The Six-Month Promise
On the appointed day, the merchant representatives gathered in the conference room. The moment the door closed, the grievances they had been nursing burst out without restraint.
And it wasn't just the merchants — City Council Chairman Kim Jun-tae and several council members had shown up as well.
Bang Ji-hoo was among them. This was the first time I had come face to face with him in this life. I'd caught glimpses of him in passing, but since I was always hemmed in by aides and staff in my capacity as mayor, I'd never gotten a proper look at his face.
Even the last time I'd walked past him, the mere fact that he existed in this world too had set my teeth on edge.
Now, meeting his eyes again, my blood suddenly boiled. Everything I had suffered — the emotions, the rage — came surging back up.
'When I think of everything you put me through... I will never forget it. Just you wait.'
With that thought running through my head, I took a moment to steady my breathing and looked around the room once more.
Right. The council members. The people who invariably materialized whenever a crisis like this broke out.
They always arrived casting themselves as the "fixers." The moment a problem appeared, they did their best to look as though they had personally stepped in and resolved it.
In the process, they burnished their presence before the citizens and cemented their political footing.
To them, this incident might well have been an opportunity. A young mayor had made a reckless gamble and stirred up controversy, and now the stage was set for them to be seen cleaning up the mess and advertise, "We stepped in and solved it."
That way they could appeal to the public and broadcast their influence far and wide.
In the end, if only for the sake of the next election, they would want to milk this situation for all it was worth.
Sitting councilors could turn it into a springboard for reelection, and some — Chairman Kim Jun-tae included — might even have their eyes on the mayor's seat itself.
'I resolved this crisis.' Build that image, and it would make a powerful appeal to voters come election day.
Led by Bang Ji-hoo, they began to pile on the rhetoric.
"Mr. Mayor, this is a genuinely serious problem. With the roads blocked off, customers are dropping and logistics are a struggle. How could you push through something this absurd with no warning whatsoever?"
"Does it make any sense to ram a policy through without even hearing our side? Mr. Mayor, however eager you are to transform this city with your youthful instincts, you need to face reality."
At those words, the merchant representatives around the room began to chime in.
"We live each day worrying our sales will collapse. This car-free street of yours isn't as easy as it sounds. Our revenue is falling right now — how long are we supposed to grit our teeth and wait?"
As the merchants' voices swelled, one council member suddenly started foaming at the mouth, denouncing Yeojin City and me. The atmosphere in the room grew more heated by the minute.
The merchants all wore frustrated expressions; some waved their hands and heaved sighs.
I listened quietly until they had said their piece. When people are angry, no amount of logical explanation gets through. First, they needed the time to vent their grievances in full.
The furious voices raged at full pitch, and then, at some point, a brief silence fell. Into that gap, I spoke in a calm voice.
"Let me ask you a few questions. I believe every complaint you've raised is valid. But tell me — have any of you actually checked the data to see what real change there has been in your operating profits?"
In that instant, the room went quiet. Some merchants still wore disgruntled expressions, but a few glanced at one another and hesitated.
Then a merchant who ran a café spoke up cautiously.
"At first, customers definitely dropped off. With the cars unable to get through, I worried constantly. But... over the past few days, business has actually picked up. On weekends, especially, I can't find seats for everyone."
Hearing that, another restaurant owner nodded along.
"That's right. I've had a similar experience. Customers used to leave the moment they finished their meals, but now more and more people wander in off the street. People linger out front and drift in naturally — that's become noticeably more common."
The truth was, I already knew. Tearing up the old downtown street hadn't just made the local news — it had hit the national broadcasts.
That was why YouTubers kept arriving in droves to film the scene and run their own broadcasts; I saw it often enough to be sick of it.
Honestly, in a quiet place like Yeojin, did crowds ever suddenly materialize? Almost never.
No matter how massive we made our festivals, no matter how much budget we poured into large-scale events, the attendees were almost entirely Yeojin's own citizens, with a handful trickling in from neighboring Gwangseong City.
But then we had simply torn up one small road, and something so absurd had happened that public interest exploded — and people started coming from all over to see it with their own eyes.
I put on a smile and spoke carefully.
"Exactly. Look at European cities like Paris or London — in their cores, people prefer walking to driving. As you stroll, you catch the scent of coffee and drift into a café; something interesting catches your eye, and you stop and step inside. Once a pedestrian-centered street takes shape, the commercial district has no choice but to thrive."
A few faces showed signs of agreement, but to the merchants I must have sounded like I'd wandered in from another planet — they looked rather dumbfounded.
Then the owner of an electronics store spoke up, disgruntled.
"But unlike cafés or restaurants, we're different. Most of our customers come by car. Appliances and furniture are big and heavy — people can't simply carry them around. If vehicle access gets harder, wouldn't customers actually dry up?"
I nodded.
"You're right. I'm well aware that every line of business has its own character. That's precisely why no single approach can serve every commercial district. To address exactly those problems, I've prepared several measures."
I spread out the materials I had prepared and walked them through the details. By the time I finished, the room had gone still.
The merchant representatives seemed thrown by how concrete the alternatives were — far more so than they'd expected. The electronics store owner asked in a careful voice.
"If these measures are implemented, do you truly believe sales will recover?"
