Chapter 15: What Is Marketing? (3)
Chapter 15: What Is Marketing? (3)
Translation: Godtl
In the frigid city of Nortaris, where sunlight was a rare commodity, there existed a prime location that basked in relatively abundant rays.
Despite the exorbitant land prices, various corporate buildings clustered together in this coveted area. Among them stood one particular company.
Polar Suns Co.
Originally a small enterprise focused on brewery operations and liquor distribution, they had successfully commercialized lemonade, expanding their business into non-alcoholic beverages.
This venture struck gold, propelling them to a successful listing on the stock exchange.
And Edwin Brighton, the company's CEO, was an ambitious man who found no satisfaction in mere success.
Born a commoner, Brighton sought noble patronage after going public—a common enough practice where aristocrats sponsored specific companies or provided political backing.
The era when everything was determined by noble rank had ended decades ago. In Britannia, a destitute count might grovel before a wealthy baron.
In this context, Brighton presented an attractive proposition to the nobility.
His business had always walked the fine line between legality and illegality.
The high-risk, high-reward nature of his ventures made them appealing, and he could serve as a fixer for matters too delicate to handle openly.
Through meticulous maneuvering, lobbying, and backroom dealings—amidst tangled webs of interests and political strife—Brighton secured secret sponsorship from Clarice Rosemore, the eldest daughter of the Rosemore Count Family.
With such a trump card, Polar Suns Co.'s monopoly over the city's beverage market was inevitable.
"So, sir, what do you think?"
"My, this is something else."
Brighton exhaled in admiration after tasting the cola his lawyer had procured. Despite approaching sixty, his eyes—far from showing any signs of aging—gleamed with vitality as they scanned the now-empty glass.
"What's your take? Compared to Polar Suns' lemonade, that is."
"Frankly speaking, the cola wins. Our company's product isn't exactly known for its taste, is it?"
"Is that so?"
Brighton wasn't offended by his lawyer's blunt response. If anything, he grinned until his gums showed.
"Decision made. We need to get our hands on this cola."
"I had a feeling you'd say that."
An ordinary businessman might see this as a crisis.
But Brighton hadn't built his company by relying on mere luck.
Had no one ever challenged lemonade with new products before?
Did everyone just lack the brains to prevent Polar Suns from monopolizing the non-alcoholic beverage market?
There had been challengers.
Plenty of them.
The candy store in the square corner, some eccentric alchemist, small-scale merchants—they'd all created new products.
In terms of taste alone, many surpassed Polar Suns' lemonade.
"Naive fools, the lot of them. Believing a good product alone can lead the market."
Brighton was a businessman.
His philosophy? "A great businessman doesn't compete fairly."
When competitors emerged, he crushed them in their infancy.
Whether through pressure to acquire them for pennies, or lawsuits and accusations to disrupt their operations.
This way, he never needed exceptional products or frantic development efforts.
Just seize the rights and cease production—problem solved.
As long as Brighton existed, Nortaris would forever remain loyal to lemonade.
"Done any background checks?"
"Yes, well. It seems the owner of some general store named Jurgen created it. Though there is one concern."
He snorted.
"What concern could there be with some peddler?"
"From what I gathered, Penelope Rosemore seems connected to this peddler. It might even be a venture she personally invested in."
"That could be the case."
"If we meddle unnecessarily, might Lady Clarice take offense?"
Brighton tilted his thick cigar and let out a hearty laugh.
"Clarice wouldn't bother with such trivial matters."
"How can you be so certain? She is, after all, a member of the Rosemore family."
As Polar Suns' legal advisor, he was well-versed in high society gossip and the workings of the upper class.
Though Penelope was the social pariah of noble circles—practically the family's unofficial bastard—interfering with her business ventures was an entirely different matter.
"What's got you so worried?"
"However you look at it, it's like a dog you've raised turning on its own family."
If Clarice condoned this, it would be nothing short of a social death sentence for Penelope.
For the family to deny her even the most basic protection was tantamount to slapping a mark on her that read, "This one's fair game to bully."
Even the most ruthless nobles wouldn't go this far against their own blood.
"Keh keh keh."
"What is it?"
"You're aware of the rumors about Penelope in high society, aren't you?"
"Expelled from the Royal Academy for failing grades, every venture she touches goes bust, all the arranged marriages fell through... You mean those rumors?"
"And how do you think those rumors spread in the first place?"
"Well... Huh?"
