Early April, another crisp morning in Seoul.
Kim Min-jae sat down to breakfast, dressed in a gray hanbok-style jacket and pants, a cotton shirt layered underneath, and his trusty black-and-red cloth shoes. He was practically bouncing, ready to sling tea, but his parents' faces were as glum as a rainy Chuseok.
"You could've had a proper job, but no, you're out to ruin yourself," Lee Soo-jin muttered, wiping her eyes.
"Do you even have the guts to hawk tea?" Kim Dong-hyun added. "You'll probably miscount the change."
"Mom, I'm not an idiot. I'm sharper than a fox!" Min-jae shot back.
"Just be careful," Dong-hyun said. "If it's too much, tell us."
Soo-jin tried to shove a cotton cap on him, but Min-jae dodged. That thing would tank his vibe—best case, he'd look like a K-pop idol gone wrong; worst case, a discount comedian.
Park Ji-young waited nearby, her own parents barely batting an eye at her new gig. Min-jae waved, and she followed, quiet as a shadow. To an outsider, it might've looked like he'd bribed his way into a marriage, not a tea stall. The contrast was stark—one beaming, the other sulking.
Their meeting spot was Hongdae's Seogyo Tower, a short 300-meter walk, reached in ten minutes.
Hongdae sat on Seoul's cultural axis: Insadong's galleries, Gwanghwamun Square, the Statue of King Sejong, and the War Memorial to the south. Seogyo Tower, just beyond, was 1.5 kilometers from the flagpole in Gwanghwamun. Prime real estate.
The tower, built during the Joseon Dynasty, loomed 38 meters high, a grand relic. Below it was a gate where the Korean People's Army had marched through in 1950.
"Park Ji-young!"
"Kim Min-jae!"
Eleven other jobless youth were already there, bustling under Auntie Park's orders. She spotted them and barked, "Get over here! Set out the cups, fire up the stove!"
"On it!" Min-jae rolled up his sleeves, diving in.
The tea stall setup was bare-bones. They'd pooled 40,000 won for two large teapots, loose tea, and 50 ceramic cups. The table was borrowed, the stove cobbled together on-site. A stove in Hongdae? No big deal—people were selling radishes in Gwanghwamun Square.
The tea was dirt-cheap, 20 won a cup. Yuzu Tea cost 150 won a bottle, a fancy splurge requiring a ration ticket. Their brew? Barely a step above tap water, priced for the masses.
Min-jae looked busy but was mostly coasting—Schrödinger's hustle, all show, no substance.
"Phew, I'm wiped!" he said, faking a brow wipe. "Auntie Park, can I try a cup?"
"Go ahead. It's cheap, but it does the job. People passing by just want something to drink, not a gourmet experience. Rest up, you've earned it."
Auntie Park, a no-nonsense dynamo, poured cups for everyone. Min-jae grabbed one, the rough ceramic gritty under his fingers. One sip hit like a memory bomb—back in his old life, he'd bought budget oolong off a sketchy website for 10,000 won a kilo. It tasted like this: *blech, stems and dust.*
His mates didn't blink. They'd grown up on this stuff. In old Seoul, poor folks couldn't afford premium tea, so shops sold "high-grade tea powder"—fancy name, same grit. It let them sip tea and feel dignified. *Authentic*, they called it. Even in later years, Hongdae's *Seochang Tea House* still peddled it.
A crowd gathered as they set up. Hongdae had been a hotspot since the Japanese colonial era, packed with shops and transit—bus stops, subway stations (running since '71), and the upscale *Hongdae Grand Hotel* for foreign guests. Seoul's population was 8.97 million, swelled by business travelers, tourists, and overseas Koreans from Japan and Hong Kong. Thousands passed through daily.
Men, women, kids—clad in gray, blue, or olive-green hanbok layers—gawked like NPCs in a game, question marks practically floating over their heads. One step closer, and they'd trigger the "buy a cup of tea" quest.
Ji-young and the others froze, overwhelmed by the staring crowd.
"Auntie Park, what now?" someone whispered.
"Shout!" she snapped.
"We've got a sign."
"Sign's not enough! This is business. No shouting, no customers!"
"Uh… uh…" The twelve, including Ji-young, were like clueless interns on their first day. In 1979, street vending was alien—humiliating, even. Try yelling at a stall in 2025; half the crowd would still clam up.
Auntie Park shook her head. "Don't look at me. I can't hawk for you forever. Step up."
"What's this about?"
"Selling something?"
"Why so quiet?"
The crowd, a mix of curious and heckling, started jeering. Ji-young glanced at Min-jae, who was suddenly fascinated by a crack in the pavement. Gritting her teeth, face flaming, she stammered, "B-big cup of tea! 20 won a cup!"
*Boom!* The crowd jolted, despite the sign screaming *Tea, 20 won*. That shout was seismic—like Korea's first cola bottle, first TV ad, first bikini billboard, first disco beat, first Kim Hyesoo ballad, first red hanbok. A ripple in the reform tide, gathering into a wave.
Someone called from the crowd, "Comrade, what unit are you with?"
"Hongdae Production and Service Cooperative," Ji-young answered.
"Need a ticket?"
"Nope!"
That sealed it. The crowd buzzed louder. A middle-aged man, likely a cadre, stepped forward, a satchel slung over his shoulder, his Busan accent thick. "Three cups!"
"Right away!" Ji-young nudged a stunned friend, who snapped to and poured. The yellowish tea sloshed into blue-and-white ceramic cups, steam curling up. They were greenhorns—should've poured ahead and lidded the cups to keep them warm.
The man tested a cup, wincing at the heat. "We've been walking forever, couldn't find a drop to drink. This stall's a lifesaver. Thanks."
"Just serving the people," Ji-young said. "You on a business trip?"
"Yeah, from Busan."
"Welcome to Seoul! Check out Namsan Tower, Gyeongbokgung, or Bukchon when you've got time."
Ji-young's confidence grew, her extrovert side shining. The man's two buddies joined him, each downing a cup, then ordering three more. They fished out two 50-won coins and two 10-won coins, lining them up neatly on the table. *Clink.* The sound was music.
"Thanks for the support!" Ji-young called, hands trembling as she pocketed the coins, a mix of embarrassment and pride washing over her. Her friends' faces lit up too.
Min-jae? Still studying that pavement crack.
(End of Chapter)