marmalade factory

It was my first day at the Marmeladych factory. I was assigned to package licorice—black, slippery sticks that smelled of medicine and asphalt. The legendary marmalade and the joy were somewhere on the other side of the shop floor, but here, despondency reigned.

"San," I asked my partner. "Who eats this stuff anyway? We package tons, but I've never met a living person who likes licorice."

"Nobody," Sanya answered calmly. "That's the point."

It turns out licorice isn't food, but a brilliant financial instrument. Marmalade sales bring in a billion, while licorice creates a sacred loss, saving the company from taxes. No one buys it, all returns are written off—that's how the scheme works.

Then Grigory Solovyov himself burst into the workshop, wearing a hoodie and carrying a camera. He grabbed a handful of licorice and shouted into the camera, "Challenge! Eat three kilos of this nasty stuff and you'll get a lifetime supply of marmalade!" He bit off a stick and rushed off to continue filming TikTok.

"Welcome to the team," Sanya handed me a crooked black block. "Your monthly salary is paid in kind."

I took the licorice. Somewhere Grisha was laughing. Business was booming.