-haired, but mostly thinning or bald outright.
At this point, it looked like every elder in the village had shown up, without exception.
Grandfather seemed to share my shock, muttering quietly to himself.
I stared blankly at the crowd for a while before asking him, “How many people did you share them with?”
“Well, more'n five, if you're countin' only the ones I fed myself...”
The crowd gathered at the gate looked to be at least triple that number.
If they'd watched a body transform before their very eyes, of course they'd want the same for themselves. Anyone would.
“So that's why so many people are gathered out there right now?”
“That'd be it, aye. ...Oh dear. Never thought he'd come along too.”
“Who?”
“Our village chief. Park Chun-bae.”
A single green hat poked up above the fence and moved boldly toward the gate. Then its owner began pounding on the door harder than anyone who'd knocked before him.
BANG BANG!!
At the village chief's arrival, Grandfather and I headed out to the yard.
“Gwang-nam! Have a word with me!”
“Aigoo, there's such a mob out here the door won't even open!”
That was the literal truth. So many people had crowded around, all muttering over one another, that you could barely make out what anyone was saying.
Hearing my grandfather's nearly shout-level reply, the chief clicked his tongue and bellowed at the top of his lungs.
“Tsk tsk, you people! Everyone hear me? Disperse, all of you! I'll handle everything about these sweet potatoes and pass word along, so clear off now!”
“...Well, if Chun-bae says so.”
The crowd that had been hammering the gate in a frenzy quietly turned around at a single word from the chief. Once everyone had left, silence finally settled over the area.
“Gwang-nam. You can open the door now.”
“Ahem, my sincere thanks to you. Never imagined something like this would happen out of nowhere... Come on in.”
Grandfather opened the gate and greeted him warmly.
“And to you as well. This here is my grandson who grew those sweet potatoes.”
As Grandfather stepped aside, I finally got a proper look at the man called the village chief. A gaunt, deeply wrinkled face, fierce eyes, a hooked, jutting mouth — and yet, somehow, immaculately ironed clothes and a green Saemaul hat not the least bit faded.
He was an old man with a stern, flinty look about him. That sort of face usually belonged to people just like me, so—
“Oho, so this is the young lad's handiwork. A sweet potato that puts strength into you the moment you eat it. I never dreamed such a thing existed.”
The chief gave my shoulder a friendly pat and continued.
“So then — who do I talk to about purchasing these sweet potatoes?”
“You'll want to discuss that with our Ji-on here directly. The one who grows the crop is its farmer, ain't he?”
“Ha, well said. Ji-on, my boy, you're a farmer in good standing, then.”
...I think we're going to get along very well.
As the chief nodded along, Grandfather chimed in in agreement.
“Talking business over the crops could take a while, so why don't we go inside and sit down?”
We entered the house and took our seats around the table, where a sweet potato sat out for inspection. The chief picked it up, turned it over this way and that, and set it carefully back down.
Setting aside the ones we'd eaten as a family and the ones Grandfather had handed out as samples, eighteen sweet potatoes remained in total.
As the chief sipped his tea and listened to my explanation that every one of them was identical in size, he quietly opened negotiations.
“Before we begin, there's one thing I'd like to ask.”
“What is it?”
“You haven't put any... er, what-do-you-call-it... steroids or such drugs into these, have you?”
It was a reasonable question. A special sweet potato that boosted muscle strength, seemingly out of nowhere — suspicion that some unknown substance, like a doping drug, had been administered was only natural.
Especially from farming households, which tend to be sensitive about genetically modified crops.
But that concern only applied to artificially manufactured chemicals and artificially engineered plants in this world. My sweet potatoes, grown on Mana Land while drinking in nature to their very core, were another matter entirely.
The Muscle Strengthening Sweet Potato's effect on the human body was no different from that of an ordinary sweet potato. Nutritionally speaking, only ordinary components like carbohydrates would show up on analysis. Naturally, there were no side effects and no ingredients harmful to the body whatsoever.
“None at all. They're organic crops — grown without so much as a trace of pesticide, let alone drugs.”
“I see.”
The chief nodded at my firm answer.
“Well, if they were harmful, I doubt you or your family would have been the first to eat them.”
Was there any stronger guarantee of safety than feeding them to your own family first? The chief nodded as if convinced, then moved on to his next question.
“Can you tell me how many you intend to sell? I'm wondering whether you plan to dispose of all the remaining ones.”
I had given that some thought. I needed sweet potatoes for Grandfather, plus a reserve just in case — my mother might need some too. All told, the sweet potatoes I could part with right now came to thirteen.
“I'm thinking thirteen.”
“Thirteen...”
The chief seemed lost in thought for a moment, drumming his fingers on the table.
