Power & Sex, And... 01
“Assemblyman, you have a meeting scheduled at 3 PM with the CEO of SJ Entertainment.”
“SJ Entertainment? Never heard of them.”
“Yes. They're not a major agency, but I understand they focus mainly on idol singers.”
“But why do I need to meet this guy?”
“There's no real need, but they requested a meeting with you so insistently.”
As I left my officetel and headed to the Members' Office Building, Kim Sil-jang came in and mentioned a meeting with the CEO of some entertainment agency I'd never heard of. Since the standing committee I was assigned to wasn't Culture and Broadcasting but National Defense, I was about to turn down this random request from an entertainment CEO. But looking at Kim Sil-jang's expression, he seemed to want me to meet the guy. In the end, if there was nothing special on my schedule, it wasn't a big deal, so I asked him about today's itinerary.
“What's on the schedule today?”
“You'll attend the standing committee meeting in the morning, and lunch is set with the first-term assemblymen.”
“And the afternoon?”
“Nothing special besides the meeting with the entertainment CEO.”
“Then after that meeting, I'll head down to Busan. Book me a train ticket, please.”
“Not driving?”
“Why take the car alone to Busan? Fuel, tolls aside, Kim Driver needs the weekend off too.”
After the election, I'd taken the oath at the plenary session in the National Assembly, and the floor leader's office assigned me to the National Defense Committee. I had no idea why they'd put a mere ROTC lieutenant like me on Defense—maybe because it was mostly filled with first-termers except for the party whips from both sides, making it a dumping ground for nobodies. Thanks to that, I was a nobody assemblyman too. T_T
The standing committee meeting was nothing special. Just exchanging greetings, listening to the chair and party whips, then adjourning. I sent the policy aide back to the office and headed to the restaurant where our party's first-term assemblymen were gathering for lunch.
“Assemblyman Park, come on in.”
“You beat me here.”
After the usual greetings and finishing lunch, one of the first-termers stood up and proposed making these meetings regular. Most agreed with applause. They settled on a name while agreeing that, as first-termers, we should approach our legislative work with a somewhat reformist mindset: National Assembly Reform Alliance, shortened to “Gukgaeyeon” for our group. With the name set, they moved to electing a secretary.
“Who should be the group's secretary?”
“We don't know each other well yet, so that might be awkward.”
“How about Assemblyman Park Maru, who was confirmed elected first this time?”
“No, I'm much younger than the rest of you. How could I take the secretary role?”
“Ah, right! The secretary's the one doing the grunt work anyway, so young Assemblyman Park is perfect. Right, everyone?”
Caught off guard, I was elected secretary amid applause. Honestly, I hadn't spoken up to volunteer—too risky to stick my neck out and get stoned—but if they were handing it to me, no reason to refuse. More positions were always better, and if this group pulled off something sensational, all the camera flashes would hit the secretary—me. No politician would hate that.
As the applause died down, Assemblyman Seong, who'd been leading the mood, approached and told me to greet the members as secretary. Pretending reluctance, I stood, bowed, and gave an over-the-top pledge to devote my body to our “Gukgaeyeon,” then sat. Anyway, as the newly elected secretary, lunch was on me.
Back at the office after lunch with the Gukgaeyeon first-termers, as I sipped coffee, the grade-9 clerical staff I'd hired knocked and entered to announce a visitor.
“Assemblyman, SJ Entertainment CEO Hwang Bo-jun is here.”
“Yes, have him come in.”
Moments later, a neatly dressed middle-aged man entered with a young woman in hot pants so short her hips were nearly exposed.
“Welcome. I'm Park Maru.”
“Nice to meet you, Assemblyman. I'm Hwang Bo-jun, running SJ Entertainment.”
“And this young lady?”
“Yes, she's a singer I'm managing. Suji, say hello.”
“Hi, I'm Suji. Please look after me kindly~”
“Aigoo, what do I need to do? You're already pretty.”
“Hee!”
“Suji, in front of the assemblyman.”
Suji covered her mouth and giggled at my words, earning a stern glance from Hwang. The CEO admonished her out of propriety, but I smiled faintly at her boldness and that daring outfit so rare in the Members' Office Building.