Come to think of it, that made sense.
Britannia preached meritocracy, but that didn't mean every noble scion was competent.
They just swept things under the rug.
If you really dug into it, there were plenty of nobles more incompetent and vicious than Penelope—her family just hushed it up for her.
The lawyer's eyes darted back and forth before widening sharply.
"Don't tell me...?"
"Exactly. Clarice personally instructed me. She even added a request—to make sure Penelope couldn't gain a foothold in Nortaris."
"...Because of the inheritance."
"Right. The smaller her standing in the family, the less of the pie she'd need to be given."
So all the stigma branded onto Penelope had been orchestrated by her own sister, Clarice.
And all for something as petty as inheritance.
The lawyer exhaled sharply.
"...Thank God I wasn't born into a noble family."
"Just handle it like always."
"Understood."
"Well, this should be entertaining enough."
Brighton savored the lingering smoke of his cigar.
The lawyer, now briefed, immediately set to work.
It wasn't going to be difficult.
Even if someone created an exceptional new product, there were countless ways to "legally" seize it.
File a preemptive trademark claim to block its use, argue product similarity to invalidate the patent, exploit loopholes in the registration—the list went on.
"Let's see..."
The lawyer was a professional at these kinds of battles.
Sure, the trademarks and patents were registered, but what chance did some clueless noble girl and a commoner have against an organized legal offensive?
"An hour should be more than enough."
The law had always belonged to those who wielded it.
There had to be gaps to exploit.
"What the hell?"
The lawyer's confident expression gradually stiffened as he flipped through the thick stack of documents.
"This can't be..."
It was flawless.
This wasn't just a simple trademark and patent registration.
It was a textbook example of legally airtight, strategically designed intellectual property defense.
The product's manufacturing process wasn't the only thing patented.
The unique bottle design was also registered under industrial design patents, making even unauthorized replication impossible.
The trademark protections left no gaps either.
The very name "Cola" had been patented with such specific combinations that it was thoroughly protected.
Meaning, even if Polar Suns tried to circumvent it, they couldn't even use a similar name.
From dawn until dusk, the lawyers had desperately tried to widen the legal net to find any loophole—but it was futile.
In fact, there was even something they could learn from this case.
The lawyer let out a deep sigh and returned to Brighton.
"Boss, there's no chance of winning if we take this to court."
Brighton wore the most absurd expression he'd ever shown.
"...Are you an idiot?"
The lawyer felt wronged.
On the long-awaited day of Bellaby's visit,
it was said that an unprecedented crowd had gathered along the main road stretching from the northern airship dock to the city center.
Perhaps because of that, not a single soul could be seen on Brellum Shop Street.
Even Penelope, who usually frequented the shop, hadn't shown up lately—busy with who knows what.
As Jurgen brewed cola early in the morning and tended to the shop, sighs kept escaping him.
Lately, he had been drowning in deep regret.
Regret over what, you ask?
"I should've kept in touch more..."
It was regret over his past negligence in maintaining a good relationship with Bellaby.
He had his reasons, of course.
During his time as Minister of Internal Affairs Han-bin, work had piled up so high that personal calls or meetings were out of the question.
And wasn't Bellaby already a celebrity back then?
He worried that private exchanges might cast a shadow over her career.
Perhaps because of that, when he finally reached out after so long, Bellaby had been prickly as a cactus.
She had agreed to his request, but how she would fulfill it depended entirely on her mood.
She might just take a sip of cola, force a smile, say "It's delicious," and call it a day.
And given that it was Bellaby we're talking about, even that would cause quite a stir...
Looking back, he couldn't help but feel he had wasted a golden opportunity.
"What can I do? I'll just have to trust Miss Bellaby."
Well, what other choice did he have?
For some reason, it reminded him of when he first arrived in this world.
Back then, just like now, things hadn't gone smoothly—but there had been a certain satisfaction in overcoming each challenge one by one.
Someday, starting with cola, he would completely revolutionize Britannia's culinary culture.
—Ding-a-ling, ding-a-ling
Just as he sensed movement outside the window, two men entered.
One was a middle-aged man with a stern face, wrapped in a thick coat, and the other a relatively young man.
Jurgen had met all sorts of people in his time.
He sized them up in an instant.
The middle-aged man, cloaked in confidence and arrogance along with his coat, was clearly a self-made businessman.
The young man beside him was likely an attendant.
"You're Jurgen, correct?"
"That's right."
