True Leadership
Kim Min-cheol, the Director of Planning and Coordination, had spent the last few months drawing up the roadmap for the Smart Farm project in Doma-myeon and Haweol-myeon.
Then, in early February.
When he finally returned to the Mir City Hall, the atmosphere inside the main building felt strangely unfamiliar.
"The Mayor? He is, without a doubt, the absolute best leader I've ever served under..."
It was as if the department directors had been collectively hypnotized; they were singing Lee Yun-hyeok's praises in perfect unison.
Before Kim Min-cheol had left for Doma-myeon, the Deputy Mayor and the trio of political power players had been locked in a tense standoff with Lee Yun-hyeok, while the other directors walked on eggshells, caught in the middle.
Of course, Kim Min-cheol had heard rumors of what had transpired since then, but still...
He didn't just seize control through sheer force; they genuinely respect him.
It felt surreal because none of the previous mayors Kim Min-cheol had served under in Mir City had ever managed to inspire the department heads like this.
The reason soon became clear.
"He actually bowed his head to us."
According to the directors, during the launch of the Beomdol District Redevelopment Pilot Project, they had gathered over five hundred residents on a Saturday to negotiate. Once the grueling session was over, Lee Yun-hyeok had stopped to address the directors on his way back to his office.
He had bowed deeply, thanking them sincerely for coming in to work over the weekend.
He had also bowed to the residents of the Beomdol District.
Apologizing for disappointing those who had favored the redevelopment.
To the department directors, who were all in their fifties, this was incredibly refreshing.
For years, their daily routine had consisted of catering to parachute politicians—mayors who dropped in like paratroopers after receiving nominations from major political parties.
A leader who knew how to bow to his own staff and his citizens possessed a rare kind of grace.
It was a humility that stood in striking, almost jarring contrast to his overwhelming competence.
An unexpected gentleness from a pioneer who led the charge from the very front lines.
And that wasn't all...
"Hello, Director!"
On his way into Mir City Hall, he kept spotting young children.
The city hall had undeniably undergone a massive transformation.
When he first heard that Lee Yun-hyeok was building a daycare center on the sixth floor, he had been skeptical, but seeing it in person made it real.
"Say hello to the Director."
"Hewwo!"
"Hello there!"
Kim Min-cheol exchanged greetings in the parking lot with a four-year-old brought in by a Welfare Department employee.
To think he transformed the entire city hall like this in just four months.
Kim Min-cheol felt a sudden warmth swell in his chest. He had recognized the Mayor's true caliber back when he successfully increased the train runs at Mir Station. Ever since then, he had yearned to work alongside a man of such caliber.
He had completely won over both the career civil servants and the political appointees—not by crushing them with raw power, but through genuine leadership.
"Mayor!"
His spirits lifted, Kim Min-cheol headed up to Lee Yun-hyeok's second-floor office.
"I'm here to report on the Doma-myeon and Haweol-myeon projects!"
"Welcome back. Excellent work."
Lee Yun-hyeok was already putting on his overcoat.
"But I have to step out for a moment. Would it be alright if we hold our meeting a bit later?"
"Where are you heading?"
"The City Council."
"Is there an extraordinary session today?"
"No. I requested a meeting."
"Pardon?"
Typically, the relationship between a city hall and its city council was fraught with tension, as they were meant to keep each other in check.
But to an administrator with peerless leadership, even the city council was an entity to be embraced.
There are two common public misconceptions about local municipal councilors.
The first is the belief that they engage in the same fierce, highly polarized partisan politics seen in the National Assembly.
In reality, they do not. While party ideology is paramount in the National Assembly, which represents three hundred representatives out of fifty million citizens, the political logic of a fifteen-member city council in a city of five hundred thousand like Mir City is far more personal.
For instance, even if Ha Tae-hun and Choi Hyeon-ju belonged to opposing political parties, they might actually be alumni of the same middle and high school. Once the plenary session ended, they would laugh together, catching up on each other's family affairs.
Local ties and personal networks often took precedence over party ideology.
This was precisely why, when a cartel like Daesan E&M offered bribes, they could easily share the spoils and rot together.
The second misconception is that local councilors receive exorbitant salaries and support funded by taxpayers.
This is completely false.
In the past, local council seats were actually unpaid, voluntary positions.
