The Season When Grapes Ripen (Part 4)
The glass was offered to us.
Without hesitation, I took in the aroma before taking a slow sip. The moment the liquid washed over my tongue, my conviction only deepened.
“Khaaah. This really is fantastic.”
“See? What did I tell you? It’s magnificent stuff.”
Without a shadow of a doubt, this was an exceptional spirit. The direction of its maturation had been guided with an impeccable touch.
“It’s truly wonderful,” I said.
“Well, naturally! Hahaha!”
“I know this winery hasn’t been around for very long, which makes this all the more impressive.”
“You even looked that up before coming? Hahaha! That’s right. It’s been quite the uphill battle.”
Yeong-gil had abandoned a stable corporate career to plunge headfirst into this venture. Naturally, a long string of grueling days had followed. Not only was there zero profit in the beginning, but without prior experience or established techniques, just coaxing the black raspberry vines to grow had been an ordeal—to say nothing of brewing the liquor itself.
“Truth be told, things still aren't all that rosy even now… but what does it matter? Seeing someone truly appreciate our wine makes me feel like everything is going to turn out fine.”
“It will. You’re going to do great.”
“I appreciate the kind words! Hahaha!”
Behind Yeong-gil’s strained laughter, I caught sight of the dokkaebi gliding silently forward. As if inspecting something precious, she gently rested a hand on his shoulder and murmured beneath her breath.
“Hehehe. Hubby. I love you so much. My hubby is the absolute best.”
Why did this feel less like pure affection and more like some bizarrely twisted devotion? Regardless, if a dokkaebi was reacting with such fierce adoration, it was definitive proof that this was a truly great winery.
“I think we’re ready to discuss the contract,” I said.
“Ah, of course! The contract slipped my mind entirely. Hahaha!”
Scratching his head with an embarrassed grin, Yeong-gil led us to another storage area, where rows upon rows of oak barrels stood stacked to the ceiling. None of them currently held black raspberry wine, however. These were seasoned barrels that had already served their purpose once—in other words, seasoned bokbunja casks.
And securing them was the very reason we had traveled all the way here.
“When you first reached out, I wondered if you were interested in purchasing the wine itself,” Yeong-gil remarked.
“It’s not that we aren’t interested, but that isn't our priority just yet.”
And it wasn’t just black raspberry wine, either. From traditional Korean spirits to fruit wines, beers, and eventually distilled spirits like whisky and rum, my ultimate vision was to craft every imaginable kind of alcohol under the name of Songhadang. It was simply that pursuing everything at once right now was realistically out of reach.
“I take it you intend to use these barrels for aging?”
“Yes. I can’t go into specific details, but…”
“Oh, heavens, of course! Every brewery has its trade secrets—I wouldn’t dream of prying. Hahaha! In any case, you came to the right place. There are very few places in the entire country that age black raspberry wine in oak.”
Yeong-gil was right. The vast majority of domestic wineries relied on stainless steel tanks. Based on my research, just like in my previous life, only a handful of craft breweries and premium wineries in regions like Gochang or Muju bothered with oak aging. Yeong-gil’s winery happened to be one of those rare few.
“We procure barrels that were used once for white wine, and then we mature our wine in them directly,” he explained.
“That’s truly remarkable.”
“Hahaha. It’s a point of pride for us, in its own humble way.”
“Ugh. Those bastards keep eyeing the liquor my hubby made…”
Unlike Yeong-gil, who was welcoming us with open arms, the winery’s other master clearly felt otherwise. I had sensed her hostility earlier, but it couldn't be helped. If an estate had two masters, then both had to be persuaded.
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I plugged in my earphones and offered an apologetic nod. “Do you mind if I step aside to take a quick call?”
“Ah, not at all! Go right ahead. And, erm, what was the gentleman’s name over here…?”
“Oh, I’m not a boss or anything, just an employee. Call me Kim Sejun.”
“Ah, Mr. Sejun. Would you care to sample some of our bottled wine as well?”
“Man, I never turn down a drink when it’s offered! You can tell just by looking at me, right? Besides, we’re crashing here tonight anyway!”
“Hahaha! Wonderful! Right this way, then.”
As Sejun and Yeong-gil stepped away, the dokkaebi remained behind, fixing her gaze straight on me. Or rather, calling it a gaze was too generous—she was glaring daggers.
