New Year's Triumph and the Cohabitation Rumor
0044 ------------------------------------------------------
The year-end party, postponed due to Congressman Hwang's death, was repurposed as a New Year's gathering. It had been planned anyway, but now it was more essential than ever for me, so I was endlessly grateful to the office manager and Chief Kim for taking the lead. With no worries about expenses, we decided to invite as many party members as possible. To avoid any election law issues, we nominally collected 10,000 won per person for meal costs, while the office manager covered the shortfall discreetly, framing it as contributions from a few local dignitaries who agreed to split the burden.
For a district committee New Year's event, it drew an exceptionally large crowd. The donation box at the restaurant counter overflowed with cash envelopes far beyond expectations, and the event proceeded smoothly amid lively festivities. Thanks to my days at the assembly members' office building where I'd handled ceremonies, several singers I'd connected with showed up despite modest fees, performing in Busan to thunderous cheers from the party members. Caught up in the excitement, they even did multiple encores before leaving the stage, bringing the glamorous party to a close in a blaze of heat.
"You must be tired from coming all the way down here."
"Not at all. I hope you win big in the election."
"How about coming down again in April to help? That'd be a huge boost."
"I'll check with the CEO first, and if schedules align, sure."
"Thanks. Safe travels back."
I escorted the invited singer to the restaurant entrance and turned back inside to find the on-duty staff all gathered together.
"Something up?"
"Chairman Park, what's this?"
"What happened?"
"We've got money left over."
"Huh? How's that possible?"
"No kidding. They must've thought you were too young and broke, 'cause they stuffed way more than the meal fee."
While many put in just the standard 10,000 won, plenty contributed far more, so we photographed it all for records. Jeong-ah, true to her duties, dumped the donation box onto a table, snapped pics of the cash spread out, photographed the receipt as requested by the restaurant, and posted it on SNS with the caption "Jackpot! Party meeting where donations outstrip the meal cost???", then messaged the group members to retweet.
It was my first time seeing voluntary donations exceed expenses at a party event, so even I was baffled—especially since we'd hired singers from Seoul on a tight budget. At least the election commission couldn't fault us later.
"Oppa, fighting!"
Ara's cute send-off marked the start of my election campaign as I stepped out the gate. With full campaigning still three months away, every day was a grueling marathon for a candidate like me.
Though just a preliminary candidate, I bowed to passing cars every morning during street greetings, grabbed breakfast at nearby open eateries afterward, rested briefly at the office, then canvassed shops to show my face to locals.
Pitying my routine, Ara took leave from work to manage my daily life. Mornings now meant warm, hearty rice instead of toast and coffee.
During the day, with Jeong-ah's help, Ara called every registered party member to rally support. Eun-mi, drawing on women who'd aided Hwang's past campaigns, invited locals to the office to pitch me as his true successor.
"Candidate."
"Huh? What brings you here?"
"The wife sent this for you."
Lee Hoe-jang's secretary handed over a bundle: a thermos of quince tea, nuts, chocolates—packed full. Veteran election wisdom shone through. I thanked him profusely, asked him to pass on my gratitude, stowed it in the car, and plunged back into the voters.
"Howdy, folks?"
"Aigoo, Candidate Park all the way out here? No need to come to our little place."
"Campaigning worked up an appetite. Fix me some rice?"
"What an honor! Soon-to-be congressman eating at our spot. Mind a photo?"
"Of course. Politicians don't have portrait rights anyway."
I posed with the owner, filled my belly, then called the office. The youth committee chair looked exhausted from days of pounding pavement, so I requested a young party member to distribute cards in his stead. When one arrived and we discussed the handoff, the chair jumped up, waving it off—no way. It took sweaty persuasion. Even when I insisted he rest, his refusal alongside his team's dedication convinced me we'd win this election hands down.
I force-fed cash to the reluctant owner, strode out, and hit the streets with renewed vigor. Hwang's legacy earned friendly responses everywhere—not just for me, but the youth chair too, who smiled through fatigue, his voice booming.
After evening greetings and a quick dinner, I handed out cards in nightlife spots popular with constituents. Finally, the youth chair surrendered.
"Candidate, call it a night."
"Yeah. Great work. Back to the office."
"Not straight home?"
"You're great, but these folks grinding till now deserve a goodbye."
"They'd understand."
"Nah. What's a quick hello cost?"
"Can't argue with your stubbornness."
Our route led to the office anyway—a five-minute walk. The brightly lit banner-wrapped second-floor campaign HQ glowed like a promise of victory.
"Thanks for sticking it out till midnight."
"Aigoo, our Candidate Park's here. Applause!"
The office manager's booming call sparked standing ovations from the lingering volunteers. I fired back, "Applause for you all, slaving away without going home!"—and the claps erupted again.
Soon, our ordered late-night snacks arrived. We sat, snacking and sipping soju, swapping stories from the day.
"Candidate."
"Yes, Women's Committee Chair?"
"There's a weird rumor going around."
"What kind?"
"That you're shacking up with some young thing."
She pulled me into the committee room to spill what she'd heard. In politics, a candidate tangled in woman trouble—real or not—tanks their morals in our culture. A veteran like her was shocked at rumors of me cohabiting with a fresh-faced girl—not once or twice, but openly.
"It's not true, right?"
"Could be, could not."
"What? This is serious—no joking. I hear that old aide Baek's working for the other side."
"I know. Quietly trace the rumor source, please."
"But it's not true?"
"It is."
"What? How could you!"
Her mood iced over. She probably thought I was nuts for admitting it so casually—maybe even election-losing nuts. Head down, she spaced out. Time to drop the prank; I confessed fully.
"Truth is, I'm married."
"Huh? What? Aren't you single?"
"Just did it—a few days ago."
"Say what?"
"Anyway, it's real, so no worries on the rumor. I'm actually waiting for the other candidate to spread it."
Relieved, she eased up, chiding me for hiding the marriage.
"Fine, but how do you wed without a word?"
"Aigoo, saves you wedding cash. Be grateful!"
"So petty. That's not how people work."
"Just registered—no ceremony yet. With elections, every hand counts; couldn't bear stashing my fiancée away. Ceremony post-election; registration first."
"Should've said so sooner. But won't you rake in more cash as a congressman? Sneaky, huh?"
"If so, bring big bucks to my wedding—no refusals."
"When do we meet the bride?"
"She works here."
"Huh?"
She puzzled over who, stunned when I named Ara.
"Mercy me! I ragged on the future missus without knowing."
"Scold if work slips. She hustles harder than most."
"First night done?"
"Sheesh. Think I'm eunuch? Way done."
"Eww, candidate shameless as this."
"Gotta thicken your skin for elections."
The rumor hit too early, deflating things, but unavoidable. As the women's chair left relieved, I grabbed her.