The Korean Liquor Grand Festival (1)
“The time has come.”
Exactly one week before the Korean Liquor Grand Festival was set to begin, I delivered the proclamation in a calm, even voice from the middle of our bustling office.
Every single employee froze, turning their heads to stare at me with blank, exhausted expressions.
“I said, the time has come.”
“Well, you have to tell us what it’s time for if you expect us to understand, Yeon-woo,” Se-jun grumbled, rubbing his temples.
“That’s what I’m saying!” Yehyeon chimed in immediately.
“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about...” Ha-jeong muttered.
“Me neither...” Yeeun whispered faintly.
One by one, the staff chimed in to complain. They had all been running themselves ragged preparing for the official launch of Hongya, and dark shadows were cast heavily beneath their eyes.
“It’s time to launch Hongya.”
“Ah. That’s what you meant? But we’re already doing that,” Se-jun replied flatly.
“Huh?”
“You’ve been telling us since yesterday that everything had to be ready to roll out today. That’s why everyone was sitting here killing themselves to meet the deadline.”
I blinked. Truly, a person needed at least a wink of sleep to keep their wits about them.
Despite the minor miscommunication, our promotional blitz for Hongya rolled out in a single, coordinated strike. It was like unleashing a torrent of water that had been building behind a dam for weeks.
Leading the vanguard was a standalone photograph of Hongya and an introductory write-up published on Songhadang’s official website.
“Looking at it again, it really came out beautifully,” Ha-jeong said with a fond sigh.
“Hehe...” Yeeun giggled shyly.
If Ha-jeong’s artistic talent lay in creation, it was no exaggeration to say that Yeeun’s lay in arrangement and composition. Hongya, wrapped in its striking label, rested against the sweeping backdrop of Songhadang nestled in the tranquil scenery of Yeongwol. The promotional photo alone was enough to stir an irresistible urge to collect it in every liquor aficionado who laid eyes on it.
“Next up is the interview with Juju Daily,” I murmured.
Juju Daily had not remained idle, either. They published the exclusive interview I had given them and immediately commenced sales of Hongya on their platform. On top of that, they branded the campaign as a 'Songhadang Special Exhibition,' bundling our flagship Meari and Dalvorde together alongside the new release.
And now, if the scheduled premiere video on You-Tube went live as planned...?
“It’s up!” Yehyeon shouted, pointing at the monitor.
Even after extensive editing, the sheer volume of footage had stretched the upload process far longer than expected. We had scheduled it as a timed premiere to ensure it dropped at the exact psychological moment—and the timing proved immaculate.
“I honestly never imagined this kind of reaction...”
And those were merely the mildest comments.
Before long, various online spirits communities began erupting into flames as well.
1. Eddie Brook
Literally the God and living legend of the whisky world.
He is a Master Distiller whose single malt lineups routinely dictate and shatter records at global whisky auctions. It isn't just that he's skilled at distilling; his ability to utilize casks is an absolute anomaly—a freak of nature. Give this man ditch-tier raw distillate, and once he finishes it for a few years in a sherry cask or fine-tunes the peat balance, it miraculously transforms into a celestial, 95-point tier masterpiece. In this industry, if Eddie Brook declares, “This cask is magnificent,” the price of that barrel surges tenfold the very next day.
2. Murata Naguchi
The King of the Underworld and absolute monarch of spirits criticism.
He is the world's most exacting, influential tier-one critic, notorious for his venomous tongue and stingy ratings. The guy heavily glazes Western and Japanese whiskies—you can look up his controversies on Treewiki later, there are too many to list here. Even when world-renowned distilleries bring him custom limited editions worth hundreds of millions of won, if it fails to please his palate, he slashes them with 70-something scores, barking things like “Overpriced sugar water” or “Water extracted from chewed oak planks.” He has pushed multiple distilleries to the brink of bankruptcy with his tongue alone.
Yet if this man brings his nose to a glass, takes a sip, and smiles? And awards it a score above 90? Collectors worldwide lose their minds and hoard bottles until the resale value spikes by 500% as an ironclad rule.