"...Brighton, representative of Polar Suns. Here to talk business."
"Please have a seat and wait a moment. I'll bring you some coffee first."
So it's about the cola.
Polar Suns' Lemonade had practically monopolized the existing beverage market.
If their CEO had come all the way to this shabby shop, there could be no other reason.
Brighton took a sip of espresso, frowned, pushed the cup aside, and got straight to the point.
"I want to buy the cola's manufacturing method and exclusive sales rights."
Brighton flicked his fingers, and the lawyer opened a small bag.
Inside gleamed gold coins, radiant with a dazzling shine.
"Fifty crowns."
"Here's the contract. Take a look."
Given the differences in culture and history, there were some variations, but one gold coin—one crown—was roughly equivalent to an average laborer's monthly wage.
To put it in more relatable terms, you could say it's roughly equivalent to about 1 million won.
"Thank you for the offer, but I must decline."
Frankly speaking, the 50 crowns Brighton had proposed was an ambiguous amount.
Even if cola sales continued at their current pace, it was a sum that could be achieved within a few months.
Even if Jurgen's goal hadn't been the Gastronomic Revolution, he would have refused the contract.
"Listen here, young man. There's no need to worry about Penelope's reaction."
"Why are you suddenly bringing up Miss Penelope?"
"Tch, don't play dumb."
Brighton gave a friendly pat on the shoulder.
"After all, isn't Penelope the one actually leading this business? You just need to quietly hand over the patent and trademark rights for this money. We've already confirmed they're registered under your name."
"There seems to be some misunderstanding here."
"How could there be?"
Both Brighton and the accompanying lawyer were convinced of their assumption.
There was no way a mere commoner could have prepared such legal defenses on his own.
They'd concluded that Penelope, having noticed her sister's interference, had set up Jurgen as a frontman while she conducted the cola business behind the scenes.
In other words, if they could gently coax the nominal owner Jurgen, they could swallow up the entire cola business for a pittance.
"If you're afraid of the Rosemore name, you needn't worry. Even the Rosemore family will turn a blind eye."
Jurgen, receiving this underhanded proposal, realized there was some fundamental misunderstanding.
Along with the fact that Brighton was far from being an upstanding businessman.
A distinctly unpleasant odor emanated from the man—one you couldn't quite put your finger on.
"You get substantial profit, we get the cola. What better contract could there be?"
In the distant future, once cola had become properly established...
He might entrust the business to someone else then.
He couldn't remain tied to cola forever, and eventually, he would have to return to his position as Minister of Internal Affairs.
But no matter how much money they offered, he would never hand over cola to people like these.
"I'm sorry, but I must refuse again."
"You're thoroughly bewitched, aren't you?"
Brighton clicked his tongue in disapproval.
"Haven't you heard the rumors? Penelope is like an autumn viper of a woman. Every person who's ever trusted and followed her has been stabbed in the back without exception. A venomous woman with no real ability but overflowing greed. What makes you think she'll keep letting you use your name?"
"Choose carefully."
Jurgen reached toward the bag gleaming with golden brilliance.
"Now we're speaking the same language. You've thought well."
Then, with a faint smile, he closed the bag and pushed it back toward Brighton.
"My apologies. It's my policy not to partner with people who lack discernment."
Brighton, who had been ready to laugh heartily, felt his expression darken.
"Let me give you one piece of advice. It's better not to flaunt petty pride in front of those you can't handle. It's bad for your health."
"I'll take that to heart."
"...Fine. This conversation is over."
"I won't see you out. Take care."
Without another word, Brighton put on the coat handed to him by the lawyer and left the shop.
"Well, I'll be damned..."
If Penelope found out about this, she'd probably jump up in indignation. But it wasn't long after meeting her that Jurgen had discovered—
The fact that she was the second daughter of the Rosemore Count Family.
That was why he'd arranged for Bellaby to stay at The Litchfield Hotel, owned by Penelope.
It had been his way of showing gratitude to his business partner who'd struggled alongside him.
But this was the first he'd heard of any complicated circumstances.
He'd simply thought her a childish young lady who enjoyed flaunting her wealth.
"So this is why she never mentioned her family to me..."
Just as Jurgen began worrying about Penelope, who hadn't been seen for days—
"Penelope Rosemore. It's an honor to meet you."
"Bellaby Blanville. The pleasure is mine, and thank you for your hospitality."
Penelope was meeting with Bellaby.