“Ugh…”
I was sleep-deprived. As I basked in the morning sunlight, I got ready to head to school. Even if I was super sleepy, just 5 minutes of morning sunlight would wake me right up. I don’t know the science behind it, but hey, as long as it wakes me up, who cares?
Today, I rode to school in Maru’s company car. Maru mentioned that her dream was to own a car like this someday. I even thought about gifting her one when she hits her one-year work anniversary.
After all, one car is nothing to me. Though, considering maintenance costs, it’s better to gift her a reasonably priced car rather than a luxury one. Gifting something that burdens the recipient is just a hassle.
If I gave her a fancy imported car, Maru might end up as a “car poor” person. I’m not sure if her salary from a big company could handle it, but she’s still a rookie employee, not even a year in. She doesn’t even own a house yet, so a luxury car would be like a picture of rice cake—useless.
Anyway, lost in these thoughts, I suddenly arrived at school. I stifled another yawn and got out of the car.
“Study hard, Hana!”
“Maru, drive safely!”
As usual, I got off at the familiar spot and headed to class. I still couldn’t get used to it. I never thought I’d be back in elementary school again in my life, but here I was, a little kid going to elementary school… If I had known I’d end up in this girl’s body, I would’ve told myself I was crazy.
With those thoughts, I entered the classroom. These days, elementary school seems to have more playtime than study time.
Well, elementary school is just about the basics. Real studying starts in middle school anyway. Elementary grades don’t even count toward your high school admissions. Sure, middle school grades matter if you’re aiming for specialized high schools, but I’m not really interested in that. I don’t need to study that hard. I want to be a boss like CEO Sehee, creating jobs for many people.
Even now, I’m doing that, but I imagine there’ll be more to do when I’m an adult. In this third-grade body, I can’t run a business. Heck, no one would even take me seriously. If I tried to do business now, I’d just look like a kid showing off.
“Hana, hi!”
“Hi, Jiyu! Hi, Yumi!”
Once again, I chatted with the kids, hoping class wouldn’t start. But class came anyway, no matter how much I wished it wouldn’t. I yawned through the lessons. At least we didn’t study all day.
“Today, we’re doing origami!”
‘Origami?’
We spent two hours on lessons and two hours on activities or something play-like. Honestly, this worked out well for me. Studying was too boring. Middle school-level problems were a breeze, so elementary stuff was like eating rice cakes while lying down.
Memorization subjects were a bit of a hassle, but core subjects like Korean, English, and math were just a matter of applying what I already knew. After decades of studying, it’s no surprise that third-graders couldn’t keep up with me.
The teacher handed out paper to the kids, and I got mine too. Origami brought back memories. Back in elementary school, I folded cranes to give as gifts to friends. If I gave them as gifts now, would they just ask for money instead? I wondered.
There’s a 10-year generation gap, but with these kids, it’s almost 20 years. If I hadn’t ended up in this elementary schooler’s body, I wouldn’t even be able to talk to them. If an adult tried to chat with kids like this, people would definitely give them weird looks.
Maybe it’s because of all the child abduction cases lately. Or maybe society’s just gotten harsher. Anyway, as I got the paper, I unconsciously folded a crane. My body remembered.
“Wow, Hana, you can make cranes too?”
“That’s amazing!”
Jiyu and Yumi, who were watching me, chimed in. This was basic for me.
“This is just the basics.”
After making a couple of cranes, the teacher displayed origami examples on the big screen. Today, we could fold whatever we wanted.
“Everyone, open the file I sent to your tablets~”
The tablets the school provided were super convenient. Back in my day, we just got handouts, but doing things digitally like this was so much easier. Times have really changed.
When technology advances, you really feel it. It was something I couldn’t even imagine back in the analog era. Who would’ve thought you’d be holding a tablet in school? If I had pulled out a tablet during class back in my day, the teacher would’ve yelled at me. “Why are you taking out a tablet during class?” It made sense, though. Back then, both phones and tablets were confiscated if you took them out during class.
The main crime was goofing off. Nowadays, no one says anything if you pull out your phone or tablet during class. As long as there’s no disruptive ringing or noise, it’s fine. So, I could legally goof off. Plus, sitting in the back row kept me out of the teacher’s line of sight.
Of course, I rarely goofed off out of respect for the teacher’s authority. I didn’t know how people would react if they found out the top student was goofing off during class. They might say, “What, you don’t like the teacher’s class or something?!”
If a bad student goofed off, people would say, “Well, that’s expected.” But if a good student did it, they’d wonder what was wrong and check up on them. That’s just how things worked. Anyway, I opened the file the teacher sent. It came through the school email.
——————————————–
“Hey, this is seriously delicious.”
Kim Jae-chang was holding the makgeolli his dad had made. Sure, it was expensive to produce, but the taste made up for it. Even famous brands couldn’t match this flavor.
As he stroked his chin and looked at the makgeolli, a strange thought crossed his mind. If they mass-produced this, it would definitely flop.
Who would buy makgeolli that costs 40,000 won a bottle? Sure, it tasted amazing, but large-scale companies had to focus on volume sales to survive. That’s just how it was.
The number of people buying makgeolli was limited, so selling cheaply in bulk was the way to go. But Kim Jae-chang thought this makgeolli was better suited for small-scale sales, like at his family’s brewery.
Sure, the ingredients were pricey, but that was the only issue. They didn’t produce tens of thousands of bottles a day like big companies, so they could handle the demand just fine.
Kim Jae-chang’s makgeolli only amounted to a few hundred bottles. He thought about selling it at a premium price, like a luxury brand. People couldn’t resist name brands, after all.
With that in mind, Kim Jae-chang ran to his dad.
“Dad, what if we sell this makgeolli online?”
Kim Chun-il set aside some bottles for the neighbors and left the rest to Kim Jae-chang. Kim Jae-chang quickly uploaded the makgeolli to his website and messaged his friends to buy some.
He offered his friends a discount, hoping they’d spread the word. If word got out, it would sell fast. There weren’t that many bottles anyway. If they didn’t sell, he could always offload them to regular stores at a lower price.
This strategy wouldn’t work if the makgeolli wasn’t good, but even his dad, who had decades of experience, praised its flavor. Regular people would notice the difference even more. They’d become addicted to this makgeolli.
With his friends’ help, Kim Jae-chang managed to send out the first batch. As he carefully packed the boxes, he felt a new sense of hope. Big companies were slowly pushing them out, but he wanted to make the most of this opportunity.
