Tasting with the Eyes (1)
How could I ever forget this time?
The very moment my dream of crafting a spirit unique to Songhadang had taken its first steps.
It was around this time that I had scraped together every last penny to my name, just barely setting the stage to begin brewing.
But did any of this make sense? Could such a miraculous stroke of fortune—returning to the past—truly happen in reality?
“This is impossible...”
Yet the air grazing my skin felt far too real to dismiss as a dream. And yet, until just moments ago, hadn't I been dreaming? Could the entire decade of life I had lived up until now have been nothing more than an illusion?
No, neither answer truly mattered. The only thing that counted was that I had returned. Even if this turned out to be a fleeting dream from which I would soon awake, it made no difference. What mattered was that right now, in this very instant, I had the chance to sprint toward my dream once more.
Besides, if I truly had returned, then this time I could make things right. This time, I could satisfy everyone I had ever let down.
Just as those thoughts ran through my head—
Rattle.
“Yeonwoo, you in here? Ugh! Smells like a distillery in here!”
A familiar voice rang out.
How could I ever forget it? It was the voice of my business partner and dearest friend, who had been stolen away by a sudden accident.
“Kim Sejun?”
“Did you drink yourself stupid? Why are you sprawled out right in the middle of the floor?”
“Is it really you?”
“Man, you really have lost your mind. I knew this would happen after you guzzled booze like a lunatic yesterday.”
The burly Sejun smacked his forehead with a deep sigh.
Standing at a towering one hundred and ninety centimeters and weighing well over a hundred kilograms, he was a massive wall of muscle. With a face that looked like an enforcer straight out of a noir film, he was nonetheless one of the gentlest, most innocent souls alive. He was my cherished companion, the one who had walked beside me toward our dream, the friend who had readily joined me even after hearing a youthful ambition that bordered on delusion.
As all the hardships he had endured flashed through my mind, a solitary tear welled up and rolled down my cheek.
“Hey... Are you seriously okay?”
“I'm fine. Just... let me hug you once.”
Overcome with relief and joy, I threw my arms around Sejun in a fierce embrace, prompting a flustered outburst.
“Did you hit your head or something?! Have you completely lost your mind?!”
And so, the very first thing I heard upon regressing was being asked if I had gone insane.
“All right, let's sort this out.”
Sitting at my desk in the small office tucked into a corner of the brewery, a pen and a blank sheet of paper laid out before me, I muttered under my breath.
“First off, I've definitely regressed...”
After spending the past few days taking in my surroundings and observing the world around me, it had become an indisputable fact. Major news events and local incidents had unfolded precisely as I remembered them.
“And my left hand... there isn't a single scar.”
My left hand had once been mangled beyond use in a traffic collision. Because of the severity of the trauma, the emergency surgery had left deep, hideous scars across my skin. Yet looking down at it now, my left hand was utterly pristine.
That erased any lingering doubt that I had indeed turned back the clock.
“Then how on earth did this happen...?”
Memories from just before my regression flickered through my mind.
The man dressed in traditional Joseon-era hanbok.
The otherworldly taste and aroma of the liquor he had offered me.
And the sudden, out-of-the-blue ssireum wrestling wager.
“It has to be. He's the one who sent me back...”
I had no idea how such a feat was physically possible. Brief though my years had been, I had spent my entire life doing nothing but brewing alcohol; how could I possibly comprehend the laws of physics governing time travel? The only certainty was that the man had sent me back because of our wager.
“To save the dokkaebi...”
He had spoken clearly. He had asked me to save his clan—the dokkaebi. To brew exceptional spirits for them. And he had promised that, to aid me in that endeavor, he would do everything in his power to help.
Could sending me back in time have been part of that very assistance?
“It must be. He even specifically said, 'Once you return...'”
'You are an exceptional brewer, so you will do well even once you return.'
No matter how dense a person was, there was no mistaking words spoken so plainly. I scribbled words like regression and liquor onto the paper before setting my pen down.
Was there really any need to overthink it? In the end, what that enigmatic man had asked of me was simply to craft magnificent alcohol. And that had always been my lifelong ambition anyway.
“After being given an opportunity like this, failing simply isn't an option.”
This second chance had landed in my lap, and I had no intention of squandering it like before. My heart raced with anticipation.
Let's start brewing right now.
A full ten years' worth of artisanal know-how was already etched into my mind. That meant I could bypass a decade of grueling trial and error entirely.
