A Politician's Evening
"Hahaha!"
Lim Jun-won, a three-term National Assembly member of the Jayu Party, burst into a hearty laugh upon hearing the news.
"You should have been more careful. Anyone can see Lee Yun-hyeok is a far cry from that sort of thing."
"I had no idea... Is there really a man alive who dislikes that kind of treatment?"
The reason Mun Ji-hun had miscalculated so spectacularly was simple: he thoroughly enjoyed that kind of entertainment himself.
A person's true nature is revealed when they grasp power.
After winning his first seat in the National Assembly in the general election last April, Mun Ji-hun had received some incredibly sleazy entertainment from Baek Hyeong-guk, the former Mayor of Mir City.
Tasting the pinnacle of South Korean power for the first time in his life was intoxicating. A high-ranking local government head, treated with the equivalent of a Grade 2 civil servant rank, poured him expensive whiskey, slung an arm around his shoulder, and whispered sweet words about how they should achieve great things together despite being from different parties.
Women clung to his side, whispering sweet, flattering words: "You're so young to be an Assemblyman! Oh my goodness, Assemblyman, Assemblyman..." They fed him fruit, anticipating his every whim, and practically crawled at his feet.
That scene offered a pleasure far beyond simple entertainment. He had been utterly intoxicated by the sight of himself, so successful at the young age of forty-three.
So, of course, he had assumed Lee Yun-hyeok would love it too. It had been a massive blunder.
"There are surprisingly people like that in politics. Even in the National Assembly," Lim Jun-won said.
"But aren't you worried, Assemblyman Lim? Park Dae-man is running away with the show right now," Mun Ji-hun asked.
"Assemblyman Mun. In politics, you must never grow impatient. Rushing only ruins things. In my case..."
Lim Jun-won's constituency included the rural districts of Mir City. These areas were traditional strongholds for the Jayu Party, and the local elites of Mir City firmly backed him.
"I'm waiting for the development of Doma-myeon and Hawol-myeon."
"..."
"You have to think ahead. You must figure out what role you can play in those projects."
"But I missed the timing for the Jungang-dong development."
"No, you didn't."
Lim Jun-won shook his head.
"That app is only half-finished. Didn't Lee Yun-hyeok say so himself on the broadcast?"
Yun-hyeok established the 'Mir Integrated Childcare Service Foundation,' with the local government contributing an initial endowment of 500 million KRW.
The city council passed the endowment agreement, enacted ordinances regarding the foundation's establishment and operation, and reported it to the Gyeonggi Provincial Office.
As the foundation was officially registered, a board of directors was formed.
"Please have the city council recommend two board members. We will also select and appoint three private-sector experts through a public recruitment process at city hall."
From the city council's side, two of Jeong Hyeong-seok's former colleagues from his days working at welfare organizations were selected.
From the private sector, three experts in the fields of medicine, IT, and law were chosen.
To prevent corruption within the board, terms were limited to three years, and an additional safeguard was put in place.
"Have working-level officials from the Welfare Policy Bureau take turns serving as auditors."
Then, while outsourcing the operation of Mir Childcare 365 to the foundation, they opened public bidding for banner advertisements from private companies.
Next was the Monday political affairs meeting.
"How should we spend the remaining budget allocated for low birth rate countermeasures?"
The agenda item had returned once again.
"Um, I have an idea."
The Director of the Health Policy Bureau raised his hand.
"What if we subsidize the fees for postpartum care centers for low-income families?"
Currently, Gyeonggi Province provided a voucher of 500,000 KRW to support postpartum care costs. But naturally, this was an absurdly small amount. Postpartum care centers easily cost up to 4 million KRW a week.
"As a result, low-income families are practically unable to use postpartum care centers."
"Then let's just build public postpartum care centers."
The Director of the Economic and Industrial Bureau offered a counter-opinion. Instantly, the meeting table grew noisy.
"That will cost far too much budget."
"Even so, a public option is better. If we indirectly subsidize private care centers, their fees will only go up."
"That's true. In fact, private postpartum care centers have raised their prices tremendously over the last few years."
"Actually, high-income mothers spend the entire 2 million KRW from the First Encounter Voucher at postpartum care centers in one go. That's why private businesses keep raising their prices."
