Chapter 78: The Turning Point
After my call with Yujin, I went back to my room and sat down at my desk, where the documents still lay spread out in front of me.
"Quite the busy man, aren't you. Taking phone calls in the middle of all this. Who was it? The French embassy, for an appointment?"
"Huh? No, a woman back in Korea."
"I'm sorry?"
"A woman in Korea. Why, what's wrong?"
Maybe it was a mood I was in — a desire to be a little more honest today — but I told the whole truth: to Jeong Sujin, who'd gotten the call, to Yujin, and now to Lee Ayoung, who'd just asked.
That there was no real need for me to push myself to come to Japan.
That I'd be going back home sooner or later anyway.
...Probably?
Honestly, nobody can predict how things will turn out, so I can't claim certainty. But if things go well, I *will* go back — so technically, that's true, right?
"Oh... nothing, sir. Then please, continue reviewing the materials here."
"Looking at the trends in the comments on the foreign press articles now circulating in South Korea — the comments about you were overwhelmingly negative at first, but when we analyze only the most recent articles, we can see the negative share has fallen to thirty percent."
"So I believe now is the optimal time to execute the plan you've prepared, sir."
In this day and age, public opinion is incredibly hard to manufacture.
No — it's always been hard.
Everyone gained the ability to broadcast their thoughts to the masses, and simultaneously, to hear only the words they wanted to hear. And with so much information flooding in from every direction, people simply ignore anything outside their own interests. Then, within the circle of things they *do* care about, they obsess, flooding the space with endless posts and voices until it becomes impossible for anyone to tell what public opinion actually is.
And yet, the comment sections on recent news articles are only thirty percent femis.
So while Auntie Nayoung was actually doing something, the anti-femi sentiment finally coalesced into real public opinion.
The problem, though, is that nobody's taking concrete action against the femis' protests.
No matter how far I dig through the news, there's not a single report of anyone counter-protesting the femis.
I can't tell if they simply don't feel the danger — or if everyone's just waiting for someone else to step up and act.
And here's the real problem: the active femis who actually show up to these protests number one million.
Soldiers and police combined, the whole of South Korea probably can't scrape together three hundred thousand. The damn femis outnumber them three to one.
Seriously, how did they gather a million people?
Did they drag every swan femi in the country out of her house?
That doesn't add up, though.
We're running a planned economy right now. If you don't work, your rations don't come through smoothly. They can't live off their fathers' spines like they used to — so what exactly are they eating while protesting every single day?
Don't tell me it's the mothers this time?
You people are genuinely exhausting.
How does anyone drain their parents dry in a world like this?
Ugh, please, God, let me be wrong about that one. The mothers did nothing wrong.
"Is that so? Hm... And what do you think, Ayoung? Will it go well? Or won't it?"
"Speaking purely as a diplomat, I'd say it's fifty-fifty. But speaking as a citizen of South Korea, I sincerely hope for a positive outcome."
Hm... I see.
Still, I'd asked her to monitor the key articles and compile the data, and she did a phenomenal job. Going through those comments — lumps of filth, every one — and sorting them by criteria, one by one, must have been soul-crushing work.
She deserves a bonus.
How much would be appropriate?
I dug through the materials she'd prepared once more. The upward-trending graph Lee Ayoung had rendered so easy on the eyes showed its slope dropping noticeably as it approached the present.
Waiting any longer wouldn't buy us much more effect.
Not when I'd watched yet another femi rally today draw a crowd of roughly a million.
Though honestly, I'd hoped things could be dragged out a little longer. Can they really not hold out?
Is their durability too low?
I wanted Auntie Nayoung to endure just a bit longer — all the way until she was on the verge of impeachment. That's the only way our dear auntie will ever feel real, genuine danger.
"Sir, we've just received new intelligence."
"On June 7th, a motion to impeach President Lee Nayoung is expected to be introduced in the National Assembly."
"Based on precedent, we anticipate the lawmakers' vote will begin within a week."
"Which means President Lee Nayoung could actually be impeached."
"Ah — my apologies. In practical terms, we should assume the lawmakers have already decided on her impeachment behind closed doors."
Oh, for God's sake.
Is it my mouth that's the problem?
Why does everything I say keep coming true?
Right. Of course.
Our incompetent lawmakers watched a million femi troops crawling up to Gwanghwamun, panicked, lost their minds, and did some very creative vote-counting. That's all this is.
Is the plan to court these people's votes so they can get reelected as assemblymen?
What is *power*, honestly.
Esteemed members of the National Assembly... let's see how this works out for you later, shall we?
What's that? You'll see?
Goddammit.
And Auntie Nayoung — honestly, she could have held them off a little longer. She couldn't even manage that much control.
Truthfully, our preparations weren't quite complete either.
These days I genuinely can't tell whether she's incompetent or capable.
Well, whatever. Shall we pour a little gasoline on the fire, then — so that our dear public, who believe every problem on earth can be solved with fingers and words alone, without ever lifting one actual finger in action, can finally wake up?
"Hm... Proceed."
"I'm sorry?"
"Oh — no, nothing. Then let's proceed as planned."
The walk from the director's office back down to my own room.
With the materials I'd prepared and the talking points I'd rehearsed, the briefing had gone flawlessly — on any ordinary day, my footsteps would have been light. Instead, something about it all felt wrong. Unsettling.
It felt like the time back in school when someone used something I'd prepared without ever asking permission. Unpleasant, if I'm being honest about it — trivial, too, the kind of thing I couldn't even mention to a friend without sounding petty.
Right now I — no, all of us — are in an incredibly dangerous situation.
So what on earth is going through my head?
This isn't how it should be.
Do I have any idea how much the work I'm doing as a diplomat of South Korea weighs on the country?
Frowning all the way back to my room, I shut the door with more force than necessary and flopped face-first onto the bed.
Falling onto the bed in the room where I also work is a bad habit I picked up on the job — I'd been trying to stop lately, but today I truly couldn't help it.
I'd worked so hard on those materials, presented them, and was only just back. Surely I could rest.
Just a little. Just a very little.
The sensor light clicked on as I sank into the soft bedding, then faded out again, leaving the room dark and silent. In that quiet, I let myself focus on the one thing eating at me.
Really... there is nothing this man won't say to my face.
We were in the middle of an important meeting, and "a woman back in Korea"? A woman. Back in Korea.
And did he really think, all the way to the very end, that I wouldn't notice?
I knew something was off. The way he kept hovering around that revolting woman the whole time we were in Japan —
Now that I think about it, he was completely doing that with her. That kind of "that."
And lately it's been the girl he brought along to Japan, too.
He was doing it in Korea as well — can't he rein it in just a little?
Not that I can exactly file a formal complaint about it, since he handles his work flawlessly. Is this really my life?
I'm drowning in the work *he* hands me, he doesn't spare me a single thought, and he's out there meeting women.
Truly...
He liked me first, you know.
No, no. No.
What am I even saying?
Get a grip!
Lee Ayoung. What is wrong with you!
So... right, yes, this is it. He liked *me* first.
No — no! That's not it either.
I met him first.
Yes, that's the one. That's the correct answer.
Ah...
I am a complete idiot.
Why do I keep saying things like this?
I'm not a middle schooler with a crush. What is this behavior?
Lee Ayoung, you are the biggest fool alive.
Once again that night, I patted the bed — guilty of absolutely nothing — over and over.
June 7th.