Chapter 13: What Is Marketing? (1)
Chapter 13: What Is Marketing? (1)
Translation: Godtl
Even after creating cola, my schedule remained packed.
After all, I couldn't possibly sell cola just poured into random glasses, could I?
First, I visited a glass factory to commission custom-made cola bottles.
The design was already decided.
The Contour Bottle.
An innovative design combining aesthetic appeal with ergonomic grip through its elegant volume and vertical lines.
Its distinctive shape remained recognizable even when grasped in darkness—or even from broken shards.
I settled on that iconic silhouette everyone associates with cola bottles.
Though ordering such a complex shape would increase production costs, preparing this in advance was necessary for future marketing strategies.
Next came ordering metal caps from the workshop, followed by trademark and patent applications.
I successfully secured a total of 5,000 bottles of cola.
Two weeks had already passed since I began supplying the finished cola to the night market "End of the Galley."
The results were...
"I got here first, damn it!"
"Can't you see I've been holding this spot forever? Get to the back!"
"Are you serious? You should line up properly!"
Not bad at all.
The once-deserted general store—where only Penelope used to visit—was bustling from early morning.
Street vendors from the night market formed long lines to purchase the limited supply of cola.
"Bro, is this really necessary? What happened while I was away traveling...?"
"These days, business is impossible without that damn cola."
"Seriously? Can't you just sell lemonade or ale instead?"
"Stop talking nonsense and get in line."
Ever since the mysterious beverage called cola first appeared in the night market,
word spread rapidly among its primary customers—porters, dockworkers, factory laborers, and other working-class folks.
'Hey, have you heard? There's this drink called cola.'
'It comes in this uniquely shaped black glass bottle... They say the taste is like divine nectar.'
'They say if you drink cola with fish and chips, you can devour ten, no, twenty portions without getting full.'
'8 pence per bottle? That's pricey... But those who've tried it swear it's worth it. I'm curious too, you know?'
Make no mistake—Britannia may be a culinary wasteland, but don't get the wrong idea.
It simply means their food culture is underdeveloped, not that they lack appreciation for fine flavors.
Because gourmet tastes are instinctive.
Even primitive humans roasted meat after discovering fire.
'Ugh, you still haven't tried it? What a wasted life. Don't even talk to me. I've never tasted anything like cola in my life!'
'How dare you compare cola to mere lemonade? If I could drink cola every day, I'd swear off alcohol for life!'
'I proposed to Ann with seven bottles of cola, and she accepted immediately. When I told her I'd saved up by buying one bottle daily, she cried tears of joy, saying she could feel how much I loved her.'
Workers who tried cola out of curiosity quickly became addicted to its sweet, exhilarating taste.
Soon, they became walking advertisements, testifying to the miraculous qualities of cola.
"We're sold out for today. Come back tomorrow."
"What? Already?"
As Jurgen placed the "Sold Out" sign after handing over the last crate of cola, mixed groans of despair and hope filled the air.
"Can't we reserve some in advance?"
"As you can see, demand far exceeds supply. My apologies."
"Would you accept a higher price?"
"Wouldn't that be unfair?"
"Well... I suppose there's no helping it."
With reluctant sighs, the vendors left, promising to return tomorrow.
Meanwhile, Penelope—who had been pretending to be just another "Customer A" while reading a newspaper—finally spoke up.
"Not bad at all."
"You played a significant role in this, Miss Penelope."
"Hmm~ That's not what I wanted to hear. Look here. The newspapers are talking about cola too."
"Is that so?"
"'Cola: The New Beverage Taking the Night Market by Storm.' Right here."
Following her slender fingertip, I indeed spotted the article.
Tucked away in a corner so small you'd miss it if you weren't looking carefully.
"Well, it's a drink I helped create. This much popularity is only natural."
"Mhm, of course. Absolutely."
From what I'd observed, Penelope seemed unusually delighted by cola's success.
Lately, she'd been coming to the shop at dawn just to watch cola sales from her usual spot by the warm fireplace.
Though I'd given her a 30% stake as compensation for our partnership, she'd been diligently helping beyond what that warranted.