“And what sort of price did you have in mind?”
Every agricultural product has a market price. An ordinary sweet potato wouldn't fetch even ten dollars apiece. But this was a sweet potato with a special effect — even with a hefty premium, plenty of buyers would come running.
The question was how large that premium should be.
When I stayed silent for a while, the chief spoke again.
I imagine that's a hard decision. Set the price yourself, and you risk drawing the people's resentment. And since this is your first time selling a crop, Ji-on, the weight of it must feel all the heavier.”
“...You're right about that. Which is actually why — I have an idea.”
“An idea?”
The chief looked at me with evident curiosity.
A wide, sly grin spread across my face.
“That idea is...”
The next day at 3 p.m., when the afternoon sun beat down at its fiercest, the villagers gathered in the community hall, perched awkwardly in their seats. One and all, they exchanged hushed, furtive conversation.
“Th-this thing does start at three thirty, right?”
“That's what I told you! Did you bring your ammo, friend? Loaded up nice and thick?”
“Of course. This time I dug deep — pulled out the emergency stash I'd been hiding under my pillow.”
Wads of cash were clutched in their hands, and their eyes gleamed with killing intent... or perhaps just the ferocity of the hunt.
“Hoho, my blood's been stirring something fierce lately. Something tells me today's my day to win.”
“Ha! Not so fast, friend. You won't best me.”
Mrs. Seo Bok-ja was feeling the same electric thrill she'd once known sitting around a deck of hwatu cards, shouting her snacks into the pot. She was one of the five people Kim Gwang-nam had given sweet potatoes to.
She, too, had had her glory days. A time when her knees and shoulders were rock solid and she could hoe the fields for hours without a flicker of complaint. A time when she could sit playing cards for five full hours and, though her legs might tingle, her back never ached!
The glory of the past, they called it — and it was already more than ten years gone.
Mrs. Seo Bok-ja knew she could never enjoy those days again. Only getting older lay ahead of her, she'd told herself; what was lost would not return. She had resigned herself to that.
Until yesterday.
That sweet potato Kim Gwang-nam had given her. The moment she ate it, she knew. Her body had gone back ten years. She had regained the radiant, vigorous flesh of that glorious era!
She was the one who had chased him all the way to his front door, begging him to sell her the sweet potatoes. If she could return to that time, what did money or dignity matter?
And so today, she'd torn open her pillow to win that thing happening at the community hall. The emergency fund she'd saved up over the past several months. This would be her rejuvenation fund!
“Ahem! Everyone, please take your seats.”
Mrs. Seo Bok-ja snapped to attention at the voice of the village chief, Park Chun-bae. It was already nearly three thirty.
“You all picked up your lucky number tickets on the way in, didn't you?”
“Of course we did! Without one, what good are we?”
“Haha, exactly. Keep those tickets safe — lose yours and you're in real trouble.”
Before the assembled crowd, Park Chun-bae introduced a strikingly handsome young boy.
“Now then — this is Seo Ji-on, the grandson of Kim Gwang-nam's household. He's the farmer who grew the sweet potatoes that brought you all here today.”
The moment the introduction ended, the villagers began to murmur.
That kid grew the sweet potatoes? That child?
When the murmuring showed no sign of dying down, the boy — Seo Ji-on — picked up a wooden gavel and called out.
“The auction will now begin! Starting bid: thirty thousand won!”
A fresh wave of murmuring rippled through the room.
Their mouths fell open at the price — higher than expected. Not per kilogram, but per single sweet potato? Thirty thousand won a piece?
Those who had come having heard only rumors clicked their tongues and tossed their number tickets down, as if abandoning the auction altogether.
But the fifteen who had eaten one themselves — or witnessed the transformation firsthand — were different.
“Only ten sweet potatoes will be sold. Bidding for sweet potato number one starts now!”
Fifteen people had felt the effect. Only ten could buy. Eyeing one another warily, they clenched their number tickets tight.
One of those ten will be mine — no matter what!
Mrs. Seo Bok-ja swiftly scanned her surroundings too. There was only one chance — she had to seize it at the very first stroke!
The auction moved quickly.
“Number twenty-one, fifty thousand won.”
“Number two, fifty-five thousand!”
“Number sixteen, seventy thousand!!”
Little by little, the bidders' eyes began to glaze over with frenzy.
Especially Mrs. Seo Bok-ja's.
She had twenty bills loaded in her arsenal. Somehow, she had to win within that limit. If she laid down a single overwhelming card — one in a league of its own — victory would be hers!
Bid ticket number seven. Lucky seven. The goddess of victory would surely smile on her.
Mrs. Seo Bok-ja bellowed with all her might.
“Number seven — one hundred thousand won!!!”