Mir City Transit Reform
It was four thirty in the morning.
Since it was a bit chilly, Lee Yun-hyeok threw on a lightweight jacket before heading out.
He drove to Mir Station, parked his car in the lot, and set up a standing sign, a folding table, and a chair.
He finished setting up well before 5:12 AM, when the first train on the Mir-Pangyo Line was scheduled to depart.
He watched the ladies who ran the station's gimbap and steamed bun shops arrive for work.
"Good morning," Yun-hyeok greeted them with a polite bow.
The women, who had initially walked past him with wary expressions, now returned his greeting warmly.
"Good morning."
"Hey, young man, want a roll of gimbap?"
"I already ate breakfast at home, but thank you so much for the offer."
Today marked the thirteenth day of his subway transit survey and petition drive.
Although a mountain of signed petitions had already piled up in his house, it still wasn't enough.
Yun-hyeok planned to gather data for up to three weeks. To make a powerful statement in administrative reform, one needed sheer numbers. After all, wasn't that the essence of democracy?
"Mr. Yun-hyeok!"
Spending so much time at the station meant he had begun to recognize many familiar faces.
"Hello!"
"We're rooting for you!"
The very first people to recognize him were the residents of Raymi Castle.
Since the massive, newly built complex was located right near the station, it housed a large population of young professionals. A significant portion of them commuted to Pangyo every day on the Mir-Pangyo Line.
Of course, only a tiny fraction of the residents actually knew what Yun-hyeok looked like, but he had written his name, "Lee Yun-hyeok," in bold letters on his standing sign.
Naturally, it led to conversations like: "Wait, are you by any chance the person who got those Quad HD security cameras installed at Raymi Castle?" "Yes, that was me." "Oh my goodness!"
"Would you like some of this?"
There were also those who constantly tried to offer him things.
This time, a warm can of coffee was placed on his table.
"You're working so hard in this cold weather."
"Thank you, but since I'm an aspiring politician, I believe it's best if I don't accept anything from citizens."
"But you're not even a candidate yet."
"That's true. I'm still just an unemployed citizen. But I believe it's always best to be mindful of one's conduct. I will gladly accept your warm thoughts instead. Thank you so much."
By the second week of the survey, these offerings had died down significantly. The peak had been during the first three or four days, when he had practically looked like a beggar receiving alms. Passing citizens—especially those from Raymi Castle—constantly tried to hand him rice cakes, bread, gimbap, and coffee. He had struggled quite a bit to politely decline them all.
"How long are you collecting signatures for?"
Even college students, who were relatively free from rigid commuting hours, showed interest.
"Every time I go to my nine o'clock class, it's absolute hell..."
It seemed they had their own share of grievances.
"I'll be collecting signatures until next Friday, and then I'm going to submit a formal policy proposal to City Hall."
"I really hope you succeed!"
"By the way, what's this QR code for?"
About twenty percent of the citizens showed interest in the QR code printed on his banner.
And about half of them actually scanned it to see where it led.
What was it?
"It's my NewTube channel. I'm also collecting online signatures through the channel's community tab."
Yun-hyeok pointed to the camera set up on his table.
"I'm actually live-streaming right now."
Unlike volunteers or civic activists, a politician must know how to effectively promote their achievements. It was even better if they could showcase the effort behind the process, not just the final result.
Sitting in front of a subway station for sixteen hours a day, from dawn until late at night, surveying citizens and collecting signatures was grueling labor. This kind of dedication was bound to resonate deeply with the public.
That was why Yun-hyeok kept a live camera running, filming himself from the moment he left his house at four thirty in the morning until he returned home.
It would have been ideal to hire an editor and grow his NewTube channel properly, but finances were tricky. Not only did he need to save money for the deposit required to run for mayor later, but using his personal funds could also raise issues under the Political Funds Act.
But then.
The attached video was unmistakably the work of a professional.
The thirty-second opening sequence featured a highlight clip so compelling that it practically forced the viewer to keep watching.
