Sealing the Deal: Changbong Acquisition and Soviet Dreams
I sometimes imagined my future plans. In the world to come, a few companies would monopolize semiconductors—so why couldn't ramen be the same? Whether it was divine revelation or sheer luck that I retained my past life's memories upon reincarnation, I couldn't say. But now that it had happened, I resolved to go all in.
Originally, I planned to nurture Hansung Food from the inside, growing it steadily. But with this unexpected opportunity right in front of me, I decided to scrap my old strategy in one fell swoop. Starting with Changbong Foods, we'd expand our territory until we became the world's top food company.
Besides, ramen in this era was still an uncharted frontier without even proper standards. The saying "the first to develop and the first to eat claims it all" wasn't born in vain.
"Five billion won? Th-that's absurd! F-for a company like ours at Changbong, it's gotta be at least nine billion..."
"Eh? Changbong has plenty of facilities, but no real products to show for it. We'd have to handle all the product development ourselves, right?"
"E-even so, we can't do a deal at five billion. Even smaller companies than us would get more than that."
The president pursed his lips, desperately trying to squeeze out even one more won. If I didn't know Changbong Foods's future, I might have accepted his terms. It wasn't ramen that failed—it was the direction. Their facilities were intact, practically a pile of kindling ready to ignite if given the right spark.
But what to do now? I had no intention of paying more than five billion won.
"Th-then, eight billion!"
"Five billion."
"Se-seven point five!"
"Five billion. Nothing more."
".........Six... sixty."
"No more than five billion!"
"N-no, if you hammer us down like that, what am I supposed to live on? Just selling these production lines would fetch over five billion..."
"Come on, who'd pay five billion for manufacturing lines like these? Sure, if ramen sells that well, someone might buy. But is there any other company in Korea besides our Hansung that could?"
"!"
Hansung Food held over 70% domestic market share. All the other food companies combined barely scraped 30%, and even that was fragmented among tiny outfits.
In the end, the only one who could properly run Changbong's massive facilities was right here—us, Hansung.
The president stood speechless, lips trembling. He was probably running the numbers in his head a hundred times over, instinctively knowing no move could overturn this board.
"Whew, I never dreamed ramen would be such a tough product."
"Anything that goes down people's throats is the hardest sell in the world. Ramen's no different."
"...Are all chaebol kids like you, Miss Seoyeon?"
The president threw up his hands in surrender.
Changbong Foods had originally planned to acquire a baseball team for promotion. But I'd already talked down Choi Youngseok, president of the Korea Baseball Organization, to block that. Their external channels targeting military contracts via a One Association alum as president? I'd cut those off too, supplying ramen to the entire Korean military through Woo Jaeha, the Minister of National Defense.
With nowhere left to lean, Changbong was just a hollow shell with a shiny exterior.
"...Fine. But all our employees..."
"Yes. We'll hire them."
Of course! Changbong's staff would lay the foundation for the ramen that would rock Korea later.
"Good. We're family now—please take care of us."
"Hehe~ You too. You won't be disappointed, I promise."
In the cramped CEO's office, barely bigger than a single room, a deal that would rewrite Korea's ramen history quietly closed.
"Hahaha!"
Han Seongcheol couldn't hold back his booming laughter as he set down the newspaper. His granddaughter had pulled off something extraordinary.
The production facilities imported from Japan were on a time-limited rental. Once the period ended, they'd all go back to Japan. He'd been fretting over it—ramen was selling well, but sustaining it was tricky.
Yet Han Seoyeon had slipped right into that gap, snatching up replacement equipment wholesale.
And all by a six-year-old girl, no less.
"Incredible. The acquisition must have been no walk in the park."
Even Woo Shijang murmured in admiration.
"It must've been. They'd dig in for every last won, while we'd push prices down."
His granddaughter's moves were anything but ordinary. Chaebol heirs learned economics fit for kings from childhood. But the instinct to read the board and flip the flow in real time, like her? That was exceedingly rare.