“Ugh. I can’t stand this guy…” she muttered aloud.
She was acting so brazenly only because she assumed I could neither see nor hear her. In that case, it was time to disabuse her of that notion.
“And just what about me rubs you the wrong way?” I asked casually.
“What do you mean, ‘what’? You’re a thief who waltzed in here out of nowhere trying to steal what my hubby worked so hard to make! That’s what!”
“I intend to pay a fair price for everything, you know.”
“That’s only fair by human standards! Do you have any idea how much effort my hubby put into… Huh?”
Mid-rant, the dokkaebi froze. Her already pale, porcelain face drained of whatever color it had left as she spun around to gawk at me.
“Y-You… you can see me?”
“I can hear you, too.”
“HIEEEEEEK!”
Why was she the one screaming bloody murder?
“So, Boon-yi… you’ve never met a mortal who has awakened their spiritual sight before?”
“Th-That’s right!”
The dokkaebi, having introduced herself as Boon-yi, answered with a prim sniff. Apparently, she had initially mistaken me for some worthless bum trying to ruin her beloved Yeong-gil’s winery, which was why she had been so guarded. Then, upon realizing I could actually perceive her, the sheer novelty of an experience she had never encountered had startled her out of her wits.
“I take it there aren't many people with open sight around these days?”
“How should I know? I was only born five years ago!”
“Ah. I see.”
“What’s with that attitude?! Are you looking down on me just because I’m young? Want me to teach you a lesson?!”
She huffed and puffed, raising her tiny fists above her head, but there was zero menace behind the gesture. For all her status as a supernatural entity, her behavior was indistinguishable from that of a spoiled toddler. Her unconditional, obsessive devotion to Yeong-gil—following him around like a duckling trailing its mother—fit that childish innocence to a tee. Calling him her husband was a bit much, though.
“At any rate, what you’re really trying to say is that you don't trust me, right?”
“Exactly! Anyone can tell you brew alcohol too! You can't just steal my hubby’s hard-earned techniques and run off!”
“I have no intention of stealing anything.”
Perhaps because she had only existed for five years, Boon-yi spoke in a manner far younger than her appearance suggested. It would have been wonderful to have Songha or Moktong around at a time like this, but since I was on my own, I had to handle it myself.
“Then allow me to prove it to you.”
“Prove it? How?”
“I’ll show you that I can genuinely be of help to Yeong-gil…”
“He’s my hubby!”
“…Right. To your hubby. And on top of that, I’ll even share some of the spirits we brought along with you.”
“Ahem!”
Boon-yi flushed pink and whipped her head to the side, trying to feign disinterest. Playing the alcohol card had been inspired by Songha’s advice: every dokkaebi in the world harbored an incurable love for fine spirits. Even a five-year-old toddler dokkaebi was no exception to that universal law.
“Shall we head over right now, then?”
“Where are we going?”
“Where else? To see Yeong-gil.”
“To my hubby?!”
At the mere mention of his name, Boon-yi’s face lit up with almost comical joy. Well, even if it was a one-sided cross-species crush, as long as both parties were content, who was I to judge?
“Yes. I was planning to rejoin them anyway.”
“Then what are we waiting for?! Let’s go right now!”
With that eager cheer, Boon-yi phased straight through the cellar wall and darted toward Yeong-gil. When I followed her into the adjoining room, Sejun was the first to greet me.
“Whoa, Yeonwoo! This stuff is insane!”
“You’re drinking already?”
“Yeah, man! Here, take a sip.”
What we had tasted earlier was drawn straight from the barrel. What Sejun held now was the finished product: bottled, labeled, and ready for commercial sale. It had reached its full, intended maturation.
“It certainly feels complete,” I murmured after tasting it.
“Right? Isn't it crazy good?”
“Haha. Hearing such high praise from both of you is truly flattering. I hardly know what to do with myself,” Yeong-gil said, wearing an expression caught between pride and embarrassment.
Our compliments were entirely genuine. At the very least, within the realm of black raspberry wine, this man was a true artisan. It took that kind of singular devotion for a dokkaebi to manifest and attach herself to a person in the first place.
“Fufufu! See that? That’s what my hubby can do! He’s definitely a far greater brewer than you’ll ever be!” Boon-yi chimed in from the side, puffing out her chest with smug pride.
