Big Sister
Min Dain was a lawyer. Ninth entering class at law school; she sat for the bar exam twice. It was not that she lacked the ability to pass on her first attempt — she had genuinely been ill. Even so, her results were strong, and she now belonged to one of the most prestigious large firms in the country.
Law Firm Hanyul.
Min Dain was a full-time attorney in the firm's public interest committee, handling public interest litigation exclusively. It was a non-partner track, but in exchange she had work-life balance. Her salary was naturally in the hundreds of millions of won, and television appearances came relatively easily too. Meeting with workplace harassment victims and domestic violence survivors did take an emotional toll, but all in all it was a decent life. She thought of it as a process of building credentials for a better future.
She had already collected quite a few titles. Advisor to the Gyeonggi Province Digital Sex Crime Victim Support Panel. Advisory committee member for the nonprofit Migrant Human Rights Coalition. Writing committee member for the Korean Bar Association's Labor Rights Report. Min Dain believed that if she kept building her career step by careful step like this, her moment would come eventually. That was why she had lived so diligently.
But right now, that belief was wavering.
"That vote share is insane."
Yesterday, her younger brother — just one year her junior — had become mayor-elect. Min Seojun. The brother she'd never gotten along with, even as children. For some reason she'd been so unsettled that she hadn't slept a wink all night before dragging herself to work.
Min Seojun hadn't won on his own merit. If the opposing candidate hadn't died, he'd probably be worrying about paying off his campaign debts right about now. No matter how she looked at it, luck had decided the outcome. Which made it all the more impossible to ignore — because it seemed as though a brother who had never worked as fiercely as she had, who was never as sharp, had stumbled into an absurd position through sheer accident.
Ignore it. It has nothing to do with me.
She tried to look away, but a surging feeling kept scraping at her insides. To escape it, Min Dain forced herself to focus on work. Her surroundings weren't making that easy.
"Attorney Min, you're from Maesan, right?"
The question came from a fellow attorney who handled public interest cases alongside her. Surely it wouldn't come up, Min Dain told herself, and gave a vague nod.
"I did go to school there."
"You must have seen the Maesan mayoral results yesterday, then?"
"I suppose."
"You know the guy who showed his surgical scar at the debate got elected? At the time I just thought it was a publicity stunt and moved on. But he actually became mayor?"
"Attorney Yang. I'm sorry, but work first."
"He's the youngest municipal chief executive ever. Local elections usually skew older to begin with."
This colleague had always been unusually talkative. For reasons unknown, she also had a particular fondness for youngest-ever or oldest-ever stories. The oldest person to pass the bar exam, the youngest to hit thirty-thirty, the oldest to serve an ace — things like that, and she didn't discriminate by field. Under normal circumstances, Min Dain would have indulged her with a knowing smile. But right now, that was impossible, because the youngest-ever chief executive her colleague was so excitedly chattering about was her own brother.
"So the previous record holder was thirty-five."
"Attorney Yang, we're busy—"
"We can talk while we work, can't we?"
"..."
"Back when mayors were appointed you had some in their twenties, but that's not a fair comparison. Anyway, it's a genuine record, isn't it? Honestly, he only won because a windfall landed in his lap... No, wait, I shouldn't call someone's death a windfall. Pretend you didn't hear that."
The colleague was insufferably loud. There wasn't even a hint of her stopping. The one small mercy, from Min Dain's perspective, was that the fact of Min Seojun being her brother hadn't yet come to light. There had never been any reason to tell anyone in the first place. An unremarkable educational background, a job as a party official for the People's Choice Party, and a brother she wasn't even close to.
There's no substance to it. Unlike with Dajeong.
On the other hand, she often shared stories about her youngest sibling, Min Dajeong, because Dajeong was a professional golfer. Currently ranked 125th on the KLPGA. The law firm was full of golf enthusiasts, so it actually helped quite a bit with office camaraderie, and she had plans to arrange short-game lessons down the line and build connections that way. Min Seojun, by contrast, had never come up. It wasn't that she'd held back because she foresaw his rise, but thinking about it now, that restraint was the only silver lining — it meant she had some time before the rumor spread.
Just brush past it for now.
Min Dain decided to let her colleague's chatter wash over her with only minimal acknowledgment. Getting serious about it would only give the woman ammunition. Even so, she found it difficult to view Min Seojun in a positive light.
"But Attorney Yang, I don't think he'll be able to control the city government, do you?"
"Because he's young?"
"That's part of it. And Maesan has always been solidly Together Democratic territory."
"Ah. You seem to know quite a bit about this."
"Both provincial assembly seats are Together Democratic, the city council has a Together Democratic majority... and most importantly, the National Assembly member is Together Democratic too. If the mayor's the only People's Choice official in town, he'll be awfully lonely."
This wasn't an attempt to tear Min Seojun down. Just an objective observation — at least, that was how Min Dain saw it. But her colleague seemed to think differently.
"Well, Attorney Min, I'm not so sure about that."
"...?"
"Personnel authority and licensing permits are the exclusive prerogative of the chief executive, aren't they?"
"The city council's gone to the other party, though."