“It's fine. Even at my age, I chuckle at rolling dog shit—what's wrong with laughing?”
“Thank you for seeing her in a good light.”
“So, what brings you here today?”
“Nothing major—we're hoping our agency's singers could perform at military bases.”
“That doesn't seem like something I can arrange.”
The agency CEO was oddly asking to feature his singers at troop comfort performances. Thinking he'd come to the wrong place, I explained sympathetically that it wasn't my domain. But Hwang leaned forward intently, unwilling to back down.
“No, most National Defense Committee assemblymen can make it happen with one call to the base commander.”
“I get what you're saying, but I have no special ties to the military.”
“Just being on the Defense Committee means base commanders can't refuse you. Please.”
His explanation made sense—one call wouldn't be hard. And how desperate must he be to approach a total stranger like me? Feeling sorry for him, I decided to hear him out. But I couldn't grasp why he'd go to such lengths for unprofitable troop shows.
“May I ask why you're volunteering for these low-paying military performances?”
“The fees alone would be a loss, but discharged soldiers become our main customers. So, troop shows are an investment in future clients.”
Hwang neatly resolved my question. “Investing in future customers”—that was it. As someone who'd jumped straight from school into politics with no real-world experience, I'd never imagined troop shows as future marketing. But hearing it from an idol agency CEO targeting teens and twenties, it clicked.
“Ah, I see. It's not too burdensome, so I'll look into it positively.”
“Thank you, Assemblyman. Truly.”
“Aigoo, nothing's decided yet.”
“SJ Entertainment is so new that booking broadcasts is like picking stars from the sky. That's why I came begging. Save not just me, but our kids too—please.”
It wasn't illegal or unduly pressuring anyone, so impressed by his persistence, I resolved to consider it favorably.
“Anyway, I'll check, but don't get your hopes up too much.”
“Yes, thank you. Assemblyman, are you free for dinner tonight?”
“Heading to Busan tonight.”
“Yes. Then sometime for dinner—I'll treat you.”
“Sure, just say when. Consider it done.”
“Then we'll get out of your hair.”
“Yes, I won't go far. Safe travels.”
“Yes, thank you, Assemblyman.”
“Take care, Assemblyman.”
“Yes, you too, miss.”
“I'm Suji. Assemblyman.”
“Yes.”
After seeing them off, Kim Sil-jang entered.
“Bro, what now?”
“Assemblyman, Hwang left an envelope.”
“That guy. How much?”
“Five hundred.”
“Put it in the donation account and issue a receipt.”
“Got it.”
Hearing he'd left a 5-million-won envelope—the legal personal donation limit to an assemblyman—impressed me. No one outside our office staff would know it was cash, so unless Hwang raised a fuss, it could be used privately.
But that could lead to shady requests later, so I had the grade-9 clerk call SJ Entertainment, confirm Hwang's resident number, process a donation receipt, and mail it registered.
Kim Sil-jang was my senior in politics and my mentor. But having him as aide and hearing honorifics from him—even alone—was awkward. Wishing he'd treat me like old times, I asked.
“How long you gonna use honorifics even when it's just us?”
“This is the office, Assemblyman.”
“Man, you're killing me. Bro, wanna watch me burst from frustration?”
“Office means official anyway.”
“Jeez, how do I break through your stubbornness?”
I couldn't win against his principled, bullheaded stance. Who could beat someone sticking to rules? Sighing deeply, I despaired at living in this atmosphere forever. Watching me, Kim Sil-jang spoke without leaving.
“Going to Busan alone today?”
“Who else, leaving someone behind?”
“Take a secretary at least?”
“Good for them to work weekends? Let 'em rest. You know better than me—they'll work holidays nonstop once it ramps up.”
“Yes, understood.”
Assembly aides looked glamorous but were often the lowest of the low. Serving a good assemblyman could mean real politics, but most Teletubby-like assemblymen in the Members' Office Building treated aides like servants—or family slaves. I'd endured that under Assemblyman Hwang, so I didn't want to treat my hires that way.
I was going to change the title completely, but in case some readers can't find it, I'm just tweaking the subtitle and continuing.
Please keep enjoying with a deep bow.