While the original intent was to recruit pure volunteers dedicated to serving their communities, in practice, local elites used their wealth and connections to seize control of the councils, monopolizing power and forming corrupt cartels.
It was much like the Joseon Dynasty, where local clerks, left unpaid by the state, resorted to rampant corruption to survive.
Thus, local councilors were eventually given a salary.
How much?
Around 2.8 million won a month.
For representatives of the citizenry with an average age in their fifties, it was a pitifully small sum.
They received an additional 1.1 million won for legislative activities, but even that was practically meaningless.
Unlike members of the National Assembly, local councilors had no state-funded aides. They had to hire interns out of pocket to handle civil complaints and administrative tasks. Since they also had to cover their own office expenses, their legislative allowance usually ended up in the red.
In effect, they were eating into their own 2.8 million won salary just to perform their duties.
To make matters worse, local councilors were legally barred from establishing fundraising committees. The rationale was that because they were too closely tied to local interests, even small donations could easily turn into lobbying.
But in reality?
Didn't this restriction actually leave them far more vulnerable to dirty money?
For example, even if a highly principled political rookie entered the council, a senior member of their party would eventually slide an envelope of cash across the table and say:
"This isn't a bribe. It's just a donation from the president of Daesan E&M, who runs a major construction business, to show his appreciation for your hard work. See? I'm not asking for any favors right now, am I? They only give it to you like this because you aren't allowed to have a fundraising committee. The local elites know you're paying for your legislative work out of your own pocket. They're looking out for you out of pity, so don't embarrass them by refusing."
After this happened a few times, even the most upright councilor would likely accept the envelope, sinking straight into the corrupt cartel.
"Isn't that right?"
Lee Yun-hyeok asked the city councilors.
"..."
To the councilors, this sudden meeting requested by Lee Yun-hyeok—the "slayer" of both major parties who had just taken down Ha Tae-hun and Choi Hyeon-ju—was a deeply unsettling event.
On top of that, he had just walked in and essentially said, I know you guys are struggling financially, so you're all taking bribes.
This could very well be the prelude to an administrative audit. The city hall already held all the cards; they could launch an independent audit separate from the prosecution's investigation and grind the entire council to dust.
Terrified of making a wrong move, everyone remained silent.
Everyone, that is, except Jeong Hyeong-seok.
"No matter how bad things are, taking bribes is wrong. If they're strapped for cash, they should go get a job or start a business. It's not like anyone held a gun to their heads and forced them to become councilors."
The faces of the other councilors turned pale at the independent councilor's blunt, unfiltered outburst.
Yun-hyeok couldn't help but chuckle.
"You are absolutely right. However, let's leave the punishment to the prosecution. The city hall has no desire to waste its energy on that. Instead, let's discuss a more structural change."
Yun-hyeok continued.
"I'm thinking of improving the working conditions for our city councilors. What do you think?"
For the councilors, who had been bracing themselves for another bloodbath, this was completely unexpected.
"Improve our working conditions?"
"All of a sudden...?"
Amidst the bewildered murmurs of the councilors, Yun-hyeok nodded.
"In the simplest terms, I would love to raise your salaries, but that is out of the question. There are legal regulations, public perception to consider, and above all, it would be a waste of our budget."
The councilors knew that the last point was the real reason. From what they had seen, Lee Yun-hyeok was a man pathologically obsessed with budget efficiency.
"Instead, I will help you cut down on your operational expenses."
"How?"
Councilman Jeong Hyeong-seok asked.
"By sharing administrative resources. Since you don't have aides, don't you usually rely on the city hall's working-level civil servants when you need to conduct policy research or gather data?"
Under the Local Autonomy Act, local councilors had the right to request documents or statements from civil servants.
In practice, however, this system rarely functioned smoothly. To civil servants, city councilors were neither their bosses nor citizens filing complaints that required immediate attention.
If anything, they were members of a rival oversight body. Helping them out too much could easily backfire and invite trouble.
Consequently, civil servants frequently resorted to their three ultimate shields: "This is outside our department's jurisdiction," "This contains sensitive information and cannot be disclosed," or "This matter is still under review."
Councilors often found themselves begging for cooperation.
Naturally, veteran councilors like Ha Tae-hun relied on personal connections with city hall staff to extract data, while rookies like Jeong Hyeong-seok were shut out from information entirely. This disparity directly shaped the power dynamics within the council.