It showed a panoramic view of the newly remodeled Doma Elementary School, complete with a lush green lawn, a beautiful garden, and artistic murals, followed by scenes from the final day's party.
But the very first scene was shocking.
"Pfft!"
Yun-hyeok suddenly burst onto the screen, belting out, "A glass of makgeolli~!" as he danced wildly.
Yun-hyeok was absolutely certain that if he had accepted and drunk that canned coffee earlier, he would have spat it out just now.
The video was a seamless cross-cut of photos and clips from Yun-hyeok's blog, interspersed with segments from mainstream television news broadcasts.
And administrative data as well.
[The Consolidation Trend of Schools in Doma-myeon]
The video presented clean, graphical data showing how the number of schools in the region had dwindled over the past decade or so.
—If this school disappears, the eighteen elementary school students living here will have to spend three hours on a bus every single day just to commute.
The editor had extracted Yun-hyeok's voice from his KBC interview, overlaid it, and displayed a Google Map on screen to illustrate the distance to the nearest bus stop and the travel time.
Then, a photo of Yun-hyeok sitting alone in an empty house appeared.
It was a picture he had taken and posted on his blog on his very first day in Doma-myeon.
Although Yun-hyeok had only taken a close-up of himself, the editor had somehow reconstructed and synthesized the image to show the entire house, complete with a starry night sky shining above.
[Though he is an aspiring politician with nothing to his name,]
[He wanted to protect that school.]
The subsequent footage meticulously documented the entire remodeling process of Doma Elementary School alongside a soft narration.
"This is practically on par with a professional PR team..."
Who on earth could have sent this?
In any case, Yun-hyeok was incredibly grateful.
The three-week petition drive and survey finally came to an end.
Surviving a grueling schedule of leaving at four thirty in the morning and returning at eleven at night for three straight weeks had been incredibly exhausting, but the results were highly satisfying.
The total number of participants was a staggering 9,843.
He felt a lingering temptation to extend it for another week to hit the clean 10,000 mark, but since he had other tasks ahead of him, he decided to wrap it up here.
What was left to do?
He needed to compile additional evidence to prove the severity of the subway congestion.
Yun-hyeok boarded the subway himself during peak rush hours to take photos.
"Aren't you Mr. Yun-hyeok?"
Now, people in almost every subway car recognized him.
"Hello. I'm gathering evidence on subway congestion levels."
"Make sure to take a good picture of us!"
Having seen them so often, the daily commuters now felt like old friends.
He took photos at specific time intervals and counted the number of passengers waiting on the platforms. He documented how many people could actually board when a train arrived, and how many were left behind, forced to wait for the next one.
He highlighted how devastating a ridiculous fifteen-minute dispatch interval was during the morning rush hour, when every single second counted.
He also showed how much extra exhaustion it piled onto weary workers trying to make their way back home in the evening.
He even conducted citizen interviews. Obtaining prior consent, he recorded video footage of commuters voicing their complaints about the long wait times and extreme overcrowding.
Furthermore, he counted the exact number of seats in each subway car. This was because the official congestion formulas used by the Korea Railroad Corporation and the Ministry of Land, Infrastructure and Transport were calculated based on seat capacity.
By the time he returned home, it was eleven o'clock at night.
Then, he moved on to the next crucial step.
"Finding case studies from other cities."
He searched for real-world examples of other cities in the metropolitan area that had successfully increased train frequencies during rush hours.
He started by digging through the press release archives of the Ministry of Land, Infrastructure and Transport. He checked the records of Gwangmyeong City Hall's successful push to increase Line 1 train runs to Gwangmyeong Station during the morning rush hour.
Next, he analyzed the Seoul Metro's adjustment plan for increasing trains on the congested sections of Line 2 near Sadang Station, as well as the evening rush hour timetable reform for Line 7.
Then, he turned to the Korea Transport Institute (KOTI).
He pulled up research reports detailing the hazards of subway congestion exceeding 150%, extracting data on the increased risk of passenger fainting spells and physical collisions inside the carriages.
