Anyway, I Was Right?
"If I become mayor, I'll give you anything. As long as it's within the law and principles."
There was a reason he'd thrown out such an offer as compensation. It was the biggest reward he could currently put on the table, but at the same time, it was also a test. Depending on what the other man demanded, his true nature would show itself—and based on that answer, Sterling planned to decide whether they would work together or not.
Then an unexpected reply slipped from Dohwan's mouth.
"Not that. How about becoming friends?"
Even Sterling couldn't help but freeze. Just from the voice alone, the man was vastly younger. And yet he had casually proposed friendship to someone whose election was still completely up in the air.
Did he truly just want pure friendship? It couldn't be for such a romantic reason. Then there was only one possibility.
This man is certain I'll become mayor.
He couldn't understand what the man had seen to make that judgment. But to Sterling, trapped in a hopeless situation, the answer felt like good news he hadn't heard in a long time.
"That's truly a pleasant thing to hear."
"So you're okay with it?"
At Dohwan's light follow-up, Sterling firmly shook his head.
"No. We've gone through hardship together, so becoming friends is only natural. That's nowhere near enough for my compensation."
"Oh?"
The corner of Dohwan's mouth curled into a grin.
"I'm not the type to turn down something extra being offered."
"Right now, this is the only thing I can give you."
Sterling rummaged through his coat and handed Dohwan a pure white business card. It was a peculiar thing—no name, no title, just a single phone number written on it.
"If you need anything while working, just ask that friend and he'll take care of it all. Of course, you can use it for other purposes too."
The additional compensation from a man with no power to hand over right now was a person—a capable subordinate who could perfectly handle Dohwan's troublesome affairs in his place.
Taking the card, Dohwan asked with interest.
"...Other purposes?"
"Nothing grand. Just a capable friend who will cleanly take care of your annoying tasks."
"Hmm. I understand perfectly."
In truth, he didn't understand perfectly, but he'd figure it out by using it. Dohwan tucked the card away and stood up without lingering.
"Well, things seem roughly settled, so I'll get to work."
"Right away like this? What are you planning to do?"
What Dohwan needed to do was already decided. He had to start by confirming why a man with a face that could move a nation had been driven into a corner.
"I'm going to take a look at who we're up against. I need to size them up to make a proper plan."
The opposing candidate. The crown prince of mainstream politics, Richard Vance. He meant to examine him first.
"I see."
As Sterling nodded, Dohwan adjusted his sunglasses and grinned.
"Twenty percent. Let's flip this thing clean."
At that spirited declaration of war, Sterling too let out a hearty laugh, his eyes gleaming sharply.
"Haha. Yeah. That's the spirit. I never planned on losing in the first place."
The vast outdoor plaza in the heart of Manhattan. Having discarded his mask and sunglasses, Dohwan blended naturally into the crowd of thousands.
"Whoa."
Stepping into the plaza, Dohwan let out a short exclamation of awe. The smell of money. An overwhelming scent of capital vibrated throughout the entire square.
Dozens of massive LED screens filled the spaces between the forest of buildings. Top-tier sound systems rivaled a famous pop star's concert venue. Around the thousands of supporters in matching high-end campaign attire cheering wildly, dozens of major media broadcast vans had set up like a fortress.
"Richard! Richard!"
Amid the earth-shaking chants, a man appeared on the stage bathed in perfect lighting, waving his hand leisurely. The crown prince of mainstream politics and the massive wall blocking Sterling's path: Richard Vance.
Dohwan's eyes narrowed as he stared at the man on stage.
Ha. This really is America. Unbelievable.
As a physiognomist, he could tell. What was visible and the man's actual face were different. His cunningly slanted eyes were concealed by soft glasses frames and exquisite eye makeup, while the jawline that would have made his impression sharp had been gently softened by precise shading and lighting angles.
Dohwan had seen plenty of politicians in Korea wearing makeup during election season. But at best, it was just covering wrinkles to look younger or enhancing complexion to appear energetic. Here, the techniques of American politics were far more extreme and meticulous.
I'd read articles about American politicians pouring hundreds of millions into dedicated makeup teams alone—was that actually true?
Dohwan clicked his tongue inwardly.
Wow. If you just dump money on it, this is what you get. No wonder he's winning by twenty percent.
It wasn't simply a matter of touching up a face. Dozens of broadcast cameras captured that meticulously crafted fake face from the most elegant angles. The major media outlets surrounding the plaza poured out real-time praise articles calling it "the appearance of a sage king."
A perfect stage built with tens of billions in capital. Combined with media and image-making that manipulated the public's eyes and ears. When this insane synergy came together, even a vicious villain could transform in an instant into the messiah who would save New York.
The power of overwhelming capital really is on a different level.
But no matter how much you painted over it with overwhelming capital, you couldn't cover the Color Reading that seeped out from the human being itself. Dohwan narrowed his focus and peered into the energy pouring from Vance's face.
...Ugh. That's a bit much.
Beneath the gentle smile, a pitch-black energy oozed stickily like mud. A vicious greed that would devour others' flesh and blood for his own gain and still have room left over. Outwardly playing the benevolent noble, but inside, the visage of a giant snake coiled with deadly venom.
It was clear the boss's information was real—that he'd bankrupted people and turned them into vegetables with legal lawsuit bombs. Richard's campaign image-making team had erased all of that to complete the current Richard. A fake idol created with massive capital and media.
"Richard! Richard!"
Listening to the cheers shaking the plaza, Dohwan turned his gaze to the faces of those beside Richard.
Birds of a feather flock together, after all...
