Los Angeles Olympics (1)
It was Olympic season. Hansung Food was buzzing with activity. In less than two years, Haeguri sales had surpassed 150 million units. It was a sales figure unprecedented even in her previous life.
"Uncle Doctor, did it really sell this much?"
Lee Doctor gaped, his eyes wide with disbelief as he slowly scanned the report from the finance team. People really did see owning a home as their lifelong dream, it seemed. The Haeguri craze was no joke. Olympic fever had bizarrely boosted instant noodle sales across the board.
"Uncle Doctor, how many medals do you think our national team will win this time?"
"Well... that's hard to say."
Thanks to her knowledge of the future, Seoyeon knew exactly how many golds the Korean team would snag at the Los Angeles Olympics: six golds, six silvers, seven bronzes. With the Haeguri apartment vouchers tied to gold medals—drawn by lottery each time—they were guaranteed at least six bursts of nationwide frenzy. She smirked inwardly and shrugged.
"Even one would be amazing."
"Right? Haha! A gold for Korea? We'd need way better infrastructure for that—it's a tough spot right now."
Lee Doctor's lament wasn't wrong. As far as she knew, Korea had only two Olympic golds ever: one in 1936 and one from the 1976 Montreal Games. Multiple appearances, but just two golds total. The Los Angeles Olympics became legendary not for a single medal, but for a whopping six. Tenth place overall, with 210 athletes competing—that's when Korea started pouring real investment into the Games.
Heh~ Especially archer Seo Du-sun's gold in women's individual—that's when Korean archery proved its world dominance.
"I'm really looking forward to the Olympics. I have a feeling our national team is gonna pull off something huge."
Lee Doctor scoffed at her conviction. "Come on, kiddo, that's a stretch. I'd be thrilled with even a bronze. That's just wishful thinking—might as well dream it, haha!"
＊
At Nongwon headquarters, Seo Ji-eun watched the breaking Olympic coverage on TV and murmured quietly.
"Uncle, how many golds do you think we'll get?"
"Who knows? Medals aren't easy to come by..."
Division head Jang Se-hoon was secretly an Olympics fanatic, especially wrestling. No flashy techniques or gear—just raw physical clashes between two athletes, decided by pure grit and endurance. That's what he loved about it.
"By the way, didn't Hansung Food say they'd draw apartments every time we win gold?"
Seo Ji-eun nodded vigorously. "Yeah. They tied Haeguri ads to the Olympics. The whole country's going nuts over it."
"Makes sense. Who wouldn't lose their mind over apartments?"
Hansung's bold move—offering trendy Gangnam apartments as prizes, drawn per gold medal—showed the chaebol giant's muscle. One ad campaign, and they owned both sales and goodwill. She wanted to meet whoever planned it.
No way...?
"Uncle."
"Yeah?"
"Haeguri wasn't planned by that little heiress too, was it?"
"What? Haha, no way. Sure, Hansung's little monster Han Seoyeon is a prodigy with vision beyond her years. But ads? That's marketing's turf—way more power than R&D."
"...Right."
"Obviously! The ad's brilliant, but it's hinged on golds. We've only got two ever. This Olympics won't change that, no matter how much they invest."
They both sighed deeply. Han Seoyeon—even at seven—had rocked their world. Seo Ji-eun, Nongwon's rising star youngest daughter, felt like a firefly next to the sun. She'd met plenty of "genius" second-gen heirs, but none matched a seven-year-old with those results. Even legendary chairmen were just playing with toys at that age.
"...After the Olympics, we'll have to take her on directly, right?"
Jang Se-hoon looked troubled at her whisper. Nongwon's ramen division was on the ropes from back-to-back flops. Without Hansung, they'd dominate the market.
"We have to. But we've got that ramen, remember?"
"Right. Our 'spiciest rep for Korea' project is full steam ahead."
Their last dud, Tadomyeon, was "killer spicy," not marketable spicy. She pitched a less brutal but addictive heat to execs: bold, hearty broth Koreans crave, strong branding, premium vibe distinct from rivals. Sanmi Ramen chased spicy trends but lacked true addiction factor.
"The name was Maeul Sin, right?"
"Yeah. Our ace in the hole."
Hot, bitter, grueling, tormenting. But Maeul Sin wouldn't stop at tongue-torching spice. First bite: savory warmth. Second: deep umami. Third: an urge for every last drop. With this powerhouse, losing to Hansung would leave no excuses—market, consumers, era all backing them.
Seo Ji-eun couldn't help imagining Han Seoyeon's monster teaming up: unstoppable products. But first, they had to win.
"Uncle, let's crush them this time!"
***
Los Angeles athletes' village archery range. A short-haired woman took deep breaths with her massive bow.
"Hoo..."
Her exhale faded into the dawn air. Left foot half a handspan forward, she settled into stance. Callused fingers nocked the string, tension rippling through the bow.
I'll hang a medal around my neck this Olympics. For Korean archery's pride.
Silence around her, save distant warm-ups and coaches' murmurs. But her ears heard nothing—only the red bullseye burned in her vision.
Thwang!
The arrow arced true, piercing dead center.
Screee!
[10 points]
The scoreboard flashed, drawing a fleeting smile.
Stay calm. Steady...
Thwang! Thwang!
[10 points] [10 points]
As expected from a national ace—three perfects in a row.
"Whew, that's insane! Gold's in the bag."
Kim Jin-hee, packing her bow, thumbs-upped Seo Du-sun.
"Don't jinx it, sis. One slip in competition, and I'll be too embarrassed to come home."
"Hohoho! Nah, you're in top form."
Kim Jin-hee slung her quiver playfully. Gazing at her junior—the 17-year-old prodigy dubbed Korean archery's ace—she marveled anew. Seo Du-sun's youthful face peeked from short bob, girlish softness in her eyes. But bow in hand? A different beast.
What a kid.
Kim Jin-hee had pegged her as just talented at trials. Time proved otherwise. Learn once, perfect forever. Talent plus tireless grind. Bows don't lie—results match effort, slacking crumbles skill. Winds shake, nerves tremble, but she held steady. Natural gift piled with sweat: the scariest kind. And her junior was that type.
Du-sun will shine for Korean archery.
Kim Jin-hee patted her shoulder post-practice.
"Morning session's done. Ramen before we go?"
"Ramen? On an empty stomach?"
"Pfft! Coach forgets we're human. All 'nutrition this, diet that.' Gotta eat what you crave for focus."
She mimicked coach sternly: "Kim Jin-hee! No greasy food! No spicy stuff! No late snacks!"
Seo Du-sun burst into giggles. "Hohoho! He'll bust you for real."
"Not if he doesn't catch me." Kim Jin-hee winked slyly. "Your form today? Three perfects deserve ramen reward."
"What kinda logic is that?"
"My brain's logic."
They packed up and left the range. A savory scent wafted somewhere.
"Heard about it?"
Seo Du-sun turned, her round, bright eyes curious.
"Hansung ramen's blowing up. That sea-land one? Haegu—what?"
"Ah! Haeguri?"
Seo Du-sun loved Hansung ramen. Sea-meets-land fusion, oddly addictive broth that lingered. Post-training, a bowl beat any feast.
"Yep! Haeguri today?"
"S-sure."
Bows and quivers side by side, the two headed not to the village cafeteria, but the dorms. As if blessed, soft sunlight lit their path.