Chapter 35

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Translator: penny

Chapter: 35

Chapter Title: The Mayor and the Market

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 It was morning.

The existence hated by every office worker in the world.

Especially a morning when his soul was still ragged from the aftermath of success born from the sweet hell called Insimdang.

"Mayor, you have a livelihood inspection scheduled for today."

And the herald of destruction shattering the morning's peace.

As always, my excessively competent—bordering on problematic—secretary Seria had arrived with a new task.

Livelihood inspection.

Four letters that raised blood pressure just hearing them. The annual ritual politicians haunted like ghosts during election season. That performance of hypocrisy and deception.

"I'm not going. I can't go. I literally can't."

I declared firmly while sprawled on the sofa.

"I'm in a state of mental and physical exhaustion right now. Didn't you see the explosive success of the Insimdang project? Completing that great task drained all my mental energy and stamina. Absolute rest. Complete recovery. That's the only duty I owe to Neo Incheon's future right now."

Of course, in reality, it wasn't the success of Insimdang that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠exhausted me—it was succeeding at it.

"Today's inspection site is Shinpo International Market. Arrive at 10, greet the merchants' association president, tour key shops while filming promo materials. And lunch today will be at a restaurant inside the market."

"Are you not hearing me?"

"Wrap up around 1 p.m. and return to city hall. It'll take about three hours total. Three local broadcasters and two newspaper reporters will be tagging along for coverage."

Seria recited today's schedule without batting an eye.

The mayor goes to the market...

Mayor (). Symbol of power and responsibility. But to me, just the name of a prison I needed to escape.

Market (). A place brimming with the lives and energy of the common folk. But to me, a stage of hypocrisy I had to endure today.

What a miserable play on words.

"I'm worshipped as the god of marketing, and I've exhausted all my energy for it. Like after creating heaven and earth, I need rest too. Even gods have days off. You gonna stop a god from resting, you mere secretary?"

"If you really were a god, Mayor, you could strike me with lightning. But right now, you're just wriggling like a pupa on the sofa."

Her turquoise eyes turned toward me.

Not just a gaze—it was an X-ray. Piercing through every shallow trick and laziness of mine without mercy.

"Let's go. The PR team has been waiting downstairs for an hour. To capture your 'down-to-earth' charm on camera. Like you sweating while eating tteokbokki, for example."

"Do I have to go? Can't we just snap a few photos and distribute a press release? Tech's advanced these days. Deepfakes or Photoshop..."

"Mayor."

Seria called my title. But her voice carried the chill of Alaska.

"If you don't want to walk, I can carry you princess-style right to the middle of the market. You know which would better serve your dignity without me explaining, right?"

She wasn't smiling. Meaning no joke.

In the end, I dragged myself up. What could I do against this devil of a secretary?

What is the virtue of a politician?

A heart for the people? Vision for the nation? Incorruptible morality?

No, no, all wrong.

The most important virtue ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of a politician is acting skill.

Method acting perfect enough to fool the audience (voters).

Like me right now.

"Mayor! Over here!"

"Lee Garam! Lee Garam! Lee Garam!"

A barrage of flashes scorched my retinas, and the crowd's cheers threatened to burst my eardrums.

In the midst of this noise and light, I flashed the kindest, most benevolent, most trustworthy smile.

Lips curved precisely 15 degrees.

Eyes softly crescent-shaped.

Hand waving naturally.

Perfect. Lee Garam. You're a natural-born actor.

"Mayor! One word on your thoughts about the livelihood inspection!"

"Haha, livelihood inspection? That's too grand."

I raised one hand to quiet the clamor, putting on a humble voice.

"I just wanted to hear the voices of our citizens. Not a mayor stuck behind a desk with papers, but one who laughs and suffers alongside you all."

Of course, total lies.

What I really wanted to check wasn't livelihoods—it was my life.

My life of escaping this suffocating yoke of success and returning to ordinary citizenship.

"For all of you here! For Neo Incheon's economy! I will! Revive it! No matter what!"

Waaaaah!

The crowd went wild. Applauding my empty promises with genuine enthusiasm.

Of course, my true feelings boiled down to one sentence.

'I want to go home.'

"Oh my, Mayor! You're ten times handsomer in person than on TV!"

A fruit vendor auntie grabbed my hand and shouted. Her hand was sticky with fruit juice. I forced a smile and gripped back.

"Haha, no. You're the real beauty, ma'am. Plump and ripe like these apples..."

"Listen to him! Here, try one! On the house!"

She shoved the biggest, reddest apple into my hand. No time to refuse.

Crunch.

Next, the side dish stall.

"Mayor! Try our stir-fried anchovies! Packed with walnuts—good for the brain!"

"Ah, sure..."

I took the anchovies she scooped with her hand and ate.

Salty. Incredibly salty.

I barely kept my brow from furrowing.

"Ugh! True K-side dish flavor! A real rice thief!"

The truth. A rice thief stealing my lifespan via sodium overdose.

Next, the fish stall.

"Look here! Fresh catches just in today!"

"Mayor! Check this squid! Full of vigor!"

"Handsome young man, all tall and proper! Revive our economy!"

"Yes! Trust in this Lee Garam!"