On top of that, he thoroughly combed through the public database of city council bills nationwide. He reviewed the minutes of the Uijeongbu City Council, the Bucheon City Council, the Seongnam City Council...
By the time he finished gathering the bulk of the data, it was already two in the morning.
"Looks like I'll have to pull a few all-nighters."
After a brief rest in bed, he woke up first thing in the morning and immediately went back to organizing the data.
He had never approached this task as a mere "petitioner." From the very beginning, he had tackled it from the perspective of a policymaker.
Since he had no reason to go outside, even basic hygiene felt like a chore. He settled for a quick face wash and skipped shaving entirely.
"Yun-hyeok! You're going to ruin your health!"
His parents worried, but he reassured them.
"I just need a few more days."
This kind of work required intense, uninterrupted focus; dragging it out would only make it harder to compile.
His appearance grew increasingly disheveled, and empty coffee cups multiplied on his desk.
But in return, the stack of documents grew taller.
"Let's calculate the costs and budget in advance as well."
Based on the budget reports of the Mir City Transit Department, he drafted a cost-benefit analysis comparing the economic benefits of increasing rush-hour train runs against the operational costs.
Four days later.
"Time to go."
Piled high on Yun-hyeok's desk was a set of analytical data on par with an administrative audit, a policy proposal worthy of the National Assembly, and the petition documents signed by nearly ten thousand citizens.
The Transit Department of Mir City Hall.
"What in the world is that...?"
"Who is he?"
"What's going on?"
The lower-level civil servants couldn't take their eyes off the bizarre spectacle.
A young man had walked in carrying a massive box overflowing with documents. The materials inside were as follows:
1. Subway Service Increase Request
A formal petition titled Petition for Increasing Subway Service During Rush Hours at Mir Station.
2. Citizen Petition Signatures
The first supporting document, containing the signatures of nearly ten thousand citizens collected by Yun-hyeok over three weeks.
3. Passenger Demand Survey Report
The second supporting document, detailing the hourly passenger volume, subway car congestion levels, platform queue lengths, and train dispatch intervals that Yun-hyeok had personally observed and recorded.
4. Comparative Case Studies of Service Increases in Other Regions
The third supporting document, compiling the policies and outcomes of train frequency increases in other cities. While focusing heavily on Jechun City, it included real-world examples of rush-hour service expansions from five different municipalities.
5. Policy Proposal
A document designed for political and administrative persuasion. Unlike items one through four, this proposal was aimed not at the working-level civil servants, but at the political staff, the planning department, the city council, and the mayor.
Therefore:
"I would appreciate it if this final document could be forwarded to the political affairs team. Since the volume of material is quite substantial and might be difficult to review in full, I am more than willing to deliver a presentation if you'd like."
Yun-hyeok handed the documents over to the officer in charge.
"Yes... I see... But, who did you say you were again?" the officer asked, looking utterly bewildered.
"My name is Lee Yun-hyeok. I'm an aspiring politician."
Yun-hyeok introduced himself warmly and shook the officer's hand.
A politician must always maintain good relations with civil servants.
Looking back as he left the counter, he saw the officers making urgent phone calls with grave expressions.
Even though it had been submitted through the standard civil petition desk, anyone could see that this was not a simple complaint along the lines of "My commute is hard, please run more trains."
It was a fully realized policy proposal.
It possessed the exact same structure, logical arguments, and budget analysis as a policy draft crafted by a team of legislative aides in a National Assembly member's office. And since he lacked the institutional power of an incumbent lawmaker, he had backed it up with the signatures of ten thousand citizens to command the same level of influence.
A proposal of this caliber was impossible to ignore.
Therefore:
"Hello, Mr. Lee Yun-hyeok. This is Kim Min-cheol, the Planning and Coordination Director of Mir City Hall. I'm calling regarding your policy proposal to increase train runs at Mir Station during rush hours. Would it be possible for you to visit our Transit Department and deliver a presentation?"
When the call came the very next day, Yun-hyeok was already prepared to move.