The Day Chicken Came to Deokjin-ri
Giant Killer — Saturday, June 17, 1989. This day would be recorded as historic in Deokjin-ri, for it was the day chicken first made its appearance there. Unfortunately, it was not the first chicken in the entire country. Brands like Mexican Chicken in ’86 and Cheogajip Chicken in ’88 had already launched years earlier. Yet none of those outlets had reached Deokjin-ri, or even Yeoju. Moreover, their flavors were tuned to older palates and did not suit Yoo Jae-won’s tastes. When no chicken matched his preferences, the solution was simple: make it himself.
It had been the previous Saturday when he asked Kang Chan-ho, the branch manager, to prepare a special chicken dish. As the date indicated, Kang had received the recipe a full week in advance, yet he had not been able to perfect the menu immediately. Several trials and errors had stood in the way. Brining cut pieces of raw chicken was unfamiliar, and preparing the chicken powder was no small task. Without a dedicated fryer, maintaining a steady 180 degrees required considerable skill with the flame. Balancing the ratios of starch syrup, ketchup, and gochujang for the sauce proved equally difficult. Fortunately, once ID Office was completed and Yoo Jae-won had more free time, he visited the kitchen after school, tasted the results himself, and offered advice that helped move things forward. Eventually he even cooked alongside the staff, elevating the chicken to twenty-first-century standards.
Thanks to his efforts, they achieved proper fried chicken: crispy skin of just the right thickness and juicy, well-seasoned meat beneath. Yoo Jae-won did not stop there. He created a secret sauce that turned the fried chicken into yangnyeom chicken, and he finished another batch with soy sauce glaze. When the perfect chicken emerged, he let the cooks taste it. Not one of them remained unmoved. They immediately began preparations for mass production.
The first step was ordering 652 live chickens from Soogyeong’s family poultry farm. Questions arose about ordering hundreds at once, but if it was chicken, one bird per person seemed only natural. With such volume, extra hands were required. Cutting, brining, and coating the raw chickens had to be done entirely by hand. Temporary workers were hired, and because they were given tasting portions during preparation, they worked with genuine enthusiasm. By Saturday the seventeenth, the special menu was finally ready to serve.
Of course, while Yoo Jae-won had grandly declared one chicken per person, objectively speaking none of the children looked capable of finishing an entire bird. He therefore instructed the Yeoju branch to prepare extra boxes of chicken for leftovers. For Kang Chan-ho, who had never heard of such boxes, Yoo Jae-won sketched a twenty-first-century design on the spot. The plan was to pack the chicken and distribute it to teachers, cafeteria staff, and even the neighborhood. To avoid seeming like simple charity, the boxes were printed with the ID Technology logo and the words “Commemorating the Completion of Our New Product, ID Office.”
“Sniff, sniff! What’s that smell?”
“If it’s this savory, is it sweet-potato fries?”
“No, that’s the smell of frying meat!”
From that morning onward, the rich aroma of frying chicken drifted around Deokjin Elementary School. By eleven o’clock, when stomachs were beginning to rumble, an entirely new level of fragrance filled the air. Even children who had never tasted it before found their mouths watering.
“Hehe, I know something. You can all look forward to it! This is going to be the best lunch we’ve ever had!”
Soogyeong boasted that she already knew the taste. Thanks to the poultry farm, she had sampled the chicken earlier. Knowing how good it was only made the wait harder. Yoo Jae-won, who had experienced chicken in the twenty-first century, felt the same.
— Sixth graders, please enter!
Swallowing their saliva, the children rushed into the cafeteria. When they held out their trays, they received six pieces each: two fried, two yangnyeom, and two soy-glazed. It did not look like much, yet the portions were generous. Soogyeong’s chickens were large, each weighing 1.4 to 1.5 kilograms, so every piece was substantial. Three or four pieces filled the rice compartment, forcing students to use the side sections as well. A can of cola and a salad tossed with mayonnaise and ketchup completed the perfect chicken set.
The vigorous children devoured every morsel, leaving only bones. Yoo Jae-won took a large bite of a drumstick and felt tears well up. It was exactly the taste he remembered from the twenty-first century—perhaps even better. Back then, chickens had been slaughtered young and the meat was tender but lacked depth. These birds were fully grown, giving the meat a satisfying chew and richer flavor.
“Unya?”
It was not a friend speaking to Yoo Jae-won. He was the one addressing Jumin. While Yoo Jae-won’s eyes were merely misty with emotion, Jumin’s face was streaked with actual tears. Yoo Jae-won could not help asking why.
“It’s unfair! How can fried chicken taste this good? And I’ve been eating nothing but beef all this time! From now on, it’s whole chicken or nothing!”
Good grief. The boy was incorrigible. Even complaints about being full came in every flavor. Hanwoo beef had always been expensive premium meat and would remain so. Chicken’s popularity owed much to that fact: affordable, suitable as a rice substitute, a snack, or drinking food. No wonder people called it “Lord Chicken.” Yet Hanwoo had always stood on a higher shelf.
“Me too! I only want to eat chicken from now on.”
