Power & Sex, and... 67
“But why did Congressman Seo Jeong-ho announce he won't run?”
“He must have his own reasons.”
“So what about this party convention?”
“That's why I wanted to see you. Are you still thinking of running for supreme committee member?”
“If you back me, Congressman, I'd love to give it a shot. But will Congressman Seo really sit it out?”
“Yes. So don't worry—just prepare.”
“Do you know something I don't?”
“Sometimes ignorance is bliss.”
After parting with Supreme Committee Member Kim Seong-gap, I called Congressman Park Seong-hwan to meet. This guy was ambitious about running for supreme committee but fretted that if Seo Jeong-ho pushed ahead anyway, it would split the National Assembly Reform Alliance votes. He was also dying to know the backstory behind Seo Jeong-ho's decision not to run in the next general election.
In truth, if I wanted to lead types like Park Seong-hwan going forward, I needed them to obey my orders to some degree. So I cut him off a bit coldly on purpose. Naturally, he looked a little embarrassed before slinking away.
Letting first-term congressmen like him think we were equals just because we were both rookies would be my mistake. A first-termer with that mindset was far less useful than a grizzled old fox like Kim Seong-gap, who'd rolled around in the political mud for ages. Guys like him wouldn't bare their teeth at me as long as I held power—or as long as they thought they could squeeze something out of me.
After wrapping up with Park Seong-hwan, I posted on the party bulletin board: a thank-you note to the supporters who'd joined the tent protest outside party HQ, plus an apology for not sticking it out to the end due to personal reasons. I wrapped it up by noting how their efforts had forced the party leadership to resign en masse—a starting gun for reforming our party—and asked for their unwavering love for the party alongside stern criticism of its mistakes.
Back at the office, Chief Aide Kim Sil-jang and I sorted through the list of mid-level officers the division commander had introduced me to last time, scheduling meetings. It'd be great if there was a defense expert we could really use, but we'd only know after meeting them.
To lighten the load on my office staff, what we needed most was a specialist for defense policy advice. So starting tomorrow, we'd meet the division commander's recommendations, starting with whoever responded first—Chief Aide Kim Sil-jang would reach out.
“Where are you?”
“Hey, oppa. At unnie's place with Suji and unnie.”
“Tell unnie and come out. Let's go for a drive.”
“Unnie's super pissed. Honestly, Suji and I aren't thrilled either.”
From the vibe, it sounded like the three of them were holding an anti-me rally. Eun-mi, who'd been so worried yesterday, must've turned that into anger once she saw I was fine. And skipping calls last night while tending to the office crew had fanned the flames.
No excuse for my negligence—I'd have to apologize, even if they killed me for it. So I stormed Eun-mi's place.
“Why won't you open the door?”
“Unnie says she doesn't wanna see you today. Same here.”
I rang the bell at Eun-mi's door over and over, but no dice. Called, but got an edict: no entry, no meeting me. Couldn't just get mad and leave, so I parked in the apartment lot, reclined my seat, and chilled. Maybe curiosity would draw them down eventually.
Not cold out, so I cracked the window, leaned back... and drowsiness hit. The last few days of high alert had worn me out.
“What if you fall asleep out here?”
Eun-mi's voice from outside jolted me awake—she was tapping the window.
“Ugh, I must've dozed off. Sorry.”
“Remember you've already said sorry twice today?”
“Yeah, sorry.”
“'Sorry' is practically glued to your lips. Why do it if you're sorry?”
Her pitiful gaze flipped to fury in a flash. She'd seen me zonked out in the car, realized how exhausted I was, but now the resentment bubbled up. What could I say? I'd gotten off lucky not to get beaten to death.
“Get up here, quick!”
“Let's just go for that drive.”
“Drive? When you're this beat? Cut the crap and come up.”
Her voice blew icy winds—half a year early for winter. Feeling like a lamb to slaughter, I dragged myself after her.
Inside, Jeong-ah and Suji eyed me with pity. As I headed to the living room, Eun-mi yanked my arm, shoved me into the bedroom, and slammed the door with one parting shot:
“Change into the sweats on the bed and crash.”
No point fighting—I swapped into the training suit, skipped washing up, and plunged into deep sleep.
Stumbled out to the living room, bleary-eyed; savory smells wafted from the kitchen. Eun-mi and Jeong-ah bustled at the sink, prepping food; Suji set the table.
“Why're you up already?”
“It's morning.”
“Can't you rest a full day?”
“You rested plenty while skipping work for days.”
“Rest? After a shootout?”
Word of that damn pistol had spread to them too. Eun-mi was still fuming—her words sharp; Jeong-ah's pout lingered. Only Suji flashed a faint smile.
“Are we strangers or what?”
“Didn't wanna worry you.”
“Anyway, vanish like that again and I'm done with you!”
“Got it. Won't happen again.”
“You even lied to Ara too?”
“Not just Ara—office, district office, even my brother. Same story everywhere. No need to put you all at risk.”
“From now on, dangerous or not, tell us. If something happens to you, Ara's not the only one who'd fall apart—we all would.”
“Okay. Let's eat.”
I cut her off before tears welled, grabbing my spoon.
“No big plans tonight? Let's go for a drive.”
“No evening commitments?”
“Nah, nothing I gotta handle personally. Just a first-termer.”
We set evening plans; I headed out.
Opened the office door—a gentleman in his late forties or early fifties shot up from his seat.
“Congressman, the division commander sent me.”
Chief Aide Kim Sil-jang, already briefed, introduced him. I led him to my room; Kim joined too.
“Park Maru.”
“Yes. The division commander mentioned you a lot. Said you need help with defense policy.”
Chief Aide Kim Sil-jang slid the man's resume over and explained their chat, with Dr. Kim chiming in to fill gaps and share his defense policy views.
On paper, he was a defense expert par excellence: retired colonel, then researcher at the Defense Science Institute—knew our military's weapon systems cold. Of course, we still needed budget and strategy pros, so more hires down the line.
But the immediate issue: how to handle them. Staff slots were full; even if open, hiring retirees like this was tricky. We needed arrangements for Dr. Kim and future experts—pay, space, the works.
We talked defense policy all morning, lunched together, then I promised to follow up soon with concrete plans and saw him off.
“What do you think of Dr. Kim, Chief Aide?”
“Seemed solid in conversation, but we should screen him properly.”
“Of course.”
“And if we hire him, how do we handle compensation?”
“How about setting up a think tank? One guy's not enough anyway.”
“Isn't that biting off too much?”
“We started big—might as well go all in. Strike while the iron's hot and cement my image as a defense expert.”
In our divided country's reality, especially with conservatives always hitting us on ideology, “defense and security expert” made a solid brand. My standing committee was National Defense anyway—I'd prep hard for it. Long-term, that label sticking to my name? Prime investment.
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