Kimchi, Capitalism, and Copyright Infringement
Min Jae stood in front of the old chicken shop, hands on his hips, a clipboard in one hand and an iced Americano in the other.
The shop sign still read:
> "Jaejoong's Original Chicken – Since 1982 (No, Not That Jaejoong)"
Inside, his uncle was fixing a fryer, his mom was restocking pickled radish, and his dad had somehow wired a fan to a rice cooker "for efficiency."
Min Jae took a deep breath.
"This," he muttered, "is going to be base camp."
---
The Plan
He needed three things:
1. Storage Space – for inventory from the fantasy world.
2. Shipping Infrastructure – to deliver Earth-side.
3. A Front – to make it all look like a slightly unhinged but totally legal fusion snack business.
The chicken shop's basement? Perfect.
The shop's second floor? Could be turned into packing and fulfillment.
The family?
He hadn't told them exactly what he was doing yet.
But he figured, if he kept the kimchi restocked and the rent paid, nobody would complain.
---
The Problem with Success
Since the Council ruling, things had exploded.
Orders were rolling in from around Korea and beyond. College students wanted "focus noodles," office workers requested "stress-banishing crackers," and three different middle schools were asking if his mood glow-stones were "suitable for crush confession days."
One influencer dubbed his brand:
> "Snack Witchcraft™ – Food That Feels Like A Hug From A Dragon."
Min Jae sighed and rubbed his eyes. He'd spent all night filling orders.
And now, someone had emailed him a cease-and-desist notice from a company in Seoul called SparkRamen™.
Apparently, they thought his "Flame-Level 3: Wake-The-Dead Noodles" were "too similar in concept to our Extreme Burn-Inferno-Edition."
Min Jae replied with a photo of Goji biting the corner of their logo.
---
The Hiring Begins
He couldn't keep doing this alone.
So he put out a vague part-time job listing under the title:
> "Snack Logistics Assistant – Must Like Ladders, Tape, and Chaos."
Within two hours, he got 43 applications.
He narrowed it down to three:
Sunwoo, a graphic design student who thought packaging enchanted ramen was "aesthetic."
Minji, a part-time delivery biker who claimed she once dodged a drone using only a meat skewer.
Seojin, a shy guy with an encyclopedic knowledge of labeling regulations and a weird affection for filing cabinets.
He hired all three.
He also gave them a long list of things not to say during delivery, including:
"Don't worry, it only explodes when microwaved wrong."
"Please ignore the goat."
"The glowing means it's working."
---
Packing Chaos
Min Jae trained the new hires personally.
Each shift began with a chant of questionable legality:
> "One bag, one seal, no summoning circles on the packages!"
Sunwoo designed flashy new stickers with slogans like:
> "Contains Mild Magic."
"Definitely Won't Possess You (Probably)."
"Approved by At Least One Interdimensional Council."
Minji optimized their local delivery routes.
Seojin turned one corner of the office into a terrifyingly well-organized archive of receipts, disclaimers, and refund forms.
Goji remained the mascot-slash-distraction.
Morale was high. Orders were higher. And Min Jae finally had a team.
---
School Visit Request
One day, Min Jae received a request from his old high school.
The email read:
> "We heard you've become… successful. Would you be willing to give a short career talk to our current students about entrepreneurship?"
He blinked.
Then laughed for five minutes straight.
He texted Yulena:
Min Jae: "They want me to do a TED talk for teens."
Yulena: "What's a TED?"
Min Jae: "A very fancy excuse to lie in public with a headset mic."
Still… he agreed.
---
Snack King of the School
The auditorium smelled like teen spirit and mild mildew.
Min Jae wore a clean black hoodie, dark jeans, and a smug smile. Goji wore a tie. Again.
A teacher introduced him:
"This is Min Jae, former troublemaker, now apparently a businessman."
Min Jae stepped up to the mic.
"Hi," he said. "I sell interdimensional snacks for a living. No, that's not slang. Yes, I brought samples."
Every hand went up.
He spent twenty minutes explaining logistics, branding, and why "don't light your noodles on fire" should be a permanent FAQ entry.
By the end, three students asked about internships, one confessed he'd pirated Min Jae's old product, and someone in the back shouted:
"YOUR GOAT STOLE MY DUMPLING!"
Goji bleated and ran.
---
Income Report (And Taxes?)
That night, Min Jae opened a spreadsheet.
Sales: ₩14,000,000
Costs: ₩3,800,000
Goat-related damage: ₩160,000
Taxes: ???
Legality: ???
Coffee: Not enough
He groaned. "I need an accountant."
Instead, he called Seojin and begged him to take a crash course in small business finance.
Seojin sighed, "I already did. I'll explain tomorrow. Don't touch anything."
Min Jae leaned back.
For the first time in a long while, things were working.
Real-world success. A working system. A legal operation that was... mostly legal.
---
A Quiet Portal Visit
Later that night, Min Jae opened the portal and stepped into the dark alley behind Rivertown's spice market.
Kaldo was waiting with a bag of enchanted marshmallows.
"I heard your goat's a motivational speaker now," he said.
"Only part-time," Min Jae said. "I pay him in stickers."
They shared a snack.
For once, no disasters, no inspections, no angry officials.
Just a snack wizard from Korea sitting under the stars in another world, slowly turning his life into something impossible—and kind of beautiful.