Candidacy Addiction
I came home, cooked dinner for Harin, and sent the text. If she ever found out that “meeting” was actually a campaign strategy session with her own classmates—her political rivals, no less—she might just drop dead from pure shock.
“...?”
Surprisingly, she actually replied. Of course, even if Harin disliked me, she wasn’t the type to leave my messages on read. Still, she usually found clever ways to snip a conversation short before it could go anywhere.
Not today. The vibe practically screamed that she was dying to know what this appointment of mine was about.
The second she learned who it was, her interest evaporated. Not even a little curious how we knew each other? Or was the phrase “old friend” enough on its own?
“...”
I get it. This kid thought I was meeting a woman.
Not long ago, when Eom Chaewon’s name came up, she’d claimed she was fine with it—said she wouldn’t stand in the way if I went looking for a new life. Of course, lurking behind that consideration was the cruel little premise that she’d soon leave home and cut ties for good.
Probably because she’s a decent kid at heart. She wants to sever things with me, yet she still doesn’t want me growing old alone and lonely. That’s why she’d been so curious about who I was seeing.
Kiiing… Nothing had changed. Harin still thought of nothing but leaving, and after watching me play the clingy dad yesterday, her resolve had only hardened. If she ever found out I’d even floated a campaign promise here, she’d move that timeline up to today. So no matter what it took, I had to get that promise withdrawn.
Jingling!
I stepped into Syndrome. White exterior walls, a small space that somehow still managed to feel cozy. The props and interior, though, leaned hard into high-school-girl taste—a cuteness so thick that a thrice-divorced man like me felt guilty just setting foot inside.
“Oppa! Over here!”
Wonhui called out, arms pressed tight against her ears. Useless chatter was her specialty, but damn if she wasn’t ridiculously cute.
“You made it?”
Eunju, by comparison, was still giving me the cold shoulder. Did she not realize that exact attitude only piled more suspicion on us?
“Why are you two so awkward? It was the same at school earlier, wasn’t it?”
Yuna might have been a little short on drive, but she wasn’t completely clueless. The second she picked up on the chill between Eunju and me, Wonhui’s mouth started flapping like a little bird again.
“It’s a smokescreen, I swear. Something happened between you two and you’re just not telling me, unnie. Park Eunju, are you seriously doing this to me?”
“Maybe there’s nothing to explain, so I’m not explaining? We’re short on time—can we just start?”
Eunju let her discomfort show and pressed everyone into silence. Lips pouted all around as notebooks came out; then Mokhwa started jabbing Eunju’s side with little pokes.
“Drinks? Haa… Fine, let’s order first. I’ll take the orders…”
“I’ll get them! That’s literally why I came.”
“Ah… Thanks, sunbae.”
I’d already felt bad enough just taking up space and wrecking the mood, so the least I could do was this. I pulled out my phone and took the orders right away.
Yuna: Greek yogurt. Eunju: vanilla latte. Mokhwa: mocha latte. Wonhui: blueberry smoothie plus two waffles. And…
“Eunchae, what do you want?”
“Eunchae!?”
The moment the name “Eunchae” left my mouth, every head snapped up in perfect unison. Oh, not this again.
“Waaah! Oppa, how did you know Eunchae was here, dayo?”
“Haa… Eunchae? I’ve told you before—when something’s sitting right there in plain sight, asking how I saw it is a little…”
“Eunchae, when did you even get here? Eunju, did you know? Unnie?”
“No, we just noticed too…”
Mokhwa was poking sides faster than usual, which meant these girls had once again completely failed to notice Eunchae tagging along. For the record, she’d been with us at lunch earlier. How else would she have known the meeting spot was here?
“Eunchae, are you here to help with the election too?”
“Uuung! It just seemed like it’d be fun, dayo!”
“...”
Eunju’s group traded silent looks, wordlessly debating the situation. In the end they seemed to decide it didn’t matter whether she joined or not, and simply accepted it.
Drinks ordered, we finally got down to business. Unfortunately, aside from Eunju herself, the rest of the crew was next to useless, and after more than thirty minutes we still hadn’t made any real progress.
“Waaah! You guys are totally gonna lose, dayo.”
“Wh-what? Hey, Song Eunchae, why are you jinxing us right from the start?”
Eunchae’s clueless interruption earned an instant scolding from Wonhui. Problem was, Eunchae wasn’t wrong. At the rate we were going, a whole week of meetings wouldn’t produce a single useful thing.
“Uuuung… But you’ve been saying the exact same stuff over and over, dayo.”
“Y-you think we want to do this? It’s all unnie’s fault! She’s been staring at Dogs & Picks this whole time and hasn’t offered a single idea!”
“Me? I just checked because an alert popped up. Force of habit, hehe…”
“...”
