Chapter 27
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 27
Chapter Title: The Mayor's Lunch
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Failure is the mother of success.
So then, that means...
How many mothers do I have right now?
A polygamous system utterly unacceptable in modern society. No, polygamy for mothers?
I don't even know what to call it.
Of course, the real issue isn't some ethical dilemma.
To begin with, I've never wanted success. Not even once.
All I desire is failure, failure, and more failure.
Which means I ought to become the father of failure.
The Abraham of failure. The Dangun grandfather of failure. Whatever works.
I need to birth failure after failure after failure until this city is overrun with a massive family of flops.
Build a kingdom of failure and sit upon its throne, watching everything crumble around me.
That is my one true wish.
But why...
Why do all my beloved failures that I birthed get adopted into the family of success the moment they're born?
It's not even adoption. It's outright theft. Kidnapping and human trafficking.
They strip me of parental rights without my consent.
Give them back. Give me back my precious failures!
"Huuuuh..."
I flopped face-first onto the mahogany desk. The solid wood against my cheek felt oddly good.
The mental shock is too much. This qualifies as an industrial accident.
Who knew being mayor was this bad for your mental health?
I should just stay like this until lunchtime. No, until quitting time. No, until my next life.
Yeah. That's the plan.
I was just about to drift into the deep slumber of escapism when...
Creeeak.
The office door opened with a quiet noise. I didn't need to look up to know who it was.
Only one person could enter this sanctuary without knocking.
I didn't budge an inch.
Right now, I wasn't Mayor Lee Garam. I was part of the desk. An exquisite wood-grain ornament.
Click-clack. Click-clack.
Heeled footsteps approached.
"......"
The footsteps stopped in front of my desk.
A sharp gaze pierced the top of my head.
I held my breath, playing dead.
Please, just walk past. Pretend no one's here.
"Are you trying to merge with the desk? I haven't been informed that Mayor has the superpower to fuse with furniture."
An icy voice drilled into my ears.
"If you have such an ability, you should have told me in advance. It would be troublesome if I placed important documents on the mayor-turned-furniture or accidentally spilled coffee on you."
Seria Park. My competent, beautiful, and ruthless secretary.
......Ignore her.
I'm furniture. Furniture doesn't talk.
"If you're planning to fuse with the chair, let me know ahead of time. I'd be happy to sit on you. As mayor, you'd make for a fairly comfortable seat."
Seria, elegantly crossing her legs clad in black stockings.
And beneath her, me as a chair.
No no no.
What am I even thinking!
Get it together, Lee Garam!
"......Cut it out."
A hoarse voice burst out of me.
"Oh, you're awake. The furniture fusion must still be in progress. Good thing. We nearly lost a valuable city asset."
"Good thing my ass! I was just tired and resting my head for a very brief moment. A really brief moment!"
I shot upright and yelled.
Damn it, I got dragged into her pace again.
"Tired, you say."
Seria stared straight at my face without batting an eye.
Her cold turquoise eyes seemed to pierce right to the bottom of my soul, so I averted my gaze.
"That's not like the man who watched Miss Polaris's live stream until 3 a.m. last night. Whatever happened to that passion spamming 'Heh heh, our Sia is doing great, show us more!' in chat?"
"H-how do you know about that?!"
My heart plummeted.
"All of the mayor's online activity is monitored 24/7 by the information security team. Under my authority, of course."
Seria said it as if it were the most natural thing.
The concept of privacy invasion apparently didn't exist in her dictionary.
Then again, discussing privacy with this woman is as foolish as selling a flyswatter to a frog.
She nodded toward the mountain of documents piled on my desk.
"If you have time for such idle nonsense, it would be far more productive to process those documents. Each of your successful decisions shapes Neo Incheon's successful future."
Success.
The word exploded like a landmine in my ear.
"D-don't you dare say that word!"
I yelled before I knew it, pointing a trembling finger at Seria.
"Success is banned from now on in my presence! It's a forbidden word!"
"Oh? A forbidden word, is it."
A faint, very faint smile played on Seria's lips.
Damn. That expression. It's the look of a scientist tossing a new toy to a lab rat.
"Success. Success. Success. For successful city administration, we need the signature of our successful mayor. Here, sign this policy report for success first."
"You...!"
"Is there a problem? I only wish for your success. Helping a successful leader govern successfully—isn't that the successful way for a secretary to perform her duties? This is the virtuous cycle of success. Don't you want to succeed?"
"Gaaah!"
The mayor's office is an orphanage for success.
Forcing me to raise successes I didn't even birth.
Is there truly no escape from this suffocating yoke of success?
Anyway, lunchtime.
Before the universal truth that all living beings—human or otherwise—must replenish energy to survive, the entity known as Lee Garam is utterly powerless.
In the end, driven by survival instinct and my capable secretary's guidance, I sat in a private room at a high-end Korean restaurant.
It was quiet.
Just me and Seria in the room.
The neat lacquered table was still empty.
