Let Me Stand Trial in Korea!!!
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In Korea's food industry, there was one notoriously infamous company that walked the exact opposite path from its deceptively wholesome name: Good Food.
Despite the appealing name, it was the epitome of a "shitty corp"—slashing supplier prices, grinding employees into the dust, and scraping profits by using cheap ingredients on the verge of spoilage.
A year ago, President Kang Deok-su had gathered his staff and boldly declared:
"Hey! US school lunches pay four bucks a pop! We have to break in! Supply at two bucks cost, and we'll make a killing!"
The employees clicked their tongues, calling it insane, but in this line of work, when the boss says jump, you jump.
The results, however, were disastrous.
US school lunch hygiene and nutrition standards were far stricter than they'd imagined, and above all, their shoddy quality couldn't cut it—they got rejected outright.
But President Kang didn't give up.
US expansion!
Just saying it sounded prestigious.
The man sent to Boston wearing the hat of "US Branch Manager" was none other than Team Leader Choi Su-ho.
"Haa... fuck..."
In the rundown Boston office, Choi Su-ho clutched his head.
He'd steered clear of Southern California, where Ji-hoon had a tight grip, and chosen the opposite corner: the Northeast—Boston.
Naturally, the school lunch business flopped there too.
Messing around with kids' food in lawsuit-happy America? You'd get fucked for sure.
And if shit hit the fan, the president would pin it all on him, just like always.
The item Choi Su-ho had picked back in Korea was "kimbap" and "lunch boxes."
His market analysis wasn't wrong.
Americans' eating habits were a nightmare.
40.3% of US adults were obese, and about 11.6% of the population—38.4 million people—suffered from diabetes. These stats were infamous.
Fast food joints everywhere, one per every 1,670 people.
They were hooked on greasy, sugar-soaked junk, yet deep down, they felt guilty about their bodies.
"Isn't there food that's tasty, convenient, and healthy?"
Kimbap exploited that contradictory craving perfectly—a "Korean roll" packed with rice, veggies, egg, and meat in bite-sized portions.
"This is it. This'll sell."
Choi Su-ho reported to President Kang, got the green light, and suddenly they pivoted from school lunches to kimbap sales.
The trouble started after that.
"Hey, Branch Manager Choi. You know the price point, right? Make it dirt cheap. Source the cheapest local ingredients, and don't waste money on refrigerated shipping—make 'em sell fast."
President Kang's orders boiled down to cost-cutting.
Kimbap is one of the foods that spoils fastest, reeking of off-flavors.
Spinach, eggs, fish cake—ingredients perfect for bacterial breeding if the temp's even slightly off.
But Good Food, chasing profits, skipped proper cold-chain systems. They shipped via regular trucks or bought near-expired ingredients on the cheap and rolled them into kimbap anyway.
And then the incident exploded.
Choi Su-ho wailed as news broke and complaint calls flooded in.
"...Fuck, that's why I said to toss it!!"
Three thousand rolls of kimbap exposed to room temp for four hours after the freezer broke.
By the book, it all had to go in the trash.
But when he reported to the boss in Korea, the order came down like thunder.
"You idiot! You know how much money that is to throw away? If it looks fine on the outside, ship it! As long as it doesn't stink! American kids have iron stomachs—they won't die!"
In the end, Choi Su-ho bit back tears and shipped them out.
"It'll be fine... please be fine."
Self-hypnotizing, he stocked the local marts' shelves with "K-Food" kimbap.
But the spinach and eggs inside had already become breeding grounds for salmonella and staph.
Just hours later, Bostonians grabbing kimbap for convenience and health started clutching their stomachs and collapsing one by one.
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Selling spoiled food in America?
It wasn't something you could brush off with "Sorry, here's a refund."
Federal and state laws strictly banned it as a major crime. Violations meant astronomical punitive damages at minimum, instant business shutdowns, and criminal charges for those responsible.
Right when "K-Food" was soaring on its healthy image.
Good Food's greed, hitching a ride on that wave for a quick buck, backfired into a massive food poisoning disaster.
Boston's Massachusetts General Hospital and major ERs turned into hellscapes.
"Argh! My stomach's ripping apart!"
Abdominal pain, diarrhea, vomiting, fevers over 102°F.
Not just a few—hundreds hit the hospitals simultaneously with the same symptoms.
"What the hell is this? A virus terror attack?"
Medical staff panicked.
Waiting rooms overflowed with patients writhing on the floor; bathrooms were war zones.
Worse were those trying home remedies.
"You thought it was just diarrhea and took anti-diarrheal meds?"
The doctor gaped at the froth-mouthed patient wheeled in.
Diarrhea during food poisoning is your body's way of expelling toxins.
Blocking it with meds let the salmonella multiply inside, toxins breaching intestinal walls into the bloodstream.
IVs jammed into shocked patients; emergency codes blared hospital-wide.
The media pounced.
Health officials and FDA investigators swarmed in.
Epidemiology traced it fast.
Patients' common link:
"I ate kimbap from the mart for lunch..."
Investigators' eyes sharpened.
They rushed to the big mart, seized shelf kimbap for testing—results were shocking.
Bacteria levels thousands of times over limits.
The supplier name on the packaging was crystal clear.
[JOEUN FOOD (Good Food)]
"Target confirmed. Moving in."
FDA's Office of Criminal Investigations (OCI) agents and local cops raided Good Food's Boston branch.
Meanwhile.
Good Food US branch office.
Branch Manager Choi Su-ho dialed Korea HQ with shaking hands.
