Rise of the Argentine Empire

The weather in May is unpredictable. This morning, a light rain started again. Córdoba, shrouded in the drizzle, resembled a sleeping, sick dog, plagued by illness yet carrying a hint of new life.

Saint Hérse opened the window, his gaze drifting into the distance. Córdoba at this moment was both ancient and modern, dilapidated and trendy, a mixture of the decay of the colonial governorate era and the nation's aspiration for a new beginning.

“Your life will be saved by me. If you ask how long, it will be my entire life…” Saint Hérse suddenly spoke a nonsensical sentence in New China Mandarin, startling a passerby below.

“Mommy, is that uncle sick?” a little girl passing by asked a young woman.

“He probably forgot to take his medicine.” Saint Hérse, wearing pajamas and with disheveled hair, grinned, scaring the little girl.

“Hey, beautiful, want to grab a meal sometime?” Saint Hérse switched to Spanish.

“He's quite handsome, but a lunatic.” She quickly pulled the little girl away. Saint Hérse admired the scenery for a moment before closing the window.

Córdoba's weather is actually relatively stable. It's not located on a plateau but on a plain, surrounded by mountains on three sides. Although the raindrops are small, there's a slight chill in the air.

Compared to the several cities I lived in for a longer time in my previous life, it's somewhat similar to the ancient city of Chang'an. At an altitude of 550 meters, it has a temperate continental climate, which is generally mild. However, in recent years, the autumn and winter seasons have been quite cold, with the lowest temperatures approaching zero degrees, which is somewhat abnormal. According to Saint Hérse's pitiful knowledge of geography, it might be some kind of El Niño phenomenon.

In my memory, Córdoba's summers are relatively cool, not so hot. I don't know why it always rains during the almost winter months of the last half month. Could this be the legendary climate cycle? It's hard to say, after all, I'm not a climate expert.

The light rain has subsided slightly. Today, I plan to go to the cannery to check on the situation and see how Li Qingyun and the others are doing. If he's suitable, I'll promote him to production supervisor and then have a drink and some late-night snacks with him and Uncle Chen.

He rode a motorcycle, a used one Saint Hérse bought a few days ago. It's somewhat similar to a Suzuki brand, but I can't say exactly what brand it is, or where it came from. It cost 19,000 pesos.

Straddling the motorcycle, he put on his helmet, safety first. He drove slowly, only about twenty kilometers per hour, and was overtaken by several cyclists who gave him the middle finger.

Arriving in front of the cannery gate, the security personnel had already put up the sign, which read "Prallini Cannery" in Spanish and English. Saint Hérse originally planned to add Chinese, but the city's printing factory couldn't produce it, so he had to give up. They also put up recruitment advertisements, but looking at the sparsely populated area nearby, it's estimated that few people would come here.

Currently, printed materials are produced using mechanical typewriters, so it's normal that there's no Chinese.

Outside the Prallini factory's large iron gate was a guardhouse, where two security personnel were resting, responsible for checking personnel and goods entering and exiting.

Saint Hérse took off his helmet to signal them, and the large iron gate was slowly opened. He drove his small motorcycle towards the parking lot, which was actually a relatively large open space covered with lime.

The weeds on the open space had been cleared, and the excess soil had been removed, ready to be paved with cement, concrete, and gravel. The exterior walls had been whitewashed, and the renovation work was decent. The entire factory area looked much more formal, somewhat presentable.

Factory director Klaus Hassoun put down his work and came out to show Saint Hérse around the factory. Klaus was a typical German descendant, meticulous and organized. His Spanish wasn't very standard. He came to Argentina during World War II to avoid the war and military service. He had the relatively rare German smoothness and had served as production director and factory director in several factories in Córdoba.

Entering the factory area, a group of workers wearing cloth masks were washing fruit with tap water. Baskets of fresh fruit were sorted, washed clean, and passed down the assembly line to the next step.

Without large-scale cleaning equipment, they had to rely on manpower.

The second area of the assembly line was for cutting work. Using simple tools, workers peeled and seeded the fruit. In this area, the fruit was peeled, cut, and divided into pieces.

The third area involved adding additives to the fruit and steaming it to make it more palatable. A dozen specially made large iron pots were used, creating a lively scene, still operated manually.

The fourth area was the natural cooling and sterilization area, with fewer people.

The fifth area was the fruit canning area, where four semi-automatic canning machines were working.

The last area was finished product packaging, including printing the production date and sealing cardboard boxes, which was the final step.

Saint Hérse was considering how to handle this problem, and the current semi-manual production was not particularly good. The production equipment was also relatively old and needed to be purchased. Most of the factory area had already been used and divided.

Saint Hérse followed factory director Klaus to the factory's general manager's office, located next to the factory director's office. Entering, he saw the clean office, the newly purchased three-meter solid wood long table, leather chairs, and a bookshelf and filing cabinet. Saint Hérse nodded in satisfaction.

Klaus followed in and stood in front of the table, reporting on his work.

He was selected as the production supervisor from the initially recruited workers. He had considerable prestige and was over forty years old, with a burly figure and relatively rich management experience.

