Unboxing Amid Political Fury

"The keys to the house called Korea belong to Koreans." "Not a single penny of taxes should be spent on immigrants." These phrases best capture the essence of the Republican Party, which currently holds half the seats in the National Assembly of the Republic of Korea. With a centrist president now in office, their extreme tendencies have faded somewhat compared to the past. Just ten years ago, they wouldn't hesitate to declare in front of the press that stateless people should be deported immediately, regardless of age. Amid the global financial crisis, Korea's trade balance and other economic indicators held strong, allowing the Republicans to remain the ruling party even after a change in administration. But now, even that's reaching its limit. A butterfly's wingbeat from somewhere has unleashed a typhoon in the National Assembly.

The lawmakers, hurling insults and shouting at each other, decided to take a break to catch their breath.

"Whew, those Republican reps are brutal. Congressman Bae seems like he came ready for war today, huh?"

A young man approached a gray-haired lawmaker who had just washed his hands in the bathroom.

A flicker of annoyance crossed Congressman Bae Seong-jun's eyes, but he shook off his hands and replied indifferently. "Congressman Eom Jun-yong? I don't recall us ever meeting before."

Bae Seong-jun was a three-term Democratic Party lawmaker. He wasn't on the level to chat one-on-one casually with some lucky first-termer who had stumbled into office—it was a polite way of saying buzz off. But Eom Jun-yong just grinned slyly and brushed it off.

"Must hurt like hell getting your hair grabbed after trying to grab someone else's pigtail."

The hottest issue lately was undoubtedly the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠leak of unique magic spells. "Leak" wasn't quite accurate since magic had no nationality to begin with, but in politics, wording mattered more than the literal truth. Once NoName's recruitment by Japan's advanced talent poaching policy became global news, the exodus of talent from Korea became glaringly obvious.

'The Republicans demand blind patriotism from individuals without rewarding achievements—it's only natural this happens.'

'Nationalism's limits are exposed. Wasn't it your draconian laws that forced NoName to live as a stateless person until last year? If the kid hadn't been adopted and grown up, would you have deported her like everyone else?'

That narrative would have been ideal for the Democrats, but unfortunately, the trigger for NoName registering her unique magic in Japan was her encounter with Bae Seong-jun.

'If you'd just spoken properly to the kid back then, this wouldn't have happened. Why come complaining to us?'

The Republicans, finally finding an opening, relentlessly targeted Bae Seong-jun alone.

"So, what's your point?"

"Just venting frustration, sir. Why not just give the kid everything she wants? She even listed it out clearly. Find and punish everyone responsible for covering up the incident. Track Walpurgis's activities in Korea and uncover their goals. What's the point of reviving the special task force? No one's willing to step up because they're all playing it safe."

"You..."

Bae's gaze toward Eom shifted.

"Never planned to go back to being a nobody after your term? Was the task force your goal all along?"

Put me on the special task force. That was the genuine plea from Eom Jun-yong, who ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had won as an independent in Seoul's Gangnam-gu Jeong district—not even on proportional representation. Bae had pegged him as a fluke riding dumb luck, but his assessment began to change by the second.

"Think about it, Congressman Bae. The general election's less than a year away. Everyone knows your position in the party is getting shaky—you need a contingency plan, right?"

The Walpurgis Special Task Force, unattached to the executive, legislative, or judicial branches, was little more than a hollow shell barely revived. Eom's declaration to quit his seat and join it meant staking his political career on confronting the establishment bare-handed. Where did that confidence come from?

"What did you say your father does again?"

I hadn't done much of anything, yet vacation had flown by. Tomorrow was already the first day back at school. There was excitement about seeing kids I hadn't met during break, mixed with dread over sacrificing my free time. Schools really were worth some philosophical pondering—

"Kid! Hey, kid! Hold up!"

"Me?"

It was on my way home after final special training with the academy kids. My half-eaten ice cream was melting down the stick.

The apartment security guard suddenly yelled and beckoned me over.

"This pile looks like it's all ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠addressed to you. Wanna check?"

Behind the management office, boxes towered like mountains. The recipient address wasn't precise, but "NoName" was written in English alongside.