“And this time, I'm going to live differently.”
In my past life, I had naively believed that running a brewery was purely about brewing great liquor. I had thought that as long as the taste was sublime, everyone would eventually acknowledge it.
But the world was cold and ruthless. My naive, trusting self had frozen under its bitter chill.
“Taste is crucial, but I have to be far more shrewd and business-savvy this time.”
Steeling my resolve, another thought surfaced.
“He also said that wherever good liquor is brewed, a dokkaebi dwells.”
The answer was straightforward. Every good brewery had a dokkaebi, and to save them, great spirits needed to be brewed? Then it meant reviving the struggling craft breweries scattered across the country. And to achieve that, establishing and growing Songhadang into a powerhouse was the essential first step.
“Still... what did he mean by that 'gift'?”
The man had mentioned that he had prepared a special present for me. What on earth could that be?
Just as I was puzzling over it—
Knock, knock.
“Song Yeonwoo, you in there?”
“Yeah. Come on in.”
The door swung open, and Sejun stepped inside.
We had been classmates in college, and the bond between us had formed quickly because he was every bit the passionate drinker that I was. Traveling across the country to taste regional traditional liquors hadn't been enough for us; we had even embarked on distillery tours abroad, cementing our friendship in no time. Eventually, he had joined me in nurturing the shared dream of operating our own brewery in Korea.
“Man... you've been acting weird lately.”
“Me?”
“Look at that! You never used to reply in such a smooth, relaxed way. Ugh, it gives me the creeps.”
“People can change, can't they? No need to call it creepy.”
“Be honest with me. Exactly how much did you drink at our opening party the other night? You haven't been right in the head since.”
“Who knows?”
The point in time I had returned to was the precise moment we had first taken over operations of the brewery. Vague memories of the past drifted back to me. To celebrate our grand opening, Sejun and I had drunk ourselves into a stupor. Back then, I truly believed a bright and dazzling future lay ahead of us.
“This time, it really is going to work out.”
“Now you're changing the subject out of nowhere... Seriously, Yeonwoo, go see a doctor later. You're starting to freak me out.”
Grimacing, Sejun rubbed his arms as though warding off goosebumps. Well, naturally, he had no way of knowing everything I had lived through. And I would make sure he would never have to endure those harrowing horrors again.
“Anyway, what's up?”
“Food's here. You looked completely out of it, so I was going to order a standard homestyle meal set, but the diner's closed today. I got jjajangmyeon instead, so come on out.”
“Got it.”
With a nip in the air, I threw on a light jacket and stepped outside. A sharp draft of cold air rushed into my lungs with each breath.
This brisk climate was actually one of the reasons I had set my sights on this place. If utilized properly, the dramatic annual temperature swings characteristic of Yeongwol would become an invaluable asset in crafting exceptional spirits.
Rubbing my hands against the creeping chill, I walked into the adjacent building where Sejun was waiting, having already neatly set out the food.
“What took you so long?”
“Ah, just had some things on my mind.”
“The noodles are gonna get soggy. Eat up quick so we can get to work.”
“Yeah, let's do that.”
Sitting on the table were two bowls of steaming black bean noodles and a platter of sweet-and-sour crispy pork. We ravenously shoveled the noodles and pork into our mouths, and just as our hunger began to subside—
“Oh, right. We still have that bourbon from before. You want some?”
“Aren't you the one who just accused me of being crazy? And now you're offering me booze?”
“Come on, it's just a splash.”
With that, Sejun sprang to his feet and retrieved a bottle he had stashed away. Despite the build-up, it wasn't some grand, extravagant vintage. It was Maker's Mark, renowned as one of the quintessential "Holy Trinity" entry-level bourbons. Unlike standard whiskies, its bottle neck was famously sealed with dripping red artisanal wax.
Setting down two Glencairn tasting glasses alongside it, Sejun took his seat.
“Just a tiny taste, all right?”
“Sounds good.”
Sejun uncorked the bottle, measured a pour into a jigger, and tipped it into our glasses. The deep amber whiskey sloshed as it settled into the glass.
And right then, from within that shimmering amber liquid, a wispy plume of pale mist rose into view.
“Huh...?”
The first to materialize was the aroma of vanilla. Then, a subtle hint of solvent-like acetone seemed to seize the lead, only to seamlessly meld into the sweet, luscious note of ripe cherries. The rich scent of soft red winter wheat unfurled broadly beneath, while toasted oak and rich caramel embroidered the crown above.
