Chapter 126

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Translator: penny

Chapter: 126

Chapter Title: The Mayor's Farming

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Another success.

Why do I always succeed?

I want to fail.

I want to get impeached.

Why won't the world just leave me alone?

I'm the mayor. The mayor of Neo Incheon.

Citizen approval rating over 60%, charging toward 70%.

And everything I do turns into a massive hit.

Even personally wiping out a villain organization—a crazy mayor.

That's the evaluation of me.

No. I'm not that kind of person.

I'm just an ordinary citizen who wants to run away.

My dream is simple.

A nameless little island in the South Pacific. Dazzling white sands and emerald seas.

Build a small cabin there, lie in a hammock with Nero all day listening to the waves, sipping cocktails.

When the sun sets, casually cast a fishing line. If lucky, catch dinner; if not, buy premium sashimi with slush funds.

No responsibilities, no paperwork, no villains, no heroes, no pretty but scary secretary—just me and my laziness in paradise on earth.

That's my utopia. My Shangri-La. My El Dorado.

But reality is a cesspool.

Before me stretches not the South Pacific, but the Pacific of paperwork. Endless waves of documents crashing in for approval.

Process as many as yesterday, and twice as many pile up tomorrow.

Eternal hell of desk work.

Ah, my head hurts.

And that sticky, sweet air from yesterday.

"What are we?"

That question won't leave my ears. Sugar Girl's dangerous gaze burned into my brain.

I barely dodged the crisis with the absurd excuse of bread dough, but that was just a temporary fix.

Once it ferments and bakes, I might get pulled straight from the oven into her mouth.

Don't think about it. Don't think.

Times like this call for a mood changer.

Right. If I can't go to the South Pacific, why not create something South Pacific-ish right here?

Vicarious satisfaction.

"Yes, that's it!"

I jumped up from my seat.

Left the mayor's office and headed to the walking path behind city hall.

After wandering the paths for a while, I found an abandoned flower bed overgrown with weeds, ignored by everyone.

"Perfect."

My little South Pacific. My playtime paradise.

Operation commence.

First, tools. Destination: basement level 2, city hall facilities management warehouse.

Locks mean nothing before the mayor's authority.

I boldly opened the door with the master key and stepped inside. Dusty shelves crammed with junk.

Hoe, shovel, watering can.

And in that corner... farmer overalls, boots, straw hat!

Probably props from some "urban farming experience" publicity event, tossed aside.

Fully geared up, I sneaked back to the flower bed.

This is my domain now. Lee Garam Farm.

I solemnly adjusted my straw hat and gripped the hoe.

"Hup!"

With a shout, I slammed it into the ground.

Thud!

The hoe sank into the hard-packed soil with a dull sound.

The recoil shot straight up my fragile wrist and back.

"Kek!"

Just one swing.

My wrist already ached, back stiffening.

One, two, three.

Less than three minutes, and I was gasping, arms trembling, back screaming.

"Hah... hah... This is tough..."

This isn't for me. Farming and I don't mix.

I tossed the hoe and collapsed on the ground.

What now? Call in Human Tractor Captain Kang Jiyeong?

Then, my eyes met Nero's, who had been watching from the side.

"Nero."

Meow?

I stroked Nero's back and whispered in the world's gentlest voice.

"You like digging dirt, right? I heard cats love pawing at soil."

Meooow.

A negative reply, but I didn't give up.

"Could you plow that patch over there? I'll give you churu."

Nero's eyes sparkled.

Capitalism wins. Nothing money—or treats—can't buy.

The next moment.

Ne-rooong—

Nero, enlarged to a meter tall.

Swish. Scratch. Swoosh.

The cat bounded around the plot, digging furiously.

Soft sounds as soil was churned.

Hard ground split like tofu under its claws.

Weeds yanked out without a chance to scream.

Nero rolled in the dirt making furrows, packed soil with its tail, leveled ridges.

10 minutes.

In just 10 minutes, wasteland became a perfect vegetable patch.

"You're the best, Nero!"

I hoisted Nero up in cheers.

"Yes, labor must be this efficient. Indeed."

My ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠cat, after all.

A tractor in cat form.

Cat-tractor.

"Mayor."

A cold voice from behind.

I knew who without turning. Only one owner of that voice.

"What are you doing here?"

Seria Park.

Arms crossed, staring down at me like a pest.

I casually adjusted my straw hat.