Even the usually calm Yeong-sik joined in. Arguing with boys who had just discovered chicken was pointless, so Yoo Jae-won simply smiled.
“If you like it that much, should we make it a monthly Chicken Day?”
“Chicken Day?”
“A day when chicken is served, just like this.”
“Wow, that’s amazing! But once a month feels too little. If we’re doing it anyway, let’s do it once a week!”
“That would be difficult. Preparing chicken requires a lot of manual work.”
Money was not the issue; the cooks’ labor was. Even the 650 chickens served today had required days of preparation. Reducing the number would not significantly lighten the load.
“Anyway, I’m going for seconds!”
Jumin, who had finished his six pieces in an instant, headed back for another serving, and Yeong-sik followed. Yoo Jae-won, however, ate slowly, chewing each bite thoroughly. He still held hope of reaching 180 centimeters. He believed rapid eating made one gain weight sideways while thorough chewing helped one grow taller, so he had changed his entire eating habit. Thanks to balanced meals without picky eating, real progress was visible. Upon entering sixth grade he had finally broken into the 160-centimeter range—far faster than in his previous life. Even while eating the chicken, he hoped it would add to his height rather than his waistline, so he continued at a measured pace.
When he returned home after the joyful chicken party, a stack of faxes awaited him. Fortunately, none demanded urgent decisions; most were progress reports on various projects being handled by different departments.
“Oh? That’s good news.”
One welcome item stood out: a meeting with Vice President Lee Yong-kwon of Sambo Computer had been scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. Yoo Jae-won had said any time was fine as long as they could meet, and Lee had agreed despite tomorrow being Sunday. Most high-ranking executives avoided scheduling on holidays, but Lee Yong-kwon, practical and action-oriented, paid no heed to appearances. Because he had once provided the spark that helped shape the current Yoo Jae-won, the young man felt genuine goodwill toward him. If Sambo Computer decided to carry ID Office, Yoo Jae-won intended to offer them more favorable terms than other companies.
He had not yet secured an appointment with Chairman Jeon Myeong-heon of Mirae Group. The secretariat had been contacted, but no reply had come.
“Well, internal matters at Mirae Group are rather complicated.”
Complicated enough that the next president of Mirae Construction had still not been named. From the second son to the youngest, all were competing for the chairman’s seat, and their factions were roughly equal in strength. Since none could decisively overpower the others, they could at least block one another from taking the presidency, prolonging the personnel vacuum.
“I wonder what the chairman is thinking.”
The prolonged princely struggle was possible only because of Chairman Jeon Myeong-heon’s silence. He was called “King Chairman” not merely because he ranked highest among Mirae Group’s chairmen, but because his words carried the weight of royal edicts within the company. A single word from him could place even the youngest son in the president’s chair. Yet months had passed without any announcement.
Most fathers would feel disheartened watching their children fight over inheritance without regard for hierarchy. Yoo Jae-won doubted Jeon Myeong-heon felt that way. The chairman was more likely observing the chaos with cold detachment, quietly separating the wheat from the chaff.
“Hm? Remington sent something too.”
It had not been long since Yoo Jae-won asked him to look into computer expos, yet a neatly organized document had already arrived. Numerous events, large and small, were listed for Silicon Valley—more than ten in total. What caught Yoo Jae-won’s eye was the entry at the bottom: COMDEX (Computer Dealer’s Exhibition). The venue was Las Vegas. As the name suggested, it was the world’s largest computer show, gathering manufacturers, dealers, and buyers. The event would continue well into the mid-twenty-first century, combining tradition with scale. Naturally, Yoo Jae-won chose COMDEX. Although the show was still four months away in November, no better debut stage existed for ID Office. He immediately drafted a document in ID Word selecting COMDEX, instructing that the booth be secured at a size rivaling those of major companies, printed it, and prepared to fax it to Silicon Valley.
Ring ring.
“Huh?”
The telephone rang just as he was about to send the fax.
“Hello? This is Yoo Jae-won.”
He answered at once. The call was brief. “Pardon? Of course. Yes!” he said before hanging up. The caller had been unexpected, yet the matter itself was simple. Soogyeong’s father had asked if they could meet tomorrow, and Yoo Jae-won had agreed without hesitation.
“I wonder what this is about.”
It was difficult to guess why Soogyeong’s father—not Soogyeong herself—wanted to see him. The possibility that it concerned the Wolfenstein Alpha version he had installed long ago even crossed his mind first. Yet that seemed unlikely; the man’s voice had been filled with unmistakable goodwill. Most probably it was about the chicken party. Ordering 650 birds at once was no small quantity, and promising monthly chicken parties would generate substantial ongoing revenue. A thank-you call, along with a request for continued business, seemed highly likely.
Yoo Jae-won hoped Soogyeong’s father had properly recognized chicken’s true power before reaching out. That power was beyond imagination. Even a regressor like Yoo Jae-won had gone to extraordinary lengths, driven by soul-deep cravings, to recreate it. The children who tasted it—and even the teachers—had found no one who disliked it. If Soogyeong’s father decided to enter the chicken business, Yoo Jae-won was willing to lend his full support. Regardless of industry, having more allies was always better; that was a lesson learned from his previous life.