Chapter 117

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Translator: penny

Chapter: 117

Chapter Title: The Mayor and Plagiarism

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"Nero. Do you know what the most contemptible type of human in the world is?"

Deeply sunk into the chair in the mayor's office, I tossed a philosophical question toward the fluffy lump sitting obediently on the desk.

Meow.

Of course, no proper answer came back. It wouldn't. It's a cat. If it did answer, that would be terrifying in its own right.

I began a one-man show, asking and answering myself.

"It's the copycat. The imitator. The faker. The plagiarist. Parasites who leech off someone else's creativity. Shameless thieves with not a speck of originality, stealing the original creator's blood and sweat to fatten their own bellies. That guy, Seoul's deputy mayor Kim Jin-su!!"

I gestured with my chin toward the window.

An empty plaza.

Just a few days ago, that space had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠been divided between taegukgi flags and candles. Now, only a gloomy wind rolled through it.

All that remained was the empty plaza and the wound of betrayal etched deep in my heart.

My precious impeachment base, the core driving force of my Brutus Project—the elders—had all gone up to Seoul.

"Plagiarism, you see, Nero, comes in three types. First: homage born of admiration. When you love the original so much that you unconsciously start resembling it. That's cute. Forgivable."

Mrr.

"Second: accidental plagiarism due to lack of skill. When a brilliant idea pops into your head, but it turns out you saw it somewhere before. That can happen. Humans are forgetful creatures, after all."

Mrrrow.

"But, but listen, Nero. The third kind: the malicious, shameless theft committed by guys like that Kim Jin-su! That's unforgivable! Mocking the original, devaluing it, even trying to steal its fans—this impudent act! It's an insult to art! Murder of the creator!"

Fuming with rage, I lifted Nero up. Nero went limp and stared blankly at me.

"Kim Jin-su! You tumor on Seoul! How dare you copy my Brutus Project! My great work of art?!"

I shook Nero side to side. His body jiggled like jelly.

"Not content with just plagiarizing, he throws money at it to make an upgraded version! It's like stealing the Mona Lisa, drawing eyebrows on it, and calling it 'Mona Lisa Remastered'! This horrific copycat!"

Grrrowl.

Nero made an ambiguous sound—unclear if he was pleased or just annoyed by my handling.

"Think about it! If some animal showed up fluffier than you, softer than you, cuter than you, hogging all the love—what would you do? You couldn't forgive it, right? That's exactly how I feel!"

Mrr?

Suddenly, Nero slipped from my hands.

And stared straight at me. His expression was unmistakably displeased, unlike his usual self.

"Huh? What's wrong, Nero?"

Nyaa nyaa nyaa!

Nero started swiping at the air with his front paws in protest.

Wait, no way...

"Nero, are you... mad because of the word 'copycat'?"

Nyaa!

Nero nodded.

"No, it's just a figure of speech... not meant to insult cats..."

Mrrraaack!

Nero's protests grew more intense.

He was claiming that the term 'copycat' itself perpetuated harmful stereotypes against cats, a discriminatory act of speciesist verbal violence.

Since when did cats care about political correctness?

"Okay, okay! I'm sorry! My bad!"

I hurriedly pulled out the emergency churu from the drawer.

"Here, Nero. I messed up. I won't use 'copycat' anymore. Cats never copy. Cats are always original and one-of-a-kind!"

The moment he saw the churu, Nero's puffed-up fur settled down as if by magic.

Nerorong~

As if he'd never snarled, he rubbed his head against my hand, purring sweetly.

Lick lick.

Peaceful churu time.

Then, it hit me.

"Wait... Nero, you..."

Nero glanced up at me slyly. Round eyes gleaming with cunning.

"No way... you were just acting to get churu?"

Mrr.

Nero played innocent and focused back on the churu.

"Playing the cat discrimination card to guilt-trip me into giving you churu?"

Chomp chomp chomp.

Nero licked even more fervently instead of answering.

Grrrowl.

After devouring it, he curled up contentedly on the desk, purring in satisfaction.

As if saying, 'Thanks for the churu, you dumb butler.'

"Ha... what a sly cat."

I chuckled helplessly and stroked his back.

This cat of mine.

His talent for tricking his owner out of treats surpasses any politician.

"Who did you learn this from? Seria? It was Seria, right?"

Oh no, I'd uttered the forbidden name.

Knock knock.

Right on cue, a knock.

Speak of the tiger, and she appears.

But what approached was far more fearsome than any tiger.

The ominous herald arrived without fail today.

Click.

"Mayor."

It was the stern Chief Secretary Seria Park.

I replied indifferently.

"What now? Did Seoul offer the elders a trip to the moon this time?"

"No. Nothing like that."

The door opened, and Seria walked in with her usual blank expression, holding a binder.

"I've just brought the report on your achievements."

"My achievements? Are you mocking me? My precious supporters all crossed to Seoul like the miracle of K-Moses!"

Seria stopped in front of my desk and opened the binder.

"Not entirely. Thanks to you, Mayor, Neo Incheon has become the youngest and most vibrant city in the country."

"What are you talking about?"

I furrowed my brow.

"With all the elders gone, the city looks empty—how is it vibrant?"

