Power & Sex, and... 70
After returning to Seoul, meeting the people he needed to see, and tying up loose ends, Park Maru finally remembered the promise he'd made in Gwangju to that student, Sin Hye. He didn't have a personal way to cover her father's surgery costs anyway, and even if he did, it would invite all sorts of misunderstandings from those around him. So he'd decided to make it a public issue and called a morning meeting with his staff.
"So what does Congressman—no, what does our office get out of this?"
"Nothing special, I suppose. But it's about saving a life."
"Have you ever thought you might get backlash for a congressman stepping into something so personal?"
"Even when it's about saving a citizen's life?"
"You're not just that girl's father's congressman. And crucially, she's not even a voter in our district."
His core team in Room 307 was the backbone, but they all balked at his proposal to launch a fundraising drive. Their concerns were perfectly reasonable—in fact, they flat-out didn't have the bandwidth to plan and execute it. He'd half-expected this, but it still left him feeling deflated.
"Why not just hand it off to Secretary Hyun?"
"Secretary Hyun?"
"Yes. It'd be way more effective if the fan cafe took it up."
Kim Sil-jang stepped in with a solution as Maru failed to hide his disappointment.
"That sounds good. Your name would naturally get exposure, Congressman, and it'd help the student too, right?"
The staff nodded in agreement with Kim Sil-jang. From their perspective, it was a win-win: less work for them, free publicity for Maru. Like hitting two birds with one stone. Even if the drive fell short, they'd be thrilled. They went with Kim Sil-jang's idea and called Jeong-ah into the office.
"Congressman, Secretary Hyun is here."
She arrived quickly after the call, so Maru explained the whole situation with Sin Hye and waited for her take.
"Let's do it. The cafe has over 100,000 members—if just one in ten donates 10,000 won, that's 100 million. We'll see how it goes, but even 10 million wouldn't be bad."
"You think pulling in 10 million is that easy?"
"Congressman, you just gotta start. Give me her contact first. I'll meet her."
Jeong-ah was decisive as ever. They'd kick off the drive on her fan cafe first, then expand to the party bulletin board once it gained traction, encouraging voluntary participation from members. Once that fired up, party congressmen would feel the pressure and dig into their own pockets naturally. It might cover half the surgery costs at minimum.
She wanted to head to Gwangju right away to meet Sin Hye, so Maru paired her with Im Bi-seo, who didn't have major duties yet. Jeong-ah wasn't familiar with Gwangju, so the local guy's help would come in handy.
The party's emergency committee had finally approved the convention and announced the schedule. Maru wasn't running for supreme committee himself, but he needed Kim Seong-gap, Jeong Sang-won, and Park Seong-hwan elected as party leader and supreme members. Time to tap his network.
Truth be told, he didn't expect them to lose. Kim Seong-gap and Jeong Sang-won had just won the last supreme race, and they were political veterans. Park Seong-hwan, backed by 60% of the 25 National Assembly Reform Alliance members, had about 6% of national delegates locked in. No rebell votes, and they'd cruise. But elections were unpredictable until the votes were counted—he couldn't just sit back.
"Let's hear from Congressman Park."
He'd called the three to his office to strategize for the convention. After they sat and sipped coffee, Kim Seong-gap suggested Maru kick things off. He looked at them and spoke.
"How do the two of you and Congressman Park Seong-hwan plan to approach this convention?"
Instead of answering, Maru turned the question back. No need to ask Park Seong-hwan—he was the junior. The other two were proven winners, crafty old foxes.
But this convention demanded more. Jeong Sang-won just needed to win; Kim Seong-gap for leader and Park Seong-hwan for the Reform Alliance slot needed landslide margins to grab media spotlight and real party influence.
"I think the three of you should openly ally and run together, not go solo. I'll publicly endorse you all, of course."
"You'll step up front too, Congressman Park?"
"Yes. I'll appeal directly to members that you're essential for reforming the party."
Their faces lit up. For Maru, it kept eyes off him—if candidates dominated headlines and his name faded, that'd be bad. Plus, it prevented them thinking their wins were solo efforts. Even without running, he needed to lead.
"We'll rent an office in Yeouido for the campaign HQ."
"And the costs?"
"I'll cover it, but it'll count as election expenses. Publicly, you three split it."
"If you handle that, it's like a free pass for us."
That investment was par for tying them publicly to his faction. And since he planned a think tank to cement his defense policy expertise, renting early wasn't a big deal.
Once the office was set, they'd need staff—two aides per congressman. He made sure Park Seong-hwan included that "Adak" intern kid.
Jeong-ah and Adak could handle online promo on the party board for delegates and members—no worries there. Next: speechwriters and organization lead. Kim Sil-jang was perfect for org, so Maru recommended him.
"Shouldn't the org head have some name recognition? At least a former congressman."
Jeong Sang-won pushed back subtly. Time to shut it down hard—let them raise their heads later, and they'd strike like vipers.
"Supreme Member Jeong Sang-won, have you seen those guys hustle nationwide on their own dime? Or even run org right with funding? From my secretary days, they're all just in it for the cash."
Jeong Sang-won scowled, lips tight. He knew the old saying: "In elections, the money goes to whoever grabs it first." That's why he wanted his cronies in the cash-heavy org slot—for a cut or favors.
"If you're unhappy, run solo. I'm not forcing you or holding you back."
He drove the wedge cold. It kept them all in line, signaling he could ditch any if needed.
"No complaints— I just thought a former congressman might appeal more to members and delegates."
Jeong Sang-won folded. Without Maru, the party's mood could sink them all—they had no choice.
Maru brought in Kim Sil-jang and reintroduced him.
"This is Chief Secretary Kim. No one in Korean politics matches him on organization. He's my political mentor, so treat him with the respect he deserves."
The old-timers might chafe, but Maru pushed through. It was payback for Kim Seong-gap dismissing him as "just a secretary" at dinner—and a petty revenge.
With their momentum crushed, Kim Sil-jang got situation room chief (real power behind scenes), Maru public campaign head. The others wouldn't send aides matching Kim Sil-jang's caliber, letting him run things his way and poach their staff as allies.
"If you pull me for campaign HQ, who's minding the office?"
"What, you got something worth stealing? No one's slacking without you anyway. Time to groom a successor."
"Successor? Me, in politics?"
"You never know. Who saw me rising?"
"Not that talk here—who hears, we're done."
"Door's shut. Congressmen aren't human? I'm no Hong Gil-dong hiding his dad. Anyway, nationwide tour means shape up—manage your health."
It pained Maru to spin Kim Sil-jang nationwide instead of desk work, but no one else could sway delegates and members so well—or deliver ROI without skimming. In politics, finding honest help was near impossible.