Here It Is, Dad – Sealing the Deal at the Golden Noodle Factory
"Here it is, Dad."
"Is this the Hwanggeum Noodle Factory our daughter was talking about?"
"Hehe, that's right."
I'd just finished kindergarten and headed to the Hwanggeum Noodle Factory with Dad. As soon as we reached the entrance, a fancy new sign caught my eye—it looked like they'd just replaced it. At least they'd made a formal effort this time, so I gave them some credit. My first visit, the place had felt like a ghost factory straight out of a horror flick.
Kim Bokhyeon, the factory owner, came rushing out barefoot and bowed deeply to us.
"Oh, you've arrived?"
How could he just sit in his office when the president of Hansung Food was visiting in person? The factory showed clear signs of a thorough cleaning everywhere. Employees poured out in a swarm, bustling about. The air in the little noodle factory froze the moment Dad appeared. Eyes filled with tension and anticipation locked onto us—more precisely, onto me.
"That's the Bukchangdong baby, right?"
"Hey, Kim, didn't you see the papers? She's the one and only granddaughter in the Hansung family."
"Really? We've got some serious royalty visiting our factory."
"Who's that bandit-looking guy?"
"Shh, that's the youngest son of the Hansung family. The president of Hansung Food—we're gonna do business with him!"
"Whoa, for real? What's going down at our factory?"
Dad's shoulders puffed up proudly at the whispers. Kim Bokhyeon shot them a fierce glare, as if to say cut the chit-chat.
"Eek!"
"He looks ready to blow—whoa!"
I glanced around. It was definitely a bit short on capacity for mass-producing Chilgyejang Bowl Ramen. They could handle up to 500,000 units a month, but anything more would require new equipment. No big deal, though—plenty of machinery was already en route to the Hwanggeum Noodle Factory.
Kim Bokhyeon's office was modest but fully equipped. A large map of the country and a hefty wooden desk dominated the room, topped with a shiny nameplate on proud display.
"Hello?"
"Well, if it isn't you again. And this must be your father?"
"Yes. The youngest son of the Hansung family and president of Hansung Food."
"I-is that so? I hope I haven't done anything wrong..."
"The factory's spotless, and the staff all look happy."
"Haha, thank you. Hearing that from you puts my mind at ease."
Kim Bokhyeon looked plenty nervous about Dad's visit. We sat facing each other on the leather sofa. Dad checked his watch and spoke up.
"I won't be able to stay long—I've got a prior engagement."
"Oh no, not at all. We're honored you came to our humble place..."
"I'll get straight to the point. I trust my daughter's judgment, so no need for haggling. I just stopped by to see what kind of man you are."
"Of course, I understand."
The Hwanggeum Noodle Factory's annual sales barely hit 50 million won. Teaming up with Dad, the president of Hansung Food, could push them past 100 million. No reason to say no!
"Then let's look forward to working together. As you know, ramen is something consumers eat directly, so hygiene is paramount. No foreign objects in the product—ever."
"Aigoo, we clean the Hwanggeum Noodle Factory twice a day, morning and evening. The outside might look rough, but our cleanliness is top-tier nationwide."
Kim Bokhyeon bowed even deeper and added,
"Not a speck of dust on a single strand of noodle—that's our motto here. You can count on it."
A broad smile lit up Kim Bokhyeon's face as we wrapped up the contract. Just a few sheets of paper. But those pages would brighten the factory's future. We'd ordered an initial 500,000 units, but Chilgyejang Bowl Ramen would sell over 5 billion in its heyday. Right now, it was just a deal in a corner of a small noodle shop, but soon it'd shake up the nation's ramen market. And I was the only one here who knew that future.
As I took Dad's hand to leave the office, my arms were suddenly stuffed with snacks. The factory ladies had pressed all sorts of treats on me.
Hueeng?
"Aigoo, who does she take after to be this pretty..."
"Right? She could star in that drama as one of those actresses right now."
"Nah! She's prettier than any TV lady I've seen. She'll grow up into a fine young woman."
Dad's nose shot up like Pinocchio's.
"A-hem! This factory's atmosphere is something Hansung Food could learn from. The staff's mindset is spot on."