"P-President! Big trouble! People are being rushed to hospitals, it's chaos..."
"Ah, shut up! Buncha whiners with tummy aches. Bribe 'em with settlements and shut their mouths! Didn't I tell you to add more vinegar?"
President Kang was still clueless, spouting nonsense over the line.
Then—
BAM!
The rickety steel office door flew open as black-vested agents stormed in.
"Federal agents! Freeze!"
"Wha—?"
Choi Su-ho dropped the phone.
Agents seized the office in seconds, twisting his arm behind his back.
"You're under arrest for distributing adulterated food and endangering public health."
Click.
Cold cuffs bit into his wrists.
"W-Wait! The president! It was the president's orders!"
Choi Su-ho pointed at the phone on the floor, sobbing, but the agents dragged him out with icy stares.
From the receiver, only President Kang's irritated voice echoed, oblivious.
"Hey! Choi Su-ho! You there? Hey!"
That was the end of Good Food.
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America is the land of lawsuits.
In a word, Good Food was utterly fucked.
The moment it blew up, President Kang in Korea powered off his phone and vanished.
Word spread, and the company shuttered.
Classic "cut off the tail."
Branch Manager Choi Su-ho shivered in Boston lockup.
"C-Consul! Get me out! Please! I just followed orders, that's all!"
The hastily dispatched Korean consul visited, but Choi pounded the glass wall, wailing.
The consul's face was grim.
"Mr. Choi, calm down. This looks very bad."
"Bad how? I'm just a salaryman! I did what I was told!"
A Boston cop nearby crossed his arms and said coldly:
"Hundreds of our citizens are in hospitals because of your company's shit. Including kids and seniors."
The detective glared at the consul and Choi, laying down the law.
"Under the criminal extradition treaty, catch your HQ president and send him here. And the compensation for victims—what about that?"
"Th-That's HQ's..."
"HQ's gone radio silent, right? Then you, the responsible guy in the US, eat it all."
Choi Su-ho collapsed in despair.
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Meanwhile, the real shitstorm was elsewhere.
Seoul, Gangnam's Teheran-ro skyscraper jungle.
Conference rooms at Korea's top food conglomerates were in full panic mode.
"You fucking assholes!! Who the hell are these lunatics!!"
A Food's overseas division head hurled a stack of papers, roaring.
The mood was funeral-level somber.
The "frozen kimbap" craze in the US.
Food giants had ridden Ji-hoon's K-Food wave.
Thanks to Han Sang building hanbok's premium image, Korean frozen kimbap flew off shelves at Trader Joe's and Costco—sold out everywhere.
Export records shattered monthly; they were celebrating "America's finally open!"
Then this no-name "Good Food," a shitty mid-tier outfit, shat all over it.
"Kimbap food poisoning in Boston? Salmonella, even?"
The division head clutched his neck.
"Fuck this up, and we're all yanked from shelves! Think FDA sits still? Full audits incoming!"
"D-Division head, local buyers are already holding orders..."
"Argh!!"
Execs cradled their heads.
Would US consumers rationally think "only Good Food's bad, big corps' is fine"?
Fat chance.
To them, it'd all lump together.
This way, billions in exports would grind to a halt.
"Find a way. Now!"
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Ever wonder how much power Korea's "chaebols" wield?
When pillar conglomerates unite in anger, burying one schmuck is child's play.
A Food, C CJ CheilJedang, Ottogi...
Top food giants didn't see this as just a rival's downfall.
It was shitting on the "US market" they'd poured billions into cracking open.
Their fury turned to action.
Intel networks, "secretarial offices," and shady PI firms mobilized.
"Grab him. Today."
Chairmen's razor-sharp orders flipped Korea upside down.
President Kang hiding in a motel with a burner phone? No escaping chaebol dragnet.
Just one day later.
Kang was slurping motel ramen when suited giants hauled him out like luggage.
Chaebol conference room.
Kang knelt trembling.
Before him loomed execs who'd normally be untouchable gods of the food world, glaring coldly.
The air itself felt heavier.
"President Kang."
The A Corp executive at the head growled low.
"What now? Your shit's got our export containers rotting at port. Know the damages?"
"I-I'll compensate! Sell my house, land, everything..."
Kang banged his head on the floor, begging.
Met with sneers.
"House? Land? That won't even scratch the victim payouts, you fool."
Execs tsked.
Thinking his measly billions in assets could cover it? Laughable from a clueless shit-corp boss.
They'd already coordinated with top government brass.
Korea lives on exports.
No government would shield a criminal blocking dollar-earning golden geese and tarnishing the national brand.
They needed a scapegoat to calm things fast.
Click.
Doors opened; Foreign Ministry officials and metro detectives burst in.
"Kang Deok-su. Arrested for food hygiene violations and negligence causing injury. US criminal extradition request approved."
"Wha—?! US?! No! Let me stand trial in Korea! Please!!"
Kang paled, thrashing.
He knew.
Korea meant a slap on the wrist.
America? Different beast.
Punitive damages.
Billions per victim, hundreds suing.
Plus monster prison time for endangering public health.
Extradited? Life over.
"Take him."
At the exec's word, cops bound his arms and dragged him out.
"Spare me! Exec-nim! Detectives! Please, let me rot in a Korean jail! Aaaargh!"
His screams echoed down the hall, but those left in the room just brushed off dust and straightened ties.
"Whew... how much did that trash cost us."
"Contact the US now. Press release: Culprit caught and shipped; our big corp products are safe."
In the convoy van straight to Incheon Airport, Kang bitterly regretted his greed's price—but the bus had already left.