"Because the market is distorted like that and postpartum care centers have become so luxurious, low-income families are paradoxically locked out of using them."
"So let's only support low-income families. We shouldn't distribute it as a lump sum to all mothers like the First Encounter Voucher."
"The result will still be the same."
"If we build public postpartum care centers, the backlash from private centers will be severe."
"We can't help that. They brought it on themselves by slapping premium labels and luxury surcharges on everything."
"But they are still our citizens."
Watching the heated debate unfold at the political affairs meeting, Kim Min-cheol felt a sudden wave of emotion.
Because in all his years, he had never seen a political affairs meeting in Mir City this passionate.
Compared to the days when former political heavyweights like Jang Seong-woo, Lee Do-hun, and Seo Yeon-hwa dominated, the atmosphere was completely different.
Morale was soaring among the bureau directors.
In the process of winning a massive project from the Ministry of SMEs and Startups to bring to Durim-myeon, designating Jungang-dong as a regulatory sandbox, and developing an app that received overwhelming praise, both the political staff and the working-level officials had tasted the profound efficacy of good administration.
Everyone knew exactly who was responsible for this transformation.
"If I may share one thing about private postpartum care centers," Yun-hyeok chimed in, "while it's true they have gradually raised prices by adopting luxury marketing strategies, it's difficult to treat them simply as a greedy interest group exploiting the public."
"Is that so?"
"Yes. Because seventy percent of those postpartum care centers are directly linked to OB-GYN clinics."
"OB-GYNs..."
"That's right!" The Director of the Welfare Policy Bureau knew this well. "OB-GYN clinics rely on postpartum care centers to offset some of their financial deficits."
Yun-hyeok fell into thought.
Should I look into the medical infrastructure?
In the South Korean medical community, it was common knowledge that dermatology and plastic surgery made the most money. Of course, they were simply following market logic, so they weren't in the wrong.
However, it was highly ironic that essential departments dealing directly with human lives, like internal medicine or general surgery, suffered from lower revenues despite carrying immense workloads and high litigation risks.
It was all due to the national health insurance medical fee schedule.
Yet, even internal medicine and general surgery had to bow down to two specific departments when it came to hardship: obstetrics and gynecology (OB-GYN), and pediatrics.
Naturally, pregnant women and children belonged to the most sensitive patient groups. The patients themselves and their guardians were extremely sensitive, making the risk of medical lawsuits and disputes the absolute highest.
Furthermore, considering the limited medications and procedures available for pregnant women, the difficulty of communicating with young children, and the grueling wait times for deliveries, the labor intensity was at the absolute peak.
Yet, because the insurance fee schedule was so low, their revenues were the absolute lowest—even lower than internal medicine or general surgery.
For infant vaccinations, clinics usually only broke even on the cost of the vaccine itself, and the medical fee for treating simple colds or fevers—which made up the bulk of their consultations—was only around 10,000 KRW.
In the case of childbirth delivery, the fee was set in the 400,000 KRW range. Considering the number of medical staff required and the hours spent waiting, profitability was practically non-existent.
As a result, medical residents avoided OB-GYN and pediatrics like the plague, and doctors refused to open new clinics. Consequently, existing hospitals were shutting down these departments or merging them.
And on top of that, in an era of demographic collapse, the number of patients was actively shrinking?
It would be stranger if these hospitals managed to stay open.
"How many OB-GYN and pediatric clinics do we have in Mir City?"
"There are sixteen OB-GYN clinics and twenty pediatric clinics."
Because Mir Childcare 365 was in the process of developing projects linked with local clinics and hospitals, the Director of the Health Policy Bureau was well-acquainted with the numbers.
"And we have four postpartum care centers in the region. Should we provide subsidies to the hospitals facing financial difficulties?"
"Subsidies large enough to prevent hospitals from closing down would require an immense amount of money. We won't be able to sustain such a policy for long."
Yun-hyeok pondered for a moment, then turned to Jo Hyeon-seo.
"Could you schedule a meeting with the directors of all thirty-six OB-GYN and pediatric clinics and hospitals?"
"That's quite a large number..."
Jo Hyeon-seo looked slightly tense. How on earth was he supposed to coordinate the schedules of all those busy doctors? And thirty-six of them at once?