"Let's reform that. I will instruct the city hall staff to actively cooperate with your legislative activities. This cooperation will be factored into their performance evaluations. However, if you start requesting useless documents, I will personally step in."
"..."
Bewilderment washed over the councilors' faces.
They had originally been Lee Yun-hyeok's enemies.
A mayor ordering his own subordinates to help his political opponents?
Did this even make sense?
"And furthermore, we will use the Public Relations Office to clip and promote your council inquiries and legislative activities on the city hall's official social media channels."
Even the Public Relations Office!
Typically, the Public Relations Office acted as the mayor's personal mouthpiece, working tirelessly to bury any council inquiries that painted the mayor in a negative light.
Yet, he was offering to promote the city council instead?
To "minor politicians" like local councilors, this proposal was like rain during a severe drought.
"The PR office's position has been a bit awkward lately anyway, since I handle most of my public relations through YouTube. In return, I expect you to conduct excellent, professional legislative work that is truly worthy of being promoted."
"..."
"And there is one more thing."
Yun-hyeok said.
"We will establish a digital archive room in the City Council where you can search meeting minutes and city hall records. Of course, there will be limits to what city hall data can be disclosed."
No one in the room had imagined today's meeting would take such a turn.
As the councilors sat in stunned silence, Yun-hyeok offered them words of encouragement.
"I understand that everyone must be feeling disheartened and unsettled with several of your colleagues currently under prosecution investigation."
"..."
"But that is precisely why the council must find its strength and work even harder."
He patted a few councilors on the shoulder as he spoke.
"You should also elect a new Chairman."
This was one of his main objectives for today.
"Since Vice Chairman Ha Tae-hun and Steering Committee Chairwoman Choi Hyeon-ju—the previous candidates for Chairman—are no longer with us, you should open up nominations and proceed quickly. There isn't much time left until the local elections anyway."
"Who... who do you think we should elect as Chairman...?"
One councilor asked outright.
It wasn't a question born of naivety, but rather the calculated query of a seasoned, cynical politician.
If you want the chairmanship as the price for a peace treaty, we will give it to you! Just tell us who you want.
That was the subtext.
"I shouldn't interfere in council politics. You must elect them yourselves. Let's get someone elected quickly so we can get back to work."
Even if he deflected the question, everyone already knew the score.
"Pfft!"
Liberty Party three-term Member of the National Assembly Lim Jun-won spat out half his coffee when he heard the news.
"Who was elected as Chairman?"
"Jeong Hyeong-seok, a first-term councilman. He's an independent."
"..."
Lim Jun-won clutched his forehead.
"Okay, Ha Tae-hun is out. Choi Hyeon-ju is also finished. And I know the people who were close to them are currently being dragged in for prosecution investigations one after another."
"Yes, sir."
"But Jeong Hyeong-seok out of nowhere? Did none of the other councilors run? How on earth did an independent end up taking the chairmanship?"
"Perhaps they are all trying to keep their heads down?"
That was the assessment of Lim Jun-won's policy aide in his National Assembly office.
While Ha Tae-hun and Choi Hyeon-ju were the ringleaders connected to the redevelopment brokers, the other councilors had likely pocketed anywhere from hundreds to thousands of dollars through them.
In fact, it was highly probable that everyone except Jeong Hyeong-seok had taken a little piece of the pie.
Becoming the Chairman meant stepping into the spotlight and inviting intense scrutiny. Fearing the backlash, they had probably all declined the nomination. Instead, they chose to back the neutral Jeong Hyeong-seok to shield themselves.
"Don't you think that's what happened?"
The aide's speculation was perfectly logical.
However...
"No."
While those circumstances provided the fuel, a spark plug was still required to ignite the engine. The councilors of both major parties were in utter disarray after losing their leaders. The fact that they suddenly held a leadership election right now was highly suspicious.
Lim Jun-won had a strong feeling he knew exactly who was pulling the strings behind this fascinating turn of events.
Jeong Hyeong-seok was practically the only pro-Lee Yun-hyeok member on the council.
With him holding the Chairman's gavel, the one who stood to gain the most was Lee Yun-hyeok.
This was a masterpiece orchestrated entirely by Lee Yun-hyeok.
"That bastard is a political genius."