The Rag

I was looking at a photo of a certain rag taken in 2009.

The source was a university department café. 312 members, last post in 2016. It wasn't necessarily because she was a rag, but the account was remarkably well-curated.

Her top was a lace blouse. Brand: Day by Chloe. Price range: roughly 400,000 won in 2009 terms. Her bottoms were black skinny jeans. The jeans themselves were ordinary, but the belt was a Daniel Kors 300,000-won piece. The real showstopper was the shoes.

Nine-centimeter stiletto heels. At the time, they retailed for 800,000 won. Add earrings and a necklace—unless they were gold-plated, each would've cost over 300,000 won. Everything the rag in the photo was wearing added up to over 2 million won. Not today, but in 2009.

If she were a working professional, people would just brush it off.

But what I was looking at now was a university MT group photo. A tacky group shot of 40 college students gathered in a pension courtyard at dawn, left publicly uploaded in an abandoned café. Everyone else wore hoodies, tracksuits, and jeans—except for one rag whose outfit stood out like a sore thumb.

It wasn't just the expensive clothes. Her makeup was flawless. Waved blowout, lip tint, eyeliner. A stark contrast to the students who looked like they hadn't even washed their faces.

Being able to maintain perfect makeup on an MT meant she lived in a state of constant readiness. I already knew this well-prepared rag's name.

Han Chae-kyung.

In 2009, when the photo was taken, she was a junior and a departmental officer. It was true she was wealthy—but not with her own money. It was her husband's. After marrying a businessman, she'd lived a life of luxury ever since… Her ability to become a district councilor before turning thirty, and later get re-elected to serve as Vice Chair of the City Council's first half-term, was absolutely dependent on her husband's backing.

But in her youth, Han Chae-kyung had been an ordinary commoner. I hadn't investigated this separately—she'd boasted about ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it herself in every interview, claiming she'd grown up in a working-class family.

Father: ironworks employee. Mother: occasional side-dish shop part-timer. It would've been hard to afford the look in the photo on convenience store wages alone… Though if she saved meticulously and poured everything into fashion, maybe it was possible.

Still too early to make a definitive claim, so I began running a full investigation loop. Han Chae-kyung's youth. Specifically, tracing the traces she left between 2007 and 2010—her college years—piecing together what hadn't been erased or had been left to rot indefinitely.

That alone was enough to glimpse her glamorous college days. Her serving at a festival bar wearing 1.5 million won jewelry. Photos of her enjoying high-end wine with friends at a platter estimated to cost at least 100,000 won… A designer bag lay casually on the table in the photo. Probably taken to show off the bag.

I paused while aimlessly scrolling through a selfie Han Chae-kyung had taken with a friend in her senior year. A classic flap bag caught my eye. A luxury item that, even in 2010, cost 3.5 million won as a "pre-owned" piece.

'You bought this with part-time wages?'

Han Chae-kyung's college years were excessively wealthy. And a pattern emerged. In her freshman year, she'd worn expensive sweaters from department stores with nicely done gel nails—wealthy, but not outrageously so. But as she advanced through the years, what she wore grew increasingly expensive. Considering her Partner Count, her pussy probably grew looser during this time too.

Another thing: she had a tendency to be generous with friends. Taking juniors to a lounge bar in Apgujeong and buying them champagne. Renting full villas costing tens of thousands of won per night to hang out with friends. I wasn't just guessing she'd paid for these—old comments left by her friends proved it.

In college, Han Chae-kyung was the sugar mama. Wealth impossible to earn through part-time work. Maybe she'd gotten lucky with investments, or won the lottery. But I suspected something else.

73 partners, 887 times. The suspicion that these obscene numbers might be connected to Han Chae-kyung's suspiciously wealthy college days. Still just a suspicion, but now that I had a lead, confirming it was easy.

Two days later. I accompanied Han Chae-kyung to the opening ceremony of a folk dance competition in Banwon District, her constituency. It was an ordinary event. Three hundred dance club members gathered, the mayor gave a speech, and after the competition, they'd take a group photo and that was it… That's how local events attended by councilors usually went.

"Councilor Han Chae-kyung. After the event, you'll stand next to the mayor and the Annam City Dance Association president."

"Have you finished talking with the organizers?" (73 / 887 / 1 year 6 months ago)

"Yes."

"Good. Thanks for your hard work."

I was in the position of accompanying Han Chae-kyung. You might ask why, since I wasn't even her aide, but that's what the policy team did. Errand boys for councilors without dedicated aides… We handled event accompaniment, personal errands, schedule management, and even processed receipts for meals we'd eaten.

