Rationalization
Min Taegi could not forgive his son.
Only half of what my sister is? To think such an insolent thing actually came out of his mouth.
An arrogant brat. A disrespectful punk.
"You run for office without a by-your-leave, and now you have the gall to come crawling here asking for help?"
"Honey. Calm down."
"Calm down? How am I supposed to calm down?"
Even with his wife soothing him, Min Taegi could not contain his outrage.
He was a sitting public official.
His post: Section Chief of Citizen Cooperation at Maesan City Hall.
He hadn't set out to become a bureaucrat, not originally. Back when he was young, it was rare for a graduate of a respectable university to even sit for the civil service exam. He had merely compromised with reality to get married, that was all. Even so, he had never lived so carelessly as to deserve being looked down on by anyone.
"And yet this brat of mine treats me like an inferior?"
"Oh, for heaven's sake, honey. Calm down."
"Doesn't even know the debt he owes us for raising him."
Come to think of it, Seojun had always had a warped way of seeing the world. A boy who did nothing but complain about everything. His entire attitude toward accepting feedback was broken, and as a parent that had been only the first of many headaches. Still, they had fed him, housed him, educated him, hoping to mold him into some kind of functioning adult—never imagining he'd commit an outrage like this.
Min Taegi was sighing over and over, the back of his head still stinging from it all, when—
Beep-beep. Ring-ring~
"Oh dear. That must be our Dain."
"Mm."
Just in time, their eldest was calling. She'd been phoned on purpose.
Min Dain.
A daughter different from the second-born in every way—different from the one who had just thrown his tantrum and stormed out. She studied well, caused no trouble growing up, and above all, she was the kind of daughter who would never drive a nail into her parents' hearts. Dain would surely understand how her parents felt, wouldn't she?
Min Taegi wanted to lay it all out—just how rudely Min Seojun had behaved, what he had done to his own parents.
"Dad, what's going on?"
"Sit down."
"I'm tired."
"It'll only take a moment. That brother of yours came by today."
"Ah... Min Seojun."
His daughter sat down, her face washed with exhaustion.
It pained him, even as it filled him with pride. Dain was an attorney at Hanyul, one of the big law firms. She'd even appeared on the radio recently. In all her years she hadn't brought home a prospective husband yet, but unlike some people, she was a daughter he could hold up anywhere without a shred of embarrassment.
"Dain. Seojun—that boy. Ever since he was little he's had this strange inferiority complex about you, always impossible to read. Remember?"
"I suppose."
"You don't need to defend your brother."
"......"
"Is this because of that time Seojun whined about us playing favorites with you? Nonsense."
What Min Taegi had expected was his daughter's enthusiastic agreement.
You're right, Dad, he's always been like that. Who does he think he is, running for mayor on some delusional whim? He needs to wake up. Seriously.
Something along those lines.
But Min Dain, who had listened quietly to her father's grievances, responded with this:
"Playing favorites? I mean, from Seojun's perspective, it'd make sense for him to see it that way."
"Dain...?"
"He never got to go to a single hagwon, Dad. Not through middle school, not through high school."
It wasn't agreement. It was a correction.
We never sent him to cram school... That much was true. But in Min Taegi's view, that hadn't been discrimination. They had simply concentrated their resources on the child with promise. They were an ordinary middle-class family—resources had limits. If Seojun had been as good at his studies as Dain was right in front of them, why wouldn't they have pushed him? They'd have gone into debt to pay for cram schools and private tutoring! No, they just hadn't sent him because it would've been a waste of money, and—ah.
A flash of color came to Min Taegi's face.
Proof that he had never discriminated between his children had just come to mind. The boy's university, that's what it was.
"Dain. Seojun was never built for studying in the first place. If he'd had the ability, would he have gone to Hanjin National? I'm not saying this to disparage the school, but honestly, compared to the universities in Seoul, the gap is enormous."
The argument being: even if they'd poured money into Min Seojun's education, it wouldn't have borne fruit.
And yet his daughter's reaction was oddly stiff. So was his wife's. She rolled her eyes as if searching her memory, then spoke up.
"Honey. Have you forgotten? It was so long ago. Seojun went to Hanjin National for the scholarship."
"What?"
"Mom's right, Dad. You don't remember?"
"Oh."
Min Taegi's eyes darted wildly from side to side.
Only after both of them pointed it out did something surface, belatedly, in his memory. Min Seojun's flat, expressionless face as he recited: Half-tuition scholarship and dormitory housing if I go to Hanjin National, so I'll go there.
I never actually pressured him to save money... but I suppose I made him feel it anyway.
From Seojun's side of it, yes, he had every reason to feel slighted. He'd probably thought, They give his sister everything and pinch pennies on me alone—over a single year's difference in age.
But that hadn't been discrimination. No—it had, technically, been discrimination, but.
"It was the right choice at the time. A decision born of a state of exception."
"A state of exception...?"
"And Seojun didn't turn out twisted because of any real evidence anyway. He just brainwashed himself into believing he's the victim—that his family hates him and only him. ...Now then, Dain. Answer me honestly. Do you think I'm wrong?"
"That, no."
His daughter answered out of the side of her mouth, as expected.
Min Taegi cleared his throat and avoided her gaze.
