Power & Sex, and... 17
“Congressman, the floor leader wants to meet with you.”
“Where are they? Nah, I'll give them a call.”
I called the floor leader and headed to the National Assembly building to meet him. Honestly, his position must have been incredibly awkward. After all, he was the one who'd recommended me for digital party committee chair and gotten the supreme committee's approval—so to the party's senior members and heavyweights, he must have been stamped as the puppet master behind the incident I'd stirred up.
“Floor leader, I'm sorry.”
“Heh, heh—you already knew about it, huh?”
“Yeah, that's the thing.”
“But asking you to delete that post would be pushing it, right?”
“Sorry. I've never taken down anything I've written myself.”
“Anyway, the senior assemblymen are up in arms. Congressman Park, you need to watch your step from here on out. If you don't, they'll pounce on any excuse and come at you all at once.”
“Got it. I'll keep that in mind. More than that, sir, you've probably taken a lot of heat because of me—I'm truly sorry about that.”
“It's fine. You think this is the first or second time I've dealt with something like this? Anyway, Congressman Park, I ask that you hold off on anything that might ruffle the seniors' feathers for the time being.”
Surprisingly, the floor leader treated me gently. If I were in his shoes, I might've blown up and thrown a fit. No wonder they count rice bowls so carefully in politics. As I left his office and headed back to the Members' Office Building, Eun-mi's call came in.
“What's up at this hour?”
“You got me a job, huh?”
“What're you talking about?”
“Dad said you told him to make me CEO of the entertainment agency?”
“Oh, no—it was just that Chairman Lee mentioned you might be good for the role.”
“Whatever, it's thanks to you anyway. I'll wrap things up in Busan this week and head up to Seoul early next week.”
“Yeah, sounds good.”
“Tch—you're not even excited I'm coming up?”
“Aigoo, don't nitpick. Whether you're in Busan or Seoul, you're still my woman—what's there to fuss about?”
Chairman Lee must've already told her. He really was the type to cook beans in thunderbolt lightning—not just decisive, but impatient too. Anyway, we agreed to meet in Busan over the weekend and hung up.
Back at the Members' Office Building, I discussed legislative activities with my staff—the most important duty for any assemblyman: sponsoring bills. Sure, I was on the National Defense Committee, but what did a former lieutenant, barely a junior officer, know about defense? Not much, and the same went for the aides I'd hired. We decided to start by gathering records from the previous assembly's standing committees and plenary sessions, focusing on Defense Committee minutes and such. You've got to know shit from kimchi paste before you can do anything, right?
Chief Aide Kim took charge, assigning us to collect materials individually. Once gathered, we'd organize them and study together an hour early each morning, unless something urgent came up. Thanks to their clueless boss, my staff were in for some real grunt work.
We had dinner together, sent the aides home, and I sat alone in the office, pondering how to fulfill my duty as a true assemblyman by the end of my four-year term, earning praise from my district's voters. Being on Defense limited local constituency work, so I couldn't deliver direct benefits. Instead, I'd make myself a nationally recognized, promising lawmaker—the kind with real potential. That way, voters wouldn't feel shortchanged and would reelect me in four years.
“Congressman, you have a visitor.”
“Who is it?”
“Says he's your little brother from Busan.”
The next morning, as I arrived, one of the aides informed me of a guest. Puzzled—my brother wouldn't come to Seoul unannounced—I opened the door to find Do Cheol-rak rising to greet me.
“Cheol-rak, what brings you here this early?”
“Brother—no, Congressman, are you in good health?”
“Come on, Cheol-rak. What's with 'congressman' and 'good health'?”
He'd probably picked up “good health” from some historical drama, choosing it as the utmost honorific for his newly minted congressman brother. His heart was in the right place, and it warmed me.
“But seriously, what brings you to Seoul at this hour? Do you need my help with something?”
“Me? What trouble could I have? You said you might need a favor, so I couldn't sleep wondering what it was and came up.”