The longer their banter dragged on, the tighter Eunju’s expression grew. She’d been the one who dragged them here, and one of them was a year older, so she couldn’t quite bring herself to snap.
Poke-poke…
Mokhwa jabbed my side. I had no idea what she was trying to say, and there wasn’t much I could do here anyway…
“Waaah! Mokhwa’s right, dayo. Oppa’s the sunbae, so you should do something, dayo.”
“...?”
So Eunchae could read those little pokes too? Did those jabs emit some special high-frequency signal only teenage girls could hear?
“Haa… Fine. Let’s start over from the top. We’ll organize the work systematically, then go through it one piece at a time.”
I really didn’t want to stick my nose into this, but as the “adult” in the room I couldn’t just sit there and watch. Besides, the better I kept Eunju’s mood, the easier it would be later to talk her into withdrawing that campaign promise.
“First we need basic voter stats. What kinds of candidates students have usually voted for, which promises left an impression, and how well those promises were actually kept.”
“Ah… That stuff should still be on the school website. Candidates have to post their platforms there no matter what.”
“Then can you look into that, Yuna? And you can search old posts on Dogs & Picks too, right? Digging up student opinions on past candidates wouldn’t hurt either.”
“Should I?”
One look told me Yuna wasn’t the take-charge type. I’d given her a job, so she could happily mash that keypad she loved so much and dig around.
“Next we decide the concept for this election. Do we win on campaign issues, or do we push the candidate’s personal appeal? Figure that out first, then steer everything toward whichever side favors us.”
“What’s that mean, oppa?”
“Adult elections work the same way, right? Some people mindlessly vote the party line, others actually look at the person. High-school elections are mostly popularity contests, though. So, Wonhui—do you think we’re losing the popularity vote?”
“Fifty-fifty? The third-years will go for Jihye-unnie. The second-years will go for Eunju.”
“Then swinging the first-years—the swing voters—is the key. Freshmen barely know any of the upperclassmen, so that’s exactly where we have to win on campaign issues. Use whatever topics interest them most.”
Working through it piece by piece, we finally started making a little headway. Mokhwa diligently organized everything we said on her iPad.
“Haa… Shall we wrap it here for today? Eunju’s got academy soon, right?”
At last, the long-awaited one-on-one time with Eunju was approaching. I moved to end the meeting the second I could, but Eunchae—quiet until now—chose that exact moment to jump in without a shred of tact.
“Waaah! But Oppa, how do you know so much about elections, dayo?”
“Me? I’ve run in more than one or two of them…”
“Have you ever run for student council president?”
“...”
Why did I always let my guard down right before the finish line? Yuna latched onto the slip instantly, and Wonhui’s bottled-up curiosity finally exploded.
“For real? No wonder you seemed so comfortable with it. Why didn’t you say anything until now?”
“Th-that’s…”
“Sunbae must have had his reasons. I’ve got to get to academy soon—can we call it here?”
Thankfully Eunju, who actually knew the real story, threw up a shield for me. Of course, that only poured gasoline on Wonhui’s suspicions.
“What was that just now? You’ve been avoiding eye contact with oppa all day, so why the sudden defense?”
“Me? I wasn’t taking anyone’s side.”
“Unnie thinks it’s weird too, right? Eunchae, Mokhwa—you felt it, didn’t you?”
“A little… yeah.”
“Uuung! Eunchae thinks it’s weird too, dayo?”
Eunchae and then Mokhwa started poking away, demanding an explanation. Eunju ignored them completely and stood up.
“Let’s go, sunbae.”
And just like that, the meeting was over. Everyone kept shooting us suspicious looks as we left the café, but since this was the first and last time I’d be showing up, they could think whatever they wanted.
The entire walk to the bus stop, Eunju didn’t say a single word. Still distant, still unable to close the gap between us.
Ha. Ji. Man. That was her problem. I needed that campaign promise withdrawn, and fast. The second we reached the stop I opened my mouth.
“Eunju, about that promise I mentioned earlier—”
“I’m sorry about today.”
“...?”
Apparently I wasn’t the only one with something to say. Out of nowhere, Eunju apologized.
“Are you talking to me? What do you have to be sorry for?”
“You know Wonhui wasn’t just talking nonsense, right? Honestly, I’ve felt a little uncomfortable since last week. But I still shouldn’t have been rude to you…”
“Ah, that? I figured it was something like that. You don’t need to apologize. How many people could act completely normal after their secret got spilled?”
“But you didn’t act that way, sunbae. We shared the same secret, yet instead of getting awkward you even helped with the election prep. And I…”
“I spilled mine on purpose. You leaked yours by accident. Plus you accidentally dropped extra info on top of it—of course you’d feel off. Nothing to be sorry about.”
“If you really think that, then… thank you.”