It was an intimately familiar bouquet.
It was undeniably a scent... yet why was I seeing it with my own two eyes? And what on earth were those tiny living sprites?
“Song Yeonwoo?”
“Uh... yeah. I'm fine.”
It was a sensation beyond description. I was clearly smelling the bouquet, yet how could my eyes behold it as visual form? And yet, I saw it. I was watching each distinct note of aroma romping and tumbling about in plain sight.
Was that all?
“Th-That's...”
The frolicking vanilla sprite bounced forward and hurled itself straight toward the thick black soybean paste of the jjajangmyeon.
The outcome was disastrous. Flailing hopelessly within the dark, viscous paste, the poor little creature soon wilted and slumped in complete exhaustion.
As the other scent sprites trembled in apprehension, a new figure strode forward: bourbon's signature fiery spice. Bearing the robust punch and burning kick bourbon was famous for, the spirit puffed out its chest and marched boldly toward the soybean paste. Standing tall and steadfast against the rich, heavy grease, it held its ground without faltering.
While the surrounding sprites clapped in awe, the bold spice sprite safely escorted its companions onto the surface of the noodles. From then on, the entire troupe began to frolic with delighted abandon.
It was as if a legion of flavor fairies had descended to dance upon our meal.
Lost in an indescribable daze at the spectacle, I was snapped back to reality by Sejun's shout.
“Hey, Song Yeonwoo!”
“Huh? Oh... yeah...”
“What's got into you? Did you push yourself too hard after all?”
“No. Let's just drink.”
Taking the glass in hand, I brought it to my nose, and the sensation I had just witnessed flared vividly back to life. When I took a sip and let the spirit wash over my palate, the perception intensified tenfold.
I was certain of it now. What I had just seen was no fever dream or hallucination. Or rather, even if it were an illusion, it was one grounded in absolute sensory truth. The delicate aromatic notes that otherwise would have been smothered beneath the rich, oily weight of the savory black bean sauce had survived and harmonized, upheld by bourbon's bold, unyielding backbone.
“Mmm! Bourbon... it really is the perfect pairing for greasy food.”
Could this also be the 'gift' that mysterious man had promised? Turning back the clock was one thing, but granting me the supernatural ability to perceive the scents and flavors of liquor as living spirits? Just who in the world was that man?
“Hmm. This American liquor possesses quite a splendid flavor and aroma.”
“Gasp!”
Startled by the voice coming from right behind my back, I whipped my head around.
And there he stood.
A man clad in the dapper three-piece suit of an Enlightenment-era modern boy, looking like someone who had stepped right out of a history textbook, complete with a classic fedora.
“Wh-Who...”
“Haha. This fellow is quite startled, isn't he? Look around you first, my friend.”
A mysterious stranger had materialized out of thin air in an empty room. Yet, as if that were the most ordinary thing in the world, the man brought an index finger to his lips and spoke in an unhurried, gentle cadence.
And true to his words, when I glanced beside me, Sejun was staring solely at me, completely blind to the man's presence.
“Hey, you're in no shape for this. Don't drink anymore. Let's just head to the clinic and get you an IV drip.”
“Ah... well... haha. No need for the clinic. I'll just go upstairs to the office and rest for a bit.”
“Yeah. That sounds like a good idea.”
Leaving behind a trail of cold sweat running down my spine, I hurried out of the building and dashed back to the office. After checking to ensure no one had followed me, I slammed the door shut and bolted the lock.
Just as I gripped the securely locked handle and let out a trembling sigh of relief—
“A game of tag, is it? How delightful.”
“Aaargh!”
Hearing the voice echo from behind me once more, my knees gave out and I crashed down on my backside.
Before I had even realized it, the man was already inside the room, leaning forward with an amused gaze.
I asked in a quivering voice, “Wh-Who in the world are you...?”
“Haha... It is I, my friend. Ah, is this your first time seeing me in this form? Forgive me.”
Brushing down the lapels of his suit with a brisk pat, he beamed a warm, genial smile.
“My courtesy name is Songha, and my given name is Ju. People have called me Master Songha over the years, but seeing as you and I are companions, you may simply call me Songha.”
“What on earth are you...”
“To put it plainly, I am the brewery's grounds itself. Or, in simpler terms that you might easily grasp...”
Uttering those unbelievable words, he tipped his fedora and brought it to his chest in an elegant, antique bow.
“...I am what you would call a dokkaebi.”