"We must schedule it for the evening, of course. We can't have a gap in medical services by doing it during the day. Most clinics close before 7:00 PM, so schedule it after that. I'll be there as well," Yun-hyeok said.
This was what a politician's evening was supposed to look like.
Not drinking alcohol with women clinging to their sides.
"Thank you for gathering here at such a late hour."
Yun-hyeok met with the directors of the local clinics and hospitals in a small meeting room on the third floor of City Hall.
In total, forty-one people attended.
Some hospitals had more than one director, so they gathered together.
However, some doctors could not attend because they had to cover night shifts.
"The directors of Nuri OB-GYN, Bombit Pediatrics, and Tuntun Pediatrics are participating via video call."
Three directors appeared on a small monitor. They repeatedly turned their cameras on and off to tend to patients while the meeting was underway.
"The reason I have invited you all here today is to find a way to overcome the structurally poor revenue model unique to OB-GYN and pediatric departments."
"Are you giving us subsidies?"
The director of Yeseong OB-GYN Clinic looked up, his face brightening with hope.
"We are right on the verge of closing down!"
"Of course, we could support you with subsidies. However, if we approach it that way, there is no guarantee the funding will continue after my term ends. That is why I want to propose something else to you all," Yun-hyeok said.
"What if you offered remote medical consultations?"
"..."
The meeting room fell silent at the unexpected proposal.
"As you all know far better than I do, pregnant women and parents of young children are incredibly sensitive. Even the slightest change can fill them with immense worry and anxiety."
Yun-hyeok had experienced this firsthand.
It was during his second life, when Ji Hye-min was pregnant with their first child. Fascinated by the baby's movements, they had been watching her belly together when the baby's kicking suddenly grew violent and refused to stop.
Terrified, the two of them had rushed to the emergency room. Ji Hye-min was on the verge of tears.
I think the baby is having a seizure!
She had cried out, begging them to save the baby, but after a brief examination, the doctor gave them a simple answer:
"The baby is just hiccuping."
Who knew a baby could hiccup inside the womb?
How could a novice young couple have possibly known that?
Yun-hyeok had quietly thanked the doctor and left. The baby's hiccups stopped ten minutes later.
"During pregnancy, childbirth, and raising a newborn, there are countless ambiguous and confusing moments. If a baby suddenly develops a mild fever in the middle of the night, it might just be because the room is too warm, but parents will immediately imagine the worst—like meningitis—and panic. Even a newborn sleeping slightly longer than usual can make them anxious, when in reality, the baby might just be sound asleep from the exhaustion of breastfeeding."
The doctors nodded vigorously in agreement.
In truth, they were the ones who saw these exact types of patients all the time.
Even if medical attention was actually needed, it was heartbreaking to see parents rushing to the emergency room in the dead of night clutching their babies for minor ailments that could easily wait until morning.
While their anxiety was completely understandable, the frantic trip to the ER was often more stressful and exhausting for the baby, not to mention incredibly taxing for the parents.
"Let's resolve that issue with affordable remote medical consultations. Whether they should head to the emergency room immediately or wait and see—just having that level of guidance is immensely helpful for pregnant women and parents. If the price is reasonable, they will gladly pay the consultation fee."
The system would work similarly to a ride-hailing app like Kakao T.
When a patient or guardian requests a remote medical consultation, a doctor accepts the call and provides the consultation remotely.
Since these consultations would be non-reimbursable services, they wouldn't be bound by the national insurance fee schedule. Doctors could easily fit them in during quiet gaps between in-person patients, or even handle them at night and on holidays.
The only reason this hadn't been possible until now was due to various regulations in medical law. However, Mir Childcare 365 operated within a regulatory sandbox. As long as it was limited to consultations rather than full medical acts like issuing prescriptions, there would be no legal issues.
"Of course, we will need to register your medical credentials on the app. Furthermore, I would like to integrate the consultation records with your hospital's EMR servers so they can be saved directly."
This way, if a follow-up in-person visit became necessary, the consultation history would be readily available to assist with the diagnosis.
Expanding the server and communication infrastructure, integrating the authentication systems with EMRs, and building the payment and doctor-matching systems would require some funding.
But it was well within their budget.