I flashed a thumbs-up with more hot air.

Right then, a forearm-thick catfish in the nearby tank flopped, splashing water. A fishy stench hit my nose.

"......"

And so, I tossed out soulless checks while shaking hands, patting kids' heads, and massaging grannies' shoulders.

Camera flashes exploded nonstop. My facial muscles were on the verge of cramping.

This wasn't it. Not the image I wanted.

I needed to show an arrogant, authoritative mayor.

One who didn't give a damn about commoners.

'Hey, keep your filthy hands off!' swatting away handshakes. 'I don't touch unhygienic slop like this' turning away.

But my body remembered the habits of my commoner days.

You don't refuse food from elders. Politeness etched into my bones held me back.

The result? Me now, hands full of snacks like a clueless grandson visiting the countryside for the holidays.

"Mayor, this way."

A saving voice. She'd slipped to my side, parting the crowd like Moses.

Wherever she passed, people made way as if scripted.

After walking through the throng a bit, I spotted a crowd buzzing around one spot.

Lively laughter. Upbeat music.

And at the center: a mustachioed man in a red fez and traditional garb.

Turkish ice cream.

"Ooh, it's Lee Garam!"

Someone shouted.

"Mayor, give it a try!"

The crowd's eyes locked on me. No escaping.

"Mayor, this is part of the livelihood too. A chance to build an image friendly to multicultural exchange."

Seria gave my back a slight push. Pressure equal to a hydraulic press.

I approached the ice cream stall reluctantly.

"Hey, Mister Mayor, eat ice cream!"

The mustached man greeted me in awkward Korean. He scooped chewy ice cream with a long metal spatula and pretended to hand it over.

As I reached for the cone.

Whoosh!

The ice cream spun in midair and returned to his hand.

"Gotta catch it?"

The vendor grinned slyly and offered it again.

This time for sure.

Whoosh!

My hand sliced empty air again. The ice cream vanished behind his back, then reappeared.

"Can't catch it, huh?"

His eyes curved like crescent moons. I stared blankly at his handiwork. Repeated futile grabs.

The crowd burst into laughter. People snapped away at this 'relatable mayor' moment.

But.

Something off.

That face. That infuriating grin. Familiar somehow.

I blankly studied the Turkish man's face.

Exaggerated gestures, jolly smile.

But those eyes. Smiling, yet hollow and empty.

Where have I seen it?

A face I know. What's this familiar dissonance?

Memory fragments reassembled in my head.

An episode from the original work.

A dark warehouse. A man dangling precariously from a rope in midair.

And below, a woman pleading to spare her lover.

"Please... please stop... We're getting married soon..."

"Hehehe, of course! Super simple!"

The fez-wearing clown cackled, waving an iron rod. At its end: an ice cream-shaped remote switch.

The only way to save her lover.

"Gotta catch it?"

The switch grazed the woman's fingertips. Every time her hand neared, it toyed with her and pulled away.

"Can't catch it? That's love for ya."

Time dragged. Her stamina hit the limit. Tears and snot streaking her face, she mustered one last reach.

Grab.

She clutched the switch like a miracle.

"I got it! I got it!"

Squeeze.

She pressed the button.

And...

Snap.

Splat.

The man impaled on jagged rebar. Her scream filled the warehouse.

"Huh? Weird. Broken?"

The pierrot tilted his head, peering at the switch.

"Oh, right. This one's the rope cutter!"

His mad laughter echoed in the dark.

The psychopath killer standing before me now.

Of course, still just an unawakened Turkish ice cream vendor...

In the original, he grew bored when people stopped reacting to his pranks, no one catching his ice cream.

Tired of tame tricks, he sought bigger thrills, hunting victims as a psycho villain.

The maniac who toyed with hostages like ice cream.

Cold sweat trickled down my spine.

So this situation... his villain awakening event?

If I don't react right here, does he lose interest in the world and turn dark?

"Eh, no fun. Just take it."

Lost in thought, standing blankly, the man lost interest and tossed the ice cream over.

Ah.

This was it.

In the original, someone probably reacted blankly like me.

And so he...

I plastered on a soulless smile and took the ice cream. My hand trembled faintly.

"Next, lady?"

"Mayor, time to move to the next spot."

Seria turned to leave.

Wait.

I can't be the only one humiliated.

She might fail too. Unfair if I'm the sole fool.

If the world's most dangerous woman flailed at mere Turkish ice cream...?

Delicious thought.

"Seria."

I called her.

"Yes?"

"You try it too."

"Mayor, time..."

"This is part of the livelihood inspection, right? Citizen interaction matters!"

The Turkish man caught my intent and held up fresh ice cream for Seria.

"Come on, miss, gotta catch?"

Same routine. The pierrot whirled the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠spatula, toying with Seria.

Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.

But Seria didn't budge. Just tracked the ice cream's path expressionlessly.

"How's that? Can't catch it?"

The pierrot smirked triumphantly, yanking it fastest yet from her grasp.

Swoosh.

Seria's hand moved. Incredibly smooth and concise.

An ice cream cone was already in her hand.

The Turk's smug grin froze. His eyes filled with bewilderment.

"Caught it."

"Wha... wha...? You caught it? First ever to catch my ice cream!"