From Ramen Packs to Apartments
"Shall we shoot one more ad together?"
"We're thinking of putting entry tickets inside the products we make."
"...Entry tickets in the products?"
The lottery method I'd come up with was incredibly simple. We'd enclose entry tickets only in Hansung Food ramen sold on the market. Each ticket would have randomly arranged numbers, and whenever the Korean national team won gold at the Olympics, we'd draw the winning numbers on the radio. No duplicates, of course—once a number was drawn, it'd be excluded from future draws.
This would boost Hansung Food's sales, and for viewers watching the Olympics, it'd make slurping down ramen even more immersive as they cheered on the games. One gold medal, one thousand ramen packs drawn. It was like applying a future lotto draw from a timeline that hadn't happened yet to a Haeguri ad.
"Ho, that sounds mighty fun. Consumers will buy heaps of our ramen just to collect more tickets, eh?"
"Yes. The company's image will improve, and thanks to all that attention, our Hansung ramen will sell like crazy!"
In short, we'd get the bird and the egg too. Printing entry tickets in bulk at a print shop wouldn't cost much anyway.
"But still."
For some reason, Grandpa looked deeply displeased, chewing over the word "product" repeatedly.
"Isn't the prize value too low compared to the odds of winning?"
"...Pardon?"
"It's your first lottery event, my dear granddaughter. That makes it feel awfully small-scale. Plus, a thousand ramen packs? A regular family might not even finish them. Ramen's shelf life is surprisingly short—you don't eat it quick, and it's all gotta go in the trash."
"!"
Ah.... I'd been so focused on the products and the draws that I'd overlooked the key point. Ordinary folks couldn't possibly eat a thousand ramen packs. Grandpa had nailed it.
"Why not go big? At least an apartment. Food companies aren't obligated to give food prizes, you know."
"A-an apartment?"
Eeeeeek! My head spun suddenly. The scale was ballooning way beyond my original plan.
And an apartment as the prize, no less.
"That way, people will go nuts for it, right? I hear apartments are starting to pop up in Gangnam these days—maybe snag one there."
"Grandpa... won't that cost a fortune?"
"Pah!"
Grandpa waved it off with a laugh.
"We have the pride of the Hansung family to uphold. You think some piddly apartment matters more than my granddaughter?"
Looked like the group itself was about to blow this ad out of proportion.
＊
Kim Wooyoung felt the weight of expectations from inside and outside the station after the massive hit of the last Hansung Jjapaghetti ad.
"Phew, I wonder if that kid's doing okay?"
He'd produced several ads since, but none had matched the explosion of Hansung Jjapaghetti.
Then came the unexpected call from that child.
A teahouse in Seoul's Gangnam. Dressed sharply in a suit, he took a seat at an empty table inside.
"What can I get you?"
To the madame's question, Kim Wooyoung ordered simply.
"One spoon of sugar, two of cream—mix coffee style. Hmm, any kid-friendly menu items?"
"Ho ho ho, I can boil up the trendy Hansung Jjapaghetti—want that? The kids go wild for it."
At the mention of Hansung Jjapaghetti, his eyebrow twitched. He'd been the one to plan that blockbuster ad, after all.
"Really? Then a bowl of ramen, please. Not too spicy for a kid. Kimchi, obviously?"
"Hee hee, service, of course."
As the madame stepped away, he pondered why the child had called. Hansung Food was now undisputed Korea's top food company. Not content with Hansung Jjapaghetti's success, they'd secured military contracts for a whopping 600,000 fixed orders. Then the spicy Sichuan Hansung Jjapaghetti had captivated the nation's taste buds, whipping up another storm.
Impressive. Has any company grown this fast in such a short time?
No rival seemed capable of denting Hansung Food's momentum anytime soon. Sure, Nongwon's bizarre "Tado Myeon" had appeared, but Kim Wooyoung knew the truth. Anyone could see it—even a blind man. That Tado Myeon was pure advertising hype, nothing more.
Ramen was food. Food had to taste good at its core. But Tado Myeon? One bite sent you to the ER. A monstrous 20,000 Scoville scorched your throat and gut, teaching you the true meaning of hell.
I wonder what it's about?
Ding!
The teahouse bell rang right on cue. In walked a girl in a cute yellow kindergarten uniform. The patrons stared, mesmerized by her stunning beauty.
Kim Wooyoung waved vigorously—she was the one he'd been waiting for.
"Here!"
"Hello?"
"Yes. Has baby Seoyeon been well?"
"I've been great."
"I-is that so. But...."
Chaebol kids usually came with bodyguards, no? Even in trendy Gangnam, the world wasn't safe for a child alone.