“Aigoo, I said I'd call you in Busan over the weekend.”
“So, what's the favor?”
“Can't talk about it here in the office. Let's head out.”
I introduced Cheol-rak to the staff on the way out, explained our relationship to Chief Kim, and asked them to treat him properly if he visited again.
We got in his car, drove toward Yeongdeungpo, and sat in a quiet coffee shop. Over coffee, I filled him in on Suji's situation and brainstormed solutions.
In the end, he suggested hiring a reliable burglar from his network. Sneak into the agency at night, disable the alarms, search the reception room and Hwang Bo-jun's office for tapes or CDs, then get a hacker for his computer—either wipe the files or yank the whole hard drive.
Hacking would need Dong-hyun's input, so I asked Cheol-rak to line up a tight-lipped pro burglar. But he refused, insisting that if I just found a computer expert, he'd handle everything himself—and keep me completely out of it. I couldn't say no to his strong push; better safe than sorry.
If we pulled those materials from his office or home, we'd have no worries left. We could leave exposing Hwang Bo-jun's crimes to the police chief or prosecutors he already had by the balls.
We wrapped up over lunch, he dropped me back at the Members' Office Building, and I waved him off before returning to the office. First-term assemblymen don't get called much unless someone's summoning them, and with Defense Committee duties, there wasn't much urgent anyway—I knew zilch about military contacts. So, for now, I'd stick to studying as a Defense Committee member, per yesterday's discussion.
I scoured the National Assembly website, library, Defense Ministry site, mapping out needed materials by priority, outlining topics, reviewing predecessors' files, and noting questions for government interrogations or committee queries. But as a total newbie, concepts didn't click; the day was mostly a whirlwind tour of websites.
I realized I needed a guide, but no one came to mind. Better to bulldoze ahead with scraps of knowledge than drift aimlessly. Time to unleash my specialty—and flaw: dogged, brute-force persistence.
If it doesn't break, keep smashing till it does. People mock “throwing eggs at rocks” as impossible, but I figured even if the rock wins, I'd leave a mark—a testament to my desperate struggle. Finding the path in a solved puzzle was a game with real odds, so I dove in with gusto.
Night deepened; most offices in the building went dark. But mine stayed lit—maybe because I hadn't left, or their passion for the work. The aides showed no sign of quitting, eyes glued to monitors, printer churning nonstop.
“Go home, guys. It's past 10—what are you doing?”
“Why aren't you going home, Congressman?”
“Me? Home's just an empty eagle's nest—I'll just rack up the electric bill. Anyway, wrap it up and head out.”
I knew some had families waiting, unlike my lonely pad. I urged them from the office doorway, but they wouldn't budge.
“Why camp out here?”
“Oh, right! Don't interrupt our work, Congressman—go home first. We'll handle it.”
“You know I was in your shoes not long ago. I don't wanna be the bad guy—go home. No one's paying overtime.”
No response. They were straight-up ignoring their boss. I gave up, said “Heading out first,” and slipped away. I hit the usual late-night spot from my aide days, grabbed snacks for the team, and returned. I'd figured a couple would've left by now, but no—the office hummed with typing and printing; aides riveted to screens.
“Come eat some snacks.”
“Heh, old man—let's work.”
Chief Kim and the rest were workaholics. Our office wasn't unique—reputable lawmakers' staffs were all addicts—but yesterday's goal-setting had flipped a switch in them. I dragged them to the table one by one; grudgingly, they gathered and shoveled food.
“No thanks for the snacks?”
“Who asked you to buy them? Bored old man interrupting—go home.”
“Still, the ladies should head out. Eat up—I'll drive you.”
“Sexist much, Congressman? Where are the ladies here? I'm no girl.”
Ouch, unexpected. But fair—the grade-9 female clerical aide majored in political science and studied politics in grad school nights; of course she'd clap back. If I stayed, I'd nag them to leave again, disrupting work—so I bailed.
Note: Tturukjapi: Slang for thief.