Turning Trash Into Gold
There is a saying that a single word can pay off a thousand debts. It was a golden rule, a proverb that perfectly illustrated just how important a silver tongue is in social life.
"What did you just say?"
The moment I met the eyes of Rita, who was looking at me with an intrigued expression, I knew. I had just managed to create a thousand debts with a single word.
"It was nothing. Just nonsense."
"I don't think so."
Her face, wearing a sly, strangely seductive smile, made it clear that my pathetic excuse hadn't worked in the slightest.
"You mentioned something about methanol, didn't you? You're talking about wood alcohol, right? I think I've heard of it. Haven't you heard of it, Manager?"
"I, I think I've heard of it too. I believe the folks who've read a book or two call it that."
"But......."
No sooner had the manager chimed in than Rita’s eyes, sparkling with curiosity, turned back to me.
"Honey, you said just now... that you could remove the wood alcohol from the liquor, right?"
"I was just talking."
"That was too professional to be 'just talking.' As far as I know, that’s a process only highly skilled distillers can perform."
I don't know if it was professional, but it was true that I could do it. Distilling alcohol to separate methanol from ethanol was something anyone could do with just a fire, a distillation apparatus, and a thermometer. Having spent time in a professor’s lab in my past life, it would be absurd if I couldn't handle something that simple. But... saying I could do it was an entirely different matter. After all, my prospective bride was the daughter of that terrifying boss of the Chicago Outfit, Al Capone.
But the water had already been spilled; the words couldn't be taken back.
"Besides, doesn't Al... doesn't my father-in-law have plenty of distillers? They’ll take care of it, so what does it matter?"
"Those guys? They aren't to be trusted. Since the volume decreases after distillation, some of them deliberately don't remove it because it cuts into their profits."
...Hm?
The moment I heard Rita’s explanation, a thought flashed through my mind like lightning. Hmm, is that so? If that’s the case....
"Is that right?"
"Just recently, one of them got caught cooking the books and my father took care of him personally. No matter how good money is, it’s not worth more than one's life."
Seeing her shake her head while stroking the gun tucked into her skirt with a strange smile made my spine chill again, but there was something more important right now.
"Um... actually, I learned how to make Soju when I was young."
"SO-JU...?"
"It’s a traditional liquor from Joseon. It’s made through distillation. Like whiskey."
"Oh......."
"And that manufacturing method includes a way to filter out wood alcohol."
Rita’s eyes sparkled as she listened to my explanation. Of course, there wasn't a shred of truth in it. Not only did I not know if traditional liquor was even called Soju, but there was no way my father, who was supposedly a tenant farmer in Joseon, would have known a brewing method that only noble families would have been privy to.
"SO-JU......."
"An oriental traditional liquor... that might actually make some money."
Of course, such trivial details didn't matter as long as I wrapped it up in the "mystique of the East." No matter how paranoid and persistent Al Capone might be, he wouldn't go all the way from Chicago to Joseon just to verify my words. And.
"Then... Honey, could you show me right now?"
That was enough to fool the eighteen-year-old prospective bride in front of me. If I couldn't escape this situation anyway, it would be better to thoroughly exploit it.
"Of course, as long as I have a few tools."
With that thought, I nodded and smiled brightly.
A few hours later.
"I, I've brought all the items you asked for. But......."
The manager, who had set the items down on the floor of the warehouse behind the tavern, tilted his head while looking at them. He couldn't help it.
"Is it really possible to... distill with things like this?"
The items he brought were, on the surface, nothing but worthless junk. Three coffee cans of unknown origin, a kettle, an S-shaped pipe that looked like bathroom plumbing, some flour dough that looked like it was scavenged from a nearby bakery, a burner, a bucket full of ice water, and a thermometer. It was hard to believe that anything decent could be done with junk that would make people believe I’d robbed a homeless man.
"Absolutely."
But I could do it. I nodded and picked up one of the cans and an awl.
Clang! Clang!
After punching one large hole and several small ones into the cans with the awl, I inserted the S-shaped iron pipe diagonally into the holes. The next step was to use the flour dough to seal the gaps between the cans and the pipe.
"Wait, so that's what the flour dough was for?"
"Well, did you think I was going to put it in the liquor?"