"Can't you tell? Urban greening project. Leading by example, tending a vegetable garden. Becoming one with the soil on the front lines of the Green New Deal."

"Leading by example? Looks to me like you're forcing labor on the official mascot."

"Labor? Harsh words! This is mutual talent donation by consent! Nero loves playing in dirt! Right, Nero?"

Meow!

Nero bellowed affirmatively, tail swishing.

Seria's eyebrow twitched faintly.

"And that shabby outfit? Stolen from the warehouse?"

"Stolen? What crime is it for the mayor to use city property? This is legitimate official duty!"

"And the result of official duty is a weekend farm? Better to approve one more backlogged document for Neo Incheon's progress."

"Nonsense! This little plot opens the era of food self-sufficiency for Neo Incheon! History will remember me: 'Lee Garam, he was a farmer!'"

Seria sighed deeply, laced with contempt and pity.

"So, what great first step do you plan to plant?"

Oh no. Seeds.

Forgot the most important part.

Plowed the field but nothing to plant. Boiled water but no ramen.

"...Gotta buy some."

I mumbled, standing up.

Ignoring Seria's piercing gaze, I left city hall in full farmer garb.

Destination: nearby traditional market. Seeds should be easy to find.

At the entrance, a blaring megaphone assaulted my ears.

"Save Mother Earth!"

"Humans are Earth's cancer!"

"Cities to forests! Civilization to nature!"

People with pickets chanting slogans.

Green hoods and robes. Zealot eyes.

'Gaia Circle.' Extremist eco-group from the original story.

Eco-terrorists who want to destroy all man-made structures and revert Earth to primitive state.

But at their protest booth corner, I spotted what I needed.

"...Free is free."

Free.

Magic word. Even CEOs line up for free. A small fry like me can't resist.

I adjusted my mask and approached cautiously.

The seller: woman in green robe accentuating ample bosom. Benevolent smile, but eyes not smiling.

"Oh, you radiate the earth's energy. What seeds do you seek?"

"Uh, just... something easy to grow. Anything."

"Hehe. Mother Earth discriminates against no life."

She pulled a packet of colorful bean-like seeds from a wooden box and handed it over.

"Mother Earth will bless you."

With a meaningful smile.

I shook off the ominous feeling and hurried away with the seeds.

Back at the plot.

I carefully planted the seeds in Nero's perfectly plowed bed.

Then watered them lightly with the watering can.

Right then.

Rumble—

The soil over the seeds trembled faintly, then a light green sprout popped up.

"...Huh?"

I rubbed my eyes.

Not a hallucination. The sprout was growing in real time before me.

Stem extending, leaves unfurling.

In 30 minutes, at least 30 cm tall.

Next morning, back at the plot, the vines had exceeded a meter.

Beanstalk vines twisting into pillars without supports, like a DNA double helix spiraling skyward.

Stems glowing red, yellow, blue, purple—rainbow hues.

"Wha... what? Jack and the Beanstalk? Or GMOs?"

I gawked at the bizarre plant.

Then Nero approached, pawed a protruding pod, knocking it down.

Crunch crunch—

And munched it deliciously.

"Hey, if that gives you tummy ache, don't blame me."

Meow! Meeeow—!

Ecstatic yowl.

If Nero loves it that much, probably not poisonous.

Farming was harder than I thought.

No, "than I thought" doesn't fit.

Just hard. Overwhelmingly. Mercilessly.

Every morning: head to plot. Water.

Every lunch after: head to plot. Weed.

Every evening before leaving: head to plot. Bug hunt.

Water, weed, bugs. Infinite loop.

In this loop, I realized:

A farmer's greatness is just endurance for this grueling repetition.

Respect. Truly. So I can't do it. Not great, no patience.

First few days were novel, fun.

Sprouts right after planting, bizarre plant shooting up daily—fascinating.

Miracle ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of life. Joy of creation. Grand words flitted through my mind.

But that's where it ended.

Now bored. Honestly, bored after 3 minutes of hoeing day one.

Playtime for vicarious thrills became another shackling labor.

"Seriaaaa! No one to take over this?"

"No."

Glancing back: Seria under parasol, sipping iced Americano, observing me.

"You started it yourself. See it through."

"Responsibility? I'm genetically distant from that word! Mendel would agree!"

"Not a brag."

Want to quit.

Escape this damn farming.

But those rainbow beanstalks towering over my height?

Can't abandon them, uprooting is more labor.

I clutched my head.

I started it, but hate cleaning up.