"Did you come by yourself?"
"Hee hee, even I can't come alone. The guards are waiting outside."
"Ah, I see. I ordered something simple just in case—is that okay?"
"Yes. Anything's fine."
"R-really? I heard kids are picky eaters...."
Soon the madame set down a tray with coffee and a steaming bowl of ramen. This teahouse was surprisingly famous as a Gangnam hotspot. The coffee was decent. The ramen? He'd heard the rumors. This kid had masterminded the Hansung Jjapaghetti ad.
"It's good. The noodles are evenly cooked."
"Glad to hear it."
"Hee hee, our Hansung Jjapaghetti tastes great even if you boil it roughly. Jjajangmyeon can't taste bad, right?"
"True enough. Jjajangmyeon is hard to mess up."
Kim Wooyoung sipped his coffee, studying Han Seoyeon closely. Her speech and maturity belied her five years. Her sharp eyes set industry whispers of genius apart from other kids.
She even pranked Hyundai's Chairman Jeong Munju, they say?
Her moves were anything but ordinary.
"Director uncle."
"Yes, baby."
He always used honorifics with Han Seoyeon, far his junior. She was the Hansung family's sole granddaughter—practically royalty. Rumors flew that Chairman Han Seongcheol, obsessed only with business, had personally scouted her kindergarten.
"Want to shoot another ad with me?"
"...An ad?"
"Yes. An ad. Ramen ad, though. Hee hee~"
He'd been antsy lately, starved for a scoop. The song from the Hansung Jjapaghetti ad:
"On Sundays, I'm the Hansung Jjapaghetti chef!"
That addictive melody had kids and adults humming everywhere—markets, buses, even the station. The creator sat before him now, proposing another ad. A golden opportunity from the heavens.
"What kind of ad?"
＊
"What kind of ad?"
I flashed Kim Wooyoung a grin. This one would dwarf Hansung Jjapaghetti in impact.
"We just launched another new ramen. To boost sales, we need an ad."
"Hahaha, spot on. No matter how great the product, no one knows, it's useless as salted mackerel."
"Exactly. Like with Hansung Jjapaghetti, we want to spread the word far and wide."
"Same style as Hansung Jjapaghetti, then?"
"Hmm, similar, but a bit different."
"How different?"
Two years felt long yet flew by. The 1984 Los Angeles Olympics would give Hansung Food wings.
"The Olympics are coming up in the US soon."
"Y-yeah? Yugoslavia's hosting the Winter Games too, right?"
That one was a risk. An event tied to a medal-less Olympics would just invite ridicule—if we were lucky. Kim Wooyoung, blind to the future, tilted his head at the omission.
Hmm....
"No Winter Games. Korea's terrible at winter sports."
"You know that too, baby?"
"It's all over the newspapers lately. Saw it there."
"Hoo... A chaebol only daughter, and so knowledgeable!"
His admiration made my shoulders puff up a bit.
Phew....
"So how do you weave the Olympics into the ad?"
"With a lottery."
"...Lottery?"
"Every time our athletes win gold, we draw that day and give prizes to the winners."
"!"
Kim Wooyoung shot to his feet, eyes widening. He'd sniffed a blockbuster.
Ads had to shake hearts—overstimulate, inflate hopes, open wallets. But this plan fused national gold glory, public anticipation, and lottery thrill into one explosive package.
He swallowed dryly.
"And the prizes?"
"Hee hee, apartments."
"W-what?!"
＊
Yoo Harin let out a deep sigh. Memories of filming with that child lingered vividly. Adult wisdom beyond her years, paired with a peerless sensitivity to others' feelings.
What do I do? I want to see her again....
Being around her eased the heart somehow.
Her name was Han Seoyeon, right?
She resembled a benefactor from Harin's unknown days. That drew the eye even more.
Ring ring!
The phone on the table blared. It was Kim Wooyoung, director of the Hansung Jjapaghetti ad.
"Hello?"
"Harin? It's Kim Wooyoung, the director."
"Ah! Hi! Long time no see."
"Yes, good to hear your voice. No time, so straight to it— you free right now?"
"Pardon?"
His "playing around" jab furrowed her brow instantly.
"Hahaha! Kidding. I'm prepping an ad and need your help. Ever thought of radio hosting?"
"...Radio hosting?"
Her eyes widened in shock. Radio? Out of left field.
As she hesitated, he pressed on.
"You remember—the Hansung family's only granddaughter. She specifically asked for you again."
"...Me?"
Yoo Harin muttered in disbelief, but his voice sharpened with clarity.
"Yes, you. She put in the offer herself."