After scanning them thoroughly, it was just as he'd thought. Every core campaign staffer circling the stage or those who looked like secretaries hid pitch-black desire behind their glossy smiles.
A sandcastle built with money.
The problem was that the money was overwhelming, and victory was half-confirmed in a solid state.
If it just shakes a little, cracks will form and there'll be a gap to bring it down...
What always shook was people. Dohwan examined the physiognomy of the people around Richard as if he would devour it—until the campaign rally ended.
Kevin Miller, a mid-level manager in the finance team of Richard Vance's election campaign. For him, recent campaign work had been a continuous series of suffocating pressure, because the "dirty work" he had to handle secretly under orders from the higher-ups had increased.
For such a Kevin, the only breathing room and escape was the small poker gathering he held every Friday night with acquaintances in the back room of a warehouse-converted pub. Stakes that barely counted as pocket change. More than winning money, the act of sipping beer and fiddling with chips itself was his only happiness.
Into that cozy gathering of his, a few days ago, a strange East Asian young man in his twenties had joined through an acquaintance's introduction. He introduced himself in a very peculiar way.
"Ah. I'm a psychic. I came here to train in reading people's energy."
At first, everyone thought it was a silly joke. They just laughed it off as a young guy's cheerful banter. Indeed, at first he just won and lost ordinarily. But toward the end of the game, the flow of the table turned peculiar. In the end, the one who swept up the most chips at the table that day was that East Asian young man.
He stood up with a gentle smile.
"Thank you for helping with my training. Thanks to you, reading energy has become a bit clearer."
Saying so, he coolly returned most of the money he'd won to the table and left. Kevin felt interest watching his retreating figure. No greed for money, and polite too. Most of all, he wondered if he was a real psychic. Thanks to that, the boring poker gathering became something he looked forward to for the first time in a while.
The next gathering day. That young man was sitting at the table again. And this time too, he won the most money. He caught bluffs like a ghost, and when he was at a disadvantage, he tossed his cards without hesitation—perfect play as if he could see right through the opponents' hands.
One acquaintance who couldn't take it anymore asked half-jokingly, half-seriously.
"Hey. What the hell are you really? Reading the micro-expressions hidden behind poker faces?"
"No way. He said he's a psychic. Is he actually telepathically eavesdropping on our inner thoughts?"
To the laughter-tinged questions, the young man answered calmly while organizing his chips.
"I see fate."
There was none of the playfulness from when he'd first introduced himself. Deeply settled, cool eyes. The perfect skill he'd shown was proving that absurd answer.
Moreover, it wasn't just poker skill. In the middle of gatherings, the advice the young man casually tossed out while shuffling cards or drinking beer hit with spine-chilling accuracy.
"John. Avoid long-distance driving this weekend. If you're unlucky, you'll get badly hurt."
The next day, a massive multi-car pileup occurred at the highway interchange John took every weekend to go fishing.
"Michael. That partnership offer you got recently—drop it immediately. It's ominous."
A few days later, news broke that the person who'd proposed the partnership to Michael had absconded overnight with other investors' money.
He hadn't even said it expecting payment. Just a few light words tossed out during the game. But as those casual pieces of advice piled up day by day and became reality, the impact was enormous.
And so day after day passed. Now, no one at the poker gathering didn't believe that East Asian young man was a psychic who really saw something.
Then one day came. The young man who had always leisurely dominated the table started losing big money for the first time. No—stranger than losing money was his attitude.
...Why does he keep avoiding my eyes?
Kevin's brow furrowed. The young man couldn't look at his cards with his usual ease. Especially whenever their eyes met, he flinched as if he'd seen something extremely ominous and horrific, hastily dropping his gaze to the floor. A light cold sweat even beaded on his forehead.
What on earth was going on? As time passed, Kevin's heartbeat quickened irregularly. His throat went bone-dry.
"Hey. What the hell's wrong with you today?"
When Kevin, unable to endure it, covered his cards and asked, the young man flinched, shoulders trembling, and shook his head.
"It's nothing. My training is a bit off today... My condition's not good."
Even as he said that, the young man still wouldn't look Kevin's way, hurriedly gathering his chips to stand up. That blatant avoidance, as if afraid of catching a plague. At that sight, an unidentifiable terror and anxiety surged madly from deep within Kevin's heart.
"Hey!"
Kevin urgently grabbed his wrist.
"If you see something on my face, please don't hide it and just tell me. Please."
Kevin's voice was close to pleading. The young man glanced around at the others once, then slowly opened his mouth in a heavily settled voice.
"...You said you work in politics, didn't you."
"Y-yeah. In Richard Vance's campaign..."
"Just what... dangerous business have you gotten yourself into?"
The moment he heard those words, countless things flashed through Kevin's mind like a panorama. The black money funneled through shell companies to polling firms under orders from the campaign higher-ups. He himself had dipped his feet directly into that clear election law violation and manipulation. Because he had thoroughly immersed himself in truly horrific and dangerous work.
"Th-that... is it true? My fate looks like that right now?"
Kevin's ashen lips trembled. In that moment, the East Asian young man quietly extended his hand toward the trembling, anxious Kevin.
"Just give me one dollar."
"Huh...?"
"The moment I receive a reading fee, I keep the client's secrets to the grave. That dangerous situation of yours—I'll open a path to survival for you somehow."
At that low, confident whisper, Kevin opened his wallet as if entranced. And with trembling hands, he pulled out a one-dollar bill and placed it in the hand of the devil who would save him.
"What I can tell you for certain is, it's going to blow. That thing."
More precisely, Dohwan would dig it up and make it blow.