Seria ignored me lightly and pointed to a section of the report.

"According to the report, the elderly population in the city has decreased by 30%."

"30% decrease? Hmm."

I stroked my chin thoughtfully.

"Still, that's a lot. Three out of ten left. That's a big hit."

At my analysis, the corner of Seria's mouth twitched upward ever so slightly.

"Mayor."

"What."

"It's not a 30% decrease."

"Then what is it?"

"Only 30% remain."

"......"

"......Huh?"

Wait, hold on.

"Not decreased by 30%, but only 30% left? 70% gone entirely?"

"Yes. 70% reduction."

Kaboom—!

A massive shock exploded in my head like a giant mecha self-destructing.

Not three out of ten left.

Seven out of ten left, and only three remained?

But the shock was fleeting.

"Pfft... Khahaha!"

I burst out laughing.

Yes! This is it!

The youth turned their backs on me because of the 'Brutus Project.'

And 70% of the elders who benefited from that project fled to Seoul.

What does this mean?

I have no one's support anymore!

The youth ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠don't support me!

The elders who would support me are gone!

It's finally here! My era is over!

Approval ratings in freefall.

Express train to impeachment.

I'm free!!

"My approval ratings! Show me my approval ratings right now, Seria! They must have dropped to single digits! Maybe even negative! Hurry!"

"No need to worry, Mayor."

"I'm not worried! I'm excited!"

Seria demonstratively turned on her tablet PC and shoved it in my face.

And I saw it.

The number that made me doubt my eyes.

"......"

Huh?

What?

What did I just see?

Just days ago, it was 47.5%—no, plummeting even lower.

Now 72.3%?

Breaking through the cursed 70% barrier? How can approval ratings exceed 70% in modern democracy??

"Why? How? Howwww?!"

I tore at my hair and screamed.

"The youth called me a traitor! The MIGA fan club all quit! 'Impeach Lee Garam' trended on SNS! So why are ratings up?!"

"Simple logic, Mayor. You overlooked who those 70% of departed elders were."

"Who? My precious supporters?"

"No. They were Neo Incheon's 'liabilities.'"

Seria switched screens.

Analysis data on the departed 70% appeared.

"Welfare drains with zero productivity. In the end, only the vulnerable elders desperate for Seoul's generous benefits left. For them, reasons to go to Seoul far outweighed staying in Neo Incheon."

"Th-then the remaining 30%?"

"Who do you think the remaining 30% are, Mayor?"

Seria asked like a quiz host.

I answered in a trembling voice.

"...True supporters?"

"Wrong."

Seria shot it down.

"The remaining 30% are those who never needed to go to Seoul in the first place."

"They're already wealthy enough. No big deal without the 1.5 million won happiness stipend or omakase lunches. No reason to uproot their lives for a strange city."

"Ah..."

I let out a hollow groan.

In the end, only the poor elders left, and the rich ones stayed.

"As a result, Mayor, you've offloaded Neo Incheon's massive welfare budget burdens onto Seoul without spending a dime. The population pyramid has improved dramatically. Neo Incheon is now truly the 'city of youth' with the highest working-age population ratio in the country."

Astronomical budgets for elderly welfare.

70% gone meant 70% of those costs vanished.

No, even more.

Since the departed were mostly high-need vulnerables and chronic patients, welfare savings might hit 80%, even 90%.

Seria's briefing continued.

A success story briefing, opposite to my intentions.

"With the elders gone, the jobs they held opened up en masse. Youth unemployment is visibly dropping."

"......"

"Game item prices normalized without the elders. Frustrated young gamers are regaining their spark."

"......"

"Empty senior centers and welfare halls will be remodeled into startup spaces and co-working areas for youth. Inquiries are flooding in already."

"Stop..."

"The most dramatic effect is in real estate. Flood of cheap homes from departing elders means youth no longer struggle with high rents."

"Please... stop..."

"Youth are starting to see you as 'one of us' again. They interpret it as a genius strategy: pretending elderly welfare while shipping burdens to Seoul."

It wasn't pretend—it was real!

I covered my ears with both hands.

Seria ignored my desperate gesture and continued, almost gleefully.

"Youth opinion of you has exploded. From 'traitor' to 'master planner.'"

"What plan?! I just... I just...!"

I just didn't want to work.

I just wanted impeachment.

I just wanted freedom.

Of course, I couldn't say that to Seria.

"In effect, Mayor, you sparked generational conflict to purge the high-cost, low-efficiency population structure overnight, then redistributed the freed resources to youth, securing the city's future growth engine. You've saved Neo Incheon once more."

I slumped in my chair, speechless.

The empty mayor's office.

On the desk sat today's newspaper Seria brought, all alone.

Beside the paper was a new promotional pamphlet hastily made by the PR team.

The glossy cover brimmed with young people's bright smiles, bold gothic text mocking me.

[Youth City with Average Age Down 10 Years]

[Future City Tops Nation in Working-Age Ratio]

[Normalized Gold Prices Bring Cheers from Youth—City of Hope]

In the end, it turned out like this again.

Me, Lee Garam.

Eternal slave to success.

Once more.

I succeeded again.