♬ Chewy-Chewy, Plump-Plump ♬
In this era, the rankings among conglomerates shifted every quarter. While some groups surged ahead with business successes, others tumbled back in an instant due to failures. I recalled the news I'd seen on TV. The Hyundai Group was in crisis.
In 1980, the Korean economy plunged into a major recession. The world economy had contracted sharply after two oil shocks. Growth rates hit their worst in twenty years. Inflation skyrocketed, corporate debts steadily mounted, and especially in shipbuilding, overseas orders plummeted, leaving massive dry docks empty for days on end.
In fact, Hansung Group had staggered just as badly after diving into shipbuilding, nearly rivaling Hyundai's woes. Fortunately, Hansung Food exploded with massive success, filling the coffers emptied by shipbuilding. In a word, an unexpected windfall.
Currently, Hansung Group ranked sixth among conglomerates, while Hyundai sat at fourth. With the right moves, Hansung Food's triumph could secure Hansung Group in fifth place—a perfect timing.
So that's why. Now I understood why the eldest son, my uncle Han Umin, had been frantically jetting around overseas. Dad was the youngest son, and a worthless one at that, married to a former singer. Hansung Food, run by that son, had been a major headache within the group—if not for Grandpa, it would've evaporated by now. To them, Dad's success must've been a thorn in the eye.
Sure, the economy would rebound sharply soon enough, but until then, I had to boost Hansung Food as much as possible. With ramen, of course!
"But here's the thing."
"Yes?"
Grandpa, who'd been nodding along attentively, suddenly wore a deeply displeased expression for some reason.
"If your mom insists on appearing in the ad, wouldn't it be better for you to join her?"
"...Pardon?"
No, Grandpa... Weren't you just against me appearing in ads?
"Heh heh heh, true enough. But if we're doing this properly, having mother and daughter together would draw even more attention, don't you think?"
"......"
W-wait a second! Cold sweat poured down my forehead like a waterfall.
Truth be told, I'd only planned for Mom's entertainment comeback—no thought whatsoever of me jumping back into ads to become a national child star.
Honestly, I often marveled at my reflection in the mirror. Having inherited Mom's genes so richly, I was stunning even by my own feminine standards. "Doll-like" didn't cut it; I was probably world-toppling beauty level. Just that one short ad clip had people buzzing, "Who is that kid?" and pestering for details. The broadcaster had been swamped with inquiries for a while, apparently.
Looks like my little scheme had backfired on me.
Grandpa smiled kindly.
"Seoyeon, my dear, the world works like this: for every going out, something must come in. That's the way of things. What if this old man permits your mom's ad shoot in exchange for you joining her?"
"B-but Grandpa..."
"Heh heh heh, didn't our granddaughter say it herself? To beat the Hyundai family, this Haeguri ad needs to be a smash hit."
Now I got it—why Grandpa was dangling the condition of me appearing in the ad. Beating Hyundai. The Hansung and Hyundai families were lifelong enemies, itching to devour each other.
Hwah? I pulled a pitiful face in front of Grandpa, but he just chuckled, dismissing it.
"Keh keh keh~"
Rumors had already begun to spread nationwide even before the ad shoot. Whispers that a chaebol family member was filming an ad.
"To think I'd get to see Chaeun and baby Seoyeon together in an ad—it's the honor of my lifetime!"
Meanwhile, director Kim Wooyoung was grinning ear to ear. For him, this was peak buzz for the ad he'd planned—no greater publicity possible.
A chaebol daughter-in-law and her daughter starring together? The press would plaster it on front pages with huge photos and headlines.
Something like that.
Yet Mom ignored all the spotlight, bustling around curiously.
"Oh? They have cameras like that now? Ours weren't nearly this good back in my day—the world's come a long way."
Or, "Film ran out so fast we'd have to reload after just a bit, making shoots drag on forever. Lighting wasn't this bright either."
Or, "Here, try some of these. I baked them myself at home..."
She'd brought cookies from the mansion to share. The set turned warm and lively in no time.
Director Kim Wooyoung, darting between spots, approached us to explain the ad in detail.
"The concept this time is you two appearing together in a bright, cheerful setting, eating ramen and singing. At the end, just announce the Olympic lottery event for viewers—simple structure."
It was an Olympic ramen ad with apartments as prizes, no purchase limits. Buy more ramen, get more entry tickets, higher odds. I'd already heard Hansung Food was expanding production for this.
This Haeguri ad could decide if Hansung Food grew bigger—or stalled here.
"Alright, let's start shooting."
Mom and I faced each other in the middle of the kitchen set. Her face twisted comically.
"S-Seoyeon..."