Only the heavy silence between us filled the air.
Suddenly, very suddenly, a thought crossed my mind.
Why am I eating lunch alone with Seria again today?
I racked my brain. It's been three months since I possessed this damned mayor.
At first, it wasn't like this.
I vaguely remember boisterous meals with executives whose faces and names are blurry now—finance directors, public affairs officers, that sort.
They forced laughs at my jokes, and I inwardly cursed their over-the-top flattery.
But at some point...
My lunch partner became fixed on one person: always, invariably, inevitably, fatefully—Seria.
What about the other staff? Where did they all go?
Is city hall so swamped that no one has time for lunch with the mayor? Is Neo Incheon City Hall a black company drowning in overwork?
Or...
Maybe...
They just don't want to eat with me?
Have I become such an unappetizing boss?
"......"
That makes sense. A very plausible hypothesis.
Think about the antics I've pulled these past three months.
Planning operations based on horoscopes, suddenly declaring an audit on the Hero Association, spewing nonsense on talk shows. No normal person would want to share a meal with a boss like that.
It'd ruin their appetite. They'd forget if food was going in their mouth or nose.
I see.
So that's how it is.
Everyone's been avoiding me.
I've become the most unappetizing person at Neo Incheon City Hall, Public Enemy No. 1 whom no one wants to eat with.
"Kuh."
A laugh escaped me unbidden.
"Kuh, keh, kehahahaha!"
This is it. This is exactly the result I've always wanted.
Of course, I haven't reached my ultimate goal of impeachment yet. But this is a clear sign of success. A small victory. A meaningful first step toward grand failure.
Well done, Lee Garam! Bravo, Lee Garam!
"What's so amusing?"
A cold voice sliced through my delightful delusions.
"That incomprehensible laugh of yours isn't a suitable appetizer. It kills the appetite of those around you."
"That's exactly it!"
I slapped my knee.
"I've decided to become an unappetizing mayor! Seria, do you know what rice really is?!"
"Just a lump of carbohydrates, isn't it?"
"No! Absolutely not!"
I wagged my finger, correcting her.
"To Koreans, rice isn't just food. It's relationships, communication, sometimes power itself, even life! 'Let's grab a bite sometime' isn't a mere promise—it's tacit confirmation of your current bond. 'You eating okay?' is the ultimate expression of care. And 'your rice bowl's getting cut' means death!"
I got more excited, raising my voice.
"In that sense! No one eating with me anymore means all relationships, all communication, all affection with me have been severed! It's a declaration of social death! I've finally isolated myself! Perfectly! Hahaha!"
"......"
Seria stared at me silently.
After a moment, she elegantly lifted her teacup, took a sip, and spoke.
"So, how will you meet your social death today? How about the full-course mountain and sea delicacies? Quite a formal choice for a last meal."
"Hmm, that's a bit pricey."
"Don't worry, the mayor's corporate card still has its rice bowl intact."
A short while later.
The sliding door slid open, and a staff member in neat hanbok began placing dishes on the table.
Nine-compartment platters of colorful banchan, glistening braised short ribs, abalone roast topped with gold leaf.
"See, Mayor."
Seria pointed with her chopsticks to the millet pancake in the center of the platter.
"That's you."
"Why am I that flour crumb?"
"An existence with no taste or personality of its own, merely accepting the vibrant ingredients around it. But without that millet pancake, this nine-section platter isn't complete. It's the center that binds the other ingredients into harmony. That's your role."
"......"
That sounds plausible?
No, don't fall for it. Everything this woman says is advanced rhetoric designed to toy with me.
"I'm not some spineless millet pancake! I'm more like that mustard sauce over there! The heretic that destroys all harmony with its sharp bite! The one thing that can flip this whole table!"
"Delusions of grandeur. You're not spicy enough to be mustard sauce. Pickled radish at best."
"Don't underestimate me!"
We engaged in the most childish food debate imaginable.
Seria compared me to every bland, featureless ingredient, while I thrashed about trying to claim I was some spicy, destructive sauce or spice.
By the time we finished, the table was overflowing with delicacies.
Suddenly, the whole situation struck me as ridiculous.
A villain mayor scheming to escape, toyed with by his sharp-witted female secretary.
Arguing over whether I'm a millet pancake or mustard sauce in a top-tier Korean restaurant.
How peaceful and pathetic is this scene?
I picked up a piece of abalone roast with my chopsticks and popped it in my mouth. The chewy texture and sweet-salty glaze spread across my tongue.
Delicious.
Damn, it's too good.
Eating this makes my will to run away weaken.
But no matter how delicious the food, no matter how peaceful the routine...
It's all a trap. Just the calm before the storm.
'Get a grip, Lee Garam.'
I scolded myself inwardly.
'The moment you let your guard down in this comfort, you're done for.'
Alright. Lee Garam enlightenment mode.
No sweet temptation can shake me.
Time to plan the next impeachment project soon.
...Of course, after just one more piece of braised short ribs.