I shrugged at Rita, who was looking at me with an intrigued expression, and continued the work. After stringing the three cans onto the iron pipe and leaning them against a wooden box so they wouldn't tip over, I filled the cans with the ice water from the bucket. Once the three cans were connected haphazardly, it took on the form of a fairly decent distiller. Of course, it was a ragtag contraption compared to the glass equipment used in my past life's lab, but the principle was the same, so it didn't matter.
"Now, this is the core of the Joseon-style Soju distillation method."
Hiss-!
With those words, I placed the burner and the kettle filled with liquor at the entrance of the makeshift distiller, sealed the gap between the kettle and the pipe with the flour dough, and lit the fire. In truth, the only thing "Joseon" about this process was the flour dough on the cans and the kettle. But that wasn't what was important. The title of "mysterious oriental technology." That was exactly the title I needed.
Bubble, bubble-!
Not long after lighting the fire, steam began to rise from the kettle. At the same time, the red line on the thermometer inserted into the kettle shot up. Finally, the moment the temperature on the thermometer slightly exceeded 65 degrees.
"It's started."
Confirming that a single drop of dew was forming at the very bottom of the iron pipe, the center of the distiller, I brought the glass bottle I had prepared in advance toward the droplet.
Drip-! Drip-!
"When the temperature of the liquor reaches about 65 degrees, the me... the wood alcohol vaporizes first and condenses into dew. Like this, collecting in the glass bottle right now."
"Oh, that's amazing!"
"Don't get too close. It's not good for your body even if you just inhale the fumes."
With that, I adjusted the burner's intensity and collected the distilled methanol. By the time the distillation was mostly finished, the amount of methanol collected in the glass bottle was about half full.
"In Joseon, we call this the 'first flow.' It’s mostly wood alcohol, so it’s the part you shouldn't drink."
"This is similar to the 'cut head' of the distillers."
"I suppose so, since the principles are similar."
Whoosh!
I nodded at the manager, who was standing next to Rita with an equally amazed expression, and turned up the heat on the burner. Soon, the kettle on the burner heated up, the thermometer needle crossed 78 degrees, and I picked up another glass bottle to catch the dew forming under the distiller.
"From now on, it's liquor you can drink. The taste might be similar, but at least you won't go blind or die. Want to try it?"
"I'd love to!"
When the second batch of dew had filled about half the glass bottle, I handed it to Rita. She accepted it, looking at it with an intrigued expression for a moment, then brought the mouth of the bottle to her lips.
Gulp-!
Wait, she’s going to down that in one shot? The alcohol content must be significant....
"Rita, are you okay?"
"O-of course, with just this much......."
"Y-yeah, sure."
I nodded at her words, her voice slurred as if she were clearly drunk, and focused on catching the dew in the glass bottle again. The dew collected—the methanol having evaporated—filled about three glass bottles worth of liquor. I opened the kettle lid to check the remaining amount and turned off the burner.
"You can throw away the rest."
"T-throw it away? There seems to be quite a bit left......."
I nodded at the bewildered manager.
"Most of that is just water. It’s got impurities mixed in, so the taste will be a bit off, too."
"But......."
"Distillation takes a long time anyway, so wouldn't it be better to make it well and sell it for a higher price?"
Well, it would be more expensive liquor than before, but at least it wouldn't kill anyone, so I thought this was fine.
"Honey?"
It was then that Rita, her face flushed as if she hadn't sobered up yet, called me.
"This... it's all good, but I think there's a problem."
"A problem?"
"Honestly, if you make it this way, you're throwing away too much liquor. Cutting the head is one thing, but throwing away the remaining liquor won't be profitable."
She wasn't wrong. After all, there were always people who didn't care if they lived or died as long as they could get drunk cheaply. It wasn't for nothing that people who failed the [Tough Guy Test - Methanol Russian Roulette] and died ended up in the newspapers every now and then. So, from the perspective of someone who had to sell liquor to make a profit, even those remaining methanol and impurities would be a waste.
However.
"Well... it's not like there's no way."
I had something in mind, too. I picked up one of the glass bottles I had set aside earlier. Inside, sloshing around, was a transparent liquid that was mostly methanol. Pointing to the bottle, I opened my mouth.
"This, I can sell."
"Eh? The wood alcohol?"
"It's not exactly a popular item, but laundromats use quite a lot of it. The market price is about 50 cents per gallon... so, if we collect it, I think we could make a decent amount just from this, right?"
Turning trash into money. That’s enough, isn't it?