Eunju’s face brightened a little, some of the tension easing. All right, her turn was over. Now it was finally my chance to—
“Ah… the bus is here. Hurry and get on, sunbae.”
“...”
Of course the bus arrived at the worst possible moment. Total disaster. If it was crowded we’d have to sit apart, and I’d lose the chance all over again.
Whoosh~
Miraculously the bus was nearly empty. Eunju claimed the window seat first; I dropped straight into the one beside her.
“Ahem…”
“...?”
She looked a little startled and scooted her hips away just far enough to keep an uncomfortable distance. Come on—sitting separately when you’re traveling together is just weird, isn’t it?
“Eunju? I’ve been trying to say—”
“You’d only run a campaign once before, right?”
She was unusually talkative today. But I was the one who needed to give a promise and then snatch it back, so I was in no position to rush her. I’d listen first.
“Where’s this coming from all of a sudden?”
“I know you were student council president. But… for someone who’d only done it once, you seemed way too experienced.”
“Ah, that? I was vice president and then president, so at least twice. Plus before that I had a friend who was addicted to running for office, so every year it was basically an annual event for me.”
“Addicted… to running?”
Yu Minjeong, younger sister of Yu Jiyeon. The girl was so hungry for titles that it was harder to find an election she hadn’t entered—class president all the way up to student council. Just because I lived next door, I got dragged into free labor every single year. Minjeong herself never won even once.
“I guess all that experience made my own campaigns run a lot smoother. Learning through failure, you know?”
“I see… Was that friend a girl, by any chance?”
“Yeah.”
I’d never seen Minjeong naked, but she was probably a girl, yeah. The second she heard the answer, Eunju let out a little “heh” of laughter.
“What’s so funny?”
“Ah, sorry. I think I know why that friend of yours kept running every year.”
“You’ve never even met her—how would you know?”
“Just a feeling. Maybe… she liked you, sunbae? So she didn’t actually want to be class president or student council president—she just wanted an excuse to spend time with you. You never noticed, did you?”
Pure high-school-girl imagination at its finest. But she needed a little reality check before the world chewed her up.
“No, I knew.”
“I figured. You’re definitely the dense ty—wait, you knew?”
“Yeah.”
The answer she expected never came, and Eunju looked properly flustered. Did she really think I’d been that oblivious?
Sure, these days I was a thrice-divorced man whose brain had basically turned into fish paste, but there was a time I’d been a sharp teenage guy too. I’d known exactly how Minjeong looked at me. More accurately, she had zero talent for hiding it, so missing the signs would have been harder.
“You knew and still went along with it? Did you like her too, sunbae?”
“No. I liked her older sister.”
“...”
Childhood innocence destroyed in record time. Eunju’s mouth fell slightly open and she just froze.
“Don’t get the wrong idea. I wasn’t stringing her along or anything. It was just… the moment I rejected her, I was afraid we’d drift apart. And I still wanted to stay friends with Minjeong.”
“I… I understand. It’s not like both people’s feelings always have to match, right?”
Just like me and Yu Jiyeon? So similar that Harin could mistake me for her dad, yet in the end it had been my brother, not me.
“But if it were me, I think it would’ve been really hard. Just knowing the person you like likes someone else is already a lot… and if that someone else happens to be your own family…”
“...”
That was me. Maybe the wound Yu Jiyeon left on me was the exact same size as the one I’d left on Minjeong.
The person you love being drawn not to you, but to a blood relative you can never cut away. That particular misery is something no one who’s never lived it can even pretend to understand.
But Minjeong and I hadn’t been completely identical cases. Because in the end, I never got to be with Yu Jiyeon. So who knows? Maybe the second Minjeong discovered Jiyeon’s pregnancy test, she felt the tiniest bit of relief.
I’ve never met anyone whose layers of misfortune could match mine. Even Eunju, who’d been so disappointed by her family that she hated them to extremes, had at least never lost the person she loved.
There was exactly one person who’d been in the exact same situation as me.
And ridiculously enough, it was Kim Hyeonji—the tragic girl who’d had the person she loved stolen by another member of her own family. She’d decided to keep destroying herself, which was why even today she was buying canned beer in her school blazer. At this point we weren’t just similar; we were identical.
“What… are you thinking about?”
“Hm? Nothing.”
Even more absurd was the fact that, right in the middle of all this, I was thinking about Kim Hyeonji. Had I already forgotten why I’d shoved myself into a pack of high-school girls, drawn up election strategies, and even followed one of them to her academy?
“Ah, right—Eunju. Actually, I’ve been trying to say since earlier—”
“Ah… I have to get off here.”
“...”
I lost the chance again. The real problem was that the second she walked into the academy, I’d have zero excuse to follow her.
Nothing for it. I’d just have to wait until she finished.