She diligently assisted with every step of the production process—washing the returned empty bottles, mixing cola syrup with water, injecting carbonation through the soda fountain, and sealing them with caps—without uttering a single complaint.
Lately, her attire had shed its usual extravagance in favor of more practical, movement-friendly clothing.
To those who had dismissed her cooperation as nothing more than a rich girl's passing whim—assuming she would lose interest just as quickly—this level of dedication came as quite a surprise.
"At this rate, your so-called 'culinary revolution' will just be a matter of time, won't it? Everyone loves cola, after all."
"Hmm..."
"Why the lukewarm reaction?"
"I wish it were that simple."
Penelope spoke as if cola were on the verge of conquering Britannia, but...
The reality was far more complicated.
At present, cola was undoubtedly showing signs of explosive popularity.
Yet, at the same time, it faced clear limitations.
The ones seeking out cola were the laborers who frequented the End of the Galley night market.
This much was part of Jurgen's chosen strategy.
After all, wasn't it common knowledge that cola paired perfectly with greasy food?
Rather than distributing cola on its own, he had anticipated that offering it as a set menu item with the already-established fish and chips would allow it to blend in seamlessly, without resistance.
"And that part worked..."
The problem was that, as cola became associated with the working class, an unexpected phenomenon had emerged.
'Have you heard? They say cola's all the rage these days.'
'Cola? Oh, that drink only lowly laborers enjoy?'
'A pricey drink for the lower classes, that. A mere eight pence—not even the cost of a decent glass of wine.'
'A carbonated drink... I suppose it'd be exciting if you've never had champagne.'
'And it's made by some commoner shopkeeper, no less? Who knows what he's put in it?'
Rejection based on prejudice.
The high-nosed nobility, the wealthy merchant class, and even the comfortably affluent middle class—all of them shunned cola.
Much like how, in the days of slavery, white folks dismissed watermelon and fried chicken as "slave food."
One might dismiss this as a passing fad or a trivial matter, but...
This situation wasn't so simple.
Think about it.
Did cola become the world's best-selling drink solely because it was the most delicious beverage in existence?
Did luxury handbags command exorbitant prices purely because they contained that much intrinsic value?
Jurgen didn't think so.
The masses don't just consume products—they consume the brand's image along with them.
Jurgen himself didn't look down on the working class.
But if the "public" began to perceive cola that way, limiting its consumer base, his culinary revolution would have to take a much longer, winding path.
"Miss Penelope, I'll be stepping out for a moment. Would you mind watching the shop?"
"You know, I've been meaning to say—you've been awfully casual about employing high-class talent like me lately."
After handing a bottle of cola to the grumbling Penelope, Jurgen stepped out onto the street.
"Now then, what should I do...?"
How could he wash away the prejudice now ingrained in cola's image?
Two immediate strategies came to mind.
The first was simple: wait it out.
He had full confidence in cola's taste and quality.
If so, he could simply wait for time to dull the public's prejudice.
Quality products eventually overcome bias, after all.
Hadn't once-disdained fried chicken, led by KFC, secured a global foothold?
But this "hold-on meta" came with one critical flaw:
There was no telling how long it would take.
And even if he waited it out, there was always the risk that cola would fade as a passing trend.
Fried chicken itself took decades to gain nationwide popularity in America, and some foods spent their entire existence scorned before vanishing into the annals of history.
For Jurgen, who wanted to spark a culinary revolution quickly, this was practically a non-option.
The second strategy?
[Officially Certified 'Austin & Wills' Imperial Pharmacists—The Empire's Finest Approved Remedies!]
[The world is changing. Shouldn't your investments change too? Financial consulting at Devbun Trust Bank.]
[The final touch to becoming the star of high society—fragrance. The latest trending perfumes, exclusively supplied by the Bernua Perfumer Association.]
Flyers littering the streets, outdoor billboards, and oversized advertisements fluttering from banners and balloons.
The answer was obvious: marketing.
The power of advertising was undeniable.
Was it not the pinnacle of commercial tactics, targeting the human subconscious?
A well-crafted ad could, in a way, be considered a form of mass hypnosis.
No matter how I look at it, this seems to be the best method, but...
"This frontal approach won't work..."
The problem is money. Money.