"Heh heh, yes indeed. Our employees have the best hands and hearts in the country."
I shook my head. Their mutual flattery showed no signs of stopping. They'd been gilding each other's faces for a good hour already. I pouted.
Oh, come on...
To sell a lot of product, it all came down to who occupied consumers' minds first. And the fastest way to conquer those minds? Advertising.
On Sundays, I'm the Hansung Jjapaghetti chef!
The Hansung Jjapaghetti ads didn't just inform—they stuck in people's heads with that catchy melody and two simple lines. Not just the taste, but the earworm. After Hansung Jjapaghetti, I planned to show everyone advertising's power once more. With a smash hit from my past life.
"Grandpa!"
"Aigoo, my granddaughter's here?"
I leaped straight onto Grandpa's lap as he worked in his study. His thick arms wrapped around me naturally.
"What brings you running in so energetically?"
"Hehe~ Grandpa, remember that ad I shot with the pretty sister?"
"Of course! That's why Hansung Jjapaghetti is selling like hotcakes."
"Yesss~ But Seoyeon was thinking, what if we make an ad for Haeguri ramen too?"
"An ad for Haeguri, you say?"
"Yes."
Originally, the Haeguri ad had exploded in '88, tying into the Seoul Olympics marketing. But I knew the Los Angeles Olympics were coming up in two years. That same year, Sarajevo had hosted the Winter Games first, but sadly, Korea hadn't medaled back then—their winter sports just weren't competitive yet. Of course, they swept six golds at the next LA Games. Knowing that, a marketing idea came naturally.
Haeguri and the Olympic Draw!
"Grandpa! Seoyeon wants to shoot one more ad."
"Another ad? Like the Hansung Jjapaghetti one?"
"Yes. But a really unique one this time."
"Unique ad?"
Grandpa tilted his head. "Unique" piqued his curiosity instantly. My idea had turned Hansung Jjapaghetti into a mega-hit, bringing massive profits to the group. He couldn't dismiss his granddaughter's notion as childish whimsy. His eyes, moments ago buried in documents, scanned my face intently.
"What kind of ad has even this old man intrigued?"
"Hehe, well, I saw in the newspaper that the Olympics are coming up in America soon."
"That's right. The LA Olympics are just around the corner."
"Exactly! And the one after that is in our country."
The Seoul Olympics were locked in on September 30, 1981, at the IOC assembly in Baden-Baden, Germany. Seoul beat Nagoya 52-27 in a fierce battle with Japan. Just last year, and the whole nation had gone wild.
"Yep. '84 in America, '88 decided for Korea last year in Germany."
"Yes!"
Part of me wanted to spill every Olympic detail—events, medals—but that could've landed me in hot water with the government. So, knowing the future, I'd figured out a smooth way to weave it in.
"Grandpa! Seoyeon had this idea: every time our country wins a gold medal at the Olympics, we give people thank-you gifts. What do you think?"
"...!"
Grandpa shot up from his chair. The chairman's nose for money was impeccable—he got it right away.
"What? Gifts every gold medal?"
"Yes. Our people would enjoy the Olympics more, and our company would feel great giving out gifts each time."
"!"
Grandpa's pupils quaked like an earthquake. It was a common ad tactic in my past life, but revolutionary here.
"Hahaha, what in the world..."
Gifts should be boxes of ramen—fits a Hansung Food ad, leveraging our star product.
A box usually has 20...
Fifty boxes per gold wouldn't be overkill.
Fifty boxes is about 1,000 units.
That felt like a real event.
"So, you're saying for every Olympics gold our athletes win, Hansung Food provides that many gift sets?"
"Yes. Um, Mom told me about a little event at the neighborhood mart recently—they did a draw or something."
"...A draw?"
If it were the internet age, a simple homepage for addresses, names, and resident IDs would do. But no internet yet—PC comms like Hitel, Onnuri, or Parilan didn't start till '89. Phones? With 38 million people, the company might collapse under the calls.
"So how do you plan to handle the draw?"
I smiled at Grandpa's question. The method was simple.
"Well, that's..."