I answered with confidence.
"Of course. Look at the cities that have adopted car-free street policies — there is turmoil in the early stages, but afterward sales tend to climb as foot traffic grows. The change may frighten you now. Give it six months, then come see the results for yourselves and judge."
Looking from merchant to merchant, I added:
"If problems remain after six months, we will sit down and talk again. But if we retreat right now, Yeojin City ends up right back where it started — worn-out roads and a stagnant commercial district."
Some merchants still looked anxious, but the mood was shifting, little by little, from where it had begun.
"So then... we truly only need to watch and wait for six months?"
I nodded.
"Yes. For six months we will gather data and analyze the effects. And if necessary, we will prepare supplementary measures."
The merchant representatives looked at one another and began to weigh it all seriously. Even the ones who had been hardline opponents at the start gradually fell silent and began reading through the materials.
I swept my gaze across the merchants and began again.
"I understand your concerns completely. But what we must decide now is this: will this change truly be a failure — or will it become an opportunity?"
A brief silence passed. I placed my hands on the table and spoke in a firm voice.
"Six months. Let us run the car-free street experiment for just six months. And if this experiment fails, the city will compensate every won of the losses you suffer."
The room stirred. The merchants exchanged glances and murmured among themselves. Everyone looked startled by the unexpected declaration. The truth was, it was a bluff.
Mayor or not, unless I dug into my own pocket, paying compensation out of the city budget was realistically impossible.
And even if I did spend my own money, that would raise a whole other problem. Under election law, directly providing money to local residents is a clear violation.
But to resolve this situation here and now, I first had to quell the merchants' resistance. Only by saying something like this could I keep the discussion alive and head off an unnecessary uproar.
Watching their reactions, I continued calmly.
"What you fear is risk — the dread that the car-free street might ruin your businesses. But I am certain of this: if the experiment succeeds, the entire old town will be transformed into a new commercial hub. Your sales won't merely recover. There is a strong chance they will grow far beyond what they are today."
I signaled to the staff nearby and produced the materials. The officials standing by immediately began distributing them around the room.
The documents laid out case after case of commercial districts that had revived after other cities adopted car-free street policies.
"Paris. London. Tokyo. Even parts of Seoul. The opposition was fierce at first, but in the end, once those streets became places where people walked and lingered, the commercial districts came back to life. We can make Yeojin the same. This car-free street policy will not be a mere experiment — it will be the decisive turning point that changes this city."
Yet some of the merchants still looked uneasy. One of them raised a hand cautiously.
"Mr. Mayor — and what if there is still no effect after six months?"
I answered without a flicker of hesitation.
"Then I will take full responsibility."
Looking the merchants straight in the eye, I drove the point home.
"Let me say it again: if there is no effect after six months, the city will compensate your losses in full. And if this policy is proven a failure, I will step down as mayor."
A hush fell over the room. The merchant representatives stared at me in astonishment.
"This is no political show. I am pursuing this policy for the future of Yeojin City. If it causes you real harm, then owning that outcome is my duty as mayor."
I went on.
"And consider this: tens of billions of won have been poured into revitalizing the old downtown. And what changed? Nothing. The time has come to attempt a radical transformation. Let us question the methods we always assumed were right — and try something new!"
Several merchants seemed to sink into deep thought. Some still shook their heads, but the atmosphere was gradually beginning to turn.
The electronics store owner spoke in a careful voice.
"If... if you're truly willing to take that much responsibility, Mr. Mayor, then we'll place our trust in you and see it through. But please share the data from these six months transparently, and keep the discussion going with us merchants."
I smiled and nodded.
"Of course. I'll share the data regularly every month and speak with the merchants directly. If the results are good, we press on; if not, we'll consider restoring the streets to how they were. But I am confident this policy will succeed."
At last, the merchant representatives began nodding to one another.
The amusing part was how the council members who had joined the meeting subtly shifted their attitudes as the situation evolved.
At first they had thrust themselves forward as if to stand at the center of solving the problem, raising their voices right alongside the merchants. They lent weight to every criticism aimed at me, carrying themselves as though they were the guardians of Yeojin City.
But as the mood grew more heated, their posture shifted in subtle ways.
Suddenly, they began pretending to be on my side. Right around the time the merchants' anger crested, they made a show of mediating with vague remarks — "I'm sure the Mayor has agonized over this deeply," or "We must find a way forward through dialogue."
Even that didn't last long. As time passed and the merchants and I began talking directly, they shut their mouths entirely and went quiet as mutes who'd swallowed honey. Faced with a situation unfolding nothing like they'd expected, they had no idea how to react.
Butt in now with clumsy remarks, and they would only earn themselves a scolding from the merchants — that much was obvious.
So in the end, they kept quietly to their seats, watching and waiting.
They had probably realized by now that this situation was flowing in a completely different direction from the "humiliate-the-mayor event" they had been counting on. I felt a small, private flicker of satisfaction.
'So the world really does change when your place in it does.'
No formal agreement was reached that day, but at the very least, the merchants were beginning to shift from "absolute opposition" to "let's give it a try."
What remained was to make them feel the change with their own eyes over those six months. I had staked everything on this policy — and I would make it succeed, no matter what.