Smear Tactics Backfire and Wedding Victory Lap

As expected, the very first day of campaigning kicked off with the opponent taking the stage at the rally site, openly shouting that I was cohabiting with a young woman half my age. He ranted about how such an immoral person could possibly represent the voters and speak for the people. Naturally, during his speech, they played videos—clearly taken some time ago—of Ara and me together, plus photos of me entering and leaving the villa, all presented as "evidence."

Reporters swarmed him, recording the speech and clamoring for interviews as soon as he finished. Meanwhile, Jeong-ah captured the opponent's rant on video, then bolted back to the strategy room to hand it off to the video team.

The video team quickly edited it with our marriage certificate, interviews from my mother-in-law and my own mother, and packaged it all on a USB. They rushed it to the campaign vehicle, which swapped routes to claim the spot right after the opponent left. They played the counter-video, proving to voters that his claims were utter lies.

Of course, the opponent would catch on in minutes or hours at most and abandon his prepared script. But the stain of being a cowardly slanderer spreading rumors would stick to him for the entire election.

"Hey, Kim Reporter."

"Was this Park candidate's doing?"

"No. One of our volunteers suggested it, and Kim Sil-jang planned it out."

"So, you're just sweeping this under the rug?"

"I can't give a firm answer. Kim Sil-jang will handle it."

Word had spread fast, and reporters flooded the campaign office, cameras trained on Kim Sil-jang.

Kim Sil-jang's tone was resolute. They'd already decided to use any surprise attack to crush the opponent early. The lawyer who'd advised on legal matters since Hwang Seong-tae's campaign had filed a formal complaint with the prosecutors, leaving the office. Kim Sil-jang was preparing to file with the election commission for violating the Public Official Election Act, so he had no choice but to take a hard line with the press.

The opponent's manager called, but I coldly ended it. Why listen to a rabbit caught in the trap I'd set? He even showed up at the rally site, lost his temper climbing onto my campaign vehicle mid-speech, got restrained by staff, grabbed a worker's collar in a minor assault—and we called 112. He ended up hauled away in a patrol car.

Jeong-ah filmed it all from the campaign vehicle roof, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠rushed the footage to the video team, who edited and attached it to a press release sent to every newspaper and broadcaster.

That evening, the main news led with my district's rookie politician drama. Kang Sang-jin couldn't deny the video evidence and faced indictment without detention. The election was unfolding hugely in my favor from the start.

Back at the office, the fallout hit: staff and volunteers griped—not really protests—about hiding my marriage. Ara looked exhausted behind her smile, having endured her share.

The 'Taekwondo Kid Maruchi' fan cafe exploded after the 8pm and 9pm news, rivaling an ex-president's in activity. Young student volunteers surged, 'Park Maru' echoing in every alley.

The grueling(?) two-week campaign ended. Unlike others, we wrapped official events at 6pm and gathered at Song Sang-hyeon Plaza in our crisp white taekwondo doboks. We'd secured permits from Busan Jin-gu Office, filed for assembly just in case, and cleared using wedding gifts as campaign funds with the election commission—no red tape.

By arrival, the stage was perfectly set for a wedding. As 9pm neared, crowds trickled in, filling the plaza shoulder-to-shoulder before the hour.

Lights dimmed across the stage and plaza. Intense spotlights swept the square as soft piano notes filled the air. Spotlights softened, focusing on the red carpet center stage where the taekwondo-clad bride and groom entered.

"Hey, isn't that Park candidate?"

"What? Who?"

Murmurs rippled around the carpet, eyes locked on us.

Thunderous applause erupted, and the wedding began. No fancy gimmicks needed. Eun-mi, who'd championed my campaign like her own while I revealed my time as Hwang's aide, recalled Ara's dream of an outdoor wedding and suggested this hybrid event to Ara.

Proceedings were straightforward, like any wedding. We exited to wedding march cheers amid the crowd. Post-ceremony photos drew staff, party members, fan clubbers, and locals—flashes hounding us long after. But for a politician, it was a sweet pain to endure.

Delightfully, on-site donations outpaced bank transfers, leaving us pondering the windfall's use.

Back at the office, we sat facing everyone.

"Congrats on the wedding, you two!"

All rose, clapping and cheering as we entered.

"Thank you all. And seriously, you've worked so hard these past four months."

Ara and I bowed amid their applause, then sat.

"So, honeymoon where?"

"Voting tomorrow—no honeymoon."

"Still gotta have your wedding night, right?"

"Did that ages ago. Ow!"

Ara, head bowed in guilt over our "lie" to party members and volunteers, pinched my arm. But on a joyous night, what was a pinch? I piled on.

"Worried I'd kept her pristine all this time? I'm no eunuch."

"Candidate, you're about to be assemblyman—talking eunuchs?"

"Gotta be so prim in front of family?"

"Still, you're running for assemblyman."

"Counting's not started. No vote thieves tomorrow, and elections? Lid's gotta open to know."

"Whoa, our candidate's such a worrywart."

The mood stayed jovial as we scarfed midnight snacks. They reminded poll watchers of key points, then headed home.

"Honey, congrats on the wedding~"

"Sis, bro—congrats!"

"Thanks~ You and Jeong-ah busted ass this campaign. And you slaved on today's wedding prep—thanks. Jeong-ah, genius main concept idea—huge thanks."

"Never dreamed Jeong-ah'd drop such a brilliant hook. Post-election, I might scout her."

"You serious?"

"If she wants, anytime. Promo team's dream hire."

"Pfft, then who's running bro's fan cafe?"

"You keep it, Jeong-ah. Salary from Lee Hoe-jang's company, help me free on the side—sweet deal."

"Tch, greedy much, bro?"

"Hey, Lee Hoe-jang's loaded. I'm broke. Daesan Group promo? Job security anywhere."

"Fine, I'll think about it."

First worry-free sleep in ages. Not stamina concerns—just peaceful slumber, Ara sleeping solo to let me rest.

Up early, showered, voted with Ara at the polling station. Unaccustomed to flashes, she smiled brightly, striking poses for reporters.

"Park candidate, confident in victory today?"

"Nothing's certain in this world. I gave my all; now voters decide."

Escorted by the security chief and two volunteer drivers, we fetched Mom from home, visited Dad's grave to announce the marriage and election watch, then dropped her off. Next, in-laws: picked up mother-in-law, hit Yeongwol for father-in-law's grave.

At the office, supporters and reporters packed it. Staff buzzed serving them. Reporters snapped us entering; I fielded questions till dizzy.

TV chimed 6pm; networks announced exit polls.

Cheers exploded; the monitor showed my landslide lead. The opponent, smeared as a matador from day one, faced voter backlash till the end—predictable result.

Counting began; I led absentee ballots comfortably. Gaps widened with precinct boxes. My name flashed first nationwide with "Leading ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Candidate" subtitle. Party leader's congrats call led a flood—phone glued to my ear. Exhausted, I passed it to Kim Sil-jang and called Lee Hoe-jang first. He beamed, expecting my busy line, offering ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠cheers and encouragement.

I was the first nationwide confirmed winner in the 20th National Assembly election. The office erupted in cheers; staff hugged, jumped, then hoisted us for bumps. Young Ara squealed "Eek!" but beamed with joy.

First goal achieved. Next? The presidency of this Republic of Korea!