To think there was a story behind his son's university enrollment—a boy they'd always assumed was simply dull. He had genuinely, completely forgotten. Not that he had any intention of reflecting on it now, at this late date.
"I may not be a perfect parent. It's possible I treated Seojun coldly without even realizing it. But let me tell you something. What that boy did, he had no right to do."
"What did he do?"
"Running for office under People's Choice? Does that make any sense at all?"
"Ah. That."
His daughter finally nodded along.
Only then did Min Taegi's heart settle a little. He had flinched inside when the daughter he'd cherished and cultivated suddenly took his son's side—what's gotten into her? But leaving aside that crooked son of his, the rest of the family stood firmly united, around him, the head of the household.
"I have a reputation built over years as a public official."
"......"
"And now my son announces he's running as a People's Choice candidate? What will people say? They may not say it to my face, but behind my back they'll whisper. Plenty of them will start looking at me differently too."
The reason he couldn't forgive the boy was his candidacy itself.
And such a pitiful reason at that. Because I need to make a living. Did he think he'd starve to death if he didn't run for mayor? Granted... refusing the party's request would mean consequences of one kind or another. With the party's finances in the state they were in, he could well be swept out in the next round of staffing cuts.
"Even so, turning his back on his family is unforgivable. That is my conviction."
A declaration: no dissent regarding his son would be entertained.
And yet, even as he declared it, Min Taegi was quietly watching his daughter's face.
He couldn't have said why, honestly. Why would he watch the expression of the daughter on whom he'd lavished their spare money for private education, paid her law school tuition, and funded years of bar exam preparation? He didn't want to dig for the answer. He simply wanted to feel comfortable.
Fortunately, his daughter agreed with him.
"Honestly, Seojun has caused trouble for all of us. Mom and Dad, and even me."
"Right?"
"I keep working, so the Daeminju side might come knocking eventually—and Min Seojun running like this could end up a shackle around my ankle when they do."
"Exactly. He knew all that and did it anyway. That boy."
"It does annoy me."
So now, finally, we understand each other.
The truth was, Min Dain was the kind of talent who quietly hoped... for a scout from the ruling party. It wasn't a serious, concrete plan. But wasn't that how it went? A woman in her thirties—impressive credentials, presentable, a regular face on current-affairs radio and cable commentary—was bound, with very high probability, to receive overtures from the political world. No guarantees, but an offer might well come at the next general election.
"And your brother went and threw his hat in the ring."
"That's one way to look at it."
"This is what happens when we fail to teach him properly. A pity."
In that moment, Min Seojun was formally convicted in the court of family opinion.
The youngest, Dajeong, was absent from the table—but had she been home, she would have happily gone along. She was an obedient daughter.
"Right. He's the one in the wrong."
A breach with his son.
He should have felt wounded, yet somehow Min Taegi's heart felt lighter. Because the one at fault wasn't him.
"Still, honey? I'm a little worried."
"Hm?"
"What if Seojun actually gets elected? Then we're the ones who lose out."
His wife's out-of-left-field question drew a laugh from Min Taegi—and even from Min Dain, whose irritation had been plain, an awkward chuckle.
It was a worry too absurd for anything but a scoff.
Min Seojun winning was impossible, given the electoral terrain.
"This is Maesan City we're talking about."
"That's true."
"Besides, it's the first nationwide election held during a new administration's honeymoon period. The party fielded a boy like Seojun precisely because they know it's a lost cause—didn't they? A losing race anyway, so they'll at least score some youth-friendly points."
Maesan was a town where the Democratic-affiliated parties started with fifty percent of the vote as their baseline. And Seojun's opponent, the Daeminju candidate, was a former provincial assemblyman with rock-solid local roots. On top of that, the president's approval rating was high.
Min Seojun winning under those crushingly lopsided conditions? Nothing in this world was one hundred percent certain—but this Maesan mayoral race was the exception.
"I know. It's an election that boy cannot win."
He would lose by a staggering margin—of that, Min Taegi could stake his word.
"It's for the best. That one only learns when he's been burned badly."
"Maybe so."
Only after the election ended would he realize he'd made the wrong choice—and regret it. Perhaps he'd come crawling back home afterward, begging forgiveness. Min Taegi clenched his fist for no particular reason, picturing his son groveling, forehead to the floor.
A few days later, the official campaign period for the local elections began.
Banners hung thick along every road, raucous campaign jingles battered at the eardrums, and campaign workers boomed their greetings at passersby. As Min Taegi walked to work at City Hall, a familiar voice reached him.
"Citizens of Maesan, good morning! The candidate who wants to work for you, the candidate who wants change—People's Choice, Candidate Number 2, Min Seojun, here to greet you on your morning commute!"
It was coming from the road. His son's voice.
Out in a campaign vehicle already?
Min Taegi glanced over toward the sound.
And immediately laughed. He laughed because it was genuinely funny.
"This is Min Seojun, Candidate Number 2 for People's Choice! To all of you commuting into Seoul, Dongtan, or Pyeongtaek—may every step of your morning be filled with bright energy!"
The voice itself was decent.
But the vehicle Min Seojun was riding in was a shabby one-ton truck without even an LED display board mounted on it.
The party clearly wasn't giving him proper support.
Fool. This is how it was always going to end.
Min Taegi regarded his son for a moment with pity.
He was so pathetic now that Min Taegi didn't even feel resentment anymore.