Even he, who'd devoted his life to Hansung Group, couldn't have made those calls at her age.
Woo Shijang slowly read the report from the youngest son, Han Seongu.
"We'll convert Changbong into our Seoul hub and shift remaining production of short-supply Haeguri and Chilgyejang Bowl Ramen there. Plus, per little Miss Seoyeon's opinion, a tweak to Yeon Ramen could multiply sales several times over—she's confident."
"Seoyeon? On that Yeon Ramen?"
Han Seongcheol knew it well. How could he not? It was plastered across the papers with scathing reviews like "one bite and down go the chopsticks."
"Yes. She said it flopped because its flavor profile was vague. Consumers need a memorable hook in their food, and Yeon Ramen had none."
Such products existed—ones that led with concept but forgot the essentials, fizzling after one try.
Then Han Seongcheol's eyes widened. A minor detail flitted through his mind.
"Seoyeon said she'd redevelop Yeon Ramen?"
"Yes. Just set the direction right, and it'll soar—she swore it."
"Hah, my granddaughter... truly something else, guh."
"Pardon? What do you mean?"
At Woo Shijang's question, Han Seongcheol chuckled deeply.
"Think, Woo Shijang. Fixing a failed product's direction guarantees sales? Consumers have changed—they won't gobble up a revamped reject just like that."
"...!"
Despite his words, a smile crept across Han Seongcheol's lips.
"Spotting the failure's root and flipping it entirely? Brilliant. It's basically a new product."
"Th-then, what is Miss Seoyeon...?"
"Hahaha, obvious, isn't it? She's not relaunching Yeon Ramen. Same name for a new direction? Only fools do that."
"N-no way..."
"Exactly. Through Yeon Ramen, she saw something. Something she's certain will rival our Hansung hits."
He rose from his plush chair. Though the midday sun scorched the windows, his eyes burned hotter.
The more he thought, the more astonishing it was. His six-year-old granddaughter held convictions he, with decades in the industry, had missed.
Was it possible? For an elementary school entrant to see what he couldn't?
"Hahaha..."
Not some rival like old man Jeong Munju of Hyundai. To think one granddaughter could reignite his cooling passion.
"Thanks to Seoyeon, things won't be boring ahead, guh."
The ramens slated for development at Changbong Foods were all extraordinary. Especially Yeon Ramen—it fit my criteria perfectly.
"Dr. Lee."
"Yes, little miss."
"What'd you think of Yeon Ramen?"
"What to think? It was just tasteless. Like eating raw noodles without seasoning."
"Right? But what if we added a 'plus' that draws people back?"
"A 'plus' to bring them back...? To a flop like Yeon Ramen?"
"Hehe~ I think it's possible. Oddly enough."
Dr. Lee—Lee Jeonghun—tilted his head. No wonder. It was the main reason I'd pushed so hard for Changbong.
December 26, 1991. The Soviet Union officially dissolved. Even now in 1983, it was shaky—tech lagging the West, the 1979 Afghanistan invasion draining money and manpower, international sanctions worsening the economy. The decline had ignited; it was just a matter of speed.
I planned to develop Yeon Ramen as a lunchbox for Hansung Food's first overseas export. Call it punching open our first foreign market.
On the day the Soviets crumbled, as others fled, I'd stay till the end. Humans never forget the hand extended in their darkest hour.
"Yeon Ramen failed because its core flavor and direction were unclear. I'll shift it to a new track. So far, ramen's been bags and cups. But is that the limit?"
"Are you planning a different format, little miss?"
"Yes. I believe ramen has no limits."
"B-but excluding bags and cups from convenient ramen leaves what?"
"Lunchbox."
"Pardon? Ramen... as a lunchbox?"
Lee Jeonghun's eyes bulged. To this era's people, ramen as lunchbox might sound like nonsense.
But would they know? The mighty Soviet collapse loomed, and lunchbox ramen would sell like hotcakes there after.