Power & Sex, and... 77

After the first ward reading session handled by that woman and Ara ended, they chatted briefly with the kids' mom before heading to the next room. I followed them inside. But it wasn't just the two of them—some of the older kids from the previous ward trailed us in as well. Just like before, she read them the Poop Lightning book, and the kids burst into the same peals of laughter, delighted as ever. Even more absurd was that the kids who'd already heard it were grinning just as wide, enjoying it all over again.

"How can they laugh like ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that after hearing it already?"

"Yeah, most kids are like that."

"It's not even that funny. Keeps hearing it, now I swear I can smell actual poop in the room."

"Yep. At that age, they just love the word 'poop.' You could say it over and over, and they'd keep cracking up."

"Really?"

"Yeah. No idea why, but they think it's fun, not gross."

We whispered amid the kids' giggles. Truth be told, chances to chat like this with Ara were rare, so just facing her and talking felt like a treat. Eventually, the Poop Lightning reading wrapped up. The kids clamored for an encore—"One more time!"—looking unsatisfied, while she wore an unmistakably weary expression. No wonder; reading a whole picture book in falsetto, complete with gestures, wasn't easy.

Ara finally took the baton. She sat in the spot the woman had occupied, gazing at the kids. Bathed in sunlight, she looked like an angel.

"Seo Ara must be quite a bit younger than you."

"Yeah, more like an aunt."

"Not aunt—practically a grandaunt."

"Tell me about it. So young, and she ends up with a guy like me."

"So how'd you two meet? Just like the article said, at the library?"

"Yep, exactly."

"Fated, huh."

As we talked, I watched Ara read to the kids with a warm smile. Seo Yeosa—turns out she was a secretary for one of Busan's moms' storytelling groups. She'd formally trained in oral storytelling and had been volunteering solo at the hospital for years, reading to kids. By chance, she'd crossed paths with Ara's new hospital reading group and joined up. Sharing the same surname as Ara drew them even closer; they decided to be like sisters. Which meant I'd somehow gained a sister-in-law out of nowhere.

Once they'd finished their rounds, we headed to the first-floor lobby, where all the day's volunteers soon gathered.

"If you're not too busy, how about I treat everyone to lunch?"

"Sounds great~"

My offer was met with unanimous enthusiasm. At Seo Yeosa's suggestion, we went to a nearby magpie duck specialty restaurant. I wasn't big on magpie duck myself, but the women raved about it for dieting, skin care, and anemia. Anyway, the restaurant unleashed the full force of Korean ajummas' chatter—bold and unfiltered. Even the usually gutsy Ara blushed furiously. No surprise there.

"Not many party members here, huh?"

"Yeah, community service works best for women party members. Everyone else here has storytelling certifications—except me."

"Nice. We've got some real talents in the party."

"Yep. At the last meeting, we talked about what each of us does best and split into groups. But hey, acchi, can't you get us a bath van?"

"A bath van?"

"For bathing service to elderly living alone. You see those bath vans on TV sometimes? One would be perfect. Heating water at their homes takes forever—boiler fuel costs, and lots use briquettes, so prep eats up time."

"Got it. I'll look into it."

On the drive back, she explained the reading group and local scene, then brought up the mobile bath van again. They served solo elderly, grandparent-grandkid homes, and the disabled—but transporting folks to bathhouses was tough, so they did house calls. Problem was, heating the water took way longer than the actual bathing.

Ara's words made it seem straightforward. Companies budgeted ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠for CSR anyway to polish their image. A word to Chairman Lee Hoejang, and it'd be sorted. I promised her it'd happen. Relieved, she beamed and gently took my hand.

"Anything else you need?"

"Nah, dues cover the rest."

"Hit me up anytime for support. Can't do it directly—election laws—but I can ask others."

Since quitting the library, Ara's week was packed with party volunteer work. She was still young enough to hang with friends, gossip, and have fun, yet here she was, married to a nobody, barely any personal life. I felt guilty... and grateful.

"Don't push too hard."

"I'm not. It's fun. Grandmas dote on me when I visit. The sisters I work with are the best."

"Glad to hear it."

Volunteering could stress anyone out, but she treated it like play. Music to my ears.

"Where to, acchi?"

"Just wanna catch some breeze before heading home."

"Not tired?"

"You know fresh air perks me right up."

I parked near a tiny port by Daebyeon Harbor, past Songjeong. Regretted not grabbing coffee—scanned for a vending machine, nada. Too lazy to hunt one down, so I stepped out, lit a cigarette.

Inhaling deep, I watched my smoke mingle with the endless sea. My chest loosened. The stifling Seoul memories evaporated.

Fired as Hwang Seong-tae's secretary. That led to Eun-mi, then a rocket ride: won the assembly election, joined the first-termers' National Assembly Reform Alliance as secretary, snagged digital media committee chair. Drew fire from the party leader and elders—but that spotlighted me to rank-and-file members and reform-minded assemblymen hungry for change. The fallout? A string of events propelling me higher, like some unseen force grooming me for bigger things.

Could I dodge kill shots and hold my assembly seat for 10 years? Run for president and win? If president, remake Korea into my dream?

Deep down: Did I even deserve the presidency? Cold truth—Eun-mi, Jeong-ah, Suji were fatal flaws for a politician. Immoral stains (Ara excepted). But ditching them? The women tied to me by ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠fate? Impossible. Just keep it buried, triple-careful. If it blew up, I'd be politics' most shameless hypocrite. Fine—drop everything, retreat to some quiet mountain hollow.

That thought eased me. No presidency? No big loss. Life wouldn't crumble. Assemblyman, president—pale next to guarding my bonds, my life.

"What're you thinking so hard about, acchi?"

"Huh? Oh, sorry. Just sorting recent stuff."

"Rough?"

"Nah, what's to be rough? Too smooth lately—that's the worry."

"Gonna be haters jealous of your rise."

"Don't sweat 'em. Life's like politics: power rules. If I'm outgunned, raise the white flag."

"Yeah. Wouldn't starve without the seat anyway. Take it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠easy."

"What, tired of being an assemblyman's wife?"

"Nah. Just... older ladies calling me 'madam' feels heavy."

If she were around 40, she'd probably love it. But early 20s, getting 'samo-nim' from 30-somethings and up? Awkward as hell. Especially since she wasn't the flashy type.

"Bro, busy?"

"Nah. Why?"

"If not, come home for dinner."

My brother called. I'd arrived late last night, barely said hi. Mom might've felt slighted. I picked up Ara and headed home.

"Why so much food? No guests."

"Figured you were beat lately."

"Aigoo, Mom~ What's there to tire me?"

"I'm old, but I keep up with the world. Sharp rocks get hammered—learn to roll smooth. You're no kid anymore."

"Got it. I'll remember."

Over dinner, Mom's words showed worry, not hurt. Brother kept news off at home just in case, but she couldn't avoid neighborhood grannies' talk. She'd lived here decades pre-marriage; those ladies knew me well, followed my news naturally.

I explained to ease her mind. All I could do.