"The council obviously matters. But by that logic, every independent mayor and county executive would be a figurehead, wouldn't they? Korean local councils have always been relatively weak at checking executive power."
Her colleague's point wasn't entirely wrong, she supposed. But Min Dain couldn't bring herself to readily reply, that's a fair point — because that would mean Min Seojun could coast through his term as mayor. It was unfair that someone who hadn't even won on his own ability should get to carry out the duties of the office without a hitch. Especially when the position was a rose-strewn path far too good for the likes of him.
As Min Dain chewed over the resistance churning deep in her gut, a few words slipped out.
"He went to Hanjin University, so he doesn't even have alumni connections to lean on. Not that it matters."
A slip of the tongue, uttered without thinking. Unfortunately, her colleague did not let the remark slide.
"Min Seojun went to Hanjin University?"
"...!"
"So he wasn't exactly a stellar student, huh. But wait — how do you know that?"
"I couldn't say."
"Do people usually know a politician's undergraduate school? He's not exactly a household name."
Her colleague showed no intention of letting go of the small lead Min Dain had just handed her. It was a somewhat awkward position to be in. How do I deflect this? Suddenly changing the subject would be suspicious too.
"Min Seojun... come to think of it, you're a Min too, aren't you, Attorney Min?"
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"And you're from the same area."
"Min isn't exactly a rare surname."
"Fair enough."
Her colleague began seriously picking at the connection between Min Dain and Min Seojun. You've figured it out, now stop. Part of her wanted to snap, but Min Dain forced herself to hold back, praying that this colleague with her unnecessarily sharp ears and endless chatter would have the sense to rein herself in.
"Hold on. Let me just check something on YouTube."
"Attorney Yang, what are you doing right now?"
"Something just occurred to me."
The heartless colleague pulled out her smartphone and played the Maesan mayoral candidate televised debate. Min Dain started to intervene, then gave up — because she realized it was already too late.
"Ah. There it is."
"..."
"It says right here that candidate Min Seojun donated part of his liver to his golf-playing sister? And you have a sister who plays golf too, don't you, Attorney Min?"
"Do I?"
"'Do I?' I distinctly remember you telling me."
Her colleague narrowed her eyes like a bored cat that had finally caught something interesting. Min Dain let out a sigh. This was the moment her careless remark came back to haunt her. Why had she opened her mouth? If she'd just nodded along, the woman might have had her doubts, but she would have let it go. And she wouldn't be facing this brazenly direct question either.
"Attorney Min. Are you, by any chance, related to Mayor-elect Min Seojun?"
Feeling the heat climb to the tips of her ears, Min Dain slowly raised her eyes. And then, as if it were nothing, she said:
"Attorney Yang Jiwon? I'd appreciate it if you kept your curiosity out of my family affairs."
"Oh my."
"You know that's a rather rude habit of yours, right? What difference does it make whether we're family or not... Everyone has their own circumstances. Mind your own business."
Stay out of other people's family histories. It's unpleasant, so shut up. Not an easy thing to say to a colleague she saw every single day. But for now, this was her best option — if she got stern, the other woman wouldn't dig deeper. Assuming she had any social awareness.
"Oh... yes! I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable."
"Mm."
And true to form, her colleague shut up with a smile. What followed was an uncomfortable silence. Min Dain knew perfectly well that this hadn't resolved anything. Her colleague was already a chatterbox, and having been rebuffed, her pride was stung — she'd spread the rumor even more diligently now. Along the lines of: Attorney Min Dain's brother is the mayor-elect of Maesan, and judging by the look of things, the family is spectacularly dysfunctional.
"I really overstepped with you, Attorney Min. I'm truly sorry."
Min Dain was not someone who typically let things slip. But her colleague's remarks lifting Min Seojun up were hard to stomach. It was strange. It wasn't as though Min Seojun's success made her life any worse, nor would his failure make it any more comfortable. Perhaps this was an emotion best described as jealousy.
This is too draining. Stop it.
Min Dain tried her best to push it all out of her mind and focused on work. After some time had passed, her colleague stepped away for a quick water break. When she returned, her expression was remarkably brighter — almost uncanny. She'd already spilled everything to someone. Insufferable woman.
"Having fun?"
"With what?"
All of this was Min Seojun's fault for overachieving. If he had been elected to something modest, like a district council seat, she probably would have wished him a happy life. She wasn't blind to how he'd been treated as a child. It hadn't been her responsibility, but she'd felt a moral discomfort about it at times, and she'd thought their parents went too far on occasion. Still, the mayor's office was far beyond what he deserved.
If I'd known this would happen, I should have climbed a party ladder myself.
Her younger brother, who until a few days ago had barely been managing his own modest station, had now ascended. Min Dain felt betrayed by every ounce of effort she'd invested to climb to where she was. It wasn't rational. Min Seojun hadn't stolen her opportunities. He hadn't caused her any harm.
I know. I know all of that.
And yet the murky emotion kept surging up. In the end, Min Dain stopped what she was doing and sighed — because the sight of herself jealous of Min Seojun, of all people, was too pathetic to bear.