For advertising to be effective, people need to see it consistently, frequently, and in large quantities.
Which means you either spend an enormous amount of money or run ads that barely make an impact.
But when there's no direct path, you take a detour. When you lack money, you use connections.
Click.
Jurgen arrived at the first floor of the Nortaris telephone exchange before he knew it.
Stepping into the payphone booth, he pulled out a phone card.
"Glad I brought this along."
At first glance, it looked like an ordinary phone card, but it was anything but.
In Britannia, calls were routed through the exchange, and this card was an emergency communication card issued to special agents of the Cabinet Secret Intelligence Bureau.
Its key privileges included:
- Having calls prioritized over all other queued requests.
- Immediate deletion of call records and immunity from operator eavesdropping.
- Being connected by an ace operator within the exchange.
- The ability to contact higher-ranking numbers without additional authorization.
Using such a thing for personal matters did prick his conscience a bit, but...
"Well, this much should be fine..."
Click.
The phone card slid smoothly into the machine.
The moment the punched holes in the card were read, an operator's voice came through.
[Special Code 000 identified. Where shall I connect you?]
"Number 1121, please."
[Please hold. I'll connect you immediately.]
The person Jurgen was trying to reach was Bellaby Blanville.
Their connection went way back.
In the past, he had created suppressants and treatments for her when she suffered from asthma attacks.
Thanks to that, Bellaby was able to continue her singing career without retiring.
In return for curing her, she had given him a blank check—a promise to fulfill any request—before stepping back into the dazzling spotlight.
And now, three years later, he was about to write "Cola promotion, please..." on that blank check.
"..."
Even as he made the call, he wasn't entirely confident.
Honestly, his mindset was, "If it works, great. If not, what can you do?"
Too much time had passed since then.
Bellaby, who had once been the most recognizable singer in the city, had since become an actress.
If she had remained just a moderately successful actress, it wouldn't have been such a burden, but she had become Britannia's cultural icon of the era.
On top of that, they hadn't exchanged a single word in all this time—it wouldn't be strange if her feelings had changed.
After all, gratitude fades with time; that's just human nature.
Besides, if he were making an official request as the former Minister of Internal Affairs, that would be one thing, but coming all the way to the northern frontier to ask her to promote some mysterious beverage...
It was like slapping a top star's face on a cheap, one-thousand-won trinket sold at Daiso.
[Yes, this is Manager for Ms. Blanville. May I ask the purpose of your call?]
"Manager?"
[That's correct. Why?]
For a moment, Jurgen was taken aback.
He had been hesitating over whether he should even speak to Bellaby directly, and now a manager had suddenly stepped in.
She never used to have a manager before.
"I'd like to speak with Ms. Bellaby directly. Is that possible?"
[Ms. Blanville is currently on vacation. Without a prior appointment, it would be difficult to connect you. Would you like to be placed on the waiting list? If you queue now, we can schedule you for around March next year.]
"March next year is too late. Isn't there any way to reach her now? It won't take long."
A brief silence followed.
[Haa—]
An unmistakably irritated sigh burst through the receiver.
[Excuse me, sir, the exchange didn't provide any details, so we can't verify your identity, you know? Don't even think about meeting Ms. Blanville like this. Either make a proper appointment or disclose your identity—pick one.]
"No, it's not like that..."
[Not like that, my foot. Do you think you're the first person to call like this, hiding who you are? If this is a legitimate request, state your name properly. Otherwise, I'm hanging up.]
Desperate to keep the call from disconnecting, Jurgen blurted out:
"Tell her 'Albuterol.'"
[...What?]
"If you tell Ms. Bellaby 'Albuterol,' she'll understand."
[Albuterol? What kind of nonsense—KYAAH! Ms. Blanville?!]
A chaotic commotion erupted on the other end of the line.
'Ms. Bellaby! Why are you—?! This guy's a creep!' 'Just give it to me!' 'But we don't even know who he is...' 'It's fine, just hand it over! And step outside for a minute!' The muffled audio made the exchange hard to follow.
Then, after a brief pause—
[Han-bin. Han-bin, is it really you?]
A voice as delicate as dewdrops on lily of the valley, tinged with a hint of excitement, asked.