Summary:
Eddie Brook = The God who creates whisky.
Murata Naguchi = The Judge who holds the power of life and death over that whisky.
And these two titans drank our traditional liquor and had their minds completely shattered? In football terms, this is basically Messi and Cristiano Ronaldo dropping by a local Sunday pickup game, drinking makgeolli, and weeping with admiration lmao.
The video of two foreigners—and internationally renowned authorities at that—tasting traditional Korean liquor and showering it with boundless praise spread like wildfire, its view count climbing steeply by the hour. Naturally, public curiosity toward our newly released spirit, Hongya, exploded right alongside it.
“Whoa! The reaction is totally off the charts!” Yehyeon exclaimed.
“I’ll say,” Se-jun said, exhaling heavily. “Yeon-woo, at this rate, our entire inventory is going to be wiped out in the blink of an eye.”
“What? Already?”
“Representative Yoon from Juju Daily is already blowing up my phone asking if we have more stock. The way orders are pouring in, we won’t even last a week before we run completely dry.”
We had prepared meticulously and set aside what I believed was a generous initial production volume. Yet even that appeared hopelessly insufficient. The phrase 'Songhadang's New Spirit' had caught fire across the internet.
Ringgg— Ringgg—
The office landlines began ringing in frantic unison. Ha-jeong picked up a receiver without thinking, only to find herself repeating phrases like, “We’ll look into it,” and “I cannot give you an immediate answer right now,” before setting the receiver down with an exhausted groan.
“Distributors are already calling,” she reported, wiping her brow. “They want to know how many more crates they can secure.”
“Tsk... that’s going to be difficult,” I replied with a wry grimace. “Hongya simply isn’t a spirit that can keep up with sudden surges in demand...”
Hongya did not merely require fermentation and aging in Grandfather Gyeongsik's specialized onggi pottery; due to its delicate, layered characteristics, automated bottling was practically out of the question. Even pushing our capacity to the absolute limit, our daily output hovered around two hundred bottles at most.
“And we poured everything we had into producing five thousand bottles prior to the launch, didn’t we?” Se-jun asked.
“And they’re saying that’s only a single week’s supply,” I noted.
Even a rough calculation meant that at least seven hundred bottles were selling effortlessly every day. Our current production capacity was woefully inadequate. Knowing that demand would only continue to climb, a decision had to be made immediately.
“This won’t do... We have to expand our production facilities, no matter what.”
“We just expanded recently,” Se-jun pointed out, wide-eyed. “You want to expand again?”
“No, this time we need to expand the fermentation rooms. Let’s separate fermentation into its own dedicated facility entirely.”
Because Songhadang had originally started as a humble, boutique brewery, our existing premises were compact. We lacked dedicated buildings for each stage of the craft; most of the brewing process took place within a single interconnected workshop. The only space standing separately was the aging cellar where Moktong resided.
“The reason Hongya resists mass production isn’t just because of the onggi jars,” I explained. “The fermentation process demands meticulous, hands-on attention.”
“While we’re at it, we should ask Master Gyeongsik to craft more onggi pots as well,” Se-jun suggested.
“I’ll leave that part to you, Se-jun.”
Ringgg— Ringgg—
The telephones rang with such relentless ferocity that holding a continuous conversation became an ordeal. Before long, everyone was pinned to their desks, scrambling to handle the barrage of inquiries. In the meantime, I reached out to Grandfather Gyeongsik myself to request additional jars.
“Phew. Thank goodness.”
“Yes, fortunately,” I whispered back to Songha, who materialized quietly beside me. “And even better, he told me he already had an extra batch fired to the exact same specifications.”
Grandfather Gyeongsik had apparently found great joy in shaping the unique onggi jars from our previous order. On a creative whim, he had fired several additional sets of both traditional ash-glazed and unglazed onggi.
“I also contacted the architectural firm,” I added.
“Yes. They agreed to break ground right away.”
The construction firm that had previously handled our aging cellar expansion and employee dormitory agreed to take charge of this project as well. A rapid turnaround took precedence over keeping costs rock-bottom, and because they were a reliable company renowned for structural integrity, I could trust them implicitly.
