Founding My Own Tasting Department
Even monkeys fall from trees someday. I might pride myself on having tasted every ramen in existence, but who knew how long the heavens would keep favoring me.
If a product I developed with absolute confidence flopped due to some unforeseen variable, all my hard-won recognition from Grandpa would vanish in an instant. He was still searching for his successor. Han Taejun, son of the eldest son Han Umin. Han Youngho, son of the second son Han Yujun. Han Jihun, son of the third son Han Suhyuk. And the youngest, Han Seongu—my dad—which meant me, Han Seoyeun, too. The Han family tree was a tangled mess.
Grandpa never showed it outright, but to me, it seemed clear he planned to hand his empire to whoever proved most capable. If push comes to shove, I'll force a spin-off division... Either way, I needed to transform Hansung Food into a far bigger powerhouse. That meant developing killer products, making people crave our stuff relentlessly, and boosting sales to a level the whole group couldn't ignore.
The answer was simple: flood the market with what people craved, hook them after one taste, and make them come back for more. Hansung Food would become the ultimate weapon to seize everything I wanted.
"Young miss, you've arrived?"
My closest confidant and the man handling Hansung Food's core operations—Dr. Lee. Flour dusted his white coat, dark fatigue shadowed his eyes from an all-nighter, yet his face buzzed with strange excitement.
"Is everyone here?"
"Yes, ma'am. They're gathered in the conference room."
"And the preparations?"
"Just as you instructed—ten-plus types of ramen, all in identical bowls. Scents fully neutralized."
"Perfect. Shall we?"
Today, I planned to create my own new department at Hansung Food. Their job? Dead simple: give honest feedback on the ramen we developed. Taste is king in food. No amount of marketing saves a bad product—people won't buy it twice. But rock-solid flavor? Word spreads like wildfire, ads or no ads.
With my past-life memories, I couldn't run the company on my tongue alone. Sure, we'd nailed a few hits that clicked with the masses, but the world is full of diverse tastes. One palate can't cover them all.
"Hello!"
As I entered the conference room, a young man snapped to attention. I grinned—I knew him instantly. Jin-su oppa, the fifth winner. He'd scrounged up a thick, musty-brown suit that hung awkwardly off his shoulders, sleeves riding up past his wrists. I loved that raw humanity about him.
"Hi! I'm Han Seoyeun. As you can see, I'm seven."
Here, age and gender didn't matter. Only hierarchy did. I was the boss. They were the underlings. Funding for this new department? Straight from my pocket. I'd already told Dad: too young to run the company outright, but I wanted my own team to show the execs what I could do. Sure, adulthood would hand me Hansung Food naturally, but I wasn't betting on instant respect. A heir's gotta prove their chops to earn it.
More ramen dev meant more royalties anyway. A few departments wouldn't dent my cash—Woo Manager's proxy account held over 100 billion won.
"I called you all here to explain our mission. But first, a test. It's on ramen, naturally—which one's the best. No penalties, whatever the worries."
The door opened, and the bowls went out to the applicants. Jin-su oppa's eyes lit up brightest.
"Pick the tastiest one?"
Something about his gaze burned unusually hot, like a cult fanatic.
Aha!
Before interviews, they'd been briefed on Hansung Food's origins—how ramen's made, who dragged us here. My name must've come up. These folks were ramen demons, obsessed enough to beat 150-million-to-one odds in the Haeguri Event. Ramen wasn't optional for them; without it, life ground to a halt. To them, I—their ramen savior—might as well be a god.
Come to think of it, a CEO in my past life did something similar.
One company kept hemorrhaging on failed projects. The boss scouted heavy users of their products en masse. Those fans later sifted hits from flops for him. Result? Massive turnaround into a global giant.
"Test starts now."
Dr. Lee barely finished before faces dove into bowls.
"Whoa..."
Ramen fiends to the core. Even eating looked reverent—like this was Olympic trials, not a simple test. Jin-su oppa especially: first chopsticks in, eyes shut, subtle nod.
Moments later, chopsticks down in unison.
Just as expected—they all stalled at bowl seven.
No eyes strayed to eight or beyond. Why? Bowl seven held the prince of ramen, topping sales for decades in my past life: Maewul Sin.
＊
Post-Olympics, I'd face off against Seo Jieun, Nongwon's youngest daughter. Vowing spicy dominance, Nongwon launched Maewul Sin on October 1, 1986. In three months, sales smashed 3 billion won. By 1987, it claimed 46% market share; 1988, over 50%. Nongwon crowned itself Korea's ramen king.
Trends follow leaders. Copycats flooded in, but folks dismissed them—no ramen outshone the original.
Ramen history's veered off track. All because of me?
Nongwon birthed Tadomyun, nonexistent before. Ansimtangmyun too—if not for my Hansung Cheongmyun, it'd be the first doenjang ramen. Hansung Jjapaghetti, Haeguri's chilgejang—all twisted by my hand.
"Uh... how'd we do?"
Jin-su oppa asked, anxious. I beamed: all passed with flying colors.
"Ooooh!"
"So we're officially Hansung Food family now?"
The first winner, the orphan youth.
"Nope."
"Huh? All failed?"
"No—you were family the moment you walked in, pre-test."
"!"
"I just had to gauge your limits. Test was inevitable."
Solid results. Six nailing bowl seven together? Gold.
"Curious about the point, right?"
"Yes!"
"You already know. But eating that seventh—what'd you think?"
"Uh..."
Jin-su oppa raised his hand. As expected.
"No one could hate it."
"What exactly?"
"Well... it's addictively balanced. Spicy enough to hook, not overwhelming. Buying ramen, some click, some don't."
"Right! I suck at spice, but that seventh? Slid right down."
The sixth winner, permed-hair sister—the sole woman among Haeguri victors—piped up. Jin-su continued.
"It reminded me of Hansung Cheongmyun. Doenjang ramen even haters could love."
"!"
Spot-on, and he wasn't even a pro researcher.
"We think 'spicy ramen' means tongue-torching burn. Impressive at first, but... midnight bathroom runs? Nongwon's Tadomyun—worst of my life!"
"Hahaha!"
"Hohoho!"
Tadomyun: launched and axed on day one. Groundbreaking in its failure, maybe. I scanned the room, clapped to settle the laughs.
"My picks were spot-on—better than expected. Yes, Hansung Food must top that seventh bowl."
Maewul Sin was cheat-tier, sure. But not unbeatable.
"Your mission: sniff out ramen tastier than that seventh."
With my past-life knowledge and their palates, impossibility would bend to possibility. I was sure of it.