The wine truly warranted such arrogance. The rich, velvety sweetness of the black raspberries danced in exquisite harmony across the palate with luxurious softness.
“Mr. Yeong-gil, have you had a chance to review the contract?”
“Ah, yes. I looked it over. But there was one section here…”
Yeong-gil produced the contract and spread it across the table, pointing toward a specific clause with a questioning look. It was a condition I had drafted with meticulous care.
“This clause regarding direct collection…”
“Ah, yes. That is a mandatory condition on our end.”
In standard cask transactions, the supplier typically handled freight delivery. However, our contract stipulated that Songhadang would personally visit the winery to inspect and select every single barrel on site.
“We need to inspect the condition of every cask before taking possession,” I explained.
Managing oak casks was a notoriously delicate affair, and seasoned barrels that had previously held fruit wine were even more precarious. Fruit wines like bokbunja contained high residual sugar levels; if an emptied barrel wasn't sanitized immediately, it became a prime breeding ground for acetic acid bacteria and mold. If a cask gave off even the faintest sour whiff of vinegar when you stuck your nose inside, it was as good as scrap wood.
Nor was that the only concern. The hydration level of the wood was equally critical. If an oak barrel was left empty and dry for too long, the staves shrank, opening hairline seams that caused catastrophic leaking. For that reason, collecting them in an immediately emptied, moist state—as wet casks—was paramount.
“Furthermore, the number of prior fills is crucial. Barrels that have been refilled three or four times have already surrendered the majority of their oak extractives, severely diminishing their ability to impart aroma and flavor.”
“Of course, of course. That makes complete sense. But, well…”
“I have no doubt you take excellent care of your barrels, Mr. Yeong-gil.”
This was a man who had mastered black raspberry wine in a mere five years. There was no way he remained ignorant of the quality factors I had just listed. In truth, insisting on personal pickup wasn’t merely about quality control—it was a pretext to guarantee that I would visit his winery on a regular basis. I needed a reason to maintain and deepen our relationship.
“Understood! If you’re willing to make the trip down here in person, I can only be grateful. Hahaha!”
With that hearty laugh, Yeong-gil pressed his personal seal onto the contract. With that simple stamp, Songhadang had secured an exclusive supply of pristine, high-grade bokbunja wine casks.
“Hmph. And how exactly is this helping him? You’re just taking away the barrels my hubby worked hard to make!” Boon-yi grumbled, hovering right beside Yeong-gil with her arms crossed, shooting me suspicious glares.
Those glares evaporated into thin air the second our conversation continued.
“So, how many barrels are we looking at initially…?” Yeong-gil asked.
“To start, we’ll need one hundred standard two-hundred-and-twenty-five-liter barriques.”
“Then the unit price would be…”
“As stated in the contract, five hundred thousand won per cask.”
It was a calculated compromise. While ordinary imported oak barrels could be purchased for around two hundred thousand won, sourcing casks specifically seasoned with high-grade black raspberry wine was exceedingly difficult, naturally driving up their value. Still, I couldn't ignore Songhadang’s financial realities; this price point struck the ideal balance. Thanks to Meari’s explosive sales, our cash flow could easily shoulder the expense.
“Th-Then… the total comes out to…”
“Fifty million won.”
“WHAAAAT?!”
Boon-yi’s shriek pierced the air so loudly that I nearly flinched in reaction. It was only natural for her to be flabbergasted. To a newborn dokkaebi, the notion that selling empty wooden tubs—rather than the precious wine itself—could bring in such a staggering fortune was utterly unthinkable.
And Yeong-gil’s reaction was no different.
“Gasp!”
“Hubby! We’re saved!”
Throughout the selection process for sourcing these bokbunja casks, two primary criteria had guided my decision: the quality of the spirit, and whether the estate existed in my memories of the previous timeline.
Yeong-gil’s winery produced liquor of undeniable brilliance, yet not a whisper of its name had survived in my past life. For someone like me, who had been both a dedicated brewer and a passionate drinker, it was impossible that I would have never heard of a winery producing alcohol of this caliber.
Which meant only one thing.
“With this… I can finally pay off the overdue debts…” Yeong-gil choked out, his eyes glistening.
“Hubby! Thank goodness! Oh, thank goodness!”
This time, unlike in the past, his winery would not fade into obscurity before it ever had the chance to shine.