Rabbit Dead, Dog Cooked
Rabbit Dead, Dog Cooked
In truth, even the Ministry of Gender Equality and the police had their own grievances.
"If you came for the funeral, you should have said something!"
They probably wanted to complain like that.
But that was a cowardly excuse.
Kim Ji-hoon had tried to speak up. It was they who had treated him like a criminal and dragged him away before he could even open his mouth at the airport.
Besides, Ji-hoon had his own side to the story. He had no idea a criminal lawsuit had been filed against him. No summons had arrived while he was in America; he thought it was just about alimony. Knowing that money issues wouldn't bar him from entry or exit, he'd come in confidently.
Handcuffs, though? Unthinkable.
In the end, the shameless deadbeat dad frame that the ministry had tried to pin on him shattered. In its place rose the image of a grandson who had nearly missed his grandmother's deathbed because of the state's overreach.
In Korean society, "filial piety" and "funerals" were sacred taboos you didn't touch. Money problems? Before the public power blocking a family's death rites, no justification held weight.
The Ministry of Gender Equality and the police were going out of their minds.
Cheong Wa Dae main building, the presidential office.
Thud!
A thick report file flew through the air and slammed into the wall.
"You crazy bitch!"
The president's voice was calm, but the rage within it was like a volcano ready to erupt.
"Are you out of your mind?"
Minister of Gender Equality Kim Ji-young stood with her head bowed, trembling.
Her staff froze in place before her.
"Mr. President... I was just... trying to demonstrate the gravity of law enforcement..."
"Law enforcement?"
The president let out a hollow laugh.
"Do I look like an idiot to you? Cut the bullshit excuses!"
He jabbed at the tablet PC on his desk.
The screen showed a breaking news alert: [US State Department Considering Full Ban on Korean Entry].
"Do you have any idea what it means for the US to threaten to cut off visas right now?"
"......"
"Exports grind to a halt, students get deported, companies go bankrupt left and right!"
"I... I have no face to show you..."
"If you're gonna put on a show to boost approval ratings, at least make it believable! Why the hell did you mess with America's hero?"
The president yanked off his tie roughly.
"Step down from your post."
"Mr. President... I'll fix this. I'll go to the embassy myself..."
"Don't you dare!"
The president bellowed.
"What more humiliation do you want? Stay put! Don't even breathe—hole up and shut up!"
Minister Kim Ji-young bit her lip, tears streaming down.
All the political capital she'd built was turning to ashes before her eyes.
At the same time, Yeouido National Assembly.
Ruling and opposition party floor leaders' meeting room.
Parliamentarians who would normally be at each other's throats were huddling together with grim expressions today.
"Is this... for real? Is the US seriously going to kick us all out?"
The opposition floor leader asked gravely.
"Yes. Sources say the mood is anything but good. Washington's political circles are up in arms."
The ruling party floor leader sighed in response.
"Haa... this is insane."
What lawmakers feared most was losing votes.
The ones hurt by the US measures—business owners, students, their families—were Korea's core voter base.
If visa restrictions became reality? The next election was over.
The ruling party would be framed as incompetent, the opposition as anti-American agitators. Mutual destruction loomed.
"Any way to calm that Kim Ji-hoon guy down?"
"We'd have to sacrifice the Gender Equality Minister to even try. But even that's not enough."
"What does he want? Money? Honors?"
"He's swimming in money from the US. Honors? The man's already got medals."
The lawmakers clutched their heads.
The toughest opponent: someone with nothing to lose, and rock-solid justification.
"For now... let's issue an apology statement from the Assembly."
"Agreed. And push a no-confidence motion for the Gender Equality Minister right away."
"Will that appease the US?"
"Who knows. But we have to do something. Or we're all dead."
The Ministry of Gender Equality.
In Korea, it devoured astronomical budgets and wielded immense power, but by global standards, it was a freakish organization. No advanced nation had a department dedicated solely to one gender with unchecked authority like Korea's.
'Frogs in a well.'
That was the Ministry of Gender Equality's reality. Drunk on domestic power, they'd forgotten the world's dangers.
They'd targeted Kim Ji-hoon to justify their policies and secure budgets.
In fact, polls always ranked it the top agency to abolish.
The intentions were noble: gender equality, family happiness.
But over time, they lost sight of purpose. No conflict meant no reason to exist—an irony.
So they manufactured divisions, pitted men against women, and fostered reverse discrimination.
"Why the hell are we pouring our taxes into that dump?"
The public's doubts had turned to fury.
Then came the illegal detention of America's hero.
This wasn't a mere mistake; it threatened the organization's very survival.
The ministry moved faster than anyone when the scandal broke.
To resolve it?
No. To survive.
Their chosen method: cut off the tail.
A luxury salon in Gangnam.
Ji-su lounged leisurely as she got her makeup done. She still fancied herself the tragic heroine, future wife of Min-jun.
The news mentioned Ji-hoon, but she scoffed.
Hmph, thrash around all you want. I've got the minister behind me.