"That's it, right? Man, it's been chaos since last week! Can't keep returning them forever. They're all for you anyway—bring your dad later and haul 'em off, okay?"

Fans sending gifts after the Genius Scout show? They must've guessed from the complex name since no exact address.

"Just give me a cart. I'll take it all at once."

Twenty boxes. Stack 'em smart, and I could manage. Two rows make ten layers. About 4 meters high—hold shaky spots with aura...

"No, no, no! We'll get the other guards to deliver to your door."

"Thanks."

"Yeah. Whoa, ice cream's dripping! Head home safe!"

Minutes later, around thirty packages including small ones and wrapping piled neatly in my room. Had to finish before Professor Cheon got back from the market. He'd nagged last time about not cleaning.

Pondering solutions, I dashed upstairs and rang the bell.

Ding-dong— Ding-dong— Ding-dongdingdongdingdongdingdong—

"Coming, coming!"

The door flew open with force, like it held emotion. Yoon Seol, sleep mask pushed up on her forehead, rubbed her eyes and looked down at me.

"You just waking up? It's 3 p.m."

"Nami? Yawwwn... What's up?"

"Store some stuff for me. Too much for my room. You got empty ones, right?"

"Huh? Yeah. How much?"

"Hard to explain."

Even arms stretched wide, my body's too short to show the scale.

Sundays drew the biggest crowds regardless of schedule. On such a day, Kariri's troll post propelled my stream to 20,000 viewers in just 20 minutes—a record. And it was still climbing steeply.

"Please, no..."

"Nami, try this one too!" Yoon Seol plopped a bunny headband on my head, giggling.

I glared daggers at Yoon Seol, who finally read the room and removed the bunny ears, placing them on the desk. The chat exploded, scolding her for taking them off too soon.

"I'll change into pajamas and be back. This much is enough, right?"

The unboxing stream started simply. One viewer wrote that his daughter, after long illness, smiled again watching my streams and thanked me. Facing major surgery, I wore the animal pajamas they sent and went live. The story spread instantly across communities. Viewers egged me on, toeing the line to keep me in them longer.

Gifts varied wildly in type and price. Some sent 1,000-won convenience store jelly; others, luxury kids' watches nearing a million won. Reasons too: longtime fan, stream more, belated birthday. Despite the hassle, I sat amid the wrapping chaos and read every letter.

Some gifts were awkward.

A big bright red hat, too large for me. Color alone might've been tacky-funny, but the front emblem was the issue.

A Republican symbol popped from a random box.

Twish streamers avoided 19+ and politics like plague—viewers trolled precisely for that. But at eight, I was oblivious. Chat panicked; Yoon Seol moved to hide it—but I plopped it on first.

I rummaged my drawer bottom, draped the blue scarf from Democrat Bae Seong-jun during Genius Scout around my neck, quashing controversy.

"Why are you doing this, Nami?" Yoon Seol asked, aghast.

"Less cat pajama visible this way."

"Ah..."

Couldn't change for viewers, so extreme countermeasure.

Last gift remained. Unlike colorful wrappings, this was bubble-wrapped dozens of times. Inside: a music box.

"Whoa, music box? Pretty!"

"Faint mana inside."

"Yeah, modern ones auto-play with mana. Probably pre-loaded tunes."

"Really? News to me."

Click— As I half-cranked the gear, my body stiffened. I bit my lip hard. Famous for stoic face, I scowled deeper than ever, eyes wide.

"What's wrong? Issue? If it won't turn, I can—"

"Yoon Seol unnie, get out. Now."

"Huh?"

"Out! Get out of the room! Right now!"

I yelled, voice high and cracking—not my usual lowered tone, but natural pitch.

Yoon Seol backed out. "Close the door."

Confirming it shut, I stared queasily at the music box in my right hand.

"People try everything."

Thick golden aura enveloped me, blazing like flames. Chat gawked in shock. But no time for that.

I hastily drew a transmutation circle on the floor with my left.

Three circles burst from the music box, shattering left to right. One cracked but kept shimmering.

This isn't a music box.

Disguised as one.

These crazies even accounted for dispel.

Priest bomb.

The stream cut off, leaving 30,000 lost souls on Twish.