Textbook irresponsible guy.

Any way to offload these annoying plants?

Lounging on mayor's office sofa, mindlessly scrolling news on smartphone.

Food spots, celeb scandals, humor boards... Perfect brain drain: stimulating junk info.

Then, one article caught my eye.

Article simple.

Local gov't, rising quits, made staff plant name-tagged trees to foster loyalty.

Of course, backlash galore.

Plant a tree, stop quitting? Just more work.

Idiots.

...Huh?

I bolted upright.

Idiots?

No. Geniuses!

This is it.

The solution I sought!

Dump plant maintenance on staff.

I escape labor, gain resentment, tank reputation.

Heh. Haha! Genius me!

Not just offload—idea to trash my image too!

I drafted the plan immediately.

'MZ Generation Turnover Reduction via Attachment Plant Program'.

Perfect name. Boomer bait: trendy words mixed sentimentally.

Content ruthless.

1. Assign 1 plant per employee city-wide. Divvy ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠plots by department. No exceptions.

2. Attach name tags, mandate growth logs. Slackers hit performance reviews.

3. Crucial: Transfer ownership to employee personally.

Even 'plant care responsibility' pledge signed.

Meaning: Lifetime responsibility for your plant.

Perfect.

Staff outrage to the heavens, media blasts me as 'modern slave lord'.

Grinning, I issued the memo to all departments.

Days later.

Strolling halls, gauging reactions.

Expected: angry whispers, resentful glares, open curses.

But weird.

"Oh? Mayor! Hello!"

"Mayor! Thanks to you, work's fun these days!"

"Everyone's grateful! Such innovative welfare!"

Every staffer beamed greetings.

Fun? Work? Those words together?

My ears broken? Or they all crazy?

Something's off. Intensely off.

Doubted my hearing.

Rushed to back plot.

Expected: cursing staff begrudgingly watering, or despair at wilted plants...

But the scene was 180 degrees opposite.

"Oh, the leaves look so glossy today?"

"Director! My baby's already podding!"

"Kim, your plant's color is gorgeous. Secret?"

"Well... I play classical music every morning."

Plot buzzing with warmth.

Staff doting on name-tagged plants, bragging like proud parents.

Some cooed at plants, others fanned with portable fans.

...Huh?

What?

Why?

Why do they like it? Why thank me?

What did I do wrong? Contracts too soft?

Forced labor? Lifetime slave contract even after quitting?

Neo Incheon civil servants all psycho plant obsessives?

Or Gaia Circle secretly took over?

I fled to the office.

Incomprehensible? Run first.

Back in office, flopped on sofa.

"What the hell! Why do they like it! That's exploitation! Slave contracts!"

Seria eyed me pitifully.

"Mayor."

"What!"

"You really didn't know what those plants are and went ahead?"

"What? What are they? Just weird bean plants I picked up! Radiation beans or something?"

Seria sighed long and deep.

"Those are 'Chroma Beans,' ultra-rare plants."

"Chroma... what?"

"Grown long enough, stems and pods develop colors. Refine them into top-tier enhancers for superhumans. Or key ingredient in special recovery ointments."

Explanation continued.

"Problem: Growth conditions so finicky, artificial cultivation near impossible. Only wild in extreme environments, tiny odds. How did you grow them in an abandoned bed?"

I dunno. Really. Just planted, grew.

"Wait."

I cut her off. Key point elsewhere.

"So, these plants... expensive?"

"Yes."

Seria deadpanned.

"Grown right, millions per vine. Premiums fetch hundreds of millions."

"Hundreds of... millions?"

Seria tapped tablet, showed data.

I doubted my eyes.

"Th-this... how much?"

"'Growing retirement funds.' You gave staff stock options as bean vines. Of course they tend diligently."

Stock options.

Retirement funds.

Ah.

That's why they were thrilled. Why they thanked me.

Media splashed praise headlines today too.

Even Gaia Circle issued a statement.

Terror group endorses me, halts terror.

Does this make sense?

Not this.

Not this!

Injustice near tears.

Then.

Nero hopped onto the desk.

Mouth clutching iridescent purple pod.

"Hey! That's...!"

Some poor staffer's retirement fund.

Nom nom. Crunch. Chomp.

Nero ignored me, blissfully devouring.

Meow meow.

"You grew it, so you eat it?"

Mew—

I poked Nero's bloated belly, stuffed with staff dreams.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Fine. You're happy, that's something.

At least one of us is.