He used to be a manager at the Akralala Hotel, but was fired for some personal reasons. Last month, he applied for a job at the cannery and became a worker. He was energetic and meticulous in his work, and was promoted to be one of the supervisors in charge of production. Later, he was promoted to factory director by Saint Hesser.

Compared to the chaotic and disorderly state of the factory area some time ago, the factory is now well-organized, and the workers are working hard to produce canned fruit.

Now the production line has been basically completed, and the production work is also steadily advancing. Saint Hesser is quite satisfied after seeing it.

"Boss, our daily output has reached 9,000 bottles a day during this period. The production capacity has basically been maximized. It is estimated that at least 12,000 bottles a day can be achieved by improving the production process in the future. Moreover, the market in Cordoba can only sell up to 5,000 bottles a day now. Is it necessary to limit production?" Cross put forward his own suggestion.

"No need, continue to maintain the production target, improve the technology and production process, and we need to expand production. I will expand the sales channels here. If you have time, go to the central railway station to see if there are suitable warehouses. All the extra cans will be transported there for storage," Saint Hesser had his own plans in mind.

"Okay, by the way, boss, our cans are currently only printed with American technology and do not have a trademark identification. What trademark do you think we should register and apply for?" Cross raised a new question. Trademarks are indeed very important.

"Then let's call it Fanta. Fanta. What do you think? If this trademark has not been registered by anyone," Saint Hesser blurted out. He was reborn in Italy five years later with this trademark. Saint Hesser took it out for use in advance without feeling any guilt.

Now the Fanta brand belongs to the American Coca-Cola Company, but it has been shelved, and Coca-Cola has not registered this brand outside of Germany. Because of his love for this brand, Saint Hesser plans to make a copycat version.

Of course, the more trademarks you register, the better. Saint Hesser wrote a bunch of trademarks that will be more famous in later generations but have not yet been produced and gave them to Cross to prevent the Americans from reactivating the Fanta brand and suing them for not having a brand to use.

"Then it depends on what the boss means. This name is very good and has a meaning. It also gives people a strange sense of familiarity. I can't remember it for a while."

It would be a little difficult for Cross to flatter him with his rigor. In fact, Cross had also heard about this brand, but who made Germany a defeated country?

"By the way, see if there are any international registration channels for this trademark at that time. We want to sell canned food all over the world," Saint Hesser continued, carefully looking through the reports on the table, for fear that his subordinates would fool him.

"In the future, we will not only sell canned food, but also sell beverages, soda, milk, and packaged food. We will sell everything that can be sold," Saint Hesser suddenly said seriously to Cross, and stopped the pen in his hand, wiped the apple on the table clean, and took a bite directly. It was crisp and sweet. The apple was big and red, and it was covered with mature vertical stripes.

"Cross, we have to replace all these equipments with more advanced equipment to prepare for the next expansion," Saint Hesser continued while gnawing on the big apple.

"Yes, boss," Cross looked very excited. He didn't expect the boss's ambition to be so great. It seems that I have to work hard too. Maybe I can be like the boss in the future.

It's not just wishful thinking. Starting last night, Saint Hesser considered the development of the cannery. Canned products are still relatively single, relatively niche and marketable. This time, the time difference was used to sell so much. I heard that some people in the city are already investing in the production of canned food. Competition is coming soon, and we need to open up new sales channels non-stop.

If you want to expand the category, soft drinks are a major category, but this depends on the accumulated funds. You also need to customize production and processing equipment. Saint Hesser is no longer limited to American equipment, but also has choices from Germany, France, Japan, and the Soviet Union. This time, he can't be fooled like last time.

Recently, the profits of the entire factory have increased rapidly. The next market is the capital and nearby provinces. Argentina also has more than 10 million people.

Maybe we can promote some salesmen from the factory to develop the market.

"Cross, does our factory have any more active people with better eloquence?" Saint Hesser gestured and said.

"Boss, there are quite a few such people. My nephew is one of them. Do you need to fire them?" Cross was shocked and said it.

"That's not the case. I'm still very satisfied with the people you're responsible for recruiting," Cross did a really good job. The factory's production is in good order and the product quality is good. Saint Hesser is very satisfied.

"I'm very relieved to have you manage the factory," Saint Hesser added, letting Cross breathe a sigh of relief. It's not easy to find a good job in Argentina now.

"I want to set up a sales department to be responsible for the sales of canned food in the factory. Do you have any suitable candidates? Can we select a dozen or twenty people from our factory?" Saint Hesser continued.

"I think Lucien Miller from the third department of the production department can also serve as a salesman. My nephew, Little Knicks Schmidt, can also be a salesman," Cross said calmly.

"Okay, you can arrange the work later and let those you think are suitable come to this office. I want to talk to them and understand."

"Okay, boss."

Cross is very serious and responsible for his work, and he also cherishes this job with a salary of 15,000 pesos per month.

"Okay, I'll take a look here. You go out and arrange it," Saint Hesser nodded.

After Cross left the office, Saint Hesser stood up from his chair. It was drizzling outside the window, and the misty rain made him feel relaxed. The second purpose of coming to the factory this time was to establish a sales department and strive to sell canned food all over the country.