"Yes?"
"Mom's so nervous I might die..."
After so long away, her old instincts weren't kicking in easily. She'd once dominated entertainment, but years off set made the tension understandable.
"Hmm, Mom!"
"...Yeah?"
"Remember? I once snuck into the master bedroom and saw photos from your entertainer days."
"Y-you saw those, my daughter...?"
Mom had been Korea's brightest star back then. I could see why Dad fell at first sight.
Sensing the shoot about to start, I murmured casually.
"The person I admire most is family. That's you, Mom!"
"S-Seoyeon?"
Mom flustered at her daughter's sudden confession.
In my past life, I'd lived for ramen alone. Penniless, surviving on cheap bowls, family warmth had ached deep. I'd learned bone-deep how brutal solo life was.
Maybe that's why this moment—standing with Mom on set—felt priceless.
"Mom, just follow my lead! I'll make you Korea's brightest star again."
A lively melody soon filled the set through the speakers.
Chewy-chewy ♬
Plump-plump ♬
Jinsu dragged his weary body home after another grueling day. He grabbed a beer from the fridge and boiled three packs of his favorite Hansung Jjapaghetti, setting them on the small table.
"Ahh, beer and ramen—irresistible as always!"
A month's backbreaking work netted barely 300,000 won. Without ramen, he'd be sighing over his thinning wallet all day.
He scooped some special young radish kimchi from home onto a plate. The tangy scent mingled with the ramen, filling his tiny room.
"Smells amazing!"
Jinsu slurped up a big chopstickful. Steam rose from the glossy noodles under the fluorescent light.
"Hoo, hoo, slurp!"
Hot noodles flooded his mouth. Wary of burns, he blew gently while chewing. Salty black bean sauce burst across his tongue. He quickly grabbed some kimchi.
Crunch. The crisp, tangy coolness cut through the richness instantly.
"Ahh! That's the stuff."
No wonder he never tired of Hansung Jjapaghetti year-round.
Before he knew it, Jinsu was its slave. Lately, he'd discovered ramen paired amazingly with anything—kimchi, sausage, green onions, whatever. It transformed into wholly new flavors.
As he lifted another huge bite toward his throat, a TV ad caught his eye.
"Huh?"
A Hansung Food ad popped up.
"Haeguri?"
He vaguely recalled seeing it at the supermarket. Tamed by Jjapaghetti, he'd never tried it—black bean deserved its pure glory, by his creed.
Still, maybe give it a shot?
Plus, the actors were no joke. The little girl—he knew from before. Chaebol third-gen, right? And former top star Yoon Chaeun was returning via this ad. Her marrying into a chaebol and starring with her daughter had the nation buzzing. TV and press were on fire with it.
Crucially, buy Haeguri, get entry tickets—for Olympic gold medal draws. For ramen fiend Jinsu, it was meal plus lottery, two birds one stone. Prizes? Brand-new apartments.
An apartment? If I win, I could own a home before I die?
Thrilled by the novel promo, Jinsu shrugged on his coat. Weather turning chilly.
He bounded down the stairs to the neighborhood supermarket.
"Hey, ma'am!"
"Aigoo, no yelling late at night—I told you!"
"No, uh, Haegu—what was it?"
"Haeguri?"
"Yes! Haeguri! Any left?"
"Lemme check... one left."
"Just one? They said it comes with entry tickets—true?"
"True, but odds are what matter."
Jinsu deflated at her words. He'd rushed over excited, but reality hit: odds were merciless. Korea's population neared 40 million. Hansung ramen sold out in half a day without reservations. Without his rapport with the shopkeeper, he'd rarely score any.
Ramen vanishing that fast—how many entries before the first Olympic gold? A million-to-one? Worse, billions-to-one maybe.
"Still, grab one. Who knows? You might win."
"Eh, doubtful..."
"You're eating ramen anyway, right? Might as well collect tickets. Yeah?"
"...True."
"Jinsu, hear me out—I had a dream last night..."
Thus bewitched by the shopkeeper, Jinsu reserved tomorrow's Haeguri stock and headed home.
What's this zen feeling? He shook his head, tore open the Haeguri pack, and mixed it one-to-one with trendy Jjapaghetti.
Lately, nightly ramen feasts seemed to pad his belly. Whatever. If it makes me happy, fine. No girlfriend anyway...
Haeguri entry ticket on the table. Jinsu stared, then tucked it reverently into his metal cabinet.
Who knew? Like she said. Nah.
Apartment? For a guy like me? Rent's tight next month already.
Chuckling wryly, he erased it from mind. The tempting ramen bowl was right there.
"Screw it! Time for ramen!"