Then her phone buzzed on the table.
Caller: [Ministry's Kim Section Chief].
Ji-su smiled and answered.
"Yes, Section Chief~ Hee-hee. I was just about to call. When's the second payment for the lawsuit costs..."
"[Ji-su ssi.]"
The voice from the receiver was ice-cold. Not the usual soft-spoken Kim Section Chief.
"Y-yes...? What's with the tone?"
"I'll keep this brief. As of today, all legal and financial support for Ji-su is terminated."
"......What?"
Ji-su couldn't believe her ears. Her face stiffened so much the makeup artist's hands paused.
"T-termination? What are you talking about? You promised! You said you'd help to the end!"
"Circumstances have changed. Check the news for details."
The section chief cut her off curtly.
"Our ministry is washing its hands of this. Don't contact us again."
"Wait, hold on! What about Min-jun? The drama role you promised..."
"That's already done, so nothing we can do. No more pushes from here on. Survive on your own."
"Hey! That's not what you said! Who did all this for—taking the heat, going on TV?!"
Ji-su's voice cracked into a shrill pitch.
"You told me to play the victim! Make Kim Ji-hoon the bad guy!"
"Watch your mouth."
The section chief's tone dropped low.
"Did we force you? You agreed because you needed cash and wanted to hype your boyfriend. We just 'suggested' it."
"What did you say...?"
Outrageous impudence.
Rabbit Dead, Dog Cooked.
They'd slobber over you like they'd rip out their liver when needed, then discard you ruthlessly when the tide turned.
That was how they operated.
"You bitches!"
"Hanging up. Don't call this number again. Blocked."
Click.
Beep, beep, beep—
The call ended.
Ji-su stared blankly at the dark phone screen.
Her reflection in the mirror: makeup flawless under bright lights, but her face was frozen in terror, like someone on a cliff's edge.
"You... fucking..."
Her hands shook uncontrollably.
The sturdy backup she'd trusted—the ministry—was gone.
Now she stood exposed before public opinion, her face already sold out, utterly alone.
"No... this can't happen..."
Her mutter faded into emptiness.
People often trash the government over drinks as a side dish.
"I could do better than those assholes."
"Tax thieves."
But coldly speaking, the government wasn't staffed by fools. It was an elite group that had passed the brutal administrative and foreign service exams.
If they were dumb, they wouldn't have clawed their way there.
They grasped the situation instantly when the news broke.
The essence: the Ministry of Gender Equality's political maneuvering.
And the frontline police's blind, idiotic handling, blinded by promotions.
These two had punched a hole in the massive dam of the Korea-US alliance.
Cheong Wa Dae and the Foreign Ministry jumped into damage control.
First move: disavow.
"This wasn't a government directive. A unilateral error by local agencies."
They pleaded via hotline to the US embassy.
But the US response was icy.
[We don't care about internal affairs.]
[Talk to the victim, Kim Ji-hoon.]
The embassy parroted the same line.
Unless Ji-hoon was satisfied, no visa restrictions lifted.
The government had no choice but to admit: the key to resolution lay not with Cheong Wa Dae or the Foreign Ministry, but with Kim Ji-hoon.
Officials huddled.
How to appease him? Money? Honors?
After agonizing, they drafted a compensation package.
And waited.
Rushing in now was the worst play. Bargaining mid-funeral would pour gasoline on public outrage.
They held their breath, waiting for the rites to end.
The funeral procession.
After cremation, grandmother's urn was placed in the family columbarium.
All rites complete.
A drizzle fell, as if heaven mourned too.
Ji-hoon's face was gaunt, but his eyes calm and settled.
The family bus left first.
Ji-hoon, Lily, and Choi Il-woo headed to the parking lot last.
Then—
Whoosh—
Three black official sedans glided up, blocking them.
Not police cars. Different plates.
Doors opened; suited men emerged, umbrellas up, approaching Ji-hoon.
The graying middle-aged man in front bowed politely.
"Our deepest condolences. You're Kim Ji-hoon, correct?"
Lawyer Choi Il-woo narrowed his eyes, stepping forward.
"Who are you?"
The man pulled a business card, offering it with both hands.
"State Affairs Coordinator from the Prime Minister's Office, Park Jin-su."
State Affairs Coordinator.
Cabinet-level heavyweight.
The real power coordinating ministries under the president's orders.
A far cry from the precinct chief days ago.
Ji-hoon didn't take the card.
He just looked down at Park Jin-su.
"Must've been tough waiting till the funeral ended."
Even at Ji-hoon's sarcasm, Park's expression didn't flicker.
"Couldn't intrude during mourning."
"So?"
"The government has words for you."
Park met Ji-hoon's gaze.
"Could you spare a moment? Here with the president's will."
Ji-hoon smirked.
It had finally arrived.
"Get in. No car here—yours it is."
"......Thank you."
Park sighed in relief, opening the rear door.
Korea versus Kim Ji-hoon.
The negotiation table for the nation's fate was set in a funeral parking lot.