“Whew. That takes a massive load off my chest.”
It was a stroke of luck. While we couldn't magically ramp up volume overnight, as long as Moktong lent his guidance, we would be able to scale our output as swiftly as possible.
“For a moment, I was worried we wouldn’t even have enough Hongya to bring to the Korean Liquor Grand Festival.”
“Of course.”
If the Korean Liquor Competition was hailed as the nation's most prestigious evaluation panel, the Korean Liquor Grand Festival was undoubtedly the stage where the greatest number of breweries converged to display their creations. Experimental spirits that sparked inspiration abounded, alongside masterpieces crafted by seasoned, veteran artisans.
Yet above all, the greatest allure of the festival was that visitors could taste spirits that had not yet been formally released.
“Hongya may have officially launched, but the more avenues we have to let people experience it firsthand, the better.”
Songha smiled warmly, his eyes brimming with quiet trust.
Construction on the new fermentation house proceeded steadily.
Naturally, it wasn't a project that could be wrapped up in a day or two. Given the building’s specialized purpose, pristine sanitation had to be maintained, requiring state-of-the-art ventilation and sophisticated drainage networks. Arranging the placement of the massive fermentation vats also required meticulous engineering, lengthening both the design and build phases.
“Thank goodness we secured the construction permits in advance,” I remarked.
During our previous expansion, I had obtained broad zoning and building approvals just in case, which spared us mountains of red tape now. Even so, it was impossible to drastically amplify our Hongya yield overnight.
“At least we managed to get those extra onggi pots,” Se-jun said with a grin.
“Yeah, enough to brew an extra batch just in time for the festival.”
From this point forward, I resolved to scale Songhadang boldly. In the early days, when the financial stakes felt overwhelming, I had resolved problems reactively as they struck. But Songhadang had outgrown such cautious modesty.
Meari and Meori: Autumn were selling consistently as evergreen staples. Dalvorde was performing just as brilliantly.
“At times like this, we need to earmark a strict reinvestment budget and methodically scale up our footprint,” I stated.
“And hire more hands,” Se-jun urged. “Seriously, there’s way too much work.”
“I feel the same way.”
Even after bringing on the fraternal twins, Yehyeon and Yeeun, Songhadang still suffered chronic labor shortages. Hiring more people seemed almost futile when the workload multiplied at thrice the pace.
“I’m also planning to expand our employee welfare benefits,” I added.
“Oh! Now you’re talking! Boss, pile on the perks, all right? Don’t hold back!” Yehyeon cheered enthusiastically.
“Ugh, stop grinning like that, you’re creeping me out,” I laughed.
Still, it was something I had been contemplating for a while. The only reason the team had endured the grueling schedule of the past several months was their genuine love for the craft. If they poured their hearts into the work, the rewards they reaped had to match their sacrifice. That was how true loyalty and love for Songhadang would take root.
“It’s all great, Yeon-woo. Truly,” Se-jun began, pausing thoughtfully. “But tell me...”
“Yeah?”
“Does reinvestment really apply only to the brewery itself?”
Se-jun, who had been listening attentively until now, slowly raked his gaze up and down my frame.
Before I could fathom why he was suddenly looking at me like an unsightly smudge on a clean wall, Yeeun—who had been observing in silence—softly chimed in.
“Boss... your fashion sense...”
“Pardon?”
“It’s... devastating...” she murmured, shrinking back slightly.
“Yeon-woo, you are the face of Songhadang,” Se-jun declared solemnly.
“Me?”
“Of course! Aren’t you the CEO?”
“Well, yes, but...”
Perhaps that was the very reason Master Brook had urged me so insistently to have a bespoke suit tailored during his visit.
“Don’t tell me you’re planning to show up at the Korean Liquor Grand Festival dressed like that?” Se-jun asked, his expression horrified.
“...”
“Nope. Unacceptable,” Se-jun decided, shaking his head vigorously. “The festival is taking place down in Yangjae, right? Before we head over, we’re dragging you out to buy an off-the-rack suit first.”
*All events, organizations, and plans appearing in this novel are fictitious.