But what was different today was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that I'd volunteered for this assignment. I could've passed it to Kim So-young (31 partners) sitting next to me… I could've poked around the periphery and verify things gradually, but why bother? Confirming directly with the person involved was faster.

Starting now.

"Councilor Han Chae-kyung?"

"Hmm?" (73 / 887 / 1 year 6 months ago)

"I understand you graduated from a university in Suwon."

"Yes… Why do you ask?"

"And you said you worked full-time part-time jobs every vacation during your undergraduate years to help with tuition."

Han Chae-kyung stared at me as if asking why I was saying such obvious things. She tried to say something, then avoided my eyes. She smiled awkwardly, careful not to look too stupid. Pretending it was too sensitive a topic to bring up.

Her eyes narrowed slightly—my tactic had worked.

"Section Chief Joo Sung-hyun. Why are you suddenly asking about that?"

"It's… nothing. My apologies."

"You're the one who brought it up first. We're at the event podium—why are you so distracted? It doesn't matter, does it? Stop stalling and get to the point. What's wrong with me working part-time jobs during vacations?"

"Someone reported to me that all your interviews were lies—that you're just cosplaying as a commoner. And."

I paused deliberately mid-sentence. After seeing confusion flicker across Han Chae-kyung's face, I lowered my eyes and forced out the next words.

"How could you have bought a 3.5 million won designer bag working part-time jobs at 4,000 won an hour… They said you did work during college, but it wasn't 'ordinary' part-time work. They were mocking you. They knew I was a direct city council employee when they approached me."

"……."

"I'm just relaying what I heard, so please understand."

I could see Han Chae-kyung's eyes tremble slightly. Simultaneously, her lips pressed thin. She was trying hard to maintain composure.

"When? Who?"

"A week ago, when you visited the Banwon Art Festival. While you councilors were attending the event, I was just waiting outside… A woman suddenly came up acting friendly and struck up a conversation. She claimed to know you, Councilor ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Han Chae-kyung."

"Describe what she looked like. As you saw her."

"Well. She appeared to be around your age. And whether it's true or not, she also claimed to be an alumna of yours."

"Ha…"

Of course, it was all a lie. But not a careless one. Unusual part-time work, a woman of similar age, and an alumna. Deliberately unspecified whether high school or university, senior or junior. This was how you planted landmines.

It could make Han Chae-kyung wonder which bitch had scratched at her past while talking to a low-level civil servant. So far, the reaction had exceeded expectations.

"Section Chief Joo Sung-hyun. Did the woman claiming to be an alumna say anything else…?"

Han Chae-kyung continued, twitching the corner of her mouth. This was the moment.

"Councilor. I can't bring myself to say what I heard out loud."

"What?"

"Rather… please wait a moment."

While gauging her reaction, I pulled out my smartphone. Han Chae-kyung mirrored my movements, showing signs of anxiety—crossing and uncrossing her legs, absentmindedly stroking the chair armrest while forcing a smile. She'd already lost interest in the dance competition.

Meanwhile, I typed a short sentence. Just one line.

You're a whore.

I showed it to Han Chae-kyung for two seconds, then immediately deleted it. Stepping back, I erased the entire message. It was a shame I couldn't see her expression, but I had to protect myself.

I was merely relaying a vile statement I'd overheard from some crazy citizen at the event a week ago. Just a messenger. A bridge.

The one poking at Han Chae-kyung's past was a fictional alumna who didn't actually exist.

'I might be wrong about this.'

But I'd already solidified my suspicion. 73 partners, a college life excessively wealthy for her family's circumstances. Even when she worked as a local newspaper reporter earning 1.8 million won a month, and even during her time at a civic group, Han Chae-kyung lived lavishly.

So my conclusion was: whore. I didn't know her trade or how much she sold her pussy for, but there was a very high probability Han Chae-kyung was a former prostitute.

The only problem was the lack of evidence. That's why I'd created a fictional alumna to test the waters as safely as possible. If she really was a whore, someone among her acquaintances would know.

Fortunately, it didn't seem like I'd misjudged.

"Looks like someone's not in their right mind… Don't you think?" (73 / 887 / 1 year 6 months ago)

Han Chae-kyung asked me, her voice cracking. Frustration and anxiety were crawling up her face in real time. She probably believed she was maintaining composure, but one of her eyes was still trembling. If only I could show her a mirror.

Her vivid reaction gave me certainty.

"Yes. Councilor. I think so too."

Han Chae-kyung wasn't just a rag—she was a former prostitute. Once a whore, always a whore, so she was still one now. There was a whore in the City Council.